The Briton Read Online Free PDF Page A

night. And I did dream of the one I’m to marry—Aeschby!”
    Gildan danced around the room, her gowns flying. “Get up, silly goose! We must make haste to welcome the day. Hurry.”
    At the commotion, Enit entered the room and began to take the sisters’ tunics from a wooden chest.

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    “My red one, Enit,” Gildan commanded. “And for my sister, the purple.”
    Bronwen struggled from the bed and quickly opened another chest to hide the mantle Le Brun had wrapped around her the night before. As she combed out her long hair, Enit dressed her. Then Bronwen plaited her hair and slipped on her shoes.
    “Are you well, Bronwen?” Enit asked.
    “Quite,” Bronwen replied.
    “Good, then listen closely to what I tell you now.” Enit spoke in a low voice. “The Viking fears that a large storm is gathering and will hinder his sea passage, making his land vulnerable to attack during his absence. He insists that your marriage ceremony take place tomorrow.”
    Bronwen was too stunned to reply. She had thought the wedding was weeks or even months away. Before she could question Enit further, Gildan pulled her down the stairs into the hall. It was crowded with men, some still sleeping and others conversing quietly. Servants carried about jugs of frumenty and chamomile tea. Bronwen accepted a bowl of the hot, spicy frumenty and took a spoonful. The milky concoc-tion laden with raisins warmed her stomach.
    “Your appetite has returned, daughter,” Edgard said, coming up behind her. Despite the night’s revelries, her father looked hale and wore a broad grin. “I know the announcement of your betrothal was unexpected. Yet, I hope not too unpleasant. Lothbrok is a good man, and he will treat you fairly.”
    “But, Father, must the wedding take place so soon? Surely it is not our custom nor the Vikings’ to have a wedding follow an engagement by two short days!”
    Edgard frowned. “I worry more about the reaction to my will than I do about this hasty wedding to a Norseman.”

    Catherine Palmer
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    Bronwen knew by his tone of voice that arguing was futile.
    “I believe all will be well. Enit told me there was much excitement in the kitchen last night.”
    Edgard nodded. “It is a novel idea, but I saw no better way to preserve our holdings. After lengthy negotiation, Lothbrok agreed. Come with me, daughter. I must show you something.”
    Bronwen followed her father from the hall toward the chamber built below ground many generations before. As they made their way through the darkness, she heard him fumbling with his keys. At length, they reached the door that Bronwen knew led into the treasure room. Her father unlocked the door and beckoned her inside.
    The chamber was filled with wooden chests, one stacked upon another, and all locked and sealed. Once, as a child, when she and Gildan had been exploring the keep and its grounds, they had come upon this room. Bronwen had to smile at the memories of her adventures with her reluctant sister. Scaling the timber palisade that surrounded the keep, getting lost in the forest, stumbling upon the entrance to a secret tunnel and following it from outside the walls to a trapdoor ending somewhere deep beneath the fortress—all were a part of the childhood she soon would leave behind forever.
    “These treasures one day will be yours,” Edgard said, interrupting her thoughts. “Some will go to Gildan, of course. Gold coins and bars fill the chests. Several contain jewels. When I am gone, Bronwen, you must see that this room is well guarded.”
    “Yes, Father,” Bronwen answered, conscious of the great responsibility he placed upon her.
    “But this small chest contains the greatest treasure of all.”
    Edgard lifted an ornate gold box to the torchlight. “It is my 34
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    will—set down in writing. As you well know, in declaring that you will inherit my domain upon my death, I have broken a long Briton tradition. Some of our countrymen may see fit to