“Aye, but fortunately the rest is at Avarloch.”
“With this beast slowing us up”—Alwyn stepped up behind Gareth—“it’ll take us an extra se’nnight to get home.”
Gareth set his glacial gaze on Tanon and then strode toward her father. Just as he opened his mouth to question Brand’s sanity, the Lord of Avarloch turned and cast him a look that asked the same question of Gareth.
“Last eve you filled my daughter’s heart with the hope of visiting her mother. This marriage was agreed to in the hopes of putting an end to the fighting. It won’t stop the marcher lords from refusing to let you into England.”
When Gareth tried to respond, the duke cut him off, causing his son-in-law’s eyes to darken to midnight blue.
“As far as I know, you’ve made no arrangements with King William to provide a safe return back to England, so unless you plan on smuggling my daughter past armed soldiers, which I woudn’t recommend,” The lethal warning in the duke’s voice was unmistakable. “I ask you if you think your promise was a wise one?”
“Nay, I don’t.” Gareth met Brand’s level gaze head on. “In fact, I regretted my words the moment they left my mouth. But your daughter was weeping all over me, and I found it difficult to refuse her.”
The harsh lines in her father’s expression faded. In fact, his broad shoulders collapsed as relief settled over him. “I see. Well, I’m pleased that Tanon’s feelings moved you.”
“Her safety moves me even more.” Gareth’s voice was still clipped with anger. He glanced at the trunk being lifted to the carriage. “If you’ve traveled to the marches, then you know how dangerous it is. Even with the king’s writ granting us safe passage into Wales, we’ll still need to move quickly through certain regions. How fast do you think this carriage can move with all this weight?”
Tanon’s father narrowed his eyes on Gareth, then ground his jaw when the carriage creaked under the weight of the fifth trunk being set down upon it.
“Remove three of the trunks!” the duke ordered the hoisters in a loud voice.
When Tanon saw her boxes being removed from the coach, she hurried toward the men. “What are you doing?” she demanded, clutching her hands to her chest when another one of her trunks hit the floor.
“Lightening the load,” Gareth replied succinctly. “It isn’t safe to—”
“Lightening the load?” Tanon whirled around, her eyes wide with disbelief. “But those are my clothes! My lute, my parchments. How will I write to my mother?”
“Tanon, we cannot—”
“What about Rebecca’s belongings?”
Gareth ground his jaw. “Very well. One trunk for you. One for her. You’ll both have until noontime to repack.”
“But there are gifts from the people here in those trunks. How am I to stuff everything into one trunk? Please, allow me to at least bring—”
“Tanon,” Gareth warned. “Noontime.”
“Very well,” she conceded through tight lips. She looked like she wanted to say more, but cut a quick glance to her father and smiled instead.
An hour later the two trunks were lifted to the carriage while Gareth’s men saddled their horses. After bidding her parents a final farewell, Tanon wiped her nose and ignored her husband when she passed him and Hereward on her way to the carriage.
“She’s not usually so sour,” Hereward pointed out eyeing the stiff line of her back.
Gareth peered over Hereward’s shoulder to watch her step up into the coach. “What is she usually? When you visitedCymru, you told me that her nose crinkles when she laughs. You didn’t tell me that such an occurrence is rare.”
The Saxon thought about his answer before he spoke. He’d known Tanon for many years. The Risandes spent much of their time with the king, and once Hereward made peace with William, he had come to know Brand and Dante, and their families. When he’d visited Wales several years past at the request of King William, he was surprised to find young Prince Gareth more curious about Brand’s daughter than his older brother, Cedric, who was not interested at all. “She’s melancholy,” he said, “But always kind.”
“Melancholy,” Gareth echoed, staring at her profile framed inside the window. A sudden pang of empathy tightened his chest. Why wouldn’t she be? She’d been promised to his knave brother who couldn’t hide his hatred for the Normans even from an innocent little girl. She was then promised to Roger deCourtenay, of all the detestable knaves…and now she was finally being carted off to the strange land she thought she’d escaped, with a man she had known for a few months when she was six. Gareth couldn’t help but feel pity for her, and immense admiration. If he were a woman in her position, he’d probably be kicking and fighting to get out of the carriage. But there she sat, her expression stoic and resolved. It was difficult seeing her this way. He remembered a different Tanon. He was about to go to her when her father joined them.
“You’ve but to send word to me and I’ll ride to the marches and escort you both back myself.”
Gareth smiled at him, wanting to ease this notorious warrior’s pain at losing his daughter. “I’ll consider it, my lord.”
The duke looked at Hereward next, but the strapping Saxon’s eyes were fastened on one of the two women approaching. Lady Brynna Risande curled her arm through her husband’s when she reached him. Her long-time friend and children’s nursemaid walked by Hereward without a glance in his direction and stopped before the duke.
“My lord.” She offered him a slight bow before raising her eyes to his. “It’s been an honor to serve you and your family these many years. Rest assured, I’ll continue to serve your daughter.”
The duke pulled her into an embrace shared by his wife. “We’ll miss you, Rebecca.”