"Katherine Kerr - Deverry 02 - Darkspell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kerr Katherine)

They all nodded solemnly. If any of them forgot his orders, they’d regret it - and they knew it.

Cullyn led them into the great hall, an enormous round room that took up the full ground floor of the
broch. Today there were freshly braided rushes on the floor; the tapestries on the walls had been shaken
out and rehung. The hall was crammed with extra tables. Not only were there plenty of noble guests, but
each lord had brought five men from his warband as an honor escort. Servants sidled and edged their
way through the crowd with tankards of ale and baskets of bread; a bard played almost unheard; the
riders diced for coppers and joked; up by the honor hearth, the noble-born ladies chattered like birds
while their husbands drank. Cullyn got his men settled, repeated his order about no fighting, then worked
his way through to the table of honor to kneel at the tieryn’s side.

Tieryn Lovyan was something of an anomaly in Dev-erry, a woman who ruled a large demesne in her
own name. Originally her only brother had held this dun, but when he died without an heir, she’d inherited
under a twist in the laws designed to keep big holdings in a clan even if a woman had to rule them.
Forty-eight that year, she was still a good-looking woman, with gray-streaked raven black hair, large
cornflower blue eyes, and the straight-backed posture of one quite at home with ruler-ship. That
particular day, she was wearing a dress of red Bardek silk, kirtled in with the red, white, and brown plaid
of the Clw Coc clan.

‘The warband is in attendance, my lady,’ Cullyn said.

‘Splendid, Captain. Have you seen Nevyn yet?’

‘I haven’t, my lady.’

‘It would be like him to stay away. He does so hate crowds and suchlike, but if you do see him, tell
him to come sit with me.’

Cullyn rose, bowed, and returned to his men. From his seat, he could see the honor table, and while
he sipped his ale, he studied the bride at this wedding, Lady Donilla, a truly beautiful woman with a mane
of chestnut hair, clasped back like a maiden’s now for the formality of the thing. Cullyn felt sorry for her.
Her first husband, Gwer-bret Rhys of Aberwyn, had recently cast her off for being barren. If Lovyan
hadn’t found her a husband, she would have had to return to her brother’s dun in shame. As it was, her
new man, Lord Garedd, was a decent-looking fellow some years older than she, with gray in his blond
hair and thick mustache. From what the men in his warband said, he was an honorable man, soft-spoken
in peace and utterly ruthless in war. He was also a widower with a pack of children and thus more than
glad to take a beautiful young wife, barren or not.

‘Garedd looks honestly besotted with her, doesn’t he?’ Nevyn remarked.

With a yelp, Cullyn turned to find the old man grinning at him. For all that Nevyn’s face was as lined
as an old leather sack, he had all the vigor and stamina of a young lad, and he stood there
straight-backed, his hands on his hips.

‘Didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said with a sly grin.

‘Here, I never saw you come in!’

‘You weren’t looking my way, that’s all. I didn’t turn myself invisible, although I’ll admit to having a
bit of a jest on you.’