The Prince of Powys Read Free Page B

men?
    Blaise smiled. Heat flickered in her chest, but, as she wasn’t
    used to the feeling, she flicked her gaze away and stared at the
    bowl of stew.
    Her father pounded his fist on the table. The servants scurried
    to clear the bowls and bring on the betrothal sweets. Serving
    maids rushed to the hearth where the hostage was chained. He
    didn’t budge but just looked at them as they turned the upside
    down cauldron aright and lifted a pot from the embers. The
    aroma of baked apples, honey and roasted hazelnuts tempted
    the feasters as plates were filed with generous helpings of apple
    and hazelnut crumb.
    Branda raked her spoon back and forth across the golden-
    brown crust of crumbs and hazel nuts. Horrid as Cuthred was,
    she should be able to persuade her father of the error he made in
    betrothing her to that cur. She would remind him of Cuthred’s
    atrocities in battle, burned vilages and ravaged women. While
    the King of Mercia had honor in battle and strove for peace,
    Cuthred fought to win at al cost.
    She recaled al the bloody, wounded men she and her sister
    tended after battle with Wessex. She thought of her sister Judith, her long blonde hair and large, almost round, blue eyes. She was
    closest to Branda and had taught her to stitch wounds and mix
    herbs. She would love her sister’s company. Poor Judith was in
    Caledonia, forced to marry the Pict King Brude. Ethelbald gave
    Judith to a woad-painted Pict and Cuthred was little better. She
    would persuade her father to dissolve the contract. She must.
    Branda scooped up a spoonful of apple crumb, but the sweet
    treat was almost bitter on her tongue. An inner voice whispered,
    I fear my charm can’t get me out of this dilemma. Cuthred’s loud belch knocked her from her musings. Disgusting. She’d
    have to get away.
    “M’lord,” she caled sweetly to her father. “I am so excited
    with the tidings that I have no appetite. I have much to do to
    prepare for the wedding, be it in a sennight. May I retire to my
    chamber?” She couldn’t stand another moment with the Wessex
    cur.
    Ethelbald waved his hand, dismissing her.
    Oh, ignore me now if you like; I will have your ear later,
    she silently swore before rising. She gave the expansive over-
    she silently swore before rising. She gave the expansive over-
    tunic and narrow under-tunic skirts a brisk shaking. Crumbs
    fluttered to the floor. After a quick, slight curtsy to King Cuthred, she walked away.
    Once in her chamber with the door tightly shut, Branda
    plopped down on the bed, folded her legs beneath her. She
    brushed her fingers across her lips and into her mouth, nibbling
    on the end of her nails. She had to think. She always got her
    way; she just needed to find the perfect words to persuade her
    father to forgo this match.
    Hours passed, and the din of feasting died down. She heard
    the firm footsteps of King Ethelbald pass her door. Branda
    stood.
    “It’s anon or nevermore.” She puled open the chamber door,
    made her way to the King’s bower and knocked.
    “Enter,” he mumbled.
    “M’lord, I would speak with you, the most honored King in
    al of England.” She flashed her most dazzling smile and walked
    toward him. “Father, I am saddened by the thought of leaving
    you. Wil you not miss me?”
    “Yes.” He smiled. “Now that is how a proper daughter should
    act. I like it when you are like this: sweet and maidenly.”
    “Do you?” She reeled him in with a coy, downward rol of her
    blue eyes, stepped to his side and sat on the bed beside him.
    “When wil we see each other again?”
    “You are not yet wed.” He chuckled in a low tone. “I said a
    sennight, remember.” He gazed with fondness upon her.
    “Mayhap longer. A sennight is too brisk for a royal wedding. I
    should have told Cuthred that.”
    “Do you think so, Father?”
    “Yes, indeed a wedding of this magnitude requires at least a
    moon-time to prepare for. I shal tel Cuthred in the morning.”
    Branda puled her arms