Rhiannon (36 page)

“I am not so sure of that,” Simon remarked. “There may soon
be no law aside from the king’s word—or perhaps Winchester’s. But that is not
all my reason. If we go, you and my father and my mother are innocent. When it
is possible to accomplish the same end without them, insult and defiance should
be avoided,” he ended sententiously.

Rhiannon looked at him in such patent amazement and
disbelief that both men laughed.

“Besides,” Simon went on, his eyes gleaming, “it is much
more fun this way.”

“For you,” Sir Harold said dryly, “but it will be too much
exertion for Lady Rhiannon. If you go, I can say she went also. That much lying
I will contrive to do. She can stay safe and quiet in the women’s quarters
until—”

Both Simon and Rhiannon interrupted him with laughter. She
put her hand on his arm. “I thank you for your consideration, but I can ride as
long and hard as Simon, and can outrun him also.”

“You cannot!” Simon exclaimed. “On the flat I outdistance
you two times out of three. It is only when leaping up mountains like a goat
that you outpace me. We are a match!”

Rhiannon’s breath caught. They were a match! But if she
yielded to what Simon desired, they would become one. Half an apple could not
live without the other half. Desperate not to answer, Rhiannon’s eyes went past
Simon and saw Sir Henry watching them with pitiful anxiety.

“I must explain to the old man,” she said softly. “He knows
we must go. I have explained that already, but this long conference is
frightening him.”

“Yes, of course. I will go see to the men and to the horses
while you start the packing and explain to him. Then I will come back and say
farewell before we leave. Oh, and Rhiannon, could you tell him gently that a
new chaplain is coming? Brother Michael is too old and not well. He is to
return to the priory.”

“Good. That will divert his mind from our leaving and give
him something to look forward to. You told the abbot, I hope, that whoever
comes must be ready to spend much time comforting an old man—and not affright
him with hell and damnation, either.”

“I will see to it,” Sir Harold promised, his face
lightening. He had not realized that his responsibility to Sir Henry’s
loneliness would be solved so easily.

As they were crossing the drawbridge several hours later,
Rhiannon said, “That was most fortunate. Sir Henry is so eager to tell the new
chaplain just how things are to be done and who is pious and who a sinner that
he was easily reconciled to our leaving. He is sorry to lose Brother Michael,
but… What is it, Simon? Is there more danger than you wished to mention in Sir
Harold’s presence?”

“No. I am just trying to decide which way to go. Naturally,
I do not wish to pass Sir Roger’s men, but that is easy enough to avoid.” He
paused and his lips tightened. “I am really very annoyed with Winchester—and
with the king, too, if he is a party to this. They need their hands sharply
slapped for reaching out to grasp that to which they have no right. Yet if I
bring you home to Wales first, it may be too late.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That I would like to spite Winchester, and the king, too,
by snatching Hubert de Burgh out of the church where he is, no doubt, slowly
starving to death.”

Rhiannon’s green eyes opened wide. Then she giggled. “I
think we should. My father might not agree. I do not believe he has forgiven de
Burgh for that execution of hostages two years ago, but he will be even angrier
at Winchester when he hears there was a plan to seize me. Or we could say
nothing about it to him.” Then she frowned. “But can we do it, Simon?”

“We?” he repeated.

She shrugged. “There is no place to leave me, and as you
said, he will be back in prison or dead if you ride into Wales first. What I
meant was, where will you take him when we have him out? I do not think he
would be welcome on my father’s lands.”

“No, Pembroke would take him gladly, I think. Anyway, that
would not be our problem. I am not fool enough to involve Prince Llewelyn in
such a matter without his permission.” He explained about handing de Burgh over
to Gilbert Bassett. “But where to find Bassett is beyond me. He should be in
the neighborhood of Devizes, hoping for a chance to get at de Burgh, but I cannot
go around openly asking the whereabouts of a rebel and an outlaw.”

But Simon was making a problem where there was none. In the
end, Gilbert Bassett found him. Simon should have realized the rebel leader
would not long remain unaware of a large, armed group traveling furtively cross
country. They avoided villages, climbing the forested, desolate hills and
camping in a fold of the downs about ten miles from Devizes.

There had been game on the way, brought down by the quick
Welsh bowmen, and they ate well. Sleeping, however, was another matter.
Although neither had mentioned it, and it had been covered by the talk of
rescuing de Burgh, both Simon and Rhiannon were hungry for each other. As it
grew dark, flickering glances crossed, but did not meet. Rhiannon was aware
that she could not accept Simon’s lovemaking without reiterating that the
question of marriage was closed. To invite Simon to take her without a clear
statement of the situation would be a deliberate deception. Yet to make the
statement must force Simon back into his original position—no hope of marriage,
no physical love.

In this case, Rhiannon had misunderstood Simon. His mind was
moving on another track completely. He had assumed that Rhiannon’s growing
silence and stiffness were owing to unwillingness. As soon as she began to
withdraw into herself, he had remembered the bitter challenge she had flung at
him in Oxford.
We will see whose hunger conquers.
He was hungry—very,
but a man has his pride. He did not wish to humble Rhiannon. He wanted to think
of some device that could bring them to a mutual yielding, which would be
equally a mutual conquest.

Unfortunately, the ache in his loins blurred his mind and
the ache in his throat blurred his eyes. Eventually, stiff and silent, Rhiannon
rose and went into Simon’s tent. If he had not been so wrapped in his misery
and his need, he could have risen at the same time and taken her hand. A single
pressure of the fingers would have solved the problem. But the opportunity
passed. Simon sat on by the fire, talking desultorily with Siorl. Then he went
to bed—but not to sleep.

Both rose heavy-eyed and silent, miserable, seeking
hopelessly for a way to explain. But the more eager each was to mend the rift,
the wider the chasm looked. Suddenly, as the men ate the cold meat with which
they were breaking their fast, a rush of bird whistles burst out from north and
west. Simon leapt to his feet and began to issue low-voiced commands to his
captains. Armed parties were approaching from two directions.

The bird calls diminished slowly, retreating southward and
eastward in a most natural manner. By the time the armed troops converged on
Simon’s campsite, there was nothing to be seen there except the cookfires
burning away cheerfully and the trodden earth. Many tracks—horses’ and
men’s—led into a small wooded area just behind the open field. The armed troops
moved forward quickly, then the leader pulled his horse to a stop just inside
the trees as a singing voice called something he could not understand from
above.

“As I live and breathe,” Simon said, stepping out from
behind the trees, “I have been wondering for a full day how I would find you,
and you have found me. I am Simon de Vipont. You are Gilbert Bassett from your
arms, are you not?”

The leader pushed back his helmet. “De Vipont! What the
devil are you doing sneaking through the woods, and where are your men?”

Simon laughed. “Around and above. Half of you would be dead
already if I wished you ill. You have a look of your brother.”

Bassett had stiffened at Simon’s warning, then relaxed and
smiled. “Ah, yes. Philip has written about your Welshmen, but you do not say
what you do here so secretly or why.”

“A long story. Will you trust me and bid your men dismount?
And by the by, how did you find us? I thought we came quietly enough.”

After an eye blink’s hesitation, Bassett ordered most of his
troop to retreat and be at rest. The others rode back to the campsite and also
dismounted, although they cast nervous glances at the woods around them.

“As to how I knew where you were,” Bassett said to Simon as
he came down from his horse, “you passed by the grazing meadows of Upavon and a
shepherd saw you. The king may disseisin me, but he cannot change the hearts of
my people.”

“That is true. I am glad you are so well served.” Then Simon
turned and cheerfully called out to someone hiding on the branch of a large
tree. The branches parted and Siorl dropped to the ground lightly. His bow was
strung, but the nocked arrow now drooped negligently from his hand. He replied
shortly and sharply to Simon’s remark, which made Simon laugh. “I asked him how
come we were seen,” Simon explained to Bassett. “Siorl prides himself on not
being seen.”

“Shepherds have long sight and are accustomed to watching
for stealthy movement,” Bassett suggested.

“No, that was not Siorl’s excuse. He said there is no way to
hide fifty-two horses.”

Reminded, Bassett looked around, but there was neither sight
nor, what was far more puzzling, sound of a horse. It was a small wood. Bassett
did not think it possible to keep fifty horses so quiet that they could not be
heard.

“But it seems you have done it,” he remarked.

“Not I,” Simon said, grinning. “That is Lady Rhiannon’s
skill.”

Simon called another command and shadows began to drop from
the trees and slide out of the brush. A long bird call trilled into the
distance. Bassett watched with hard eyes, accepting the fact that he had ridden
into a trap and his troop could have taken heavy losses without ever having
even seen their enemies. It was something to remember. But what startled him
most was when Rhiannon came through the trees, her skirt looped up to mid-thigh
for running and her hand on Ymlladd’s neck. Unbound, the other horses followed,
all silent except for the sound of their hooves on the earth. Gilbert Bassett’s
mouth dropped open.

“This is my betrothed wife, Lady Rhiannon uerch Llewelyn,”
Simon said.

Lovely as she was, Rhiannon scarcely looked like an elegant,
high-bred lady. However, she came forward, gave Ymlladd’s rein to Simon, and extended
her hand in regal greeting without the slightest self-consciousness about her
naked legs or the leaves and twigs in her hair, which she had not yet wimpled
for riding. Bassett swallowed. When she moved away from them, the horses began
to nod and blow with nervousness, and the men led them away. He recalled that
Simon had said Lady Rhiannon had kept the horses quiet, but he had thought that
some kind of private joke.

“Sir Gilbert?” Rhiannon said, in a perfectly normal,
pleasant voice, marked by a faint puzzlement at his immobility.

Recalled to himself, Bassett bowed over Rhiannon’s hand with
grace, and then what Simon had said penetrated his shock and assumed greater
importance than the behavior of some horses. “Uerch Llewelyn?” he echoed. “Are
you daughter to the Lord of Gwynedd? But I— Ah, a natural daughter.”

Rhiannon inclined her head.

“And betrothed to Simon de Vipont?”

“Why not, Sir Gilbert?” Simon asked. “Prince Llewelyn is my
overlord and my father is his clan brother. That is part of the reason we are
moving so quietly rather than riding the roads, but what you should have
remembered about me is that I was squire to William, Earl of Pembroke, and my
family has been close-tied in love to the Marshals for many years.”

For the first time Bassett relaxed completely. “Yes, I
should have remembered. Are you in flight to Richard?”

“Not exactly in flight. I am not proscribed, but apparently
it came into Winchester’s mind that Lady Rhiannon would make a prime hostage
for her father’s behavior. It is not true, but Winchester does not understand
the Welsh.”

“He does not understand
anything
,” Bassett snarled.

“I think you are right. Nonetheless, he has offended me, and
it is in my mind that I can use his ignorance to increase his problems and to
have my revenge. The Bishop of Winchester, for some reason, fears Hubert de
Burgh, and I would like to see him free.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then Bassett said, “Are
you offering to join your troop to ours in an attempt to rescue him? I would be
more than happy to accept and would be very grateful, but I must warn you that
our hopes of success are small. The garrison of Devizes will be down on us
before we can hope to take the Earl of Kent away.”

Simon noted that Bassett, who was indebted to him, gave de
Burgh his title as Earl of Kent, but he did not comment on that. All he said
was, “Not if they do not know he is gone.”

“The church is close-guarded day and night,” Bassett
remarked with a touch of contempt at the foolishness of a young man. “I have
friends who watch and send me word. Believe me, there is no way to reach him
without raising an alarm.”

“Perhaps not,” Simon agreed, “but I think there may be. If
you will tell me whatever you know about the way the guards are stationed and
relieved, I think my men can slip through and bring de—I mean, Kent—and his
companions out.”

There was another silence while Bassett absorbed this. His
expression, unguarded now, wavered between enthusiasm and disbelief. Then a
certain look of cunning came into his eyes. If only Simon’s men were involved,
he would have lost nothing, even if the effort failed. He would do what he
could to help, even what he could to support and protect any who escaped, but
his own force would be untouched and ready to try again if such a possibility
arose. One other problem had to be brought to Simon’s attention, however.

“We think Kent is weak and sick,” Bassett said.

“So I guessed from his age and the treatment he has had,”
Simon acknowledged. “Also I assume he has been starved since entering the church.
But that does not make much difference,” Simon assured him. “He could not slip
out softly enough, even if he were whole and strong. We will have to quiet the
guards on the side of the church where we come out. I will need men to replace
them. Mine cannot speak English at all or French well enough to fool anyone.”

Bassett blinked. Simon sounded so sure that he was beginning
to believe this himself. “This is not a forest,” he said after a moment.

Simon turned his head and translated Bassett’s warning to
Siorl. The Welsh master-at-arms answered with a brief, contemptuous sentence.
Simon did not translate it specifically, he only said that Siorl was sure it
could be done. Bassett was not completely convinced, but he had already decided
that he had little to lose in the attempt. He put out his hand.

“I am more grateful than I can say,” Bassett remarked. “If
there is any way in which I can return this favor in the future, it will be
done. For now, would you like to come into my camp? We have a secure place closer
to our goal, and I think Lady Rhiannon will be more comfortable there.”

He looked around and did not see her. Bassett had been so
concentrated on what Simon was offering that he had not heard Rhiannon move
away. Now he had a moment of anxiety, wondering whether the men in his camp
would take her for a new drab that had arrived. He wondered whether he dared
tell Simon to hint that she had better be careful of her dress, but when Simon
called and she came out of his tent, Bassett breathed a sigh of relief. Her
skirt was down, her hair bound in a tight net, and her look was that of a
perfect lady.

Indeed, Rhiannon’s manner was so ordinary that Bassett began
to find all sorts of reasons for the brief vision he had had of her as
something different. In fact, he almost forgot about her entirely because she
was so quiet the entire time the details of the rescue were being discussed.
Simon’s men and those who would pretend to be guards were chosen. The mechanics
of entering the church, searching out the three prisoners, and convincing them
it was not a trap were outlined. This last had involved Bassett personally in
the business. He did not hesitate to offer himself. By now he was convinced
there was a good chance of success, and Richard Siward would lead his men until
his brother could take them over if the mission failed. All was smooth as silk
until the escape was planned.

“It comes to this,” Bassett said. “Is it less dangerous to
send enough men to carry all three a substantial distance or to have the horses
close enough?”

“Why should it be dangerous to have the horses close so long
as they are out of sight?” Rhiannon asked.

Bassett smiled indulgently at so innocent a question. His
mind had already rationalized the brief, impossible vision of Rhiannon with her
hand on the great, vicious destrier’s neck and a whole troop of horses
following docilely as sheep.

“Because a single snort or whinny would warn the guards as
clearly as seeing a troop of men.”

“The horses will make no sound,” Rhiannon said. “I will be with
them.”

There was a silence. Bassett was stunned. He did not wish to
remember what he had seen; it was unhealthy to think evil of Llewelyn ap
Iowerth’s daughter or the betrothed of the youngest son of the Roselynde clan,
but if he could not allow that thought, then he must be enraged by the woman’s
silliness. Simon was simply considering the suggestion. It had not occurred to
him to bring Rhiannon along, but now that she had suggested it, his mind was
busy with the possibilities generated.

“How many can you keep quiet?” Simon asked.

Bassett turned purple and made a peculiar sound, but neither
Simon nor Rhiannon paid any attention.

“That depends on how quiet you want them. This morning I
found a drop in the ground, so it was only necessary to keep them together and
I could speak to them softly. If you mean they must not snort or stamp and I
must keep silence, then I need to be close enough to touch each often. Ten or
perhaps twelve, I could manage. But Simon, the Welsh can go back on foot. They
will even be safer that way, I think.”

“You are right,” Simon agreed. “I should have thought of
that myself. “Good.” He turned to Bassett. “Three of my men, myself, you, Lady
Rhiannon, and four of yours to take the place of guards. That makes ten. Is
there something wrong, Sir Gilbert?”

“With me?” Bassett exploded. “No! But I think you must have
lost your mind.”

“Why? I assure you it will take no more than three of my men
and myself to dispose of the guards. Two could—”

“Sir Simon, I am not talking about the men.” Bassett’s voice
rose to a roar. “You cannot bring a woman along on such an enterprise.”

“Why not?” Simon asked. “Rhiannon
can
control the
horses, and I will be there to protect her. No one expects her to fight.”

“I could bring my bow,” Rhiannon suggested innocently,
teasing.

“No,” Simon objected. “I do not want anyone killed if it is
possible to avoid it. You will get carried away and shoot too straight.”

Bassett choked again. “You are insane. She will scream or
start to chatter at the wrong moment, or—”

“No, indeed I will not,” Rhiannon protested. “My brother
David has often taken me on raids—”

She broke off suddenly and put her hand over her mouth.
Llewelyn did not control her, but he did control David. It was true Llewelyn
would not hesitate to thrust his daughter into danger if he thought it would
benefit Gwynedd, but he would never expose her on a petty raid merely so that
more goods and/or men could be carried away. That was not why David and
Rhiannon had done it originally—he was mischievous and she, curious—but the
mercenary motive had induced them to repeat the adventure. If Llewelyn
discovered what David had done, he would be punished.

Looking at her stricken expression, Simon thought she
realized that going raiding with her half brother had been unwise. However,
David was not the wisest or most scrupulous of men. He often reached for
immediate profit without considering the long-term effects of his actions. Then
Simon grinned self-consciously. He was not much better himself, and he was
planning to make use of the effect of David’s inconsiderate actions. Under the
circumstances he uttered no reproof.

This, combined with his smile, convinced Rhiannon not only
that Simon would not betray David to her father, which was quite true, but that
he did not disapprove of her ventures, which was not true at all. It convinced
Bassett, too, and unlocked the memory of Ymlladd biting and kicking at the
grooms in the camp in contrast with the stallion walking gentle as a lamb by
Rhiannon’s side. He withdrew his objections, but he looked sidelong at Rhiannon
and had a tendency to try to stay on the opposite side of the group when they
rode out of camp that night.