Free The Princess and the Huntsman by Patricia Green Page B

knew and upon learning how to bake the loaf, she was transported by the delicious smell as it cooked.
    When the bread was finally brought to the table, Brandywyn stared at it as if it was a magical thing. She made it herself! Princess Brandywyn of Ring had baked a loaf of bread.
    Tom beamed at her from across the table, where they were enjoying their trout, dandelion salad and the amazing bread. “You did well, Brandywyn. I knew you could do it.”
    “I did do it,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “I did!” Preening, she went on. “It should be no surprise to you that a princess is an exceptional person; even under the meanest of conditions, she will rise above the peasantry.”
    His smile disappeared entirely. “You are too arrogant by half, Brandywyn.”
    She ate a bit more supper. “I say only the truth.”
    “Being obnoxious will not work with me, young lady. I shall not bow to your regal majesty. You are a girl, a girl with a poor attitude. I shall fix that and return you to your home a better person than you were when you left.”
    Brandywyn was too pleased with herself to argue further, so she let it drop.
    The day drew to a close and, wearing only Tom’s shirt, she climbed back into the big bed. She rather liked the idea of sharing it with him, though Brandywyn had no intention of telling him so. But, under these trying circumstances, his warm, stalwart presence was a calming influence on her battered nerves.
    She was asleep in no time, but Tom came into the bed somewhat later, and it woke her slightly. Semi-slumbering, she felt him pull her up against the front of his body and hold her tight, like two spoons in a drawer. It was comforting to have him there, so she dropped back into a deep sleep.
     
    * * *
     
    The next day dawned much as the first, but this time, Tom roused her from sleep just as the dawn lightened the sky. Brandywyn was much affronted. Princesses did not rise so early. They attended balls and fetes until the wee hours and then slept until noon. But Tom’s schedule did not work like that, and so Brandywyn was pressed into that mold. It seemed that she was to be treated like a peasant in all ways.
    Brandywyn dressed a bit carelessly, and braided her long hair loosely. She was too sleepy to put much effort into it. Tom snorted at her unkempt appearance, but did not say anything. Instead, he led her out to the cattle shed and to the cow.
    “Now, Princess , you will milk a cow.”
    “What! You cannot imagine that I will deign to touch this beast.”
    The cow lowed, as if insulted.
    “Aye, you will. Have you no memory of sweet milk from the cow’s udder? Did your mother never give you a squirt as a child, teasing you while teaching you to milk?”
    Brandywyn was shocked. The very idea! Why, she hardly knew that cows had udders! “Absolutely not. My mother was Queen of Ring—until she died. She never milked a cow in her life.”
    “Perhaps ‘tis time the daughter learned, in that case.” He picked up a milking stool and approached the cow. The cow chewed its cud, seemingly uninterested in the goings-on at her middle.
    “This is Fancy,” Tom told Brandywyn. “She is my milk cow. I milk her each morning at about this time, and she rewards me with milk, sweet cream, and if I labor a bit, butter. Fancy is well-loved.”
    “You love your cow?”
    He laughed. “She is nicer to me than you are.”
    Brandywyn blushed. She knew when she was being teased. “You can have your cow, then. I have no need of you.”
    “Ah, but my dear, you do have need of me. Until you remember who you are, you need me to feed, clothe, and house you. Unless you plan to find another group of brigands who will treat you with the same tender care.”
    The thought made her shudder. No, even though he was difficult and stern, Tom was a much better choice than being stolen by ruffians again. Apparently, he could read the disgust on her face because all he did was nod and take a seat on the milking stool and