Page 79 of The Queen's Huntsman
Caradoc’s eyes widened. His eyes flicked to Bryn, then to Málik, once again returning to Gwendolyn. “How?”
She sat straighter in her saddle, daring a smile. “The ‘how’ of it is not something I mean to reveal without an oath of fealty from you. Simply know I’ve the means to take back my city. Yet I do not simply wish to have it restored to me,” Gwendolyn explained. “I’ll not hide behind my gates cowering while that red-cloaked viper sweeps through our lands, stealing what is not his.”
Caradoc nodded, this time with approval, Gwendolyn perceived. “You are, indeed, your father’s daughter,” he said. Even so, he did not capitulate, not yet, and Gwendolyn gave him another moment to consider before she continued.
“I can take the city, but I cannot hold it and still achieve the task I am given, so I must ask you to hold Trevena in my name. This would allow your people a chance to heal, eat, sleep, all without fear of reprisal from the Iceni. You will be safe behind my gates until you strengthen your numbers, and mine as well. And, in the meantime, I would ride north to engage Baugh.”
Her grandfather. Most southerners knew him by name, because his name itself was legend, his image larger than life, and his good fortunes and advantages regarded to be gods ordained. Caradoc’s attention was well and duly piqued now. “And you think he will come?”
“Aye. He will,” assured Gwendolyn with such certainty that she almost believed it.
Caradoc’s hand abandoned his sword now, alighting upon his hips, standing arms akimbo. “And you’ll leave me with my own warriors to keep your precious city?”
Gwendolyn nodded affirmative.
“What makes you so certain I would return it? If what they say is true, and Trevena is so impregnable, I might wish to keep it for myself.” He chortled now, tossing up his hands, and turned to address his crew, as a titter of nervous laughter left his torch-bearing companions.
Meanwhile, Gwendolyn’s six remained sober and silent.
Beside her, Málik pulled gently at his reins, and she knew from that gesture he was only waiting for a reason to draw his sword.
Gwendolyn softened her voice. “Because, my friend, you are no fool, nor a coward to be handed your victories.” Only to be sure he understood she was not afraid, she gave Aisling a heel, moving forward again, leaving the immediate safety of her guards.
She approached the Catuvellauni chieftain, looking down on him, and then added, “Because you love your city as much as I love mine. Because Trevena will never beyourvictory—not when it comes with an oath of fealty you must forswear in order to keep it.”
He was considering it, she sensed, so she appealed to his vanity, “Someday, Lundinion will beyourglory—and yours alone. I will help you achieve that victory, and with it, return your good name.” This last promise appealed to him most, Gwendolyn sensed. He inhaled sharply, stepping back, puffing out his chest. Then he turned, peering at his men, nodding to each in turn.
All returned their king’s nod, and Caradoc stepped back to whisper to the one man who stood behind him. Finally, he turned to face Gwendolyn again, but for the longest interim, did not speak.
Anticipation filled the glade. Only the pitch torches roared against the silence. Gwendolyn pressed her knees against her mount so that Aisling pranced nervously. “What say you?”
“I will agree on one condition,” said the elder man.
“Speak it.”
“We must seal our alliance with a promise of matrimony—my son and heir to Elowyn of Durotriges, and with their wedding should comeallDurotrigan lands.”
His gaze now flicked to Bryn, who stood before him, challenging him to protest.
Gwendolyn, too, looked down at Bryn, preparing to refuse Caradoc, but Bryn said, “If it is my queen's pleasure, I will agree,” he said. “As her sworn Shadow, they were never mine to hold.”
“Art certain, Bryn?” Gwendolyn persisted.
“Quite,” he said, his blue eyes shining.
“It is settled, then,” Gwendolyn said, returning her attention to Caradoc. “If Elowyn agrees, I’ll not only bless it, I will award a dowry fit for a royal daughter. Though you must show her to me now. Allow me to speak to her. I’ll not do to my friend what was done to me, barter her life to one she cannot love.”
Caradoc turned then, waving at a distant figure standing in the shadows, deeper in the woods. Dressed fully in black and hooded, Gwendolyn did not realize they had an audience until the figure emerged, drawing back her hood as she came through, her smile all-too familiar.
Ely.
“I agree,” Ely said, turning to glance over her shoulder at the man who’d stood behind Caradoc. He, too, came forward, sliding his arm about her waist and drawing her close, as though to protect her.
Smiling, Gwendolyn re-sheathed her sword and said. “We are agreed, then.”
And she directed her next words to the young man behind Ely, whose image was the same as his father’s, only younger. “I suppose you have a torc to declare the lady?”
To that, Ely drew back her cloak to reveal a bronze necklace already placed snugly about her throat, its finish as brilliant as her answering smile.
