Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [47]
He mumbled something inaudible, then sighed. “Well enough. I will find another means. You will forget all this, Gwenhwyfar. I asked you nothing, I said nothing to you.” His eyes grew dark, and she heard a distant roaring in her ears. “You stood beside my seat, I gave you a trifling message to take to my servant who is with my horses, you delivered it and brought back the answer. That is all.”
She felt as if she were drowning, felt her lips parting, heard herself whisper, “Aye, sir.”
“Very good.”
Abruptly she felt herself released from his gaze. She stumbled back a little, disoriented for a moment. Why was she here? Oh, of course. She’d delivered a message for him.
“Do you need anything more from me, my lord?” she asked, diffidently.
He looked up from the wax tablet he was scribing something on. His eyes were distant, unfocused, giving his whole face an absent-minded cast. “Hmm?” he said, then shook his head, smiling. “No, squire, you can go. Oh—but tell the king I will be very interested to meet the rest of his brood at dinner.”
She bowed. “Aye, my lord,” she replied and quickly left the tent. But she had two strange sensations as she did so. The first, was relief, as if she had somehow escaped from something very dangerous.
And the other—a sense of unfocused unease—because he wanted to meet her sisters. It made no sense, this unease, but there it was. She wanted of all things to prevent such a meeting, but that was impossible, of course. They would both be there at dinner.
And there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
The smell of baked meats and stewed vegetables, of beer and mead, of the herbs mixed with the rushes, and under that, just a hint that the dogs were not as good about going outside as they could have been, rose about them. So too did the smell of sweat and leather and wool, and over it all, woodsmoke, the eternal scent of the Great Hall with its central hearth. Soon all the meals would be taken outside, for there simply would be no room in the Great Hall for the swarm of guests, but tonight there were few enough that supper was indoors. Gwen stood attentively at the Merlin’s left hand, making sure that his cup was never empty, he never wanted for anything his eyes lighted upon. He was the least demanding person she had ever had squire’s duty for. He chose plain small beer, not mead nor stronger ale nor cider, and his drinking was moderate. He merely sipped, and throughout the meal she had occasion to refill his cup no more than twice. As for food, once served with his choice of a little rabbit, some greens, boiled turnip and bread, he ate slowly and never indicated he wanted anything else. Every time he moved, that juniper scent wafted from his robes, his hair. It was as if he were always part of the forest somehow. He was . . . strange. A distant thing, like a legend come to sit at the table. Maybe it was the Power about him, more than Eleri had, more than any except the Ladies at Cauldron Well.
While he discussed matters of the High King with her father, his eyes were, for a very long time, on Gynath. With the tables and benches set around the hearth fire, there was plenty of light for him to see whomever he chose to look at very clearly.
Completely unaware of this regard, Gynath exchanged clumsily flirtatious looks with some of the other squires, much to the open amusement of the king and queen. Seeing that the Merlin was watching the girl, the king leaned over to his guest and said in an undertone, “She’ll make me a fine alliance one day, there’s no doubt.”
“Oh?” The Merlin smiled with his lips but not his eyes, which kept their sharp gaze on Gynath. “Her ambition rises no higher than that?”
The king chuckled. “Gynath, Goddess bless her, is a maid meant for a man. Oh, she’s a bit clumsy now, but wait a year or two while she learns; the young bucks will be prancing and pawing for her attention.”
And with that, the Merlin seemed to completely lose interest