Bryn wiped the crumbs from her lips with her napkin. “Oh? Something to further humiliate him, I hope?”
“Indeed,” he replied evenly. “I’m going to string him up at the gallows in Mir Town square.”
Bryn nearly choked on the bite of toast. She coughed a few times before managing to swallow it down. “A . . .hanging?”
“As you said, the common folk need to know our union is a fresh start for the kingdom. A public execution of one of our enemies will rally the people even more behind us.”
A chill crept over Bryn’s skin. She tried hard to keep her expression under control, though her heart was racing.
“Is that really the tone we want to set?” she asked carefully. “A death right before our wedding? Better to keep him in chains, I think. Let him rot in the dungeon.”
Captain Carr chuckled, his gaze still hovering around Bryn’s breasts. “You underestimate how much the common folk love a hanging. Besides, a hint of violence before the wedding is exactly what we need to threaten the rebels, should they get any ideas.”
Bryn’s mind whirled. “Yes, but . . . ”
Captain Carr cocked his head, eyes narrowing. “Youdowant to see your former captor dead, do you not?”
She pressed her lips together tightly and whispered, “Of course.”
His smile returned. “Good. Then it’s decided. One week from now, Rangar Barendur will hang.”
Bryn couldn’t getout of the castle walls fast enough. It was torture to sit through the rest of breakfast and then have to wait for the soldiers to prepare a carriage to take her into Mir Town. Now, as she finally sat in the carriage, blessedly alone with the curtains drawn, she could finally think.
I can’t let Rangar hang.
Though Captain Carr didn’t think much of women’s intellect, he wasn’t a stupid man, either. There was a good chance he suspected Bryn of pretending to detest Rangar, and this was a test of her real sentiments. She didn’t dare beg for Rangar’s life without giving away the truth.
She shoved back a window curtain to watch Mir Town roll by outside. The town, like the castle, felt oppressive today. Heavy gray clouds hung overhead, threatening rain. Common folk trudged through the dirt streets with slow steps as they went about their end-of-week chores. A young boy tugged on a stubborn donkey’s lead, trying to urge the creature forward. A farmer carried a basket full of wormy squashes toward the market. A pair of girls huddled near the gutter, cleaning out chamber pots with grimaces.
It was only once they neared the market that the mood shifted. Bryn had occasionally been allowed to come to the Sunday Market as a child, and she had adored the towering stacks of pumpkins for sale, the spice vendors’ colorful barrels, the children laughing in the street with their honeyed nuts. It was a busy day at the market, which was good. That would keep her guards distracted.
The driver stopped the carriage near the market’s fabric section and opened the door.
“Lady Bryn. Please take care. I don’t have to remind you that the rebels could be anywhere.”
“Yes, thank you, Sergeant Preston.”
She took the sergeant’s hand and stepped down. A unit of six guards had accompanied the carriage and now surrounded her as she made her way down the aisle flanked with stalls selling bolts of silk, reams of yarn, and yards of fabric of every shade and pattern imaginable.
She pretended to admire the lace while she kept a close look for Mam Nelle’s stall. At last, she saw the old woman accepting some coins from a noblewoman’s maid.
Bryn smiled widely as she approached the stall. “Mam Nelle. What a pleasure to see you again after all this time.”
The old seamstress was all smiles as she pressed her hands to her chest. “Lady Bryn! What a blessing!”
“I was surprised to find you were no longer working in the castle.”
“Oh, it was high time I gave over that job to a younger seamstress with better eyesight.”
Mam Nelle’s tone was light and cheerful, though Bryn knew very well Captain Carr had forced Mam Nelle to leave the castle’s service along with most of the other senior staff who knew too much about what had really gone on under his leadership.
The seamstress glanced sidelong at Bryn’s guards. “What wonderful news about your upcoming wedding. This kind of joyous occasion is exactly what the kingdom needs after so many difficult years.”
“Yes, that’s why I came to see you. It’s my hope you’ll sew my wedding gown.”
“Ah! You honor me, my lady. Let’s see if any of my fabrics are worthy of such a gown.” She ushered Bryn toward the reams of silks and lace, and the two women made a show of discussing various styles of gowns.
“I think the Ruma lace is an excellent choice,” Mam Nelle said. “It will complement your complexion. All I’ll need now are your measurements. You can just step into the tent here.”
