"Cecilia Dart-Thornton - The Bitterbynde 02 - The Lady of the Sorrows" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dart-Thornton Cecilia)

The fire's light was supplemented by three hanging lusters and, atop a table, a bronze urisk holding a
massive bouquet of bell-flowers whose cupped petals were candle-sockets. Two more goat-legged
wights in marble supported the mantelpiece, which in turn bore a set of equestrian statuettes in malachite
and agate. On a bearskin rug before the hearth lay a pair of lean hounds.
Conmor, Duke of Roxburgh, stood by the window. He was still in the field-dress he had worn that
day: loose-sleeved shirt, leather doublet slit to the hips, belted loosely at the waist, embossed baldric
slung across the shoulder, suede leggings, and knee-boots. Firelight burnished his shoulder-length,
unbound locks to dark mahogany.
At her first sight of the Dainnan Commander, a muffled gasp escaped from beneath the visitor's veil.
Thorn!
But no. Of course notтАФit was just that she had not been expecting to see a tall figure wearing the
subdued Dainnan uniform here in the palace suites, where braided liveries stalked alongside jeweled
splendors. This man with brown hair tumbling to his shoulders was not Thorn, although he came close to
him in height, and if she had not first seen Thorn, she would have thought the Commander exceedingly
comely. He was older, thicker in girth, more solidly built, his arms scarred, his thighs knotted with sinew.
At the temples his hair was threaded with silver. Proud of demeanor he was, and stern of brow, but
dashing in the extreme.
The warrior leader's hazel eyes, which had widened slightly at the sight of the visitor, now narrowed.
Somewhere in remote regions of the palace, something loose banged peevishly in the rising wind.
"Go and see to that shutter, will you, lad?"
The momentary distraction allowed Rohain-Imrhien to recover her poise. She curtsied and awaited
tacit permission to speak.
"Rohain of the Sorrows," repeated Roxburgh, "pray be seated and remove your widow's veil. Here
in the palace we are joyed to look upon the countenance of those with whom we hold converse."
His guest inclined her head.
"As Your Grace's servants have many times assured me, sir. But I am uncomfortable without it. I
have made a vowтАФ"
"I insist," he broke in; a man used to having his demands met and impatient with those who would
not cooperate. There seemed to be no choice.
She unhooked the mask and drew it aside.
Her eyes never left his face. She read all that passed across itтАФthe look of surprise, the turning
away, then the avoidance of her eyes. What could it mean? This was the first test in the outside world of
this new face she wore. Was it then so strange?
"Wear the veil if you must," the Dainnan Commander said briskly, throwing his shoulders back as
though regaining control of himself after a lapse. "Wilfred, have refreshments brought for Her Ladyship
and myself."
Murmuring compliance, Wilfred withdrew.
"For you must be weary, m'lady," continued Roxburgh, "after your journey. The message I received
from the Doorkeeper indicated that you have traveled to Caermelor on an errand of importance, with
news that you will entrust only to the King-Emperor."
Rohain-Imrhien fastened the mask back in place.
"That is so, Your Grace."
She perched on the edge of a velvet-covered chair. Roxburgh remained standing, occasionally
striding up and down in front of the hearth.
"Have you any idea," he said, "how many folk come knocking upon the King-Emperor's doors with
the same message as you? Petitioners, beggars, would-be courtiers, social climbersтАФmost of them do
not get as far as an audience with me. You have been fortunate, so far, due to your apparent station. I
have many calls upon my time. His Imperial Majesty the King-Emperor will not hold audience with you.
It is a busy time for allтАФmeaning no discourtesy, my lady, but His Majesty has no spare time these days.
Our sovereign's waking hours are devoted to the urgent business at hand. As one of His Majesty's