Читать книгу The Welsh Lord's Mistress - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 7

“Owain, come back here!” Bron called a few days later as she ran up the stairs leading to Trefor’s solar and bedchamber.

“I won’t!” the little boy shouted as he raced ahead of her. “You can’t order me! I’m the lord’s son!”

Skittering to a stop on the landing at the top level of the ancient keep, Owain nearly collided with his father, who had come to the door of his solar.

Bron halted a few steps below, her hand on the rickety wooden railing as she tried to catch her breath.

“What is the meaning of this noise?” Trefor demanded, his hands on his hips. He sounded annoyed, but there was a twinkle in his eyes as he regarded his son, who stood in exactly the same attitude.

“Bron said I couldn’t help Thom groom your horse!”

“Did she now?” Trefor replied, raising one dark brow as he looked past Owain to her. “Why not?”

“Because Gwylit is half-wild, just as his name implies,” Bron retorted, too frustrated to be deferential.

She’d lost years off her life when she’d seen the boy standing so close to the huge, black beast that had been a gift from Madoc. While Trefor looked magnificent astride him and had the strength to control him, a single blow from that animal’s hooves would surely be fatal to a child.