The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [91]
The invitation had just missed Lord Ynedd’s parents, who had left their dun to visit kin two days before the message arrived. At this news, little Ynedd burst into tears and ran out of the hall. The child had been desperately hoping to see his mother, Gerran knew, and coldhearted as it was, he was glad she wasn’t coming. Ynedd would need to forget her coddling sooner rather than later. That left Lady Marigga, regent for her elder son, Coryn’s brother. Since no one had expected her to come, no one was disappointed or slighted when she pleaded pressing duties.
“It’s just as well that we won’t have many guests,” Lady Galla remarked at that point. “The harvest wasn’t all it might have been, and I was rather worried about the food.”
Two days after the messengers came home, Lord Pedrys, the riders of his warband, and his wife, Lady Omaena, arrived with their pages and servants and provided Gerran some relief from his brooding. Once they’d found places for Pedrys’ warband in the barracks, Gerran and Pedrys’ captain, Tidd, whose graying hair and mustache showed his age and experience in these matters, went down to the meadow behind the dun to mark out the contest ground. Their arms full of wooden pegs and ropes, Coryn, Ynedd, and Clae trailed after, chattering and laughing in excitement.
“I can remember being that young myself,” Tidd remarked. “A tourney seemed like the best fun in the world then.”
“It doesn’t now?” Gerran said.
“Oh, here, Falcon. You know what we’re practicing for.” Tidd looked absently away. “Too many friends have ridden to the Otherlands for me to take much delight in tourneys.”
“True-spoken.” Gerran felt a sudden chill, as if a cloud had passed over the sun. “Well, the pages will learn that lesson one fine day, and probably too cursed soon.”
Branna helped her aunt settle Lady Omaena and Lord Pedrys into their guest chamber, which sported the second-best bed and some fine tapestries. Pedrys glanced around the chamber, bowed to Galla, and hurried off to go drink with Tieryn Cadryc. Their personal servants carried up their bundles of clothes and the like while Omaena fussed until everything was stowed away to her liking. The lady then retreated with her fellow no blewomen to the women’s hall, where she lowered herself into a cushioned chair with a sigh of relief.
“Are you tired, dear?” Galla said. “You seem a bit pale.”
“No doubt I do.” Omaena paused for a smile. “Soon I’ll be having to wear my kirtle high, you see.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” Branna said. “Your first child!”
Omaena, a limp little person despite her flaming red hair, smiled daintily. “I’m so pleased. Of course, we’re both hoping that the goddess will bless us with a son.”
“Of course.” Branna managed to suppress the irritation, bordering on anger, that she felt every time she heard this conventional sentiment. “But a daughter later, I hope.”
“Oh, so do I,” Omaena said, “I should love to have a daughter after I’ve done my duty to my lord.”
With a quick knock on the door, Midda came bustling in, leading a procession of servants with various refreshments, a flagon of Bardek wine, a pitcher of spring water, little cakes, and cheeses. After they left, Branna busied herself with organizing the food on a narrow table, then poured wine and water for the two ladies.
“Won’t you have some, dear?” Galla said.
“Water’s enough for me. Wine makes me feel so hot, and it’s quite hot enough already.”
In truth, Branna disliked the muddled feeling wine induced, but the excuse satisfied her aunt. Branna brought over her workbasket and mended various rips in one of Mirryn’s shirts while the older women chatted about babies, their delivery and care, until, soon enough, the topic