Rhiannon (8 page)

She could not help laughing. Simon knew she had gems enough
not to need more from a husband and that she cared very little whether she wore
rubies or polished stones which could be had for the simple labor of picking
them up from the ground and rolling them in a mill. Even so, in Welsh terms,
Simon
was
rich.

“Do you delay me hoping that these gentlemen,” Rhiannon
nodded at the four men who now stood close, “will be discouraged by my appearance?
I assure you they will not. They, too, prefer cockleburs. Then the dower my
father gives with me could be spent on objects worthier than my adornment.”

“You need no adornment,” one said.

“There is naught worthier than your adornment,” another
exclaimed.

The other two, keener witted, said nothing, seeing the trap.
Rhiannon raised her fine-arched brows, preparing to impale the unwise
flatterers on their own lances of wit. But, before she could praise the economy
of one, who would offer fine words in the place of rich gifts, or complain that
the other thought her so ugly that any sum expended on baubles to hide her true
appearance would be worthwhile, Simon deflected her aim.

“We may all soon be rich enough not to care for your dower
or the price of rich gifts,” he suggested provocatively.

Instantly the attention of the four young men shifted. The
eldest of them, Owain Brogynton, had not fallen into Rhiannon’s snare, but
greed drew him headlong into Simon’s.

“How so, when Prince Llewelyn has forbidden raiding? Do you
think yourself safe from his command because of your Saeseneg relations?”

“Not at all,” Simon replied blandly, ignoring the insult
implied by Saeseneg—English-speaking—relations. “I am Prince Llewelyn’s man and
have neither intention nor desire to disobey any command he may give, but I
have news…” He allowed that to drift off temptingly.

“From so noteworthy a source, I am sure your news will be
the mainspring of all Prince Llewelyn’s future decisions,” another sneered. He
was the youngest of the group and the first to leap into Rhiannon’s pitfall.

Antwn ap Madog, the second man who had been clever enough to
hold his tongue, put his hand on the speaker’s arm. His father held lands in
Powys and was one of Llewelyn’s bulwarks against the Marcher lords. Thus, he
was better acquainted than the others with the nobility and politics of England
and knew to whom Simon was related.

“His source may well be noteworthy,” Antwn said. “His
brother-by-marriage is cousin to King Henry. What is your news, Simon?”

“You know, I suppose, that King Henry has summoned an army
to gather at Gloucester on the Assumption and that many Flemish mercenaries
have been brought in also.”

“Of course we know,” Madog ap Sior snapped. He was the
second to fall into Rhiannon’s trap and still did not realize she had laid a
snare. He was less quick-witted than the others, more stubborn also, prone to
cling to opinions he had made on the basis of superficial evidence. “That is
why we are forbidden to raid. The king will soon take his army to Ireland,
however, and we will be free of him. This is no news.”

“I do not think the king will take his army to Ireland—and
neither does Prince Llewelyn,” Simon said, smiling.

“You dare to say our prince fears the stupid, slow-footed
Saeson?” Madog snarled, thrusting forward.

Antwn grabbed him. “Do not be a fool, Madog. I am sure Simon
would not insult Prince Llewelyn. Go on, Simon.”

“I do not intend insult to Prince Llewelyn by calling him a
coward, but I will not insult him by saying he is fool enough to desire that an
army of that size fall upon Wales either.”

“What if they did?” the youngster sneered. “They would
starve as others have done before them.”

“Yes, and then we would starve all winter also, since the
crops are not yet in nor the herds fully fattened,” Owain remarked, his eyes
narrowed. “If we must starve, we can. But I agree with Simon that Prince
Llewelyn would not invite the Saeson in at this time.”

“Unfortunately, it is not a question of not inviting them in
but of keeping them out—if they are not going to Ireland,” Antwn said. “The
message with the summons said to ‘bring to obedience the Earl of Kent’s men in
Ireland.’ This much I know for certain. Do you think this is a ruse to befool
us? If so—”

“That was not the intent,” Simon said quickly. The English
were enough hated; he did not wish to add fuel to that fire. “Likely the
summons was honestly intended when it went out, but matters have changed.
Gilbert Bassett is now in open rebellion. He has sent a defiance to the king,
and the Earl of Pembroke knows that justice is on Bassett’s side. He does not
wish to fight King Henry, but the earl will do nothing to curb Bassett. If
Henry uses this as an excuse to attack Pembroke’s keeps in the south—”

“Who cares what Pembroke or the Saeson king does in the
south?” Madog growled. “You may keep your news to yourself; we—”

“But Madog,” the youngster interrupted, having noticed the
expressions of glee on the faces of Owain and Antwn and put two and two
together, “if Henry’s army is busy in the south—”

“We may all grow rich raiding the baggage trains,” Simon put
in smoothly. “Prince Llewelyn would never forbid the raiding of an invading
army, even if he does not want attacks to be made on English lands just now.”

The four huddled closer to discuss this splendid
possibility, not realizing that Rhiannon had slipped away and that, a few
moments later, Simon had followed. He caught her just outside the hall of
women, where she had stopped to say some reproachful things to Math, who merely
stared at her enigmatically.

“Lady Rhiannon,” Simon said, “do forgive me for foiling your
intention of pricking those conceits, but I was most eager to drop my burden of
news where it would do the most good.”

“I am happy you found me so useful,” she retorted coldly,
“but I cannot say I think much of your discretion. My father does not love men
with wagging tongues.”

“Neither do I. It was Prince Llewelyn who bade me start the
gossip. No, forget that for now. I could not believe my good fortune when I saw
Math and so knew you were here. I have been racking my brains all the way from
Clifford to think of a reason to go to Angharad’s Hall—and here you are.”

“Do you think I came to seek you?”

“No! My lady, do not quarrel with me without cause, I beg
you. I wish only to please you.”

“Like those others?”

Several pat answers sprang to Simon’s tongue, but he
swallowed them. “How can I answer that?” he asked slowly. “I do not know what
they feel. You said they desired your dower, but that might have been a jest. I
certainly do not—you know that. I will be glad to have a blood bond with your
father, but that is because I love him well, not because I hope to gain by it.”

The door of the hall opened, yellow light from the torches
spilling from it along the ground. It did not touch Simon or Rhiannon where
they stood, but she took Simon by the wrist and drew him around the building to
the garden at the back. She was ashamed of her sharp retorts, aware they were
the product of her anger with herself and that Simon had done nothing to
deserve them. She knew it was time to unburden herself before shame bred more
anger, which would breed more shame, and round and round until the walls of
self-hatred had grown too high and too hard to be breached.

Simon had been surprised into silence by Rhiannon’s sudden
move. When he saw where she was leading him, he maintained silence, afraid he
would go too far or not far enough and irritate her again. It was a wise move,
giving Rhiannon time to drop her defenses. When they reached a bench set at a
crossways amid the beds of herbs and flowers, she stopped and looked up. It was
very dark, the moon not having yet risen, but that was all to the good.
Rhiannon preferred to get through her confession without either seeing Simon’s
expression or having him read hers.

“Simon,” she said quickly, “the question I asked—did I come
to seek you—held a falsehood in it because it implied I did not.”

“But, oh, my lady, did you send me a message and think I had
not come? I never received it, I swear. You see, I left London suddenly and I
have been with the Earl of Pembroke, moving from one keep to another because—”

“No, I did not send any message, nor did I expect to find
you here. I came to see if any other man would content me—”

“What!”

“You heard me,” Rhiannon said sharply. “I came to see
if—like a heifer—any bull could service me.”

It was most fortunate that Simon’s mother was given to crude
and forthright language when it served her purpose and that Llewelyn had told
him already that Rhiannon had found all the young bucks at court insufficient.
The combination of experience and private knowledge saved him from losing his
temper. As soon as the initial shock of Rhiannon saying such a thing of herself
had passed, Simon was touched by her desperate honesty—and was amused.

“There are more delicate ways to say you are now ready to
consider marriage, my lady,” he said gravely, determined not to make another
mistake.

“But I am
not
ready to consider marriage,” Rhiannon
snapped. “And there is
no
delicate way to say that I desire you.”

Simon gulped. He had been invited by many women in many
ways, but never like this. He stared helplessly down, but it was too dark to
see anything except the faint gleam of Rhiannon’s luminous eyes. There was no
way to make out her expression.

“Rhiannon,” he stammered, “my lady—”

“You have now the right to call me Rhiannon, nor need you
add ‘my lady’. We are done with honorifics.”

She put out her hand, and Simon saw the flash of her teeth
as she smiled at him. There was no implication in what she said of shame or of being
made less than she was. Rhiannon was merely admitting him to an intimacy she
had previously withheld by insisting on formality in his address.

“But if you love me—” Simon began to protest.

“I never said I loved you.” Rhiannon cut him off, her voice
sharp again. “I said I desired you. Do you not know the difference?”

“Indeed I do!” Simon responded furiously. “Which is why I
asked your father formally for permission to address you and asked you for the
honor of becoming your husband. I love you! If you do not love me, you do not.
There is no need to insult me!”

Whereupon he stalked away, leaving Rhiannon somewhat
stunned.

Neither Simon nor Rhiannon spent a very pleasant night. Five
minutes after he left her, Simon hurried back, but she was gone. He regretted
what he had said and done, not because he was willing to take Rhiannon on her
terms but because of the way he had rejected them. Too late he had remembered
Llewelyn telling him that Rhiannon’s mother and grandmother had also been unwilling
to marry. He had reacted as if Rhiannon’s offer was one of contempt for him, as
if she thought he was not worth marrying, and that was probably not true.

Simon stood in the garden awhile, hoping Rhiannon would
guess he would return, but she did not come back and he could have torn out his
hair with frustration. It would not be easy, he realized, to find a time alone
with her again to explain himself. He stood irresolute thinking that it might
not be easy even to be alone with himself in Llewelyn’s court after the news he
had dropped, and he had to be alone to think. It might not be difficult—once he
found a time and place—to explain away his anger. However, changing Rhiannon’s
mind about marriage would be another matter entirely.

Rhiannon had regretted her own blunt words as soon and as
deeply as Simon regretted his outburst of temper. She had hurried after him—or
so she thought—as soon as she recovered from the surprise of having made him so
very angry. But she had assumed that he would have gone back to the hall, and,
once inside, she had been snatched up into the group from which she had
previously escaped. She had little choice but to stay with them and then excuse
herself after a decent interval and go back to the women’s hall. This she did,
making a detour into the garden, but Simon was long gone by then.

It had been stupid and unkind, Rhiannon thought, to state
her purpose so crudely. There were gentler ways to say that one does not wish
to marry. And Simon did not carry, as she did, a leavening of the old religion.
Doubtless he thought a union without marriage sinful. At that point Rhiannon
paused in removing her clothes and chuckled softly. If so, he had managed to
bear up very well under the burden of sin he had accumulated so far. No, it was
not his faith to God that had been offended. What then?

Only when she rethought the scene between them carefully did
it come to her that she had said she did not love him, whereas he claimed to
love her. So it was his pride that had been hurt—too bad. Her eyes sparked
angrily, but then the expression in them softened. Perhaps he did love her
right now. Perhaps he even lied to himself that he would love her forever.
Rhiannon stood staring at the tall night candle considering that possibility.
If it was no lie, if Simon did love her and could be faithful, would she wish
to bind
herself
forever?

A response began to build up in her and Rhiannon shook
herself sharply, but she felt a greater sympathy for Simon. No doubt he did not
lie consciously; no doubt he felt the same urge, the same sneaking conviction
that he would love forever as she had begun to feel. Nonetheless, no man was
ever faithful, and one like Simon least of all. Too many women followed him,
called to him, offered themselves to him. And she was not sure
she
would
love him forever, no matter what she felt right now.

At first, sleep would not come, and when it did it brought
such dreams of mingled ecstasy and terror all dappled with blood that Rhiannon
started awake sweating. Math leapt onto the bed and walked up her chest,
purring loudly. She stroked him, and the soft sleekness of his vibrating body
assured her of reality. Yet the dream shadowed her waking, and it was not, as
her dreams usually were, clear in memory. She tried to pick it apart, to determine
whether the joy had engendered the terror or whether they were two separate
things, but even that she could not do.

To Rhiannon, dreams were not to be ignored. They were true
foreshadowings—if properly interpreted. But the maelstrom of joy and fear she had
experienced could not be disentangled for interpretation. However, as she lay
sleepless in the dim light of the night candle, the pleasure took a greater
hold on her mind, and that was most unusual. Mostly, with dreams, it was the
terror that grew until all else shrank into insignificance. Without clear
memory, however, there could be no true guidance. She tried to blank her mind
and concentrate wholly on Math’s rhythmic purring on which she could float into
sleep.

Simon had no bad dreams, but he had found sleep equally
elusive. In England he had not been celibate. It had never entered his mind
that when Rhiannon spoke of keeping to one love she could include the casual
use of a whore now and then to relieve his body, Nonetheless, he had taken no
woman since he had left London with Richard. They had been moving too quickly,
and he had been so busy, he had scarcely felt the lack, except for a little
while when he had wakened in the morning.

The contact with Rhiannon and her offer had roused desire.
To satisfy it would have been no trouble—there were several women in the court
who had given Simon solace before he had fixed his heart on Rhiannon. All of
their eyes said they would welcome him back, and Mallt uerch Arnallt had even
begun to follow him across the hall when he had rushed forward to speak to
Rhiannon. That was out of the question, however. Even to look in Mallt’s
direction would be the end of any hope he had of convincing Rhiannon to be his
wife. Besides, he did not want Mallt.

When the hall was dark and silent, Simon found his way among
the other men to his pallet. Not far away Madog ap Sior’s eyes opened. He had
been the most annoyed when the four men discussing raids on the baggage train
of Henry’s army discovered that Rhiannon was gone because he was the most
convinced that a woman should wait patiently until a man had time to attend to
her. He had been even more annoyed when it seemed that Simon had gone with her.
That Simon should now steal in so late and so silently infuriated him even
further. Naturally; he assumed Simon had been with Rhiannon.

Worst of all, Antwn had made it clear to him that it was not
possible simply to find a dark corner and stick a knife between Simon’s ribs.
Simon was the only son of Prince Llewelyn’s dear friend and clan brother Ian de
Vipont. More important, he was personally a great favorite with the prince.
And, at the moment, most important of all, he was an envoy from the Earl of
Pembroke. Thus, if any harm should come to Simon, Llewelyn would harrow the
court so effectively that Christ’s Harrowing of Hell would seem a jest in
comparison.

Madog was not quick of mind, but the pressure of rage and
the need for secrecy jolted him into an unusual mental agility. He put together
Simon’s English connections and Prince Llewelyn’s affection for him with the
fact that Llewelyn’s illegitimate son Gruffydd loathed the English and was
jealous of anyone his father preferred. Madog did not mind if Gruffydd got into
trouble. He would watch Simon, he thought, and when he caught him with Rhiannon
he would report the matter to Gruffydd. Then Gruffydd would take care of the
elimination of Simon, one way or another.

The absolute stillness of Simon’s body on his pallet further
infuriated Madog, who thought Simon had dropped asleep instantly and associated
that with sexual satisfaction. However, it was discipline rather than
satisfaction that kept Simon so quiet. He had more or less decided what he
would say to Rhiannon, but he was quite unable to think of a way to convince
her to listen to him. He had assumed she was so furious at the crude way he had
rejected her offer of herself that she would not even permit him to approach
her.

To add to the difficulty, Simon did not dare leave it to
time to appease her anger while he furthered his cause by looking depressed and
lonely—a ruse he had found very efficacious when a lady in one place finally
heard of his exploits in another. Time, usually so much a lover’s friend, had
turned on him. Simon did not know whether he would have a day, a week, or a
month or more before Llewelyn came to a decision as to what he would do, when
he would do it, or whether he wished to ally himself to Pembroke at all. He was
pretty sure of a day or two while Llewelyn consulted the major clan leaders who
were beholden to him. After that, Simon knew he might be sent back to Richard
at any time, and then he did not know when he would be able to return. Once the
fighting started, it might be many months before his time was again his own.

By morning Simon was convinced that the only certain method
was to lay violent hands on Rhiannon, carry her away into the woods, and try to
excuse both offenses at once. It was, however, easier to make this decision
than to carry it out, he feared. How was he going to find her in a place where
he could seize her without interference? If she screamed and resisted,
doubtless every man in Aber would pursue them. Nonetheless, after breaking his
fast and idling about the hall, hoping Rhiannon would come in, Simon began to
make plans to forward this purpose. He told his grooms to saddle Ymlladd and
stood watching their struggles with the evil-tempered gray stallion, while
trying to formulate a message that would bring Rhiannon out into the bailey. He
was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not notice the prize he so ardently
desired approaching him. In fact, he reached automatically for the horse’s
bridle when it was led toward him.

From Rhiannon’s viewpoint, Simon seemed first to be looking
right through her, as if she did not exist, and then to be intending to ride
quickly away. Ordinarily she would have been very angry, but her sense of being
at fault, together with the fear that he had been so hurt he was leaving for
good, drove her to call his name and run forward. A number of heads turned in the
direction of the sound. One of them was Mallt’s, another was Madog’s. He had
followed Simon out of the hall, suspicious of the fact that de Vipont seemed to
be avoiding his usual cronies. Now Madog’s suspicions were confirmed.

Simon’s hand jerked on Ymlladd’s bridle, and the horse
reared. Knowing that swift movement or loud sounds could set the battle-trained
animal into a frenzy, Simon vaulted into the saddle and curbed the horse
fiercely. Rhiannon realized at once what she had done and stopped abruptly. She
understood animals, and it was also too late to do anything about Simon. If he
did not wish to speak to her, he would ride away; there was no use in running
after him. Since her dignity would be rather damaged if he rode away, Rhiannon
turned, as if she were about to return to the hall.

Simon brought his horse under control just in time to see
Rhiannon’s move. He spurred the beast forward, bent from the saddle, and pulled
her up in front of him. Madog sprang forward, but the cry of alarm on his lips
changed to a low curse as he saw Rhiannon turn toward her abductor, laughing,
and throw her arms around his neck.

Although he was delighted with this reaction, Simon did not
curb the speed of his destrier, but merely directed him toward the gate. They
galloped through and away, then turned north where, after a quarter of a mile
of forested land, a series of coves broke the headlands fronting the ocean.

“You must listen, Rhiannon,” Simon began.

Simultaneously, Rhiannon said, “Simon, try to understand—”

Laughter followed naturally and the destrier stumbled, which
was not surprising at the pace he was going with the weight so oddly
distributed. Relieved of his fear that Rhiannon was unwilling to talk to him,
Simon gave his attention to his horse. Equally reassured, Rhiannon relaxed and
allowed Simon to go where he wanted while he slowed the animal to a trot and
then to a walk. At last she asked curiously where Simon was taking her.

“I have not the faintest idea,” he responded cheerfully.
“Anywhere, so long as we are not likely to be interrupted.” He paused and then
added seriously, “We really must come to an understanding. I do not know how
much longer I will be permitted to stay. You know I am only serving as a
messenger, Rhiannon. My coming and going are not at my own discretion.”

“Then you came to my father as an emissary, not of your own
will?” she asked.

Simon tried to judge her expression, but it was difficult.
Even with her head turned as much as possible toward him he was so close that
he saw her from a strange angle. Nor could he trust himself to interpret her
voice. It sounded good-humored and curious, but Rhiannon had a tendency to set
traps for unwary tongues and Simon was determined not to fall in.

“Do you know where we can be private and comfortable?” That
was a safe question, and it saved him from the need for answering her
immediately. “I am not very familiar with Aber.”

Rhiannon looked up through the trees at the sun. “That way.”
She pointed. “We will come out above the water, and we can find a cove. If it
gets hot enough, we can swim. Oh, can you swim, Simon?”

“Of course I can. Roselynde lies on the narrow sea.” He
touched Ymlladd with his spur to pick up the pace, not because he wished to
arrive sooner, but because he wanted to forestall conversation under what he
considered adverse conditions. In fact, it was extremely pleasant to hold
Rhiannon clutched against him. He had never had so prolonged a contact with her
before and found it so stimulating that the real purpose of this ride began to
become obscured. By the time they had reached the shore and picked their way
down along a stream that had cut a path to the narrow, rocky beach, Simon was
beginning to reconsider Rhiannon’s offer and to wonder whether it could make
any difference if they married before or after they became lovers.

Still in the grip of this emotion, Simon slid from his
horse, carrying Rhiannon with him. It was not completely safe to leave Ymlladd
loose while he was saddled and bridled. An empty saddle and a loose rein were
battle signals to the war-trained stallion that could set him to attack anyone
who moved except Simon, whose scent he knew. That would put Rhiannon in danger
if she were alone, but Simon had no intention of releasing her. As long as they
were locked together, the horse would not attack. In fact, Ymlladd gave no
signs of restlessness or bad temper when Simon released him. Instead, he
wandered a few steps away to suck water from the stream and then lip at leaves
on the bushes that grew on the bank. Had Simon been less preoccupied with his
own feelings, he would have noted this behavior as being very strange. As it
was, he merely lowered his head and fastened his mouth to Rhiannon’s.