"Bard's Tale 04 - The Chaos Gate - Josepha Sherman UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bard's Tale)

"I wish you had!" But then Gwen added, almost softly "I know you've been lonely sinceЧsince Mother died. And IЧI hate seeing you alone. It's been nearly twelve years, Father. I wish you would let yourself find someone else to love."
She saw pain flicker in his dark eyes, but the count answered with cold dignity, "What I do or do not do with my life is not your affair. I have no other child, and that is as it is. I raised you as my heir, I gave you the best education. I even, curse me for a fool, encouraged you to use your brain."
"Yes. That's whyЧ"
"Then use it!" he shouted. "I could have married you off to some doddering old idiot or a monster who'd beat you every day. Instead, I go out of my way to arrange a fine match for youЧ"
Here we go again. "A fine match!" Gwen yelled back. "He's nothing but a boy!"
"Ha! That boy, as you call him, is a full year your senior."
"But he's a nobody," Gwen protested, "a commoner without one drop of noble blood."
"Let me remind you," her father countered, "that he is both a full Bard and a hero."
"Some hero," Gwen sniffed. "He was made count just because he happened to be in the right place at the right time!"
"And knew what to do about it when that time came. And won royal favor, I might add. Gwenlyn, like it or not, he is an important political figure. And I will not have you make us both look like idiots!"
"Idiots, is it? He's the fool if he thinks he'll marry me!"
With that, Gwen stormed off before her father could shape a suitable retort, hardly noticing the squires she hurried past. But their whispers reached her: "A draw, by the gods, a true draw!"
Why, those little idiots were wagering on us!
For an instant she wavered, torn between raging at them and laughing at their nerve. But if she stopped
now, her father would almost certainly overtake her, and Gwen just did not have the heart to continue the battle.
"We're always fighting these days, she thought wearily. Over politics, over castle affairsЧeven over the state of the weather!
It hadn't always been like this. Gwen could barely remember her mother: twelve years was, after all, a long time. But surely there had been peaceful days back then. She seemed to recall days when father and mother and daughter were one harmonious, cheerful family. And even after, there had been times when she and her father had laughed together more than they fought. Days when they weren't always challenging each other. Days when they were happy. Her vision suddenly blurred, and Gwen fiercely blinked and blinked again, refusing to weep.
7 don't want it to be like this! I don't want either of us to be unhappy, truly I don't. I try to be properly meek and submissive, but IЧI just can't be that way. Father, Father, I love you dearly, but if this goes on much longer I swear one of us is going to kill the other!
How could she possibly escape this tangle? By forcing herself into a submissive mold, no matter how much it hurt? Gwen snorted, refusing to lie to herself. As soon ask a hawk to turn into a dove! She was never going to fit into the dull little niche society seemed to demand of a noblewoman. But what else was there for her to do? Marry? Marry thaknobody?
Ha. He'd probably try to rule over me like a tyrant, the arrogant son of aЧ
"Bah!" Gwen said aloud and, heedless of her fine linen gown, threw herself down on her knees. Every castle had its herb garden, ruled over by the castle lady, and she, perforce, ruled this oneЧand spent a good
deal of time taking out her frustration on it. Tossing her wild black mane impatiently back over her shoulders, Gwen began savagely to pull weeds.
But slowly her fierceness faded. What was to become of her? A commoner could do pretty much anything she dared. Gwen had even seen a few women warriors.
Oh, right. Some warrior I'd make. What would I do, terrorize enemies with my little belt knife?
No. A forced marriage or a cloistered lifeЧthere really weren't any other choices for a noblewoman. There certainly wasn't any choice she could imagine that included.. . happiness.
Surrounded by greenery, Gwenlyn saw none of it. She sat staring instead at a future that looked all too bleak.
* * *
"Oh no, my lord, oh no, my lord, I shall not marry thee. For I shall bed my bandit bold And live both wild and free!"
Kevin and Naitachal, riding side by side through the forest, roared out that last stanza together, then burst into laughter.
"Fortunate none of the courtiers heard that," Kevin gasped out, and Naitachal corrected:
"Fortunate Master Aidan didn't hear that!"
"Oh, yes!" Kevin agreed. "I can just see his scowls. Trying to prove Bardic Magic doesn't work on the tone-deaf, are we?' But hey now, a Bard can't be elegant all the time!"
Naitachal grinned. "We just proved a Bard can't be in tune all the time, either! Lucky our horses didn't throw us in indignation."
"Speaking of horses," Kevin added, patting the neck
of his mount, "it's time to give them another rest."
Naitachal slipped gracefully to the forest floor. "They earned one, listening to us."
Kevin followed, stretching stiff muscles. "There's nothing wrong with the occasional bawdy ballad, andЧ what is it?"
The elf had been glancing warily about, alert as a predator. "Nothing," he said after a moment. "I was just being cautious. Remember how Lydia would scout out escape routes every time we stopped?"
Kevin nodded. "I thought it was silly back then. Not any longer." He snapped lead ropes to the halters the horses were wearing under their bridles, then looped the ropes securely about a tree near a good stand of grass. "There. Graze a bit."
The journey so far had been more like one extended camping trip than anything else. Kevin paused, realizing with a jolt of surprise that he never had had a chance to travel just for the joy of it. Now, alone with a good friend and the chance for good music, the Bard could almost trick his mind into thinking this was a light, ram-bling-for-the-sake-of-rambling trip.
Almost. If it wasn't for the nagging guilt he felt at up and abandoning the castle that had been given into his chargeЧeven if said castle could function quite well without him.
And if it wasn't for the quiet little fact that there was, indeed, a goal to this trip: a dark-haired, keen-eyed potential bride to whom he just might have to tie his life foreverЧ
Oh gods.
Naitachal had settled himself comfortably on a grassy knoll, fingers idly running over the strings of his travelling harp, waking soft, sweet falls of notes. Kevin forced thoughts of What Might Be out of his mind as
best he could, and sat beside the elven Bard, taking his lute out of its protective case, tuning it with what was by now unconscious ease. There weren't too many compositions for harp and lute, particularly since the little travelling harp had no sharps or flats, but that hadn't stopped them so far. After a few false starts, the two Bards improvised a cheerful, deceptively simple melody that sent a small shiver of delight up Kevin's spine.
What of Gwenlyn, though? Did she like music? What if she was tone deaf? Worse, what if she actually hated music andЧandЧ
Kevin's fingers stumbled on the strings. 'Thinking about your intended?" Naitachal asked slyly.
'Trying not to. Naitachal, what do I do if I can't stand her? Or if she can't stand me?"
"Don't look at me for an answer! I'm hardly an expert on your human romances. Or on any of your human ways, for that matter."
"I thought at BracklinЧ"