Thorns

Chapter Three

                Briallan was beyond furious by the time they arrived at the iron gates of a Braewood Castle. She also ached all over as a result of the unorthodox journey across the moors. It was difficult to see much of anything but the horse’s underside and worn cobblestone as the animal came to a stop.

                “Isaac Belmont,” the man called out, his voice muffled though Briallan couldn’t quite see why. She tried to lift herself up again, but Isaac pushed her back down none too gently. She heard the grinding of metal as the gate swung inward allowing them entry into the outer courtyard of the castle. The sound of the horse’s hooves against the cobblestones echoed loudly through the small space - and Briallan’s ears. By the time Isaac stopped the horse and dismounted, the young woman was at her wits end.

                “Are you mad?” She shouted.

                “Who are you?” He snapped. It was then she saw the reason for his muffled voice. His face was covered by a black scarf leaving only his eyes to glare out at her from beneath the wide brim of a black hat.

                “Briallan Galloway,” she replied, straightening her shoulders back.

                “The princess?” He inquired. He sounded surprised, for some reason this bothered Briallan more than it should have. “Huh… I pictured someone daintier. Blonder. Definitely better mannered."

                Briallan lifted her fingers to touch her dark hair -but only briefly.

                "How did such shrewish behavior attract the wandering eye of the king? Perhaps it’s what happens between the sheets that secured you a crown… must be quite impressive.”

                Without thinking, Briallan slapped him across the face. “How dare you speak to me in such a vulgar manner!” She glared at him, anger flooding through her.

                “That superior attitude certainly does not surprise me,” he snorted, pulling his gloves from his hands and handing them off to a young boy before rubbing his face through the scarf. “Forgive me, princess, for speaking too openly. I am but a humble servant and seem to have forgotten my place. I must speak out of turn once more -- do you have any idea how dangerous the moors are?”

                “I’m well aware,” she replied. “I had little choice in the matter.”

                It was then that Briallan realized they were no longer alone in the courtyard. Not just the boy, but several others had wandered out to see what all the fuss was about. They stared, slack jawed, but Briallan paid them no heed. At the mention of the danger, Briallan was reminded of the attack. She felt a wave of guilt, her anger and wounded pride had blinded her to more important matters.

                “Explain,” Isaac replied.

                “We were attacked,” she said. “Well, first the wheel on the carriage broke, so a man was sent ahead to inform the estate of what had happened and to get assistance.”

                “Can’t image you’d want to ruin your shoes by walking the rest of the way,” Isaac retorted. She didn’t need to see his face to picture the smug expression plastered across it. She grit her teeth and resisted the urge to punch him square in his jaw.

                “I beg of you, send men to the clearing-“

                “Are you so desperate for your luggage, your highness, that you’d have me risk the lives of Braewood’s men?” Isaac inquired, his eyes narrowing into thin slits.