When Christ and His Saints Slept

45

Trefriw, North Wales

February 1150

It was a typical February afternoon-raw and grey. Selwyn, one of the youths honing his skills of manhood in Rhodri’s service, had built a fire in the open hearth, burying a log in wood ash so it would burn slowly and steadily. Bechan, the serving-maid, was dipping candles in sheep’s tallow, for only the very wealthy and the very extravagant burned wax candles for everyday use. Olwen, who attended Rhiannon and Eleri, had positioned a spindle close to the hearth so she could spin flax in comparative comfort. And Rhiannon had brought a mortar and pestle to the table, where she set about crushing wood betony. The cook had been ailing, she explained to the curious Selwyn, and when mixed with honey, powdered betony leaves eased coughing and shortness of breath.

Selwyn was never satisfied with a simple answer and he wanted to know all about the other uses of betony. Rhiannon answered patiently as he flung question after question her way, for she liked the boy, but she was glad, nonetheless, when he fetched a whetstone and began to sharpen his sword. He was touchingly proud of the weapon-his first-for he was only fourteen, and he was soon so intent upon his task that Rhiannon and herbal remedies were forgotten.

Rhiannon welcomed the silence, for she’d awakened that morning with a headache that was so far resisting both sage and pennyroyal. She’d been able, though, to use the headache to escape accompanying Enid and Eleri on a courtesy call to a neighbor who’d recently given birth to her first child. Enid and Eleri had not objected, for the woman invariably fluttered around Rhiannon like a deranged moth, so acutely uncomfortable with Rhiannon’s blindness that she made everyone else equally uncomfortable with her.

Rhiannon had another-secret-reason for not wanting to visit Blodwen. She agreed heartily with Eleri’s caustic assessment of Blodwen as a woman “who has feathers where her brains ought to be.” She could bear Blodwen’s twittering and fidgety hospitality-if she had to. What she could not endure was that the Almighty had seen fit to give foolish, shallow Blodwen what Rhiannon would never have herself: a newborn son.

Snatching up his mantle, Selwyn muttered something about an “errand.” Rhiannon suspected he was off to the kitchen, for he seemed to spend half of his time there, trying to inveigle cider and honeyed wafers from the cook. He’d been gone only a few moments when the door opened again and a familiar voice bellowed out an unnecessary proclamation of his arrival.

Rhiannon was delighted; her father had been at Aber for the past week, attending his king, Owain Gwynedd. “Papa, you’re back early!” Pushing her chair away from the table, she started toward the sound of his voice.

The warning was not in time. Her father cried out her name, but by then she’d already stumbled over something out in the middle of the floor, something hard and heavy, something that should not have been there. As she fell, she felt a sudden surge of heat and she twisted desperately away from it. She avoided the open hearth, but hit the ground hard enough to drive all the air out of her lungs. Momentarily stunned, she lay still until her father reached her, with Olwen just a step behind.

“I am not hurt, Papa,” she insisted, and after she’d repeated it for the fourth time, he finally believed her. He was assisting her to her feet when Selwyn came back into the hall. Rhodri glanced from the boy to the offending whetstone, and then erupted. Ranulf had once told Rhiannon and Eleri about a legendary mountain called Vesuvius, said to belch forth fire and smoke. Rhiannon thought her father’s temper was like that volcano, usually so inert and sluggish that his rare explosions were terrifying. There was no doubt that Selwyn was thoroughly cowed, reduced to incoherent stammerings as Rhodri berated him furiously for his carelessness.

“The day I took you into my household, I warned you that you were never to leave things strewn about or to move furniture, did I not? You swore upon your very soul that you would be heedful…and so what happens? My daughter nearly fell into the fire because you did not put your whetstone away!”

Rhiannon eventually managed to reassure her father, assuage his anger, and spare Selwyn the worst of his wrath. By then she was exhausted, for she’d been more shaken by her fall than she was willing to admit. As soon as she could, she withdrew to the bedchamber she shared with Eleri, and lay down, fully clothed, upon the bed.

Her cheek was stinging and would likely bruise. But the bruises that troubled her were the ones on her memory. It would be a while before she could forget her terror as she felt the flames. What frightened her just as much was the reminder of how fragile the defenses of her world were. All it took was one misplaced whetstone to reveal how vulnerable she truly was.

When she finally fell asleep, it wasn’t peaceful. She was dreaming of Ranulf, but there was no joy in it, just unease and shadows and an ominous sense of foreboding, for they’d not gotten a letter from him in months, and Rhiannon had no proof that he was even still alive. She tossed and turned restlessly, and was glad to be awakened by the opening door.

It was a man’s footstep, too light for Rhodri, too heavy for Selwyn. Rhiannon sat up, puzzled, and listened again. Who else could it be but Papa or the lad? And then she caught her breath. “Ranulf?” she whispered, half afraid to let herself hope, and was rewarded with a sound sweeter to her than the heavenly harps of the Almighty’s own angels-Ranulf’s laughter.

“You are truly amazing, lass! How is it that you can remember the sound of my step after so many months?”

She could have told him it was because she’d heard those footsteps echoing through her dreams almost every night since he’d gone away, but of course nothing short of torture would have gotten that out of her. “I am so glad you’ve come back, Ranulf,” she said instead, and added a silent prayer that this time he would stay.

THE fortnight that followed was the happiest of Rhiannon’s life. She knew it couldn’t last, that sooner or later Ranulf would ride off again; he’d said as much, that he’d agreed to join Henry in Normandy. But she resolutely refused to think about that. He could always change his mind. For the moment, it was enough that he was safe and well and home.

Ranulf had returned in high spirits, bringing gifts and gossip from the world that lay beyond the mountains of Eryri. He enthralled them with dramatic accounts of the escape from Dursely and the triumph at Devizes. He horrified them with stories of the suffering Stephen had loosed upon his own subjects. And he fascinated them with reports of the scandal that had trailed the French monarchs all the way from Palestine.

Rhiannon and Eleri did not find Eleanor’s thwarted attempt to escape her marital bonds as surprising as Ranulf had; Welsh women enjoyed liberties unheard-of in the rest of Christendom, one of them being the right to walk away from a miserable marriage. They sympathized instinctively with the spirited French queen, were indignant that she should have been forced to accompany her husband from Antioch, and listened spellbound when Ranulf revealed the unexpected twist to this sad tale.

On their way home from the Holy Land, he related, they’d passed some days in Italy, as guests of the Pope, and the elderly pontiff had set himself a herculean task: mending the rift between these utterly mismatched souls. He had even gone so far, Ranulf divulged, as to escort them to bed and urge them to make their peace between the sheets. The Pope’s blessing seemed to have paid off, for Eleanor was now pregnant, for only the third time in thirteen years. The child was due that summer, and the French king’s subjects were waiting anxiously to see if, after a miscarriage and a daughter, she would at last bear him a son.

Each morning, Rhiannon awakened with the same subversive thought, one she quickly disavowed: Would this be the day that Ranulf announced he’d soon be leaving? But it was not Ranulf who brought this interlude to an abrupt end; it was her father.

A damp darkness had fallen by the time Rhiannon started out to the stables with a jug of milk, meant for the stable cat and her kittens. Cats were rarely kept as pets, except in nunneries, but Rhiannon was enchanted by them, for she did not need sight to appreciate their sleek lines and soft fur and lulling purr. She had just reached their well when Rhodri rode in. Hastily dismounting, he sent his horse off to the stables with Selwyn, and hurried toward his daughter.

“Is Ranulf within? I must talk to him straightaway, lass. I’ve come up with a way to keep him in Wales, here with us where he belongs!”

Rhiannon’s heartbeat picked up a quicker rhythm. “Truly, Papa? How?”

Rhodri reached out and gripped her by the elbows; she could tell by the tone of his voice that he was smiling. “I am going to name him as my heir and convince him to take Eleri as his wife.” He heard her gasp and enveloped her in an expansive hug; she found her face pressed against the wet wool of his mantle, the feel scratchy and smothering. “It is the ideal solution, Rhiannon. Where could I hope to find a better brother-in-law for you? And Ranulf and Eleri will have a good marriage, whilst making their home and raising their children on our land. I tell you, lambkin, it is well-nigh perfect!”

Rhiannon was too stunned to respond, but Rhodri was too jubilant to notice. “You’d best go feed those flea-bitten cats ere I decide to drown the sorry lot,” he teased. “But do not tarry longer than need be with the mangy beasts, for we’ll have much to celebrate this night!”

Rhiannon caught the edge of the well enclosure, held on so tightly that the stones left imprints in the palms of her hands. She needed the physical contact, a way of reassuring herself that there was still something in her world that was familiar, safe. She’d sometimes wondered what it must be like to be drunk, to have all her senses blurred by mead. Now…she knew. Reality as she’d known it had fled forever as soon as her father had begun speaking.

Gradually some of the shock faded, and her numbed brain started to function again. She could not let this happen. She must stop her father ere it was too late. She’d dropped the milk jug, tripped over it now as she moved away from the well, but managed to keep her footing. She’d gotten herself turned around, though, and when she started for the house, she was actually going in the opposite direction. It was not until she caught the smell of hay and horses that she realized her mistake. Spinning away from the stable, she began to retrace her steps, nearly weeping with frustration and fear that she’d not be in time. When she heard her name called behind her, she grabbed Selwyn’s arm as he came up beside her. “Take me to the hall,” she demanded, “quickly!”

Selwyn was surprised, for Rhiannon could be as prickly as a hedgehog when her independence was concerned. But he did as she bade, and led her back across the bailey, doing his best to avoid the worst patches of mud. Rhiannon would not have noticed had he steered her into a swamp, and she forgot to thank him when they at last reached the hall. “Papa,” she cried, “Papa, where are you?”

“Whatever is the man up to, Rhiannon? Never have I seen Rhodri look so full of himself, like a lad who’d discovered where his birthday present was hidden away!” The voice was Enid’s, amused and fondly indulgent. “He said nary a word, did not even shed his mantle ere he dragged Ranulf off to our bedchamber! Do you know what-”

Rhiannon heard no more. Turning away, she plunged through the doorway, back out into the blackness of the bailey. It was all she could think to do, for she could not go to her bedchamber; Eleri was there and would need one look at her face to know something was dreadfully wrong. She could not deal with Eleri or Enid now. She had to have some time alone, time to decide what to do. The afternoon drizzle had stopped and the air was dry but very cold. She stepped unheedingly into the puddles, getting her feet wet and her skirts muddied. She was shivering, and when she tasted salt on her tongue, she realized she was crying, too, but for the moment, all that mattered was reaching the stables, the only sanctuary she had left.

Stumbling into the stables, she called out repeatedly until she was sure she was alone, and then sank down upon a bale of hay. She heard nickering and snorting as horses craned their necks over their stall doors, hoping she’d brought treats again, and once the cats discovered her, the kittens began to pounce on her ankles and climb up her skirts. She felt leaden with fatigue, not moving even when they dug their needlesharp little claws into her leg. She could not let this marriage come to pass. Blessed Lady Mary, hear your servant Rhiannon’s plea. It must not happen.

She would have to tell her father. She’d fought so hard to keep her secret. Mayhap Enid suspected, but no one else did. She’d made sure of that. All for naught now. And once she spoke up…what then? She’d break her father’s heart by thwarting this marriage. And what of Eleri? What if she truly wanted to marry Ranulf? Ranulf. He’d have to be told, too, and nothing would ever be the same between them after that. Their friendship-all she’d dared hope to have from him-would be spoiled, poisoned by his pity. And then he’d go away again, and this time he would not be back.

She shivered again, as much from the anticipated humiliation as from the cold. How could she bear to do this? Casting aside her pride would be worse than being stripped naked. But how could she keep silent? How could she live under the same roof with Ranulf and Eleri once they were wed? Bidding them goodnight at the door of their bedchamber. Hearing the new intimacy in their laughter. Lying awake at night, unwillingly imagining their lovemaking. Awaiting Eleri’s announcement that she was with child. How could she ever endure it? How could she not give herself away a hundred times a day?

What then, was she to do? Papa’s house was her only refuge. She had nowhere else to go. No other kin. Even if she’d wanted to pledge the rest of her life to God, no convent would accept a blind nun. She could feel the stirrings of an old enemy, one she’d thought she’d long ago vanquished. But panic could never truly be defeated; the best she could hope for was to keep it caged, under control. Now, though, she could hear it rattling the latch, seeking a way out.

She forced herself to draw several deep, bracing breaths, willing the cage bars to hold. Why had she been so quick to conclude that her father would prevail? Ranulf might well refuse. For an instant, hope flickered. But what man would not want to wed Eleri? She was pretty, lively, clever…whole.

In the years since her sight faded, many of Rhiannon’s visual images had faded, too. But she’d loved the sea, and she could still summon up vivid memories of foaming waves churning shoreward, breaking upon the beach and then retreating, leaving a trail of white spume across the wet sand. The jealousy that engulfed her now was like one of those powerful, surging waves, crashing down upon her without warning and receding just as quickly, leaving her shaken by the impact and horrified by the realization that she could feel such intense resentment toward Eleri, who’d done nothing to deserve it. It was not fair to blame Eleri for not being blind. But neither was it fair that she should be punished for a love that she’d have taken quietly to her grave. How could the Almighty ask so much more of her? Was it not enough that she must live out her days in darkness? Shocked that she could harbor such a blasphemous rage against God, she hastily crossed herself and then began to weep, muffling her sobs in her mantle so that no one passing by could hear.

“ Well?” Ranulf asked, leaning back in his seat with a curious smile. “What would you say to me, Uncle?”

“It is much too important to discuss sober, lad. Help yourself to some mead whilst I decide how best to begin.”

Ranulf obligingly took several swallows, although he’d not yet developed a taste for the Welsh beverage. “This gets to me faster than wine,” he warned. “Two flagons and I’m likely to start telling you secrets not even my confessor ought to hear!”

Rhodri laughed, then reached across the table and gripped his nephew’s arm. “I’ve never been one for tact or diplomacy, so I’m just going to blurt it out. Ere I do, though, there is something you need to know. Were you aware that under Welsh law, women cannot inherit land?”

Ranulf was startled. “No, I was not. That surprises me very much, for it was my understanding that Welsh law was uncommonly kind to women.”

“The restriction was not meant to punish our womenfolk. It is a matter of practicality. You see, lad, land is a sacred trust to us, passed down from father to son. A man cannot sell his son’s birthright; he but holds the land for his heirs. And because we know mankind is by nature as predatory as the wolf, no one can inherit who is not able to defend his lands from attack. Our laws exclude men crippled or deaf or blind or stricken with leprosy, as well as women.”

“What happens if a man has no male heirs?”

“When he dies, his lands escheat to the king.”

Ranulf sipped his mead slowly, grappling with the implications of what he’d just been told. “Jesu, but you’re in the same plight as my father was after the White Ship sank! When you lost your last son, Cadell, you lost your lands, too, then?”

Rhodri nodded. “Or so I thought…until God sent you back to us, Ranulf.”

“Me? I’m only half Welsh!”

“Half is enough. Our law allows the sons of Welsh women to inherit, even if the father is an alltud, a foreigner.”

“But…but I am illegitimate! Surely you’ve not forgotten that?”

“A son need not be born in wedlock to claim his birthright, not in Wales. It is enough if he is recognized by his father…or in your case, by your closest male kin-me!”

Ranulf gaped at the older man, dumbfounded. “Are you saying that you want to name me as your heir?”

“I want to do more than that, Ranulf. I want you as my heir…and son-in-law. I know I’ve taken you by surprise,” he added hastily, “but just wait, lad, hear me out. Eleri will be sixteen next month, old enough to be wed. She’d make you a good wife, I’ve no doubt of it. She is pretty and spirited and I know you’re right fond of her-”

“Of course I am! But we are first cousins. We’d have to seek a dispensation from the Church ere we could wed, and it is not likely we’d get one.”

Rhodri grinned triumphantly. “You’d not need one, not in Wales. We wed our cousins all the time. ‘Marry in the kin,’ we say, and ‘fight the feud with the stranger.’”

“I…I do not know what to say, Uncle. In truth, I never thought of Eleri as a wife.”

“I know I’ve caught you off balance, lad. Suppose we back up, give you a chance to catch your breath. Let’s start with Wales. Could you be happy living here?”

Ranulf was silent for some moments. “Yes,” he said at last, sounding surprised, “I believe I could…”

Rhodri nodded emphatically. “Of course you could! It was meant to be, Ranulf. You think it was mere chance that brought you into Wales? Indeed not! I prayed to the Almighty for aid and He heard my plea. If only Angharad could have known that her son would be restored to us! And once you wed Eleri-”

Ranulf gave an abrupt, overwhelmed laugh. “Whoa! You’re going too fast for me, Uncle. You’re offering me so much-your lands and your daughter. It does not seem like a fair bargain. What do you get in return?”

“You’d be giving me a gift beyond price: peace of mind. This land was my father’s and his father’s before him. I do not want our family to lose it, and if you stay in Wales, we will not. And of equal importance to me, I know you’d do right by my daughters. I’d not want to count all the nights I’ve lain awake, fearing what might happen to Rhiannon after I died. She will be dependent upon the goodwill of Eleri’s husband once I am gone, so in choosing a husband for Eleri, I must choose for them both. With you, I could be sure that my Rhiannon would always have a home, that she would want for nothing.”

“Rhiannon,” Ranulf said thoughtfully. “Yes, I am beginning to see…”

Rhodri started to speak, but then stopped. He’d said enough. Now it was up to his nephew. He must not push. Ranulf had to want this for it to work. But forbearance did not come easily to him; he’d always been one for acting, even if it was ill advised, and he was soon squirming impatiently. “I do not mean to rush you, Ranulf. Take as much time as you need,” he offered, with an utter lack of conviction.

Ranulf reached for his mead cup, regarding his uncle with affectionate understanding. “You’d not be able to wait for your own salvation, Uncle! I was tempted to tell you I’d need a week to make up my mind, but you’d be sore crazed by midnight. Fortunately for your nerves, I can give you my answer now. I cannot marry Eleri. But I will marry Rhiannon…if she’ll have me.”

Ranulf got the reaction he’d expected; his uncle’s jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide. But he’d thought that surprise would give way to elation. Instead, Rhodri looked wary.

“Rhiannon holds my heart in the palm of her hand,” Rhodri said, choosing his words with conspicuous care. “After she lost her sight, I swore by our own St Davydd that she’d lose nothing else, not as long as I drew breath. When she reached womanhood, I tried mightily to find her a husband, for I wanted her to have all that other women did. She may not be as fair to look upon as Eleri, but she is still a handsome lass, and kind and quick-witted in the bargain. But she could have been as beautiful as this French queen I hear so much talk about, and as saintly as the Blessed Virgin Mary, and it would still have availed her naught. I could find no man willing to take a blind wife. Why, then, would you be willing, Ranulf?”

“I am not asking for a ‘blind wife.’ I am asking for Rhiannon. But it is a fair question, Uncle. Two years ago, I would not have been willing, either. But I lived under the same roof with Rhiannon for nigh on a year. I’ve seen her light candles and mend tablecloths and do any number of chores that I would not have believed a blind person could do. She taught me that ‘blind’ was not another word for ‘helpless,’ and I came to admire her courage and value her integrity. Your daughter is a remarkable woman. The men who were so quick to reject Rhiannon just never got a chance to find that out.”

“That is an honest answer. I can see the sense in what you say. But tell me this, Ranulf. Why Rhiannon and not Eleri? Why choose the harder road?”

“If you were to start hunting a husband for Eleri, you’d have no trouble finding a hundred men willing-nay, eager-to take her to wife. Eleri does not need me. Rhiannon does. I can give her what no one else will, what other women take for granted-a home and children.”

“Are you sure, lad…truly sure this is what you want?” When Ranulf nodded, Rhodri bounded out of his chair, raced around the table, and grabbed his nephew in a loving choke-hold. “You’ve won me over,” he chortled. “Now go win my Rhiannon!”

Ranulf eventually found Rhiannon in the stables, seated on a bale of hay, a sleeping kitten in her lap. “There you are, lass! Why are you sitting out here in the dark?” Hearing his own words, he laughed ruefully. “Hellfire, I’m still doing it!”

“Well…at least you’ve stopped flinching every time you use the word see in my hearing.” Try as Rhiannon might to keep her voice level, it sounded suspiciously husky and strained to her ear; most sighted people were not as sensitive to tones, though, and she hoped he’d not notice. She’d known that sooner or later someone would come looking for her. But she’d not expected it to be Ranulf, and she stiffened as he moved toward her across the straw. She was not ready for this, nowhere near ready.

Ranulf hung his lantern on an overhead hook and sat down beside her on the bale. “I had the most astounding talk tonight with your father. It is as if my whole life was turned upside down in a matter of moments-just like an hourglass!”

He laughed again and Rhiannon discovered that she couldn’t swallow; there was an excited edge to his laughter that she’d never heard before. He did not sound to her like a man who’d just rejected a marriage proposal. She could think of nothing to say that would not betray her and listened in growing despair as he said, “I’d not realized until tonight how much I wanted to stay in Wales. When I came back, it was like coming home. Passing strange that I could not see that for myself, that I needed to have it pointed out to me.”

“I know,” Rhiannon said faintly, “about…your talk. Papa confided in me beforehand.” Her words seemed to come of their own volition, and she felt a sudden dizziness, as if she were teetering on the edge of an abyss. But she was less afraid of falling then of prolonging this torment. “Then…you accepted Papa’s offer?”

“No…I could not.”

Rhiannon sat very still, as if one false move could send her plummeting off into space. “Why?”

“Because he offered me the wrong daughter, Rhiannon.”

She’d not dared to move. Now she dared not speak, either. Had she misunderstood? If only God would restore her sight, if just for a moment, long enough for her to see his face and judge for herself if she’d heard him right.

“Rhiannon…you did hear what I said? I am making a botch of this, I know. Mayhap I’d best say it straight out. I want to marry you.”

Her heart was pounding so loudly that she was sure he could hear. At the touch of his fingers on her cheek, her pulse jumped. “Why?” she whispered. “Why me and not Eleri?”

“That is what your father asked, too. I could tell you that it’s because Eleri is not yet sixteen and I’m thirty-one and I want to marry a wife, not raise one. Or I could tell you that whilst I am very fond of Eleri, my feelings for you run much deeper. And it would all be true, Rhiannon. But what matters more than any of that is the way I felt when Rhodri offered me Eleri. There was no need to choose. I just knew. You were the one I wanted.”

He’d taken her hand as he spoke, and now he pressed a kiss into her palm. “Do you need time to think about it, Rhiannon? I realize this took you as much by surprise as it did me, but-”

“No…I do not need time. My answer is yes. I would be honoured to be your wife.”

Even then it did not seem real to her, though, not until he tilted her face up and kissed her gently, first on her cheek and then on her mouth.

Rhiannon awoke the next morning with an irrational fear that she might have dreamed it all. “Eleri? Olwen?” Getting no response, she slid out of bed. But for the first time in years, she’d forgotten to lay out her clothes for the next day. Retrieving her chemise, she pulled it over her head and moved to their washing laver, shivering as she splashed cold water onto her face. She’d begun to brush her hair by the time Eleri returned.

“I fetched you some buttermilk, Rhiannon. I’m putting it on the table, in the right corner.”

“Thank you. Eleri…did anything out of the ordinary happen yesterday?”

“Nothing that comes to mind. It was a day like any other, as far as I recall. One of the goats strayed off, Selwyn’s tooth was hurting him, Ranulf asked you to marry him, and we had that wretched salted herring again for dinner.” Turning, she saw that Rhiannon had sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed. “You are not going to tell me, girl, that you forgot!”

“Of course not!” Rhiannon bit her lip. “I was just so afraid,” she confessed, “that it had all been a dream.”

When Eleri sat down on the bed, too, Rhiannon gave her a quick hug. Eleri knew that Ranulf had chosen Rhiannon over her, for in his exhilaration, Rhodri had not thought to keep that to himself. She’d seemed genuinely joyful about the marriage, but Rhiannon could not bear for her sister’s pride to have gotten even the slightest scratch, and she needed to be sure that no shadows lurked in the corners of Eleri’s certainty. “Eleri…are you truly content with this?”

“‘Content’? That is such a tame, bland word to describe what I’m feeling! Unless…you did not really think I would ever have married Ranulf, do you? By Corpus, you did!” She sounded suddenly and highly indignant. “How could you have believed that of me, Rhiannon? I would never have betrayed you like that, never!”

“You…you knew?”

“That you were utterly daft about the man? Of course I did!” Eleri snatched up a pillow and smacked her sister with it. “That is for being such a prideful fool and this is for not confiding in me!” Another whack with the pillow. “Not that I needed to hear you admit it, for you melted every time you said his name. Of course I knew! Did you forget which of us is the blind one?” she needled, and Rhiannon grabbed for the pillow. They engaged briefly in a tug-of-war, but then Eleri let go unexpectedly and Rhiannon went over backwards onto the floor rushes. Eleri tried to catch her, only to lose her own balance and go tumbling off the bed, too.

It had been a long while since they’d had a pillow fight, and sprawled now in the floor rushes, her mouth full of feathers. Rhiannon remembered why she’d given it up. “I’m too old for this sort of tomfoolery,” she complained good-naturedly. “I landed right on my tailbone, you brat! And where are all these feathers coming from?”

“Usually from ducks,” Eleri drawled, getting up on her knees to retrieve the torn pillow and loosing another flurry of escaping feathers. Rhiannon inhaled a few, sputtered, and then began to laugh. So did Eleri, and they clung together, laughing until their cheeks were streaked with tears and the air was so feather-filled that it seemed to be snowing and Enid was standing in the doorway, gazing down at them in consternation.

“What in Heaven’s Name is going on here? Look at you, rolling about on the floor like a couple of puppies and…and the room is full of feathers!”

“I guess the duck died,” Eleri quipped, and that nonsensical answer set the sisters off again, while Enid looked on in disapproving bafflement. Rhiannon was still giggling when Eleri called out cheerfully, “Come on in, Ranulf. You’re missing all the fun!”

Rhiannon didn’t really believe Ranulf was in the doorway; that was the sort of prank Eleri loved to pull. But then Enid gave a dismayed cry. “Ranulf, do not look! It is not fitting that you should see Rhiannon in her chemise!”

“Why ever not?” Eleri held out her hand so her stepmother could help her up. “Once they’re wed, he’ll see her in her skin, will he not?” She managed to get Enid out by the simple expedient of refusing to let go of the older woman’s arm. By then Rhiannon had been able to scramble to her feet and was brushing ineffectually at the feathers clinging to her chemise. It was not until she heard Ranulf say her name that she was sure he was still in the room.

Rhiannon was slightly embarrassed; Ranulf was the last person she’d have wanted to catch her playing the fool. But she had a far more pressing concern than her dignity, and the only way she knew to dispel it was to confront it head on. “Good morrow,” she said, although she thought such formality sounded silly, coming from a woman with feathers in her hair. “There is something I must ask you, Ranulf. Now that it is the morning after, have you had any second thoughts?”

It was an awkward question for Ranulf, and one that showed him just how well she knew him, for upon awakening that morning, his first thought had indeed been, What have I done? It was not so much that he regretted his marriage proposal as that in the cold light of day, he fully comprehended the magnitude of what he’d be undertaking. His earlier joke about an upended hourglass no longer seemed funny, for that was exactly what he’d done-turned his life upside down. Marriage was one of God’s Sacraments, a lifelong commitment, and marriage to Rhiannon would have its own unique pitfalls. Because her vulnerability was so much greater, so much greater, too, would be his sense of obligation to her. She deserved all that he had to give. But what if it was not enough? He still felt that what he’d done was right, but it could not have hurt if he’d taken a little more time to think it through. If God let him reach his biblical three score years and ten, would he still be jumping off cliffs without ever looking to see where he’d land?

His hesitation stirred up Rhiannon’s anxiety into outright alarm. “You must tell me if it is so,” she entreated. “If you have misgivings, better that we talk about them now…ere it is too late.”

“No, it is nothing like that, lass.” Stepping toward her, he reached for her hand. “I am not sure how best to explain this. Until I walked through that door and saw you thrashing about in the floor rushes, I admit I was feeling some unease, fear that I would let you down or cause you hurt. I was thinking of our marriage in sobering terms-responsibility and commitment and duty. What I should have remembered, though, is that I am still getting to know you…and you are constantly surprising me.”

Rhiannon tilted her head, listening as much to his intonation as to his words. He did not sound as if he were weighed down with regrets, but mayhap she was hearing only what she wanted to hear. “I am not following you.”

“There seem to be so many Rhiannons. First there was the nurse, striving to save my life. Then my cousin, who soon became my companion and confidante. Even my confessor,” he said, and for a moment, they both remembered that summer afternoon by the rushing waters of Rhaeadr Ewynnol. “But now…well, now I am seeing you in an altogether different light.”

He could not help smiling then, for he saw she still did not understand. But she did not realize how she looked-barefoot in her chemise, russet hair in beguiling dishevelment down her back, wispy white feathers kissing her cheek, her throat, the curve of her bosom. Half waif, he thought, and half wanton, a woman to cleave unto, as Scriptures said.

“What I mean,” he said, “is that I am of a sudden seeing you as a bedmate, Rhiannon.”

He could see a blush tinting the whiteness of her throat and cheeks, but there was nothing shy in the smile she gave him. “Well, then,” she said happily, “we’d best be married as soon as possible.”

They were, much to Enid’s chagrin. She argued in vain that such a hasty wedding would be sure to give rise to scandal, but her protests fell upon deaf ears. Rhodri did not believe that anyone could think ill of his Rhiannon. Eleri took the opposite tack, pointing out with cynical but accurate insight that the marriage was bound to cause gossip in any event. And Rhiannon and Ranulf cared only about getting married before the start of Lent, when marriages were prohibited. They settled upon Shrove Tuesday, beating the Lenten deadline by one day, placating the indignant Enid by agreeing to have a lavish celebration after Easter, then upsetting her anew by not bothering to post the banns.

They were wed in a simple ceremony at Llanrhychwyn, a small stone chapel in the hills above Trefriw. It was nothing like the great cathedrals where Ranulf had witnessed the weddings of his Norman-French kin, but it was newly whitewashed with lime, aglow with candles, fragrant with scented floor rushes, and in the secluded stillness, they could hear the rustling of yew trees in the wind, the clarion cry of a soaring hawk, even the distant howling of a Welsh wolf.

Afterward, they had a quiet wedding dinner back at Rhodri’s manor, attended only by the members of his household, a meal of roast goose and baked trout and mead and harp music. Instead of the usual raucous bedding-down revelries, Rhiannon’s sister and stepmother then accompanied her up to the wedding chamber, where they made her ready for Ranulf, while he enjoyed a final flagon with the man who was now both his uncle and father-in-law.

As a king’s son, Ranulf had witnessed more than his share of weddings, and he knew from experience how bawdy and boisterous the bedding-down revelries could get, the humor both explicit and uninhibited, a carnal and often crude celebration of life and lust and the anticipated pleasures of the marriage bed. But Ranulf felt sure that their bedding-down revelries would have been dreadfully different. They would have been subdued and decorous and seemly enough to have satisfied the most pious of priests, for the wedding guests would not have known how to deal with a blind bride. They’d have been painfully polite, offering Rhiannon their pity instead of their lewd mockery, and Ranulf was very glad she’d been spared that. She already knew full well that others viewed her as an oddity. Tonight he hoped to show her that she was a desirable woman to the only man who mattered, the one she’d married.

That proved to be very easy to do, for once they were lying together in their marriage bed, she soon discovered incontrovertible proof of his passion, and he discovered in his turn that her other senses were functioning perfectly. She was eager to touch what she could not see, eager to please him, and afterward, he felt confident that her deflowering had been as satisfying for her as it had been for him. “I did not hurt you too much, did I?” he asked drowsily, surprised to realize how much that mattered to him.

She shook her head, tickling his chest with a long strand of her hair, and then trailing it still lower, across his belly. “Ranulf…do we have to wait till morning ere we can do it again?”

“Shameless wanton,” he murmured, and there was such tenderness in his voice that she found herself blinking back tears.

“Ranulf…I want you to know that I understand divided loyalties. You chose me and Wales, but that does not mean you repudiated your past life. England will always exert a powerful pull upon you, and whenever you feel the need, you must follow it. You may return to England as often as you wish and I’ll not object…just as long as you keep coming back.”

“I do have other loyalties,” he admitted. “But from now on, my first loyalty will be to you. That I promise you, Rhiannon.”

She wondered if that was an oblique reference to the woman he’d loved so deeply and disastrously. But she dared not ask, dared not summon up Annora’s restless spirit to haunt their marriage bed. Instead, she settled back in his arms, shifting so she could hear his heart beating against her cheek until she fell asleep.