The Heart of a Queen (A Historical Romance)

Chapter 36

Brienna awoke in the gray of dawn, stiff from having fallen asleep on the cold stone floor in front of her doorway. She'd spent most of the night kicking herself for refusing Lasair's company for one more night, leaving herself alone and with no way of getting a message out to Llewellyn about the dire news she'd just uncovered.

Out the window, the weather was angry and strange; a dense fog compounded by vicious winds that beat against the castle walls, howling. Brienna had never seen anything like it before. Usually, the wind scattered the fog in its wake, but now, it seemed they were competing for the right to swallow the castle into the dark unknown. She tried not to take it as a bad omen.

She stretched, wringing the brittleness from her limbs, and peered into her small mirror. She looked a wraith—pale, sullen, her eyes anchored by mottle purple half-moons. Hardly a blooming flower excited to meet her groom. She gazed mournfully at the chest that contained her dress, slippers and veil for the occasion. Lasair would arrive soon, to help her get dressed.

The lock scraped open behind her, and Brienna swung around, expecting to see Ruarc, or Lasair. But as the door inched inward, the head that peeped around the threshold was Isobel's.

"Why were you locked in?" she asked. Looking behind her, she added, "Your brother is passed out in the hall here."

"Oh, thank god," Brienna fell on her, checking to confirm that Ruarc was, indeed, sprawled against the wall, head bent into his chest and snoring. "I must speak to Llewellyn. Do you think it can be arranged?"

"Why, yes," Isobel said. "When?"

"Now, it has to be now," Brienna urged.

"Go up to my room," Isobel said. "I'll rouse my brother and send him up to you at once."

"Make sure your actions go unnoticed by Donnall, or anyone who might report to him," Brienna cautioned.

Isobel nodded and hurried down the stairs. Brienna began to go up the steps, but then she changed her mind and went back into her room, quietly so as not to wake Ruarc, and pulled the dagger Llewellyn had given her from its hiding place. She slipped it under her bodice, then made her way up to Isobel's room.

She didn't have to wait there long. Llewellyn barged in the room like he'd heard the castle had been invaded by savages and he was there to vanquish his enemies. He wore a sleeping robe and slippers, Isobel having just pulled him out of bed, his belt and sword strapped hastily round his hips.

"What happened? What's wrong? Isobel told me you were locked up in your room against your will all night," he said.

"Never mind that, I'm fine." Brienna went and laid a hand on his arm.

She'd never seen him anything less than fully dressed, and the sleeping costume was so thin she could feel his body like a live pulse beneath it. His hair was mussed and Brienna's heart clenched at how vulnerable it made him appear.

She relayed word-for-word the conversation she had heard at the feast the night before. As its significance reached Llewellyn, he transformed before her eyes back into the stolid king she knew him as. By the time she was done, he was a statue glaring out Isobel's window.

"I knew it," he said at last. "In the battlefield I've become used to reading a man's true intent in the split second before his weapon comes crashing down on my head." Brienna nodded, familiar with the lesson. "I could tell when I met him that he was hollow of honor. I should have trusted my instincts then, instead of going on as if an alliance between us was possible."

"Why did you not trust your instincts?" Brienna wondered.

Llewellyn sighed and turned away from the window to look at her. "I figured my perception of him was unfair. Knowing he was your betrothed, I couldn't be impartial. From the first time I heard you speak his name, I hated him."

Brienna felt like the ground disappeared from under her feet at this confession. She wanted to take Llewellyn in her arms and pour out her feelings for him in return, and was about to, when his look darkened.