The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [132]
“No more did I,” Branna said, and her voice sounded thick with tears. “I’m so happy I could weep, and mayhap I will.” With that the tears came, trickling down her cheeks while she smiled up at him.
With his free hand Neb found a scrap of rag in his pocket that he used for wiping pens and gave it to her. When she wiped her face, the ink left a smear across her cheeks.
“A fitting mark for the wife of a scribe,” Lady Galla said, sniffling a little herself. “Oh, it gladdens my heart to see you both so happy!”
“Mine, too,” Cadryc said, “oddly enough. Imph. A man never knows how these things will take him, eh?”
They all laughed. “My thanks, my lady,” Neb said, “and my thanks to you, too, my lord.”
“Now, we’ll need to discuss the dowry,” Cadryc went on. “Branna’s father offers you her riding horse, a cart horse and cart, and of course all those things that women sew for their dower chests. I’ll add a riding horse for you, and its tack.”
“Your Grace, that’s more than generous.” Neb realized that he’d never given a single thought to a dowry. His mother doubtless would have haggled for more, but then, his mother wouldn’t have been living on someone else’s charity. “I’ll take it gladly.”
“Good lad!” Cadryc raised his goblet and saluted him. “I—” He paused, interrupted by the sound of silver horns, blaring in the ward.
“Now, who’s that, I wonder?” Galla said. “Someone of high rank, judging by the noise his retinue’s making.”
High rank, indeed, as they found out when Clae came racing through the maze of tables and benches. Noble-born and servants alike scattered ahead of him. Dogs barked at his passing.
“Your Grace!” Clae blurted out. “It’s a prince from down in Dun Deverry. Prince Voran his name is, and he’s got ever so many riders and servants and carts with him.”
“By the gods!” Cadryc shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. “Our gwerbret’s being honored, indeed!”
“He is that,” Neb said. “Voran’s a younger son, but he’s of the blood royal, sure enough.”
Accompanied by Lord Oth, Gwerbret Ridvar went running out of the hall almost as fast as Clae had made his headlong dash into it. A dozen or so dogs followed him out, barking in excitement. As the news spread through the great hall, most of the gathered crowd followed Cadryc’s example, getting to their feet, craning their necks for a glimpse of royalty. Over on the riders’ side of the hall, some of the servants and pages climbed onto the tables for a better view.
“I can’t see over everybody,” Galla said with some irritation. “Neb, is Gerran in the great hall? He’s our foster son, after all, and he should be introduced to the prince.”
“I don’t see him, my lady. He might be in the barracks. Shall I go find him?”
“Please, and my thanks.”
As he made his way through the swirling mob to the back door, Neb felt as if he just might float free of the ground and sail through the heavens. She’s mine, he thought. She’s truly mine at last! And after all these—The thought stopped him cold. After all these what? You only met her a few months ago, he reminded himself. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling deep in his heart that he’d known her for a longer time than that, a far far longer time. Yet nothing, not even the strangeness of that feeling, could spoil his joy. Neb went whistling from the great hall.
Gerran had seen the prince’s arrival, and he’d gone down to the stables to insure that the Red Wolf horses weren’t slighted in the turmoil of arriving guests. Stout Lord Blethry, the gwerbret’s equerry, was standing on a barrel by the watering trough and yelling orders. Grooms were rushing back and forth, trying to follow them and find room for the horses that the prince’s warband had brought with them—nearly seventy in all, counting the mounts of various servitors and the cart horses. Gerran had no intention of allowing his own men’s mounts to be tied up in the open on cobbled ground.
“Gerro, wait!” It was Neb’s voice, barely audible in all the noise. “I’ve got a message for you.”
Gerran turned to see Neb making his way