Rhiannon (25 page)

Adam had growled that it was a mistake to let the matter
hang unsettled. “It is not enough that peace should be made between Pembroke
and the king unless it is also made clear that Henry will no longer rule by
decree. It would be better to continue the war, and I will say so and offer my
support to Pembroke rather than see Henry discard Magna Carta.”

Rhiannon saw terror flash in Gilliane’s dark eyes, but she
lowered them to a small piece of work in her lap and her voice was clear,
sweet, and steady. “But Adam, there are better ways to make a man see reason
than by beating him to death. From what Papa Ian has told us, it is Winchester
who is at the root of the trouble. If Henry can be convinced that Peter des
Roches is leading him wrongly, he will mend his ways without adding to the
bitterness between him and his barons.”

“It took near twenty years to prove to him that de Burgh was
wrong,” Adam remarked impatiently. “I do not care to contemplate twenty years
of Winchester’s rule.”

“That is not fair,” Geoffrey pointed out. “I felt as most
others did, that de Burgh had grown too mighty and that he dropped too much
into his own purse. But mostly his rule was wise, and he certainly never bade
the king cast aside the advice of his council.”

“He worked in other ways,” Alinor commented sardonically.

“Henry was furious with Winchester over the debacle at Usk,”
Joanna said thoughtfully. “But the bishop may have talked the king around
already. It is unfortunate that Rhiannon and Simon were not here sooner.”

“How could they have come sooner?” Ian protested, leaning
forward to pat Rhiannon’s shoulder protectively. “Simon needed to go to
Llewelyn first. Then, it is slow traveling through the hills of Wales.”

“I am not blaming Rhiannon, Ian,” Joanna assured him,
smiling. “It was the same as if I said, that is too bad it is raining. But it
is
too bad. If we could have presented her sooner, she could have said this and
that to remind Henry that Winchester led him wrong in Wales.”

“Wait, now,” Simon said. “I do not mind being a cat’s paw
myself in a good cause, but I do not think I like the idea of Rhiannon
incurring Henry’s wrath—and I do not think that was what Prince Llewelyn
intended.”

“Nor is it what Joanna intended either.” Gilliane’s silken,
soothing voice somehow smothered Joanna’s indignant retort. “To the contrary,
Rhiannon’s theme must have been of Llewelyn’s regard for Henry—they are, after
all, related by marriage—and of his regret that bad management and bad advice
had caused the king’s discomfiture. She could have said, with perfect truth,
that foreign mercenaries are useless in Wales. It was Winchester who proposed
the use of mercenaries, was it not, Adam?”

“Yes, it was.” Adam’s bright eyes fixed on Rhiannon.

“Yes, and I could say—also with perfect truth—that my father
even dangled me as bait to keep the young bucks at Court and prevent them from
raiding. Only, of course, once Henry crossed onto Welsh lands, nothing would
hold them back.”

Alinor
tsked
with irritation. “You could have indeed,
but it is too late. Winchester has had ten days and more to explain his failure
and blame it elsewhere.”

“Yes,” Geoffrey sighed, “and I fear that Llewelyn is not so far
off in his guesses as I would like. If the truce with Pembroke is allowed to
stand, blame must be fixed elsewhere. Still, all is not lost, and here, too,
Llewelyn has seen most clearly. A girl like Rhiannon, speaking gently, is the
most likely to make Winchester’s advice less palatable if he tries to rouse
Henry against the Welsh.”

“There will be no trouble presenting her to the king, but
she must be able to catch and hold his attention also,” Joanna pointed out.

“She can do that,” Simon said eagerly, “and just in the
right way so that Henry will be often reminded she is Welsh but with no ill
flavor.
Eneit
, where is your harp?”

“I packed it,” Rhiannon assured him, “but where it is now I
have no idea. The servants took the baggage in, I suppose—”

She broke off as Alinor rose to her feet with an
exclamation. “Poor child,” she went on, “you must think us monsters. We have
not offered you even a cup of wine or a chance to take off those dusty clothes.
You must forgive us. We are all so deep in this problem that we can think of
nothing else. Come above with me, and we will find your clothing and anything
else you want.” Alinor gestured, and Joanna and Gilliane, who had also started
to rise, sat back.
Mama wishes to speak to Rhiannon alone
, each thought.

In her concentration on the people she had met, Rhiannon had
paid scant attention to her surroundings. It was only when she was led into the
chamber that had been Joanna’s, and now was Sybelle’s, that she really saw the
luxury with which those in Roselynde surrounded themselves. There was a rich
carpet on the floor, tapestries kept the damp of the walls from invading the
room, and beside the hearth stood chairs with backs and arms rather than stools
or benches; what was more, every chair was richly cushioned. There were wall
holders for torches, but the walls and tapestries near them were free of soot.
Torches had not been used in a long time. The many-branched candle holders of
intricate design showed that a better, cleaner kind of lighting was used here,
regardless of the cost of candles.

“You will share with Sybelle—if you wish,” Alinor said. She
read the startled expression on Rhiannon’s face and one question was answered.
She had expected to sleep with Simon. Alinor smiled. “No one will stop you from
walking down the stairs, my dear, but Simon is not welcome in the women’s
quarters. All I can spare for him is a small wall chamber while Adam and
Geoffrey are with us. It will be more comfortable for you to dress and keep
your clothing here. There is no need for you to be troubled,” she went on in
response to Rhiannon’s expression. “I wished you to have a choice, but I
understand that customs are different. And even in England, a betrothal—”

“You are so kind, madam,” Rhiannon interrupted hastily. “It
will be terrible to distress you all, but—but Simon and I may never marry.”

“Do you mean that Simon—”

“Not Simon,” Rhiannon said. “It is not Simon who is
reluctant. It is I.”

Rhiannon did not notice that Alinor had stopped speaking
before she was interrupted. She had realized before Rhiannon said it that, if
there was an impediment to the marriage, it was not of Simon’s making. Although
it was nearly inconceivable to Alinor that any woman would not leap at a chance
to be Simon’s wife, in this case it was true. Rhiannon did not wish to marry
Simon. But that was ridiculous. She was already sharing Simon’s bed; their
fencing with words made it plain that they knew each other well and were
companionable; both sets of parents agreed it was a good match. There were no
impediments at all. What ailed the girl, then?

“Why?” Alinor asked flatly. She could be devious when
necessary, but this, she judged, was neither the time, the place, nor the
person.

“Because I do not believe him capable of being faithful, and
I am not a woman who can share a man.”

“Neither am I,” Alinor agreed, smiling slightly as she
remembered the months of misery she had inflicted upon herself and her husband
only because she thought he carried a dream of another woman in his heart.

“Then why should I marry?” Rhiannon asked heatedly. “He may
wander as he pleases, but I will be constrained to keep my faith. I do not need
his lands, nor his protection, nor the dower my father offers.”

“You are fortunate in that,” Alinor said, realizing that the
girl must have lands of her own. “From whom do your lands come?” Alinor asked.
Simon might have done even better by this marriage than they had thought, and
they had been well satisfied with Llewelyn’s offer alone.

“From whom? Who knows?” Rhiannon replied. “Perhaps they were
gifted to my grandfather Gwydyon, or my grandmother Angharad, or they may have
been his or hers by long descent. All I know is that there is Angharad’s Hall
and the flocks and servants and hunting rights. They are Kicva’s now and will
be mine.”

Alinor did not like such a casual attitude toward property.
Every foot of land that belonged to her was deeded and affirmed since the first
patch had come to her remote ancestor when William the Bastard conquered
England. However, she had learned through Ian’s dealings with his Welsh lands
that customs differed. Where little was under cultivation and population was
low, ownership was less crucial. However, if Rhiannon’s mother had the right to
hunting and grazing, that was tantamount to ownership. She was also aware that
neither Simon nor Rhiannon had her sense of possession. Still, land mattered,
and the children would be well found between what Simon had and what Rhiannon
would bring.

Although she and Ian had not thought of it, this was clearly
the only marriage possible for Simon. They had offered enough English heiresses
to him, God knew, and he had set his jaw and said he would never marry. In
fact, despite their pleasure in Llewelyn’s proposal, both had been a trifle
hurt that their son was more obedient to his overlord than to them. Alinor had
understood, as soon as she saw Ian come into the hall with one arm around
Rhiannon and his face glowing with happiness, that the girl was Simon’s choice
and had not been forced on him. Now she barely restrained laughter. Simon
certainly would get what he deserved, good properties and a woman who would
never really surrender, so that all his life he would need to pursue her.

“Different lands, different customs,” Alinor said, referring
to Rhiannon’s description of Kicva’s ownership of her property, “and customs
change with time also. My dear, we have enough to worry about in considering
what foolishness Winchester may lead the king to do. Your father and my husband
are agreed on the marriage. Let matters stand thus until we have time and peace
to study private troubles more closely.”

“I am very willing for that,” Rhiannon replied with a sigh
of relief.

She had feared that Simon’s mother would be angry, would
accuse her of using Simon to further her father’s political purposes. Nonetheless,
she could not bear to be so warmly welcomed on false pretenses. Now that she
had told all the truth, she had the right to enjoy the interest and excitement
offered by contact with the family of Roselynde keep.

It was all new and different. At Angharad’s Hall, she and
Kicva were usually in basic agreement. Even when she was opposed and angry, all
the anger was her own. Most of the time, though, they were only two, and it was
quiet talk that took place there. Rhiannon was also familiar with the crowd,
color, and movement, the quick give-and-take of her father’s Court. However,
there was no real unity at Llewelyn’s Court. One could feel, even among
friends, the alert desire for advantage, the seeking for personal gain. In
Roselynde, however, Rhiannon sensed the rapport she had with Kicva allied with
the differences that provided the stimulation in Llewelyn’s Court. Quarrels
there might be in Roselynde, loud and furious, but the purpose of the quarrel
would always be to help, not to hurt or to profit.

Rhiannon was prepared for more searching questions, but all
Alinor asked was whether she had brought Court dress. There was no offense
implied. A girl coming to visit her betrothed’s family would bring fine clothes
but not necessarily clothing sumptuous enough for Court. Then Alinor remembered
that Llewelyn’s purpose had been to send Rhiannon to Court, and she began to
apologize, but Rhiannon shook her head.

“Other lands, other customs,” she said, smiling. “I have
Court dress, but whether it is fitting you must judge.”

She laid out the garments while Alinor stepped out of the
chamber to see why the maids were so slow about bringing the bath she had
ordered. When she returned, Alinor’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

“It is not in your style, I know,” Rhiannon said, “but it is
my purpose to catch the eye of the king. If you think it will give cause for
mockery rather than attention, however, I have this.” She displayed the cloth
of birds. “Perhaps a gown can be made for me in time.”

Alinor gasped. “Where had you this?” she asked in awe.

“It is of my mother’s weaving. The birds are my sign. I am
named after a princess in an old Welsh tale—Rhiannon of the Birds.”

“This was no quick work,” Alinor said, looking into
Rhiannon’s eyes.

“Sometimes my mother has foreseeings,” Rhiannon admitted, a
little uncomfortable but again driven to confession by Alinor’s kindness. “She
strung the loom soon after Simon first came to visit us. I—perhaps she had some
premonition that I would need a grand dress different from those I usually
wear.”

Alinor struggled with herself briefly and then said with a
calm gravity that concealed amusement, “Your mother has foreseeings, but you do
not.”

“Oh, no, never,” Rhiannon assured her, eager to clear
herself of that suspect skill.

Simon had warned her that it was better not to bring such
things into the open, and after that dreadful experience with Madog, Rhiannon
was in complete agreement with him. But Alinor had not given witchcraft a
thought. She was only amused. Alinor was quite sure Kicva had not foreseen any
need for Court dress, only for a marriage gown—and that would not have taken
much skill at foreseeing, considering Simon’s behavior.

“There would not be time to make up a dress,” Alinor said,
“but there is nothing to fear. Among all of us, there will be clothing enough
for you to borrow, if that is necessary.”

The bath came in then, with its attendant train of men
lugging water and maids carrying herbs and soap and drying cloths. Another maid
carried a platter of cold meat and bread, since dinner was over and it would be
some hours before the evening portions would be served. Alinor was much
interested when, bathed and fed, Rhiannon assumed her full regalia. She had
thought at first that it must be Rhiannon’s resistance to him that had captivated
Simon. Now she realized there was something much more important. There was a
strangeness, a hint of the violent and barbaric past.