“Tel her
what you are about. She thinks you mean to sever her finger for
ransom.”
The King’s brows arched in a baffled expression. “Cut off
your finger?” Elisedd laughed at Branda. “Why would you think
such?” He glanced at the dagger he held in his other hand.
“Please, don’t slice off my finger,” she cried out.
“I’m not going to cut your finger, girl.” He lay the knife down
“I’m not going to cut your finger, girl.” He lay the knife down
on the nearby table. With several hard yanks on her finger, he
puled off the gold ring of Cuthred’s betrothal.
The ring, he just wanted the ring. Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, he picked up the dagger and grabbed her hair at
the roots. Her scalp stung as he yanked her hair. When she
heard a slicing sound, her breath stopped.
Chapter Five
Elisedd held the dagger before her in one hand and in the
other a long strand of her blonde hair. Branda couldn’t speak.
He just wanted a strand of her hair and the ring, nothing more.
Al was wel, she kept repeating in her head, but her pulse raced.
She looked on as Elisedd looped a flaxen strand through the ring
and wrapped it around the band several times.
Holding it in his palm, the King gazed on it with great pride.
He turned to Blaise. “This wil do the trick. Come; I shal have
you tel the messenger where to go and what to say. Having been
held in Mercia, you know the fortress and its people far better
than I.”
Branda clutched her chest as if to slow the pounding rhythm.
Blaise and Elisedd left as quickly as they’d come.
* * * *
After speaking with Elisedd and the messenger, Blaise was
ready for the evening meal. With the weight of the gold torque
about his neck, he held his head high and strode into the great
hal. He took comfort from the warm roaring fire ablaze in the
huge stone hearth. The tangy scent of boiled boar spiced the air.
A serving maid carried in a large platter of roasted geese
drenched in sauce made from cloudberries picked on the moors.
She dished out various portions based on the classes of the
feasters, who sat on rush palets around smal, short tables.
It’s good to be home, thought Blaise, as he strode to the dais where Elisedd sat with Queen Carthann at his side. He bowed to
them and nodded to his brother Brochfael, the heir, and his wife
Princess Leri, who sat to the King’s left. He’d dreamed of
having his family around him, feasting on a meal like this, when
he’d been fighting the dogs for scraps in Ethelbald’s hal. Blaise
he’d been fighting the dogs for scraps in Ethelbald’s hal. Blaise
plopped down into the large oaken chair beside Carthann and
gazed at the empty seat to his right.
Where was Branda? He leaned toward the Queen. “Wil the
Princess not sup with us?”
“She says she’s not hungry,” Carthann replied with a tilt of her
auburn head.
“The Princess sits at the window and stares out at the hils and
valey,” Leri said, taking a sip of mead.
“Wel, close the shutters and command her to come to my
board,” the King grumbled.
Blaise laughed at the expression on Carthann’s face.
She told him, “It’s not so easy, m’lord. The Princess is sad.”
Elisedd clanked his tankard of mead on the table, causing
cups, knives and jugs to quiver. “She is a hostage; she should be
sad. Was my son not sad, held like an animal in Ethelbald’s lair?”
“Yes, you are right, m’lord, the Princess should eat.”
Carthann flashed an I-love-you-anyway smile at the King.
“I’l fetch her a tray,” Leri offered.
“Good.” Elisedd grabbed his tankard and took a swig of
mead.
Blaise couldn’t help but grin. His sire had learned long ago to
limit commands on Cymry women. If Carthann said the Princess
wasn’t coming to the board, then she wasn’t.
Thoughts of Branda’s smile loomed in the back of his mind.
Lips perfectly curved opening to showcase bright, even, white
teeth, but Carthann’s
what you are about. She thinks you mean to sever her finger for
ransom.”
The King’s brows arched in a baffled expression. “Cut off
your finger?” Elisedd laughed at Branda. “Why would you think
such?” He glanced at the dagger he held in his other hand.
“Please, don’t slice off my finger,” she cried out.
“I’m not going to cut your finger, girl.” He lay the knife down
“I’m not going to cut your finger, girl.” He lay the knife down
on the nearby table. With several hard yanks on her finger, he
puled off the gold ring of Cuthred’s betrothal.
The ring, he just wanted the ring. Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, he picked up the dagger and grabbed her hair at
the roots. Her scalp stung as he yanked her hair. When she
heard a slicing sound, her breath stopped.
Chapter Five
Elisedd held the dagger before her in one hand and in the
other a long strand of her blonde hair. Branda couldn’t speak.
He just wanted a strand of her hair and the ring, nothing more.
Al was wel, she kept repeating in her head, but her pulse raced.
She looked on as Elisedd looped a flaxen strand through the ring
and wrapped it around the band several times.
Holding it in his palm, the King gazed on it with great pride.
He turned to Blaise. “This wil do the trick. Come; I shal have
you tel the messenger where to go and what to say. Having been
held in Mercia, you know the fortress and its people far better
than I.”
Branda clutched her chest as if to slow the pounding rhythm.
Blaise and Elisedd left as quickly as they’d come.
* * * *
After speaking with Elisedd and the messenger, Blaise was
ready for the evening meal. With the weight of the gold torque
about his neck, he held his head high and strode into the great
hal. He took comfort from the warm roaring fire ablaze in the
huge stone hearth. The tangy scent of boiled boar spiced the air.
A serving maid carried in a large platter of roasted geese
drenched in sauce made from cloudberries picked on the moors.
She dished out various portions based on the classes of the
feasters, who sat on rush palets around smal, short tables.
It’s good to be home, thought Blaise, as he strode to the dais where Elisedd sat with Queen Carthann at his side. He bowed to
them and nodded to his brother Brochfael, the heir, and his wife
Princess Leri, who sat to the King’s left. He’d dreamed of
having his family around him, feasting on a meal like this, when
he’d been fighting the dogs for scraps in Ethelbald’s hal. Blaise
he’d been fighting the dogs for scraps in Ethelbald’s hal. Blaise
plopped down into the large oaken chair beside Carthann and
gazed at the empty seat to his right.
Where was Branda? He leaned toward the Queen. “Wil the
Princess not sup with us?”
“She says she’s not hungry,” Carthann replied with a tilt of her
auburn head.
“The Princess sits at the window and stares out at the hils and
valey,” Leri said, taking a sip of mead.
“Wel, close the shutters and command her to come to my
board,” the King grumbled.
Blaise laughed at the expression on Carthann’s face.
She told him, “It’s not so easy, m’lord. The Princess is sad.”
Elisedd clanked his tankard of mead on the table, causing
cups, knives and jugs to quiver. “She is a hostage; she should be
sad. Was my son not sad, held like an animal in Ethelbald’s lair?”
“Yes, you are right, m’lord, the Princess should eat.”
Carthann flashed an I-love-you-anyway smile at the King.
“I’l fetch her a tray,” Leri offered.
“Good.” Elisedd grabbed his tankard and took a swig of
mead.
Blaise couldn’t help but grin. His sire had learned long ago to
limit commands on Cymry women. If Carthann said the Princess
wasn’t coming to the board, then she wasn’t.
Thoughts of Branda’s smile loomed in the back of his mind.
Lips perfectly curved opening to showcase bright, even, white
teeth, but Carthann’s
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