The Heart of a Queen (A Historical Romance)

Chapter 22

That night, Brienna noticed that Isobel took special care with her hair and nightdress before going to bed. She also placed her shoes outside the bedroom door when she thought Brienna wasn't looking. Brienna knew she must have wanted to spend the extra night in the village so she could sneak away with Moira one more time. Moira, along with Ulf and another servant, were the only ones who hadn't left with the rest of the party to return to the castle, and were sleeping in the barn again that night.

What Isobel hadn't anticipated, Brienna realized, was that to the locals, a market day meant an excuse to stay up late and carouse, and their host had invited several neighbors to his home to share a drink and tell stories.

The raucous noise of cups clanging in toasts and boots stamping the floor in appreciate of a tale well told reverberated through the floor of their shared room, and Brienna lost count of Isobel's irritable sighs. She might be leagues above them in station, but she could be sure that if she left the farmer's house in the middle of the night with no explanation, word of it would reach her brother, and the rest of the kingdom, by morning.

"Having trouble sleeping?" she eventually asked.

"You too?" Isobel answered. "It's so inconsiderate," she wailed. "When will they leave off?"

"Back home, when there is market day, my father will stay up until dawn with his guests."

"Ach!" Isobel threw herself back on her pillow in frustration.

Brienna stifled a smile and let Isobel stew for a few more minutes in her impatience. When she spoke up again, she leaned up onto her elbow so she could see her stymied friend.

"If you want," Brienna offered, "I can go down and distract them for you while you sneak out the back."

Isobel froze.

"Why on earth would I want to do that?" she finally asked, curt.

"Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you had a lover in the village," Brienna teased.

Isobel sat up, scowling over at her.

"And if I do?" she snapped.

"Then I fear Moira would have reason to be very jealous," Brienna shot back.

Even in the dim light, Brienna could see Isobel go pale, scandalized that Brienna knew her most intimate secret. She immediately felt bad for toying with her, especially when she wanted nothing more than for Isobel to trust in her enough to share her confidences, like sisters would.

"I'm sorry," she said, backtracking. "You must trust that I won't tell anyone, not even Llewellyn."

Isobel let out a short, bitter laugh. "My brother knows, of course he knows. I'm too determined to have my share of love to hide it all that well."

"Is that why you remain unmarried?"

"Not for lack of trying on his part," Isobel told her. "I've passed up enough offers to be considered almost a traitor to my family." Brienna understood this well; it was a daughter's sacred duty to make a marriage that was a strategic boon to her household. "But every time he tries to force a suitor on me, I threaten to confess my secret to the world, and that would bring shame upon Gwynedd, so," Isobel raised her hands in a gesture of helpless forbearance, "I've managed to escape the bond for now."

The room was silent for a moment while both of them considered the bonds of matrimony that seemed to loom unwelcome over both their heads. Then Brienna rallied herself back to the present predicament.

"As I was saying," she said, standing, "—a distraction!"

She was out the door before Isobel could question her, barreling down the steps loudly so that all heads would be turned in her direction before she entered the main room.

When she burst in on them, the farmer's friends and their wives immediately stood, their reflexes jolting them to their feet in the presence of someone with a royal title. Their eyes followed as Brienna strode to head of the room, positioning herself at the opposite end of the room from the back door.

Then, standing tall and with her palms clasped in front of her, she began to sing.

It had been a long time since she sang one of the folk songs of her people, but the lyrics and melodies were woven into the strands of her being as much as the cliffs of Gwynedd were woven with mist, and her voice came out strong, lilting, and pure. It was a song about love and mourning, and although none of those assembled could understand her native Gaelic, they were able to glean its meaning from Brienna's tone and the emotion that flashed in her eyes as she sang.

Behind their rapt faces, Isobel had descended the stairs and hung back for a moment, caught on the beauty of Brienna's performance. Then she went out into the night, and Brienna, after finishing her song and refusing offers of wine and requests for an encore from the roomful of teary-eyed listeners, went up to her bed alone.