Page 66 of The Queen's Huntsman
Even now, the vitriol of Loc’s words cut like a poisoned blade, the malice of his admission spreading like venom, hardening her heart.
I. Will. Kill. You. She vowed.
It was only once she turned her thoughts to Málik that her heart softened, and when at last she dozed, she slept with thoughts of him holding her close… down in her uncle’sfogous… in the dark, with only his Faerie light as their witness…
Gwendolyn knew she was dreaming when she felt his husky breath on her face. He drew her up from his lap to kiss her so sweetly and fully on the lips, tangling his hands through her hair, grasping her neck. “Gwendolyn,” he whispered gruffly. “I can smell you.”
How utterly embarrassing—that he could scent her desire, like the sweet perfume of pollen in the air. The thought filled her belly with a warmth that slid between her thighs. It made her clamp her legs together and wiggle in her sleep, and she moaned desperately, turning her face up to seek his kiss…so achingly sweet.
As necessary as water.
As delicious as fresh peaches from Qin.
He pressed his mouth against her trembling lips, and then he, too, moaned hoarsely, the sound so utterly tormented as she parted her lips to accept the gift of his tongue.
Gods.She had so long dreamt of this moment—so starved for his embrace. For all those months locked away in Loc’s prison chamber, she had prayed for Málik’s return… and now he was here, and she could not and would not turn him away…
But this was only a dream…
At least here she should take unrepentant joy in the unnatural warmth of his body… rejoice in his hunger as his tongue swept into her mouth, exploring… suckling, and kissing in turn.
“Gwendolyn,” he said, again, with the most desperate of yearning, and her heart kicked an irregular beat, as she opened her eyes to an achingly familiar face… but it was not Málik’s.
“Bryn!” she exclaimed, bounding up from the pallet, her hand going straight to her traitorous breast, the nipple even now pebbled in anticipation of Málik’s touch.
Her cheeks suffused with warmth, but she daren’t say anything to disarm his weak smile. “You’re awake!” she said, and then, uncertain what more to add, she shouted for Lir.
ChapterThirty-One
The head injury had knocked him insensate, but it was the festering wound that had kept Bryn out cold. With his wound now cleaned, his fever subsided, he was now seated, wrapped loosely in Gwendolyn’s woolen blanket, shivering in response to a lingering fever, but conversing even so.
It was just as they’d feared. Ely was being held by the Catuvellauni. They intended to keep her until the envoy’s safe return. Bryn had ridden unfettered, knowing that if he attempted to escape, or if they found his account to be untrue, Ely would pay the price.
And, simply to be certain, his escort had been the chieftain’s own son. Only now, if they returned without him, there was no telling how the Catuvellauni would respond.
Gwendolyn didn’t know what to do.
This hadn’t been her plan. It was, in fact, the worst turn of events, because she needed the Iceni king’s support, and she would not receive it if she had Caradoc riding by her side.
Moreover, even if that wouldn’t deter him, the Catuvellauni were not known to be allies of anyone. They had long contested her father’s annexation of Durotriges, and much like the Iceni king, Caradoc had aspirations of his own for annexing the surrounding tribes, and it was perhaps to his continued indignation that so many continued to call him a chieftain, not a king.
There was no easy way to proceed.
Gwendolyn could not rise against Loc’s men at Durotriges with only eight warriors. And, no doubt, by now, Caradoc would have received word of the attack, although Gwendolyn could not return Bryn in his state.
Neither could she go herself. Even without so much discord, prophecy or nay, few outside of Cornwall would jump at the opportunity to follow a woman—particularly one they still had so many questions about, wondering whether she’d taken part in Loc’s coup against her father.
Considering all this, Gwendolyn sat, flicking her thumb against the black pearl of Borlewen’s blade, considering her best recourse.
With Adwen gone, there would be others who shared Taryn’s outrage over Adwen’s dealings with Innogen. Regardless, Gwendolyn’s quest for allies must begin somewhere, and the Catuvellauni appeared to be her only option.
Her best bet would be to send word to those who’d fled the Durotriges village and call them to her side. They were still her father’s banner men, and they owed Gwendolyn their service. But she would not risk them unnecessarily. Diminished though they might be after the Iceni raid on Plowonida, the Catuvellauni still had far greater numbers than she had at her disposal. It would not be wise to face Caradoc until she had more. Therefore, it was decided that they should not remain in such a vulnerable location, where Caradoc could easily locate them whilst awaiting reinforcements. After dispatching Ives to retrieve the Durotrigan refugees, they would then retreat north to an abandoned hill fort Lir spoke of—one that belonged to a Brigantes chieftain who’d come seeking healers after a skirmish between his tribe and another. Too far gone by the time he’d found the Druid village, he’d died in their care, but now his misfortune was Gwendolyn’s boon.
According to Lir, the village was only a short ways north. Abandoned now, like Plowonida, it would remain so in deference to the Brothers’ Pact; but borrowing a village was not quite the same as appropriating it, and the gods would surely not object.
Gwendolyn had only one thing to do before leaving.
She marched over to Málik’s horse to retrieve the sword he’d kept in his saddle sheathe, returning it to Taryn. There was no need to explain what it was. She recognized her father’s sword at once and took it from Gwendolyn with fat tears streaming down her cheeks.
