The Heart of a Queen (A Historical Romance)

Chapter 3

While she nervously anticipated her next audience with the King, Brienna explored the castle grounds, walking having always been her cure for ride-weary muscles. The country had a ruggedness that her own lulling green homeland did not, and though she was still haunted by her initial impression of the place, she found herself quickly growing fond of the harsh cliffs, the tempestuous sea, the mountains that looked black against a sky that was stubbornly gray. Though it was springtime, she had to wear a cloak and sheepskin to keep out the sharp air.

Despite the inclement landscape, once in a while the sun would break through the clouds and the sky would reflect the hue of the bluebells that grew at her feet, and the craggy mountains would swell on the horizon. The landscape had an exhilarating effect on her, and Brienna decided it must have taken a fierce and romantic people to conquer such a land and choose it as their own.

The castle was much busier with the war band returned, and the fields around the castle were noisy with the clash of iron as soldiers practiced at swordplay. Everyone left her alone and she was happy enough in Lasair's sole company, but too soon she grew bored of picking flowers and staring out at the sea and decided to seek out Llewellyn and make him answer as to her fate.

She found him in the open air of the courtyard, sharpening his sword on a spinning whetstone, the handle of which was turned by a very tired-looking Geoffrey, who seemed to do everything as far as the king was concerned. Sparks crackled where the blade was wrought by the stone, flashing lightning in the dark eyes concentrating on the task of holding it there at the right angle.

Brienna stopped and stared at Llewellyn's face, so intense as he honed this weapon that could cut a man in two. For the first time she saw him not as a superior lout who had treated her carelessly, but as a warrior capable of great physical deeds. The rough weave of his shirtsleeves was pushed up and muscular forearms gripped the hilt and the blade of the sword as if they were nothing but tin.

When he was finished sharpening the sword, he wiped his blade with a cloth and stood to sheath it in the leather scabbard on his belt. The things he used and wore were simple but well-made, Brienna noted. He didn't cloak himself in rich niceties the way his sister did, however his bearing was enough to identify his royal blood. That, and the way he looked at her as if she was leagues below him.

Since he only appraised her with no comment, Brienna spoke up first.

"I grow restless occupying no role here, not knowing if I'm a guest or if I'm to leave, and would have your decision on the matter."

"Stay, if the issue nags you still," he said, and Brienna thought she saw the glint of a grin hinting on his lips.

"Very well," she agreed. "And what am I to do while I am here?"

"Do?" Llewellyn asked.

"Yes. I am not used to being idle," Brienna explained.

Llewellyn turned and helped his servant roll the heavy whetstone back to its place under a covered shed.

"I hardly know," he answered. "If you were male, as proper wards usually are, it would be my duty to train you in strategy, metal-smithing, fighting. All the practical skills for war."

"But I am not a male," Brienna pointed out argumentatively, although she was fairly sure she could do all those things as well as any, given the chance.

Llewellyn looked her up and down and Brienna felt the minute hairs on her neck rise. "No you are not," he said. "What am I to teach you?"

They stared at each other for what felt like a long time. Brienna had the sense that they were locked in a battle of wills, but she didn't know over what spoils. Then Llewellyn dropped her gaze and began to walk back to the stables. Geoffrey, blotting his sweating face with a filthy rag, trotted after him. Suddenly, Llewellyn turned, face lit up with the elation of a bright idea.

"I've just remembered something else a ward is expected to," he said. "If you want so much to play a role, as you say, then you can serve my sister and I at table."

"I will not," Brienna scoffed.

"No?" Llewellyn asked innocently. "It would be most appreciated. As you can see I don't want for warriors, but my supply of servants is rather spare." He tipped his head towards his own pathetic man, who appeared entirely oblivious of the conversation and was in the act of catching his breath though he did nothing more than stand still.

"I will not," Brienna repeated firmly. Then she turned on her heel and left.