A Memory of Love

by Bertrice Small

  A Memory of Love

  Bertrice Small

  Rhonwyn, a passionate woman who uses weapons as skillfully as any man, accompanies her husband on the Crusades, where, captured by the Emir of Cinnebar, she learns erotic skills that she utilizes on her return to England to win back her beloved.

  Bertrice Small

  A Memory of Love

  © 2000

  Prologue

  The prince lay atop his lover, groaning and sweating his pleasure. The child, standing at the head of the bed, watched impassively. The prince's eyes met hers.

  "Go outside, Rhonwyn," he said.

  " 'Tis raining," the child whined.

  "Then take your sheepskin and lie quietly by the fire, lass," he replied. Beneath him the woman moaned softly, shifting her hips suggestively as her impatient ardor grew.

  "I want to sleep with my mam," Rhonwyn said stubbornly.

  "Nay, lass," the prince laughed softly. "Tonight I sleep with your mam. Now make your bed by the fire. If I have to get up, I'll beat you. Go!"

  Finally cowed, the child did as she had been bid and lay by the fire, wrapping herself in the warm sheepskin. She hated it when the prince came to their cottage. Then her mother had no time for her or her baby brother. The prince was their father, her mother had told them. They owed him their love and their allegiance. Without him they would starve. She and Glynn must always remember that.

  Her brother was already asleep by the fire, his thumb in his small mouth, his dark lashes brushing his rosy cheek. She loved Glynn more than any other person on this earth. He did not prefer the prince to her as her mother did. Yet when Llywelyn ap Gruffydd came to their cottage, he always brought his children gifts and greeted them lovingly. But I still don't have to like him, Rhonwyn reasoned silently to herself.

  She heard her mother cry out, and the prince's deep voice said, "Christ's bones, Vala, no one feeds my itch like you do!" And then her mother laughed her husky laugh.

  Rhonwyn's eyes closed at the sound, and she slept at last. There was no use in trying to stay awake. The prince would remain the night.

  PART I

  RHONWYN 1258-1270

  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.
<
br />   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 work
ed 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.