The Prince of Powys Read Online Free PDF Page A

could feel
    no fondness for her, though his father would treat her wel, unlike the way he’d been abused in Mercia.
    A warm glow flowed though him as he scanned the long grass
    and scattered rock, sloping hils and azure sky, the breathtaking
    beauty of Powys. A cry of joy broke from his lips, “So good to
    be home.”
    He shifted his gaze to the Princess’s hair which shimmered like
    sunlight on the river. He recaled her dimpled smile.
    The horse’s hooves clumped upon bright green grass as the
    purr of a waterfal urged him onward. Soon his gaze fel upon
    crystal water, cascading down jutting mountain rock. The
    Princess said he needed a bath.
    He puled the steed to a halt and with one hand steadily on
    Branda eased from the saddle. As he lifted her into his arms, she
    wriggled and mumbled something incoherent.
    “Shush, Princess. Go back to sleep.”
    Leaving the horse to graze, Blaise laid Branda under the leafy
    canopy of an ancient, gnarled and crooked oak. Free at last—as
    free as the gushing fountains, wandering brooks, murmuring
    rivers and lakes pouring forth fresh water—he ran, pounding his
    feet into the sod of Wales. He puled his hat off and tossed it to
    the ground, then unfastened the thin Saxon belt and flung it in the the ground, then unfastened the thin Saxon belt and flung it in the grass. The guard’s tunic now hung to his calves so he tore it off, peeled off the tight-fitting trousers and ran naked into the cool, clear pond, where water tumbled down the rocks. He dived
    underwater and surfaced head up at the fals. Water pounded his
    flesh, invigorating, cleansing; the roar of the waterfal rejuvenated his soul. As the water poured down, he swept his fingers through
    his matted hair, kneading his scalp and washing the English soil
    from his flesh.
    A shril scream pierced the air, and he turned to see Branda,
    eyes wide and face red. A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.
    The Princess saw something she couldn’t talk about. She was a
    maid indeed. Branda covered her eyes, turned her head and ran
    toward the grazing horse.
    “Branda,” he caled between snorts of laughter, “join me.”
    “You are bare, every bit of you.” She stood with her back to
    him.
    He dropped his gaze to the yelow curls cascading past her
    waist, and then skimmed the gentle curves of her wilowy waist
    and slim hips as he wondered what she looked like nude.
    “Come, the water is not cold,” he taunted in a hoarse voice.
    “Put your clothes on, you cur,” she yeled without turning
    around. Even though she seemed shocked and angry, the set of
    her shoulders was regal and exuded confidence.
    “Ah, there is the Princess I know. For a moment I feared
    you’d gone speechless. Oh, I meant for a moment I was blessed
    with silence.”
    “Are you dressed, you big dolt?”
    Stil staring at her, Blaise took a deep gulp of heather-scented
    air and got out of the water. He shook his head, spraying
    droplets of water on the green grass, and puled on the Saxon
    trousers, then the tunic. He belted it to a decent length, plopped the cap back on his head, picked his shoes up in one hand and
    waded through the long grass toward her.
    She must have heard him approach, as she suddenly shrieked
    and wheeled around.
    He chuckled. “Did I startle you?”
    “You dolt!” She stepped back.
    He took pleasure in the baffled expression playing across her
    face.
    face.
    “You shouldn’t go about naked in the presence of a lady.”
    “Yes, of course you are right.” He was overcome with a
    sudden urge to see her smile as he peered into her large blue
    eyes. Not a good idea, he chided himself. He plopped down,
    crossing his legs in a seated position in the grass, and gestured
    her to join him
    She eased down on the ground at his side and cocked her
    head. “How old are you?”
    “Ten and seven years of age; and you?” He picked up a blade
    of grass and twirled it in his mouth.
    “Ten and six turns of the year.” Branda raised her hand