Serpent (12 page)

             
Penelope and Bhrodi ended up in the small hall of Rhydilian’s keep, a half-rounded room that occupied the entire second floor of the structure. At this late hour, it was dark and still, with the fire burning low in the very tall hearth and a haze of smoke from the malfunctioning chimney lingering up near the ceiling. It was very quiet, quiet enough for two people to have an uninterrupted conversation, which Bhrodi very much wanted to have. Penelope, however, was not so sure.

             
Seated at the small table near the hearth with a few dogs sleeping at their feet, Penelope sat across from Bhrodi because he had tried to sit next to her, twice, but she had moved away both times. Therefore, he was content to gaze at her from across the table. Like a beautiful, skittish mare, she would not let him come any closer. As long as she wasn’t running away he was satisfied, but now came the important part; keeping her engaged in the conversation so she wouldn’t grow bored and leave. Bhrodi immediately lapsed into tales of the beast from the marsh.

             
“When I was a child, I was not allowed to go near the marshes at all because of the beast you saw this evening,” he said as they settled down in their seats. “My mother would forbid it. Of course, when you are a child and your mother forbids you anything, it is imperative that you disobey her. Am I not correct in that assumption?”

             
Penelope fought off a smile. “In my house, it was the opposite,” she replied. “If we disobeyed my mother, then we were in for a row.”

             
Bhrodi smiled faintly. “And you have a large family?”

             
She nodded. “There are nine of us,” she said. “I am the youngest.”

             
Bhrodi pondered the information. “I would imagine having a large family makes you feel as if you belong to something,” he said. “As if you are a part of something big.”

             
Penelope shrugged. “It does, I suppose,” she said. “But my siblings were all so much older than I was that sometimes I felt like an only child.”
              Bhrodi lifted his eyebrows in understanding. “I have no brothers, although I have a younger sister,” he said. “Many times I wished for more siblings, but it was not to be.”

             
“Why not?”

             
He was thoughtful as he stood up, heading for the earthenware pitcher and wooden cups that were down towards the middle of the table. He spoke as he collected them.

             
“Because my father was a good deal older than my mother,” he said, setting the cups down in front of them and beginning to pour the dark red wine. “My father was married before, you see, many years before he met my mother, but his wife bore him only a daughter before she died. My father was friends with my mother’s father, my grandfather, and with the promise of the Coventry earldom, he was able to marry my mother, who was very young. I was born a short time later. Then my younger sister came along when I was almost twenty years of age, killing my mother in childbirth. My father passed away of sheer old age shortly thereafter, so there was no opportunity for more siblings.”

             
Penelope listened with some interest, taking the cup he put before her. “Then who raised your sister? It sounds as if she was an infant when both of your parents passed away.”

             
He nodded as he reclaimed his seat and collected his cup. “She was,” he said. “I was fostering at the time and, of course, in no position to raise my sister, so she was raised by my mother’s father. When she grew older, she went to Coventry to foster and returned to Rhydilian last year to marry.”

             
Penelope pondered the younger sister’s situation as she sipped at the tart red wine. “If she was born when you were nearly twenty, then she must be very young indeed.”

             
“She turned thirteen years of age in January,” he said. “Her husband was an illegitimate son of Dafydd ap Gruffydd, cousins to the ap Gaerwens and the last Welsh prince, but the lad was killed last November at the battle of Moel-y-don when Edward tried to storm Anglesey. My sister is almost eight months pregnant with their child.”

             
Penelope tried not to show her dismay over a very young pregnant widow; it wasn’t a new story in this world of battle and conquest, but thirteen years of age was still very young to have suffered such trauma. She wasn’t very good at expressing sympathy, afraid she would say the wrong thing, so she stumbled to find something more to say to all of that.

             
“Does she live here with you, then?” she asked.

             
Bhrodi nodded. “She does,” he replied. “The child she carries is full blooded Welsh royalty, so she will remain here in my charge. I am sure Edward would love to get his hands on the child so I must keep it under my protection. Mayhap it will be the last child ever born of pure Welsh royalty, because I, too, have attempted to carry on my royal blood but my attempt has failed so far.”

             
Penelope was drawn in by the curious statement. “What do you mean?”

             
Bhrodi found his thoughts turning to Sian, his dead love, and the child that had died with her. It was the forbidden subject, now raised fairly early in the conversation. He would not speak her name, or clean her chamber, but somehow as he gazed at Penelope, he found the carefully-held control leaving him. Something about the woman softened him and before he could stop himself, the forbidden subject was upon his lips.

             
“Because I was married but my wife died in childbirth,” he said quietly. “I lost my wife and child two years ago.”

             
Penelope was in the uncomfortable waters of death and pity. She didn’t know this man but he had thus far disclosed some very personal details to her and she was unsure how to react. Was he trying to gain her sympathy? Was he trying to soften her towards him? She didn’t know him at all and, not knowing, she couldn’t be at all sure that this wasn’t a ploy of some kind. Therefore, her guard was up.

             
“Then I am sorry for you,” she said without too much emotion. “But I can see how it would be important for such bloodlines to continue. Surely there are many fine Welsh noblewomen who would gladly help you.”

             
He nodded, unwilling to further linger on thoughts of Sian and disappointed that Penelope hadn’t shown more pity about it. In fact, he was starting to feel embarrassed that he had confided in her. Either she didn’t care or she thought he was lying. If the situation was reversed, he would have believed the latter. It had been too soon for him to discuss his loss with her and he knew it. Somehow, he had cheapened it. The anger he felt was purely directed at himself.

“There are,” he said
, his tone no longer soft and more business-like. “I have had my pick of them, of course, but your king had other ideas. He seems to think that I need an English bride to dilute the Welsh blood. Mayhap he thinks it will make me less resistant to his rule over Wales.”

             
There was something decidedly haughty in his statement and Penelope stiffened. “If you do not want an English bride, that can most definitely be arranged,” she said. “Do not believe for one moment that I am eager or happy to be here.”

             
Bhrodi put his hands up to soothe her. “I did not mean to offend you, my lady, truly,” he said. “I was simply relaying my opinion on why your king wants this marriage.”

             
Penelope would not be eased. “If you have your pick of Welsh brides, then I suggest you take one and leave me out of it,” she told him. “I was quite happy living with my parents and fighting within my father’s ranks. I did not ask for a husband nor do I want one, but my father seems to think this will somehow benefit me.”

             
Bhrodi was quickly coming to understand that she was not a willing bride in the least, which he truly should have suspected all along. It was another blow to that enormous ego; didn’t all women want to marry the powerful and handsome Bhrodi de Shera? Apparently, one did not. But he also saw something else in Penelope, something beyond the beauty; the woman was inordinately strong and unafraid to speak her mind. She wasn’t a cowering female to do a man’s whim. He imagined that a marriage to such a woman would be very adventurous.

He began to imagine a life with her, listening to her opinions, perhaps laughing with her, and most definitely loving her. He could only dream of the prospects that await him in the bedchamber where she was concerned
and the thought made him smile. But as he thought on that subject, something else occurred to him; sometimes women who behaved as men did it because they did not, in fact, like men as mates. They preferred a woman in their bed instead. He sincerely hoped that was not the case but knew he had to ask.

             
“May I ask a question, my lady?” he ventured.

             
Penelope nodded reluctantly. “If you must.”

             
He hesitated. “You do
like
men, don’t you? That is to say, you are not opposed to this marriage because you prefer women over men?”

             
Penelope knew exactly what he meant. Strangely, she wasn’t overly offended by the question. She’d been asked the same thing before, given the fact that she had chosen to follow a man’s vocation. It was a natural question. She met his gaze steadily for a moment before shaking her head.

             
“I do not prefer women in my bed,” she said. “If I were to choose a mate, it would be a man, even though men believe they know better than I do. Men like to dominate while women do not. At least, most women do not. Still, I am not particularly fond of my sex in general. Women are weak and foolish. I do indeed like men.”

             
It was a relief to hear it, and Bhrodi was furthermore relieved to realize she wasn’t grossly insulted by his question.

             
“I am very happy to hear that,” he said. “As for men trying to dominate you, I do not imagine anyone can get the better of you, my lady. You are too strong for that.”

             
It was a genuine compliment. Penelope eyed him with some doubt, trying to gauge what he meant by his comment. Was he trying to manipulate her emotions again? To play on her vanities? Her reply was careful.

             
“I will stand up for myself if that is what you mean,” she said.

             
He cocked his head as he gazed steadily at her. “Partly,” he said. “I can see such strength in you, my lady. You are a worthy de Wolfe daughter, for certain. It is my thought that such a woman should breed because for her to be childless would be an extreme waste of those fine qualities.”

             
Penelope wasn’t sure what to say. Their gazes locked over the table top and, after several long moments, she found she had to look away. Those invisible fingers that seemed to sprout from his eyes were grabbing at her again and she was trying to avoid their pull, but it was very difficult. If Bhrodi had been attempting to manipulate her emotions, to endear himself to her, he had done a very good job. The man had an aura about him that was positively magnetic; the more she tried to resist, the more he pulled at her.

             
“I… I have never thought of it that way,” she admitted, looking at her half-empty cup. “It has always been my opinion that there are other women better suited to marriage and childbearing than me.”

             
He scowled, gently done. “You are the one woman on this earth that should breed children,” he said. “Your children will be the finest anywhere and your sons… well, they will be the finest knights this land has yet to see. I would like for them to be my sons, too. I am the only one worthy of such a fine bride.”

             
Her head came up, the hazel eyes staring at him and he waited for the explosion. But there was none; she remained seated, staring at him with an element of thoughtfulness in her expression.
At least she isn’t glaring
, he thought.
Perhaps there is hope
.

             
Hope or contempt; it could have been either emotion but Penelope wasn’t sure. In fact, she wasn’t sure what she felt. She continued to stare at Bhrodi, feeling the pull stronger than before. She found herself studying the shape of his jaw, square and solid, and the size of his neck. It was very big, just like the rest of him. She’d never seen a man with such an aura of strength about him.

Bhrodi de Shera radiated an abundance of it and being that she had been raised as a knight and with men all about her, she appreciated physical strength. She respected it
. The man’s ego aside, she respected him for his reputation alone. De Shera was pure power. At that moment, the resistance she’d been harboring since the introduction of the marriage proposal began to falter. What was it that he had said?
I am the only one worthy of such a fine bride
. Perhaps he was the only one worthy of her, too.