The Heart of a Queen (A Historical Romance)

Chapter 15

One morning they were interrupted at breakfast by Ulf, who stumbled into the great hall, blinking as he flicked rain from his brow once he was inside. It was the wettest month of spring, and Brienna had gotten used to returning from her walks soaked to the skin. Most people preferred to stay inside, including Ulf, so she was surprised to see that he'd braved the weather even the short distance from stables to castle.

The big man approached them, but it wasn't Brienna he wanted to talk to—it was Llewellyn.

"A message has come from Connaught," he said, leaning over their meal, his form outlined by the blazing fire behind him, which struggled to keep off the damp. Brienna suddenly forgot all about the meal she was enjoying and bent closer so she wouldn't miss a word.

"English forces sent from the North have taken Ulster and are making forays into Connaught lands," Ulf continued.

Brienna held her breath. It was what her father had feared; that the English would gain enough ground in Scotland to turn their old Gaelic allies against them, giving them renewed forces and access to the coast so they could press in on Ireland from both the North and the South. An image of Ruarc, her last and only brother, who she knew was braver than he was wise once a sword was in his hand, clutched at her heart.

She looked at Llewellyn, afraid. If he was true to his word, then he would go and lend his support to her father in pushing the English back. If he chose to abandon Connaught, then her family was lost and her own position in the world was in serious question.

Llewellyn pushed back from the table. "Give word to my men to prepare," he told Ulf. "I'll send for my shipmaster and we'll leave before the week is out."

Brienna was so relieved that tears sprang to her eyes. Before she knew what she was doing, she fell to her knees in front of Llewellyn and clasped his hands in her own, kissing them.

"Thank you, oh, thank you, thank you," she cried.

Both Isobel and Llewellyn stared at her while Ulf averted his eyes. Llewellyn cleared his throat, extricating himself from her grasp. He stood and nodded to Ulf, who left, and then went on his own way, into the passage to the stairwell.

Brienna slowly rose from her knees, feeling somewhat weakened from her untempered display of emotion. Isobel was looking at her curiously.

"You are too forward," she said, tilting her head back, her expression cool. "Men of my brother's ilk—the men that you're likely to meet in court—would never take such a display seriously. They expect a woman to maintain her decorum at all times, so that they can pursue her and think they've conquered her all on their own merit."

Brienna smoothed down her dress, wondering where Isobel was headed with this.

"I don't see how such knowledge applies to me. I'm to be wed at the autumn solstice." As she said it, Brienna realized how fast the date was approaching. While she'd been immersed in all this new education, she hadn't given it a single thought; the fine materials her father had sent her for her trousseau lay forgotten underneath her bed. Now, for some reason the reminder cast a glum shadow over the elation with which she'd been floating though her days.

"It's a useful skill for any woman cast among diplomats," Isobel explained. "The art of seduction. You want them to be thinking with something other than their brain so they forget themselves and tell you all their secrets, all while thinking they're the ones seducing you."

"It sounds deceitful," Brienna said.

"Very much so," Isobel agreed. "Unless of course you apply it to someone you care for. Then it's called courting," she laughed brightly. "Now that's an interesting play on words, isn't it? Courting at court. It's up to you how you use it, but I'm going to teach you anyway. I've had it up to here with dancing," she said, holding her hand level with her pointed chin.

Brienna looked at the door through which Llewellyn had disappeared.

"Alright," she said. "Teach me."