slip from her shoulder. The sharp gaze shifted.
"I am not sure that anything is quite as I expected."
She was suddenly aware that her wimple had been lost somewhere. That her hair streamed over the shoulders exposed by the rumpled cloak. That before her brother's face she had spent the night in the arms of the man she had abandoned her lawful betrothed for. The man she had wanted above all others as her lover.
She fought down the consciousness of where she was, the heat that rose in her mind. She lifted her head. Perhaps it had not been such an ill placement after all, to be here in the middle of the ring of Brand's men. Nothing could have happened without them knowing, without Cunan the Hound knowing.
Even if they did not realize how much cause her supposed lover had to hate her.
She simply stared at him, with the practice of nineteen and a half years spent living in a court that had been more dangerous to her than to an illegitimate offspring:
"There are many things that are not as we might expect," she said. "Sometimes we have to adapt to them."
"But not at the expense of the duty we owe to the land that gave us birth. If that means aught to you?"
Duty.
It had been beaten into her head from birth that she must put duty first. She had tried with all that was in her to do what was right. She had agreed to the marriage arranged by her uncle and her father. Because it would forge an alliance that might pacify Northumbria.
For the first time in her life her father had been pleased with her.
Then she had found out what Hun was. A savage, a ruthless man who would encourage his king to dispossess or murder anyone who got in his way. Hun was the useful retainer who carried out such tasks for ambition and policy, for reward. For the enjoyment of cruelty.
Her uncle and her father must have been aware of that unstoppable savagery. They had known exactly what they were asking. They had not known that in the end, she would not do it.
That had been both her choice and her doom. And then Brand had come, like light out of the dark. But the light had not survived. It was impossible in mis world.
"My duty means exactly as much as it should mean." Such fine words. They hissed through the still air. But they were hollow. She had failed in every kind of duty. To her land, her king and her family.
To the foreign Northumbrian warrior who had given up everything for her.
She turned away, so that she would not see the dissatisfied eyes, the face so like her father's. So that she would no longer hear the tongue of Pictland. Bright gold eyes were narrowed on her face.
He had heard.
When had he woken? When she had spoken of her duty, whispering in Celtic with Cunan the Hound?
She told herself it could not matter. Brand already knew she was a traitor.
"What a delight you are in the mornings, lady.
Never at a loss. But I am afraid we cannot linger here. However you charm your companions."
He had heard everything. She knew it. She only wondered that Cunan did not know. She saw her brother's eyes sharpen in anger. But it was only at the obvious dismissal. There seemed no consciousness of the deeper meaning in the English words. The hidden warning to him and to her. But then Brand was wearing his wantonly reckless face, the one that hid all the ruthless intelligence inside.
He was smiling at Cunan.
"I know how eager my lady is to journey on to Bamburgh and her brother. The same eagerness must be yours, of course."
"What else?"
The smile was returned, with a hint of secrets withheld, a knowledge superior to the other man's. And then she realized. It had not occurred to Cunan that Brand spoke Pictish.
She was the only one who knew. The knowledge was there like a weapon in her hand. But like every weapon she had ever held either with, or against Brand, it was two-edged. If she gave that knowledge to her brother, Brand would know who had betrayed him.
She got up, fighting life into stiffened limbs. She wished to appear to busy
"I am not sure that anything is quite as I expected."
She was suddenly aware that her wimple had been lost somewhere. That her hair streamed over the shoulders exposed by the rumpled cloak. That before her brother's face she had spent the night in the arms of the man she had abandoned her lawful betrothed for. The man she had wanted above all others as her lover.
She fought down the consciousness of where she was, the heat that rose in her mind. She lifted her head. Perhaps it had not been such an ill placement after all, to be here in the middle of the ring of Brand's men. Nothing could have happened without them knowing, without Cunan the Hound knowing.
Even if they did not realize how much cause her supposed lover had to hate her.
She simply stared at him, with the practice of nineteen and a half years spent living in a court that had been more dangerous to her than to an illegitimate offspring:
"There are many things that are not as we might expect," she said. "Sometimes we have to adapt to them."
"But not at the expense of the duty we owe to the land that gave us birth. If that means aught to you?"
Duty.
It had been beaten into her head from birth that she must put duty first. She had tried with all that was in her to do what was right. She had agreed to the marriage arranged by her uncle and her father. Because it would forge an alliance that might pacify Northumbria.
For the first time in her life her father had been pleased with her.
Then she had found out what Hun was. A savage, a ruthless man who would encourage his king to dispossess or murder anyone who got in his way. Hun was the useful retainer who carried out such tasks for ambition and policy, for reward. For the enjoyment of cruelty.
Her uncle and her father must have been aware of that unstoppable savagery. They had known exactly what they were asking. They had not known that in the end, she would not do it.
That had been both her choice and her doom. And then Brand had come, like light out of the dark. But the light had not survived. It was impossible in mis world.
"My duty means exactly as much as it should mean." Such fine words. They hissed through the still air. But they were hollow. She had failed in every kind of duty. To her land, her king and her family.
To the foreign Northumbrian warrior who had given up everything for her.
She turned away, so that she would not see the dissatisfied eyes, the face so like her father's. So that she would no longer hear the tongue of Pictland. Bright gold eyes were narrowed on her face.
He had heard.
When had he woken? When she had spoken of her duty, whispering in Celtic with Cunan the Hound?
She told herself it could not matter. Brand already knew she was a traitor.
"What a delight you are in the mornings, lady.
Never at a loss. But I am afraid we cannot linger here. However you charm your companions."
He had heard everything. She knew it. She only wondered that Cunan did not know. She saw her brother's eyes sharpen in anger. But it was only at the obvious dismissal. There seemed no consciousness of the deeper meaning in the English words. The hidden warning to him and to her. But then Brand was wearing his wantonly reckless face, the one that hid all the ruthless intelligence inside.
He was smiling at Cunan.
"I know how eager my lady is to journey on to Bamburgh and her brother. The same eagerness must be yours, of course."
"What else?"
The smile was returned, with a hint of secrets withheld, a knowledge superior to the other man's. And then she realized. It had not occurred to Cunan that Brand spoke Pictish.
She was the only one who knew. The knowledge was there like a weapon in her hand. But like every weapon she had ever held either with, or against Brand, it was two-edged. If she gave that knowledge to her brother, Brand would know who had betrayed him.
She got up, fighting life into stiffened limbs. She wished to appear to busy
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