Brenna tried to settle her churning stomach by thinking of anything other than the fact that she was standing in front of a priest dressed in his holy garment. Her mind roved to admiring the effect of her dress, a lovely deep blue with golden trimmings, but from there she remembered it had been given to her by one of the Anjeluund noblewomen upon her arrival in their country. The look of smirking superiority on the woman's face had curdled Brenna's blood, and just knowing that the dress was the only thing suitable for being married upset Brenna even more. If Robbin hadn't made her leave behind all her things she could be standing in front of the priest in a beautiful Ittalan gown, a step above the woman who now no doubt found it simply hilarious that the bride of a Glenfarrow was dressed in a secondhand day-dress.
She glanced over her shoulder to the woman in question, who stood amongst the other ladies of court, and caught their looks of boredom and superiority. Most were young and beautiful, and the one that had given her the dress Brenna had reason to believe had once been Robbin's lover. Her strange and instant hatred for Brenna was enough to support the theory, that was for certain.
Brenna gave the woman a tight smile before returning her gaze to the front of the room. Next to Brenna stood Morna, dressed in a simple shift and with her hair loose. The aunts, arrived just two days ago, were seated on velvet chairs. They all looked slightly out of place among the Angeluund nobility, even though Brenna and Morna had been among them for near on a month. The Ittal fashions were out-of-date and the aunts and Brenna were a little more overt in their dislike of certain people than the Anjeluunds were.
The priest looked to Brenna's other side to where Robert Glenfarrow stood stiffly in his fine clothing. "Are the whereabouts of your son known?" the priest whispered.
Robert scowled. "My men are looking."
Brenna wanted to sigh heavily but she didn't want to give the nobles the satisfaction. So she kept a serene expression and limited her seething to the inside. Mentally, she punched a wall and called Robbin every foul name ever created. The wedding had been scheduled for an hour ago, and they'd been in the small and stuffy front room of the Glenfarrow house ever since. Brenna hadn't even seen her bridegroom since the day before, and apparently neither had his family.
If he'd had second thoughts about marrying her, she'd murder him. She'd wait in this dress in this room until he showed his stupid face and then she'd bash it in with whatever would cause him the most pain. Probably her heeled slipper. That would leave a nice little reminder for him to not desert his bride at the altar.
The priest glanced at her with a pitying look and Brenna fought so hard not to show her teeth to him.
"Confound it, I'm about to go look for him myself," Afton muttered, looking over his shoulder toward the door.
Of course it would end up that the son she had wanted to marry but wasn't allowed to, was the one that showed up, while the son she hadn't wanted was missing.
"Perhaps we should just try again tomorrow?" the priest suggested tentatively.
"No!" Brenna nearly shrieked. She heard the guests ruffle behind her, their wavering attention now solidly focused on her. They'd all be wondering where Robbin was, and delaying the wedding was as good as saying that it wouldn't ever happen. Brenna did not want the simpering Anjeluund ladies to have that triumph. "We can wait a moment yet, can't we? He's probably lost track of time."
The priest dropped the issue, but his look was a mixture of pity and annoyance. He had other things to do, and waiting on a runaway groom for hours on end was not in his plans.
The potential scene now averted, the guests quickly lost interest once again and a murmur of assorted conversations started up. None had the ill manners to be as blatant as to talk directly of Brenna's growing shame, but a few made pointed comments about how some ladies would have no trouble keeping an eye on their intended.
While Brenna silently stewed and tried to look as serene as possible on the outside, Morna reached out and took her hand. Brenna's first instinct was to yank away. Morna had tried to move in on the larger prize of Afton, and Brenna might have been happily married into the royal line if it hadn't been for her sister.
...Only, Brenna knew even without Morna, Robert Glenfarrow wouldn't allow the marriage.
Brenna curled her fingers around Morna's palm, glad for the warm and steady feeling of her sister's skin. Normally, Brenna would have assumed Morna would be terrified being set up in front of important and influential people, but somehow Morna was as clam and steady as a king of old. She smiled reassuringly at Brenna and leaned in close so that no one could overhear her whisper.
"I'm sure he's on the way. But, if he doesn't make it today, it's through no fault of yours. Understand? He asked you to marry him, he's the one who set the date, and he's the one who needs the influence of the Ittal barons," Morna said. "So if he's foolish enough to say all that was nothing, then you should hold your head high for not being shackled to him forever."
"Very nicely said," Brenna whispered back. "But the fact remains that if he did all that to try and win me, then why wouldn't he wish to claim his prize? That is what everyone will ask each other, and there is shame in that for me."
Morna frowned, ready to argue against Brenna's point, but before she could get out more than two words, the door in the back of the room flung open with a loud bang.
A cacophony of gasps and the sound of clothes rustling filled the air as everyone spun to see the new source of excitement.
In to the small room staggered a group of young men singing a crude song at the tops of their lungs. They all wore fine clothing and sported the signet rings of nobility, but they looked worse for wear with messed hair and crumpled tunics. They shuffled down the room as one entity, passing the small cluster of chairs for the intimate turn out of guests. The song went on until its dirty end, and then, as if vomited up, Robbin was thrust from the group as they dispersed. He came to a staggering stop right behind his father, where he swayed violently and nearly tipped right over. At the last minute he grabbed a handful of his father's sleeve to steady himself, and then muttered a quick curse.
The priest, pretending not to hear the profanity, smiled benignly. "Now that we're all here, shall we start?"
"By all means," Afton answered, coming around to take his brother's arm and lead him to the empty spot beside Brenna before returning to his own place.
Immediately, Brenna smelled he stench of ale wafting from Robbin. He didn't give her so much as a passing glance, however. He was too focused on remembering how to stand.
As the priest began the drone of the marriage ceremony, Brenna clenched her fist so hard she knew blood had been drawn. Morna still held Brenna's other hand, but it did little to quell the growing storm.
Drunk and late. A complete disgrace. She could practically hear his ex-lover's twittering laugh behind her. Already no one took her engagement seriously, and now Robbin added to it. She looked a simpleton standing there forced to appear happy and oblivious to Robbin's swaying. What noble would ever accept her if her husband so clearly couldn't stand the thought of marrying her that he had to make sure he wouldn't remember a bloody thing?
Dropping Morna's hand, Brenna picked up Robbin's. Her nails bit into his warm and sweaty palm, but he didn't notice or didn't care, for she drew no reaction. Brenna was so caught up in her seething that she didn't notice the priest had said anything until Robert Glenfarrow cleared his throat and Morna gently nudged her in the ribs. Brenna's head whipped up and she stared blankly at the priest. Mercifully he took this as a sign that she hadn't been paying attention, and he repeated his question.
"Do you solemnly swear that, to the best of your abilities, you will support, cherish, comfort, and be loyal to Robbin Glenfarrow?"
A brief spark of doubt kindled as she thought of the childhood dreams all girls had of marrying for love. The breathless fantasy of a handsome man showering affection and pet-names like rain on a thirsty flower. Back then she'd never have thought her intended would care for her so little that he'd insult her in front of those she needed most to accept her.
She shook her head to dislodge the thoughts. Those were silly childhood daydreams, more suited for fairy tales than real life. She didn't want that anymore. She wanted what Robbin could give her. She needed it if she was to survive the bad cards dealt to her by life.
"I swear it," she said, voice firm and still.
The priest looked to Robbin. "Robbin Glenfarrow, do you solemnly swear that, to the best of your abilities, you will protect, provide for, and honor Lady Brenna Ildersong?"
For one second Brenna was sure he would say no and call it all off. He hesitated and it felt like eons. But then then his face set and he nodded shortly. "I swear it."
The priest stepped forward and lay his hands on their foreheads before chanting a prayer in the ancient tongue. He then dipped his thumb in a bowl of scented oil and pressed it to each of their lips in turn. It tasted bitter though the smell was musky and sweet.
"Witnesses, do you confirm that what has taken place here is to be a union which shall never be broken by mortal hands but only by that cold touch of death?"
The guests mumbled an affirmative. Even Robert.
"Then, in the presence of both the earth and the heavens, I declare these two souls bound."