A Memory of Love (6 page)

Glynn had been crying, she could see. Rhonwyn put her arms about him. “Don't,” she pleaded, “or I could weep, too. Be patient, and I will send for you, brother. We will not be parted for long.”

“You never cry,” he said softly. “You are the strong one.”

“And you the clever one,” she replied, kissing his damp cheek. “I love you, Glynn. You are safe here at Cythraul.”

Glynn gave her a half grin. “Tad sees what I am and is too wise to make me change. I shall make up a poem about you, Rhonwyn, and sing it in the hall tonight. They shall all weep for you, sister.”

The siblings hugged, and only ap Gruffydd's voice broke their tender embrace.

“When you come to me,” Rhonwyn instructed her brother, “bring my weapons with you, Glynn, but tell no one. Do you understand?” She looked directly into his eyes, and then smiled once more.

Rhonwyn mounted her horse, a gray gelding with a black mane and tail that Morgan had obtained for her two years ago when she had outgrown the dainty old mare. The gelding was a big beast with large hooves. Ap Gruffydd was a little surprised to see his daughter mounted so, and remarked on it.

“The animal is steady,” Morgan ap Owen replied. “I wanted her to have a safe horse.”

The prince turned his mount and led them through the gates of Cythraul and down the hill upon which it sat. Rhonwyn rode by his side. They did not speak. Behind them the troop of men accompanying ap Gruffydd also rode silently. Rhonwyn realized that even the hooves of the horses were relatively quiet as they moved along. It was unlikely an enemy would hear them until the soldiers were upon them. When the sun was at the midpoint in the sky, they stopped.

“If you want to pee,” ap Gruffydd said, “go into the bushes.”

She took his advice, going deep into the greenery. When she returned she was handed a chunk of bread and a wedge of cheese. She ate swiftly, cramming the food into her mouth. The prince passed her his flask, and she swallowed the liquid within without thinking. The taste of apple on her tongue told her it was cider. They remounted and continued on their way.

As they crossed an open meadow Rhonwyn said low, “How long will it take to reach our destination, my lord?”

“Until tomorrow, late,” he told her.

She was about to offer to hunt for their dinner when she realized she didn't have her bow. She swore softly beneath her breath, and the prince chuckled.

“You cannot say words like that any longer, Rhonwyn,” he told her. “Ladies do not swear, and I fear your aunt would beat you black and blue if she heard such language.”

“She had best not raise her hand to me,” Rhonwyn responded darkly. “I am not an animal, and I have never allowed anyone to beat me.”

“Morgan did not punish you when you were naughty?” Ap Gruffydd was surprised by the revelation.

“He did not feel he had the right to lay his hand on your children. He had other ways of punishing us. He would forbid me from my horse or take my alborium from me so I could not hunt. Glynn was rarely bad. A harsh look could set him crying,” Rhonwyn told ap Gruffydd. “My brother is a gentle lad. He is not meant to be a soldier, but there are so many things he is good at that there is surely a place for him in this world.”

The prince said nothing more. He was no fool and understood what she was telling him, and he had seen his son was not fit for a military life. He had spawned either a bard or a priest, he was not yet certain. Once they could determine if the boy liked women, then he would know. He could not be sure if he wanted a priest in the family. His sister the abbess was more than enough.

He smiled to himself. Gwynllian would certainly be surprised to learn he had two children. She was always railing at him for not getting married, and he was always telling her he did not have time for a wife and family if Wales was to be independent. Well, it was true. Vala had been content to wait in her cottage for him to come. She had never whined or complained at him for not being more attentive. Vala had understood what he was doing. How many wives would have? Soon enough he would need a highborn mate whose family and connections could help him keep what he had gained.
But not yet.

He glanced sideways at his daughter. While she had her mother's coloring, she was his spit, although her features were more softened and feminine. He smiled to himself again. His timing was always just right where his children were concerned. He had come just in time to save them from death. Now he was just in time to keep Rhonwyn from becoming a soldier. Gwynllian was going to have her work cut out for her. His daughter was ignorant and crude. It was going to cost him a large gift to Mercy Abbey to turn her into a refined and blushing bride for Edward de Beaulie, but if anyone could do it, it was Gwynllian.

As the sun was setting behind the western mountains, they stopped once again. A camp was set up with a fire over which roasted the rabbits his men had caught along the way that day. The horses were led to a nearby stream to drink, and then allowed to browse about the trees where they were tied. The company ate and then settled down for the night. Rhonwyn had never slept outdoors before. She found it both exciting and a little frightening. The night noises seemed louder and more mysterious than the noises she heard during the day. Still, she managed to get some sleep before the prince was shaking her awake.

As they rode in the cold and dark dawn hour, ap Gruffydd handed his daughter an oatcake to eat. It was hard and virtually tasteless. She chewed it slowly nonetheless, quieting the rumbling in her stomach. She already missed Gwilym's hot morning porridge. They rode again until the noon hour, stopped to rest and water the horses, then continued on once more. The countryside was beautiful and lonely. They passed no fortresses or cottages.

In the very late afternoon as the sun was sinking, they crested a ridge, and there in a lovely valley below stood a cluster of stone buildings. It looked a bit grim and forbidding in the late autumn light.

She heard a noise and turned to the prince. “What is that sound, my lord?” she asked.

“ 'Tis the pealing of a bell, Rhonwyn. Have you never heard a church bell, lass?” He was surprised by her ignorance as always.

“I don't even know what a church is, my lord,” she replied.

He chuckled richly. Oh, Gwynllian was going to have her hands full. His elder sister had always lorded over him and his brothers when they were growing up. Now he would have his revenge for all of them. He would wager that Gwynllian had never had a lass like Rhonwyn in her custody. He almost wished he could be there to see the inevitable confrontation that was sure to ensue between his daughter and his sister. Then it dawned upon him how much alike the two were. He laughed aloud.

“What amuses you, my lord?” Rhonwyn inquired of him.

“Nothing, lass, really nothing,” he told her. “That—” He pointed with a gloved finger. “—is your destination. That is Mercy Abbey.”

“Will I like it there?” she wondered.

“Probably not,” he replied honestly. “You have a great deal to learn, Rhonwyn, in a very short time. It is important that you learn else I be made to appear a liar. I have enemies.”

“I am not surprised,” she said dryly.

He laughed again. There was an honesty about his daughter that he very much liked. “You have a duty to me, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. What you have to do will not be easy, but I know you can do it for you are not, I have been told, someone who shirks a duty, and you are loyal.”

“My kinsman, Morgan ap Owen, speaks kindly of me,” Rhonwyn said with a small smile, “but he does not lie. I will do what I must to meet my obligations to you, prince of Wales,
and I do not lie.
”

Gwynllian, the lady abbess of Mercy Abbey, looked down her long thin nose at her brother. They could have been twins, so similar were they in face and form. “And what, O prince of Wales, brings you to my house this day?” she demanded of him. She was a tall, thin woman whose long black robes and startling white wimple made her appear even taller and more spare. An ebony crucifix, banded in silver and adorned with a silver lily in its center, lay on her almost flat bosom.

“Can I not come to visit my only sister without reason?” he replied jovially. Jesu! He hated having to beg.

“You came six, or was it seven, years ago, Llywelyn. You were seeking funding for your never-ending disputes with the English or your fellow Cymri. I cannot remember which. We gave you what we could, and you were as quickly gone. Now what do you want, brother, and do not waste my time in prevarications and half-truths,” she said sternly.

Ap Gruffydd reached behind him and drew Rhonwyn forward. “This is my daughter,” he said to his sister.

Her mouth fell open, and then closed with an audible snap. “Well, Llywelyn, you have surprised me for the first time in years. You are certain, of course?” The abbess peered at her niece and immediately recognized her as kin.

“Her mother was my mistress,” he began. “She gave me two children, first a daughter, then a son. She died attempting to birth a third child. I came by chance and found my children yet alive. I brought them to Cythraul. The lad, his name is Glynn, is still there.”

Gwynllian's brown eyes swept over the girl at her broth-er's side. She hardly looked like an orphan of the storm. She looked hard and quite capable of taking care of herself. “How long ago did you leave your children at Cythraul?” she asked her brother, fearing the answer.

He flushed guiltily. “Ten years ago,” he said.

“Ten years and seven moon cycles,” the girl spoke up for the first time. The look she gave the prince was scathing.

“Why bring her to me now, Llywelyn?” the abbess said.

“I spent the summer in Shrewsbury, hammering out an agreement with the English king, Henry. My ally, de Montfort, is dead, and Henry's cub, Edward, is a fierce man. I thought to make a treaty with Henry so that his heir will leave us in peace. The pact was signed at Montgomery at the end of October. You know the customs, Gwyn. I offered the English my daughter in marriage with one of their lordlings.”

“But when you went to fetch her she wasn't quite what you had expected, was she, Llywelyn?” The abbess chuckled. Then she looked to her niece. “What is your name, child, and what have you done to your hair? And do you know your age?”

“My name is Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, and I like my hair kept short.”

“She was fifteen April first last,” ap Gruffydd said.

“Who raised her?” the abbess inquired.

“Morgan ap Owen, my captain at Cythraul” was the reply.

“Were there no women at this fortress?” the abbess exclaimed, shocked.

“ 'Tis a fort in the Welshry. Women don't belong there,” ap Gruffydd told his sister.

“No, they don't, yet you left your daughter there! Llywelyn, you are truly the most thoughtless and foolish man I have ever known, for all you have managed to become prince of Wales,” the abbess said angrily. “Why did you not bring Rhonwyn to me in the first place? What do you expect me to do with her now?”

“Cythraul was nearer to her mother's cottage, less than a day's ride. To bring my children to you would have taken me almost three days of traveling. I had not the time.”

“Could you not have instructed Morgan ap Owen to bring them to me, you dolt?” She swatted at him indignantly.

“She isn't fit to be wed,” he said, his voice desperate.

“Has she become a whore then?” the abbess demanded.

“I am no man's whore!” Rhonwyn said angrily.

“Nay, nay, that is not it, sister!” ap Gruffydd replied. “She is ignorant. Totally ignorant. Morgan and his men loved my children and protected them, but they could teach them only what they knew. My daughter has a knack for war and weapons. She is, it seems, a worthy successor to me. My son prefers to compose songs and poetry, and has no talent for a warrior's pursuits at all. He's only fit to be a bard or a priest. You must teach Rhonwyn how to be what she is meant to be. A lass, not a lad. How can I give her in marriage when she doesn't even know what marriage is? She must be taught the Norman tongue, for as you see she speaks only our language. She needs to learn how to wear skirts, not chausses and braies. She must be a Christian, sister, yet she has no idea of religion or faith. She says moon cycles, not months. I don't even know if she has her woman's flow yet. You must gentle her, Gwynllian, so that in a month's time I may take her to Edward de Beaulie, at Haven's Castle, to be wed.”

The abbess laughed aloud. “
A month's time?
You are mad, Llywelyn! It will take more than a month to tame this bedraggled, fierce-eyed wildcat you have brought me. If indeed I can do it at all. If she does not cooperate, then you are out of luck, brother. How could you promise a daughter you had not seen in ten years to an English treaty marriage? What in the name of all that is holy were you thinking?
Were you thinking at all?
”

“Then what the hell am I to do, Gwyn?” he asked her, running a big hand through his dark hair.

The abbess turned to Rhonwyn. “Do you understand any of this, my child?”

“Aye, I do,” Rhonwyn said. “My lord has explained to me that a marriage is a formal and respectable union between a man and a woman. It is honorable. It is my obligation to my lord to take part in this marriage. I know how to do my duty.”