The Heart of a Queen (A Historical Romance)

Chapter 12

"I knew all your people did was steal horses from each other. Or is it cows? Or women?"

As Brienna feared, Isobel was as reluctant to teach her as Brienna was to have her as a teacher, and the lessons got off to a rough start.

Born a girl, she'd never been expected to read, and now she was trying to learn to read and speak in two completely foreign languages at once, though early on Isobel had divulged that the Latin was more for show, or in case she ever wanted to impress a priest.

The lessons were frequently interrupted by Isobel's exclamations of frustration and disbelief at Brienna's total ignorance about the written word.

"How do you know your history? Where you come from? The history of your family name?"

In fact, Brienna knew all these things very well, and could recite them from memory. Her father, like all the heads of the clans, had their own bard who recorded their greatest deeds and kept track of their illustrious ancestry and put them into verse, which was passed down orally through the generations. But Isobel must have known this—her family had the same tradition—so Brienna kept her mouth closed and tried to be patient with her hot-headed tutor.

After spending more time with Isobel, she learned where her own literary interests lay, which was in the romantic histories of Wales; stories about Tristan and Iseult, of Arthur and his knights. She read Brienna snippets of these and mourned the loss of England, the bulk of which she felt should have belonged to her, or, barring that, at least to Llewellyn. On this subject, Brienna was out of her depth. Her people had their own island, but it became clearer every year that things would only remain that way if they were willing to fight, or forge some kind of alliance.

Despite her misgivings, Isobel was a good teacher, because she was eager to show off her superior knowledge. Similarly, Brienna was eager to learn, and she progressed quickly through the basics. After a few weeks she was able to read the first page of a history of Britain by some Welsh cleric. It struck her as entirely fanciful and untrue, but Isobel assured her it was perfectly accurate.

Because she was so quick to learn, Isobel began to show her a modicum of respect, and they slowly developed a sense of rapport. Brienna had always wanted a sister, but as the thought flitted through her head, she quelled it as brashly hopeful; Isobel at all times retained a sharp haughtiness that made getting close to her impossible.

At the end of the day, when Brienna would leave the castle to chat with Ulf and Isobel returned to her tower room, she felt sorry for her, alone, seemingly with no friends or confidants, in a solitude of her own making. Certainly if she wanted to, she could have been married by now; she was the sister of the king of Gwynedd, and fair. But it was a subject that Brienna did not yet feel she was on intimate enough footing to bring it up.

No longer expected to serve, Brienna now took her meals with Llewellyn and Isobel seated at the table in the great hall. There, she was meant to be schooled in the art of conversation. At home, conversation around the table usually centered upon the latest raid perpetrated by another clan, or stolen territory, tales of skirmishes, and news of deaths and births. What Llewellyn seemed to want her to learn was how to talk about nothing at all.

"Hasn't the weather been fine today?" Isobel commented at dinnertime. Brienna raised her head; it had not been fine, in fact it had rained ridiculously all afternoon.

"Not so fine as the company I enjoy this evening," Llewellyn replied.

"Nay, you flatter us," Isobel bowed to her brother across the table. "When it is we who have the honor of being in your esteemed presence."

"One's presence is only as esteemed as the quality of the audience it has the privilege of attending," Llewellyn bowed back.

Brienna felt like her eyes were about to cross as she tried to sort out the meaning of their words. It was strange to see that Llewellyn was so well-versed in small talk. She had become used to being greeted by him with only a nod, a plain look that required she state her business at once rather than waste any time. But he wanted her to learn how to speak properly at court, and so he displayed his skills for her benefit.

For the reast of the meal it went on like that. They prevaricated, teased, hinted, and deflected, in a ceaseless web of words that was never boring, but which, when Brienna thought back on it, had no substance whatsoever.

"It's all meant to glean the barest of information and opinion without without letting on that you want it, and without offending anyone," Llewellyn explained.

"Yes, god forbid you should offend the third cousin of the nephew of the earl of north of nowhere," Isobel leaned her head back in a signature gesture of disdain. "If you're good at it," she confided to Brienna later, "you can still offend them, but without them ever knowing it."

Etiquette was another topic which Llewellyn left to his sister to teach her.

Brienna thought—no, she knew—that her manners were fine. She'd been raised in a royal household, after all, and by Lasair, who would never have allowed a break in decorum when it mattered, though she certainly let Brienna run wild when they went on their walks and no one was looking. But she was a child, then.

For once, she was unable to hold her temper as Isobel droned on about being on her best behaviour.

"Never face anyone directly—when you're talking to someone, you should stand at an angle, like this," she said, demonstrating. "Similarly, don't stare while talking. Look at them, sure, but in little glances. What else can I tell you?" She studied Brienna's face for a minute. "Well, try not to look so much like you just swallowed a bad egg."

Brienna chafed at the insult; she'd been scowling because she found Isobel's advice patronizing, even hypocritical.

"What about you?" she snapped back. "You use language a soldier would blush at. And if you didn't have me acting as your lady's maid, you would probably go around with your hair undone and your shoes untied."

"Oh, my, my," Isobel said, not taken aback in the slightest. "Finally you show a little backbone, instead of running away like a spoiled infant. Keep it up, and you might really do well in a room full of dignitaries."

She was smiling, a broad and guileless grin that Brienna had never seen on Isobel before, and Brienna couldn't help but smile back. When it came to Isobel, she'd take whatever compliments she could get.