Rhiannon (14 page)

“No,” Simon replied instantly, all concern for “lying” to
his overlord passing from his mind.

In Wales such a reputation might not be too dangerous. Wise
women versed in herb lore and the old religion were usually respected and
allowed to live in peace, although it was clear from what had happened that
some danger was involved. However, if an aroma of witchcraft tainted Rhiannon,
it would be worse for her in England, where the old faith was equated with
Devil worship. That would mean that Simon might not be able to bring her to
Roselynde. Even without any accusations, Rhiannon was so strange in her ways
that she was looked at askance. To raise the subject of witchery, even to deny
it, would be a mistake.

“What will you say?” Rhiannon asked.

“The truth—that I never asked Madog why he had attacked you.
That I assumed he wished to force marriage on you, and I was too busy finding
out what he had done with you—and to you—to worry about why he had done it.”

“But he told you unasked…”

Rhiannon fell silent and shrugged. She had no right to
complain about Simon’s duplicity in clinging to the literal truth. She intended
to use the same device herself to avoid the subject of whether or not she was a
witch. Nonetheless, Simon’s rapid perception of how the truth could be used as
a direct lie distressed her. How many times had he done it already? How often
would she herself be a victim of that kind of “truth-telling” if she weakened
and linked her life to his?

When Simon had found her, if he had asked her to marry him,
Rhiannon would have agreed, so overwhelming was her joy and relief. It was not
only important that he had found her but that he was so aware of her that her
absence had made him uneasy enough to seek her. Now she was armored again. She
did not blame Simon or dislike or despise what he was going to do. In fact, she
admired the quick intelligence, the flexibility, and the adroitness that
permitted him to find such an escape from the problem. Unfortunately, she also
feared those aspects of his personality.

Her resolution came just in time to save her from a new
assault. As he came forward to lift her again, Simon said, “I can see no reason
to start a stupid rumor about yon which, the more it is denied, the more those
who wish to believe will believe it. Prince Llewelyn will take no chances that
another man will conceive the notion of abducting you and forcing you into
marriage. Like it or not, Rhiannon, you will have to be accompanied when you
run loose in the woods. Of course,” he added after a thoughtful hesitation, his
eyes gleaming with mischief, “you could agree to marry
me
. It would not
be worthwhile seizing you after that because your father would not yield the
promised dower to any other man.”

Although what he said was true and Rhiannon knew he would
gladly accept her agreement, his expression did not seem serious. Nor was there
the slightest implication that Simon felt she should accept him out of
gratitude because he had saved her life. He was only teasing her to sweeten the
bitterness he knew she must feel, for he was aware how precious her freedom was
to her.

“I think it would do less permanent damage if I simply went
home,” Rhiannon replied, placing her arms around Simon’s neck and resting her
head on his shoulder as he carried her. “I will be safe enough there. There is
no reason for me to stay here any longer. I have found the answer to the
question I brought with me.”

“What was that?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“I told you the first night, and you did not like my answer.
Put that question aside, and I will give you an answer you will like. Now I
desire only you, Simon—but not for marriage. If I cannot have you without that
bond, there is nothing to hold me here. I will go back to Angharad’s Hall
where, if any do think of me as a witch, they do not hate me for it. And no man
aspires to marry me. They know there that the women of Angharad’s line do not
marry.”

Simon’s step hesitated. “Rhiannon,” he said uncertainly, “is
that why you will not have me as a husband? Is it the tradition of your people?
Something could be worked out—”

Rhiannon wondered whether she should allow him to believe
that, but it was not true. Some of the things Kicva had said implied that she
expected her daughter to marry in the usual way. At last she did not answer him
directly and only said, “Please, Simon, can you not accept me as I am? It is
not owing to any fault in you that I refuse. I must be free. I cannot be bound
to any man.”

“I can leave you free, Rhiannon,” he said slowly. “Indeed, I
know no way to hold you against your will, nor would I wish to do so. But I do
not understand what you mean by not being bound to any man.”

“You understand it well enough. Until you decided for some
reason known only to yourself and God that you had fixed upon me for a wife,
you desired many women but never wished to be bound to any one. So why—”

“Men are different,” Simon interrupted sharply.

“Perhaps,” Rhiannon agreed. “I have discovered I desire only
you—but that is now, this day, this week, perhaps this year, or even for ten
years. Simon, I wish you would listen to reason. I cannot give you more than I
have. I offer my body and my friendship. Will you not take them?”

There was a long silence while Simon strode steadily back
along the trail. His arms were growing weary. Slender as she was, Rhiannon was
hard-muscled, and her wiry strength weighed more than another maiden’s soft
plumpness. After a time he had to stop to rest, and he put her down on a fallen
log. He still had not answered her question when he sat down beside her and
took her hand.

“I cannot take just your body and your friendship,” he said.
“God knows, you burn in me like a branding iron, so hot is my desire, but that
is not all. I need more than your body to slake my heat.”

“Let it be, then,” Rhiannon urged hastily. She could neither
hurt Simon nor expose herself to the disaster that would overtake her if she
permitted herself to love him. “I will go home tomorrow if I can, or the next
day at the latest. You know where to find me if you should change your mind.”

Simon hated the thought of her going, but it would not have
mattered if she remained. When he finally carried her through the gate of Aber,
he was greeted with cries of relief—but not for Rhiannon’s sake. No one had
missed her at all, however, a message had come for Simon from Richard Marshal
and Simon could not be found. Since age had not dulled Prince Llewelyn’s
perceptions, he was not unaware of the envy Simon had aroused because of
Rhiannon’s favor. Llewelyn had said nothing, convinced that Simon was also
aware and could take care of himself. However, the news that Simon had left
Aber alone, unarmed, and clearly for some urgent purpose—the guard had seen him
running like a wild thing toward the forest—worried the prince.

After Llewelyn found out what had happened in the forest, he
sent a party to retrieve Mallt’s body and messengers flying in every direction
to order the apprehension of Madog ap Sior. Beyond that, Llewelyn could do
little and did not allow himself to waste time and energy on the subject. He
greeted with relief the news that Rhiannon intended to go home to her mother.
She would be unhappy if it was necessary to keep a watch on her. Now that
Llewelyn expected to send out raiding parties any day, he did not want his young
men distracted by the possibility of a rich dower and a beautiful wife,
particularly when it was clear to him that Simon would have her eventually.

Truly, Llewelyn was far more interested in what was in
Richard’s letter than in his daughter’s future. He kissed her absently and
waved her away into the care of one of the healing women, his eyes fixed on
Simon, who was reading the letter at his insistence. Having perused it, Simon
simply handed it over.

“It is mostly for you, my lord,” he said. “Richard sent it
in my name so that you would not be compromised if you did not wish to be
connected with his doings.”

Llewelyn’s lips twitched. “I see that your delicacy is less
than Pembroke’s.”

Simon grinned at him. “Much less.” Then he shrugged. “My
lord, if Henry wishes to believe you guilty, he will find fault no matter how
careful you are. I am your vassal, and you have a perfect right to receive me,
no matter who are my friends. However, Henry might well claim that you have
offended him by giving me countenance. You also have a right to see a letter
your vassal receives from a man who might be your enemy.”

“But if I am to believe you, other men’s rights have short
shrift at King Henry’s hands.” Llewelyn nodded. “Then I need not worry. If my
rights are respected, I am doing no wrong. Otherwise, I might as well be hanged
for a sheep as for a lamb.”

Llewelyn turned his eyes to the letter he held, and the
smile fixed on his face for a moment. Then his expression eased. “How sure
would Pembroke be of this information?” he asked Simon. “Can I trust in it?”

Simon shook his head. “You see what he says. It comes from
those who ‘wish him well’ in Henry’s own camp. I
think
they are to be
believed. There are few except the foreign mercenaries who favor this attempt
to crush Richard. He has friends, I am sure, who would be glad to warn him of a
move by the king to entrap him. However, the Bishop of Winchester is a most
subtle man. He knows all this as well as you and I. It is possible that he
would send out false information in this guise—only I cannot see how it would
benefit him.”

“In that he may hope my eyes will be fixed so firmly in the
south that I will not notice Henry’s army slipping through the passes
northward,” Llewelyn pointed out.

Simon looked startled and then laughed. “They would not be
such fools, not after you stopped Henry dead and starving only two years ago.”

“Men sometimes do not wish to remember events just as they
were, and Henry is notoriously given to blaming others for failure, rather than
looking at facts clearly. I have heard he says it was de Burgh’s fault, not
Welsh skill, that turned back the army.”

“That is true,” Simon agreed, “but the king’s spite is very
strong and he is bitterly angry with Richard—Pembroke, I mean.” A shadow passed
over Simon’s face. “I cannot seem to become accustomed to the fact that my own
Earl of Pembroke, Lord William, is dead and his brother is now earl. Yet
Richard is a fine man.”

“One’s heart clings to the most familiar. You will grow into
acceptance,” Llewelyn comforted, but he was obviously thinking of something
else. After a short silence he brought his eyes into sharp focus on Simon
again. “You had better go to him as soon as may be. Do not take too many men,
only as many as might be reasonable when traveling across country in which a
war is brewing.”

Simon’s eyes glittered. “If I should be caught by the king’s
attack in Richard’s company, I hope you will not be angry with me if I lend him
my aid.”

“One must support one’s host,” Llewelyn replied with
spurious gravity. “I will no doubt remonstrate with you for your
thoughtlessness in visiting your old lord’s brother at such an unsettled time,
but I imagine I will forgive you. The young are thoughtless, and one cannot
expect too much foresight or self-control from them.”

“Perhaps, my lord, knowing that Richard’s brother was my old
master and that I would be interested in the subject, you might have commented
to me on the situation, especially as it affects Gwynedd?”

At that innocent question, Llewelyn laughed aloud. “If I had,
I would have remarked that it is very unwise for foreign troops to come into
Wales—north or south. It excites the rapacity of a people who are very poor,
especially young men who see a chance to enrich themselves with goods that are
not under their lord’s protection. Unless that lord’s protection should be
sought specifically, there is little to hold them back. More than that, I
cannot say at this time.”

Although he was somewhat disappointed not to have a clearer
commitment to bring to Richard, Simon had to accept that. He was, after all,
only a messenger. He was neither of an age nor of sufficient rank to offer
counsel to Prince Llewelyn, and he did not allow his head to be swelled by the
fact that Llewelyn sometimes seemed to ask for his advice. It was more likely
that his lord was testing his wisdom and loyalty than that he needed or wanted
advice. Therefore, Simon accepted the dismissal inherent in Llewelyn’s words.

“I will take my leave then, my lord. I must first ride to
Krogen for men. You will find me there this night if you wish to give me
further orders.”

“Do not raise expectations I cannot fulfill,” Llewelyn said
with a sharp, admonitory glance.

“No, my lord, I will not,” Simon promised, and bowed and
strode away.

He stopped briefly to tell a manservant to warn Siorl, his
headman, to be ready to ride out in an hour, and then went to the women’s hall
where he asked for Rhiannon. She came out to him herself, walking carefully,
the protests of the healing woman who had been tending her drifting behind her.
Simon swept her up into his arms and carried her into the garden where they
could have a little privacy.

“Simon,” she protested, “you will make more enemies than you
need.”

“I will not be here to face them,” he remarked
indifferently, “and I cannot believe anyone has not heard of how I brought you
home. Does that not give me the right to bid you farewell when I must go?”

“You are going to Pembroke?”

“To Krogen for men.”

“Then it is to be war?”

“Not for certain,” he soothed, setting her down on a bench
near the herb beds. “I am only taking a meinie large enough to be safe when
traveling through an area likely to be infested with hostile bands snatching up
whatever they can find. Foreign mercenaries are not overscrupulous in whom or
what they seize.”