Love for Maelgwn washed through her, as sharp as pain. For days she had denied the truth, that her decision was ultimately a selfish one. It had nothing to do with protecting Rhun or even Maelgwn. It was herself she meant to please. She loved Maelgwn. She could not bear to give him up, even if he hated everything she was. The love she felt for him was so strong, it made everything else unimportant. She felt bonded to Maelgwn; blood to blood, flesh to flesh, heart to heart.
And yet, she dared not bear Maelgwn's child. If she did, she might unleash the curse that haunted them both— her, the unloved, unwanted bastard, and Maelgwn, burdened by a legacy of betrayal and treachery that left him wounded beyond healing.
Rhiannon retraced her steps through the forest, her eyes searching the underbrush. Here and there, she paused and used her knife to dig among the dried leaves and plants that covered the forest floor. Despite the cool air, sweat trickled down her forehead as she searched.
Llewenon had once mentioned that the roots of the stinking gladwin could be used to prevent pregnancy. Rhiannon was much less familiar with the contraceptive properties of the plant than with those of rue and wild carrot seeds, but she could not be too choosy this late in the season. She would be lucky to find enough of any herb to last her through the winter.
Relief swept through her as she finally located some dried purplish stalks. Using her knife, she dug out several of the plant's reddish roots. She sniffed them and her nose wrinkled at the sharp, pungent smell. Aye, this was it—no wonder they called it stinking gladwin.
Llewenon said the roots must be boiled in wine and the resulting decoction drunk. Rhiannon presumed it must be taken daily, although she was not sure. A twinge of anxiety crossed her mind; it worried her to dose herself with an herb she had so little knowledge of. Still, she had no choice. Even if she risked her own health, it was better than getting with child.
Rhiannon gathered a large number of the roots, put them in the leather bag which she had brought, then secured the bag at her waist. Her task accomplished, she hurried back through the forest, anxious to return to Degannwy before Maelgwn noticed she was gone and questioned the sentry.
When she returned to where her horse waited, she tied the bag to the saddle, then mounted and set off for the fortress.
The mist that swam along the valley thickened, and Rhiannon felt the chill air begin to penetrate her cloak. The newly risen sun had crept behind a cloud; it would be another dreary, drizzly winter day.
Maelgwn stood in the watchtower, watching the horizon anxiously. He had risen early to check on Rhun. When he found Rhiannon missing from his bedchamber, he had not immediately been alarmed. Then he ran into Rufus in the courtyard and learned that Rhiannon was riding— alone. He had rushed to the gate, determined to thrash the guard on duty for disobeying orders. Only when Mabon explained how Rhiannon had begged to go alone did Maelgwn's ire cool slightly.
Things were strained enough with Rhiannon as it was. He did not need to distress her even more by punishing the guard for responding to her pleas. Maelgwn let Mabon off with a fierce warning that if he ever disobeyed orders again, he would flay the man himself.
Maelgwn looked toward the north, toward the coast, straining his eyes in the grayish light. His empty stomach twisted with fear. Anything could happen to Rhiannon. She might become disoriented and lose her way. The wolves that had moved down from the hills might attack her. And there was always the danger she would be kidnapped by one of his enemies. If she did not appear in a few moments, he would set out after her.
He glanced in the other direction, and his heart leaped in his chest as he saw a rider approaching the fortress. He tore down the ladder to the tower. In a flash, he was mounted and riding out the gate to meet his wife.
She slowed when she saw him.
"Rhiannon, where have you been?"
"Riding," she answered.
She looked so wistful and sad; he could not bear to be angry with her. "If you had but woken me, I would have gladly joined you."
Rhiannon gave him a small smile. "I will—next time."
Maelgwn almost held his breath at her words. It had been so long since she had given him any hint that she welcomed his company. To see her smile, however tentatively, to hear her words of encouragement—it gave him back some of the hope he had almost lost.
They rode into the gate together, and more than a few of the people who saw them grinned, seeing their king and queen out riding so early. At the stables, Maelgwn helped Rhiannon off the winded horse. When she did not immediately move away, he leaned down and kissed her. To his delight, her lips parted in welcome. His blood rushed through his veins, and he could not hold back, no matter how he tried. His mouth slanted hard over hers, drinking in the sweetness he had been so long denied. She tasted as he remembered, wild, intoxicating. Breathless, he finally paused. He would not push things; he would take this kiss as a beginning.
"Rhun is up and about," he said as he released her. "Taffee changed his bandage and announced that his hand looks almost as good as new. Do you want to see him, or join me for a morning meal in the hall?"
Rhiannon's soft lavender blue eyes regarded him in a manner that could only be called seductive. "I vow I am not a bit hungry. If Rhun is well, I see no reason not to return to bed."
Maelgwn's mouth gaped open. It was rare for Rhiannon to behave flirtatiously. It was especially startling now, when he feared he had lost her forever. For a moment, he was too stunned to respond. "Aye, I imagine we will not be missed," he said faintly.
He could hardly control his ardor as he walked Rhiannon to the bedchamber. He kept her hand firmly in his own. Once they reached the room, he was even more reluctant to let her go. She pulled away—and then began undressing.
Maelgwn watched her, his hands fumbling with his own clothes. It did not seem possible she meant to welcome him to her bed again, and without a word of explanation. Doubts crowded his mind, and he paused, half-dressed, to watch her uncertainly. It seemed he should question her, find out why she had shunned him and what had changed her mind.
She turned toward the bed, with her long, bright hair swinging provocatively above her buttocks. He immediately abandoned his skepticism. What did he care what had swayed her decision? Some baffling woman's mood or a return of her old fear of lovemaking brought about by her visit to her homeland—it did not matter what had caused her to reject him. All that counted was that she wanted him once more.
He finished removing his clothes and crawled into the cold, rumpled bed. When he pulled her slender body against his, he found she was trembling, and for a moment, he was uneasy. Would there be wariness in her body when he entered her? Would she wait until then to pull away?
His thoughts seemed foolish as Rhiannon turned and pressed her breasts against his chest. He groaned as the warmth of her skin ignited his. Then he held her face with his hands and kissed her deeply. She smelled of the forest scent he loved so much. It clung to her hair, her small pink lips and cool white skin.
He ran his hand down her body, touching the curves he coveted most. Her nipples hardened at his caress, and his fingers found warm wetness when they fondled between her legs.
Panting, he pushed her thighs apart. It was madness, but he could not wait. He had to satisfy himself that she meant to accept him. He closed his eyes and pressed his shaft against her silky opening. When she did not tense or pull away, he pushed into her harder, deeper. Her body welcomed his, melting with the exquisite, boneless receptivity of a woman in need of a man. A thrilling tremor rippled down the entire length of his body, and he threw back his head and sighed deeply.
Ah, Rhiannon! She was his again.
Chapter 18
She was back in the dark, gloomy forest of Manau Gotodin, walking with Llewenon as he told her about different plants and roots. He led her farther and farther away from camp, until they reached a great grove of oaks where the huge trees had cut off the sunlight to form a clearing beneath their boughs. Llewenon took her to the
center of the clearing and ordered her to remove her clothing.
She knew at once what was going to happen, but she could not make her legs work to run away. She was paralyzed, her body as stiff and unyielding as the oaks around them. As she watched in dread, Llewenon reached beneath his white robe and pulled out a small knife with a crescent-shaped blade. It glittered in the moonlight that filtered through the trees.
Llewenon held out the knife. "I'm going to purify you," he said. "It must be done—it is the only way the gods will accept you."
The knife pierced her gown. It felt cold against her skin. There was a sharp pain, and blood spurted from her body, splattering Llewenon's face and white robe. She tried to scream, but her voice was as useless as her legs. The knife cut into her again and again.
Rhiannon woke with a gasp. It felt as if the knife still gouged her belly, twisting in her flesh. Her body was slick with sweat, the pain so intense, she felt sick. She tried to get out of bed, but the room spun around her. At last, she was able to lurch to her feet and stagger over to the chamber pot. She vomited, then lay down on the floor, too weak to move.
She closed her eyes, realizing all at once what was happening to her. This was the third day she had taken the decoction made from gladwin roots. As always, it tasted wretched, but this time it had also upset her stomach. She had lain down, hoping if she rested, the nausea would go away. Instead, she had fallen asleep and had that awful dream.
Rhiannon shivered with dread. The stuff was poisonous, either that, or she had taken too strong a dose. Surely now, after she vomited, she would begin to feel better.
The pains returned, sharp, knifelike. They gnawed at her belly, reaching deep, all the way to her spine. Rhiannon twisted, trying to escape the agony. Her legs trembled, her insides convulsed and shuddered. She could feel the perspiration trickling down her body, and there was more wetness between her legs. When she looked down, she saw the bottom half of her gown was stained black with blood.
Rhiannon suppressed a scream, then fainted as the pain intensified.
"How is she?" Maelgwn's voice was harsh; his blue eyes dark with worry.
"Well enough." Bleddryn patted him reassuringly on the arm. "She is young and strong, and losing a babe this early is not usually dangerous."
"But the blood..." Maelgwn shook his head, repressing the horrible memory.
"It's clear you've never seen a babe birthed; it was no more bloody than that."
"I never knew miscarrying caused such pain."
"She was scared, and no doubt distressed about losing the babe. Rhiannon is a nervous sort, a little high-strung perhaps. She will come around."
Maelgwn clutched sharply at Bleddryn's arm. "Are you sure?"
The plump physician shrugged. "The bleeding has stopped. When she heals, there is no reason to think she will not conceive again." He turned away. "Let her rest the night; she should be much better by morning."
As Bleddryn stepped out of the passageway between buildings, he was stopped again, this time by Lady Gwenaseth.
"How fares the queen?"
"As I told the king, she is as well as can be expected. She miscarried, but nothing is amiss."
"What made her lose the babe?"
Bleddryn yawned. "She is rather slight; perhaps her body is not yet ready for childbearing."
"Taffee said Rhiannon was sick."
"A touch of fever perhaps, or something she ate. It might have caused her to lose the babe, but I doubt it." He gave Gwenaseth an irritated look. "If you have no more questions, I'll be getting to bed."
Gwenaseth's forehead wrinkled in thought as she watched the physician cross the courtyard. She had not even known Rhiannon was carrying, and now the queen had lost the child. It seemed altogether too sudden.
The king's chamber was quiet as Gwenaseth entered on tiptoe. Rhiannon appeared to be sleeping soundly; she made no movement as Gwenaseth moved past the bed.
Seeing a cup on the table, Gwenaseth lifted it and sniffed the last few drops on the bottom. She grimaced at the awful smell, then glanced toward where Rhiannon lay.
Maelgwn entered the room, and Gwenaseth's face softened with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Maelgwn. I did not even know she was with child."
Maelgwn shook his head. "Nor did I."
The king sat down on a stool beside the bed. Gwenaseth went to smooth the covers over Rhiannon's sleeping form, then left.
Four babes of his seed, and only one had made it to the world of the living.
Maelgwn's hand trembled slightly as he reached out to stroke Rhiannon's disheveled hair. Dear God, how afraid he had been! When he had found Rhiannon and seen the blood all over the floor, he thought she was dying. For a moment, he had relived the despair of Aurora's death in childbirth. Then reason took over and he ran to find Bleddryn.
Rhiannon stirred at his caress. "Maelgwn," she whispered.
"Hush, Rhian, you must sleep."
Her face in the lamplight was forlorn and wretched-looking. Maelgwn yearned to tell her that he did not care about the babe, that all that mattered was that she was safe. But he worried that bringing up the subject would distress her, and she obviously needed to rest.
He touched her face, feeling the fragile bones beneath her smooth skin. "Sleep now. Bleddryn promised you would feel much better in the morning."
Obediently, she closed her eyes. Maelgwn watched her, repressing a shudder of deep relief. He would have to think of some way to spare Rhiannon this risk in the future. He could not endure standing helplessly by as another wife faced the dangers of childbearing. There were ways, surely, to prevent conception. He had heard of herbs that disrupted a woman's cycle or, if placed in the woman's body, poisoned a man's seed before it could reach her womb. And there was always withdrawal... or abstinence. He grimaced. For him, Rhiannon's body was like water to a thirsty man, bread to a starving one. He could not keep his hands off of her. And yet, they must be more careful in the future.
He glanced down again at his wife's sleeping form. He could no longer deny it. He loved Rhiannon. His fear for her went deeper than the haunting memories of losing Aurora. This scare had taught him how much he needed Rhiannon. She had healed his pain, made him whole. He could not think of life without her.
A half-sob rose in his throat. He had not wanted this; it was terrifying to love a woman so much. But there was nothing he could do now. Nothing but do his best to keep this small, fragile woman safe.
"It's mine, Dewi! Papa said I could have it!"
"Hush, boys! If you can't be quiet, you must go outside!"
Sewan's exasperated voice carried easily to where Rhiannon sat by a glowing brazier in the weaving room. She leaned further over her work, struggling to hide her distress. It took only the sound of a baby crying, or the sight of a mother comforting her little one, to remind Rhiannon of her terrible mistake.
What a fool she had been! The herb she took had not prevented conception, but ended a pregnancy already begun. Her bleeding times were often irregular, and she had never bothered to count backwards to the last one. If she had, she would have realized she had not bled since before she went to Manau Gotodin.
A sick sense of loss filled her. In her concern for avoiding conception, she had never considered that a baby might have already started inside her. Now it was too late. The babe was dead; she had killed it.
Sewan returned from shooing her children into the courtyard and approached Rhiannon. "The embroidery on that tunic is exquisite. I wish I had your talent for needlework."
"I am making it for Rhun, to gift him with on Midwinter's Eve—or the Yule season as your people call it."
Sewan reached out to pat Rhiannon's shoulder. "I'm sure you will have your own son someday. You've been wed to Maelgwn only a half turn of the seasons. There is plenty of time for other babes."
Rhiannon nodded stiffly. The women of Degannwy were extraordinarily solicitous these days, and Maelgwn drove her half mad with his tender concern. He had not pressed her to share his bed,
even after Bleddryn pronounced her healed, and she knew he would not. It would be up to her to take the fateful step, to welcome him into her body and risk him starting another babe.
Rhiannon repressed a shudder. "I'm not feeling well, Sewan." She stood slowly. "Perhaps I will go lie down."
"Have you been drinking your milk as Bleddryn suggested? Perhaps I should brew some snakeweed tonic for you. It's said to be good for ailments of the womb..."
Sewan prattled on, holding Rhiannon's arm as they walked toward the king's bedchamber. Rhiannon endured Lady Balyn's admonishments resignedly. It would not do to reject Sewan's gentle nagging. She should be grateful that Maelgwn's people cared so much for her welfare.
"Rhiannon?"
Gwenaseth peered in the doorway. "Sewan said you were ailing, that you had gone to lie down."
Rhiannon rose from her stool by the fire. "I'm better now. It was a passing thing; I still feel lightheaded sometimes."
Gwenaseth nodded knowingly as she entered the room. "It's the loss of blood. You must eat more meat at meals.... and take some tansy steeped in wine to keep up your strength..."
"Must the whole fortress play nursemaid to me?" Rhiannon said sharply. "I half expect Rhun to begin pushing food upon me and worrying whether I sleep well!"
"But you are still thin and pale," Gwenaseth countered. "We are only concerned for you."
For a moment, Gwenaseth thought she saw a flash of resentment in Rhiannon's eyes. Then it was gone; the queen took her seat and stared into the fire.
Now, Gwenaseth decided quickly. Now was the time to ask Rhiannon about the miscarriage. She might not have another chance when Rhiannon's guard was down.
She pulled up a stool next to Rhiannon's. "Your loss of the babe was very sudden—and rather violent too. Women do not usually bleed so heavily when they lose a babe early on."
Dragon's Dream Page 19