Rhiannon (23 page)

“Are you cold, love?” he whispered.

“No, not cold, but I think we must dress in a few minutes
anyway.”

“Must we? You are so beautiful and so… I do not know exactly
how to say what I mean, but you belong here, naked and free.” He sighed. “I
have never done this before. I think it is much better to lie here under the
sky than to be closed inside. You have given me something no other woman could
give.”

“Why?”

Simon smiled. There was no challenge in the question, only a
pleased, slightly flattered curiosity. “Because with any other woman it would
be false, an unnatural thing. They belong in their cushioned chairs and their
pillowed, scented beds. Only you belong here, with the perfumes of the warm
earth, the crushed grass, and the sweet wind.”

For a little while Rhiannon was silent. She was deeply
pleased that Simon found something special about her, and she did not doubt his
sincerity. Still, her irrepressible sense of mischief could not long be
submerged. “But Simon,” she said, “if you think it will be unnatural to make
love to me in a bed, we are going to find it very inconvenient. You know how
often it is rainy for days at a time here, and in the winter when it snows—
Ugh!
”

The last guttural sound was not an expression of distaste
for making love in the wet, cold snow but an involuntary grunt forced out when
Simon flipped over and landed on top of her with a thud.

“Wood nymph!” he exclaimed triumphantly, without difficulty
defeating her effort to cast him off. “That is the thing that was in the back
of my mind. And it is true, too. You have no heart. Wood nymphs were said to
have had no souls and to be very lecherous. That was the purpose of capturing
them, I suppose.”

This sounded very severe, but since the words were
interspersed with kisses, Rhiannon was scarcely crushed, except by Simon’s
weight. “Better call me a river nymph,” she said in a rather muffled voice,
“for if you do not get off me, I will be squashed flat as a rush.”

Simon left off kissing her throat and nibbling her ear to
murmur, “You do not deny the lechery?”

Ten seconds before, she would have done so. As wonderful as
she had found her first mating, Rhiannon simply had not thought of repeating
the experience immediately. Now warmth flowed through her from wherever Simon’s
lips touched, and when she felt the pressure of his hardening shaft against her
thigh, a fury of desire seized her. Her breathing went all awry, and her arms
went tight around her lover. She no longer felt crushed by his weight and only
tightened her grip to hold him when he tried to ease up so he could get a hand
to her breast.

Much as she wanted that, Rhiannon desired union more. She
embraced Simon fiercely with her legs, a gesture at one and the same time so
innocent and so sensual that Simon’s practiced control deserted him. He thought
no more of a long and delicate foreplay. Straining against the pressure of
Rhiannon’s embrace, he lifted himself enough to position his shaft and drove
into her.

Rhiannon gasped, but when he thrust again she rose to meet
him. In a way, Rhiannon was even more excited this time than after Simon’s
careful manipulation before their first coupling. Now she knew what her prize
would be. She knew the rising pressure of pleasure inside her would burst in
nearly intolerable spasms of joy. She could focus her attention on that
pleasure, build it faster, higher. Her climax was an explosive convulsion that
left her limp, hardly conscious of Simon driving toward his own release.
Rhiannon’s first coherent thought was guilt for that. “I am sorry,” she
whispered. “I should not have gone so fast and left you.”

Simon lifted his head, which had been resting beside hers
while he gathered strength to withdraw from her. He chuckled. “Do not worry
about that. A man can always content himself. It is when it happens the other
way that it is a disaster.”

“Is it not better for you if I…help?” Rhiannon asked rather
shyly.

“Much better, beloved,” Simon assured her, smiling. He
kissed her cheek, her forehead, her determined chin. She was perfect,
completely, absolutely perfect. Simon was so much in love with Rhiannon’s other
qualities that he would have accepted some sexual failings. He had known she
was not frigid from her response in the cove near Aber, but her eagerness was
more than he had expected and her perception of his need was a real blessing.
There would be nothing to teach her except the skills and refinements that
prolonged joy.

“But do not trouble yourself about it,” he went on. “You
have done marvelous well for your first and second lessons. There will be time
enough to learn the fine points.”

“And I could not have a more experienced teacher, could I?”
Rhiannon remarked a little sharply.

“No, you could not, so be properly grateful,” Simon
responded, laughing. Then he grew serious, sitting up so he could look into her
face. “I have sworn I will be faithful in the future. There is no way to change
the past. Moreover, you would be a fool to wish it changed. A man without
experience always wonders whether there is something he has missed. For me,
there have been so many women that I can never doubt I have finally found the
one
.
I need seek no further,
eneit
.”

Eneit
, he had called her—his soul, his inner life—in
the old language, and his eyes with their gold and green flecks were clear,
hiding nothing. Rhiannon very nearly cried out that she would yield and be his
wife, but she could not say the words. Thus far she had been the winner. Simon
was her lover, and she had promised no more than she ever intended—to be
faithful to him as long as he was faithful to her. But to be a wife… A wife
swore faith no matter what her husband did—and could be harshly punished,
imprisoned, or killed, if she paid back his false coin with false coin of her
own.

For the moment, it was enough for Simon that Rhiannon had
sworn to be faithful. It would not take long, he was sure, before her mother
and father convinced her— without saying a word on the subject, perhaps—that
she should marry him. It was possible she would hold out until she got with
child, but then she would yield. She would not want any question to be raised
about her child’s right to the father’s possessions, now that she knew the
English law.

Sitting upright as he was, the wind caught him. He shivered
and started to lie down, but Rhiannon shook her head and sat up also. “Get
dressed,” she said, handing him his shirt and tunic. “I am sorry to be so
unromantic, Simon, but, forgive me, dear heart, I am hungry.”

He sprang to his feet, laughing, then pulled her up and
embraced her. “There are no sweeter words you could have said to me than those.
There is a time for love words and they are food for the soul then, but when
the belly calls it is a rare woman who has the courage to say so. I am hungry
also. Your mother said something about eating, but at that time I had only a
hunger to see you.”

“And now that that is satisfied, the other calls more
strongly.”

Simon yanked his tunic down to look at her, but she was
grinning like an imp. There had been no spite or blame in the remark, only a
confirmation that she felt the same way. They finished dressing hastily and
Simon hoisted his armor to his shoulder. It was a devil of a load, he grumbled,
but Rhiannon only said heartlessly that he was lucky their way home led
downhill, and it was not her fault he was such an idiot as to rush up the hill
fully armed. This drew some sharp reminders from Simon about times when
Rhiannon had not been very foresighted, so they arrived at the hall sparring
with words and laughing as merrily as on Simon’s first visit.

Kicva said only that those who came late to dinner could eat
cold meat, standing. However, she would have kissed Simon’s feet for making her
daughter’s entry into womanhood a warm blessing, had she been that kind of
person. There was nothing in Rhiannon’s railing words to betray her, but
something in her voice and the glow of her eyes was proof enough to her mother,
who knew her so well. Simon’s look was more transparent. The line of his mouth,
the sated droop of his eyelids… Kicva laughed as he bowed and made a formal
apology for being late to dinner. He looked like Math after a night out.

“Well, I will forgive you,” Kicva said in reply to Simon’s
excuses, and she signaled a servant who brought forward a small table. Others
carried in ready-laden trays and drew up chairs. Then in answer to Rhiannon’s
raised brows she said, “I am not abating my severity for this scapegrace’s glib
tongue but because he brought a letter from Llewelyn that needs consideration
by all of us.”

Simon blinked. He had not expected so direct an attack nor
so soon. However, he realized instantly that Kicva had no choice but to mention
the letter at once. He began to soak pieces of bread in a bowl of ragout and
scoop it hungrily into his mouth. Rhiannon, he knew, had cast a suspicious
glance at him, but he paid no attention. He would follow Kicva’s lead.

She said, “Did Simon have a chance to tell you how the
affair between Pembroke and the king was ended—if it has ended?”

Rhiannon blushed. Simon choked. There was not the slightest
change of expression on Kicva’s face, although she made a small gesture of the
hand that implied her daughter and Simon should not be fools.

“Ah, well,” she continued indulgently, “you are young. Stop
stuffing your face for a moment, Simon, and tell us now.”

“It will take more than a moment,” Simon said indignantly,
his mouth full of food.

“I do not desire a blow-by-blow description of each battle,
only an overall picture of the terms of the truce.”

Simon chewed and swallowed and embarked on a summary from
which Kicva picked the salient points.

“Yes, indeed,” she said, “I see very clearly why Llewelyn is
so disturbed. If the king holds by his word with Pembroke, he can use the large
force both have amassed to attack Wales.”

“No!” Simon exclaimed, almost choking on a new mouthful of
food. “Richard would never agree.”

“He might argue against it,” Kicva said, “but what could he
do? Turn rebel again? He has sworn no oath to Llewelyn; they have no formal
agreement that forbids the one to make peace without the other, or that forbids
one to attack the other. What excuse could Pembroke make to refuse the king’s
demand?”

“You are right so far as that goes,” Simon was forced to
admit, “but if the king makes peace with Richard, there would be no reason to
attack Wales.”

“A reason could be found if it would make the barons forget
why Pembroke had rebelled in the first place. Perhaps you do not realize,
Simon, that once the raiders are loose it is most difficult to recall them.
When the army withdraws, they may well turn their attentions to the border
farms as is their custom. Would this not be an excuse?”

Simon hissed angrily between his teeth. He had foreseen any
number of results of the truce, but not this one. After a moment, however, he
shrugged. “It would not work; at least, I do not believe it would. Richard will
most likely demand that Winchester and Rivaulx and Seagrave be dismissed
before—”

“Before what?” Rhiannon interrupted. “You say Pembroke will
have to be charged and cleared before a sitting of his peers. Then I suppose he
would need to bring charges against Winchester and his friends. God knows how
long that would take. Meanwhile, there is nothing to stop Winchester from
convincing everyone that the most important business at hand is to curb the
Welsh, since the king and his chief vassal are at peace. Is that impossible?”

Scowling, Simon was about to argue further, and then he saw
the gleam of satisfaction and warning in Kicva’s eyes. “I suppose it is not
impossible,” he said. “The Welsh and the Scots are often used as scapegoats.
Agreed that there is raiding and that is a constant irritation, still it
is
often internal politics rather than any real fault in England’s neighbors that
begins a war.”

“And even if it is not the first likelihood,” Kicva put in,
“Llewelyn does not wish to be caught unprepared. He would like to have an
emissary—an unofficial emissary—who would plead his case.”

First Simon felt betrayed. However, even as Kicva explained
Llewelyn’s notion that his daughter should serve this purpose, Simon saw the
plan—neat, efficient, and accomplishing three purposes at once.

Rhiannon saw only half. Since she had no reason to think of
the close tie Simon’s family had with the king, she did not associate her
father’s wish that she be his ambassador with marriage. “But I have no way to
reach the king,” she protested, “and even if I did…” A quick glance flashed at
Simon and then away. “No, I cannot. I could cause more trouble than good. I
cannot offer what most women who serve such a purpose provide, and I have no
bond of blood to protect me from such a suggestion. If I should be asked and
refuse—”

“Rhiannon!” Kicva exclaimed. “Your father is no panderer
and, even if he was, he is not a fool. He knows well enough that tact is not
your greatest virtue, and he has devised a way to protect you from the king and
open a path to him at one and the same time. Simon’s brother-by-marriage is
cousin to the king—”

Kicva broke off as Rhiannon jumped to her feet with blazing
eyes, but Simon had guessed what would happen and was also on his feet, holding
up a hand.

“I did not know, I swear it,” he said. “I did know Prince
Llewelyn intended to write his approval of our union to your mother and propose
it to my father, but I knew nothing of this other matter. There is no use being
angry with
me
, Rhiannon. You have known that I desired marriage from our
first meeting. I never lied to you, and I never changed.”

“You still desire marriage?”

“You know that I do, and that I will strive forward toward
that goal until I achieve it or I am dead.”

Rhiannon’s eyes met Simon’s challengingly. It was entirely
possible what he said was true, and all the more reason
not
to marry
him. When he had gained his prize and she was his, the game, the purpose of
being faithful would be ended. Simon’s lips tightened at what he read in
Rhiannon’s face, but Kicva’s cool voice came between them.

“There is a middle way that will answer all purposes,” she
suggested. “Llewelyn would assume that Lord Ian will approve this proposal, yet
it would be courteous and natural to show him the bride chosen for his son. It
would thus be reasonable that you and Simon be betrothed and that he take you
to see his parents.”

“Yes, and that would be an easy door to the king also,”
Simon added. “I am not Henry’s vassal and may marry in Wales without his
yea-say, but my father
is
his vassal, and in England a son’s marriage
needs the king’s approval. Henry would be very pleased if I brought my bride to
him—”

“And if he took a fancy to her?” Rhiannon interrupted.

“Oh, no!” Simon was shocked and showed it. “Not Henry! There
is nothing of King John in him in that way.”

“He is free enough with his men’s rights in other ways,”
Kicva remarked. “Why not in this? Does he not desire women?”

“He likes women well enough,” Simon replied, “but he is no
lecher. As to why he would not cast his eyes on Rhiannon, there are several
reasons, but the most important is that family is sacred to Henry. Rhiannon
will be Geoffrey’s sister-by-marriage and as inviolate to Henry as his own
sister, I assure you. Even if you were deliberately to try to provoke his lust,
I do not think he would take you—unless he were too drunk to know what he was
doing or otherwise out of his senses. He would be more likely to warn Geoffrey
or myself of your lewd nature.”

“Then you think this mad plan of my father’s has worth? Or
is it only a way of forcing me into a contract with you?”

“Do not be an idiot, Rhiannon,” Simon said with
exasperation. “Or, at least, credit that I am not one. The last way to convince
you into marriage is by force.” Then he frowned thoughtfully. “As to your
father’s plan, I do think it has worth. Prince Llewelyn knows Henry. They have
met several times and your father is a keen reader of men. Anyhow, he would
never force you into something to further my purpose; therefore, he believes
you are the best emissary he could find.”

This was too reasonable for Rhiannon to dispute. In fact,
she realized as soon as the anger of suspicion dissipated that her father’s
encouragement of Simon’s suit from the beginning was more political than
affectionate. Surely Llewelyn would be glad if she and Simon were happy, but he
was more interested in settling her cheaply with a man who could never use her
blood as a threat.

Yes, Rhiannon could see all the reasons now, and the
additional advantage of a new pathway to the king’s ear would make the marriage
very advantageous. But marriage had not been her intention, ever. Yet her
father had always been kind, and if her marriage would aid Gwynedd… She loved
her people and her hills and forests. Perhaps her mother’s way was a solution.
A betrothal could last many years, not coming to fruition for this reason or
that, and at worst it could be broken…and Simon was so eager for it.

Rhiannon put out her slender hand, and Simon grasped it so
hard he hurt her fingers. “I will agree to a betrothal,” she said, “if the
contract is made here in Wales.”

“Of course,” Simon concurred. “It would not be fitting for
you to travel with me to England without a betrothal, but it will also be a
surety for you,
eneit
. If you find me not to your taste, I swear I will
ask my father to discover some fault with the contract so that it may be
broken.”

Rhiannon laughed at him. “Oh, what a cocksure popinjay you
are! It would serve you right if I demanded my freedom just to put you in your
place.”

“Of all idiocies, cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face
is the worst,” Simon said complacently.

“I have heard more modest statements than that in my life,”
Kicva commented dryly.

“Is not honesty the best policy?” Simon rejoined
provocatively.

Rhiannon held her head. “Is this what you wish me to marry,
Mother? Do you really desire that I spend my whole life with a man who believes
himself God’s gift to womankind?”

“I have always known that to err brings punishment.” Kicva
shook her head and smiled as she rose to her feet. “It was a mistake to open my
mouth and thrust myself between you two. I have been battered enough. Now,
before this grain of wheat is ground to flour between the upper and nether
millstones, I will slip away. I leave you to the fate you have sought, Simon,
and you to the one you deserve, my dear daughter.”

“She means,” Simon said, opening his eyes wide to
manufacture an expression of surprised wonder, “that both of us will be blessed
by great happiness.”

“I know her better,” Rhiannon remarked. “She thinks the fool
will gain a shrew to wife—which will not improve either of them.”

But both knew better than they spoke, and Rhiannon did not
draw her hand from Simon’s. Nor did she even look doubtful when her mother bade
a servant fetch her writing desk and set it on a stand by a window. Since it
was clear that Kicva meant to write and tell Llewelyn his plan had succeeded so
far as a betrothal, Simon was quite content. He leaned forward and kissed
Rhiannon briefly, then released her hand. Without more ado, both began eating
again.

After a few minutes and a glance at her mother, Rhiannon
asked, “What is your family, Simon?”

Between bites Simon began to describe his relatives, but
Rhiannon soon shook her head. She had asked a stupid question to begin with. No
matter what Simon told her, she would not really know his family until she met
them. She said this aloud and Simon smiled.