The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [225]
“I shan’t have you hanging around the ward to wait for the men like a camp follower,” Galla said.
“Well, truly,” Branna said. “I suppose it wouldn’t look very courtly of me.”
All of the dun’s women, from Drwmigga down to the lowest scullery lass, went to the great hall to wait. Lord Oth joined Drwmigga to consult with her about a victory feast. The wedding had quite literally eaten up an alarming share of the dun’s stored provisions.
“One of the messages mentioned that they’re bringing a couple of hogs with them,” Oth said, “and some cows, so we’ll have meat. Drink is another thing entirely. There’s ale, and some Bardek wine, but not a drop of mead left in the dun.”
“Then it will have to be meat and ale,” Drwmigga said, “and what bread the cooks can bake at this late hour. I do wish my lord had sent off the messengers earlier.”
“So do I,” Oth said with a sigh. “Well, I’ll go consult with the head cook right now.”
It was some while before the women heard the army returning in a burst of shouting and the sound of a great many horses clattering into the ward. Drwmigga rose and beckoned to the others to follow her as she hurried out of the great hall to welcome home her lord and his royal guests. Branna noticed Adranna lingering behind, then turning and heading for the stairs.
“Let her go,” Galla said. “There’s no joy in this for her.”
“There’s not,” Branna said. “And I’d just as soon she didn’t have to see mine.”
Branna had something of a wait, however, before she could greet Neb. The army filled the ward in waves—the royalty and their escorts first, then the noble-born, rode in, dismounted, turned their mounts over to the pages and servants, greeted their womenfolk and the yapping, milling dogs before the commoners could even gain the ward. At last she saw Neb, leading his horse in through the gates behind a slow-moving wagon. She waved madly; he didn’t see her; her patience broke. She dodged through the horses, dogs, and men and ran to him. With a shout of wordless joy he dropped his horse’s reins and flung his arms around her, drawing her so close she could barely breathe.
“It gladdens my heart to see you,” Neb said, then kissed her.
They left Neb’s horse to Clae and arm in arm strolled into the great hall. The gwerbret, his lady, and the two princes were sitting at the table of honor, while Cadryc and Galla had settled at their usual table with Solla and Salamander. There was no sign of any of the Westfolk but Prince Daralanteriel.
“Where’s Dalla?” Branna said.
“The Westfolk are setting up camp down in the meadow,” Neb said.
“What about Gerro? I want to congratulate him.”
“I don’t know.” Neb paused, glancing around the great hall. “I saw him out in the ward when I rode in.”
“Well, let’s go join the others. He’ll turn up sooner or later. Neb, my darling, I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you back.”
Branna wasn’t the only woman wondering where Gerran might be. Once they’d greeted everyone at the table and sat down together toward the end, Branna noticed Solla looking around the great hall. Every time someone came down the stairs or entered the doorway, she would sit up a little straighter and watch till she could recognize them. Finally, when the serving lasses were already pouring what ale there was, Gerran did appear in the company of Lord Oth. Solla smiled and seemed poised to stand up to greet him, but Oth and Gerran headed up the stairs without ever glancing her way. She sat back in her chair with a sigh.
“I’ll have to have a chat with our Gerran,” Branna murmured to Neb. “He needs a wife now that he’s a lord.”
“Every man needs a wife,” Neb said, smiling at her. “I learned that lesson well when I was off without you.”
Branna caught his hand and squeezed it. “We could slip away in a bit,” she said. “In all this confusion, no one will notice.”
“True-spoken, so why wait? Let’s go up to our chamber right now.”
With the wedding guests and