Read Online Trinity Rising: Book Two of the Wild Hunt (Wild Hunt Trilogy 2) by Elspeth Cooper - Free Book Online
Authors: Elspeth Cooper
Ads: Link
Corrals of livestock and picketed horses occupied one end of the flat ground by the lake, and at the other stood an open-sided pavilion decked with fluttering ribbons, where the wedding fair would be held. Traders’ pitches chequered the space in between, their wares spread out on blankets. The air smelled of woodsmoke, crushed grass and animal dung, laced with the north wind’s icy bite.
Whilst the womenfolk set about rigging the tents and preparing meals, Drwyn and a dozen hand-picked warriors from his war band went to greet the other chiefs. Ytha accompanied them, dressed in her snow-fox mantle and carrying her whitewood staff.
From the tent doorway, Teia watched them leave. Could she find the time to slip away before they returned? She cast an agonised look around, at the chores awaiting her. Two of Drwyn’s warriors had erected the tent for her, but she still had to furnish it and start cooking.
An idea came to her. She hurried back inside and feverishly spread the ground-skins, unrolling carpets and arranging cushions. Then she changed out of her dress and into elk-hide trews and a thick jerkin, and dug her bow and quiver out of the baggage. Drwyn did not like her to keep them, but she had managed to distract him enough with kisses that he had never got around to taking them from her.
Fingering the beaded stitching around the neck of the quiver, she remembered her father gifting it for her tenth summer. Every Crainnh should know how to hunt, he’d said, then taught her to shoot, and how to care for the bow-stave and the elk-horn nocks. A fierce little pang shot through her and the blue and green beads blurred a bit. Macha willing, she’d be with her family again before too long.
Tying her hair back, she composed her face. Now she had to be strong. Quiver shouldered, heart thumping so loudly she was sure it could be heard right across the valley, she stepped out of the tent.
The two guards looked around as she emerged. One of them, a stringy-haired fellow with bad skin, eyed the shape of her in the close-fitting trews.
‘Fetch my horse,’ she ordered, amazed that her voice did not quaver.
The guards exchanged a glance. ‘And where would you be going?’ one of them asked.
‘To catch the chief some supper. A brace of widgeon, I think.’
The lecherous one – Harl, she thought his name was – leered at her. ‘Well, he does have a taste for a bird, especially one with a nice plump breast.’ He stared directly at the open neck of her jerkin.
Teia snatched an arrow from her quiver and in a heartbeat had it nocked and aimed at his eye. ‘Careful your eyes don’t fall in,’ she said. ‘I’d hate to see you lose one.’
Harl blinked, startlement replacing his lustful expression. The other guard stifled a snigger.
‘I said, fetch my horse.’ She drew a little harder on the string, enough to make the bow creak, and he backed off a pace. ‘That’s better. Come on, Harl, come on. The afternoon’s a-wasting.’
Harl bobbed his head. ‘Yes, lady.’
When he’d gone she returned the arrow to the quiver, then wrapped her hands around the bow so the other fellow wouldn’t see they were trembling. She needn’t have worried. However amused he’d been by what had happened to Harl, the man was now standing at his post and keeping his eyes to himself.
Harl returned with her grey saddled and ready. Teia thanked him coolly, mounted and rode out of the camp. Only when she was well away from the tents did she let herself relax, her sigh of relief trailing off into a giggle at her own audacity.
Treating Drwyn’s men as if they were her servants! But it had worked. Whether it would work a second time she couldn’t say, but for now it had bought her an hour unobserved. She was determined to make the most of it.
A mile or so north of the Gathering place, a string of smaller lakes nestled like jewels in a silvery web of streamlets. With little solid ground to speak of, she had to leave her horse tethered
Whilst the womenfolk set about rigging the tents and preparing meals, Drwyn and a dozen hand-picked warriors from his war band went to greet the other chiefs. Ytha accompanied them, dressed in her snow-fox mantle and carrying her whitewood staff.
From the tent doorway, Teia watched them leave. Could she find the time to slip away before they returned? She cast an agonised look around, at the chores awaiting her. Two of Drwyn’s warriors had erected the tent for her, but she still had to furnish it and start cooking.
An idea came to her. She hurried back inside and feverishly spread the ground-skins, unrolling carpets and arranging cushions. Then she changed out of her dress and into elk-hide trews and a thick jerkin, and dug her bow and quiver out of the baggage. Drwyn did not like her to keep them, but she had managed to distract him enough with kisses that he had never got around to taking them from her.
Fingering the beaded stitching around the neck of the quiver, she remembered her father gifting it for her tenth summer. Every Crainnh should know how to hunt, he’d said, then taught her to shoot, and how to care for the bow-stave and the elk-horn nocks. A fierce little pang shot through her and the blue and green beads blurred a bit. Macha willing, she’d be with her family again before too long.
Tying her hair back, she composed her face. Now she had to be strong. Quiver shouldered, heart thumping so loudly she was sure it could be heard right across the valley, she stepped out of the tent.
The two guards looked around as she emerged. One of them, a stringy-haired fellow with bad skin, eyed the shape of her in the close-fitting trews.
‘Fetch my horse,’ she ordered, amazed that her voice did not quaver.
The guards exchanged a glance. ‘And where would you be going?’ one of them asked.
‘To catch the chief some supper. A brace of widgeon, I think.’
The lecherous one – Harl, she thought his name was – leered at her. ‘Well, he does have a taste for a bird, especially one with a nice plump breast.’ He stared directly at the open neck of her jerkin.
Teia snatched an arrow from her quiver and in a heartbeat had it nocked and aimed at his eye. ‘Careful your eyes don’t fall in,’ she said. ‘I’d hate to see you lose one.’
Harl blinked, startlement replacing his lustful expression. The other guard stifled a snigger.
‘I said, fetch my horse.’ She drew a little harder on the string, enough to make the bow creak, and he backed off a pace. ‘That’s better. Come on, Harl, come on. The afternoon’s a-wasting.’
Harl bobbed his head. ‘Yes, lady.’
When he’d gone she returned the arrow to the quiver, then wrapped her hands around the bow so the other fellow wouldn’t see they were trembling. She needn’t have worried. However amused he’d been by what had happened to Harl, the man was now standing at his post and keeping his eyes to himself.
Harl returned with her grey saddled and ready. Teia thanked him coolly, mounted and rode out of the camp. Only when she was well away from the tents did she let herself relax, her sigh of relief trailing off into a giggle at her own audacity.
Treating Drwyn’s men as if they were her servants! But it had worked. Whether it would work a second time she couldn’t say, but for now it had bought her an hour unobserved. She was determined to make the most of it.
A mile or so north of the Gathering place, a string of smaller lakes nestled like jewels in a silvery web of streamlets. With little solid ground to speak of, she had to leave her horse tethered
Similar Books
