[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

happen here.
He thought of Pony instead. Not as he had last seen her. No, no. He would not think of that, or what it
meant, or what he wanted. He thought of her riding her mare, hair a white pennant in the wind, laughing
over her shoulder and challenging him to gallop to the stone circle. The shrieking faded from his ears.
Eyes blue-purple, like lapis lazuli from the Nile. Skin like fine glazed milky glass from Roma. Hair the
color of the moon ringed with glowing light. The way Pony rode ahead, tantalizing, all the way to the
stone circle, all the way to Samhain night.
He shook his head. The shrieking of Turgi assaulted him once more. He could not think of Samhain night.
That way, too, lay madness. He would never have her, never feel her body writhing under his. Her belly
swelled with another's child. She had chosen Alfred. He pushed his thoughts away away from Harald,
away from Pony, away from Turgi's screaming.
Slowly, he began to thud his head against the stone wall, staring at the open door to his cell.
Pony walked in the yard of the great hall at Winchester, among milling supplicants for Alfred's time,
among soldiers marching in formation, and among several most unkinglike barnyard animals. She was on
her way to visit with First Mare. Both swelling females would take a constitutional walk side by side
outside the palisades as they did each day. The midwife had said it was good for her. Pup gamboled at
her feet, shaking a stick enticingly. But Pony did not feel like playing. Her belly pushed out in front of her
like a heavy barrel, her back ached constantly and her breasts hurt. She had always thought that the
symbol of the Great Fecund Mare was graceful, life-embracing, but how wrong she had been! She had
never felt less graceful. And the "renewal of life" simply made her cross.
Asser stepped up beside her. She started. Where had he come from? She had been avoiding him for
weeks. "Oh!" she said. "It is you."
"Yes." He appeared thoughtful. Which was not promising. "Is there aught I can do to make you more
comfortable? I am afraid Alfred has been distracted of late."
"No, nothing." Pony tried to recover some fleeting calm. "He is most generous."
"Yes. That is true is it not? I have been worrying about that." Asser clasped his hands behind his back as
he strode beside her, a good hand span shorter than she was. Now he would make it clear that he could
count months. Her time was near, but it had been almost eleven months since that night in her hut with
Alfred. Pony did not know which way to turn. Could she just walk away? But that would hardly stop
Asser's going to Alfred with his accusations. She looked away, nauseated.
"Still, your pregnancy is convenient for him," the little priest continued. "He has the preference of the last
Druid priestess on the island."
Ah. She glanced at his face from the corner of her eye. He had not exposed her because he thought her
pregnancy an asset to Alfred. "Is it a fair trade in your mind?"
Asser opened his mouth to answer, but a thundering clatter of horses through the main gate of the
palisades interrupted him. All in the yard turned to stare. It was Borogand at the head of two score
mounted men, dressed for battle.
"Where is Alfred?" Borogand shouted. "The Danes have broken the truce. They prepare for war." He
threw himself from his horse.
Pony's mind jolted to a stop. The news meant only one thing to her. She cared not for the fact that the
peace she had striven for with Alfred at Wedmore was broken; she cared only that Val's life would be
instantly forfeit. Osrick would not even be blamed for killing him. As a hostage, death was his fate if
Guthrum broke the truce.
Around her, the chaos of the yard swirled as Borogand's men dismounted. Questions were shouted. Pigs
squealed and raced among the horses' hooves. Chickens squawked and fluttered. Men scurried up to
hold the newcomer's mounts. Pup barked and raced in circles around Pony. Borogand strode into the
great hall. Asser hurried after him.
Pony stood frozen. How long would it take them to send word to Osrick? Only so long would Val live.
Slowly, she looked around the yard. Thoughts came unbidden into her brain. Clean clothes. A pack of
food. But she could no longer ride. That meant she would need a cart. What horse to pull it?
She moved through the chaos, amazed at herself. Did she abandon the destiny Britta had foreseen for her
by leaving Alfred? It did not matter. Destiny could wait. Alfred could wait. Everything could wait.
No one noticed her in the current excitement, which was good. She floated through the tumult, skimming
through the portal into the hall, moving smoothly up the stairs. The pup had caught her mood. When she
reached her bedchamber, she found him trotting solemnly at her heels. Very well; it would be a
threesome. She packed a sack of clothing and threw her cloak over it and her arm. Reality set in. She
staggered back down the stairs, light in body no more, and around to the kitchen outbuilding. There she
begged flat bread and carrots and cabbage from a serving girl, and stuffed them all in her bag. A whine
from the pup reminded her that he would not dine on such fare, and she grabbed some jerked meat from
a sideboard before she hastened outside. Better jerked meat than forcing him to hunt like the carnivore
he was.
Next it was around to the horse pen. First Mare rolled up to her, nickering for their walk. Pony examined [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

zanotowane.pl

doc.pisz.pl

pdf.pisz.pl

skierniewice.pev.pl