Imrahil's Daughters

Chapter 9

Éomer cursed himself for his temper. He had meant to scare that oaf of a brother and his friend, not Gliwen! But surely she could not think that he would ever do anything to harm her.

She looked back up at him, those lovely grey eyes guarded. "Would you really hurt them?"

He hesitated, not over the answer, but over how to phrase it. In the end he opted for the unvarnished truth. "Yes."

The thought of Dorgam taking advantage of her made his blood boil. Quite obviously the man could have no honourable designs on Gliwen, for it was the talk of the court that he had his sights set on marrying Princess Lothíriel. But that fine lord now knew he was a dead man if he as much as touched Gliwen; Éomer had seen the realisation in his face. Her proper place! What did Dorgam consider that to be – awaiting his pleasure in his bed? Involuntarily he clenched his hands into fists. As for Prince Elphir calmly contemplating his sister's dishonour, in the Mark he would have earned a whipping. Or a blade in the gut...

Gliwen interrupted his murderous musings. "Éomer, how did you know it was me and not my sister?"

That brought him up short. He had never for a moment doubted that it was Gliwen facing the two men with a vulnerable belligerence that just made him ache to defend her. "I don't know," he answered slowly. "I suppose I'm just getting better at telling you apart." The softer curve of her back? Black hair not confined to rigid coils and braids, but tumbling loosely across her shoulders? A voice warm with anger instead of her sister's frigid tones? "Princess Lothíriel is such a model of behaviour, your brother would never have criticised her anyway, so recognising you was easy," he attempted a weak joke.

But instead of making her smile, his words caused her to look away again with that stricken expression on her face. "Lothíriel is not as blameless as you think," she said.

That reminded him of something. "Tell me," he said, "did you mention our plans for this afternoon to your sister?"

"Eh...why?" Gliwen stuttered.

He shrugged. "It's just that at breakfast I could have sworn she knew more than she let on."

"I told nobody about our planned excursion," Gliwen assured him after a brief hesitation.

More people descended the stairs that moment, giving them curious looks, so Éomer took Gliwen's arm and drew her towards the door to the courtyard. "Perhaps I was imagining things," he said. "She wanted to show me the palace grounds, much to Ealdred's delight. But why would I want to traipse through the gardens with your insipid sister when I can take you riding instead!"

Her mouth drew into a wry line. "Why indeed."

No doubt her father's courtiers saw things differently. Fools! But he would not let such considerations spoil their last day together. "Never mind," he said, "let's just forget about them all. I mean to show you the enjoyment found in a day outdoors; we Rohirrim are masters at living in the wilds."

Perhaps he was finally getting the hang of the layout of the palace, for he managed to find the small postern gate that let out onto the kitchen garden at the first try. While they walked through the orchard, he told her about spending his summers under the vast skies of the East Emnet, riding guard on the horse herds. Those were some of his happiest boyhood memories and gradually he felt her relax at his side.

"I've told my men to await us at the bottom of the hill," he explained his plan, "for I won't have you walking about on your own. Do you need anything from your tower, a cloak perhaps?"

She nodded eagerly as she slipped inside, but when she emerged from her tower she carried not clothing but a pair of bulky saddlebags. Taking them from her he nearly dropped them in surprise, they were so heavy.