“Come on, let me punch them,” Brody growled. “They deserve it.”
Gwennore shook her head. “Luciana has worked too hard to make this ball a success. I don’t want to ruin it with a brawl.”
Brody frowned. “She needs to know that she’s matchmaking with a pair of assholes.”
“I’ll warn Sorcha and Maeve,” Gwennore whispered. “That will be enough. I don’t want to cause any more political problems for Luciana and Leo.” They were still having enough trouble with a traitorous group of disgruntled priests led by Lord Morris.
Brody scowled at the two earls. “As soon as I shift, I’m going to bite them.” He gave Gwennore a wry look. “And no one can stop me, because I’m a naughty doggy who never passed obedience training.”
That had made her smile.
“That’s more like it.” Brody smiled back as he leaned against the column. “Did you want to dance again?”
“Ye’ve already done yer duty with me and Sorcha. Ye should dance with Maeve now.”
His smile turned into a grimace. “No. Hell, no. Not as long as she persists in calling me Julia.”
Gwennore’s laugh abruptly ended when she spotted one of the earls talking to Maeve. “Oh, dear.”
A growl sounded low in Brody’s throat.
“Are ye planning to shift now?” Gwennore whispered.
“Considering it,” Brody muttered. “I can either stay human and insist she dance with me, or become a dog and bite the bastard.”
“Or ye could become a dog and dance with two left feet,” Gwennore teased him.
Brody snorted. “I can do that while still human.” He strode toward the earl and Maeve, and Gwennore had waited to make sure her youngest sister was safe before escaping back to the nursery.
But now that she was here on the Norva River, there was no library or nursery where she could hide. Her hope of enjoying the celebration surrounded by only family and friends was gone, for Luciana and Brigitta had both invited a number of single noblemen. And just a few minutes ago, the infamous two earls had shown up.
“I can’t stand it anymore,” Gwennore whispered as tears filled her eyes. If she had to endure one more man eyeing her like she was some sort of loathsome insect, she might explode like a screeching demon from hell.
The only solution to her problem, as far as she could tell, would be to return to the Convent of the Two Moons. Mother Ginessa and the nuns would welcome her. She would be loved there. But then she would have to go for months without seeing her adopted sisters or this little girl she loved so much.
“I can’t stand, too.” Eviana lifted her chubby arms in the air, her signal that she wanted to be held.
With a smile, Gwennore picked her up. With the little girl’s arms wrapped around her neck, she closed her eyes to keep the tears from flowing. This was why she stayed.
But as much as she cherished moments like this that made her heart swell with love, she was always aware of an underlying twinge of heartache. For she had no doubt that this was as close as she would ever get to motherhood.
How could she give this up? No, she would stay at Ebton Palace to be with the twins. And when Luciana gave birth in three months, Gwennore would be there to help with the newborn. Twenty months ago, she’d gone to Lourdon to help Brigitta with her baby boy.
This was her life. Always the helpful one, moving silently like a ghost through the shadows of the royal palace and only coming to life in the nursery. Or her own imagination. For she still dreamed of a world where she could shine. It would be a beautiful world, filled with wonder and excitement. And a tall and handsome stranger would love her for who she was.
“When do we see the fwowers?”
Eviana’s question pulled her back to the real world. A world where she was using a flower-picking expedition to evade scornful glances and crude insults.
Gwennore sighed. Why waste her time wishing for the impossible? This was reality, and she should accept it and make the most of it. “We’ll see the flowers soon. There’s a whole field of them on top of the hill.”
She shifted the little girl onto her left hip, then held up her long silk skirt with her right hand to climb the last remaining steps. “I spotted them from the carriage window when we were arriving yesterday.”
“I can give some to Mama?”
Gwennore nodded. “She’ll think it’s the best birthday present ever.”
Eviana grinned. “Ewic won’t have fwowers for her.”
“Maybe we should pick some for him, too.”
Eviana scrunched up her little nose. “He poked me.”
“Did ye tell him to stop?”
She shook her head. “I poked him back.”
Gwennore snorted. “Do ye have a present for yer brother? ’Tis his birthday, too, ye know.”
Eviana bit her lip while she considered, and the movement made her look so much like her mother that Gwennore smiled. The little girl had her mother’s black curly hair, but her green eyes had come from her father.
“I don’t think Ewic wants fwowers,” Eviana mumbled.
“Ye make a good point,” Gwennore said. “We’ll have to find something more suitable for a boy. Maybe a walking stick from the forest or a pretty rock from the riverbank.”
“A big wock!” Eviana stretched her arms wide.
“All right.” Gwennore took a deep breath as she reached the top of the hill. The winter snow had melted over a month ago, and now the afternoon sun shone on a carpet of bright-green grass dotted with flowers of yellow, orange, and purple. “Well, what do ye think?”
Eviana gasped. “It’s bootiful!” She squirmed to be let down, then rushed about plucking flowers.
Gwennore watched her for a moment, then glanced back toward the encampment by the river. Kegs of beer and wine had already been opened, and the sound of laughter blew toward her on a breeze. She spotted the two kings, Leofric and Ulfrid, trying to teach their sons, Eric and Reynfrid, how to skip stones
