Page 9 of The Queen's Huntsman
ChapterFour
Try not to repeat the offense,he’d said.
Gwendolyn scoured her memory for clues, quite certain that Bryn’s warning hid a message.
Only what could it be?
As the youngest Durotrigan, scarcely older than Bryn, Adwen had been the last in line to inherit his father’s lands and titles. Four years ago, after Bryn’s grandfather and eldest uncle both perished in a raid, the stewardship was offered to Bryn’s sire. Talwyn Durotriges remained in his hard-won position as Mester at Arms for Pretania’s High King. Loyal, and true as any man could be, he’d preferred a position of service over the bestowal of lands and titles—for himself and for his son. When he’d refused, the lands and the title fell to his younger brother, Adwen.
But Adwen was a good choice for Duke. Gwendolyn had always considered him to be the most charming of his brood. And perhaps they’d gotten on too well.
That day in question, Adwen was not yet the steward of his father’s lands. Like any younger son, he was puckish and full of mischief, unconcerned with matters of propriety.
Early that morning, when he’d arrived in Trevena, he came with the gift of a bow for Gwendolyn’s Name Day, and then he’d convinced her to go hunting to try out the new bow—not a difficult task, since Gwendolyn was ever eager for diversions.
Only later, much to her dismay, Gwendolyn’s father accused him of improprieties—most unfairly because there was never any misconduct between them, and they were never even alone—always in the company of Bryn. On her mother’s counsel, they’d sent Adwen away and Gwendolyn never saw him again thereafter. She’d even missed the conferral when he was awarded his dukedom because her father sent her off to Chysauster.
What offense did Bryn mean? Aside from the tiniest ruse they’d employed to escape the morning’s fast, there was nothing she had to regret.
Was it that, even now, he was worried Gwendolyn harbored some small feeling for Adwen?
But that made little sense either. The time for winning or giving favors ended when Gwendolyn took her vows at the Elder Yew.
And yet, there was something she was missing, because she knew Bryn too well, and she sensed he was trying to tell her something.
In fact, she became so consumed with thoughts of her last day spent with the youngest Durotrigan that only belatedly did she realize how late the hour grew.
Already, the sun was setting, dimming the light in her room. But, as yet, neither Ely nor Bryn had returned, and neither had Innogen with her promised “surprise.”
A feeling like bees buzzed about Gwendolyn’s belly.
Had they changed their minds about allowing her to attend?
Had Loc decided he didn’t need her?
Had the ambassadors already sworn their fealty without thought for Gwendolyn’s agreement?
If so, what would that mean for her?
At long last,it was Estrildis who arrived with Gwendolyn’s “surprise.”
Garbed every bit as a queen, missing only a crown, she delivered one of her missing coffers—the most precious of all, her dowry chest. Seeing it, Gwendolyn nearly wept with joy.
Two servants carted in the chest, placing it hurriedly on the floor, then turned and fled.
“There,” said Estrildis, entering the room after them, and indicating the chest with an angry flourish of her hand. Her full lips twisted as she said, “As you can see, I’ve brought your stupid coffer at the queen’s behest!”
Gwendolyn lifted her brow. She was the Queen. Loc’s mother was Queen Mother, and no longer even a consort. The title was merely a courtesy, though Gwendolyn didn’t bother to correct her, when she must already know. The girl was spiteful and determined to slight Gwendolyn at every opportunity.
“If it were up to me—and someday it will be—I would give you nothing.”
“Thank you so much for the chest,” Gwendolyn said, unwilling to spoil the moment. It didn’t matter why it was delivered, only that it was—at last.
Estrildis had no such compunction. “I hope you won’t mind,” the girl said indignantly. “I borrowed a few items of note.”
Gwendolyn didn’t bother to ask what. It wouldn’t matter. Whatever Estrildis wanted, Estrildis got. By now, Gwendolyn had complained enough about her missing possessions to know that her protests would fall upon deaf ears. However, if Estrildis was “asking” there must be a reason… and Gwendolyn would not willfully antagonize her, though neither would she abet her.
“The forehead crown with the moonstones,” she announced, without prompting. “I intend to wear it this eve.”
