Read Online Dawnflight by Kim Iverson Headlee - Free Book Online Page B

counterattack surged with renewed vigor as he drove Urien back across the enclosure. She nodded approvingly.
    “Urien will meet you at Dùn Lùth Lhugh,” Ogryvan added, “and ask Arthur’s leave to accompany you to Maun.”
    “Arthur!” Too many decisions were being made behind her back. Gyan’s irritation colored her voice. “Ever since Abar-Gleann, I’ve heard entirely too much about this Ròmanach whelp. I will throttle the next person who speaks his name to me.” To say nothing of his title, “Pendragon,” which was far more trouble to imagine in Caledonaiche, let alone speak, than it was worth.
    Ogryvan laughed. “What’s this? I thought you were so eager to run off and fight for the Pendragon.”
    She expelled the last of her anger with a harsh sigh. “I am. Any action is better than none. But if I’m not to fight with him, I should at least be able to meet him while I’m there.”
    “Indeed, lass? Why?” This was punctuated by a broad wink.
    “For diplomacy, Father.” She read the tease but was in no mood to rise to the bait. “Why else?”
    He shrugged. “I’ll have Dafydd mention it. I’m sure Urien will be pleased to make the arrangements.”
    Before she could voice a retort, Dafydd emerged from the crowd to join them and bowed. “Please forgive me, my lord, my lady, but did I hear—”
    “Your name? Yes.” With her smile, Gyan tried to convey the great admiration she held for his linguistic abilities. “We have one more task for you to perform as translator.” Her smile faded as she considered what reasons might have brought Dafydd to the side of the training ring nearest where she and Ogryvan were standing. “Unless you’re planning to leave us already?”
    Dafydd shook his head and addressed Ogryvan, hands spread in a gesture of supplication. “Your pardon, my lord, but I was thinking about the conversation I helped you with this morning, with Chieftain Dumarec.” One hand crept up to his neck. Gyan thought he was going to rub the mark left by the slave collar, but his forefinger hooked around a leather thong that lay below the neckline of his tunic. Whatever charm it held appeared only as a slight bulge beneath the fabric. “If I might have my lord’s permission—and my lady’s—” Lowering the hand, he directed a nod and a shy smile toward Gyan. “I and my family would like to winter here and accompany my lady Gyanhumara to Maun in the spring.”
    “I don’t know, Gyan, what do you think?” Ogryvan’s lips were set in a grave line, but Gyan saw the sparkle of mirth in his eyes. “Will we have enough room and supplies for a family of freemen for the whole winter?”
    As she was about to reply, Dafydd said, “Katra and I have talked it over. We’ll be happy to do whatever tasks you require of us, to earn our keep.”
    Gyan held up both hands, palms open. “We appreciate your offer, Dafydd, but my father was only teasing. There’s really no need to—”
    His expression grew earnest. “Please, my lady. We don’t want to be a burden to you. We see this service as our God-given duty, regardless of the”—his fingers brushed the scar on his neck—“circumstances.”
    Shrugging, she turned to her father. “I don’t see why not, if this is something they want. Katra must be near to birthing her bairn.” This was confirmed by a nod from Dafydd. “But I’m sure Cynda can think of something suitable for her to do. Mending, perhaps.”
    “Aye.” Ogryvan studied the former slave, slowly stroking his beard. “But fetching and carrying for me hardly seems appropriate for our master interpreter.”
    A flush rose in Dafydd’s cheeks. “It’s all right, my lord. I don’t mind.”
    “Wait, Dafydd. You may not have to.” Gyan put fists to hips, grinning. “That is, if you think you’re up to the challenge of teaching me that tongue of yours?”
    “Breatanaiche, Gyan? That’s a splendid idea!” Ogryvan beamed first at his daughter, then at his interpreter.