Page 69 of Arise the Queen
The warrior continued, unfazed, “The look on his face, I tell you, was worth a hundred merks!”
“He said cock,” whispered a young girl, slapping a hand across her lips, and then she turned to her sisters and shouted. “Your Da said cock!”
Another little girl said, “Cock, cock, cock, cock!” And then ran away, leaving her elders barking with laughter.
And yet, for all the laughter in the hall, at the head of the lord’s table sat Baugh, unsmiling, with his black, braided beard, and his eyes as piercing as a winter storm. With his broad shoulders draped with a heavy fur cloak, he sat frowning, fingering the torc about his neck. Beside him sat his wife,Freydis, wearing her own hefty torc, her hand resting lightly atop Baugh’s arm, as though ready to pat him to temper his mood. Baugh’s eyes glinted as he studied Gwendolyn, and she sensed he would decide according to how he judged her.
At a nearby table, Bryn sat with his mother, cozy together, no doubt exchanging news. Lady Ruan’s brow remained furrowed throughout their exchange, chewing at a thumbnail instead of her food.
Were they discussing Talwyn’s betrayal, or was it because of Ely’s news—that she’d wed a Catuvellauni son? Gwendolyn supposed there could be cause for displeasure over both. If Bryn’s mother did not know about her husband’s betrayal, the news would be dreadful. But neither was it overly pleasant to discover one’s daughter was not only betrothed, but duly wedded and expecting her first and only grandson. Then again, neither was it terrible news, and Lady Ruan must be eager to return to the city. Gwendolyn would see to it as soon as she could.
Fortunately, whatever ill-will her mother had once harbored over Gwendolyn’s attachment to Málik, it appeared to be finished. Her deference for Málik was wholly evident—not the least for which he now came with a crown, a fact Queen Eseld was quick to tell her father at the table, and Gwendolyn was glad of it because she wanted Baugh to know she did not come to this negotiation empty handed.
As for Málik… he sat next to Gwendolyn, his demeanor much changed from the aloofness he’d displayed in the Druid’s Hall. Indeed, tonight he was mellow, if not affectionate, and the memory of their recent passions had perhaps thawed the ice in his veins. His pale-blue eyes twinkled with warmth, and now that she was aware of it, Gwendolyn could still scent his musk.
Clearly, so could he. Now and again, he leaned close, his nostrils flaring as though seeking her scent, and Gwendolyn shuddered with remembered desire.
Not to spare her own life could she find a moment’s regret for what had transpired between them in those woods.
Not even knowing that her grandfather had caught them in the throes of passion.
But it no doubt warmed her cheeks.
Queen Eseld watched them closely, her dark eyes glinting as Málik lifted Gwendolyn’s glass, eschewing his own—as he once had at her uncle’s table. He sipped from it boldly, grinning as he noted Gwendolyn’s blooming cheeks—and of course she was chagrined. Only the memory of the taste of his mouth cast this meal a paler shade and left her squirming in her seat. She would not disrespect her grandfather’s home, nor her mother by sharing Málik’s bed whilst in this village, but that wouldn’t stop her from seeking it the moment they departed.
Tonight, Gwendolyn’s aunts were all absent—eight altogether, she’d learned. They kept their own homes now and were wed to vassals of her grandfather—of which, there were apparently many, because he had more than thirty grandbairns. Evidently, her aunts had been quite busy providing suitable heirs.
To the left of Baugh sat the Druids, Emrys and Amergin. And, truly, it was difficult to say which of them clamored more jealously for his attention, although Baugh’s attention remained fixed upon Gwendolyn. As the night wore on, she watched him watching her, biding her time. Foremost in her mind was that time was of the essence, and if she did not have to spend an entire winter here only to secure this alliance, her campaign would be stronger for it.
Neither would Baugh see her hesitation as strength, and for each day she waited, shrinking from this task, the less chancethere was that he would call his banners on Gwendolyn’s behalf. To gain his support, she felt she must do more than simply make herself known to him and ask for help. Though she would prefer to reveal the sword in private, Baugh did not appear to do—or say—anything that was not well considered. And in observing him with his men, it became entirely clear that those he most favored were those who tested him, if respectfully. Those who did not hold their own with him, he gifted with eye rolls. Indeed, if he had given Albanactus one of his daughters to wed, it was not because he believed the man spineless. To the contrary. His first inclination might have been to reward Albanactus for saving his eldest daughter, but that could not be the only reason, and Gwendolyn took her mother’s counsel to heart. After all, she was asking a lot—Baugh’s sword, and perhaps even his life. Therefore, she must be bold enough to show him she was ready to fight for it. But she wasn’t fool enough to disrespect Baugh by bringing Kingslayer to his table, nor even Borlewen’s blade. However, she’d dared bringClaímh Solais. Now bound only in its protective cloth, it lay concealed beneath the table, waiting for Gwendolyn to work up the nerve. It was Baugh himself who gave her the first opportunity…
He stood, raising his horn. “Tonight, we celebrate!” he roared, his eyes sweeping over his hall, but Gwendolyn noted he skipped her. “Let this feast be a testament to our kinship!” he said, and Gwendolyn dared to challenge him.
“I only wonder, grandfather… does this grace include your granddaughter?”
The hall fell silent, and her mother tugged gently at her sleeve. But Gwendolyn did not cow, even when Baugh turned his dark gaze upon her. He mumbled something unintelligible beneath his breath, then whispered heatedly to her grandmother, and then to Emrys. Emrys shook his head, and Gwendolyn stood.
“Sit!” Baugh demanded, his gaze shifting to Gwendolyn, but she shook her head.
“I will not sit. You speak of unity… and I stand humbly before you?—”
“Humble?” he scoffed, though Gwendolyn ignored the taunt. “Your mother clearly has not taught you that words and actions must walk hand in hand.”
Gwendolyn glanced at her mother, noting the paleness of her cheeks. But it was too late to turn back now. Ignoring her grandfather’s insult, she continued. “Humbly, I stand to ask you to join me and mine, to defeat a foe who threatens not only Trevena and Cornwall—nor even the southern lands—butallof Pretania!”
“Your fight is not mine,” Baugh said dismissively, but Gwendolyn did not back down.
“Whatever you may think of him, my father held you in considerable esteem. He took your daughter to wife because he had a dream?—”
“And you share this dream?” Baugh interjected, his words laced with derision. His black eyes glittered fiercely, but though he narrowed his eyes at Gwendolyn, she stood taller.
“What I believe is that we must all join our banners for this cause, but I do not intend to force anyone to bend the knee to Cornwall.”
“Youdo not intend… toforce?”
He guffawed, and his ensuing roar of laughter reverberated throughout the hall.
No one else laughed.
