A Memory of Love

Chapter 1

The late spring rain was heavy and chill. Some of it was seeping through the roof where the thatch was worn. The fire had gone out the day before, and the two children did not know how to restart it. They huddled together to keep warm. Their mother's body lay on the bed amid a pool of blood that was now congealed and blackening. The stench in the cottage had already numbed their nostrils, even as the cold had numbed their fingers and toes. The wind suddenly howled in mournful fashion, and the smaller of the two children whimpered, pressing himself closer to his elder sister.

Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn focused her brain again as she had these past two days. How was she to save Glynn and herself from certain death? Their mama was dead, birthing the prince's latest child. Their cottage was isolated from any village, for decent women would not tolerate the prince's whore and his bastards. The old crone who had helped Vala in her two previous births had not been there this time, because this time the child had come too soon. Much too soon.

They needed to be warm, Rhonwyn thought sleepily. How did one start a fire? If only it would cease raining. Perhaps they could walk and find another cottage or village-but whatever a village was for she didn't really know, having never left the hill on which she had lived her whole five years. Rhonwyn hugged her three-year-old brother tighter against her when he whimpered again.

"Hungry," he complained to her.

"There is nothing left, Glynn," she repeated for the tenth time. "When the rain stops we will go and find food. If we leave the cottage now, we will surely die." They were apt to die in any event, Rhonwyn thought irritably. If she could only start a fire to warm them, the gnawing in their bellies might not seem so fierce. She hadn't meant for the fire to go out, but when her mam began screaming with her pain, Rhonwyn had taken her brother from their cottage so he would not be frightened. They had gone out on the hillside to pick flowers for the new baby. But when they had returned their mother was dead, and the lire was out. Not even a lingering coal remained that Rhonwvn might coax into a warm flame as she had often seen her mot her do. Then the rain had begun. It had rained all night and into this day, which was almost over.

Suddenly Rhonwvn's ears pricked up at the sound of dogs baying in the distance. The noise grew closer and closer until it was directly outside. The door to the cottage was slammed open, and Llywelyn ap Grulfydd was outlined in the failing light of day. He stepped quickly inside, his eyes sweeping about the room. Seeing his children huddled together on their pallet, he asked them, "What has happened here?"

"Mam's dead," Rhonwyn answered her father. "The new baby came too soon."

"Why wasn't the midwife here?" he demanded.

"Who was to send for her? And where is she? Mam was screaming and screaming. I took Glynn and went outside. When we returned Mam was dead. There was no fire. No food. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where to go, or I would have gone. Our mam is dead, and you and your rutting have killed her! She would not have died but that you put another baby in her belly."

Startled at the venom in the child's voice, he looked down at her, seeing his daughter for the first time. It was like looking into a glass but for her coloring, which was Vala's. She didn't like him, he knew. Her green eyes glared angrily into his. He would have laughed but for the seriousness of the situation. Rhonwyn was certainly his get and every bit as intense with her anger as he was.

"I'll make a fire," he replied. "Go outside and look in my saddlebag. There is food in it. Do not mind the dogs." He turned away from her and began to prepare a new fire. Seeing his small son staring at him, half fearful, half curious, he said, "Come here, lad, and I will show you how to make a fire so you will never be cold again."

The little boy crept from the pallet and came to stand by his father, watching fascinated as ap Gruffydd gathered a bit of kindling together and drew a flint from his purse. Using the blade of his knife, the prince stroked the flint until it sparked, and the kindling caught light. Glynn's eyes were wide with amazement, and the prince smiled, reaching out to ruffle the boy's dark hair. Ap Gruffydd added wood to the fire until it was blazing merrily, and the chill began to dissipate.

The man stood and handed the flint to his son. " 'Tis yours, Glynn ap Llywelyn. Now you know how to make a fire, but only in the fireplace for now, eh, lad?"

"Aye, Tad" came the reply, and the prince smiled again. It was the first time the child had called him father.

"So, you know I am your sire," he said.

"Mam said," the child answered simply.

"She did not lie, God assoil her sweet soul." Now the prince's attention was drawn back to his dead lover. She must be buried, although no priest would say the proper words over her. It didn't matter. God would have Vala uerch Huw because she was a good woman. He would not condemn her to a fiery hell because she had been Llywelyn ap Gruffydd's leman. He wished now he had married her, even though she had had neither wealth nor powerful family ties to recommend her. At least his children would have been legitimate. Well, he would formally acknowledge them. That would please Vala. He should begin to consider marriage, he thought. He was well past thirty and had nought but his two wee bastards to carry on his name.

Rhonwyn had reentered the cottage. She took bread and cheese, making small pieces for her little brother. Seeing the flint, she said, "What's that?" She picked it up and rolled the quartz in her hand gently.

"Give it back!" Glynn shouted at her. "Our tad gave it to me. It makes fire."

Rhonwyn shrugged and handed him hack his prize.

"Was the baby born?" ap Gruffydd asked his daughter.

She shrugged. "I don't know," she replied, shoving bread and cheese into her mouth. "I didn't look."

He nodded, understanding. He would have to look. "Has the rain stopped yet, Rhonwyn?"

"Aye."

"I'll go and dig a grave for yer mam, he said.

"Put it where she can see the sunset," the little girl said. "Mam always liked to watch the sunset."

He nodded and went outside. Taking the shovel from the side of the cottage nearest Vala s garden, he sought for a westerly direction. The storm had gone, and the skies were clearing now. Finding the right spot, he began to dig. What was he to do with his children? he considered as he worked. While there was a truce between him and the English for now, there was still no place he really called home. Besides, it would be far better if as few people as possible knew of these two little ones. Even bastards had their relevance. They could be exploited by his enemies or used to cement treaties. Particularly as he had no other children. He had been faithful to Vala, for he had little time for his own amusement. Besides, there had never been a woman who pleased him like this descendant of the Fair Folk had.

The earth was soft with the rain, and he was quickly able to dig the grave. Setting the shovel aside, he went in to fetch the body. Vala's face was at peace, although her body was stiff and contorted. Between her outstretched legs, amid the black and thickened blood, he saw the child. It would fit neatly into his palm, but it was perfectly formed. "You would have had a sister," he told Rhonwyn and Glynn. "Get me a basin, lad, and you, lass, put on a kettle of water to warm. Your mam and your sister will go to their grave clean."

A sister, Rhonwyn thought sadly. She had wanted a sister. Mam had talked about names. Huw after her father if a boy. Gwynllian for a girl. Rhonwyn dipped the bucket into the water barrel by the corner of the cottage and then filled the iron kettle, swinging it over the fire to warm. Then she went to the cupboard and took out a pristine length of cloth, bringing it to her father and handing it to him wordlessly.

Ap Gruffydd smiled almost imperceptibly. There was a grim look in his eyes. He remembered how Vala had begged him for the cloth, how many years back? If she or the children died, she had explained to him, they would have a clean shroud to be buried in. He had laughed at her macabre request, but then he had assented and brought her the cloth. She was alone here on this green hill with her children because she had chosen to belong to him, thus eschewing respectability and the company of her neighbors. No one would help her in a time of trouble. She understood that and accepted her fate because she truly loved him. He should have married her, he thought again. Her father had held a small bit of land and was free. Oh, he would make a dynastic marriage eventually, but it was Vala he had loved. Would always love.

Ap Gruffydd spent the next hour bathing the body of the woman he had adored. He washed the barely born infant Vala's body had pushed forth. The bloody bedclothes on which she had died he burned. Then he tenderly wrapped the cold body in the immaculate shroud, tucking the baby into her embrace. Her limbs were so stiff it had been difficult to do so, but he knew that was how she would have wanted to be buried.

"Come and say farewell to your mam." He beckoned his children.

He saw Rhonwyn hesitate just a fraction of a moment, but then she took Glynn by the hand and came to him. He kissed his lover's icy lips a final time, and the children followed suit. Rhonwyn reached out and gently touched the baby's tiny head. He would have sworn for a moment that there were tears in her green eyes, but then she turned her hard gaze on him.

" Tis all your fault, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd," she told him. "Now what is to happen to Glynn and to me with our mam gone? Who will care for us?"

"You are my children," he replied. "I will not desert you. Your mother trusted me. Why can you not trust me? I am your father."

"You sired us on our mam's body, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd," she returned coldly, "but when have you ever been a father? When you came here it was to see her and to pleasure yourself. Because of you I have never seen another living being in all my life but for you, my brother, our mam, and that old crone who helped birth Glynn."

"1 saw you did not starve or go unclad," he defended himself. "What more is a lather needed for, lass? A man must fight and strive to gain his position and keep it. There are enemies to be defeated. New lands to gain. That is a man's world. A woman's is her children. Everything was as it should he between your mother and me. Now, let us bury her and your wee sister. Then I will take you with me to a place of safety."

Vala and her infant were placed with care in the wet grave. Her shroud had been laid over her face. The earth was filled in as Glynn sobbed his little heart out, cradled in his sister's protective embrace. The setting sun, in a burst of red and gold glory, lit the skies to the west. Ap Gruffydd raised a small mound over the grave and then replaced the strips of greenery he had first removed from the site. This way the grave was not likely to draw attention of either wild beasts or anyone who might pass by this remote place.

"We must remain the night here," he told his children. "Rhonwyn, you will gather up what you wish to take for both you and your brother. We will depart tomorrow at first light. Go inside now while 1 see what I can hunt up for dinner for you. Keep the fire going."

When he returned, two skinned coneys in his possession, he found the cottage swept and neat again. The bed he had so often shared with Vala, however, was stripped of its straw mattress. He said nothing, broiling the rabbits over the open fire and dividing them among himself, his children, and the dogs. Rhonwyn had set the little table, adding some of his bread and cheese. The rest, he knew, she had saved for the morning. He watched as she carefully pulled the meat from the bones of the rabbit, feeding it along with bits of bread and cheese to her little brother. Only when he was satisfied did she, herself, eat. She had learned well from her mam, he thought sadly. She'll be a good mother some day. I must make an advantageous marriage for her. She's a pretty lass.

The children slept together on their pallet, wrapped in their sheepskins. He made certain the fire did not die in the night. When the dawn came Llywelyn ap Gruffydd arose and stood in the doorway of the cottage. It would be the last time he would ever come here, he knew. He had not expected Vala to die before he did. She had been so strong and healthy. She had been just fourteen when he had first seen her in his uncle's house. He had taken her away with him, and his seed had planted itself in her womb the first time he breached her. She had been a virgin. Nine months later she had borne Rhonwyn as easily as a cat having her kittens. Then two years later, Glynn. That she should begin her travail two months before she should have, and die of it, surprised him. He would go to a priest and acknowledge these two offspring of his body.

The sun was now just about over the horizon. He turned back into the cottage and roused his children. They finished what was left of the rabbit, the bread, and the cheese. He gave them each a sip of wine from his flask. Glynn coughed as it slid down his throat, but Rhonwyn swallowed the liquid facilely.

"So you like wine," he chuckled.

"It is good," she replied.

"Do you have everything you wish to take?" he asked her.

"There isn't much," she answered, "but I've put it in our mam's shawl." She handed him the small bundle, its corners tied together, if not neatly, tightly.

"Go outside, and take the lad," he told her. "I will be there in a moment."

"What are you going to do?" she demanded of him.

He looked directly at her, his dark eyes meeting her green ones. "I'm going to burn the cot," he said, but she did not, to his surprise, object. Instead she nodded, and taking her brother in her charge, exited the dwelling. Ap Gruffydd emitted a small bark of laughter. Vala had been all softness and spicy sweet. This daughter of theirs was as hard as flint. Even as I am, he smiled to himself grimly. He took the reed torch he had made earlier and thrust it into the fireplace to catch the flame. When it was burning well he walked about the small cottage, setting it ablaze as he worked his way toward the open door.

Once outside he flung the torch hack into the room and stood with his son and his daughter, watching as the cottage burned itself to the ground When there was nothing left of the little building, he said, "We will go now. The ground is wet, and the embers left will not spread." He went to his horse tied to a nearby tree, undoing the reins. "Rhonwyn, you will ride behind me. Glynn before me." He lifted the little boy onto the saddle, noting the sudden fear in the child's eyes as he did so. It was the first time his son had ever been astride an animal. "Addien is a well-trained beast, lad. Someday I will see you have a horse every bit as good. Perhaps one of his offspring. Would you like that?" He pulled himself up onto his mount, putting a strong and comforting arm about Glynn.

"Aye, Tad" came the reply, a bit unsure, but the little voice was strong. He was no longer afraid.

Ap Gruffydd reached down to his daughter and drew Rhonwyn up behind him. "Put your arms about me, lass," he told her, and when she did he signaled Addien to move along.

"Where are we going?" Rhonwyn asked him.

Ap Gruffydd thought a moment. Where were they going? Then he replied, "Cythraul. It's a fortress that belongs to me, and not more than a half day's ride from here."

They rode the morning through, the dogs loping along beside them, ap Gruffydd asking once if his children desired to stop to rest, but they did not. He was pleased to see they were made of strong stuff. He would leave them at Cythraul, but after that, what? He needed time to consider their fates, for he had never expected to have their care. They were Vala's responsibility, but Vala was dead. He sighed aloud and unaware.

He loved her, Rhonwyn thought. At least I know that to be truth. Both Glynn and I came from that love, but he has no feelings for us, I think. What will happen to us. A fortress? Why would he leave us in a fortress? What is a fortress? she wondered. I will not be afraid. If I show any fear, then Glynn will be afraid. He is already frightened by losing Mam. I must be strong for my brother. Mam would want me to protect him and see him safe. But I am afraid.

Then before them arose a dark stone edifice that seemed to spring from the mountain.

"Cythraul," ap Gruffydd said, riding straight for the dark pile of rock.

They heard his name being called from its heights as they drew nearer. Then they rode through the open ironwork of the entrance. Rhonwyn would later learn the ironwork was called a portcullis. The courtyard was suddenly alive with men. One took Addien's reins, while another reached up to lift both her and her brother down. Ap Gruffydd dismounted, giving orders that the beast be fed and rested. Then he said, "Where is Morgan ap Owen?"

"Here, my lord!" a deep voice boomed, and a barrel-chested man came forth. He was tall and had a black beard, and his hair was tied behind him although the top of his head was bald.

"We must talk," ap Gruffydd said, and walked toward a tower, which seemed to be the only building in the fortress. It was built into the walls at one corner of the structure. Inside, he told his children, "Go, and warm yourselves by the fire pit." Then he accepted a wooden goblet of bitter beer, swallowing it down in several gulps, and seated himself in the lord's chair. "Vala is dead. These are our children. The girl is just five and called Rhonwyn. The lad is three and named Glynn. I want to leave them with you while I decide what is to be done for them," he told Morgan ap Owen, the captain of Cythraul.

"Your word, lord, is my command" came the reply, "but why here, and why me? This is a great honor you do me, entrusting me with the care and safety of your offspring."

"You were Vala's blood kin, Morgan, and besides, I didn't want to exhaust them by taking them farther. They have never, until today, been off the hillock where Vala had her cottage."

"What about your brothers' households?" the captain queried.

"Few knew of Vala. And no one knew until today that I had children by her. Now you know, Morgan ap Owen. You and I and a priest of my choosing. You know the danger. My enemies would kill the lad and use Rhonwyn as a pawn in some marriage. I am far past my youth, and if I do not many, Glynn will one day be my heir. As for Rhonwyn, it will he her lather who arranges her marriage, not strangers." He smiled at his longtime friend. "They are small, Morgan. Surely you can find a place for them here."

"There is a bedspace for important visitors near the fire pit. They can have that," Morgan ap Owen answered his overlord. "But what am I to do with them?"

"They are children. They will amuse themselves. Just keep them safe for me, warm, and well fed," ap Gruffydd said.

"What am I to tell my men?" the captain asked.

"Just say these children are of special importance to me" came the reply. "They will draw their own conclusions no matter, but admit nothing to anyone."

"Will the children speak?" ap Owen wanted to know.

"Rhonwyn, Glynn, to me!" their father commanded, and the children came to stand by him. "You are my offspring, my blood, and 1 am proud of it; but you must not admit our relationship to any. Rhonwyn, I know you understand, but you must make your brother comprehend the danger. Can you do it, lass?"

The green eyes met his, and she said briefly, "I can."

"Good girl," he praised, and gave her a quick kiss atop her head, chuckling at the surprised look that encompassed her features. Then he arose. "I must go now. I am expected elsewhere this day, and while I may be late, I must get there."

"Will you return?" Rhonwyn asked him.

He nodded.

"When?" she demanded.

"When the time is right, lass. You will be safe here at Cythraul. Morgan ap Owen is blood kin to your mam. He will guard you with his life. Promise me you will obey him, both of you."

"Aye," Rhonwyn said dispassionately.

"Aye, Tad!" little Glynn piped, eager to please his sire.

Ap Gruffydd lifted up the little boy and kissed him on both cheeks before setting him down again. Then he looked at his daughter. She met his gaze straight on, her look neither warm nor cold. "You haven't made up your mind about me yet, have you?" he gently teased.

Rhonwyn shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I don't really know you, but I am grateful you came yesterday, and I am grateful you have brought us to a place of safety. More than that I do not know, nor can I say, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd."

He nodded. "You are my daughter and honest to a fault," he told her. "Take care of the lad, Rhonwyn. I will be back." Then ap Gruffydd turned and, in his captain's company, left the hall of the tower.

"Tad!" Glynn called after the retreating figure.

"He'll be back soon," Rhonwyn comforted her brother. "Let us explore this place that is to be our new home, Glynnie-lad," she coaxed him, turning his thoughts from ap Gruffydd. "It is a tall tower."

When the day had finally waned, and the hall filled with the men-at-arms, the two children felt almost lost for a time, but then Morgan ap Owen set them up upon the high board and told his men, "These wee ones are of great importance to our lord Llywelyn. They are to be kept safe and not mistreated. I am going to appoint eight of you to be their particular guardians. Lug, Adda, Mabon, Nudd, Barris, Dewi, Cadam, and Oth. I choose you. Just make certain these two younglings don't fall off the walls."

There was much good-natured grumbling among the eight, but they were all good men and secretly pleased to have been so honored. It didn't take an educated man to figure out that these were the lord's children, even if Morgan ap Owen hadn't quite said so. The lad had his stamp, and the girl, for all her fair hair, was obviously his.

"They're his, aren't they?" his lieutenant said to his captain.

"I have not said so" was the response; "Nor should you" came the Veiled warning.

Rhonwyn listened to this exchange as she sat feeding her little brother. Their sire was obviously a very important man. After the meal the chosen men gathered about them like a pack of kindly, grizzled watchdogs. Rhonwyn was mostly silent, letting her little brother capture the men’s hearts, for Glynn was, and always had been, a very winning child. When he began to grow sleepy, one of them, Oth, picked up the boy and tucked him in the bedspace.

"You had best go, too," Oth told her.

"I am older," Rhonwyn replied. Then she looked across the hall at several of the men who were kneeling on the floor. "What are they doing?" she asked Oth.

"Dicing," he answered her. "It is a game."

"I want to learn," Rhonwyn said.

"Do you?" he answered with a chuckle. "I don't know if the captain would approve, lass."

"Why not?" she demanded.

" ‘Tis a game of chance," he explained.

"I don't understand, Oth," she told him. "I am very ignorant of the world, you see, having lived all my life on the hill with my mam."

He nodded. "I see," he said. "Well, then, perhaps I shall teach you to dice myself, but not tonight. You have had several hard days, and you need your rest. I will wager you have never before today ridden. There is a small mare in the stables that no one uses. I can teach you to ride, too. Would you like that?"

Rhonwyn nodded eagerly. "Aye, I would!"

"Then crawl into bed with your wee brother, who is already asleep. Tomorrow will be a very busy day for you." Oth led her, unprotesting now, to the bedspace in the stone walls of the tower. Lifting her up, he tucked Rhonwyn in beneath the furs next to Glynn. "Good night, lass," he said, and then left her.

"Well done," Morgan ap Owen praised him quietly.

"What in Jesu's name does ap Gruffydd mean by leaving those two wee children here?" Oth said. "What kind of a place is Cythraul for wee ones?" He picked up a wooden cup and drank down his beer.

"He'll be back soon enough for them," Gamon ap Llwyd replied. "They're his only offspring, unless, of course, he has a few others hidden about the countryside."

"He was faithful to my cousin Vala," Morgan ap Owen said quietly. "I will wager there are no others, and did I tell you not to speak of them thusly?"

"We all know they are his," Gamon ap Llwyd said.

"Poor lad and lass," Oth replied. "Their mam gone and them brought to a place like this. Still, if we are not to have them long, we must make their time here a good one. The peace is holding for now."

Aye, Morgan thought to himself, the peace is holding, but for how long? And if it broke, Cythraul would be in the thick of it, being located so close to the border, guarding a mountain pass between what was known as the "Welshry" and the "Englishry" sections of the Marches.

It had been blessed providence that the prince had arrived at Vala's cottage when he did. Had he not, the children would have died as well. Oh, Rhonwyn would have tried hard to survive and keep her baby brother safe, but she was only a wee girlie. Their tragic end would have been inevitable. But ap Gruffydd had come in time and saved his offspring. Yet Morgan ap Owen knew that the prince would not be returning soon. He had other, greater problems. God only knew how many years these two children would remain at Cythraul.

There were several things to consider. Clothing was the first. Dewi, one of the men he had appointed to look after the children, was the fortress's tailor. He must clothe both Rhonwyn and Glynn in boy's attire. That way anyone spying on them or sheltering with them would see the children, assume them to be the sons of one of the men at Cythraul, and think no more on it. Anyone seeing a little girl among them would assume there were women at Cythraul also. Such a notion could prove dangerous to the safety of the fortress.

And what was he to do with the children during the day? He could neither read nor write, nor could anyone here. If Rhonwyn was to make a good marriage one day, she should know something, but who was there to teach her? Well, that would be ap Gruffydd's problem. The men at Cythraul lortress could hardly be expected to raise two children as a gentle dame would. Why hadn't ap Gruffydd taken them to his sister, the Abbess Gwynllian? They would have had a far better opportunity at Mercy Abbey than at Cythraul; but ap Gruffydd took the easiest route where his son and daughter were concerned. His passion was for his country, which was why he had put off the matter of his marriage. Even now, approaching forty, he had no idea of finding a wife and siring a legitimate heir.

Morgan ap Owen shook his dark head despairingly. Two small children to care for. What had ap Gruffydd been thinking? He looked about the hall. Most of his men were now wrapped in their sheepskins as near to the fire pit as they could get. Rising, he went outside and checked the preparations for the night. The gates were barred and locked. The watch stood upon the walls. All was quiet and peaceful. Above him the skies had finally cleared, and the stars shone brightly. A crescent moon had already set. A cold wet nose pressed itself into his hand. Absently he reached out and stroked his favorite dog, a large Irish wolfhound.

"Well, Brenin, 'tis a fine responsibility we have been given. I'll be expecting you to watch over our young guests. The lad is small yet and less likely to mischief, but I fear for his sister. Headstrong like her tad, she is, and clever, I'm thinking."

The dog whined as if in agreement and pushed his master with his massive head.

Morgan chuckled. "You're getting old, Brenin, that you would go in on a fine night like this, but I'm ready for my bed, too." Together master and beast returned to the hall. Morgan ap Owen found his bedspace, but to his surprise the dog went and lay before the two children. The captain smiled. He always knew Brenin understood him no matter what anyone else said.

Chapter 2

A p Gruffydd's children were no better than peasants, Morgan ap Owen thought as he watched them over the next few days. They had known nothing but their cottage and their hill. They hadn't even had a pet to keep them amused. They were at first wary of Brenin, but the great wolfhound quickly won over the bolder Rhonwyn and her shy little brother. Soon he was carrying Glynn about on his back as the child tried to emulate his sister, whom Oth was teaching to ride.

"We ought to get the laddie a pony," Oth remarked one evening in the hall. "He's wearing out poor old Brenin, and we all know how the captain will feel if the dog dies."

There was a nodding of heads in agreement.

"Hold still, you wee vixen," Dewi said as he measured Rhonwyn for her tunic. "You're worse than water running over rocks."

Rhonwyn giggled. "Lug says I have very little feet. He measured me for boots of my own yesterday. Will I like boots, Dewi? I've always gone barefoot, I have."

"You must learn to wear boots," Dewi told her. "I'll make you some nice hose to wear under them."

"What are hose?" she asked curiously.

"A cloth covering for your legs and feet," he told her. By the rood, these children knew so little! "Hose will help keep your feet warm in winter and the bugs from biting your legs in summertime, lass."

"You're making her hose?" Lug interrupted. "I'll have to wait then to make the boots, for I must measure her again when she is wearing the leg coverings, Dewi. You might have told me before I made the pattern."

"You've not cut the leather yet, have you?"

"Nay, you told me just in time," Lug said.

Morgan ap Owen restrained a chuckle. His men, all of them, were absolutely besotted with the two children. He needn't have appointed a guardianship, for they were all eager to look after ap Gruffydd's offspring. They carried the boy about when he tired, which he seemed to quite easily. They made certain the choicest bits of the meal were put in Rhonwyn's and Glynn's bowls.

A bit subdued at first, the children began to grow more comfortable with their new home. At one point later, Morgan did not ask how, a dappled gray pony was found along with a small saddle. Glynn joined his sister in her riding lessons. On his feet Glynn was sensitive and timid, but astride the pony he quickly became an excellent, even daring horseman, frequently besting Rhonwyn, who had absolutely no fear of anything at all.

Both youngsters roamed the fortress at will. After they had been seen several times playing with sticks as they would swords, small weapons were forged for them, and the lessons began, as well.

Glynn was easily wearied with the rough games that Rhonwyn so liked. He preferred the company of the fortress cook, Gwilym, who kept him amused with wonderful and fanciful tales of fairie folk, warriors, and beautiful maidens-some pure, and some devilishly wicked. Gwilym often told his tales to the men in the hall on winter evenings. He had a deep rich voice that could call forth magical and mysterious stories. Sometimes he would sing the history of the ancient Cymri, accompanying himself on a small lute. Glynn attached himself to the cook like a winkle to a rock. No one seemed to mind, as Glynn was a gentle child. While the men liked him, they were not quite certain what to do with him. His attachment to Gwilym solved the problem for all quite nicely.

Rhonwyn, on the other hand, was far easier to understand, even if she was a little girl. Morgan, himself, taught her swordplay, which she very much enjoyed. He taught her how to use a main gauche, a dagger held in the left hand while one used one's sword in the right. Barris, the blacksmith, made Rhonwyn her own small kite-shaped shield. Oth devised a padded body armor, called an arming doublet, for her practices. She learned to use a javelin and a mace. Next to the sword, however, Rhonwyn's favorite weapon was an alborium, a bow made of hazelwood. She became extremely quick and very proficient with it, particularly astride her horse. Guiding her mount with her knees, the reins wrapped about the saddle's pommel, she used the bow with deadly intent while coining at a full gallop. By the time she was ten there wasn't a man in the fort who wouldn't have fought at her side and felt sale.

For the next few years a series of truces ensured the peace between England and the Wales. The English king, Henry III, was involved in a serious power struggle with one of his greatest lords, Simon de Montfort, the Karl of Leicester, who also happened to be his brother in-law. The rebellion of de Montfort and the barons was a popular one, for Henry was a weak king. Meeting the opposition at Oxford, he reluctantly signed a treaty limiting his royal power. Three years later the king repudiated the Treaty of Oxford, saying his word had been forced. While he walked cautiously for a time, eventually the Baron's War broke out, and the king was defeated by de Montfort. The very first Parliament was summoned, consisting of lords, bishops, knights, and burgesses, who were the representatives of the towns.

de Montfort's next move to ensure peace to the west was to formally, in the name of the crown, recognize Llywelyn ap Gruffydd as prince of Wales and overlord of Magnates Wallie, or all the great men of Wales. Llywelyn was now a vassal of England, and his power was at its absolute height. Shortly thereafter, however, Prince Edward, the king's eldest son, defeated de Montfort at Evesham, killing him. Wales, nonetheless, was left in peace. It suited England to permit the Welsh autonomy for the time being. After all, there was Scotland to the north to contend with and the French across the channel, who had now in their possession almost all of England 's French territories. A treaty was proposed to be signed between Henry III and Prince Llywelyn.

Isolated at Cythraul, the news of all these goings-on still managed to filter through, brought by travelers seeking shelter. Rhonwyn, while interested in the news brought to Cythraul, pretended indifference. She had no love for her father, knowing his rescue of his children those few years back had been nothing more than chance. Bringing them to the fortress was merely a duty done, for the men of Cythraul had drummed one lesson into Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. Duty to family and country first. If her father ever asked a duty of her, Rhonwyn knew she would grant it despite her dislike of ap Gruffydd. He had sired her. He was her overlord. She owed him duty. She thought it unlikely, however, that she would ever be called upon to perform a duty for ap Gruffydd.

He had yet to marry, although he was in his late forties. There were rumors of a possible alliance with a daughter of Simon de Montfort, but a lady of such distinguished lineage-she had a king of England, a king of France, and a Holy Roman Emperor for uncles-could not possibly accept a mere prince of the Welsh for a husband. Or could she? The lady in question, however, was in France, so she could not be asked.

Rhonwyn had turned fifteen now, and Morgan ap Owen began to worry. She dressed like a boy, but while her breasts were small they were still visible beneath her tunic. There wasn't anything feminine about her other than her chest. She strode boldly about like any young man at Cythraul. Her fair hair was cropped short. She could outride anyone at Cythraul, even her brother.

It had been easier when she had been a little girl, but now, Morgan fretted, some of the younger men were beginning to look at her with lust in their eyes. He had twice in the last months seen her cornered. While she had attacked her foolish admirers so that one of them sustained several broken ribs and the other had his nose broken in two places, Morgan ap Owen knew it was just a matter of time before Rhonwyn would be forced to face the reality that she wasn't one of the lads, but rather a pretty lass.

Before he might consider what to do about the situation, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd rode suddenly into Cythraul one day. He had not been to the border fortress since that day ten years ago when he had brought his children to Morgan ap Owen. This time he did not come alone, but rather with a troop of about twenty men in his train. The watch on the walls had called out the sighting of an armed party and then called again to say it was the prince himself. The portcullis was raised and the gates to Cythraul thrown open to welcome the lord of them all.

"My lord prince, we are most happy to see you," Morgan said, coming forward. "What news?"

"I have signed a treaty with King Henry. We will keep the peace a while longer, Morgan ap Owen." Ap Gruffydd looked about. "Where are my children?" he asked.

Before the captain might answer, Oth came forward with Glynn, and Morgan said, "Here is your son, my prince."

Ap Gruflydd looked at the lad and was pleased. The boy looked relatively healthy. He was almost as tall as his father, with dark blue eyes and black hair, but he was a bit thin. Ap Gruffydd remarked on it to his captain.

"Lads are gangling at his age, my prince," Morgan answered. "He is growing, and we cannot keep him filled up with food." He smiled at Glynn, who grinned back mischievously.

"How old are you now, lad?" the prince asked his son.

"Thirteen, Tad," the boy replied.

"Have you been happy here at Cythraul?"

"Aye, Tad!" was the enthusiastic reply.

"Good! Good!" ap Gruffydd said. He looked about. "Where is my daughter, Morgan?"

"She is out hunting, my prince."

"So she has been taught to ride," ap Gruffydd said, sounding satisfied with the news. "Excellent!"

"Rhonwyn is the best rider and soldier at Cythraul!" came Glynn's endorsement. "All the men say so, Tad!"

Ap Gruffydd chuckled. "A soldier, is she?" He was amused by his son's innocence, but then all the boy had ever known in his thirteen years were places of isolation. Perhaps that should change, but first he had his daughter to deal with, and her future was assured.

"Aye, Tad," the boy continued, and Morgan ap Owen could only silently stand by. "Rhonwyn is very skilled with sword, main gauche, javelin, and mace, too. With the alborium, she never misses her target. She's our best hunter, Tad!" It was obvious the boy was extremely proud of his sister.

Ap Gruffydd's attention had been quite engaged by his son's recitation. He looked to his captain. "You taught my daughter how to use weapons, Morgan?"

"It was either teach her or have someone get injured, my lord prince" came the reply. "She wore padding and even has her own armor. We thought it best."

"My daughter is the best soldier at Cythraul, I am told. Did you teach her nothing but warfare?"

"It is all we could teach her, my lord prince," Morgan replied.

"And my son? Have you taught him warfare, too? Why is he not considered as skilled as his sister?" came the query.

"I do not like weapons, Tad," Glynn spoke up for himself. "Oh, I can use a sword if I must, and I ride well, but I do not like warfare. I cannot bear to see anything killed, even an animal."

"Jesu! Mary!" ap Gruffydd swore, startling the boy, who shrank beneath his father's fierce gaze. Seeing it, the prince asked, "What do you like, Glynn ap Llywelyn?"

"I… I l-like poetry, and tales of daring and magic," he half whispered. His father was not pleased. Did he not like stories?

"The lad has the makings of a fine bard," Morgan said. "Gwilym our cook has taught him to play the harp and all the stories and poetry he knows. You'll see tonight in the hall what an excellent young bard you have sired, my lord prince."

"A lass who's a warrior, and a lad who is a poet. Jesu!" ap Gruffydd said. Then he laughed at the absurdity of it.

At that moment there was a clatter of horses behind them at the fortress's entrance, and a party of hunters came through.

"Ho! Cousin Morgan," their leader called out to the captain. "I've brought you a fine young deer for our dinner!" The speaker rode directly up to Morgan ap Owen and pushed the deer from the saddle to fall at the captain's feet.

"Rhonwyn?" Llywelyn ap Gruffydd didn't know whether to be pleased or horrified at the young ruffian who suddenly stared down at him at the mention of her name.

Recognition dawned in the green eyes. "By the rood, lads! 'Tis my sire, the prince, come to pay us a call." She slid easily from her saddle and bowed mockingly. "My lord prince, I am at your service."

He glared at her intently. Aye, she was female. Her bosoms betrayed her, hut other than that her sex was indistinguishable from any of the other men in the fortress. Her hair was cropped like a man's and dirty. She was dirty. Why had he thought she would be like her mother? Like his delicate and gentle Vala? "Jesu! Mary!" he swore. Then anger began to overwhelm him. He turned on Morgan ap Owen.

"This is how you have raised my daughter? To be the toughest soldier at Cythraul? What the hell were you thinking, Morgan?"

Morgan ap Owen wasn't in the least intimidated by his prince. "What did you expect us to do, Llywelyn? Ten years ago you brought me a five-year-old girl-child and a wee laddie of three. You left them here and have not returned once in all that time to see how they were. I did my best by them. They have been well fed and clothed and, aye, loved by the men of this fortress! We taught them what we could. Honor. Duty to you and to our people. What else was there?"

"You might have taught her that she was a lass!" roared the prince of Wales.

"How?" demanded his captain. "There are no women here, Llywelyn. We guard the Welshry for you. Oh, occasionally my men seek out a local whore, but they are not the kind of women we bring into the fort, nor are they the kind of women you would want your daughter associating with, my lord prince. Do not complain to me. Rhonwyn is a fine young lass even if she has not learned how to simper and preen like the highborn ladies you have undoubtedly been associating with, my lord prince. Do not blame me that your daughter has not the feminine traits you desire her to have. If you wanted her to have those virtues, you should have taken her to your sister, the abbess, instead of bringing her here! Come into the hall now. I need a drink if we are to continue this argument."

Ap Gruffydd burst out laughing again and followed his captain. Inside the hall they quaffed cups of apple beer that had been aging in barrels since the previous autumn. The beer was strong with just a hint of sweetness. Their immediate thirst satisfied, they sat by the fire pit, and the prince explained the reason for his visit.

"I have promised Rhonwyn in marriage," he said, "but the bridegroom will expect someone in a gown with a gentle manner, not this breeked and swearing huntress you have created out of my child. I thought she would be like her mother, but she isn't at all."

"How could she be?" Morgan answered. "She has had no example but ours to follow, and we are a fort of rough men."

"Jesu! Mary!" the prince swore softly again.

"Can't you find another of your female relations for this man?" the captain asked sensibly. "Did you ever even bother to acknowledge Rhonwyn and Glynn to the church?"

"Aye, that was done years ago. The prior in Cwm Hir at the Cistercian monastery was told. He has documents with my signature." Llywelyn ap Gruffydd sighed deeply and shook his head.

"The marriage is the unwritten portion of the treaty I signed with King Henry at Montgomery. As a show of good faith, I offered Rhonwyn in marriage with one of the king's chosen Marcher lords in the Englishry. His name is Edward de Beaulieu, Lord Thorley of Haven Castle. Having offered my daughter, I cannot substitute another without appearing to be deceitful with King Henry. It could jeopardize everything I have worked for, Morgan. Certainly you can understand why I will not do that."

The captain nodded. "Aye, I can, Llywelyn. You have worked hard for our people, but what are you to do now? Rhonwyn is hardly anyone's idea of a blushing bride." He chuckled and his gaze went across the hall to where the girl was dicing and drinking with her companions. It was not Rhonwyn's fault that she was so unsuitable. "She is a virgin," he said as if to cheer his overlord. "Of that I am certain. She has no interest in the young men, although of late several have approached her. She has physically injured them in her refusals."

"At least that is to the good," the prince remarked dryly. "I shall have to take her to my sister at Mercy Abbey. Gwynllian will be able to make her into a maiden fit to wed with a lord. I know now I should have done that in the first place, Morgan. And perhaps Glynn might have been better off there, too, until he was old enough to be fostered out, but I didn't want anyone to know of the children while they were so helpless. And I didn't want to separate them when they had just lost their mother so tragically. I should have come back for them." He sighed. "The years have gone too quickly, and there never seemed to be enough time for them. Still, at least my children have survived." He chuckled. "The English were mightily surprised when I announced I had a young daughter of marriageable age. How they would have loved to have Rhonwyn as their hostage these years past."

"It might have been better for her if she had been their hostage," his captain replied. "She would have been treated with honor and raised as she should have been raised, Llywelyn. Will you take the lad, too?"

The prince shook his head. "Nay. They are grown now and can be separated. Glynn can remain with you for the present."

Morgan ap Owen knew what that meant. Glynn ap Llywelyn was of no current use to his father, and so he could stay where he was. Perhaps it was better that his lord wasn't married. He was not the best of fathers. He knew Glynn would be devastated to lose the sister he loved so devotedly, but, Morgan thought, at least the prince wouldn't attempt to make the boy into a rough soldier. Glynn was better off with the people who understood him best, and they were here at Cythraul.

"When will you tell her, and when will you take her?" the captain asked his overlord.

"I must take her immediately, for the wedding is set for a month from now. We will have to get to Mercy Abbey as quickly as possible." He looked across the hall. "Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, to me!" he called out.

She arose to her feet almost reluctantly, tossed the dice to one of her companions, spit into the rushes, and then sauntered across the floor to where Morgan and her father sat by the fire pit. She bowed, but the courtesy was almost insulting. "What do you wish, my lord prince?" she asked him. Despite her demeanor, her voice, he found, was musical.

Morgan arose from his seat. "Sit, Rhonwyn," he said.

She looked at him with startled eyes, but sat. Then she saw the captain leave them. She was alone with her sire. What did he want of her?

"How much do you know of my accomplishments?" he asked her.

"Enough to realize you are a great lord," she replied.

"I ratified a treaty several days ago at Montgomery with the English king. Part of the treaty agreement was a marriage between my blood kin and an English lord. It is a show of good faith between us. You are to be wed in a month's time to Edward de Beaulieu of Haven Castle. He is not an important man, but his family descends from one of the first of King Henry's sons, born on the body of the heiress of Thorley. Haven Castle is small, but the lands it possesses are prosperous. You are most fortunate to have gained such a fine husband," Llywelyn ap Gruffydd told his daughter, watching closely to gauge her reaction to his words, but for a long minute Rhonwyn said nothing, and he could not help but wonder what she was thinking. "Well?" he finally demanded.

"What is a marriage?" she said at last.

The four words stunned him. His mouth snapped open, and then closed again. His first thought was that she was simple-minded, but then he knew that not to be the truth. Why would she know of marriage here in this place? "A marriage," he said slowly and carefully, "is the formal and legal union between two people. It is an honorable estate, Rhonwyn. The treaty I have signed at Montgomery with King Henry must offer an outward show of trust between us besides our signatures and seals on the parchment. In a case like this it has always been the custom to make a marriage between the two sides. Do you understand at all what I have said to you, my daughter?"

"What does this marriage involve?" she finally asked of him. "What am I expected to do? I have been taught I have a duty to you, my lord, and I would not he derelict in that duty or bring shame upon your good name."

"You will become Edward de Beaulieu's wile, his mate. You will be expected to manage his home and give him children of your body."

Her green eyes had widened slightly at his words, but she yet remained calm. "I have absolutely no idea of how to do any of the things you have told me I must, my lord prince. Have you not another female relation of your blood who would be better suited for this marriage?"

"Nay, I do not, Rhonwyn, but more important, I have given my word that it is my daughter who will marry Edward de Beaulieu. Having given my word, I must keep it."

"Aye," she said, understanding his pledge was a matter of honor. "You are my lord, and I have been taught I owe you a duty," Rhonwyn began. "This marriage is my obligation to you, is it not?"

"It is," he said. How amazing. She was incredibly ignorant in almost every way, but she understood duty and honor. He must thank Morgan. He had expected tears and refusal, not this calm acceptance.

"My lack of knowledge and unfamiliarity with the world outside of Cythraul may prove an embarrassment to you, my lord prince. I do not wish to be a liability. I would not have people say Llywelyn ap Gruffydd has gulled the English by sending an unsuitable and uncivilized bride. What will you do to help me?" It was a reasonable request, and it pleased him that she was aware of her deficiencies.

"We will leave on the morrow for Mercy Abbey, where my sister, your aunt, is the abbess. She will help you to become the lass you must be, Rhonwyn."

"And my brother? What of him?"

"He remains here," the prince said. "I have no use for him at the moment, and he is still but half grown." He saw the look of anger in her eyes, but she strangely remained silent. "You do not like me, Rhonwyn, do you?" he probed.

"Nay, I do not, my lord prince. You gave me life, and you saved my brother and me from death once, but I do not like you. Why should I? You have done nought but a scant duty for us, but both Glynn and I will repay that duty with duty of our own."

"Do you have any clean clothing?" he asked her, suddenly weary of their conversation.

"I have what 1 wear, my lord. You sent no coin or fabric. Cythraul has little to spare. My cousin and his men have done their best by us. If it would please you, 1 will wash my garments. There is a warm wind to dry them in the night, and if they are a bit damp on the morrow, what matter."

"And wash yourself," he ordered her. "What have you done with your beautiful hair, lass?"

"Long hair does not fit under a helmet, my lord prince," she answered him sharply.

"Leave the helmet here," he said. "You will not need it, nor the weapons with which I am told you are so proficient. I am to bring the English a sweet virgin to wed, not a warrior maid whose skills will terrify them and lead them to believe I meant the bridegroom harm."

To his surprise Rhonwyn laughed aloud. "I am not like others my age, my lord prince, am I?"

"Nay, lass, you are not," he admitted. "Go now."

Dismissed, she hurried to find her brother in the kitchen with Gwilym. She told him everything that had passed between her and their father. Then she turned to the cook. "I need your help," she said.

"Whatever I can do, Rhonwyn," he replied.

"Hot water is the best for cleaning. Will you boil it up for me? I have been told to wash both my clothing and my person before we leave in the morning. Glynn, go and beg Morgan for the use of his extra sherte. I must have something to wear while I wash my own garments and to sleep in tonight while my clothing dries."

Glynn ran off to do his sister's bidding.

"Alter I've fed the hall, we'll set up a rack by the fire to dry your things," Gwilym said. "The wind will be too clamp, and you shouldn't ride wet on the morrow. After the meal, while I entertain the hall, you come down and do what you must. I will warn the captain and the prince of your intentions, and they will see you are not disturbed."

She was not as she scrubbed her chemise, her sherte, and hose. Her tunic she brushed thoroughly of dirt and dust. Then after she had hung her garments on the drying rack, she polished her well-worn boots. The kitchen of the fortress's main building was located beneath the hall. Rhonwyn barred the doors leading to the kitchen garden and the hall. Satisfied she was secure, she removed Morgan's sherte and climbed into the small oak washtub to bathe herself. The water was still warm and very pleasant. On the rare occasions that she bathed, she did it like her companions, in a nearby stream. Cold water, however, was not conducive to a long stay. The thin sliver of soap she had used to wash her clothing easily removed the dirt from her person and hair.

Rhonwyn climbed from the tub and rubbed herself dry with a rough cloth. She couldn't ever remember having been totally naked. Morgan had always insisted she bathe in her chemise when she went to the stream to wash herself. Curiously she began to examine her body. Her breasts seemed to be growing larger each year. She had a thick tangle of curls on the mound between her thighs. It was just slightly darker than her pale hair. Since she had caught a glimpse of Glynn once with the same thatch, it didn't bother her as much as her burgeoning breasts. She pulled the sherte back on, then sat by the kitchen fire to comb out her short, wet hair.

She could hear Gwilym and Glynn in the hall, their voices rising in a duet. She climbed the stairs and slipped back into the hall, going to her bedspace. She and Glynn now had separate sleeping areas, for Morgan had decided several years ago that they were both too big in form to make sleeping together comfortable any longer. Now her brother was singing a tale of love lost and found again. Rhonwyn felt her eyes growing heavy with the sweet sound of his voice.

Glynn came to wake her just before dawn, climbing into the sleeping space with his sister to ask, "What will happen to me now, Rhonwyn? Why is Tad leaving me here alone?'' He pressed his thin frame next to her, seeking reassurance and comlort.

"He says you are but half grown, and so be has no use for you yet," she answered her brother, putting a protective arm about him.

"I am afraid," the boy admitted.

"Nay, you need not be," she tried to reassure him. "You will be in the place you know best with Morgan, who is our mother's kin, and with Gwilym. Both care for you as they would a son, little brother."

"Some of the others do not like me. They say you are more our father's son than I am," Glynn told her.

"Do not listen to such things," Rhonwyn replied, thinking angrily she would like to get her hands on those who would hurt her brother.

"We have never been parted, Rhonwyn." His face was woebegone. "Where is Tad taking you? Why can I not come?"

"I must learn to be a wife. You cannot come with me to Mercy Abbey. It is a place for women only. But when I am married to this lord, I will ask him to let you come and live with us, Glynn. There is more, I am beginning to realize, to the world in which we live than just Cythraul. You are not meant to be a soldier like the prince. There is something that you can be, but you cannot learn that here at Cythraul. Tell no one of what I have said to you, except perhaps Morgan and Gwilym. I have never lied to you, Glynn. I promise you I will send for you when I can." She kissed his cheek, and then shoved him from the bedspace. "Go to the kitchen and bring me my clothing from the drying rack."

He ran off, and Rhonwyn lay quietly for the next few minutes. She was wide awake now and a little nervous. Today she would leave her home forever. Soon she would leave the prince's realm as well for England. What was it like? Would it have the green hills and deep valleys of Wales? Would she like this lord she was to marry? Would he like her? Did it even matter? She had a duty, and she would perform it to the best of her ability so as not to bring shame upon her lord father.

Glynn had returned with her garments, and Rhonwyn dressed herself carefully beneath the furs. Then climbing from her bed-space, she ran her fingers through her cropped hair to neaten it. She pulled on the boots Glynn had left by her bedside, stamping her feet. The boots were just a bit short now. Her feet were obviously still growing. She pulled her tunic down and buckled her belt about her narrow waist, sliding her dagger with its horn handle into its sheath.

In the hall the men were stirring now and hurrying out into the courtyard to pee. Gwilym brought a kettle of porridge from the kitchen and began ladling it into the round trenchers of bread upon the table. Rhonwyn sat in her usual place with Glynn and ate silently. Higher up the board Morgan sat with Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, eating and talking. Occasionally they would glance at her, and Rhonwyn wondered what they were saying about her. Around her the men ate silently or spoke in low morning tones.

Finally the prince arose. "It is time for us to leave. Rhonwyn, are you ready? Where is your pack, lass?"

"I have nothing to carry but what I wear, my lord," she answered him. "You have instructed that I leave my weapons behind." Rhonwyn stood.

Llywelyn ap Gruffydd looked at his daughter. She seemed very young and vulnerable in the light of the morning. She was well scrubbed, he could see, but her garments were practically threadbare and as simple as any soldier's. The brown tunic, unornamented and plain, made her look so pale, yet the girl was in good health. For a moment he felt guilty that he had not, until he needed her, thought of her. "Say your good-byes, lass," he instructed her gruffly, and then he left the hall.

They crowded about her, these men who had raised her since she was just a wee girl. Rough soldiers, with tears in their eyes. Their voices broke when they instructed her to be a good lass, remember what they had taught her, and not forget them. They turned away, one by one, each wishing her good luck. But Morgan ap Owen, who loved her best, said, "This is your home. I am your blood kin. If you need me, I will come." Then he kissed her cheek and led her out into the courtyard where the prince and her brother awaited her.

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 bear 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 Beaulieu, 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 belore. 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 belore 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 beautiiul 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."

Chapter 3

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. 1 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 brother'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 lit 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 Beaulieu, 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."

"Well," the abbess remarked to her brother, "she may have little learning, but she is, I believe, intelligent." She turned to her niece. "You are willing to be married to Edward de Beaulieu?"

"Is there a choice in the matter?" Rhonwyn said.

"Nay, there is not," the abbess told her.

"Then I am willing, and will do my duty" came the cool reply..

"You have much to learn, my child," the abbess said.

"Then teach me," Rhonwyn answered.

The abbess turned to her brother. "Tell Edward de Beaulieu that his bride is finishing her education at Mercy Abbey and will leave here in early April for Haven Castle. A messenger will arrive before her to announce her coming, but she will be there before midmonth. He may prepare for the marriage ceremony then, and you will bring your daughter to him yourself. It is unlikely your future son-in-law will object to this arrangement. He may have some small pursuits and matters to clear up before a bride can come to him." She smiled suddenly at him. "This favor will cost you dearly, Llywelyn."

"I know," he responded wearily.

She chuckled. "I shall make a list of my demands, none of which are negotiable, brother."

He nodded. "Whatever you want, Gwyn," he said.

The abbess turned again to her niece. "Your first lesson, my child, is in how to address me. When I speak to you, you will conclude your answer with the words my lady abbess. Do you understand, Rhonwyn?"

"Aye, my lady abbess" came the reply.

The nun smiled. "Excellent!"

I like her, Rhonwyn thought to herself. She understands me as no one ever has understood me.

The abbess reached out, picked up a small bell on the table and rang it. Almost immediately another woman, dressed in the same fashion, entered the room.

"Yes, my lady abbess?"

"This is my niece, Sister Catrin. She will be staying with us for the next few months, preparing for her marriage to the lord of Haven Castle. She is a true innocent, raised in an isolated place by a group of pagans. Give her a chamber in the guest house. Rhonwyn, you will stay there until I send for you. Bid your father farewell now, my child.

Rhonwyn turned to the prince and bowed politely. "My lord."

"I shall return for you in the spring," he said.

Rhonwyn laughed wickedly. "Will you, my lord? I certainly hope so."

The abbess's lips twitched with amusement as she saw the color flood her brother's face.

"This is different, Rhonwyn," he told her through gritted teeth. "This is a matter of my honor."

Rhonwyn nodded her head slightly in acknowledgment, and then followed Sister Catrin from the abbess's receiving chamber.

"She has your temper," Gwynllian remarked, amused.

"I hope you will find it as humorous when you must deal with her," he shot back. "Now write your damned list of demands, sister."

"On reflection I realize it is not necessary to write a list. I can tell you exactly what I want. First, you will pay the expenses for your daughter's schooling. We are not a rich house. You will go to Hereford and purchase a generous supply of fine materials so we may garb her properly for her marriage and subsequent life. You will take a pattern of her feet and have proper shoes made for her. You will purchase veils, gloves, a good jeweled girdle, as well as some small but fine pieces of jewelry. She is your daughter, Llywelyn, and if you are the prince of Wales, then the lady Rhonwyn is a noblewoman of the first ranking.

"And while you are in Hereford, you will go to the Convent of Saint Mary, on the east side of the town. They are a very small house and always in great financial distress, I am informed. They possess a saint's relic that 1 want, brother, for this abbey. It is a fingernail paring from St. Cuthbert himself and is kept in a bejeweled golden box on the altar in their church. Pay what you must, but bring me that relic, Llywelyn."

"You want me to go into England and negotiate for a saint's relic with a nun? Before or after I purchase lovely fabrics, fine pieces of jewelry, and the other geegaws you desire for my daughter?" he snapped. "Name your price, Gwynllian, and I will pay it, but I will not go myself! I have much work to do keeping the peace."

"You will have no peace, brother, if you do not deliver your daughter to be wed to the Englishman; and you cannot bring her to them as she is. They would refuse her, and say you had insulted them and compromised the treaty. We are not so isolated here that I do not know Prince Edward will prove a dangerous enemy to you once he is king. I told you there would be no negotiation between us in this matter. Rhonwyn may remain here while you go and bargain for my relic, O prince of Wales. When you return with it, I will begin her tutelage, but not a moment before then." She drew herself up to her full height and stared directly at him. "The longer you delay, Llywelyn, the less time I have to turn this mutton you have brought me into a sweet little lambkin."

"You are the damnedest woman," he complained to her. "You always were impossible, Gwyn, and I suspect that Rhonwyn is just like you." He laughed. "Very well, I will go myself and dicker for your saint's discarded fingernail. If necessary," he told her darkly, "I will steal it, but you shall have it, sister, and then you must keep your part of our bargain."

"Do not steal it, Llywelyn," she warned him sternly. "If you do, I cannot display it. I am not capricious in my desire for this relic. I would draw pilgrims to Mercy Abbey to ask the saint's blessing. Such a relic will prove profitable to us."

"It did not to St. Mary's in Hereford," he remarked.

"That is because they could claim no great miracles of it," the abbess replied with a small smile. "I am certain the saint's fingernail paring will be more content with us and work to the glory of God and Mercy Abbey, brother. In fact, I sense it in my heart."

He laughed roughly. "You are a devious woman, Gwynllian, and I thank God you were not born a man. Owain, Daffydd, and Rho-dri, our brothers, were easy opponents, but you, sister, would have been stronger than all three of them. I am not surprised you are abbess here."

She smiled archly at him. "Always remember, Llywelyn, that I am your equal. Our brothers were not."

"Are these all your demands?" he asked.

"I will also want a virile young ram, twenty ewe sheep, and a bag with a donation of ten gold coins. I will take either bezants, ducats, or florins, but their weight must be true. Make certain none of the coins has been clipped. These are all my requirements," she finished. Her dark eyes were dancing with pleasure at his look.

"You will beggar me, sister! The sheep I can obtain, but where the hell am I going to get so much gold for you? It is too much!"

"No negotiation, Llywelyn," she reminded him.

He swore a particularly vile oath, and the abbess laughed as he glared at her.

"1 haven't heard those words in many years, brother," she mocked him. "I had almost forgotten they existed."

"My daughter had better be able to compete with any princess alive when this is over and done with, sister," he warned her.

"She will," the abbess promised. Then she softened a bit. "It is already dark, brother. May I offer you and your men shelter for the night?"

"Nay," he snapped. "If I stay a moment longer with you I may be tempted to kill you, Gwynllian. There is a moon. We'll ride on. I said my farewell to Rhonwyn, and now I bid you adieu." He bowed briefly, and then stamped from the receiving chamber.

The abbess smiled softly as the door closed behind her brother. His brief visit had proved highly fortuitous for the abbey. He would do all she had asked him because he needed Rhonwyn for a treaty bride. Then Gwynllian grew more thoughtful. It was an enormous task she had been set, and she had to complete it successfully. Then suddenly she realized her brother had not taken Rhonwyn's foot pattern. Ringing for a nun, she sent the woman quickly after her brother so he could complete the task and get her niece decent shoes in Hereford.

She glided from her receiving room and across the abbey quadrangle to the guest house. There she found Sister Catrin seated with Rhonwyn. She dismissed the nun and joined the girl by the brazier.

"Well, he's gone. I've exacted a very high price from him for my help. You are going to have to work very hard, my child." She chuckled. "I could always get the better of your father and our other brothers. You know none of them, do you?"

"Nay, my lady abbess. At Cythraul, Morgan told me that the prince had overthrown and imprisoned his elder brother, Owain, and his younger brother, Daffydd. The youngest brother, Rhodri, is not an ambitious man, it was said. He sounds like my brother, Glynn."

"If Wales is to be united, there can be but one ruler," the abbess answered her niece. "Your father finds it hard bowing his knee to any, even almighty God. He only knelt to the English because by doing so he obtained what he wanted."

"There is no shame in that," Rhonwyn considered.

The abbess chuckled. "You are a practical lass, I see. That is to the good. I told your father I would do nothing to help you until he fulfilled his word to me, but that is not true, although he will believe it, having never caught me in a lie. You have so much to learn that we must begin tomorrow if we are to have any chance of passing you off as a noblewoman in six months' time. Llywelyn will do what he must for me. Now tell me, child, you have never had any women companions?"

"Not since Mam died," Rhonwyn answered her aunt. She looked about the little hall of the guest house. "Am I to stay here alone, my lady abbess? I have never been alone before."

Gwynllian shook her head. "I have two young postulants with us right now who are near your age. They will come and make their beds with you, Rhonwyn, so you will not be by yourself. They must, of course, attend to their own duties during the day, but you will be busy with your studies. They will share your chamber; you will eat together in the refectory with the community; and you may take walks in the gardens. We do not have a school like some other convents, so you will he unique as a student, my child."

"What of my horse?" Rhonwyn asked.

"It is salely in the stables. Do well at your studies, and I will permit you to rule it," the abbess said.

"But Hardd needs his exercise, my lady abbess!" Rhonwyn protested.

"You may walk him daily belore your lessons, my child, but there will be no riding unless you progress in your duties," the abbess said. Then she held up her hand to prevent the further protest she saw on Rhonwyn's lips. "One of your first lessons is obedience, which means doing what you are told by your superiors. You obeyed Morgan ap Owen because he was your captain or superior. You must obey me for the same reason, my child. Obedience and good manners can cover a multitude of other sins, Rhonwyn. You have been raised in a community of rough men. I know they had good hearts, for I can see you miss them, and you would not had they been unkind; but soldiers are not the best example for a young girl to follow. Come with me now, and we will go to the refectory to have something to eat. Tonight I will excuse you and the companions I have chosen for you from Compline, but beginning tomorrow you will attend mass daily." Then she patted Rhonwyn's hand. "You know nothing of God and our dear Lord Jesus, do you, my child? This is all very confusing, I can see. Do not be afraid of your innocence and your ignorance, Rhonwyn. You will quickly learn, I promise you. You are an intelligent girl, and your mind, I already see, is facile."

For the first time in her life Rhonwyn found herself uncertain and retiring. She followed her aunt from the guest house to the refectory, which she quickly learned was a place where the nuns dined. The women who lived in this abbey were called nuns. They were also called Sister, except her aunt who was Reverend Mother or my lady abbess. And the nuns were ranked according to the position they held within the community.

Her companions, Elen and Arlais, were called postulants and were the lowest on the abbey's social scale, being considered candidates for the religious order. The novices, and there were five of them currently, had completed their year's training as postulants and now were spending the next two years preparing to take their final vows. The vows were those of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Rhonwyn knew what poverty and obedience meant. Chastity, she learned, was a promise to remain pure, which meant no going beneath a hedge with a man or doing what her father used to do with her mother.

The nuns devoted their lives to God, the supreme being. She hadn't heard enough of God at Cythraul to make any sense of him. Now her new companions, Elen and Arlais, spent their evenings teaching Rhonwyn as they would have taught their children had they wed instead of entering the abbey. They found Rhonwyn rather fascinating, never having known anyone like her before, but they also treated her with respect, for she was the abbess's niece and the prince's daughter. Elen and Arlais were the daughters of freedmen who farmed their own land. The three girls got on rather well despite their dissimilar backgrounds.

Rhonwyn went with her companions to the early church services of the day, Prime, at six o'clock in the morning, and Tierce, the high mass, at nine o'clock in the morning. She attended Vespers before nightfall, but was excused from the other five canonical hours. After Prime she broke her fast in the refectory with oat porridge in a small bread trencher and apple cider. She then sat with Sister Mair until Tierce, practicing how to write both letters and numbers. Sister Mair did the lettering on the illuminations the abbey sold to noble households.

After Tierce, Rhonwyn studied with her aunt, learning Latin and the Norman tongue. To the abbess's delight her niece had a facility for languages other than the Welsh tongue and learned far more quickly than she had hoped. Within a month Rhonwyn was reciting the Latin prayers in the church services she attended as if she had been doing it all her life. And she was beginning to read as well. Her ability with the Norman tongue was equally swift, and Rhonwyn was soon conversing in that language on a daily basis with her aunt both in and out of the classroom.

Gwynllian uerch Gryffydd gave thanks before the altar of the church daily for her nieces progress. It was truly miraculous. Alter the midday meal Rhonwyn joined Sister Una in the kitchens so she might see bow meals were planned and prepared. Here her progress was not as quick, and Sister Una complained to the abbess that her niece could burn water. The infirmarian, Sister Dicra, was kinder, for her new pupil seemed to have a knack for healing and concocting the potions, salves, lotions, syrups, and teas needed to cure a cough or make a wound heal easier.

"The lass has a healing touch, Reverend Mother," Sister Dicra said enthusiastically.

"She'll need it to cure the bellyaches she's going to give with her cooking," Sister Una remarked dryly.

"She doesn't need to know how to cook," the abbess said, "just how it should be done. The castle will have its own cook. Have you taught her how to make soap for both clothing and skin yet?"

"We begin tomorrow," Sister Una replied. "I hope she has more of a knack for that."

The abbess turned to Sister Braith. "How is she coming with her weaving, embroidery, and sewing skills, my sister?"

"Slowly," answered the nun. "Rhonwyn has little patience, as you know. She finds sewing and embroidery foolish. Weaving, however, seems to calm her. She says there is a logic to it," chuckled Sister Braith. "I have shown her how to spin, and she seems to like that quite well."

They were progressing. Slowly in some areas, faster in others, the abbess thought silently. "The fabrics have arrived from Hereford," she told her companions. "We shall have to fill Rhonwyn's bridal chest ourselves if it is to get done."

"And the relic?" Sister Winifred inquired.

"My brother sends word he has obtained it at great cost. He is bringing it to us himself."

The prince arrived several days later, accompanied only by two of his men. He handed the bejeweled gold box to his sister. "Twenty gold florins, this cost me," he growled at her. "The mother superior at St. Mary's-in-the-Gate ought to be hawking maidenheads, she haggled so closely with me. It had better be worth it, Gwynllian."

"Would you like to see your daughter?" the abbess asked him as she stroked her prize.

"You have begun, then?" he said eagerly, visibly relieved.

"Of course," she told him. "There was no choice if we are to be ready by spring, Llywelyn." She reached for the bell on the table and rang it, instructing the nun who answered her call to fetch the lady Rhonwyn at once.

Llywelyn ap Gruffydd gaped in surprise for a moment as his daughter entered the room. She was garbed in a graceful deep blue gown with long, tight sleeves and girded at the waist with a simple twisted gold rope. Her pale gilt hair was beginning to grow out. It was clean and almost to her shoulders now. On her head she wore a simple chaplet with fresh flowers. She bowed to her aunt first and then to her father.

"You sent for me, my lady abbess?" she asked.

"Your father wished to see you before he departed, my child," Gwynllian answered quietly.

"She's speaking in the Norman tongue!" ap Gruffydd said excitedly.

"I am learning, my lord. I am told this is the language the English use, although there is another," Rhonwyn replied.

"Aye, but what you're learning is what you'll need." The prince turned to his sister. "The transformation is amazing! Are you certain she isn't ready to go yet?"

"Nay, Llywelyn, she most certainly is not!" the abbess said. "Do not be in such a hurry. This is small progress, and we have much more to do, not to mention a wardrobe to sew. You cannot take her until the spring. Come on her birthday. Unless, of course, in the meantime, she decides to become one of us," the abbess teased her brother.

"God forbid!" the prince cried.

Rhonwyn laughed. "I lave no fear, my lord, this life your sister my aunt leads is not for me. I will be ready to do my duty when you return for me in April."

"Bid your farewell, Rhonwyn, and then you are dismissed," Gwynllian said.

"Adieu, my lord," Rhonwyn told him, bowing again, then she departed the room.

"She never calls you Tad," Gwynllian remarked softly.

"The lad does," he returned. "Rhonwyn holds me responsible for her mam's death. She has never liked me, sister. With the logic of a child she wanted her mam all to herself, and she resented it each time I came to visit my fair Vala. She has never gotten over it, I fear, but it matters not as long as she respects and obeys me."

"I do not know how much she respects you, Llywelyn, but she will do her duty by you. Rhonwyn will do you proud, and if she proves to be a good breeder, her English lord will have a large family. She will need her husband's loyalty when you and the English eventually come to a parting of the ways, which I have not a doubt you will."

"That is her fate. Mine is greater," he replied. "Now, sister, I must go. You have your relic and everything else you have asked of me." He handed her two small leather bags. "My daughter's fees," he said, dropping the first one in her hand, "and your gold bezants," he concluded, handing her the second little bag. "I am pleased by the progress I see in Rhonwyn. When I return for her in the spring, I expect a complete transformation."

"You will have it, brother," Gwynllian said.

"I know I will. Your word has always been good, sister, and I thank you for what you are doing, even if it has cost me dearly."

She laughed at him. "Do not complain, Llywelyn. That for which you pay nothing is worth nothing. Godspeed to you now."

The winter came, and snow covered the hills. The sheep were brought in from the far pastures and kept within the walls at night to protect them from the wolves. It was a festive season, Rhonwyn discovered. The feast of St. Catherine was celebrated in late November, and there were a host of other saints' days leading up to Christ's Mass, which celebrated the birth of Jesus, whom Rhonwyn had now been taught was God's son come to earth to expiate man's sins. For all her rough upbringing, Rhonwyn found Christianity comforting. The notion of a god's son dying for mere mortals was both generous and honorable in her eyes. The abbess smiled when Rhonwyn told her that. She was grateful her niece approved of the concept of religion at all. While she found the thought of delivering a full-blown pagan to the English amusing, she did not think her brother would agree. She giggled in spite of herself at the picture it presented. Then she saw to it that her niece was baptized on Christmas Day.

With Twelfth Night came the end of the festive season. Rhonwyn settled down and worked harder than ever. She was learning that the brain was as difficult and as skilled a weapon as her alborium. She was now put in the care of Sister Rhan, a nun whose plump and cheerful countenance belied an incredible intellect. Sister Rhan, somewhere in middle age, had once, according to the gossip Elen and Arlais offered, been a powerful lord's mistress. If the rumors were to be believed, she had also dressed as a boy and studied with the greatest minds in England.

"You have intelligence, Rhonwyn," Sister Rhan said the first time they came to study together. "Your intellect and reason will serve you far better in the long run than your body. That is how I held my lord's interest for so many years until he died."

"Then the gossip is true?" Rhonwyn was surprised to hear the nun admitting to what she had now been taught was a sin.

Sister Rhan laughed. "Aye, 'tis true, and I have never made a secret of it, my child. Once I loved and was loved. I was faithful to him as he was to me."

"But he had a wife," Rhonwyn said.

"Indeed he did, and a very good woman the lady Arlette was, too. She brought him excellent lands to add to his own and gave him healthy children whom she raised to be regardful and devout. He treated her with devotion and great respect, even as he did me. We each served a purpose in his life. When he died, his lady wife and I washed his body and sewed him into his shroud together. She is a benefactress of Mercy Abbey now."

"A man can love more than one woman, then, Rhonwyn said thoughtfully. "I did not know that. I thought once the choice was made and the vows spoken, a husband and wife cleaved to each other only."

"Ideally, but not always," Sister Rhan answered her. "But we are not here, my child, to discuss my past sins. You have mastered both Norman and Latin. You can read and write it as well, although sometimes you are impatient with your letters. Your housewifely skills are, at best, passable, but you do not shine in that venue. The abbess believes your mind can absorb more serious learning, and so she has sent you to me. We shall study together grammar, rhetoric, logic, music, arithmetic, and astronomy. I will help you to become a support to your husband, so even when he becomes bored with your young body, he will find your mind invaluable to him. You will find much satisfaction in aiding your lord for the betterment of your lives and the lives of the children you will have together, Rhonwyn."

"Then marital love doesn't last," the young girl observed.

"If there is love at all, and do not mistake lust for love," Sister Rhan warned her.

"What is the difference?" Rhonwyn demanded to know. "How shall I make the distinction?"

"Excellent! Excellent!" the nun approved. "You are thinking. The abbess was right to send you to me. Lust is when your bodies crave each other for no reason. The urge will be strong and fierce. Love, however, is an entirely different thing. Love is a powerful yearning not just for the body of the object of your affection, but for everything about him. You will be unhappy out of his sight. The mere sound of his voice will set your heart to racing. You will put his interests ahead of your own because you want him to be happy. Ideally he will feel the same about you. Just being held in his arms will bring you a warm contentment. Ah, my child, love is very difficult to explain. You will know it when it strikes you, and you will find that when you make love then, it is entirely different than just pure and unbridled lust."

"I know nothing of either marital love or lust," Rhonwyn said. "At Cythraul my brother and I were the fortress's children. Lately, however, young men newly come into our midst had tried to feel my breasts and kiss me. I beat them with my fists, and the others beat them afterward with rods for their temerity. Was what they attempted lust?"

The nun nodded. "It was. And you felt nothing toward them?"

"Nay," Rhonwyn replied vehemently. "They were pockmarked lads and nowhere near as skilled as I am with weapons. I think I must respect the man who uses my body and loves me."

"A wise decision, my child. Now, let me turn the subject to the matter of arithmetic. It is best you have some familiarity with computation and calculation. That way if your husband goes off to war, you will be able to be certain the steward doesn't cheat you. You know your numbers, I am told, so let us now begin." She held up two fingers on her right hand. "How many?" she asked.

"Two," Rhonwyn said.

"And now how many?" The nun revealed two fingers on her left hand.

"Two there as well," Rhonwyn said.

"But how many altogether?" Sister Rhan asked.

Rhonwyn quickly scanned the digits, counting mentally. "Four."

"That is correct, and that, my child, is called adding." She reached into a basket by the table where they sat and brought up a device with several rows of beads, which she set on the table. "This is called an abacus, Rhonwyn. Now watch." She slid two beads from one side of the instrument to the other. "Two and two more equal how many?"

"Four!"

"Take away one head. How many?"

"Three!"

"Excellent. That second calculation is called subtraction," Sister Rhan explained.

They quickly discovered that Rhonwyn had a talent for arithmetic. Each day she increased her knowledge until Sister Rhan assured the abbess that her niece would never be cheated by anyone. At least not where arithmetic was concerned. Grammar and logic appealed to the young girl, but while her handwriting improved markedly, Rhonwyn seemed to have no real talent for rhetoric, and she knew it.

"My brother would do well with it," she told her teacher. "He makes up stories and poems, and puts them to music that he sings in the hall of Cythraul. I think he will be a great bard one day."

Her time was growing shorter at Mercy Abbey, and her days, it seemed, were busy from dawn to dusk. Her two companions, Elen and Arlais, ended their trial as postulants and became novices. The three girls had never really become close, having different interests, but Rhonwyn was pleased that they were halfway to attaining their heart's desire. Rhonwyn, on the other hand, was suddenly beginning to consider her forthcoming marriage. She would not meet her husband-to-be until just before they married. Such a thing was not unusual, her aunt said.

Now, as well as increasing her education, Rhonwyn was being fitted for her wardrobe. Her father had brought fine materials indeed for his daughter, and Gwynllian could not complain at him for being niggardly in either his choices or the quantity. There were silks and velvets and brocades as well as linen and fine cottons. The fabrics were rich and colorful. Rhonwyn was shocked, however, to learn women did not wear braies beneath their gowns.

"I've worn mine all along since you put me in a gown," she told her aunt. "What is substituted to cover the bottom?"

"Ladies wear nought beneath their chemises," Gwynllian replied.

"Nothing?"The girl's eyes were wide.

"Your skirts will cover all, I assure you, Rhonwyn," the abbess said. "It is quite acceptable."

"I don't think it respectable" was the answer..

Gwynllian's lips twitched, but she managed to keep from chuckling. Her niece was more prudish than she would have expected of a girl raised in a fortress of men. Were it not for the child's continuing warlike tendencies, the abbess would have believed her a candidate for the nunnery, and not marriage. But Rhonwyn still rode daily outside the gates of the abbey, galloping along at a breakneck speed that had the porteress almost swooning at Rhonwyn's maneuvers.

On March the twentieth the abbey celebrated the feast of St. Cuthbert, who had been a bishop of Lindisfarne and whose fingernail paring now resided in its bejeweled gold box on the abbey's church altar. It was bruited about that the relic could cure a variety of minor illnesses, but as it was not a large memorial great miracles could not be expected of it. Rut the pilgrims came nonetheless to touch the gold box and pray to the saint. The abbey coffers grew at a modest but steady pace that day.

April first, the day marking Rhonwyn's sixteenth birthday, came, and Llywelyn ap Gruffydd appeared to reclaim his daughter. Her cool, elegant demeanor was slightly intimidating, but her manners were flawless. He was rather astounded to learn of all her accomplishments since her arrival at the abbey almost six months ago. He was equally appalled by the amount of baggage she would be leaving with, but accepted his sister's explanation on the matter and her dictate that he could not leave until the morrow.

Rhonwyn had been turned from a rough-speaking half-lad into a beautiful young woman. Her cropped hair had grown out. It was parted in the center and hung down her back, contained by a simple silver ribbon. Her bosom seemed larger, which was to his mind all to the good. Men liked a woman with plump breasts. She no longer walked with determined strides, but rather glided gracefully. The hands that had held a sword were now perfumed and soft, and the long fingers that bad so skillfully drawn her bow now plucked at the strings of the mandora in her lap while she sang softly The English could have no complaints about his daughter.

"You have worked a miracle, Gwynllian," he told the abbess.

"Yes," she agreed with a small, arch smile. "She is more than well worth the price you have paid for her transformation. However, brother, I must be honest with you. Were Rhonwyn not an intelligent girl, none of this would have been possible. And you should show the men of Cythraul some appreciation, for they are the ones who taught her honor and duty."

"While turning her into a rough, foul-mouthed soldier," he grumbled at his sister. "And that cost me a fortune to reverse. I am tempted to burn Cythraul down about their ears!"

"This is not someone else's fault, Llywelyn," the abbess said sternly to her brother. "This mishap was your failing. You know it, and you know why. Put it behind you, and tomorrow take your daughter to England to her husband. Remember, however, this time you travel with a lady, and not a laddie." Then the abbess chuckled at her own small play on words.

The morning of April second came, and Rhonwyn's baggage was loaded into a sturdy cart. She bid the sisters farewell, taking special time to thank those nuns who had given her all the knowledge she now possessed, particularly Sister Rhan and the abbess.

"Remember, my child, that you will always have a home and a refuge here at Mercy Abbey," Gwynllian told her. "May God bless you with happiness and many children."

"Not too many," Rhonwyn teased her aunt. "But I do promise to save at least one girl for you, my lady abbess."

With a chuckle, the abbess hugged her niece, kissing her on the cheek. "Godspeed, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn," she said.

Mounted upon Hardd, Rhonwyn rode through the abbey gates by her father's side. She heard the portals close behind her, but she was not sad. She was free from the constrictions of the nuns at last and off on a new adventure. They had turned her into a mannerly lady, but they had not tamed her spirit nor dimmed her enthusiasm for life. She had spent these past months in earnest study so she could be worthy of her father's name and her new position. Now she must turn her mind to Edward de Beaulieu, the man who was to be her husband. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he would be like, but over the next few days of their journey she tried.

Chapter 4

“The messenger has arrived from Prince Llywelyn, my lord," the servant said, bowing to his master.

"Bring him into the hall" came the reply.

"Yes, my lord." The servant bowed again, and backed away some feet before turning about. He returned only moments later. "The messenger from Prince Llywelyn, my lord."

Edward de Beaulieu glanced briefly at the rugged Welshman.

"My master and the lady Rhonwyn will be here by nightfall, my lord," he said. Then he fell silent.

"I await them" was the brief answer.

Cold bastard, the messenger thought as he bowed to the lord of Haven Castle and departed the place to ride back to ap Gruffydd with the reply.

Edward de Beaulieu watched him go, and then absently took the silver goblet of wine his servant offered him, staring into the dancing red gold flames in the fireplace. He wasn't ready to marry, yet he would shortly have a wife. A wild Welsh girl half his age. But having no betrothal agreement with another and being located so conveniently near the border, the king had chosen him to be his sacrificial lamb in this treaty marriage. He had considered refusing, but Prince Edward had stared hard at him when the king announced his decision, and Edward de Beaulieu had known he dared not refuse. The prince was an enemy he was not interested in having.

When the Welsh prince had asked the marriage be delayed until this spring because his daughter was completing her education at Mercy Abbey, Edward de Beaulieu had been pleased to acquiesce. He had an attractive mistress and was in no hurry to wed. When he thought of it, though, a convent-bred wife did have her advantages. She would be meek and obedient, keeping his home in excellent condition and bearing his children. Haven had known no lady since his mother had died seven years ago. While he had enjoyed the company of his mistress, Renee de Faubourg, these past months, he had pensioned her off several weeks ago, with her own house in Shrewsbury and an annual allowance he placed with a reputable goldsmith. A wife was to be respected, and if the truth be known, he was beginning to tire of Renee.

He wondered what the Welsh girl would be like. She would probably be small, for so many of the Welsh were. And she would have dark hair and eyes and a fair skin. He wondered if she spoke the Norman tongue or if she was conversant only in Welsh. It probably didn't matter a great deal as no words were really needed when a man took a woman to his bed. She would eventually learn, of course, if she was to control the servants.

Still, he couldn't help but feel annoyed at having been forced to this marriage. But the girl had had no choice either, and was not to be blamed. Hopefully they would like one another and could come to an arrangement that would guarantee peace between them. He was uncomfortable, however, having Llywelyn ap Gruffydd as a father-in-law. The prince was a dangerous man and extremely ambitious. Haven would be caught between him and Prince Edward, who liked not the Welshman one bit, for ap Gruffydd had supported the prince's uncle, Simon de Montfort, quite openly against the king. Prince Edward might not have a great deal of respect for his sire's style of governance, but he did love his father.

de Beaulieu arose and left the great hall, going to the south tower where his bride's apartments would be located. The young serving girl his steward had chosen to serve the bride turned startled eyes on him as he entered the dayroom. She curtsied quickly, keeping her frightened eyes lowered. He looked about the room. The furnishings of oak were polished, and the stone floor well swept. The lamps burned without smoking. There was a bowl of daffodils on a table. He smiled.

"You have done well, Enit," he told her. "Your new mistress will arrive by nightfall, 1 have been informed. She may want to bathe after her journey. Make certain a tub is ready."

"Yes, my lord," Enit said, bobbing another curtsey. Her uncle was stewardat Haven, and this was a great opportunity she had been given, particularly considering her mother was Welsh and not English. Enit was sixteen and had been in service at the castle for five years. She was a plain rather than pretty girl, with brown hair and eyes.

Edward de Beaulieu left the apartment and went in search of his priest, Father John. All the legalities had been signed and sealed at Montgomery with regard to his marriage. All that was left was for the priest to perform the sacrament. He decided upon the morrow so his bride might have a proper night's rest. The king had personally instructed him that the marriage was to be consummated on his wedding night.

"I do not trust ap Gruffydd," Henry had said. "Breach the girl, and make certain the bloody sheet flies from the castle top on the following morning for all to see."

"Use her well," Prince Edward had continued. "You want her with child as quickly as possible, my lord, else her sly sire attempt to annul your marriage and take her back to use to better advantage elsewhere. The Welsh are not honorable peoples, but with ap Gruffydd's daughter in our power, we may keep him under control. He must love the wench that he has kept her so secretly all these years."

Edward de Beaulieu now reached the priest's quarters. "Father, my bride approaches and will arrive at Haven before night. We will celebrate the formalities on the morrow."

"My lord, the girl is young and gently reared," the priest said. "Will you not give her some time to know you?"

"We must wed no matter," Edward de Beaulieu said. "Let it be sooner than later, ap Gruffydd will remain to see the deed done, and I would have him gone from Haven as quickly as possible. Though this match be the king's and prince's decision, I do not want the Welshman here any longer than necessary lest I later be accused of some misdeed. These are dangerous times, good father."

The priest shook his head. "I cannot disagree with you, my lord," he said sadly. "I will marry you tomorrow afternoon. That will give the lady Rhonwyn time to recover from her long trek."

"Agreed," Edward de Beaulieu said, and left the priest. As he crossed the courtyard of his castle, he called to the watch upon its heights, "What do you see?"

"Nought yet, my lord" came the reply.

Edward de Beaulieu decided suddenly to go to his stables. "Saddle my horse," he told the groom who hurried forth to meet him.

"How many men will you be taking with you, my lord?" the groom asked him.

"No escort," he said. "I am riding out to meet my bride, and I am safe on my own lands."

The black stallion was brought out, and the lord of Haven Castle mounted him and rode forth from his home. He was pleased to see the fields were already being plowed for planting. Soon those fields would be golden with wheat and barley. In his meadows the black-faced white sheep browsed, followed by their gamboling and enthusiastic lambs, which were in plentiful supply this year. He possessed a large herd of cows who gave a rich milk that was made into butter and cheese and sold in Shrewsbury on market days. Beyond his fields were great stands of woods where he might hunt. And below the hill on which his castle stood, the river Severn flowed.

He stopped in his passage and turned about to look at his home. It was a fine castle, small and elegant in structure, not at all great or impressive like others he had seen. The grayish-brown stone of which it was built was mellowed with age and in some places covered in ivy. There were four towers, one facing each compass point. Despite the castle's battlements, its interior was more that of a comfortable manor house. Edward de Beaulieu loved his home. The one good thing, he thought, about his marriage was that he would have children with whom to share his love of Haven Castle. For her sake, he hoped his bride would like it, too.

He turned his horse again to the road the Welsh prince and his train would be traveling. He rode for several miles before coming upon Llywelyn ap Gruffydd and his party. He stopped, allowing them to approach. The prince rode forward and greeted his son-in-law.

"Are you eager then, Edward de Beaulieu, to meet your bride?"

The Englishman smiled sardonically, but before he could answer the girl rode forward, stopping at her father's side.

"1 think him curious," she said in a sweetly musical voice. "Is that not so, my lord?" Her look challenged him.

He answered as quickly, "And you, lady, are you not curious as well?"

Rhonwyn laughed aloud, but did not speak. Suddenly her eyes were lowered, and she appeared every bit the meek convent-bred wife he had been told would be delivered to him. He was confused.

"May I welcome you to Haven Castle, my lord prince. And the lady Rhonwyn as well. I know your journey has been arduous. My home is but a few miles onward. There is warmth and wine. I know you will want to rest, lady. Our marriage will be celebrated tomorrow afternoon."

Well, she thought, he wasn't giving her a great deal of time, was he? And since she had not ever imagined what he would be like, Edward de Beaulieu came as a pleasant surprise to Rhonwyn. He was tall and lean, a man obviously used to physical pursuits. The shape of his face was oval, as were his silvery gray eyes. His nose, longer rather than shorter, had a bump in it and had obviously been broken at one time. He had high cheekbones, and his mouth was long, the lips narrow. His hair, which was cut short, had a bang. It was the warm brown color of oak leaves on the forest floor in autumn. The big hands guiding the black stallion so skillfully were square, the nails pared and short. He would not be unpleasant to look at across the hall.

If she had examined him in their brief encounter, so had Edward de Beaulieu scrutinized her as well. He was astonished by the lady Rhonwyn's beauty. He had not expected it at all. A small, dark Welsh girl was what he had anticipated, not this slender creature of medium height with delicate features and even more delicate coloring. The silk gauze veil she wore did little to hide the glorious pale gilt of her hair. And her eyes! They were every bit as green as the emeralds in his sword's hilt. Her cheeks were brushed with rose, her brows and lashes startling ebony against her snowy complexion. Her nose was in perfect proportion with her heart-shaped face, narrow and flaring only in the nostrils. Her mouth was small, but the lips were full.

Llywelyn ap Gruffydd watched the man at his side with amusement. He knew precisely what he was thinking. "Her mother descended from the Fair Folk, a fair race in ancient Cymri. She is beautiful, isn't she, despite the fact she favors me in her features?"

"I had not noticed," his companion said, still slightly dazed.

"She'll give you beautiful children. Her mother did before she died. And she is accomplished, my lord. You have noted she speaks the Norman tongue as well as our own Welsh and Latin."

Flushing, Edward realized he hadn't noticed at all, but then he gained mastery over himself and said, "I am pleased we shall be able to communicate easily. Tell me of her other achievements, my lord."

"The nuns tell me she has great skill in weaving and spinning as well as in making medicines, poltices, and salves," ap Gruffydd replied.

"I am knowledgeable in calculating and logic," Rhonwyn told her bridegroom, moving her mount to his other side.

"These things are not important for women," her father quickly said, as if she had told Edward de Beaulieu something unseemly.

"I beg to differ with you, my lord, but they are most important. What if my husband should go to war, and I be left in charge of the castle? Do you think I want the servants cheating him in his absence? This knowledge is important for me to know. And, my lord-" She turned to Edward."-you had best know the worst of me. I can both read and write."

He nodded solemnly, but said nothing. This was not at all what he had expected. Not at all. Everything he had imagined was now blown away with the wind in the reality of this beautiful girl he was to marry on the morrow.

"She is musical," ap Gruffydd said, eager to cover her deficiencies.

"All the Welsh are musical to some extent," Rhonwyn replied dryly, and Edward de Beaulieu laughed aloud.

Haven Castle suddenly came into view. He reached out and took her gloved hand. "Welcome home, my lady Rhonwyn."

She was silent for a moment, and then said softly, "How lovely!"

They rode up the hill, across the drawbridge, and into the courtyard. De Beaulieu noted his father-in-law taking in every aspect of the castle's defenses, and hid a smile. The wily Welsh prince would never enter Haven by force, and after his daughter's marriage it was unlikely he would ever enter it again. Once they were wed, Edward would allow no divided loyalties in his house.

Dismounting, he lifted Rhonwyn from her horse. She did not look at him but rather kept her glance modest and averted. He was already confused by her manner. Quiet one moment and outspoken the next. When they reached the door of the castle residence, de Beaulieu surprised Rhonwyn by picking her up in his arms and carrying her over the threshold. " 'Tis an old custom to carry the bride over the sill into her new home," he said, setting her back on her feet.

"We are not wed yet, my lord," she replied.

"All the legalities are signed and sealed, my lady. It is only for the priest to say the words over us. Licitly, you have been my wife since the treaty was ratified at Montgomery last autumn."

"I was not aware of it," Rhonwyn assured him. "I am not conversant with the law."

"I would not expect you to be," he told her as he led her into the great hall. "Are you thirsty? Or perhaps you would prefer to rest in your chamber? I have had my steward choose a young maidservant for you. Her name is Enit, and she will care for you."

"You are kind, my lord. I have never had a servant," Rhonwyn said. "I am quite capable of looking after myself."

"My daughter has been raised simply," ap Gruffydd said, quickly interjecting himself into the conversation before Rhonwyn said something she should not. "Mercy Abbey is not grand in material comforts." He shot his daughter a quelling look that obviously did not intimidate her at all.

She shrugged, her return glance almost mocking.

Now what was that all about, de Beaulieu wondered, and how was he to get to the bottom of it?

"I should enjoy some wine," Rhonwyn said quietly.

The lord of the castle signaled to his servants, and the requested wine was immediately sent for.

"Come and sit by the fire," he invited her. "April can be a cold month despite the fact it is spring." He seated her on a bench facing the blaze.

Rhonwyn leaned forward, pulling her gloves from her hands and holding them toward the warmth. Even in profile she was beautiful, he thought. He took a goblet of wine from the serving man and handed it to her. She smiled up at him gratefully, taking it and admiring the beauty of the silver, its base studded in green stones. Slowly she sipped the wine and felt its warmth coursing through her veins.

"Will your guests arrive in time for the wedding?" ap Gruffydd asked his son-in-law jovially.

"There will be no guests," de Beaulieu replied. "I have no nearby family. My closest kin are my cousins, Rafe de Beaulieu and his sister, Katherine. I have not yet told him of this marriage, for Rafe has always hoped I would wed Katherine. I suppose I might have, but there was no formal, or even informal, agreement between us. Besides, I could not be certain when you would arrive. You, your men, and my servants will witness the ceremony, but the formalities were settled months ago, my lord prince. I could bed your daughter tonight and be within my rights, but I prefer to wait until we have celebrated the sacrament in my church."

Rhonwyn blanched at his words. The bedding was something that no one at Mercy Abbey had explained, and she was damned if she would ask her father. She remembered him with her mother and assumed it would be the same, although she had never quite known what they were doing, for their bodies had always been pressed so closely together. A small flame of rebellion burned deep within her. She wasn't certain that she wanted this bedding. If she was de Beaulieu's wife, wasn't the treaty marriage agreement satisfied? She arose suddenly.

"I am weary, my lords. I would retire until the morrow."

"I will show you to your chamber, my lady," de Beaulieu said, then turned to ap Gruffydd. "I will return shortly, my lord, and we will have food." He took Rhonwyn by her arm and led her from his hall. "Your rooms face southwest, lady. It is the warmest tower."

"My possessions…" she began hesitantly.

"Will have been brought to your apartment by now. Your young maidservant, Enit, will be unpacking for you."

Suddenly Rhonwyn burst out, "I have never been in such a fine place, my lord. Am I truly to be mistress here?"

He smiled at her ingenuousness. "You are mistress here now, lady. This is your home, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn." How charming she was, his convent-bred bride. He had to wed sometime, and now having seen this tender beauty, he thought that perhaps the king had done him a great favor, although that had not, of course, been Henry's intent when he had arranged this match with the Welsh prince. Rhonwyn was to all intents and purposes a hostage for her father's behavior; and he, Edward de Beaulieu, Lord Thorley of Haven, was her keeper. The marriage was a practical matter, but if they were content with one another, so much the better.

He led her up the stone staircase and down a short passageway, and then opened the door to her apartment. Enit, hearing them, turned and curtsied, looking anxious. "Here, lady, are your chambers. There is a dayroom for your pleasure, a bedroom, and a garderobe for your clothing, which also has a sleeping space for Enit." He led her from the dayroom, into her bedchamber. "That door connects with my apartment, lady." He pointed.

Rhonwyn scarcely knew where to look. To have all these rooms for herself alone! At Cythraul she had slept in her sleeping space in the hall. At Mercy Abbey she had been assigned a tiny cell in the guest house. But this was all hers. There were tapestries on the walls. Sheepskins on the stone floors. Fine oak furniture the like of which she had certainly never seen. The bed appeared to her eyes to be huge and was hung with gold and green brocaded velvet curtains. There was a red fox coverlet atop it.

"I have two fireplaces?" She was astounded.

"Then you are pleased?" he asked her.

She turned, eyes shining. "Aye, my lord, I am pleased!"

"Would you like Enit to fetch you something to eat before you retire?" he asked her. Her eyes were so green. How could someone as hard as ap Gruffydd produce such a delicate creature for a daughter?

"Thank you, my lord. I should like something to eat, but I could not sit in the hall with my father another minute. I am weary," she quickly explained, "for we rode several days from sunup to sunset."

"I am glad for your coming," he replied, "but your father should not have exhausted you so, Rhonwyn. I shall speak to him."

"Do not bother, my lord. He will soon be gone from here, will he not?" She turned to look out the window to where the sun was setting. "How beautiful it is! I shall never grow tired of this view." Then she turned back to him. "You are kind. I thank you for it."

He flushed at her words, saying, "I suspect it will be easy to be kind to you, Rhonwyn. Now I bid you good night. Enit will see to your needs. We will meet tomorrow at the altar." He bowed and was gone.

"With your permission, my lady, I will fetch you some food," Enit said, looking anxiously toward her new mistress.

"Yes, thank you," Rhonwyn replied absently, and when she heard the door to her chambers close behind the girl, she began a closer examination of her quarters. In a chamber-what had he called it? A garderobe!-she found her clothing neatly stored. There was a small door at the end of the garderobe. She opened it and was astonished to find a stone seat built into the wall. The seat had a bole in it. Next to the stone seat was a large bucket of water. She had never seen anything like it. What could it be? Enit would know. She closed the door on the dark stone seat and moved back out into the dayroom. The small fireplace was flanked by winged creatures on either side. In the center of the room was a rectangular oak table with tall high-backed chairs at either end of it. There was an oak settle adorned with a tapestried cushion to one side of the fire. There were two tall, narrow windows overlooking the hills and through which the setting sun now spilled into the room, turning the gray stone floors and the snowy sheepskins rosy. Rhonwyn stood in the alcove of one of the windows, looking out at the dark hills. Just a few days ago she had been on the other side of those hills, in Wales.

With a soft sigh she sat down on the settle before her fire. Could she really be the lady of Haven Castle? The abbess had assured her that she could, but it was all so strange and not just a little frightening. She didn't know if she really wanted this, and yet it was a duty, an obligation owed to Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, who had given her in marriage so easily and expected her to be everything a lady should be. But I am not a lady to the manor born, Rhonwyn thought rebelliously. Six months ago I was but one of the soldiers at Cythraul fortress. I would have as soon killed an Englishman as marry him.

She arose and began to pace restlessly. I am not certain I want to direct my servants and order provisions that we do not grow or make ourselves, she thought. I want to ride and hunt with my alborium, not sit meekly by the fire, weaving and spinning. Damn ap Gruffydd for condemning me to this life! I cannot be penned up any longer! How I bore those months at the abbey are beyond me, but I cannot be held captive like some wild thing they wish to tame. Oh, God! And what of the intimacy I must have with this man who is my husband? I know not what is expected of me, and I am not certain at all that I want to know!

The door to her dayroom opened, and Enit came in bearing a tray that she set down on the table. "I thought you might be hungry, but as you are tired, I chose delicate foods, my lady," she said. "Come now and eat while it is still hot."

Rhonwyn got up and came to the table, where Enit seated her. Then the young serving woman set before her new mistress a silver server upon which was roasted capon breast, small new peas, and a large crusty slice of hot bread, the cheese atop it browned and melting. There was also a silver goblet of fruity golden wine.

Rhonwyn fell upon the food, eating with gusto. When she had cleared half her plate she grinned up at Enit. "I have never been known for having a dainty belly. My kinsman, Morgan ap Owen, says I eat like a barbarian."

Enit looked momentarily distressed. "Have I brought enough, then, my lady?"

Rhonwyn nodded. "Convent fare was not half as tasty," she chuckled. "What about you, Enit? Have you eaten?"

"I will in the kitchens afterward, my lady," the girl told her mistress. "We have kitchens beneath the hall, which is considered very modern. Most castles have a cookhouse, separate in the courtyard, but often the food is cold when it arrives. The master does not like cold food. He even created a device to bring the food quickly into the hall. It is a shaft in the walls that runs from below. The food is put upon a platform and by means of ropes drawn up into the hall."

"That reminds me," Rhonwyn cried, jumping up and signaling Enit to follow her into the garderobe. "What is this?" she demanded, opening the small wooden door that concealed the stone seat.

"You sit upon it and perform your necessary bodily functions, my lady," Enit said. "When you are through, I flush the shaft clean with the water in the bucket. Is it not wonderful?"

"By the rood!" Rhonwyn swore, the words slipping out most unexpectedly, and then she blushed.

But Enit giggled. "I know," she said, understanding. "My uncle, who is the steward here, says all the best castles have them. It is nice not to have to go outside and pee on a cold morning, my lady."

Now it was Rhonwyn who giggled. "I have so much to learn, Enit. I have been raised in virtual isolation my whole life, and in Wales we have not these wonderful modern conveniences. Tomorrow I would speak with your uncle so he may inform me of all these wonders."

"Tomorrow is your wedding day, my lady," Enit reminded her.

"Then the day after tomorrow," Rhonwyn said. "Is there a priest in residence here who says the mass?"

"Yes, my lady. It is Father John, and he says the mass at the hour of Prime each day."

"You will see I am awakened in time to be there," Rhonwyn told her servant. If there was one thing the abbess had impressed upon her niece, it was that daily attendance at mass was essential if one was to set a good example to one's servants. "Now, let me finish my meal. The hole in my belly is not quite filled." She sat down again at her table and ate the food remaining upon her plate.

When she had finished, Enit offered her lady a bath, but Rhonwyn refused, wanting to sleep. Instead, Enit brought a silver ewer of warm water for her mistress to wash her face and hands in so that she would not get grease upon the sheets. "Among my possessions you will find a small stiff brush, Enit. Bring it to me," Rhonwyn instructed the girl after she had washed. And when the brush was in her hand she showed Enit how she kept the yellow from her teeth, brushing them vigorously, then rinsing with her remaining wine and spitting it into the basin. "In future I will want mint leaves to chew to sweeten my breath. Sister Dicra taught me that," she explained to Enit.

Enit helped her mistress disrobe, carefully brushing the gown and putting it away. She drew the shoes from Rhonwyn's feet, promising to clean them before the morrow. "Will you wear your chemise to bed, my lady?" Enit asked.

"Not this one, for the sleeves are tight," Rhonwyn said. "You will find a white chemise with long wide sleeves among my possessions. That is what I prefer to sleep in, Enit."

Enit rummaged through her lady's chest and found the required garment. She helped Rhonwyn out of the one and into the other. "If you will seat yourself, my lady," she told her mistress as she placed the gown chemise in the garderobe, "I will brush your hair." Then as she did she sighed admiringly, "Ah, to have such a crowning glory, my lady Rhonwyn. I have never seen hair like this. Surely it is spun from thistledown and touched by the sun itself."

"I am said to be descended from the fairy folk of ancient Cymri," Rhonwyn told the girl as she braided her hair for the night. "They were fair like I am, like my mam was, not dark like ap Gruffydd and his ilk."

The servant helped her mistress into her bed, saying, "The fire should go the night, my lady, and keep you warm. If you need me you have but to call and I will come, for I am not a heavy sleeper." She blew out the small taper by the bedside and entered the garderobe where her own sleeping space was located.

Rhonwyn lay quietly. So, here she was. In the castle that was to be her home for the rest of her life. Tomorrow she would be a wife, ap Gruffydd would depart. Good riddance to him! She would be alone with Edward de Beaulieu, who seemed pleasant enough. Would he allow her to have her brother here? It had been six months since she had been separated from her younger sibling. She had promised Glynn, and she had to keep that promise. While she had been at the abbey there was no hope of their being together, but now… Surely one small boy could not matter to this lord, and God only knew ap Gruffydd had no use for his son. He would remain at Cythraul the rest of his days if she could not rescue him. What if the fortress were attacked by the English or by another faction in opposition to ap Gruffydd? Glynn could be killed or worse if ap Gruffydd's enemies learned who he was. She had to gain his custody as quickly as possible. She had to!

Enit awakened her just as the darkling skies were showing signs of growing lighter. She dressed quickly in a simple dark brown gown wild a girdle of delicate copper links. Enit put a matching fur-lined cloak over her shoulders, and together the two young women hurried to the small church that was located within the castle's walls. There they attended the mass, and afterward the priest came forward to greet the girl who would be the castle's new mistress.

"You are rested now, my child?" bather John asked her. "1 was sorry we did not meet at table last night."

"I was very wearied from my journey," Rhonwyn explained. "The prince was most anxious to deliver me lest the English think he had reneged on his promise to marry his daughter to King Henry's man."

The priest heard the faint tone of mockery in her voice. "You are content with this arrangement, my child?" he gently inquired.

"I am told I must marry, good father, if I have no calling to God's service, which I most assuredly do not," she laughed. "It is my duty and my obligation to my prince to accept his decision in this matter. The lord of this place seems kind and has been most considerate of me. I have never had a suitor, nor is there anyone who has captured my fancy. This match is acceptable to me."

"Good," the priest replied. "I am happy to see what an obedient and dutiful daughter you are, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. You will undoubtedly be an obedient and dutiful wife as well. The lord has asked that the ceremony be performed after the hour of None. Will that be acceptable to you, my child?"

Rhonwyn's eyes twinkled at the priest. "I have only but to be there, good father, do I not?" she told him. Then she and Enit hurried off.

The priest watched her go, and he could not keep a small smile from turning up the corners of his mouth. The new lady of Haven Castle was a touch independent and headstrong, he could see. Well, she would need her strength. She was very much like her aunt, the abbess of Mercy Abbey. He had once served in the church there some ten years back. He sensed a disdain in his new lady for her father, and wondered why. Still, she seemed quite reconciled to her fate, so he had to assume that all would be well.

Because it was considered ill fortune for the bridegroom to see the bride prior to the marriage ceremony, Rhonwyn kept to her chambers until it was time for her to go to the church again. Enit dressed her in the gown her aunt had made for the occasion. It was cream-colored silk, the neckline high and rounded, the sleeves long and tight. Over it she wore a sleeveless gown of gold and silver brocade with a matching fabric girdle studded with tiny pearls. Her stockings were plain and gartered at the knee. Her shoes had a pretty painted toe. Enit brushed her hair, leaving it loose to signify her virginity. The servant set a small fillet of twisted gold and silver threads on Rhonwyn's head.

There was a knock at the door, and Enit opened it to reveal Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. She curtsied.

"Run along, lass," he told her. "I would speak with my daughter before I bring her to the church." He gently pushed the girl from the chamber and closed the door behind her.

"What do you want?" Rhonwyn demanded of him irritably.

"To remind you that whatever you may feel toward me, you are still the daughter of the prince of all Wales and Welsh by your birth. Remember it, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. I will expect you to write to me regularly, my daughter."

"Can you actually read?" she mocked him. Then her look hardened. "I have worked hard to overcome your neglect of me, my lord, and I have accepted your choice of a husband for me. I have done my duty by you; but once the priest says that I am Edward de Beaulieu's wife, my loyalty will lie with him. Do you understand me, my lord? I will not spy on my husband or on the English for you!"

"Your duty…" he began to bluster, but Rhonwyn cut him short.

"I am doing my duty, my lord, but shortly you will no longer have charge over me. My English husband will, and I will not betray him. What more do you want than you already have, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd? You have Wales and a strong England is your overlord. If you do not deceive them and keep faith with your sworn word, what future difficulties can you have, my lord? And how dare you ask me to break faith with the man who will be my husband? My mother never broke faith with you. Do you expect me to be any less than Vala uerch Huw? Ah, I despise you, ap Gruffydd! Now take me to the church so I may be quit of you!"

"Your mother loved me and would have done whatever she had to to ensure my safety and well-being," the prince said.

"But I do not love you, my lord," Rhonwyn told him.

"I gave you life, wench!" he snarled at her.

"And until today, that is all you have ever given me," she snapped back at him. "I thank you for today, though, ap Gruffydd, for now I shall be free of you for all times!"

"There is no arguing with you, is there?" he said, suddenly amused. She was so like Gwynllian. And how had that happened?

"No," Rhonwyn said quietly. "There is no arguing with me, my lord, prince of all the Welsh. Now," she repeated, "take me to the church."

Chapter 5

Edward de Beaulieu, dressed in a tunic of olive green and gold, awaited his bride in the church. He smiled with encouragement as Llywelyn ap Gruffydd led his daughter forward, placing her small hand in his. The bridegroom noted with pleasure how perfectly his wife spoke Latin as she made her responses and recited the prayers. When they were finally officially pronounced man and wife, he turned her face to him and gently kissed her lips. The startled look in Rhonwyn's green eyes surprised him greatly.

" 'Tis the kiss of peace between us," he told her softly.

"I have never been kissed before," she responded.

Then the reality of all the other things his convent-bred wife had never done rose up to assail him. The king wanted the marriage consummated immediately lest Llywelyn take his daughter back on some pretext or another to use her in a more advantageous marriage. Yet it was painfully obvious that his bride was a true innocent. Still, he owed the king his allegiance and would do what had to be done, although he would do his best to be gentle with the girl.

The day had been mild and sometimes sunny, but now as the evening approached, it was beginning to grow cloudy, and the spring rain was threatening. The little wedding party returned to the hall where a fine meal was served. There was lamb and venison and a lovely fat duck that had been roasted and garnished with a sweet sauce of raisins and figs. There was a blankmanger- chicken cut into pieces and mixed with rice boiled in almond milk, salt, and seasoned with sugar, then sprinkled with fried almonds and anise. Rhonwyn had never eaten it before, and she knew almost immediately that it would be a favorite of hers.

There was fresh bread, sweet butter, and a fine sharp cheese. A bowl of new peas was offered. The cook had made a small subtlety of colored almond paste and sugar, a couple in a cockle being drawn by a swan. It sat upon a silver dish surrounded by green leaves. It was admired and praised by both the bride and the groom, who drank a toast to each other afterward with rich red wine.

The day had waned, and the rain was beginning to beat against the shutters of the hall windows. Rhonwyn called for her mandora, and settling it in her lap, played and sang for her husband and the prince. She sang in both her own Welsh tongue-rich, mournful tunes her father translated for his son-in-law-and spritely, amusing songs in the Norman language that brought a chuckle to Edward de Beaulieu. He was beginning to believe that his bride was the most perfect creature on God's earth, and looked forward to being alone with her.

Finally when she had ceased her entertainment, he said, "Perhaps my lady, you will want to retire now."

She blushed, and ap Gruffydd chortled, saying, "You could not have a purer maid in your bed tonight, my son, had God himself chosen you a wife, and not King Henry. Remember she is a virgin when you satisfy your lust."

"My lord," Rhonwyn chided him sharply, "your words are unseemly and very indelicate."

"And your caution unnecessary, for I see what my wife is," Edward de Beaulieu told his father-in-law. Then he took Rhonwyn's hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it tenderly. "I will join you eventually, my lady wife," he said quietly.

She glided from the hall with as much dignity as she could muster, thinking her father crude and her husband gallant. In her chambers she found Enit awaiting her. Her servant had arranged for Rhonwyn to have a bath. The tall oaken tub had been brought from its storage space in the garderobe and filled while they had eaten the wedding feast in the hall below. Enit helped her mistress to disrobe and then step into the tub. The warm water felt wonderful. Rhonwyn pinned her long hair atop her head with a tortoiseshell pin.

"Put my garments away," she told Enit. "I am quite capable of washing myself. What is that delicious scent? It is so delicate."

"Heather," Enit replied. "My mother makes an oil from the flowers she gathers on the hill each year. I put some of it in the water, my lady. I hope you like it." She bustled about, brushing Rhonwyn's overgown and undertunic, storing them away in the garderobe.

"It's lovely," Rhonwyn answered. "I've never had a scented bath before. It's quite wonderful, and I thank you." She took the washing cloth and some of the soft cleansing soap from a stone crock, and set about washing herself. The tub had been set before the fireplace in her dayroom. Rhonwyn splashed happily.

Then the door to her chambers opened, and she heard her husband say, "Enit, you will sleep in your mother's cottage tonight."

"Yes, my lord" came the dutiful reply, and Rhonwyn heard the door close again.

"Are you enjoying your bath, lady?" Edward de Beaulieu asked.

Rhonwyn turned slowly so as not to spill water onto the floor. He wore only a sherte that came to his knees. "My lord," she said, "am I allowed no privacy in my bath?"

"I have always enjoyed watching my women bathe," he said quietly.

"Your women?" Her eyes had widened at his words.

"Surely, lady, you do not think me a virgin," he responded. "I am a healthy man with healthy appetites. I have kept my share of mistresses. I shall no longer, however, now that I have a wife."

She nodded. It was reasonable, and his promise to remain faithful to her was comforting.

"You are flushed with the heat of your bath, Rhonwyn. It is very becoming to you," he told her.

She did not answer him, for she was not certain what to say. How she hated being made to feel a fool, but this was a situation she had never imagined.

"Are you coming out of your tub soon, Rhonwyn?" he asked her.

"How can I when you are standing here, my lord?" she replied.

"It is my right to see you as God fashioned you, wife," he told her, and his silvery-gray eyes were twinkling.

"But I have never stood as God fashioned me before any man," she responded quickly. "I am not certain I can."

Reaching over the edge of the high wood tub, he put his hands beneath her arms and quickly lifted her out of the water, setting her down upon the floor. He drew a deep breath of pleasure. She had sweet little round breasts that begged to be loved.

With a gasp of both surprise and shock Rhonwyn snatched at the drying cloth and covered her nakedness. "That was unfairly done, my lord!" she scolded him.

"Has no one ever told you that all is fair in both love and war, my lady wife?" His eyes were burning a hole in the cloth.

"There is no love here, my lord, so we must be at war," she declared, "and you will find I am no easy enemy."

Reaching out, he plucked the pin holding her hair atop her head. Then wrapping a hank of the gilt mass about his hand, he pulled her against him, looking down into her beautiful but determined face. "You belong to me, Rhonwyn, as my warhorse belongs to me, as my weapons and my castle belong to me. I am your husband, and I have certain rights that I am privileged to take of you. Certainly you know that." He brushed his lips across her forehead. "You are young and innocent and shy. I understand your fears, but our marriage must be consummated."

"I barely understand what you are asking of me, my lord, but must this consummation take place tonight? Can we not have time to know one another better? We have only just met."

"What difference does it make, tonight or another night, eh, lady? Were you any other man's daughter but ap Gruffydd's, I should gladly honor your request, but you are not. My king fears your father will seek to take you back if the marriage is not immediately consummated. That he would seek an annulment and use you in a more advantageous marriage with an enemy of King Henry."

"Aye," Rhonwyn agreed, "he is that wily, my lord."

"I will be as gentle with you as I can," he promised her, caressing her cheek.

Without realizing, she drew back from his touch. "My mother died when I was five," she said. "I know nothing of what is expected of me. The nuns did not speak on it. I saw the prince atop my mother, but I never knew what transpired between them. I am sorry for my ignorance, but there it is, my lord, and I should rather be honest with you even if you think me a fool for my stupidity."

"You are a convent-bred virgin, Rhonwyn. You are not expected to know what transpires between a man and his wife until your husband teaches you," he said gently.

"My lord, I am not convent bred. I spent the last months with my aunt, the Abbess Gwynllian, but before that I lived at Cythraul," Rhonwyn told him.

"Let us get into bed, wife, and then you can tell me," he suggested, releasing his hold on her. Taking the toweling from her, he dried her as best he could and then led her into her bedchamber. Rhonwyn quickly climbed into the bed, and her husband, pulling his sherte off so that he, also, was naked, joined her. It was done so swiftly that she had no time to really examine him as he had examined her. "Now, tell me, Rhonwyn, what is Cythraul?"

"A fortress in the Welshry, my lord. It was only chance that ap Gruffydd discovered my brother and me the day after our mam died from birthing too soon our new sister. When he had buried them, he took Glynn and me to Cythraul and left us in the charge of our kinsman, Morgan ap Owen. That is where we remained until ap Gruffydd came to fetch me several months ago."

"And you were raised by your kinsman's wife?" de Beaulieu asked his bride.

Rhonwyn shook her head. "Cythraul, my lord, is a fortress of men. There were no women there at all. It would have been too dangerous if the English came over the border, you see," she attempted to explain.

"There were no women at Cythraul?" He looked down into her face to see if she was making mock of him.

"None, my lord," Rhonwyn responded softly.

"And would it not have been as dangerous for you and your brother if your enemies attacked this fortress?" he said.

"Perhaps when we were little, before I learned how to be a good soldier, my lord," she told him frankly.

"A soldier?" he said weakly. Surely she was mocking him, but he could see that she was quite serious.

"I ride, they say, as if I were part of my horse," Rhonwyn said. "I can use a sword and main gauche extremely well. I am passably proficient with a mace and a javelin, but it is with an alborium that I excel. 1 did most of the hunting for Cythraul from the time that I was ten. We ate very well."

"And your brother is equally soldierly?" She had to be playing a game with him. Women were not soldiers, good or otherwise.

"Glynn has no interests in weapons or war. He is a poet, a singer of songs, ap Gruffydd has no use for him," Rhonywn explained.

"Rhonwyn, tell me that you are jesting with me," he begged her.

"Why would I do such a thing, my lord? Nay, I do not jest."

"But you are so… so beautiful! You are educated," he said.

"When ap Gruffydd came to Cythraul six months ago and found he had two sons," she chuckled, "he took me at once to my aunt. All I have learned I learned in the last few months, for I swear to you I could speak no language but my own before then. I knew not our dear Lord Jesus, or anything else, for that matter, but war and weapons. The prince of Wales needed a daughter for this treaty marriage. My aunt saw he got a perfect daughter back, and believe me, it cost him dearly."

Edward de Beaulieu was astounded by her story. "That is why he put the marriage off until now," he said thoughtfully.

"Aye," she agreed. "You call me beautiful, my lord. Six months ago I don't think you would have thought so. My father should have put his children with my aunt when he found us nine years ago, but Cythraul was closer, and it was easier to leave us there. Fortunately for my brother and me, our kinsman, Morgan ap Owen, has a large and good heart. I had no woman to model myself after until I went to my aunt the abbess. I am certain that lasses raised in a normal way know enough about consummation not to be considered fools. My aunt is a holy virgin. If she knew of such things, she did not discuss them."

de Beaulieu suddenly laughed. The entire situation was absurd, and yet the upshot was he now had a beautiful wife.

"You find this situation amusing, my lord?" She was puzzled.

"I can but imagine ap Gruffydd's chagrin when he came to fetch you and discovered you as you were. He must have been terrified, at least momentarily," Edward de Beaulieu chuckled.

"You do not like him," Rhonwyn said.

"I do not dislike him," her husband quickly replied.

"Nay, my lord, you do not like him," she insisted. "Neither do I. I doubt I have seen him more than a dozen times in my life. While he was never unkind to us, his passion was for our mother, not his children."

"But none of what you have told me, Rhonwyn, changes our situation. This marriage between us must be consummated tonight," he said. Reaching out, he caressed her small breasts tenderly.

Rhonwyn squirmed nervously. "Please, don't," she told him.

"Why not?" he demanded half angrily.

"I am not used to being touched in so intimate a manner. It unsettles me, my lord."

"You will grow to like it," he assured her, brushing his fingertips across her right nipple teasingly.

"Never! It is all too possessing, my lord. It is as if you owned me, body and soul," Rhonwyn cried out softly, moving away from his bedeviling fingers.

"I have already told you, Rhonwyn, that I do own you. You are mine to do with as I please. Our marriage will be consummated tonight. If you let me, I will make the experience as pleasing as possible for you. I am not a man who takes his pleasure heedless of his woman's enjoyment. But whether you will or nay, I will have you, my fair wife." Then swiftly he was atop her-and as swiftly gasping with surprise at the dagger pressing against his throat. "What, will you kill me then to preserve your virtue, or do you fear I will learn you have no virtue?" he said in a hard voice.

"You will be the only man to have my virtue of me, my lord," Rhonwyn said, "but I will have something of you in return."

"What?" He contemplated taking the dagger from her.

"ap Gruffydd will leave Haven once our marriage is consummated, will he not?" she asked.

"Aye. That is why he waits this night to see if he may snatch you back. He will go, however, on the morrow when I show him the bloody bedsheet with the prool of your defloration upon it. Why?"

"You must ask him before he leaves to send my brother, Glynn, to Haven," Rhonwyn said. "My brother is still a lad. We have never been parted until these past few months. I have seen how much there is in the world since I left Cythraul. I have learned and gained such knowledge as I never knew existed. I want those same advantages for my little brother. He is a gentle soul and does not belong in a fortress of rough men. Only that I was there and as great a roughneck as the others, was I able to protect him. Please, my lord, do this for me, and I will yield myself without further ado to your wishes and desires," she pleaded softly. "Please!"

Unexpectedly he grasped her wrist, disarmed her, and threw the dagger across the chamber. He slapped her lightly on the cheek. "In future when you seek a favor from me, Rhonwyn, do not threaten me with a weapon." Then he pinioned her hard and laughed at the anger in her eyes. "Such a fierce little virgin, it is," he said crooningly. "I will grant your request, Rhonwyn. Now, what have you for me in return?" His mouth came down hard on hers, forcing her lips to part, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth to ravage hers with wildfire.

Rhonwyn lay still, not knowing what else to do. He was almost gagging her with his tongue, and it was all she could do not to become sick. His lips began to kiss her face and her throat. She shivered. His kisses covered her breasts, her belly. She almost screamed as his fingers began to forage in her nest, pushing through her nether lips. She bit her lips until they bled as his fingers went deeper, slipping into a place she had not even known existed, probing her gently.

"This is the place where our two bodies will be conjoined," he told her thickly. "It is called your love sheath, and like a sword, my manhood will fill it, Rhonwyn, wow!" He plunged himself inside her, and Rhonwyn screamed aloud as his manhood made contact with her maidenhead and thrust hard through it.

Oh, God, she hated this! It was impossible not to resist him now, and she fought him with all her strength, biting and scratching at him. "No more! No more!" she sobbed, but he only groaned a sound of distinct pleasure and thrust again and again into her body. Finally he stiffened a moment, and then she felt him relax and collapse atop her.

By the rood, the girl had aroused him, much to his surprise. And when she had stopped lying silent and had fought him, his lust had grown so hot he was surprised his head had not exploded. He knew it had not been a good experience for her, and he regretted it. Gently he kissed the tears from her pale cheeks and said, "There, Rhonwyn, it is over and done with now. We have both done our duty, and I shall leave you to recover yourself, wife." Catching his breath, he climbed from her bed.

Rhonwyn swallowed hard. "Glynn?" she said.

"Your father shall not leave Haven without giving me his promise to send the lad to us, Rhonwyn," he assured her. "Whatever you may think of me, I want you content."

"Do we have to?…" The question was unfinished, but he understood.

"Not until we are ready, Rhonwyn. We have done what was expected of us by king and prince. Now we will wait until you are happier. Good night, wife." He moved through the small arched door separating their bedchambers, and she heard the lock click shut.

For the first time in her life Rhonwyn wept.

Edward heard her on his side of the door and felt sadness that she was so unhappy. Hopefully these feelings would soon pass, especially when her brother arrived. He had never forced a woman in his life. It had never been necessary for him to do so. He felt guilt sweeping over him. Worse was the fact that he had enjoyed her despite everything. Why? He shook off the question. She was intelligent, and he had explained the situation to her. Her fears he understood, but her stubborn determination and her sudden threat to his person followed by a demand in exchange for her cooperation had truly infuriated him. She was his wife and therefore belonged to him! She must obey him, and that was all there was to it. Still, be had promised her a respite from his attentions, and he would keep his word. Common sense told him that it could not hurt for them to know one another better. He listened by the connecting door again. Her weeping had died away now, and he felt better for it.

Enit gently shook her mistress awake the following day. "You must wake, my lady. It is time to dress for the mass." The servant felt shy, for she knew Rhonwyn had lost her maidenhead the previous evening. She had been fearful that the master would be in her lady's bed yet, and was relieved to find it not so. She bustled about the apartment, laying out her mistress's clothing and skirting about the oak tub that still stood before the fire in the dayroom.

As she arose, Rhonwyn realized that she ached. She saw her dagger across the floor and hurried to pick it up. She always kept it beneath her pillow at night, for she had been taught an enemy can come upon you at any time. And an enemy had, but she had not killed him when she had the chance. Had it been necessary for him to be so rough with her? He had enjoyed it, the fiend! Well, at least she would not be bothered with his attentions any longer. He had promised her that, and she sensed that Edward de Beaulieu was a man of his word in spite of everything that had happened between them the night before.

Enit helped her lady dress. The two young women were silent. Together they walked to the church. Rhonwyn spoke the words of the mass quite automatically, startled to suddenly realize that her husband was by her side, ap Gruffydd was nowhere to be seen, for he only went to church when it was absolutely necessary. When the service had been concluded de Beaulieu took his wife's hand, and they walked back to the great hall where the morning meal was being laid out. Rhonwyn saw the prince standing by the fire, a large goblet in his hand.

"You have not forgotten?" she asked de Beaulieu anxiously.

"Nay," he reassured her softly, "but in exchange, Rhonwyn, I would have you call me by my name from now on, wife. Will you do that?"

"Aye, Edward, I will," she responded low.

Llywelyn ap Gruffydd saw de Beaulieu smile down at his daughter, and the prince thought to himself, perhaps it will be a happy union. For her sake, I hope so. In the end I did my best for her, Vala. "Good morrow," his voice boomed.

"My lord," de Beaulieu replied. "You will be leaving us this morning, Prince Llywelyn, will you not?" It wasn't really a question.

"Perhaps, if I am satisfied you are well and truly wed to my daughter, Edward de Beaulieu. Show me the proof of this marriage's consummation. I would see my daughter's innocence bespattered across the sheet of your nuptial bed."

Rhonwyn felt her cheeks burning at his words.

Her husband, however, turned to Enit and said, "Fetch the bedding, lass."

"Nay!" ap Gruffydd said. "I will go with the girl and see for myself, my lord. You cannot object to it, I am certain."

"Go then," de Beaulieu answered him calmly, but was angered that Rhonwyn should be so openly embarrassed by her own father.

When ap Gruffydd returned to the hall he said, "You did not spare her. That I could see. Very well, my daughter is now your wife. Other than paternal affection, I no longer have any claim upon her."

"Paternal affection?" Rhonwyn burst out. "You never had any affection for me, ap Gruffydd! How can you mouth such words with such piety? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"Rhonwyn." Her husband's voice warned her.

She was about to turn her scorn on him, but then she remembered. She was suddenly silent.

"Come, my lord, and let us eat," Edward de Beaulieu said. "I have a boon to ask of you."

They sat at the high board, Rhonwyn between her father and her husband. The servants bustled about. Small round trenchers of bread, baked fresh earlier that morning, were set before them. Into them the servants spooned an oat stirabout with bits of dried apple. A square board with a small cheese upon it was placed in front of them along with a platter of cold, roasted rabbit. Their goblets were filled with watered wine. They ate for a time in silence, de Beaulieu amazed and amused to see his wife's prodigious appetite. He wondered if she always ate like that, but he doubted it, considering her slender form.

Finally, when they were finished and the servants were clearing away the remnants of the meal, the prince spoke.

"What is it you would have of me, son-in-law?"

"Rhonwyn wants her brother here at Haven. She misses him," Edward de Beaulieu said. "If it would make her happy, then I am willing."

"So the English, having had my daughter, would now take my only son," ap Gruffydd said.

"Not the English, prince, but your daughter, his sister," de Beaulieu explained. "There is no trick in this, my lord. Surely you can understand that never having been separated until a few months ago, she misses him."

"Rhonwyn and her brother are my only offspring," ap Gruffydd said. "As she has had her value, so my son one day might prove useful to me. But if he is in English hands already, then his value is lost to me, son-in-law."

"You will marry eventually, Prince," de Beaulieu said. "You must for your heredity's sake. The children of your legal marriage will be of far greater value to you than the two children who were born to you on the wrong side of the blanket. Let Rhonwyn have her brother's company again, my lord. I swear to you that I will protect the boy from any political chicanery and send him directly back to Cythraul should I find I am unable to do so."

"I must think on it," ap Gruffydd said slowly.

Now Rhonwyn was unable to contain herself any longer. "Glynn means nothing to you!" she cried. "I will be here, and you will go your way without another thought or care for my brother. I know you well, O prince of the Welsh. Glynn is your son, but he is not you or your brothers. He has no ambitions other than to create beauty. Let me have him, my lord. You know in your heart that you do not want him."

"If I let you bring him into England, he could be a dagger turned against me one day, Rhonwyn," ap Gruffydd said.

"And if you do not let me have him, what will happen to him? Would you destroy him because of some imagined fear, my lord?" she said. There were tears in her green eyes, and Edward de Beaulieu vowed then and there if ap Gruffydd would not willingly let his son go, he, himself, would ride into the Welshry and bring the lad back to his wife. "Please, my lord prince," Rhonwyn pleaded. "Let me have my brother's company. You have said yourself that he is good for nothing more than the priesthood or poetry. Surely there is no threat to you in that."

"It is not Glynn who worries me, Rhonwyn. It is the English," ap Gruffydd said.

"I have said I would protect him," de Beaulieu replied.

"You are the king's man, son-in-law, which is why he chose you to be my daughter's husband," the prince said. "You are reliable and can be trusted. This is why I have waited so long to marry. I never wanted to be torn between my duty and the woman I loved. That is where you will find yourself, Edward de Beaulieu, if I put my son into your keeping. As for your wife, you do not love Rhonwyn. You barely know her. Perhaps one day you will have an affection for her, perhaps not. Therefore I believe your stronger loyalty would be to your king, and not to your wife and her brother."

"Please, Tad," Rhonwyn said, slipping into the Welsh tongue.

"You have never before called me father," he answered her in the same dialect.

Rhonwyn smiled wryly. "It is unlikely I ever will again," she said honestly. "Let me have Glynn. I swear to you on my mother's honor that if I think the English mean to use him against you or Wales, I will either aid him to escape or kill him myself. You know I am worthy of your trust, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. You know that as much as I love Glynn, that 1 will do my duty, whatever it may be. Please!"

"Say it again," he replied.

She hesitated a moment, and then said, "Please, Tad."

"You have my pride, daughter, but you know when to yield even as your mam did. Had you been my son the English would have truly had something to fear, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn." The prince turned now to his son-in-law and spoke Norman words to him. "My daughter has convinced me that my son's interests are better served here at Haven Castle rather than at Cythraul. Since you have given me your word to protect him, I will send Glynn to you."

"I know you have made Rhonwyn happy," de Beaulieu said quietly. "Thank you, my lord prince. You will find I keep my word, should it be necessary to protect your son from the crown. Since I do not intend to inform the king that the boy is with us, it is unlikely we should face any difficulties."

"Henry is indecisive, but his cub is far fiercer than most I have known," ap Gruffydd warned his son-in-law. "He will be king sooner than later, and you must remain on his good side. He is the best and the worst of all his ancestors, son-in-law. How long the peace will hold after he becomes king, I do not know. If we should meet in battle, Edward de Beaulieu, look away. I should not like to slay my daughter's husband, the father of my grandchildren." He arose from the high board. "I have remained here long enough. It is time for me to depart lest you one day be accused of conspiracy," he chuckled.

de Beaulieu arose, as did Rhonwyn. Together they walked the prince of all the Welsh to the courtyard where his men awaited him. Taking his daughter by her shoulders, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd kissed her first on the forehead and then on each of her cheeks.

"Farewell, my daughter. May God be with you always," he said.

"Farewell, my lord prince," she responded. "I thank you."

"For what?" he teased her.

"For my husband and for my brother," she replied, giving him a small and rare smile.

He chuckled. "A son. You should have been a son," he said in his own tongue. Then he looked to de Beaulieu. "Farewell, son-in-law. God grant my daughter gives you many healthy sons and daughters."

"Thank you, my lord prince," de Beaulieu answered. "Godspeed!"

ap Gruffydd mounted his charger and led his men from Haven Castle. His daughter and her husband stood for a short time watching them go, and then they turned back into the castle.

"How did you manage to convince him to send your brother to us?" de Beaulieu asked his wife.

"I called him father," she said. "I have never before called him that. The prince is a strong man, but he is also sentimental. My calling him father touched him. It was also a victory in his eyes. He felt I was forced to do something he had always wanted. He knows, however, that we are both victorious in this matter, for we have both attained what we sought," she finished.

"What did you promise him?" he wondered aloud.

"Nothing," she replied. "Why should I have to promise him anything, my lord?"

"Perhaps you agreed to send him certain information," her husband suggested softly.

"If you doubt or fear for my loyalty, then make certain that I am not privy to your delicate English matters," she told him. "I promised ap Gruffydd nought. I merely called him father, a word he has longed to hear from my lips. I had never done so before. There is nothing more to it, Edward."

"You will have to earn my trust, Rhonwyn," he told her.

"Whether you trust me or not makes no difference to me, Edward," she said coolly. "I must live with my own conscience."

"By the rood, you are the most aggravating woman I have ever known!" he said.

"Have you known many women?" she asked him sweetly.

"A wife should be meek and obedient to her lord's will," he said.

"My mother was meek and obedient. She gained no wedding band by her position and lost her life, I believe, because of it," Rhonwyn replied. "Hers is hardly an example I wish to emulate."

"You have a wedding band," he said softly.

"We have already satisfied the treaty between our two nations, Edward," she reminded him as soltly.

He flushed, but then said, "Would you like to ride out with me and see the lands I possess, my lady wife?"

"Aye," she agreed, "I should, my lord husband."

So the truce was now set between them. They slept each in their own beds, but met at meals and rode together each day. His time was spent in overseeing the management of his lands, meeting with his bailiff and those freedmen who farmed portions of his lands and paid him in kind for the privilege. His flocks of sheep were large, his herds of cows ample. Fields needed to be plowed in rotation. Crops had to be planted and harvested and stored for winter. The days were busy and full.

Rhonwyn, with the help of Enit's uncle Alfred, the castle's steward, was learning the proper management of her home, putting into practice those lessons she had learned at the abbey. She was astounded by all the things she had to oversee and grateful now to the nuns who had given her some of the knowledge she would need. The year, Alfred told her, was a never-ending round of duties and chores. There was a time for slaughtering meat and salting it away for winter. The kitchen gardens had to be planted, the root crops stored in a cold place for use in the winter. The winters at Haven, Alfred said, were among the worst in all of England. Fruit had to be harvested at the proper time and turned into conserves and jellies. Apples, pears, and quinces could be dried as well as cold-stored. There was a time of year in which soaps, candles, and beer were made. The hives had to be well kept if the castle was to have honey. Sugar, sold in loaves at the Shrewsbury market fair each month, was expensive.

The weeks went by swiftly. April was followed by May, and then on one bright June day the castle watch called out that riders were approaching from the hills to the west. Three riders and a single pack horse. Rhonwyn could scarcely contain her excitement. She hurried to find Edward.

"The watch has spied a small party of three riders coming from Wales. It is my brother! It has to be Glynn!" she said. "Let me ride out to meet him, my lord! Please!"

"We will go together," he told her, and ordered their horses saddled at once.

They rode out with several men-at-arms in attendance, and with each pace the horses took, she grew more elated. Finally Rhonwyn could no longer contain herself and to Edward's surprise spurred her gelding forward into a gallop. A rider broke away from the incoming party, rushing forward to meet her. Edward de Beaulieu held his hand up to halt himself and his men even as the other riders ceased their movements as well. He watched, a small smile on his face, as Rhonwyn pulled Hardd to a stop and leapt off her mount, as did her brother off his. The two siblings flung their arms about one another, crying joyfully.

"Sister! Oh, sister, how beautiful you have become!" Glynn ap Llywelyn said admiringly.

"And you! You have grown so! You are taller than I am now, little brother! Oh, Glynn, I have so much to tell you, and you have so much to learn. I actually called him Tad, and he softened and let you come to me. Did I not promise you, Glynn?"

"I have your weapons," he said softly. "But you have become such a fine lady, Rhonwyn, will you want them now?"

"I will want them," she assured him. "Come now and meet my husband, Glynn."

"No greeting for us, lady?" a familiar voice called to her.

Rhonwyn turned. "Oth! Dewi! I greet you both." She swept them a curtsey, laughing as she did so.

"We scarcely recognized you, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, such a great lady you have become," Oth, the more talkative of the two, said.

"I am no great lady," she replied. "Just a simple lord's wife. You aren't used to seeing me dressed so prettily, Oth."

"Good thing you didn't look like that at Cythraul, Rhonwyn, else we should not have been able to keep you chaste," he chuckled. "Go on now and take the lad to your husband. We'll follow behind."

Together the siblings walked their horses to where Edward de Beaulieu awaited them. When they reached him, Rhonwyn introduced her younger brother to her husband. Edward greeted the boy graciously, and Glynn responded in kind, Rhonwyn translating for both of them.

"That is your first task," she told Glynn. "You must learn the Norman tongue. It isn't hard. I learned very quickly."

"Far easier than the Welsh," Edward said in that same tongue.

Rhonwyn gasped with surprise. "You speak Welsh?"

"My nursemaid was of the Cymri," he said to her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, suddenly both angry and worried. If he spoke Welsh, then he knew exactly what she had said to ap Gruffydd to convince him to let her have Glynn-that she would free Glynn or kill him if the English tried to take him.

He grinned wickedly. "I wanted to surprise you one day." He turned to Glynn. "I shall not often speak Welsh to you, lad, for you must learn the Norman language if you are to succeed in this world. Do you understand me, Glynn ap Llywelyn?''

"Aye, my lord, I do," Glynn agreed, not comprehending the deviltry in his brother-in-law's eyes.

"How could you do that to me?" Rhonwyn said as she remounted her horse and they turned to ride back to the castle, Glynn between them. "How could you speak my native tongue and not tell me so?"

"Why do you think I was the one chosen to wed you, Rhonwyn?" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "King Henry asked who among the bachelor lords in the Englishry could speak Welsh well enough to take a Welsh wife. I was the only one to admit such a talent. It was thought you would not speak the Norman tongue. When you did, I saw no reason to bring up my own abilities, for I was pleased you cared enough about your impending marriage to learn my language."

"But you know then what I promised the prince," she said.

"And you should know I will never let it come to that," he told her fiercely. "Do you not think I realize that if you had to kill Glynn, you would then kill yourself, Rhonwyn? Do you think me so great a fool not to understand that? I can protect Glynn without compromising my loyalties. This I swear to you, my lady wife. Do you believe me, Rhonwyn?" His gray eyes turned to look directly at her.

She met his look searchingly, and then seeing the truth of this man's word, replied, "Aye, Edward, I believe you."

"Good!" he replied. "We will not speak on it again."

Chapter 6

Glynn ap Llywelyn had never known a world such as that he entered into at Haven Castle. He had a chamber all his own. He was treated with deference as the son of the prince of Wales. At Cythraul be bad just been Glynn, the lad. And more often than not he was known as Rhonwyn's little brother, not that he minded. He had new experiences, the first of which was his baptism into the Christian faith, his brother-in-law standing as his godfather. When his two companions, Oth and Dewi, admitted to not being certain if they had ever been baptized, they, too, were christened.

"There can be no heathens in my home," the lord said with a small smile. "Surely you have not been Christians before now else you would have taught Prince Llywelyn's children their faith."

"Have you been baptized, sister?" Glynn asked Rhonwyn.

"At the abbey with our Aunt Gwynllian, my godmother," she told him.

It was ap Gruffydd's wish that Oth and Dewi remain at Haven with his son. Edward de Beaulieu did not object. "A prince's son should have his own retinue, however small," he said graciously, but in truth he understood the real reason for ap Gruffydd's wish. Should the English ever threaten Glynn, his two watchdogs could get him safely over the border into Wales with neither Edward nor Rhonwyn being held accountable.

"You must learn the Norman tongue," Edward told the two Welshmen in their own language. "You will be of more use to me if you do. However, it is not necessary that strangers be aware of your skills." He winked at them meaningfully.

"Our loyalty is to our prince first, my lord," Oth told him honestly. "We are Welsh, not English."

"If the day comes when there is war between our peoples again," Edward said, "I will expect you gone without my saying it. I understand your loyalty, so I know you understand mine. Until that day, however, your loyalties must be with me, at least in part. Are we agreed?"

"The lady…" Oth began.

"Is my wife, and her loyalty, as you may ask her, lies with me now. As for the lad, that will be his choice to make. Be certain he does not forget his own tongue should he ever need it one day."

"You are more than fair, my lord," Oth replied, and he bowed.

Glynn's life now had more structure, and like his sister when she had first left Cythraul, he chafed at it. He was required to be at early mass with Rhonwyn. After he broke his fast he was schooled for several hours in a variety of subjects by Father John. Only in mid-afternoon was he free to ride or follow his own pursuits. Learning to read and write was for him a joy. Now he could copy the words to the songs he created onto parchment for all to see. With his brother-in-law's aid his manners became polished and elegant. Regular meals and plenty of food caused him to fill out and grow a bit taller.

One afternoon as he and Rhonwyn sat their horses atop a hill in view of Haven, she said to him, "I believe you are truly happy, Glynn, for the first time in your life."

The boy thought a moment, and then he said, "Aye, sister, I am; and I am not afraid any longer. I was always afraid at Cythraul, especially after you left. Are you happy, Rhonwyn? Edward seems a kind man, but there appears to be little between you."

"We are only getting to know one another," Rhonwyn said to him. "I am told that marriages are always arranged affairs. There is an advantage to each side. Ours was a marriage devised as a matter of good faith between two warring parties. England wed to Wales. My husband and I are yet strangers. Now enough; I just have time for sword practice with Oth before the evening meal. Come on, little brother! I'll race you home," she cried, and spurred Hardd into a gallop.

From the castle heights Edward observed them as they sped down the hill and across meadows, scattering the sheep as they came. Unable to help himself, he chuckled. His wife was a changed person since the arrival of her younger brother. The love between the two had made him jealous until he realized that her love for Glynn was almost maternal. She had watched over the boy her whole life and felt responsible for his well-being. And the lad was certainly no trouble. He sopped up knowledge eagerly, being a very quick study. Rhonwyn had been correct when she said he was a gentle soul not fit for a soldier's life. He was now writing poems in the Norman tongue that he put to music.

Edward watched as Glynn and Rhonwyn entered the courtyard, dismounting their animals. Oth came forward with a padded garment, helping Rhonwyn to don it. Fascinated, Edward observed his wife as she was handed her sword, one that had obviously been made just for her hand. She began to practice her moves beneath the eye of the Welshman. Edward could hear him directing her sternly.

"You're out of shape, lady. Think! Think! And follow your instincts else you find yourself dead of your own carelessness." Oth picked up his own sword and began to block her blows. "That's it, lady!" He leapt aside, dodging her thrust. "You didn't anticipate that, lady! Ow!" He jumped back, swearing softly.

"And you didn't anticipate that!" She grinned at him, lowering her weapon. "I didn't hurt you, did I? It was just a tap, Oth."

"You're beginning to remember," he said with a rueful smile. "All right now, back to our practice, my fine lady."

The lord of Haven watched for a time as his beautiful wife turned into a warrior before his eyes. This was another side of Rhonwyn he had not anticipated. He found himself excited by this new knowledge, but he wasn't certain he approved. Surely such mannish activities could harm her abilities to bear him children. For now, however, he held his peace.

Rhonwyn was such a complex creature, and he really did want to know her better, but he was finding that it was not easy. They seemed to coexist, but nothing more. With Alfred's help she was learning how to manage the household. With Father John's aid she was becoming charitable to the less fortunate. His servants and his people liked her well. It was only he who seemed to be shut out of her life, although she was certainly polite and thoughtful of his well-being. But he had not entered her bed since their wedding night five months ago.

He wanted children, and it was certainly her duty to give him heirs; but each time he attempted to touch her, Rhonwyn shied away from him, distress all over her beautiful face. They could not go on like this, and if she would not make the first move, he would have to do so. But he needed to choose his moment carefully lest he repel her even more. He needed to be alone with her, without her brother and his two Welsh watchdogs. Then fate intervened in the person of Father John.

"I should like to take Glynn to Shrewsbury," the priest told his lord one evening as they sat at the high board. "He has never seen a town, and as you know, my lord, it is a fine one." He turned to Rhonwyn, knowing her approval was paramount. "There is an abbey of monks, lady, and many churches and shops. Trading vessels come up the Severn from Bristol, for the river is very navigable. Oth and Dewi would, of course, come with us. There are many Welsh who visit the town regularly, and so they would not stand out at all."

"What think you, Rhonwyn?" Edward asked her. "And you, Glynn? Would you enjoy such an educational journey?"

"Oh, I very much want to go, Edward!" the boy said enthusiastically. He looked to his sister. "Rhonwyn, please say I may."

"Perhaps I shall go with you," Rhonwyn said thoughtfully. "I have never seen a town either, little brother."

Glynn's face fell. "Oh, do you want to go?" he said, his dismay very evident. This was obviously a trip he and the priest had previously planned.

Edward leaned over to murmur in his wife's little ear, "He is growing up, Rhonwyn. This is the first time in his life he has been treated as he should be. As a prince's son should be. His tutor wants to take him on a brief journey. I don't think he wants his big sister with him, as much as he may love you."

She had never before considered that Glynn would grow up. He was her baby brother whom she had always watched over and protected. She bad brought him to Haven and expanded his world. Now, like a little bird, he wanted to leave the nest to fly on his own. It came as somewhat of a shock. Surely he wasn't ready yet! Then she realized that Edward's large hand was covering hers in a comforting gesture. She turned her gaze to him, and he smiled at her encouragingly.

"I will take you to Shrewsbury myself one day," he promised her in a soft voice only she could hear.

Rhonwyn sighed deeply, and then she turned to her brother. "How long would you be gone?" she asked him.

"Just a week, no longer," Glynn replied.

"You must be certain no one knows you are the prince's son," she warned him.

"He can be known as Glynn of Thorley, a young relation of mine," Edward said. "It will be assumed he is my son by one of my former mistresses. In the care of the castle priest, it will be presumed that his mother is dead, which is, of course, a truth."

" 'Tis a grand idea!" the boy said enthusiastically. "When can we leave, Father John?"

"Would tomorrow be too soon, my son?" came the answer, and Glynn cheered. His sister, unable to help herself, smiled.

"You must have Oth and Dewi with you at all times," she said firmly, "and you will obey Father John without question, Glynn. If I learn you have been a wicked rascal, there shall be no more trips, my lad, I promise you," Rhonwyn sternly warned her brother.

He grinned at her happily, and the following morning he rode off with his little party with nought but a scant wave for his sister. To her surprise, Rhonwyn began to weep, and Edward, who was with her, put an arm about her shoulders. For once she did not shrug him off.

"There, wife, he will be back soon," he reassured her.

"He is growing up," she admitted. "Oh, Edward, what shall I do when he goes off for good one day? I am so used to looking after him. What will I do?" she repeated.

"You will raise our children to be every bit the fine young man your brother is becoming, Rhonwyn," he told her.

"Our children?" She swallowed. "We have no children, my lord."

"Nor the hope of any unless we can together overcome your fears, Rhonwyn," he said quietly. "Our wedding night was a cruel time for you, but it was necessary for all the reasons that you well know. By the rood, wife, would you have your father still living with us?" he teased her as they walked back into the hall.

"Mary's blood, no!" she exclaimed.

He chuckled. "Do you think you know me well enough, my wild Welsh wife, that you will let me into your bed again? With your brother away it is the perfect time for us to attempt our reunion."

"Let me think on it," she said low.

"You have had almost six months to think on it, Rhonwyn," he told her, a slight edge to his voice. What the hell was the matter with her?

"Will you force me again, my lord?" she said angrily. "I know I cannot hope to overcome your strength, but I will hate you for it! I do not know if I can bear to be so possessed again."

"When passion is felt by both lovers, Rhonwyn, both are possessed, and the pleasure is sublime, I promise you," he responded patiently, yet he was impatient. Whenever the matter of conjugal relations came up, she behaved as if he were a monster.

"I felt pain and fear and loathing on our wedding night, my lord," she told him frankly. "I hated it when you covered my body with yours. I was helpless to your lusts, and there was no escaping it. I do not know if I can feel any other way."

"We do not have to mate at first, Rhonwyn," he said. "We will begin slowly, by touching. You are as free to touch me as I am to touch you, wife. We need not be in our bed or even unclothed at first. I do not think you would be fearful then."

"Does it always hurt?" she asked him pointedly.

"Nay. The first time when a maiden's virtue is taken from her, aye. But once she is used to her husband's lance sheathing itself on'a regular basis, nay. There is no pain," he promised her.

Rhonwyn was thoughtful for a time. She didn't know if she could ever overcome her distaste for this passion of his, but for his sake she must try. Edward was a good man, and he had been very patient. "Can you bear to go slowly, my lord?" she asked him.

"I must for your sake," he replied honestly.

"Then I will try," she said.

"Why are you so fearful?"

Rhonwyn shrugged. "I cannot say," she told him. "I know what you want is a natural thing, particularly between a man and his wife, but 1 felt so powerless on our wedding night. Never before did I feel so impotent, and I never again want to feel that way, Edward. I will never forget seeing my mother helpless to ap Gruffydd's passions, not that she seemed to mind. Her whole existence was for him, so I was left to take care of myself and Glynn. It is true my kinsman and the men of Cythraul had charge over us, but I was my own mistress. I wanted to ride, and they taught me. I wanted to learn how to use a sword; they taught me. They even taught me how to dice, although they were reluctant to do so, especially afterward when I beat them. I was always in charge of my own being. Yet when we consummated our marriage, I was not in control of myself. You were in control, and I could not bear it." She bit her lower lip in vexation. "I am sorry, Edward. I truly am."

"But it is a man's place to lead," he said slowly, trying to understand her point of view, but he really didn't. Why could she not be obedient? He was half in love with her yet he did not know if he could be happy with a woman who constantly questioned him, and would not do her duty by him.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why? Because that is the way it has always been, Rhonwyn. Is that not what the church teaches? And did not God create Adam, the man, first?" he said somewhat tersely.

"And realizing his error," Rhonwyn replied quickly, "he created Eve, the woman, or so my aunt the abbess says."

"You are too independent for a wife," he said, shaking his head in mock despair, unable to be angry with her.

"I was raised to be so, my lord," she responded softly.

"Be independent, wife, except when you come to our bed. Then I would have you rely on me, Rhonwyn. I find that I am beginning to care for you in ways that have nothing to do with lust or desire, although I do desire you. I believe they call what I am feeling love." He took her hand in his, and raising it to his lips, kissed it softly, first the back, and then turning it over, the palm.

The moist warmth of his mouth on her flesh sent a small shudder through her, but it was not, she decided, entirely unpleasant. She did not pull her hand away from his.

He drew her close and said softly, "Put your head upon my chest, Rhonwyn, and let me hold you for a moment." His arms came about her, but his grip was an easy one she might have broken away from if she chose to do so. "You are so beautiful, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn," he told her. "Your hair is like moonbeams that have been spun with the sunlight by spiders. And it is as soft as thistledown, wife."

Her cheek rested against his doublet just below his shoulder. She could smell the scent of him, and it was not unpleasant.

Reaching out, he captured her chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting her head up to him. "You have eyes like emeralds."

"What are emeralds?" she asked ingenuously.

"The green jewels in my sword's hilt," he told her.

"You think my eyes are like green stones? For that is what those pieces of glass are. Green stones," Rhonwyn told him, not certain that what he had obviously meant as a compliment was truly a compliment.

Edward laughed. "Don't be so damned practical," he scolded her, and then he brushed her lips lightly with his before releasing his grip on her. "Emeralds are, in their unset form, exquisite jewels, and your eyes are exquisite, wife."

Her mouth was tingling as it had when he had kissed her at the altar. It was rather nice, she thought. "Your eyes are like a rainy sky," she told him, "and your hair is like an oak leaf in November."

He grinned at her. " ‘Tis as pretty a compliment as I have ever received, wife."

Rhonwyn giggled. "I think you mad, my lord," she said. "Now I must go about my chores, for just because Glynn has departed and you are of a mind to play the gallant does not mean I have been relieved of tasks." She curtsied to him, and turning, hurried off.

Edward watched her go. He felt they had made a good beginning this morning. In the months she had been his wife he had grown to genuinely like Rhonwyn. He had told her the truth when he had said he had deeper feelings burgeoning within him. And it had all happened without kisses or copulation, much to his surprise. He had done what he must on their wedding night, but now that he knew her, he honestly desired her. He had heard of women for whom passion had no meaning. He hoped that his wife was not one of them. He prayed silently that she simply needed to be awakened. There was no pleasure in just satisfying an itch. He could do that with any female. He wanted to really love her and have her love him in return. Until now it had been easy to be patient. He sensed it would not be any longer.

That evening he invited her to play at dice with him, laughing when she won a silver penny. "You have been well taught, lady," he complimented her. "Next time I shall challenge you to a game of chess instead," he finished with a wry grin, rising from the game table and moving to his chair by the fire.

"I am skilled at that as well, my lord Edward," she told him.

The hall was empty, the servants gone. A fire burned in the fireplace flanked by their great stone lions. Edward de Beaulieu now sat in the master's chair with its leather seat and back.

"Will you sit in my lap, Rhonwyn?" he asked her.

What harm could there be in it? she thought. Rising from the game table, she sat herself within the curve of his arms. They remained quietly for a time, and then Rhonwyn said, "The harvest has proved to be excellent, my lord. The granaries are full. The orchards are ready to be picked, and if the rain holds off, we shall be able to start tomorrow."

"Why does your hair smell like heather?" he asked her, sniffing.

"Enit's mother makes the oil we put in my soap," she replied. "The apple crop would appear to be bounteous. We should begin pressing the cider in another week or two."

"It's delicious, wife. The scent is delicate and suits you well." He sniffed again, and then kissed the top of her gilt head.

"My lord! Do you not wish to know how we fare here at Haven?"

"Tell me after the mass when we break our fast on the morrow," he said. "The evening hours should be for gentler pursuits." Then he tilted her back in his arms and kissed her, a lingering soft kiss that to Rhonwyn's surprise set her pulses racing. But as quickly as his mouth had made such delicious contact, he tipped her gently from his lap. "Go to your bed now, wife. I bid you pleasant dreams. I know that I shall have them this night."

Slightly dazed, she walked from the hall and climbed the winding staircase to her chambers. Enit was awaiting her and helped her prepare for bed. Finally alone, Rhonwyn lay in her bed, eyes wide open, considering what had happened this day. Would she be able to overcome her aversion to her husband's passion? She was beginning to hope she could.

The following day they had surprise visitors. Edward was in the orchards overseeing the apple picking. Alfred rushed into the hall where his mistress was seated, weaving a tapestry that would be placed over the fireplace. The steward was flushed and pale by turns.

"My lady! My lady! The lord Edward and his wife are but a mile from Haven! The messenger has just now come. What are we to do?"

"The lord Edward?" Rhonwyn was slightly confused.

"The prince, my lady! King Henry's son with his lady wife. What shall I do?"

Rhonwyn stood up. "We do not know if they will remain the night, but have the best guest chamber prepared just in case they do. Did the messenger say how many are in their party? The cook must be able to feed them all and well, no matter. Send John to the orchards to fetch my lord immediately! I must go and change my gown. I cannot greet the king's son looking like this. Hurry, Alfred! Hurry!" She ran from the hall, calling as she went, "Enit! To me, lass!"

But Enit, by some magic known only to servants, was already in her mistress's garderobe, pulling out a more elegant gown for her lady to wear. It was apple green silk with a sleeveless overgown of deeper green and silver brocade. She lay it with a silver brocaded girdle upon the bed even as Rhonwyn hurried into the chamber, pulling her everyday kirtle over her head as she came. After dressing Rhonwyn, Enit quickly redid her hair, parting it in the center and plaiting it, and then fixing the braids about Rhonwyn's head. A gauze veil with a small silver circlet completed the attire.

"Thank you," Rhonwyn said, jumping up and hurrying from her chamber. It simply would not do to have the prince and his wife arrive and have neither she nor Edward be there to greet them. She ran down the stairs, hearing Enit coming behind her.

In the hall the servants were running back and forth with wine and plates of fruit and cheese for the high board. The fire was built higher. Edward dashed in, his handsome face streaked with dirt. Seeing his wife, he gave her a wave and bolted out again, heading to his own chamber to change his clothing.

"They're at the foot of the hill, lady," Alfred said as a young lad ran in to whisper to him.

Rhonwyn swallowed hard. There was nothing for it. She would have to greet the prince and his wife alone. She walked from the great hall, down the corridor a short distance, and out the door of the castle to stand a moment on the stairway landing, even as the lord Edward and his wife rode into the courtyard. Then she glided down the staircase, reaching them as the prince dismounted and lifted his lady from her horse.

Rhonwyn curtsied gracefully and low. "My lord Edward, my lady Eleanor, I bid you welcome to Haven Castle."

The prince raised her up and looked directly into her face. "So you are ap Gruffydd's wench," he said.

"I am, my lord," Rhonwyn replied.

"You are not at all what I expected. The Welsh are dark, are they not, lady?"

"Most are, my lord, but my mother descended from a race who were known as the Fair Folk. While I resemble ap Gruffydd in features, I have my mother's coloring."

"You are far prettier than ap Gruffydd," Prince Edward said with a small chuckle. He turned away from her a moment. "Mon coeur, this is the prince of the Welsh's daughter and the wife of Edward de Beaulieu, the lady Rhonwyn." He turned back to his hostess. "My wife, the lady Eleanor."

Rhonwyn curtsied again, then rising, said, "Will you not come into the hall and be refreshed? There is both food and wine awaiting you and water with which to wash the dust of your travels away." She led them into the castle.

In the hall Edward de Beaulieu came forward and bowed to the royal couple. "Forgive me, my lord, for not being here to welcome you, but I was in the orchards when I was informed of your arrival. As I would not greet you in the clothing I have worked the day in, and as there was little time to change, I had to leave my wife to see to you both." He bowed to the prince again and kissed the lady Eleanor's gloved hand.

"Your wife did you proud, de Beaulieu. And I was happy to be greeted by so fair a lady," Prince Edward said graciously.

Rhonwyn nodded to Alfred, who hurried forward with a tray holding four of the silver goblets with the green stones. He offered one to the prince first, and then to his wife, his master, and his lady.

"To the king," de Beaulieu said.

"To the king," his companions repeated, and they drank their wine as the prince's retainers filed into the hall.

"You will stay the night," Edward de Beaulieu said.

"We will," Prince Edward said. "Can you feed this lot of mine? There are twenty of them, and they carry oatcakes if you cannot."

"There is more than enough food at Haven for your men, my lord Edward," Rhonwyn said quickly. "I usually have the cook prepare too much, to he honest with you, but then the poor who come to our door are more easily fed. We had at least a half an hour's warning of your arrival," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

The prince burst out laughing. "You are nothing like your father, lady," he said jovially.

"You could not have given me a greater compliment, my lord Edward," she replied. "Ap Gruffydd is not a man whom I would emulate."

"You speak harshly of him, lady," the prince remarked.

"I mean him no disrespect, my lord Edward," Rhonwyn said. "He is a dilficult man, but he did me a service when he arranged my marriage with my own Edward."

The prince nodded, and then his wife said to Rhonwyn, "Have you children yet, Lady Rhonwyn? We have had four, although we lost our daughter Joan shortly after her birth. Still, Eleanor, John, and Henry are fair children, and I am grateful to God for them."

"We were only wed in April," Rhonwyn answered the prince's wife.

"And you are not yet with child? You must pray to Saint Anne, lady, for she will not fail you." The princess smiled warmly at Rhonwyn. "I can see you care for your husband. The children will come. They always come from love."

The castle cook had worked a miracle, and when the dinner hour came, the food began to appear upon the tables above and below the salt with great rapidity. Bread and fruit had already been set upon them earlier along with small wheels of cheese. Now came roasted venison, enough for all. There were platters with capons in lemon sauce, and trout broiled in wine upon beds of cress, lampreys in Galytyne, a large dish of mortrews-a meat dish made with eggs and bread crumbs-and Rhonwyn's favorite, blankmanger. There was lettuce braised in wine and boiled peas; loaves of freshly baked bread and sweet butter. Apple beer was served, but at the high board where the prince and princess sat with Edward de Beaulieu and his wife, there was wine.

"You have no priest?" the prince asked.

"He has gone to Shrewsbury to visit friends at the abbey," his host said smoothly.

"I wished him to be here when I spoke with you on a certain matter," the prince said. "King Louis of France is preparing another crusade for next year. My wife and I intend to go. I have spent the summer traveling about, visiting various lords to ask who would go with me. Will you, Edward de Beaulieu?"

"Is it safe for you to leave England, my lord Edward?" his host asked, concerned.

"With my uncle de Montfort dead and buried, there is none who would oppose my father, or me. Once I become king, may it be many years hence, I cannot indulge myself. I am not my great-uncle, Richard Coeur de Lion. To rule England, I must be in England. Now is my chance to help retake the Holy Land and drive the infidel to hell and beyond. Will you come with me, Edward de Beaulieu?"

"I will go with you, my lord Edward" came the reply.

"And I, too!" Rhonwyn said enthusiastically.

The lord of Haven laughed softly. "My wife has a warrior's heart," he explained.

"But I would go with the prince!" Rhonwyn said earnestly, and before her husband might speak further, the princess spoke.

"I am going with my husband, my lord. If your lady wishes to go, I see no reason why she cannot come, unless, my lord, you do not wish her to come."

"Oh, Edward, please!" Rhonwyn begged him. "I do not wish to be separated from you now."

The emerald eyes were shining with excitement, and he suddenly realized that he did not wish to be separated from her either. "It will be a hard life, wife," he said.

"I have lived a hard life, my lord," she replied.

He sighed. "You must swear to me that you will obey me implicitly if I let you come with me," he warned her.

"I promise," she swore.

"I will be happy to have the lady Rhonwyn and her servant as part of my train," the princess said graciously, "if, of course, you let her come with us," she quickly amended.

"She may come, my lady Eleanor, and I thank you for your most gracious invitation to include my wife among your women."

"Thank you both!" Rhonwyn said excitedly.

How the hell did ap Gruffydd sire such a daughter? the prince wondered to himself. Fair of face and obviously good of heart. There would appear to be no guile in her. She seems content with de Beaulieu, and I am glad, now having met her.

He was pleased his host had agreed to come with him. It proved that Edward de Beaulieu was loyal to Edward Plantagenet. While he spoke as if his father would live a great deal longer, the prince knew it wasn't so. His father was over sixty now, and there were things his mother had told him that others did not know. But if the worst happened and his father died while he was on crusade, his mother, Queen Eleanor, was strong enough to hold the country together until his return. And if he died on crusade, he had two young sons in England whom his mother would protect with her own life. The dynasty would continue. He was content knowing that.

The prince and his wife departed the following morning, their business at Haven completed successfully. The two Edwards had discussed when and where they would meet. The lord of Haven had promised to bring with him one hundred soldiers whom he would feed, equip, and house at his own expense. He would also attempt to raise a group of ten mounted knights, but he quite honestly told the prince he could not guarantee it.

"Do your best," the prince said. "Every man who comes will be guaranteed forgiveness of all his sins by the church when we return to England. I have this on the authority of the archbishop of Canterbury himself, de Beaulieu. Those who die on this crusade will be guaranteed entry directly into heaven and will not have to go to purgatory. The pope has promised it."

The royal couple then rode from Haven Castle, taking the Shrewsbury Road.

When they had gone, Rhonwyn said enthusiastically, "I must begin more serious practice with my weapons if I am to be ready when we go on crusade."

The prince and his wife were scarcely gone when another visitor arrived at Haven. Rafe de Beaulieu had not been happy to learn of his cousin's marriage. Now as he entered the great hall he was greeted by the sight of Edward kissing the hand of a beautiful young girl. Surely this couldn't be the bride.

"Cousin," he said loudly, grinning as the couple broke apart. "And who is this pretty wench? Are you already bored with your wee Welsh wife, Edward? And where did you find this glorious creature?"

"Greetings, cousin, and as always you jump to wrong conclusions," Edward said. "This is my wife, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. Sweeting, my nearest kin, Rafe de Beaulieu."

Rafe was stunned, but quickly recovering, he bowed to Rhonwyn, and taking up her small hand, kissed it. "Lady, my cousin's good fortune overwhelms me. All the Welsh I have ever known are dark." Jesu! She was absolutely magnificent. Poor sweet Kate was but a faint star to this girl's brilliant sun. For a moment he was angry that his sister should have been so cheated, but then the lady Rhonwyn wasn't responsible. She was only a woman and must do the bidding of her menfolk.

"You are welcome to Haven, my lord Rafe," Rhonwyn told him, thinking that he was arrogant. How dare he enter her home and assume ap Gruffydd's daughter was some tiny dark creature, and she was a woman of loose morals who was Edward's leman?

He could see the anger in her eyes at his assumptions, and he knew he couldn't blame her if she hated him. " I have come to pay my respects and bring you Katherine's good wishes, cousin," he said.

"Your sister is well?" Edward asked, and then he suddenly thought that Katherine de Beaulieu must surely be hurt by his apparent rejection of her. Kate had always been such a gentle and soft-spoken girl.

"She is well. She would have come but it is cider season, and Kate's cider is known throughout the region. She will allow no one else to oversee its making," he chuckled. "She is a good chatelaine. I shall be hard-pressed to find a wife who can oversee Ardley as our Kate does."

Rafe de Beaulieu was a tall, slender man with Edward's light brown hair and light blue eyes. He and his sister were Edward's only living relations. They were the children of his father's younger brother. They lived on a small manor near the town of Shrewsbury, two days'ride from Haven.

"You will stay," Edward said, knowing full well the answer.

"Aye, just for the night. I must leave tomorrow," Rafe answered.

"Then you came out of curiosity?" Rhonwyn said sharply.

"Aye, lady, I did," he admitted with a grin, wondering silently how it was his cousin, Edward, was so damned fortunate.

"I shall see a chamber is prepared for you," Rhonwyn said, and with a smile at her husband and a cursory nod at Rafe, she hurried from the great hall of the castle. Their visitor, she decided, was an irritating fellow, and she was glad he lived two days' ride from Haven. She was not unhappy to see her husband's cousin depart the next morning.

Edward had said nothing to Rafe about the crusade. While he intended to ask him to steward Haven in his absence, he wasn't certain yet whether they would really go. He doubted King Henry would be happy to have his heir gone so far from England, and it was the king who held the purse strings the prince needed loosened to finance this great adventure. Rhonwyn, however, had no doubts that they were going, and no sooner had Rafe gone his way home she began to worry about her brother. "Oh, Edward! What are we to do with Glynn? ap Gruffydd will never allow us to take him with us, and you cannot leave him alone here at Haven. For some reason that I have never fathomed, Glynn adores the prince of the Welsh. He would not mean to betray us, but he could very well be persuaded by that wily man who sired us both. We cannot send him back to Cythraul. It would be too cruel, although Morgan ap Owen would care for him." Rhonwyn's face was concerned.

We. Us. His heart soared. She was beginning to think of them as one, even if she still held his passion at bay. "Perhaps we might send Glynn to the abbey school in Shrewsbury," he suggested. "They could teach him far more than Father John can. I will pay his fees myself, and he will be safe there from your father."

"But what of his identity?" she fretted.

"Glynn of Thorley," he reminded her. "He will be thought to be my get. I shall tell the father abbott that he is my relative, that his mother is deceased, and that his pater is not to be discussed. That is enough to give truth to the idea that I sired him. But Glynn must remain silent, Rhonwyn, regarding his true parentage. Can he do it?"

She nodded. "He can. He will be disappointed not to go with us on crusade, but he will be equally excited about going to the abbey school. Now that he has been exposed to learning, it would seem he has a great capacity for it. I think he might be a priest or a scholar."

That evening she curled herself in his lap again, and he stroked her silken head in a leisurely fashion. This time she had come to him. "We shall have little time once we begin the crusade to cohabit as man and wife," he told her meaningfully.

"We do not go for many months," she said softly, thinking that she must ask Enit's mother what could be done to prevent conception. If she was to yield herself to her husband's passions once again, she did not intend to conceive a child and thus be prevented from going with him on crusade. "Oh!"

His hand was gently fondling her breasts. "They are like the perfect round apples in our orchards," he told her.

Rhonwyn could feel her breath tight in her chest. His hand was very exciting, teasing tenderly at her bosom. She neither forbade him nor stopped him from his love play.

"I know it is too soon," he said, "but I cannot wait for the night when we lie naked, side by side, and I may cover those precious little orbs with kisses, wife."

"I am less afraid and repelled than I have been in the past," she admitted shyly.

"We are getting to know one another," he said. His hand removed itself from her breasts and tilted her face to his. He touched her lips softly at first, and then as her budding passion began to overcome them both, his lips took possession of hers with a deeper fierceness. She didn't resist, indeed her lips moved beneath his with a girlish innocence that enchanted him. Before she might grow fearful, before he might allow his desire for her to gain a mastery over them, he broke off the kiss, and looking down at her, said, "You are so lovely, Rhonwyn. I am in love with you, and I would have you be in love with me, wife."

"Give me time, Edward," she said to him. "I am only beginning to understand this thing you call passion, and I do thank you for your gentle patience with me."

"You are a prize very worth having, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. How much sweeter our coming together again will be for the waiting we must endure." His gray eyes smiled down at her.

Reaching up, she touched his cheek. "I will try very hard not to keep you waiting too much longer," she promised him. Her slender fingers caressed his face.

Catching her hand in his, he kissed each of those fingers with fervor. "It shall be in your time, my love, for I want more than anything else for you to be happy."

"I am happy now, safe in your strong arms," she replied.

"On the night you tell me our waiting is over, Rhonwyn, I shall make you happier than you have ever known!" he vowed passionately.