Anwen of Primewood

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Galinor looks as if he wants to object, but instead he says, “Good night, Anwen.”

  I say my goodbyes, and Marigold says she will join me shortly.

  Irving leads me down a narrow hall and up a flight of stairs. “Do you feel all right? Orick’s men didn’t hurt you, did they?” His face darkens, and he brushes my hair behind my ear.

  I catch his hand before he winds it into my hair. “Irving, stop. I’m fine.”

  Disappointment shows on his face, but he pulls his hand back. “Have you thought about my offer?”

  “You know I can’t marry you.” I glance down the darkened hall, wishing someone would come to interrupt this uncomfortable conversation. I lean against the door and lay my head back, closing my eyes.

  “We were good together.” He steps closer. “Don’t you remember?”

  I do remember. Irving was all I wanted. Every hour, every minute, I wanted to be with him. Those first few days of stolen moments and secret kisses were bliss. At first it was easy to ignore the glances and the flirting—easy to dismiss it as harmless Irving behavior. The weeks wore on, and it became more difficult.

  When I don’t move away, Irving takes a step in closer. “I remember,” he whispers.

  Goosebumps rise on my arms. His hair is soft and short, and even after all these years I remember what it feels like between my fingers. Reason blurs, and I set a tentative hand on his chest.

  He smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the edges and his lips tilting up in a crooked smile. Those lips were always gentle and never too eager, unlike Dimitri.

  Dimitri.

  Just the thought of his name takes the breath from my lungs. I clench my eyes shut while the pain of his betrayal paralyzes me.

  “Oh, Anwen,” Irving says, his voice helpless as he draws me to his chest.

  I sob, feeling pathetic, but I can’t stop. “Why would he leave me?” I cry into the handkerchief he hands me. “Didn’t he know how much I gave up for him? How much more I would have given?”

  “He’s an idiot,” Irving assures me as he rubs my back.

  I look up. I know my eyes are puffy and my face is red and blotchy, but I don’t care. “I wasn’t good enough for you, either. Do you remember that?” I hiccup and gulp back tears, but they won’t be stopped now.

  It’s Dimitri I want to yell at, but he’s not here. I smack Irving’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you want me?”

  Irving’s eyes widen, and then he chuckles softly, drawing me closer still and holding me tight enough I can’t move—or hit him again.

  “I am also an idiot, and I don’t deserve you.”

  “I won’t marry you,” I say against the fabric of his tunic.

  He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “We could love each other, Anwen. We could be so perfect.”

  I shake my head. “Could love and do love aren’t the same thing.”

  He releases me. I rub the handkerchief over my eyes, happy the tears are now ebbing.

  “You have to marry someone.” His brown eyes search mine. “Would it be so horrible to marry a man that will make you Queen of Primewood?”

  “It is when I can’t trust that man to be faithful to me.”

  He looks shocked and hurt, but my resolve doesn’t waver.

  “How could you think that?” he whispers.

  “You’ve never shown me any differently.”

  He narrows his eyes, not in anger but thought. Giving me an apologetic smile, he slides the key into the door and opens my room.

  It’s nothing special or fancy. There’s a bed large enough for Marigold and I to share and a table with a candle on it. The already lit flame burns lazily behind its pebbled glass enclosure.

  Irving walks the room, and when he is satisfied it is safe, he steps back into the hall. “I’m in the room across the way if you should need me. I’m starving, so I’m going to eat, but I’ll retire shortly.”

  I nod and close the door.

  Why is everything such a mess? Life was supposed to be simple once I ran away with Dimitri. We would marry, travel the world, and…

  What exactly was living with Dimitri going to be like? What was I going to do? I’m not a gypsy; I have no idea how to be a gypsy. We would have been together, though. That’s what mattered.

  ***

  I wake to a light knocking at the door. I must have dozed off, though I don’t think I’ve been asleep very long. Marigold hasn’t even retired yet.

  In fact, that’s probably Marigold now. But why wouldn’t Irving have given her the key?

  The floor is cold against my bare feet, and I shiver as I cross the tiny room. I flip the iron lock and open the door.

  “You should have checked to see who it was before you opened it,” Galinor says, his voice disapproving.

  I’m about to snap at him but am distracted by the plate of food he carries. My stomach growls.

  He runs his hand through his hair and holds out the plate. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  He sounds as if he is questioning his decision to bring me the food, so I accept the plate before he turns away. I motion him into the room behind me. I pluck a square of yam from the plate and stick it in my mouth before I even reach the little table. It’s smoky and sweet and truly wonderful.

  “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” I set the plate down. “Galinor?” I ask when I realize he’s not behind me.

  I find him at the door, standing in an awkward way that makes me want to laugh.

  “You aren’t going to make me eat alone, are you?” I tease him.

  He glances down the hall, first one way and then the next, and then he relaxes his crossed arms and steps into the room. “I’ll keep the door open so no one thinks…” He clenches his jaw and then, not choosing to finish his thought, sits at the chair across from me.

  I flush and look down at the plate. “Thank you for bringing this up.”

  If he hadn’t pointed it out, I wouldn’t have noticed how alone we are. Now it’s all I can think about. I glance at him. The flame from the candle casts shadows on his face, and his eye looks even worse in the dim light.

  “Did the tavern maid tend your eye?”

  I wish I hadn’t asked. I really don’t want to know.

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  Does he seem irritated at the mention of her?

  “She’s pretty,” I blurt out.

  What is wrong with me? Why can’t I keep my mouth shut?

  I tear a piece of meat. It feels strange to eat with him watching me, and I’m suddenly very aware of looking tidy and demure.

  “Why do you say that?”

  I cringe inwardly and then shrug. “She seemed to like you.”

  Why can’t I stop talking?

  I attempt a laugh, as if the whole conversation is very flippant. “And men usually like women like her.”

  He’s quiet. When I dare to peek at him, I find him watching me intently. “Blond, you mean?” He tilts his head, his meaning clear.

  I work hard to gulp down a bite of food and nudge my own light curls behind my shoulder. I shrug again and wave my hand. “Blue eyes.”

  “I like green.”

  I freeze, my eyes trained on the plate. A familiar feeling dances in my stomach—something beautiful and heartbreaking. I lick my lips and meet his gaze.

  Even with his black eye, he’s too handsome. He’s too royal. If letting my heart get tangled with Dimitri was a bad idea, then feeling something for this broken prince is foolish at best.

  “Are you sure of your decision about Irving?”

  My mouth is so dry, I’m afraid I will croak when I answer. “I’ve already told him no.”

  “Do you think he will accept it?”

  “He doesn’t have a choice.”

  Just so I have something to do with my hands, I take another bite.

  “So you’re not stringing him along so he’ll find Dimitri for you?”

  I take in a sharp inhale. “How could you think that? Of cours
e I’m not!”

  He rests his forearms on the table. “There was a man in the group next to us. I spoke with him after you left.”

  The conversation turns so quickly, I’m almost dizzy. Confused, I wait for him to finish.

  “He’s from Vernow. Irving is right; there are festivals galore this time of year.”

  What has Galinor found out? I lean forward, eager to hear more.

  “If you go south from here tomorrow, you will arrive in Crayhope just before evening. The festival starts the next day.”

  In other words, we will part in the morning. Galinor will go on to his castle, and I will go to Vernow. I push my plate away, no longer hungry.

  “I thought you would be happier.” Galinor’s voice is soft. “You have somewhere to begin.”

  I fake a smile. “I am happy.” Even I don’t trust my words. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He stands, hesitating by the door. “Goodnight, Anwen.”

  I nod and stare at the wooden door long after he shuts it.

  ***

  It’s mid-morning, but the sun has decided to hide behind a thick blanket of low-hanging clouds. The weather suits me. My eyes are blurry, and I’m more than a little irritable.

  “Anwen.” Marigold turns the mirror in her hand so her reflection meets my eyes. “You look exhausted.”

  “I didn’t sleep well,” I mumble as I twist strands of her hair and a ribbon into a tight braid that travels down her back, perfect for a day of riding.

  “Irving’s told me the two of you are traveling to Vernow from here,” she says. There’s something indiscernible in her tone.

  My hands go still in her hair. “You aren’t riding with us?” I tie the ribbon at the bottom. It should hold. “I had hoped you would come.”

  “No. I will travel with Galinor to his home and wait for Irving there.”

  Galinor and Marigold are traveling together.

  We are quiet for several moments before Marigold finally speaks. “Is there something between you and Galinor?” She sets the mirror aside and twists in her seat.

  I prepare to answer her as she states the question, but I lose my words when she says “Galinor”. I had expected her to ask about Irving.

  “It’s all right.” She sighs. “No girl can keep her head around him. Even me.”

  “Pippa did.” Even as I say the princess’s name, I cringe.

  Marigold laughs. “Pippa was already in love.”

  My friend’s words strike me to my core. Was Pippa’s love so much greater for her archer than my love for Dimitri? Even now I would like to believe the best of him, so why am I not immune to Galinor?

  I braid my own hair, thinking the question over in my head. I come to no conclusion, but it matters little, anyway. Today we will part ways, and I doubt I will see him again soon.

  ***

  We enter the inn’s main room and find the men clustered around a table, looking solemn. There’s no banter between them—no smiles or jokes. I raise an eyebrow at Marigold to see if she notices the difference, but she only shrugs.

  Their conversation conspicuously ends right as we join the table. They are all a little too quiet, and no one will meet my gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  Galinor finally looks up. His eye looks terrible this morning, all bruised yellow and purple. “Our horses seem to have been stolen last night.”

  “Stolen?” I exclaim, shocked.

  Marigold sits between Irving and Bran. “Was it Errintonians?”

  I take a seat on the other side of Galinor.

  Irving shakes his head, disgusted. “There was a note.” He holds it up, and I snatch it from his hand.

  “Thank you for the horses,” I read. “We’ll call our debts even.” I shake the note in the air. “What does this mean?”

  “Orick’s men,” Galinor says, eying Irving.

  “They wouldn’t take our horses!”

  Or would they? What would stop them?

  Irving works his jaw but doesn’t answer.

  “How much money did you win, Irving?” Marigold asks. Her long braid is over her shoulder, and she idly runs her hand down it.

  “Five-hundred gold pieces.”

  I gasp. “Five-hundred gold pieces?”

  Irving shrugs. “They shouldn’t have gambled it if they couldn’t afford to lose.”

  Marigold scowls. “I thought King Ewan forbade gambling in Lauramore.”

  Bran shrugs and helps himself to another sausage from the platter in front of us. “His own son was running the games from the knights’ hall.”

  I turn to Irving. “Can’t you buy more horses? After all, you seem to have a surplus of gold.”

  “We’ve bought two from the inn keeper and one from an old farmer.”

  I scowl at our party of six. “Three?”

  “There are no more to be bought. As it is, we’re taking the inn keeper’s only two—for an exorbitant price, I might add—and I agreed to have two younger, stronger replacements sent once we reach Primewood.”

  With a sugared scone halfway to my mouth, I freeze. “But we’re not going to Primewood.”

  Irving gives me an exasperated look. “Anwen, we can’t travel through Vernow on the old nag I bought today.”

  Galinor sets his hand on my arm. “Come as far as my castle. We will provide you with all the supplies you need.”

  That sounds reasonable, and it gives Galinor a little more time to change his mind about joining us. I finally nod. Galinor flashes me a reassuring smile and then moves his hand back.

  When we’ve all finished breakfast, we go to the small fenced pasture behind the inn to examine the new horses Irving has bought. Danver sniffs around, looking for mice. Marigold and I sit on the old fence as the men inspect the lot. It would be nice to have Pippa’s riding tunic again, but I gave it back when we left Lauramore. Instead, I’m in Leonora’s rose dress, and I must be careful not to snag the delicate trim on the splintered wood.

  Irving inspects a gray horse’s teeth. “This one is about twenty.” Disgusted, he moves on to the next. “Same with this one.”

  Bran checks out the last. “Eighteen, maybe a little older.”

  “We’ll have to double up,” Galinor says. “Who’s riding together?”

  I meet his gaze and then look away.

  “I’ll ride with Irving,” Marigold says. “Anwen can ride with Galinor, and Dristan and Bran will have to ride together.”

  Dristan scowls at his brother. “Absolutely not.”

  Marigold gives him a withering look. “Two men will have to ride together. It makes the most sense if it’s the two of you. Galinor is too large, and neither of you could put up with Irving for most of the day.”

  Bran groans, but doesn’t argue.

  “We could leave Irving in a ditch,” Dristan suggests, eying Irving.

  Irving grins. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Bran and Dristan finally accept our riding arrangement on the condition that we will switch occasionally. We’re all on our horses except for the two brothers.

  “I will not sit in front,” Bran says, looking at Marigold and me as if to prove only women ride in front. “I’m eldest. I will ride in back.”

  “I’m taller than you are,” Dristan argues. “You can’t see over me.”

  Irving rolls his eyes. “Would the two of you hurry it up?”

  Finally Bran gives in, but he gives Irving a good scowl before he mounts.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Castle Glendon

  As if the weather were part of the scheme to make the day worse, it begins to rain. It’s not a soft, light drizzle, either. Water pours from the sky, and the drops sting as they hit us. My cloak is thoroughly drenched.

  “Are you warm enough?” Galinor asks.

  Rainwater drips from my eyelashes and runs down my face. I don’t even bother to wipe it away anymore. “I’m fine.”

  The others don’t look any happier. The only brigh
t side to the rain is that Bran and Dristan stopped bickering about an hour after riding in it.

  “It could be worse,” Galinor says. “It could be snowing.”

  At least snow is soft.

  The horses plod along at an unhurried pace. No matter how we urge, they stay at the same speed. Slow.

  I cover my eyes with my hand and look up at the sky. It’s cold, but it doesn’t feel like snow is looming. Danver stirs under my cloak. He, too, is wet, but somehow he manages to sleep.

  “We’re close now,” Galinor says. “It’s another half-hour at the most.”

  The terrain evens out. Instead of steep cliffs and rocky inclines, we cover rolling forest hills spotted with large wildflower-covered meadows. We ride through one now. I’m sure deer often graze here, but today they have found shelter from the storm. A mist-covered lake edges the meadow, and I am fascinated by the way the clouds move over its surface.

  “Where is the castle?” I ask.

  “Over the next hill.”

  Rain drowns out the sounds around us, but there is a distinct mew from the trees. I turn around, sure of what I heard but not ready to believe Pika followed us all this way. “Did you hear that?” I glance at Galinor. “Or am I imagining things?”

  Galinor turns as well, studying the brush. “I heard it.”

  “Do glasselns live in Glendon?”

  Could there be another one stalking us?

  “No.” Galinor turns back. “I’ve never heard of a glasseln in Glendon.”

  We ride up the next hill and into a copse of trees. When we emerge from the winding path, I get my first view of Castle Glendon and Glendare, the small village that surrounds the gates.

  Strong stone walls surround a massive, old castle with tall, stately turrets. Galinor’s family colors of red and yellow fly from banners atop those turrets, and a huge family crest hangs over the gates leading to the courtyard. Glendon is ancient, and its age shows in the structures. Not only does the castle appear to be several centuries old, but it looks as if it could weather a great many more.

  Now that we’re in the valley, we pass several farms. Most of them have cozy smoke pouring from their chimneys. Flowers bloom brightly from vegetable gardens, and many of the cottages have benches that I’m sure welcome visitors on sunny days.