Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [51]
“Wretched indeed! You say you can’t believe it—is that true? Or do you only want to turn away from an unclean thing? Ye gods, I couldn’t blame you.”
Rodda broke and wept, covering her face with her hands.
“He’s always loved her too much. Why do you think I worked so hard on Lord Dwen to let Gwennie marry so young? She had to get out of that cursed household.”
“Cursed indeed. Twice cursed.”
Nevyn paced restlessly back and forth while Rhegor helped the lady into her chair.
“Tell me somewhat, my lady,” Nevyn said. “If I steal her away from her brother, will you blame me?”
“Never! But if you do, Gerraent will call on his friends, and they’ll hunt you down like the gray deer.”
“I’d die for her, and I’m more clever than the gray deer.”
That very evening, Nevyn took his bay gelding and headed south for the Falcon’s dun. He was going to have to be clever. He could never risk riding straight into the fort, even if Gerraent were gone. He would be of no use to Brangwen if Gerraent returned and killed him at her feet. Though Galrion had never been particularly good with a sword, Nevyn had a few tricks of dweomer at his disposal. He was sure that if he could only get a few minutes alone with Brangwen, he could easily convince her to steal out of the dun and escape with him. Once they were on the road, Gerraent would never find them.
When Nevyn reached Ynna’s hut, he told her that Rhegor had sent him to keep an eye on things. As he’d hoped, Ynna was so glad of it that she offered him shelter with her.
“Here, the women down in the village are starting to whisper that Brangwen’s carrying a bastard,” Ynna said.
“Are they? Well, that betrothed of hers swore he’d come back for her, you see. Rhegor says to tell you that he’s been seen sneaking round this part of the country.”
When Ynna raised her eyebrows and smiled, Nevyn was sure that this delicious gossip would soon be all over the village. He could only hope it would give the truth no room to spread.
For three days, Nevyn kept a close watch on the Falcon dun. Down at the edge of the forest, close to the road, he found a large spreading oak. By climbing up into the crown, he could lie hidden and see the fort, just a mile away across the meadowland. Drawing on all his will, he sent his thoughts across and tried to reach Brangwen’s mind, calling her, planting the thought that she should come out to the forest. Once, he felt that he reached her; he also felt her brush the irrational thought aside. He kept trying, begging her, but failing, until he was desperate enough to consider sneaking into the dun the next time Gerraent rode out to hunt.
On the fourth afternoon, as he was lying on his perch, Nevyn saw a man and a page riding slowly up the hill to the dun. He recognized the horse and the set of the rider’s shoulders. Blaen. He climbed down and ran for the hut.
“Ynna, for the love of every god, I need your aid. Can you give me an excuse to get into the Falcon dun? A message I can deliver, anything to tell the servants.”
“Well.” Ynna thought for a maddeningly long time. “Here, I made a love philter for Ludda, Brangwen’s serving lass. She’s got her eyes set on a lad in the village. You can fetch it to her.”
While Ynna got the packet of herbs, Nevyn rubbed dirt into his hair and face—a poor disguise, but then, no one had ever seen the prince the least bit dirty. He muffled himself up in his cloak, then galloped up to the dun. As he led his horse into the ward, he saw Blaen’s page leading the lord’s horses to the stables. Brythu came running and looked Nevyn over coldly.
“And just what do you want?”
“A word with Ludda, if you please. Ynna gave me somewhat to fetch to her.”
“I’ll go ask her. You wait here, and don’t try to come in.”
When Ludda appeared, she looked the unkempt stranger over nervously.
“I brought you some herbs from Ynna. She said you might give a poor man a drop of ale, too.”
At the sound of his voice, Ludda started, laying her hand at her throat.
“My prince!” she whispered. “Thanks be to the Goddess herself!” Then she raised her voice.