A Sterkarm Kiss by Susan Price Read Free Book Online Page B

were all the strong, barrel-bodied, thick-necked little hobs of the border, all of them black or dark brown, with manes and tails trailing the ground. Ribbons were plaited into the manes and tails; garlands of leaves and flowers were hung around the horses’ necks. All the riders wore bright clothes, with plumed hats and flashing brooches.
    On the leading horse sat a bagpiper, pumping his elbow and blowing for all he was worth. The rider beside him carried a spear from which flew a green-and-red banner. Andrea’s heart dropped with disappointment. The device on the banner couldn’t easily be seen, but if the colors were green and red, then this party must be the Grannams, not the Sterkarms. Around her, people cheered, 21st siders and 16th siders together, in welcome and appreciation of the fine sight the riders made. Andrea joined in, but her cheer was half-hearted.
    Following the banner were men carrying lances, holding them upright, steadied on the toes of their right boots. From the heads of the lances fluttered little pennants of red and green. Behind them came men and women in finery, each woman riding sidesaddle, or pillion, behind a man. Even Andrea started to smile with the old sense of privilege—how lucky she was to see this! Then she remembered that she had to form part of the welcoming committee. She looked around for Gareth and, moving to his side, shouted in his ear. “Fill me in! Who are they?”
    The procession swept past them, hooves thumping on the ground, and the crowd followed it, running alongside. Gareth waved to Andrea to follow him, and they fell back from the crowd and made their way, through by now almost deserted alleyways between the shacks, back to the biggest of the inflatables, the dining hall.
    â€œThe head man is Richard Grannam,” Gareth instructed her as they hurried along. “He lives at Brackenhill Tower, so call him Lord Brackenhill if you want to get in his good books.”
    â€œRichard Grannam, Lord Brackenhill,” Andrea repeated, trying to drive it into her memory.
    â€œHis sister’ll be with him—he’s a widower and she’s a widow, so she keeps house for him. Her name’s Christina Crosar, but you’d better call her Mistress Crosar—even her brother does. And she calls him Master Grannam and Lord Brackenhill.”
    The Grannams, so far, didn’t sound much like the Sterkarms.
    â€œYou should know the bride, of course!” Gareth said. “Joan Grannam, old Richard’s daughter. She’s the best of them.”
    Oh, really? Andrea thought, as she hurried, panting a little, to keep up with him. She concluded that Joan Grannam was attractive. “And who’s the groom?” she asked. But they’d reached the inflatable, and Gareth wasn’t listening. The wedding ride was drawing rein in front of the building, and the crowd was gathering on either side to watch. Following Gareth, Andrea dived through the chiming silver beads that hung across the doorway.
    Windsor was waiting just inside, his bodyguards discreetly in the background, among the artificial flowers. “The Skye Boat Song” was playing over the speakers, sung by a woman with an upper-crust English accent and a soprano so sharp it made Andrea wince. Presumably whoever was in charge of the music thought that was what the Grannams would like, despite the fact that the song had been written long after their time.
    Gareth drew back the chiming curtain of beads and fastened it in place. Looking through the doorway, Andrea saw the Grannams dismounting and grooms leading away the horses. A man and a woman detached themselves from the bustle and came toward the inflatable, stopping at a little distance from it and gazing at it, while the rest of the procession formed up behind them.
    Gareth, with the slightest nod of the head toward this man and woman, whispered, “Lord Brackenhill. Mistress Crosar.”
    There was, Andrea saw, a