The Heart of a Queen (A Historical Romance)

Chapter 6

Without Lasair to keep her company, Brienna found the castle lonelier than ever. She tried to focus her mind on working her tapestry, which she had always found dull but at least she could lose herself in the rhythm of the needle drawing colored yarn up through the woven canvas, then back through. This task brought a flood of memories of Lasair teaching her the skill when she was young, however, and it wasn't long before she couldn't see through the tears blurring her vision.

If she went for walks, she always ended up at the seashore, where she braved the edge of the rocky cliffs to get as close to water as possible, and thereby closer to Ireland. She squinted into the mist and wished she could get even a glimpse of the land she called home.

Her only occupation otherwise was serving Llewellyn and Isobel at breakfast, supper, and at the midday meal, which she did stiffly and with no joy. Isobel taunted her and Llewellyn ignored her, but it was the attention of the soldiers that bothered Brienna the most.

Before, when she'd sat with her hosts at table and appeared to be a guest of equal rank despite not being served a meal, the rough men at the other end of the room had paid her as little mind as they paid Isobel, knowing better than to overstep the bounds of their social class.

Now, they recognized Brienna as a lowly servant, a wench who became the target of their jeering calls and leering gazes as she walked past them, which she had to do to get from the kitchen to the head table.

One of them in particular, a wiry Southerner named Lob who was almost too thin to be considered fit to arm and had the waxy yellow skin of a new potato, seemed intent on communicating his interest in her in the most rankling ways. As she walked by with a tray of roast lamb he called,

"C'mere, girl, and I'll show you a rare piece of meat!"

Then he would laugh very heartily with his fellows and Brienna would grit her teeth and walk a little faster.

"Look at her blush, boys, I tell you she wants me," he boasted, oblivious to the fact that the red blooming in Brienna's cheeks was born of anger and not flattery.

As his comments grew ever bolder and more specific, and brought to play images of what his hands would wrought on her pale flesh and how he would tame her with what he had under his breeches, Brienna found it easier to block her ears to them, until she was completely inured.

Her indifference made Lob angry and one night, on the wrong side of too much ale, he grabbed Brienna as she was walking by and pulled her into his lap, one hand wrapped around both of her wrists to prevent her from slapping him. She tried to get up but he put his other arm around her waist and held her down in his lap, bouncing his legs under her vigorously.

"You've been on a horse before, haven't ye? Just pretend you're riding a fine stallion," he hissed in her ear.

Brienna panicked and started to struggle, the heat of the room and the smell of food and ale and smoke and the sight of the ribald faces of the soldiers pressing in on her swirled together in her vision, upending her equilibrium so she felt like she was falling into the pit of hell. Then her senses narrowed and all she could feel was the sour breath of Lob as his thin wet lips neared her face. He was going to have his way with her, and there was nothing she could do.