"Kerr, Katharine - Deverry 01 - Daggerspell v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

When Ysolla caught her breath with a gasp, Rodda shot her a sharp look.
УThis is a grave matter,Ф Rodda pronounced. УMy daughter and I must consider this carefully.Ф
УBut Mother!Ф Ysolla wailed.
УMy lady?Ф Galrion said to Rodda. УDo you have any objections to Lord Gerraent?Ф
УNone,Ф Rodda said. УBut I have my objections to my lass acting like a starving puppy grabbing a bone. You may tell Gerraent that we are considering the matter, but my son may start discussing the dowry if he wantsЧjust in case Ysolla agrees.Ф
Blaen was expansive about the dowry. Ysolla, of course, had been filling her dower chest for years with embroidered coverlets, sets of dresses, and the embroidered shirt her husband would wear at his wedding. To go with it, Blaen offered ten geldings, five white cows, and a palfrey for Ysolla.
УGerro?Ф Galrion said. УThatТs splendidly generous.Ф
УWhat?Ф Gerraent looked up with a start. УOh, whatever you think best.Ф
Yet that evening Gerraent acted the perfect suitor, happy to have his lady within his reach at last. At table, he and Ysolla shared a trencher, and Gerraent cut her tidbits of meat and fed her with his fingers as if they were already married, a gesture that made Ysolla beam with happiness. Galrion and Rodda, who were seated next to each other, found themselves watching the couple and occasionally turning to each other to share a thoughtful glance. Since the bard was singing, and Blaen laughing with his brother, Camlann, Galrion and Rodda could whisper in private.
УTell me,Ф Rodda said. УDo you think Gerraent will come to love my daughter someday?Ф
УHeТd be a fool not to.Ф
УWho knows what you men will do?Ф
Galrion broke a slice of bread in half and offered her one portion.
УIs this better than no bread at all?Ф
УYouТre a wise one for someone so young, my prince,Ф Rodda said, accepting the bread. УDoes that come from living at court?Ф
УIt does, because if you want to live to be an old prince, not a poisoned one, youТd best keep your eyes on every little wave of everyoneТs hand and your ears on every word they speak.Ф
УSo IТve been telling your little Gwennie. Life at court is going to be difficult for her at first. SheТs lucky to have a man like you to watch over her interests.Ф
Galrion felt a stab of guilt. IТm as bad as Gerro, he thought. IТll have to offer Gwennie at least the half-a-piece of breadЧ unless I find her a man whoТd give her the whole loaf.
Courtesy demanded that Galrion and Gerraent take the BoarТs hospitality for several days. The more Galrion saw of Blaen, the more he liked him, a cultured man as well as a generous one, with a fine ear for the songs of his bard and a proper knowledge of the traditional tales and lore. Even more, Galrion came to admire Rodda, who carried out her dowager role with perfect tact. She would make Brangwen a splendid mother-in-law. At times, Galrion remembered RhegorТs insistence that she choose freely, but he doubted if Gwennie, poor little innocent Gwennie, was capable of making such an important decision on her own.
Late on the second day, the prince escorted the dowager to the garden for a stroll. The spring sun lay warm on the glossy leaves and the first shy buds of the roses.
УIТm much impressed with your son,Ф Galrion said. УHe should feel more at home at my court.Ф
УMy thanks, my prince.Ф Rodda hesitated, wondering, no doubt, how to turn this unexpected honor to her sonТs advantage. УIТm most grateful that you favor him.Ф
УThereТs only one slight thing. YouТll forgive my bluntness, and IТll swear an honest answer will do Blaen no harm. Just how much does he hold Gwennie against me?Ф
УMy son knows his duty to the throne, no matter where his heart lies.Ф
УNever did I think otherwise. I was merely wondering how fine his honor might be in matters of the heart. Let me be blunt again. Suppose Brangwen was no longer betrothed to me. Would he spurn her as a cast-off woman?Ф
Briefly Rodda stared, as open-mouthed as a farm lass, before she recovered her polished reserve.
УI think my prince is troubled at heart to speak this way.Ф
УHe is, but heТll beg you never to ask him why. HeТll tell you this much: heТs troubled by the life ahead of Brangwen. Flatterers at court will come around her like flies to spilled mead.Ф
УNot just flies, my prince. Wasps come to spilled mead, and Gwennie is very beautiful.Ф
УShe is.Ф Suddenly torn, Galrion wondered if he could truly let her go. УAnd I loved her once.Ф
УOnce and not now?Ф Rodda raised a doubting eyebrow.
Galrion walked a little ways ahead, letting her catch up with him in the shade of a linden tree. He caught a low branch and stripped the leaves off a twig, to rub them between his fingers before he let them fall.
УMy prince is deeply troubled,Ф Rodda said.
УThe princeТs troubles are his own, my lady. But you never answered me. Would Blaen marry Gwennie if he could?Ф
УOh, he would in a moment! My poor lad, I swear heТs been ensorcled by GwennieТs blue eyes. He put off marrying until she came of age, and then, wellЧФ
УThe prince stepped in, giving the Boar another reason to chafe under the High KingТs rule. How would the Boar take it if his mother hinted that the prince was yielding to a prior claim?Ф
УIТve no doubt heТd honor the prince always.Ф
Smiling, Galrion made her a deep bow. It could work out well, he told himself. Yet at the thought of Brangwen lying in another manТs arms, his heart gave a flash of rage.
When the day came for Prince Galrion to ride back to court, Gerraent rode a few miles with him simply because he was expected to. The prince smiled and chattered until Gerraent wanted to murder him and leave his body in a ditch by the road. At last they reached the turning, and Gerraent sat on his horse and watched the princeТs scarlet and white plaid cloak disappear into the distance. Three more weeks, only three more weeks, and the prince would return from Dun Deverry to take Brangwen away. With her, GerraentТs heart would go breaking.
When he rode back to the dun, Gerraent found Brangwen sitting outside in the sun and sewing. He gave his horse to Brythu, his page, and sat down at her feet like a dog. Her golden hair shone in the sun like fine-spun thread, wisping around the soft skin of her cheeks. When she smiled at him, Gerraent felt stabbed to the heart.
УWhat are you sewing?Ф Gerraent said. УSomething for your dower chest?Ф
УItТs not, but a shirt for you. The last one IТll ever make, but donТt worry, Ysolla does splendid needlework. IТll wager that your wedding shirt is ever so much nicer than my poor GalrionТs.Ф
Gerraent merely watched her as she sewed. He wanted to get up and leave her alone, but he stayed trapped in his old torment, that his beautiful sister, the one beautiful thing in his world, would turn him into something ugly and unclean, despised by the gods and men alike, if ever they knew of his secret fault. All at once she cried out. He jumped to his feet before he knew what he was doing.
УI just pricked my finger on the cursed needle,Ф Brangwen said, grinning at him. УDonТt look so alarmed, Gerro. But, oh, here, IТve gotten a drop of blood on your shirt. Curse it!Ф
The little red smear lay in the midst of red interlaced bands of spirals.
УNo oneТs ever going to notice it,Ф Gerraent said.
УAs long as itТs not a bad omen, youТre right enough. Doubtless youТll get more gore on it than this. You do get so filthy when you hunt, Gerro.Ф
УI wonТt wear it hunting until it starts to wear out. ItТll be my best shirt, the last one you ever sewed for me.Ф Gerraent caught her hand and kissed the drop of blood away.
Late that night, Gerraent went out to the dark, silent ward and paced restlessly back and forth. In the moonlight, he could see the severed head of old Samoryc glaring down at him with empty eye sockets. Once every dun and warriorТs home would have been graced with such trophies, but some years past, the priests had had visions stating that taking heads had come to displease great Bel. Dwen was one of the last of the old-style warriors. Gerraent remembered the day when the priests came to implore him to take the trophy down. A tiny lad, then, Gerraent hid behind his motherТs skirts as Dwen refused, roaring with laughter, saying that if the gods truly wanted it down, theyТd make it rot soon enough. Chanting a ritual curse, the priests left defeated.
УIТm the curse,Ф Gerraent said to Samoryc. УIТm the curse the gods sent to our clan.Ф