Rhiannon (24 page)

“True enough, and you will see them differently than I do,
but one thing I can swear to you, Rhiannon. They love me and will desire to
love you most eagerly. They will not look for faults in you,
eneit
, but
only for good.”

“I do not fear,” Rhiannon said and smiled. “The worst that
can befall is that they will oppose our marriage. Well, that will not displease
me! They could not oppose it more than I. No one will care that you are my
lover. I may be strange and uncouth, but I am well enough bred.”

To her surprise, Simon did not look at all taken aback by
this statement. His eyes glittered green and gold with laughter. If anything in
the world could convince Rhiannon to marry him before the need to provide for a
male child pushed her into it, the family at Roselynde would do it. He had many
joys in her agreement to the betrothal, but a reason to get her to Roselynde
was one of the greatest. Simon had infinite faith in the womenfolk of his
family. He was quite certain that they would deliver his love to him, not only
bound but content to stay so.

It would be unwise to say what he thought, but Simon knew
Rhiannon had seen his impulse to laugh and he had to say something. “They will
not find you uncouth, my love. Exotic, perhaps, but that will do you no harm.
And if you can set one of your wild tales into French, my mother will think the
sun rises and sets on you. She and Gilliane are great ones for a tale of
romance.”

“I will do it gladly.” Rhiannon’s eyes grew bright with
pleasure. “Do you really think they will like my songs?”

“
Eneit
, they will take you away from me completely
for the sake of those songs if I allow it. Geoffrey will want you to teach him
every note. He is a fine player of the lute and sings most sweetly himself. My
father will hang on every word, remembering the joys of his youth, and the
children will keep you at it from dawn until they are driven to their beds.
They are never done pestering my father to tell them tales of giants and magic
in Wales.”

However uncaring of disapproval a person may claim to be, it
was pleasing and reassuring for Rhiannon to believe that she had a shield
against criticism. Although she would never have admitted she wished to be
liked and accepted by Simon’s family, the key to their regard that he had given
relaxed her. Roselynde ceased to loom so large in her mind that it obscured all
else. She began to ask questions concerning the greater purpose behind their
betrothal, questions about the king and the court.

It was a theme to which Rhiannon returned again and again.
Simon, who had initially given little or no thought to what she could
accomplish, began to recast his ideas. Over the next few days Rhiannon
extracted from him a wealth of information that he did not even know he
possessed and had designed several tentative plans to ingratiate herself with
the king.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully one afternoon as they lay
together in the woods, “even if the peace is broken and my father makes common
cause with Pembroke, Henry will probably not blame me—a mere woman. And if he
likes me and I interest him—not as a woman, of course, but as an entertainer—I
could be useful when the terms of peace are made even in future times.”

Simon turned a little more toward her and pressed his face
into the hollow of her throat. He did not wish her to see the amusement and
delight in his eyes. Rhiannon knew that her presence in the English court
presupposed a bond with his family, and, more and more, she spoke in the long
term as if their being together was a natural thing. This had to mean marriage.
Simon was far too wise to bring this to her attention yet. Let her mire herself
in the quicksand farther. Then he would think of some good, pride-salving
reason—and he would have her.

She stroked his head idly as he kissed her neck, not aroused
by his caress because they had just finished making love a little while before;
also, her attention was on a serious subject. Simon did not feel rejected. He
was quite accustomed to women who regarded sex just as men did—a great joy and
pleasure but only when more important matters did not supervene. He rolled to
his back again, agreed with what she had said, and contemplated with extreme
satisfaction the small forest glade in which they lay.

There was, of course, no way for them to be together inside
the hall. Simon slept in the common room with all the men, and Rhiannon slept
in the women’s quarters, so they had not yet made love in a bed. There were
plenty of other places, though, even when it rained, like the shepherd’s hut
where they had spent all of the preceding afternoon. The fleeces, with their
sweet, oily odor, had made a softer bed than Simon’s cloak over a heap of pine
needles, but he still preferred the open, whether it was the hay-scented
hillside in the sun or this odorous, mysterious hollow under the great, silent
trees.

“How long will I have to make a friendship with the king if
I can manage to do so?” Rhiannon asked after a few minutes of contemplative
silence.

“The conference is called for the Sunday after Michaelmas.
If anything is to be accomplished, it must be before then, of course, but—” He
jerked upright. “I have been too much bemused by your sweetness, Rhiannon. The
truth is that we have very little time indeed—if we are not already too late.
Winchester would have begun at once to rave of the depredations of the Welsh
and the need to bring us to heel if he intended to use that device. We should
have had the contract written at once—but I did not know what to put in it. No,
that is only an excuse. I thought only of being here with you.”

Rhiannon sat up also, but she was smiling slightly. “I do
not think your bemusement will have caused any delay. My father’s wits are not
so lightly beclouded, and I am sure he is as aware of the need for haste as
you. Did you not notice how swiftly my mother went to reply to him?”

“I thought that was to keep you from changing your mind.”

“I am not much given to changing my mind,” Rhiannon said,
but there was no sharpness in the words, and she leaned closer to kiss Simon’s
shoulder.

He did not need more invitation and soon they were coupled
again, working more slowly and sweetly—as was usual for the second time—toward
a rich flowering of satisfaction. Nonetheless, as soon as they had caught their
breaths, Simon and Rhiannon rose and dressed. They knew the sweet idyll was ended.
They would not enjoy their love less in the future, but in these few days the
love had come first.

It was as if they had wandered over hillsides and
forest-land, examining sections of the countryside to find those that would
best serve as a backdrop for their passion. Henceforward other things would
come first. Love would bring surcease from worry and tension, would sweeten
life and make islands of joy, but they would no longer see the shape of the
land only in terms of love.

After dressing they went back to Angharad’s Hall. On the way
they decided that it would be best to go to Llewelyn so that they would be
ready for whatever he decided was best. Neither was very pleased with this
notion. It would be difficult at best and impossible at worst to find any
privacy for themselves, but each knew there was plenty of time for them to
pleasure each other. The political problems in which they would be involved
could not wait.

Just as they entered the gate, Math stalked up, spat
viciously at Rhiannon, and ran his claws into Simon’s leg. Both were too
shocked to cry out, and stood staring, first at Math and then at each other, in
blank amazement. Rhiannon had wondered after she and Simon became lovers
whether Math would be jealous. He had given no sign of it, seemingly as
affectionate to Simon as ever.

But now Math had stalked ill-naturedly out toward the woods.
Since standing and staring at each other could not produce any answer, they
continued on into the hall. Here they found the solution. Kicva rose from her
knees beside a long, wicker traveling basket as they entered.

“So that was why!” Rhiannon cried, and burst out laughing.

“Why?” Simon echoed.

“Math saw Mother packing my things. He is always furious
when I go away.” She laughed up at Simon. “Somehow he must know it is something
to do with you. That is why you were punished worse. Sometimes I wonder if that
cat
is
altogether of this world. He has always ignored my other suitors.
Could it be that he smelled I was attracted to you and thought you would keep me
from leaving?”

“I see that we are going,” Simon said, smiling at Kicva,
“but I hope it is not any trespass that has decided you to drive us out.”

Kicva laughed at him. There had been a faint note of inquiry
under his jesting remark. Simon had been certain Kicva knew and approved of his
relationship with Rhiannon, but seeing her packing her daughter’s things had
worried him because, until she had laughed at his remark, she had looked rather
stern and sad.

“Only a need for haste. The betrothal contracts came from
Llewelyn this morning, together with a gift for Henry and letters for you and
me. Llewelyn is very eager for you to go to Roselynde with all speed. You had
better read your letter and decide whether matters are so urgent that you
should leave as soon as packing can be finished, or whether you can stay until
morning.”

Simon was cracking the seal as she spoke, and his eyes
skimmed over greetings and formalities down into the meat of the message. In a
few minutes he looked up. “There is no order here for me, only an explanation
of some matters in the contracts and a message to my father, but if you are
willing, Rhiannon, I would like to go as soon as you can be ready. I have a
feeling that your father would not have sent the contracts here if he did not think
that even one day might be of importance. If time were not of the essence, he
would have bade us come to him.”

“So do I think also,” Kicva said gravely.

“Then I am ready now,” Rhiannon stated.

“At least put on your riding boots, beloved,” Simon suggested
with a grin.

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose at him for his teasing, but did
not delay to reply to it. She went to attend to her own packing, and Kicva
began to assemble Simon’s belongings while he returned to the courtyard to tell
his men to bring in the horses and collect their gear. They ate an early meal
and Simon donned his armor. But when Rhiannon was seeing to the loading of the
pack animals, he went to say a private farewell to Kicva. He found her, for
once idle, sitting empty-handed before her empty loom. Simon stopped short,
staring in amazement.

To his memory it had always held a marvel of beauty, the
leaf-green cloth with its interlacing trees on which perched myriad birds, all
glittering so that they seemed to be in constant motion. He did not remember
until that moment that the loom had been empty when he arrived for his first
visit. Kicva had strung it the next day, and by the time he had taken Rhiannon
to Dinas Emrys enough of the fabric had been woven to show the design.

“Where—” he began.

“It is for Rhiannon’s wedding gown,” Kicva said, looking
past him. “It is packed in the basket.” Then she brought her eyes to him and
smiled. “I had the weaving of it. Let it be your mother, Simon, who has the
cutting and sewing of it. Thus we will share in the decking of the bride.”

“Will you not come to our wedding, Kicva?” Simon asked
anxiously.

“Perhaps. That is as the future will decide. But it does not
matter. I have seen your joining, and it was good. I am grateful to you,
Simon.”

“And I to you, Kicva, for you made—and I do not mean by
breeding only—a daughter that could give meaning to the word woman and to my
whole life.”

Math refused to go with them. He came out of the forest when
Rhiannon called, but only to spit at her and stalk haughtily past his traveling
basket. That meant he did not choose to go. Rhiannon would miss him;
nonetheless, she was glad. He would not have been happy, she thought, on so
long a journey with a host of unfamiliarities at the end of it.

They spent that night at Dinas Emrys. For reasons of her
own, Rhiannon did not wish to share Simon’s bed that night. She slept, if she
slept at all, wrapped in her cloak on the walls. Simon watched beside her,
dozing sometimes, while she listened to the voices in the wind. She never told
him what she heard, but it was something that sent them forth before the dawn
with increased urgency. Long after dark they came to Krogen, exhausted, the
horses stumbling with weariness—except Ymlladd, of course, who bit the
incautious groom for judging his condition by that of the other animals.

Simon and Rhiannon shared a bed that night, but they did not
make love in it. Hardy as she was, Rhiannon was too quickly asleep to think of
it, and Simon was tired enough himself that he was content just to have her
beside him. The withdrawal at Dinas Emrys had frightened him at first, but
later he understood that Rhiannon had made no attempt to exclude him from her
communion with whatever lived there. He did not understand it as well as she,
but he never felt personal threat from it, and Rhiannon seemed even more eager
for the journey. Thus, he was content, not needing to claim and reclaim what
was surely his.

They rode out of Krogen with a full troop, Siorl in command.
When Rhiannon protested in surprise, Simon told her the tale of Sybelle and the
raiders. He assured her he would try to avoid any area under contest, but such
activity had a habit of spreading, and he did not wish to be caught unprepared.
Although Simon was technically neutral in the quarrel between Pembroke and the
king because his overlord was neutral, many things could happen to him—and more
especially to Rhiannon—before that neutrality was established. Over the three
days it took them to reach Roselynde, Rhiannon saw that Simon had been right.
They had no trouble, but only because they were too strong to be attacked with
impunity.

Rhiannon was stunned by the immensity of Roselynde keep.
Some of her father’s fortresses were very strong, but none were like Roselynde.
“I will get lost,” she cried.

Simon laughed at her. “It is very simple, really, but there
will be guides enough—if you are not jesting.”

“As to getting lost—yes,” she answered, “but…it is too
large, Simon. It has driven away the woods and the wild things, and the walls
are steeped in blood. This is not a refuge but a threat to all who come this
way. I could not live here.”

“No,
eneit
, no. It does not come to me,” he soothed
as they rode up the steep path to the main gate. “The blood you sense is very
old. The threat is only against those who come with hatred and evil in
their
hearts. There has been peace and love in Roselynde for near a hundred years.”

She said no more, but her eyes were very large and her
breath quicker than natural as they fronted the drawbridge. Ymlladd stepped on
it without hesitation, but Rhiannon’s graceful mare, Cyflym, balked and danced.
Simon backed his horse and held out his hand. He knew the bridge was sound and
steady as rock. It could only be Rhiannon’s fear that caused her mount to
refuse.

“Inside there is love,” Simon said.

Rhiannon took his hand and they went forward together. At
the first shouts of happy greeting from the men on the walls and the
watchtowers, the tension in her fingers began to relax. She could not
understand what they said, for they shouted in English and Simon replied in
that tongue, but no one could mistake the tone. It was in the servants’ voices
too, in the grooms who came to take the horses, in the men and women who broke
away from their tasks to welcome home a son of the house with whom they were
not afraid to laugh and joke.

By the time Simon had greeted Knud, who had taken Beorn’s
place as master-at-arms when the old man died, Rhiannon was standing at ease,
looking curiously around at the activities of the inner bailey. It was not
really so much different from the keeps in Wales. Here, too, the kitchens
crouched against the wall of the inner keep close by the door of the
forebuilding. She had noticed the grooms leading the horses around to the back,
so there must be some stables there, although the pens for the cattle and other
stables had been in the outer bailey. Off to the side, opposite the kitchen
shed, were other sheds plainly used for storage.

Men and women moved about purposefully but without hurry.
All seemed to be well fed, better fed, perhaps, than her father’s servants.
Their faces, although broad and fair instead of dark and narrow, had the same
look about the eyes as her mother’s servants. Simon had told the truth.
Whatever threat Roselynde keep posed against intruders, those inside were, for
the most part, content with their lot.

Knud had advanced on Siorl and began to discuss in broken
French-English where to house Simon’s men. Siorl replied in even more fractured
French-Welsh. Simon grinned, but left them to solve the problem. “They are a
little crowded,” he explained to Rhiannon, “because everyone is here. We were
wise to ride so hard. We have only just caught them before they left for
Oxford. Usk is to be returned to Pembroke on the twenty-third. There has been a
family conference on what to do if the king will not keep his word.”

Rhiannon began to look a trifle apprehensive again, but
Simon did not notice it in the joy of coming home. She was a step or two behind
him when he was enveloped in a warm embrace by a man who came hurriedly out of
the forebuilding. Rhiannon knew him at once, although many years had passed
since she had seen him, and the lines of his face had blurred with age. This
was Lord Ian.

“You cannot imagine my joy when I received Llewelyn’s proposal,”
he said to his son. “I never imagined he would consider you for his daughter. I
have written my approval, of course, and also a request that you should be sent
home—but I did not expect you so soon. My messenger only went out the day
before yesterday. But come in, Simon, come in.”

“Are you well, Papa?” Simon asked.

They were the first words he had been permitted to say, and
Rhiannon was startled at the intensity and anxiety in them. She looked more
intently at Lord Ian. He was not young, but he had moved almost as gracefully
as Simon. He was hard and fit and showed no sign of illness, except… Perhaps
the husky breathlessness of his voice was not all hurry. Nonetheless, he
laughed at Simon’s question and waved it away.

The gesture, taking his eyes from Simon for a moment, made
him aware of Rhiannon. He stopped all movement and stared at her, his face
softening into gentleness. “Forgive me,” he said. “I was so surprised to see
Simon that I did not notice you, my dear. You are Lady Rhiannon. I would never
have known you. How good and kind of you to come. Be welcome. Be very welcome.”

There was such warmth in him that the simple words were
infused with deeper meaning. Without thinking, Rhiannon put her hand in Ian’s
and stepped forward to kiss him on the cheek. He circled her waist with his
free arm and pressed his lips to her forehead, murmuring, “Be welcome,
Daughter.”

“I do not know how he does it,” Simon cried, laughing.
“Papa, you should be ashamed. You are sixty years old, and still no woman can
resist you.”

“Hold your tongue, you impertinent boy,” Ian said. “If she
resists you, you deserve it.”

“Indeed, he does,” Rhiannon agreed, remaining comfortably in
the circle of Ian’s arm. “I am sure you never preened yourself like a cock on a
dung heap, Lord Ian. You should hear your son.”

“I would like to, but owing to our prior knowledge of him he
is very modest with us.” Ian looked at Simon with mock disfavor. “I do not
doubt you speak the truth, Simon. I have never known you to lie. But your lack
of wisdom shocks me. Is that how I taught you to woo a woman?”

“No, but it works quite well with a thistle,” Simon said
cheerfully. “When the thistle is heated, it unfolds, you know, and one can
grasp its soft heart without being stung.”

“I mark that match a draw and call a brief truce,” Ian
stated, holding his hand like a referee judging a bout of fencing. “Now let us
go in before a new engagement begins. Your mother will be delighted, Simon. I
could tell her nothing of Lady Rhiannon, only having seen her as a child.
Alinor has been imagining that you took advantage of some poor, shy, innocent
maiden who normally hid herself in the dark corners of the women’s hall.”

He led them in, retaining his grip on Rhiannon as if he
realized that the clan gathered in Roselynde would be somewhat overwhelming to
a stranger. As he introduced her around, her eyes grew larger and larger.
Although she teased Simon about his lack of modesty, she was well aware that he
was not nearly as vain as he might have been, considering his really astonishing
beauty of face and form. Now she knew why.

Rhiannon was called a beauty, but here she felt like an ugly
duckling. Alinor was old; nonetheless the bones of her face showed beautiful
still, and her eyes were like Simon’s, filled with dancing lights of gold and
green. Gilliane, Joanna, and Sybelle were breathtaking, the first darkly
glowing, the second a blazing flame, and the youngest golden and perfect as the
sun.

Of the men, Simon was perhaps now the most beautiful because
of Ian’s age, but Adam was not far behind. He was more massive than Simon, like
a great wall, except that he emanated the same feeling of leashed power. He was
as handsome as Alinor must have been beautiful when she was young, and he, too,
had her eyes. Rhiannon’s gaze rested on Geoffrey, and she felt a marked sense
of kinship. He was the only one who was not a model for some god. His lips
twitched with amusement and understanding, and his eyes glowed golden.

“Do not let it trouble you,” he murmured in her ear. “They
do not even realize what they do to people all together like this.”

But it was not only the beauty, it was the warmth of welcome
that troubled Rhiannon. They were really overjoyed; she was thanked again and
again for making so long and hard a journey so that her betrothed’s parents
could come to know her. Color rose in Rhiannon’s face. She had expected to be
greeted politely, perhaps even with a slightly veiled hostility or with tepid
approval. This open, eager, warm-hearted welcome was very pleasant but somewhat
disconcerting. It made her feel guilty.

“But it was not for that I came,” she blurted out. “My
father wishes me to meet King Henry and, if there should be a threat to
Gwynedd, to try to divert him from that purpose.”

There was a moment of startled silence, broken by Simon’s
laughter. “She is not yet perfected in diplomacy,” he chortled.

Rhiannon turned on him. “One is not double-tongued with
those who offer love,” she snapped. “I can say sweet enough words when there is
falseness in the air.”

“Thank you, my love,” Simon rejoined with dancing eyes. “Now
do I better understand why you lash me with your tongue.”

“If she does it for love, you are more fortunate than you
deserve,” Alinor said, pleased by Rhiannon’s honesty and totally delighted by
Simon’s obvious adoration. “Your father would never lay the rod on you as you
merited. Perhaps Lady Rhiannon will tame you before you destroy yourself.”

“Mama, if Papa had whipped me as I deserved, I would be
dead,” Simon teased.

“Certainly,” Alinor agreed cordially, “but for once you seem
to have done something right. Come, Lady Rhiannon, sit down beside me and
explain what it is Lord Llewelyn fears.”

“You do not need to call me ‘lady’. Rhiannon alone is
enough, Lady Alinor,” Rhiannon said, coming forward and sitting on a stool
hastily vacated by Joanna’s youngest daughter.

She was immediately more comfortable because of Alinor’s
calm acceptance of and interest in what she had exposed. Beginning to explain,
she was interrupted by eager questions. Some she answered, some she looked to
Simon to answer. One at least, was unanswerable.

“So you do not know whether Llewelyn really has reason to
believe that Henry intends to make peace with Pembroke, or is only blocking
every mousehole in his usual way,” Geoffrey said.

“I think it must be the latter,” Rhiannon replied. “Since
the Earl of Chester died, he has no source really close to the king except Lord
Ian.”

“I agree,” Simon said. “It was more likely that he just saw
a way to solve several problems at once.”

As he went on to explain how he had reasoned out Llewellyn’s
intentions, Rhiannon realized she had been accepted, absorbed—just as simply as
that. She was now a part of this family. Simon was presently the focus of
questions and attention, and there was time to watch the interactions. It was
fascinating to her that the women were as interested and as involved in the
discussion as the men. It was very different from her father’s Court. Lady Joan
had been included in the political talk when relations with England were
concerned, but that was an exception.

Of course, Rhiannon admitted to herself, she had never tried
to be included. She had never had any interest in affairs of state, aside from
discovering whether there would be any danger to Angharad’s Hall. She wondered
what her father’s reaction would have been had she wished to be involved. But
it did not matter. Rhiannon knew that her interest would fade again when the
matter did not concern her directly. There was a more important aspect to it,
however. These women who spoke and listened so eagerly might not run wild on
the hills, but they were also free. It was in their voices and the bearing of
their bodies and in the bright intelligence in their eyes. Then she saw the
look Gilliane turned on her husband, and Rhiannon’s throat tightened. They were
not free, these women; they were enslaved as only a woman who had given her
heart can be enslaved.