Gwynn is rescued
Gwynn cried, “Connie!” in a squeaky whisper and hopped her way across the floor to meet her. The excited shaking of her tiny hands made her appear to have just taken a bite of something unbearably hot.
Condal forced a bright smile and whispered, “Gwynn!”
“How romantic!” Gwynn squealed. “I don’t know how you did it! I would have fainted at his feet! So gallant!”
“Are you thinking so?” Condal asked weakly.
“So noble! Reserved as he is, he saw a damsel in distress and felt compelled to come to her rescue…”
“Wait – Who did?”
“Cearball!”
Condal gasped, “Cearball?”
“Cearball?” Finn echoed, having meanwhile mysteriously appeared behind her.
Gwynn held her shaking fists straight down at her sides and lifted her nose imperiously, bringing it no higher than Finn’s chin nevertheless.
“Were we talking to you?” she demanded.
“No, but I was listening anyway. Is that double-ninny Careball bothering you, Connie?”
“Not Cearball, you triple-ninny,” Gwynn growled at him. “The Captain was!”
Condal peeped, “Nobody was…”
“You tell me if he is,” Finn commanded her.
“Oh, and what will you do about it?” Gwynn sneered.
“I shall pull his hat down over his eyes and punch him in the gut!” he cried.
Condal managed a giggle.
“And what if he is not wearing a hat?” Gwynn asked scornfully.
“Then I shall punch him in the gut and run!” he laughed.
“The Captain is not slow, you know, even if he is old.”
“I am not talking about the Captain, cockaninny! But if he starts bothering you, henny,” he said gravely to Condal, “I shall punch him, too.”
Condal tried to plead, “He’s not…”
“He is certainly bothering her!” Gwynn gasped. “He is trying to marry her!”
“He is not!” Condal sobbed.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t warn you, honey,” Gwynn soothed. “I certainly never dreamt he would be so forward and… vulgar…”
“But he seemed nice…” She looked helplessly to Finn.
“He’s a jolly sort of fellow, Connie,” Finn said, “but if you don’t like him, I shall punch him just for being alive. Or tell my father, and he will make him leave you alone. How’s that for gallant?” he grinned.
Gwynn clenched her fists and appeared to seethe.
Close to tears, Condal whispered, “I don’t want… anyone to do anything…”
“You’re looking a little green, henny,” Finn said. “Want a drink?”
“Wanna drink, huh?” Gwynn grunted, mocking his recent attempts to cloak his elven accent behind a peasant twang.
“No, thank you,” he said crisply to her. “Huh, henny?”
“I believe I have had too much to drink already,” Condal quavered.
“That’s your problem, girlie. Wine on an empty stomach. Let’s go sit on the couch by Cat and Paul and Hetty.”
“Don’t go!” Gwynn warned her ominously. “He’s just trying to drag you beneath the mistletoe so he can kiss you!”
Finn sniffed, “Jealous?”
Gwynn’s face twisted into a look of boiling outrage, but just as suddenly it calmed into a radiant smile. “Father!”
Alred changed course as gracefully as a dancer and stopped at her side. “Daughter?” he replied.
“Mayn’t we have a dance or two before supper?” Gwynn asked sweetly. “Everyone is here!”
Condal looked up at Alred in alarm. She had not mentioned Malo to Gwynn – and she thought it was as well she had not, for perhaps the Duke had neglected to invite him after all.
But Alred gave her a slight, sorrowful smile and said to Gwynn, “Everyone who had a chance to say he was coming is here, anyway.”
“You know Egelric won’t come unless you send Saeward to arrest him,” Gwynn sniffed, believing it was Finn’s father he had meant by those who had not had a chance. “If he knows there’s a party, he’ll find some excuse to delay himself, if he must throw himself from his horse and break his own leg to do it.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Finn groaned.
Gwynn pointedly ignored him. “Mayn’t we?” she begged her father.
“Before supper, my dear?” Alred sighed.
“Just a little dance,” Gwynn gushed. She clapped her tiny hands and cried to the company, “A little dance before we go in, friends! Father will lead.”
Just as she began to turn in search, Condal thought, of Cearball, Alred took her tiny hand in his and turned her back to him.
“My beloved lady shall lead,” he corrected, “and I shall reverently follow.”
Gwynn croaked in dismay.
“Ach!” Alred dropped her hand and sighed. “I forget that I am lately become unfit for dancing. You must come to her rescue, young man, and save this damsel from the ignominy of being seen dancing with her father.”
Finn promptly bowed to Gwynn with deliberate clumsiness and drawled, “Wanna dance with me, huh?” He winked at Condal and confided, “Next time I shall remember to break my leg.”
