Читать книгу The Queen’s Resistance - Rebecca Ross, Rebecca Ross - Страница 20

Lord Morgane’s Territory, Castle Brígh

Cartier

I’ve invited Lady and Lord Dermott to stay with us next week,” I said to Aileen one morning, the Lannons’ trial steadily growing closer by the day.

“Lady and Lord Dermott?” Aileen repeated, her voice a touch too shrill for my liking. “Here?”

We both glanced around to the broken windows and empty rooms.

I had written to the Dermotts, inviting them to lodge at Castle Brígh on their journey down to the trial. And I thought that I had given myself enough time to finish restoring the castle for proper visitors, as well as to get my plans in place for wooing the Dermotts into a public alliance with the queen. But by the look on Aileen’s face … I realized I had bitten off more than I could swallow.

“I apologize,” I said in a rush. “I realize we are not best suited for visitors at the moment.” But this alliance must be done quickly, I wanted to add but nipped it before the words could emerge, as Aileen arched her brow at me.

“Does this mean you are positioning me as the castle chamberlain?” she inquired, a faint smile in her eyes.

“Aye, Aileen.”

“Then don’t worry, Lord Aodhan,” she said, touching my arm. “We shall get this castle ready in seven days.”

Later that afternoon, I found myself standing in the office with Thane Seamus, both of us trying to decide how we would repair the hole in the roof, when Tomas came hopping into the room, his injured foot cocked back.

“Milord,” the boy said, tugging at my sleeve. “There’s a—”

“Lad, do not tug on the lord’s sleeve,” Seamus gently scolded, and Tomas’s face flushed as he jumped back to put some proper distance between us.

“It’s all right,” I said, glancing down at Tomas. The boy had made himself scarce the past two days, as if he had been overwhelmed by all the people now gathered in the castle. “Let me finish this, and then you and I can talk.”

Tomas nodded and hopped from the room. I watched him go, noticing how his shoulders were stooped.

“My lord Aodhan, you need to instruct young ones like him to respect you,” Seamus said with a sigh. “Or else he will constantly be out of line.”

“Yes, well, as far as I know, he is an orphan,” I said. “And I want him to feel at home with us.”

Seamus said nothing. And I wondered if I was wrong to think such—I knew nothing of raising children—but I did not have time to stand and ponder it. I returned to talking about roof repairs, sorting Tomas to the back of my mind.

Half an hour later, Seamus left to begin overseeing repairs to the alehouse, about a fifteen-minute ride but still on the property, after Aileen had admonished that “we cannot have Lady and Lord Dermott here without proper ale.” I could not fault her for ranking drink above proper beds and glass windows, and I departed the office in search of Tomas. The boy seemed to disappear at will, slipping into shadows and finding the best hiding places.

I went to the hall first, where some of the women were working at trestle tables around a pot of tea, sewing curtains and quilts for the guest chambers. Their laughter hushed at the sight of me, their gazes softening as they watched me approach.

“Good afternoon. Have you seen Tomas?” I asked. “He’s about yea high, with red hair.”

“Yes, we saw him, Lord Aodhan,” one of the women said, her fingers working a needle through the fabric all the while. “He’s with the lass with the blue cloak.”

Brienna.

I startled; it was like my heart was on a string, yanking through me at the mere thought of her.

“Thank you,” I said and rushed from the hall, the women’s whispers chasing my heels as I emerged into the courtyard. From there I hurried to the stables, but there was no trace of Brienna. One of the grooms informed me that she had just been there with Tomas, speaking of honey cakes, and so I returned to the castle through the kitchens, where a tray of honey cakes was cooling on the windowsill, two of them noticeably missing …

I walked back toward the office, my tread quiet on the stone floors; I could hear Brienna’s voice drift into the corridor as she talked to Tomas.

“So I began to dig, just beneath the tree.”

“With your bare hands?” Tomas eagerly asked.

“No, silly boy. With a spade. I had stowed it away in my pocket, and—”

“Your pocket? Dresses have pockets?”

“Of course they do. Don’t you think women need a place to hide a thing or two?”

“I suppose so. What happened next?” Tomas insisted.

“I dug until I found the locket.”

I gently pushed the door open, almost hesitant to interrupt this moment. The door creaked, as everything in this castle did, alerting them of my arrival, and I stood on the threshold, gazing down at them.

There was no furniture in the office. Brienna and Tomas were seated on the floor in a ring of sunlight, legs outstretched as they leaned back on their hands.

Brienna quieted as she met my gaze.

“I tried to tell you, milord!” Tomas hurried to say, as if he was worried he would be in trouble. “Mistress Brienna arrived, but you sent me away before I could.”

“Yes, and I apologize, Tomas,” I said, moving to join their circle on the floor. “Next time, I will listen.”

“Are you ill, milord?” The boy frowned as he studied me. “You look like you have a fever.”

I conceded to chuckle, and wiped my brow again. “No, I am not ill. I merely chased the two of you around the property.”

“I brought her back here to you, milord.”

“Mm-hmm. I should have waited here, then.” My eyes helplessly shifted to Brienna. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and her face was flushed from the ride, her eyes bright. Her cloak was knotted at her collar; the dark blue spread around her, basking in the light.

“I was just telling Tomas the story about how I found the stone,” she said, amused.

“What happened next?” Tomas insisted, directing his attention back to her.

“Well, the Stone of Eventide was within the locket,” Brienna continued. “And I had to hide it in my … ah, in my dress.”

“In your pocket, you mean?” Tomas suggested, propping his chin in his palm.

“Yes. Something like that.” She glanced back to me with a wry smile.

“What does the stone look like?” he asked.

“Like a large moonstone.”

“I’ve seen a few moonstones,” the boy remarked. “What else?”

“The Eventide changes colors. I believe it reads the moods of the one who bears it.”

“But only the Kavanaghs can wear it without the locket, right?”

“Yes,” Brienna said. “It would burn people like you and me.”

Tomas finally became quiet, mulling over what we had told him. My gaze traced Brienna again, and I softly suggested, “Tomas? Why don’t you go see if Cook needs another hand in the kitchen?”

Tomas groaned. “But I want to hear the rest of Mistress Brienna’s story.”

“There will be another day for stories. Go along now.”

Tomas huffed to his feet, hobbling his way out.

“You should get him a little crutch before he tears those stitches you gave him,” Brienna said. “I had to carry him on my back.”

“You what?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Cartier. The boy’s nothing but skin and bones.”

The silence stretched between us. I felt pricked by guilt.

“I don’t know who he belongs to,” I finally said. “I discovered him the other night. I think he had been squatting here.”

“Maybe one day he will tell you where he comes from,” she responded.

I sighed, leaning back on my hands, regarding her once more. There was an echo of a bang, followed by Cook’s distant shouting. I could hear Tomas defiantly shouting back, and I groaned.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Brienna.” I closed my eyes, that weight coming over me again. Weight of the land, weight of the people, weight of the Dermott alliance, weight of the impending trial. Months ago, I would have never imagined myself in such a state.

Brienna moved closer to me; I listened to the whisper of her dress, felt her block the sun as she sat before me, her hands on my knees. I opened my eyes to see the light crowning her, and for a moment it was simply her and me and no one else in the world.

“There is no guidebook for this,” she said. “But your people have gathered about you, Cartier. They are wonderful and they are dedicated. They don’t expect you to have all the answers, or to settle into your role by tonight. It will take some time.”

I did not know what to say, but her words reassured me. I took her hands in mine—our palms aligned; our fingers linked. I noticed the ink stains on her right hand.

“You’ve been busy writing, I see.”

She smiled wanly. “Yes. Jourdain asked me to begin gathering grievances.”

That took me somewhat by surprise. It felt too soon to be gathering up that darkness; we had just arrived back home, becoming reacquainted with what our lives were supposed to be. But then I reminded myself that the trial was in a matter of days. Of course, I should be gathering up my people’s grievances, as well. I should begin penning my own. Which meant I needed to fully confront what had happened in detail that night. Because while I knew some truth, I did not know the whole of it. I did not know who had given the killing blow to my sister, or the full extent of violence that was done to the Morgane people.

And then there was my mother’s letter, which I continued to carry around in my pocket, uncertain what to make of it. I had Lannon blood in my veins; did I need to acknowledge this truth or conceal it?

I broke from those thoughts to see Brienna was watching me.

“Have you written many grievances down?” I asked.

“Luc has collected quite a tome.”

“And why haven’t you?”

She glanced away from me, and a dark suspicion began to cloud my mind.

“Brienna … tell me.”

“What is there to tell, Cartier?” And she gave me a false smile, one that did not reach her eyes.

“You were never a good dramatic,” I reminded her.

“It is truly nothing.” She tried to slip her hands from mine, but I tightened my hold on her.

If she would not speak it, then I would. “Jourdain’s people have not been welcoming to you.”

I knew it was the truth, because there was a flicker of pain in her gaze before she covered it up with irritation.

“What have they said to you, Brienna?” I pressed on, my anger rising at the thought. “Have they been unkind?”

“No. It’s what I should have expected,” she countered, as if defending them, as if it was her fault, that she could control who she had descended from.

“Does Jourdain know?”

“No. And I would ask you not to tell him, Cartier.”

“Don’t you think your father should know his people are slighting you? That his people are slighting his daughter?”

“They aren’t slighting me. And if they were, I would not want Jourdain to know.” She freed her hands from mine and rose, turning to face the window. “He has enough on his mind as it is. And I would think you would understand that.”

I did understand it. And yet more than anything, I wanted Brienna to feel like she belonged here. It was nearly the shadow of all my other thoughts—for her to be accepted, for her to find happiness. I wanted her to claim her home in Maevana, this wild land that she and I had once spoken of in lessons. Half of her heritage was in this soil, and I did not care which territory it had risen from.

I stood, wiping the dust from my breeks. I approached her slowly, coming to stand just behind her, just as I could feel her warmth. We were quiet, our gazes to the land beyond the broken glass, the meadows and the woods and the hillocks that rose into mountains.

“They see me as Allenach’s. Not as MacQuinn’s,” she said quietly. “They believe I fooled their lord into adopting me.”

And it broke me to hear her acknowledge it. I could have said countless things to her in return, the foremost being that I never saw her as an Allenach, that I had only seen her for who she was—a daughter of Maevana and a beloved friend to the queen. But I held the words down.

She finally turned to face me, her gaze lifting to mine.

“They only need a little more time,” she whispered. “Time for my blood father’s memory to fade, for me to prove myself to them.”

She was right. We all needed time—time to settle, time to heal, time to discover who we were supposed to become.

And all I could say was her name, spoken as if in prayer.

“Brienna.”

My hand rose; my fingers traced the edge of her jaw. I wanted to memorize her, to explore her lines and her bends. And yet my fingers stopped at her chin, to tilt her face up, to watch the sunlight dance across her cheeks.

Her breath caught, and I leaned down to draw it from her. I kissed her softly once, twice, until she opened her mouth beneath mine and I discovered that she was just as hungry as I was. I suddenly found my hands in her hair, my fingers tangled in the silk of it, lost in the desire to fully surrender to her.

“Cartier.” She tried to speak my name; I drank the sound from her lips. I felt her hands move up my back and take fistfuls of my shirt, tugging. She was warning me, because I could now hear the footsteps scuffing loudly, just beyond the office door.

I struggled to break away from her, my breath shallow as I somehow recovered enough to whisper, “You taste like a stolen honey cake, Brienna MacQuinn.”

She smiled, laughter in her eyes. “Does nothing evade the lord of the Swift?”

“Not when it comes to you.” I dared to kiss her again, before whoever it was reached the office, but something sharp pressed into my leg. Surprised, I leaned back and traced my hand down to her skirts, to her thigh. There was the hard shape of a dirk beneath the fabric, and I met her gaze, speechless yet deeply pleased she was wearing a concealed blade.

“Yes, well,” she all but stammered, her cheeks flushing. “We women can’t hide everything in our pockets, now, can we?”