The Briton Read Online Free PDF Page B

the hall, for we must prepare to see you wed.”
    As they climbed the stairs and approached the great hall again, Bronwen spotted a young man with flaming red hair.
    He sat with his back against the wall, a desolate expression on his face. Concerned as always for her people, she tucked the golden will box under her cloak, left her father’s side and went to him.
    “You are troubled,” she declared.
    “Seasick,” he corrected her, speaking their tongue in the crude fashion of Briton peasants. “All night. I never felt worse in me life. I’m the serf of them brutish Vikings, you see. Now morning comes, and I’m hungry as a wolf. Poor Wag, I says to meself, sick and hungry. But all the food is gone—not even a trencher to be had.”
    “I shall see you are given something to eat, Wag,” she told him. “But first—tell me something of your lord. He is to be my husband.”
    The peasant scrambled to his feet and made an awkward bow. “Be you the bride then? The daughter of Edgard?”

    Catherine Palmer
    37
    She smiled. “Indeed I am.”
    “Much obliged for your kindness, my lady. The Viking is a good master, though his men can be cruel at times. I fear you will see little of your new husband, for he follows the ways of his forefathers and is often gone to sea in his horrid, creaky boat.”
    This came as glad news on a day of unhappy and confusing surprises. Bronwen thought of questioning Wag further, but she decided against it.
    “Go into the kitchen and tell cook that the lord’s black-haired daughter promised you a large bowl of frumenty, with plenty of raisins.”
    “Thank you, ma’am. And best wishes in your marriage.”
    In her bedchamber, Bronwen found Gildan in a flurry of excitement. The younger woman had learned that her wedding, too, would take place the next day—a decision Aeschby had made on learning of the Viking’s plans.
    Bronwen pursed her lips as her sister thrust three tunics into her arms and bade her decide which was the loveliest.
    “I adore the red,” Gildan said with a pout, “but silly old Enit keeps saying, ‘Married in red, you’ll wish yourself dead.’
    And I do so admire this green woolen, but ‘Married in green, ashamed to be seen!’ I am attached to the red, but Enit says blue is good luck. ‘Married in blue, love ever true.’”
    “Does she now? Then blue it must be.”
    “But this is such a dull, common tunic!”
    Gildan appeared so distressed that Bronwen had to suppress a chuckle. “Come, sister. You must have the golden ribbon that was brought to me from the last fair at Preston.
    We shall stitch it down the front of this blue woolen, and you can trim the sleeves with that ermine skin you have had for years.”

    38
    The Briton
    “Oh, Bronwen, you are so clever!” Gildan embraced her sister. “Indeed, it will be the loveliest gown Aeschby has ever seen. Is my lord not a handsome man? And powerful! And rich! The gods have smiled on me indeed.”
    Realizing she must begin to think of her own nuptials, Bronwen went to the chest where she kept her most elegant tunics. But as she lifted the lid, the mantle given her the night before by the stranger slid onto the floor. Hastily, lest anyone notice, she swept it up. As she began folding it into the chest again, her attention fell on the garment’s lining. It was a peacock-blue silk, startling in its contrast to the plain black wool of the outer fabric. Even more stunning was the insignia embroidered upon the lining near the hood. A crest had been worked in pure gold threads, and centered within the crest were three golden balls.
    The elegance of the fabric and the nobility of the crest gave evidence of a wealthy owner of some influence and power.
    Jacques Le Brun. Who could he be, and why did the mere thought of the man stir her blood?
    Bronwen pressed the mantle deeply into the corner of the chest and took out several tunics. “What do you think of these, Gildan?” she asked, forcing a light tone to her