Page 58
Indeed, the crests of each king of Edingham hang from every corner, one more colorful than the last. And with the trestle tables pushed up against the walls, it appears bigger now than it does during mealtimes.
“The lady’s chamber is this way,” I say as we walk toward what was once called the lord’s chamber, just to the right of the great hall. Because the queen spends much of her time in here, two guards stand at its entrance. They glance at Reyne but say nothing.
“She’s waiting for me?”
Their presence confirms Cettina is inside, and Bradyn’s message would have arrived by now.
“Aye,” says Alan, third son of a minor Highland lord.
Pausing before we enter, I lean down and kiss Reyne on the cheek, not knowing precisely what to say to calm her fears. I nod, and the double doors are pulled open by the guards.
The lady’s chamber is not overly large, although it boasts two sizeable windows, each with plush velvet window seats. The shutters are thrown open at present, allowing in fresh air. Cettina sits behind an enormous oak desk not meant to be moved, unlike most of the furniture in this castle. Built by her great-grandfather, it is meant to intimidate, and for most people it does.
I squeeze Reyne’s arm, then release it so I can bow to the queen. My wife follows suit. A quick glance reveals she’s discomfited, but there’s naught I can do to reassure her. So I take her arm and present her to the queen.
“May I present my wife, Lady Reyne, daughter of Lord Moray of Blackwell.”
Cettina would know of my marriage by now from the message I’d sent.
“Reyne, this is Queen Cettina Borea, first of her name, sovereign of the great kingdom of Edingham.”
Cettina speaks first, as etiquette dictates.
“Lady Reyne,” she says, “I am pleased to welcome you to Breywood Castle. And I congratulate you on your marriage.”
She turns to me.
“’Twas a most surprising, though not unpleasant, bit of news to learn you’d married, Lord Stokerton.”
Though I don’t look at Reyne, I can feel her tense beside me.
Perhaps not so surprising as you tasked me with gaining Lord Moray’s support with the Highland Council. Of course, I don’t voice the thought aloud.
Cettina’s brows rise.
“And to Lord Moray’s daughter?” There’s something harsh in her tone, and the words are clipped in a way that indicates she is not pleased at all.
“Aye.”
She turns to Reyne, opens her mouth, and closes it. Whatever words she struggled with are forgotten, and she says instead, “We’ve much to discuss, Erik.”
I wince at her use of my given name. I don’t need to glance at Reyne to know this is not going well.
“Aye,” I agree. “I bring news of an urgent matter.”
She looks back at me.
“More urgent than the news you traveled to Ledenhill for?”
“Aye.”
She frowns. “I’ve news as well, from Meria. But our discussion can wait.”
Aye, she is definitely angry—her tone leaves little room for doubt. But why? Could she be jealous after all, and I’ve misread all that’s passed between us?
“First I wish to speak to your wife. Alone.”
I place my right hand on Reyne’s wrist, which is tucked through my arm, defying my queen on her behalf sooner than I would have liked.
