The Heart of a Queen (A Historical Romance)

Chapter 41

"All done?"

Lasair and Brienna both jumped as Donnall burst back into the room. Lasair frowned at him.

"If you don't mind your bride barefoot," she quipped.

Brienna stood and found the white slippers, slipping them onto her feet. "I am ready."

"Where's Ruarc?" Lasair asked suspiciously.

"The prince enjoyed his drink too much last night, and informed me he wouldn't be able to attend, with his apologies."

"But who will walk her down the aisle?" Lasair demanded.

"I will," Donnall huffed, his patience wearing thin. "She's to be mine anyway, who else would be more suitable?"

Lasair opened her mouth and Brienna knew she was about to go on a tirade; the last thing she wanted was for Donnall to threaten the life of her beloved companion, too.

"It's alright," she said, putting a hand on Lasair's shoulder to interrupt her. "Donnall can walk me down the aisle. It hardly matters, now."

"That's the spirit," he said, and held out his arm, commanding that Brienna go out before him.

She squeezed Lasair's shoulder and left, Donnall stalking behind, his boots clapping the stone steps and sounding like the drums of a war party as it prepared to slaughter its enemy.

At the door to the great hall, Isobel was waiting for them. Donnall reared up, shoving Brienna behind him and laying a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"What are you doing here?"

Isobel was dressed in the gown she'd had made especially for the wedding and her curls were glossy and perfectly arranged. She was smiling. Brienna's heart fell; for a second she'd thought that Isobel was there to stop them, but she was simply showing up to stand next to Brienna as her maid of honor. She must not have known about Llewellyn and Ruarc being imprisoned, Brienna thought. Too busy primping, as usual.

"What do you mean?" Isobel directed at Donnall. She held two bouquets of flowers, one of which she handed to Brienna. "I'm here for the wedding."

Donnall relaxed, and Brienna numbly accepted the arm he offered her, holding the bouquet in a limp hand.

"At last," he said to her, squeezing her arm so hard that she winced, "the day you've been waiting for your whole life."

Isobel smiled brilliantly and threw open the door to the great hall. The musicians were ready for them and struck up a rousing wedding march as Isobel glided down the aisle in front of them. Brienna followed, hauled along by her groom, blind to all the guests that sat on either side of them. At the altar, Donnall pushed her into place so forcefully that she stumbled, and Isobel had to jump forward to catch her.

"Wedding jitters," Donnall joked to the priest.

"Be careful," Isobel spoke to her. "Watch you don't drop your bouquet."

Brienna had barely noticed the bouquet that had been shoved at her, but something in Isobel's tone made her look at the thing more closely. She felt something rigid amongst the stems. She peered closer and gasped when she saw the glint of steel flickering amongst the leaves and petals.

"A wedding gift from me to you, my sister," Isobel whispered as she helped her back up to her feet. Brienna tightened her fist around the flowers.

"Shall we begin?" Donnall rolled his hand in a gesture of exasperation.

The priest began the service, speaking in Latin, which Brienna didn't even bother to try to understand. Donnall had recomposed his face into an expression of benign expectation, as if this were a happy occasion and they both young lovers who couldn't wait to be joined in matrimony. His changeability and ease at hiding his true nature made Brienna nauseous.

When would her moment come? It was all happening too fast. Isobel had given her another chance, giving her a weapon in secret, but Brienna had no clue how to use it without deciding the fates of her brother and Llewellyn. She supposed she could wait until the wedding was over and Donnall had let them both go. Then she could slaughter him in his sleep, and she would be a widow. The thought of his blood on her hands made her blanche. She teetered, feeling like she was losing her grasp on the world. The priest hesitated in his monotonous droning, and Donnall's arm shot out to hold her upright.

"Go on, go on," he spat at the cleric.

Though the Latin escaped her, she had attended enough weddings to know that the service was coming to an end; she was almost married. To Donnall. For as long as they both should live.

Shredding through her resignation and sorrow came a sudden screeching note that pierced through the room like a jagged arrow. Donnall's hands flew to his ears and they all turned to see what the noise came from.