Chapter 16

                                    

                                          


                          
This new subject in her education was challenging enough to distract both her and Isobel from the unavoidable fact of Llewellyn's absence. There was a certain kind of pain that Brienna was accustomed to feeling whenever her brothers went on campaign with their father; the pain of missing them, of knowing they went to fight and put themselves in danger in part to protect her and everything she knew, knowing that they might die for that same cause. She felt that now in regards to Llewellyn, and she could tell Isobel was experiencing the same. Every time a servant passed by her door, she swiveled to see if they were bringing news of him.
                          
"Don't let it worry you unduly," Isobel counselled her, to distract from her own cloud of concern. "They never think to keep us lowly women up to date on the news of war. I'm sure it's fine."
                          
In all her life, Brienna had never had any need to be coy, or flirtatious, or to act like a coquette. She was brought up knowing that her husband had already been chosen for her, that they would be united because her father thought it was right, and she had always accepted that without question. It was easy because the date of her wedding seemed so far away.
                          
She said as much to Isobel as her host played handmaiden for a change and dolled her up in one of her more fashionable, revealing dresses in front of the ornate full-length mirror.
                          
"You should learn it anyway," Isobel said, hastily lacing the drawn-in cuffs on the puffy sleeves of the midnight blue dress. "What if your husband thinks you as plain as I do?"
                          
Brienna said nothing, ignoring Isobel's jab at her looks. Something she'd never considered before had just occurred to her. What if Prince Donnall, upon meeting her, didn't like her? What if she didn't like him? She didn't actually know very much about him, she realized, aside from what Ruarc had told her.
                          
"All done," Isobel said, standing back.
                          
Brienna took in the new version of herself standing in the mirror.
                          
Instead of her familiar loose braid, Isobel had teased her hair into a cloud and then wound it with gold ribbon, which spiraled from the crown of her head to the ends, barely containing the wild hair within it. The dress was cut lower than any of her shift, and showed the swell of her breasts at the neckline. The sleeves looked a lot like her hair, their airy volume, struggling to escape the ties that nipped them into her arms and wrists.
                          
She didn't look like herself. She looked like a queen in one of the tapestries Lasair was so fond of making. 
                          
"You look almost civilized," Isobel said, breaking her out of her spell. 
                          
"What am I supposed to do now?" Brienna asked.
                          
"Seduce me."
                          
Isobel threw herself back on her bed and picked up one of her beloved books, flipping it open and pretending to read it. Brienna stood still as a post until Isobel cleared her throat, loudly, to signal her to do something.
                          
"Um," Brienna mumbled. Her eye caught on the bushels of heather that hung fresh every day from Isobel's walls and she pulled a sprig free. She made a show of courtsying and handing it to Isobel. "Your beauty cannot compare to this delicate flower that I offer—"
                          
"I think you have it backward," Isobel interrupted.
                          
"Oh—right," Brienna realized, staring puzzled at the flower. She sat down on the bed next to Isobel, trying not to slide into her on the soft pile of quilts she preferred for her bedclothes. 
                          
She reached over and tried to tuck the sprig of heather behind Isobel's ear.
                          
"What are you doing?" Isobel demanded. "That itches like the devil." She grabbed it away, crushing it in her hand. "Try again."
                          
Brienna leaned back on one arm, attempting to be debonair.
                          
"This bed is so comfortable. Perhaps it would be more comfortable still if you took your dress off," she tried.
                          
Isobel burst out laughing. "Good god. No. You must be plain without being explicit," she coached.
                          
Brienna jumped up off the bed. "I don't even know what I'm doing. I don't know how to seduce a girl. Perhaps it would be different with a man," she huffed in irritation. Though it was all in play, it was hard being rebuffed over and over.
                          
"I'd imagine so," Isobel said. Something in her look told Brienna that Isobel felt remorse or something similar about the subject, and she didn't press it further. 
                          
Not for the first time, Brienna wondered if there was a sad story in Isobel's past; a broken heart, or perhaps an offer of marriage that had to be rejected because her suitor hadn't matched up with Gwynedd's politics.
                          
"Here," Isobel said, pressing one of her favorite romances into Brienna's hands. "Read this again. It might help."
                          
Brienna took it gratefully, more grateful still that this portion of her training could be put on hold until she'd finished the book.