Page 67 of The Queen's Huntsman
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll use it to honor my father’s final wishes—to serve the queen he believed would lead us from ruin to prosperity.”
Gwendolyn smiled gratefully. “From your lips to the gods’ ears,” she said, and she vowed she would do her best not to let these people down.
By midday,they were already en route.
Mercifully, Bryn could now sit upright. He rode beside Gwendolyn on his own horse, with her wool blanket draped over his shoulder, wrapped about his middle, then trapped beneath his leg. He said nothing about the kiss. Neither did Gwendolyn.
Already, even before that kiss, there had been enough tension between them, and now, she could scarcely look him in the eye because she had truly believed that kiss was Málik’s, and she had kissed him back with equal fervor—until she’d realized it was Bryn.
At least she now knew that one kiss wasnotthe same as another.
The problem was, so did Bryn.
Even as weak as he’d been, he must have seen her face when she’d realized who he was, because his brows had slanted so sadly, and his blue eyes dimmed.
They were still dull, even as he sat shivering, barely able to hold his reins, much less his sword. Still, Gwendolyn remained by his side, studiously avoiding all thoughts of that kiss—and Málik as well. Instead, she considered these lands between the Confederacy and the South…
Like the Prydein, the Brigantes were not merely one tribe, and their territory bled east into Parisi lands. The Brigantes themselves were not a warmongering people, but they certainly owed their prosperity to the Prydein, who in times past had willfully raided the south lands, trading their plunder with the Brigantes on the return journey home.
After her parents were wedded, the raids ceased, but peace brought its own web of challenges, and without the Caledonii raiders to supply their villages, Brigantes tribes rose and fell, villages came and went. There were many hill forts along these parts, some still flourishing, though many more in ruins. This one was perhaps defeated by bloodshed, but Gwendolyn wondered if the Brigantes now regretted their associations with the northern tribes, because, in truth, it was impossible to trust any man whose welfare benefitted from the misfortunes of others.
Not unlike Locrinus, who’d stolen his brother’s title.
Gwendolyn wondered now if King Brutus had ever suspected the cause of his elder son’s death, or if he’d trusted his viper of a wife.
Poor Urien would have been a better man. After all, it was Urien her father had first met, and Urien he’d so readily embraced, singing his praises, so much so that he’d been willing to betroth his only daughter when Gwendolyn was still only a babe.
Indeed, she had known she was to wed Urien from the moment she could understand what it meant to be wed, and the importance of their union had been driven into her heart and mind every day of her life. That she later found herself affianced to the younger brother was only because of Innogen’s clever sleight of hand. To deny Locrinus after so readily accepting the elder son would be to forswear their alliance, and to make an enemy of Brutus. Yet, the instant Gwendolyn’s betrothal to Loc was agreed upon, her fate was sealed.
Not for the first time, Gwendolyn considered Loc’s mother. Locrinus must die, but so, too, should Innogen. And nevertheless, Gwendolyn suspected Innogen would be difficult to vanquish—like striking at smoke.
ChapterThirty-Two
Forty-three men and twelve women returned with Ives, all armed and prepared to fight.
One came bearing the King Corineus’ crimson mantle, recovered from Trevena’s courtyard after his beheading. The King’s bloodstains remained, even after having been washed.
Gwendolyn recognized the young man who delivered it to her as one of Lady Ruan’s household guards, but, unhappily, he came bearing a gruesome tale along with her father’s cloak.
They’d forced King Corineus to kneel in the courtyard, dressed in full regalia, wanting everyone present to witness how the mighty were felled.
Then, after the deed was done, both dead kings’ headless bodies were dragged through the city streets by their ankles. Her father’s cloak, having nothing to restrain it, caught about a merchant’s stall at the beginning of its journey. The young man saw it and seized it, then fled the city. So, he claimed, Bryn’s parents were neither seen nor heard from again. It was supposed that both, having held such prominent positions and seats at the high tables, were likely slain in the great hall, where Brutus met his end.
Gwendolyn’s throat grew thick with emotion as she listened to the young man’s tale, and she accepted his offering, thanking him for the thoughtful gift. But it was all she could do not to weep inconsolably as she brought the mantle to her nostrils to inhale the last traces of her father’s lingering scent…
No longer had he smelt of horse, or sweat, or even sunshine, so ill had he been… but it still smelled strongly of the cloves he’d used in his coffers to ward away moths.
She would wear it proudly, bloodstains and all.
Someday soon, Loc would pay for what he’d done, she vowed. Gwendolyn would not rest until he and all who served him were vanquished—including his mother and mistress.
She would build her army from this meager beginning. They were few compared to Loc’s vast infantry, or even those her father had once led, but she would be eternally grateful for every soul who rallied to her cause.
Unfortunately, once they were joined by the refugees, the Brigantes village was no longer serviceable, even for so few as sixty-three. So as soon as Bryn felt himself well enough to travel, they once again took to their saddles, wending their way south… toward Plowonida.
While he was still in the company of the Catuvellauni, Bryn had counted more than twice their numbers among them, and if Caradoc meant to fight, Gwendolyn’s fledgling forces would doubtless lose. However, a new thought wended its way through her brain, and she reconsidered her options.
No one knew Trevena better than she did, and why should they continue to travel from hill fort to hill fort? If Trevena’s gates were all closed and the towers were all manned, there could be no safe passage onto the Stone Isle, neither by land nor by sea.
