A Warrior's Heart by Margaret Moore

A Warrior's Heart by Margaret Moore

Author:Margaret Moore
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Medieval
Publisher: 0
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter Twelve

The next morning, Roanna lay in the bed. Alone.

Last night Emryss had stood at the foot of the bed for several long minutes. Then, with an abrupt, “I need some air,” he had turned and left.

And never returned. Not in the night. Not when she finally fell asleep. Not at dawn, when she awoke after a fitful rest. Not yet.

Why? she kept asking herself. Why? Was there something wrong with her? Or was this another strange Welsh custom no one had bothered to explain?

At the sound of someone entering the room, she lay back down and closed her eyes. She didn't want to talk to Mamaeth or Bronwyn, who were sure to ask any number of embarrassing questions or make lewd remarks.

The person crept into the room, as if searching for something.

Suspicious and tense, Roanna couldn't keep up the pretense of sleep.

Emryss, in his shirt and chausses, was pouring water into the ewer. She sat up. “I trust you've had enough air at last, my lord?” she said coolly.

“Yes,” he said without looking at her.

He splashed the cold water over his head, then reached for fresh linen. He started to rub his damp curls briskly, but stopped and swayed forward. A low curse escaped his lips.

“Are you...all right?” Roanna asked as he leaned against the table. Perhaps he had merely imbibed too much at the celebration.

“Been better.” He straightened. “Been worse.” He turned toward the bed. “Roanna, I...”

Before he could continue, shouts and singing erupted in the hall below, then several clumsy footsteps sounded on the stairs like the sudden tolling of a loud bell.

“Emryss, brawdmaeth!” Gwilym called out. “Good morning. Time to rise, though certain you're exhausted. I am!”

His words were followed by guffaws and chuckles that grew louder, until Roanna realized that most of the men of Craig Fawr must be outside their bedchamber. Emryss walked toward the closed door and stood with his hands on his waist, waiting.

Unsure just what was going on, Roanna pulled the covers up to her neck and waited, too.

A new voice spoke, in words that were like a song without a tune.

“Cheating, is that, to bring a hard for the pwnco!” Em-ryss shouted to the men on the other side of the door.

“Not fair to make us do it now, in the morning, either.

lut make haste, bridegroom. We're listening!” Gwilym teased.

“What is it?” Roanna asked quietly.

“The pwnco,” Emryss responded absently, staring at the door.

“I heard the word. What does it mean?”

“It's a contest of sorts. Quiet. I've got to think.”

Roanna climbed out of the bed and began to wash. If he wanted quiet, he'd get it.

After a moment, Emryss began to speak, the cadence of the words matching that of the man beyond the door. When he stopped, he turned to her with a boyish grin. “That'll take them some time, now, to answer.”

Roanna stayed silent.

Emryss glanced at her and frowned. “Sorry to be rude, but I had to think. It's a contest of poetry, you see. Supposed to happen at the bride's door before the ceremony.



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