He did not know how long he knelt, weeping. When next he knew, there was a presence beside him. It made no sound, only stayed there, waiting. Maelgwn forced himself to clear his vision and turn toward it. The creature was small and oddly shaped, garbed in some sort of rough, brown stuff. Its blue eyes showed bewilderment.
"Rhun?"
The boy's worried look eased, and he spoke shyly from beneath the muffling layer of the heavy leather hood. "Papa, are you all right?"
"What are you doing here?"
The boy looked away, then fixed his eyes on his father defiantly. "I heard Balyn talking. He said you were missing. I... I couldn't help it. I crept out of the fortress and went looking for you." The words died away, and the boy glanced uneasily around the forest, as if realizing the risk he had taken in coming into the woods alone.
Maelgwn's first response was anger. He opened his mouth to chastise his son, but no words came out as a second thought came fast on the heels of the first. He reached out and grabbed Rhun's wrist. "How did you find me? How did you know where I was?"
Rhun looked even more uncomfortable. "I thought you had gone looking for Rhiannon. I knew she always came here."
Maelgwn caught his breath. His son felt it too; there was something of Rhiannon's spirit in this place.
Rhun sighed. "I miss her. Why did she have to leave?"
Maelgwn wanted to look away, to hide his shame. He felt sure the boy could see his guilt.
"Do you think she is dead, Papa?"
Maelgwn shook his head; he could not answer.
"Balyn thinks she is dead," Rhun asserted. "He says she drowned. If that's so, and she never gets a Christian burial, is it true she'll go to hell?"
Maelgwn forced himself to respond. "I think not. Rhiannon was not a Christian; she believed in... other gods. They will care for her spirit."
The boy nodded again, obviously comforted. Maelgwn felt no such assurance. It seemed likely Rhiannon's spirit would be uneasy in death. If, as the common people believed, ghosts were the spirits of those who had died wrongly, Rhiannon might well come back to haunt him. The thought made Maelgwn glance around the oak grove. He realized with a start that he was still kneeling in a pile of drenched leaves. He tried to stand, but the stiff muscles and joints in his legs refused to obey him. He nearly fell face first on the ground before sinking back on his knees with a groan.
"Let me help you, Papa."
He used the boy's small hand to find his balance, then stiffly jerked himself to his feet. Pain spread down his legs, stabbing into the muscles like a hundred knives. He staggered, then braced himself on Rhun's small shoulder. The boy swayed beneath his weight, and Maelgwn stamped his feet, trying to regain feeling in them so they would hold him.
"Can you walk? What's wrong?"
"I'm stiff from the cold. My legs won't work as they should."
"Lean on me. I'll help you."
The pain in his legs faded to a dull throb, not half as harsh as the ache of sorrow in his chest. Feeling his son's hand on his arm reminded him of Rhiannon. They both appeared so small and fragile—his son and his wife. Another spasm of grief made his body stiffen.
"Are you crying, Papa?" Rhun's voice was shocked.
"Aye. There is no shame in grieving for those you love." No shame. Maelgwn shook his head. Rhiannon's blood stained his hands. He had no right to play the bereaved husband.
"Maybe she's not dead," Rhun said. "Maybe some Irish raiders came in a boat and stole her!"
Maelgwn sighed. The boy's fanciful explanations were nearly unbearable to hear. They must both face the truth, that Rhiannon was dead; that he had killed her.
"Rhiannon disappeared during daylight," he told Rhun gently. "If there had been raiders, someone would have seen them."
Rhun sighed heavily, and Maelgwn stopped walking and faced his son. "I must tell you... I am to blame for Rhiannon's death, Rhun. We had a... a disagreement, and I sent Rhiannon away."
The boy drew in his breath sharply. His eyes were wide. "But you didn't mean for her to die, did you?"
Maelgwn searched his heart. Despite his murderous thoughts, he did not think he could have actually killed Rhiannon.
"Nay, I did not mean for her to die."
Rhun's face brightened. "Then Rhiannon will understand." As Maelgwn stared at him with pained, disbelieving eyes, Rhun continued. "Rhiannon was like that; she understood me when I did things I was sorry for. She always made me feel better."
He wanted to cry out like a wounded animal. But he dared not. Rhun would never understand his suffering. He must shield the boy from the awfulness of what he had done. Maelgwn pulled on Rhun's arm and strode forward. "Come. It is still a long way to the fortress, and I am soaked to the skin."
At last they could see Degannwy through the haze of rain. Maelgwn heard Rhun's slight sigh and knew the boy was exhausted. They would both need some warm wine or mead. They stumbled through the gate like an awkward, four-legged beast.
Balyn came rushing toward them as soon as they entered the gate. Maelgwn fixed him with a cold glare. "How does it come to pass that my soldiers let a boy search me out while they relax by the fire?"
"A fool bastard like you isn't worth wasting good men on!" Balyn barked back. Then his face softened with relief. "Come into the hall, Maelgwn. There's a joint of roast venison waiting."
"I need a warm bed more than food. I'm chilled to the marrow."
Rhun pulled at Maelgwn's arm. "Let me help, Papa. I'll fetch the wine and make a fire."
The boy ran off in the direction of the king's quarters, and Maelgwn watched him go with a feeling of dismay. He had not slept in his bedchamber since the night he sent Rhiannon away. He knew Balyn had the same thought when he looked up and saw the big man watching him.
Balyn shrugged. "You have to face it sometime. It was your place before Rhiannon, Maelgwn, and someday you will likely share it with another woman."
"Nay!" Maelgwn's eyes snapped with anger. "I won't have you dismiss Rhiannon as if she were some casual bed partner. She was my wife!"
Balyn took a step backwards, clearly startled. "But I thought that..." He swallowed. "What's happened, Maelgwn? What's wrong?"
Maelgwn turned away. "I killed her. I'm as guilty as if I had finished Rhiannon off with my knife."
"You were distraught. Any man would be after learning... what you learned. You didn't know Rhiannon would fall into the sea and drown."
"But I wanted her dead. My intent was to see harm come to her."
"But it's for the best!" Balyn insisted. "If she had lived, you would have had to set Rhiannon aside anyway. Certainly you could not go on with the marriage. She would always be a constant reminder of Esylt's treachery."
"What if I was wrong? What if Esylt did not conspire for me to marry Rhiannon because she wanted to hurt me? What if she knew what her daughter was like and meant for her to be a comfort to me?"
Balyn's dark eyes bulged, and his big shoulders gave a visible shudder. "You can't believe that. It defies everything we know about Esylt."
"But it does not defy what we know about Rhiannon. She never harmed me. She offered me comfort and tenderness and..." Maelgwn whispered the word, "...love."
Balyn was silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow and weary. "You're exhausted. You don't know what you're saying. Get some rest, Maelgwn. Do not, in your fatigue, fall prey to Esylt's wicked, deceitful lies."
Maelgwn made it into the bedchamber and collapsed on the bed. He was so tired; surely he could sleep anywhere, even in this accursed place. He closed his eyes and tried not to think as Rhun and a slave made a fire. The pain clawed at him, pulling him down.
"I'll take your boots off, Papa."
He opened his eyes and nodded, then closed them again. He could hear the grunting struggle of the boy to pull off his heavy, water-swollen boots. It reminded him of the times Rhiannon had helped him undress when he was tired from hunting. After she undressed him, Rhiannon would rub his sore muscles. Her touc
h was expert and soothing, and so gentle.
The thought nearly choked him, and he opened his eyes to banish the unbearable image. Rhun stood watching him from the foot of the bed. He looked very sad and young. Maelgwn wanted to send him away, but knew he could not. The boy felt Rhiannon's loss as well. As much as Maelgwn longed for the oblivion of sleep, he could not send the boy away. He would not turn away another innocent.
"Help me get these clothes off," he told Rhun. Maelgwn undid the tie to his trousers, and the boy dragged them down. Then Rhun aided him in removing the two wet, heavy woolen tunics he wore. Maelgwn lay back, completely naked, but too tired to pull the bedclothes up. He glanced up to see Rhun staring at him.
"What is it?"
"I... I was looking at your scars."
Maelgwn tensed. He remembered Rhiannon fingering each one and asking its history. To her, his scars had been frightening, a reminder that he faced death every time he went into battle. Rhiannon hated war. He had never bothered to think why, but it was obvious she had feared for him.
He forced the thought away and fixed Rhun with a stern look. "There are men who take pride in their scars, Rhun, as if they were proof of bravery. But I see each one as a failure—a failure that might well have cost me my life if Lady Luck had not smiled upon me."
"You see this one here?" He gestured to a welt on his arm. "I turned my back to face another man and he came at me from behind. If my enemy's balance had been better, and he had hit me a full blow, I would not have a scar at all. He would have cut my arm clean off and I would be dead."
Rhun nodded solemnly, his mouth working slightly.
"And this one." Maelgwn touched a long jagged crease that ran across his ribs. "The bastard caught me below my breastpiece. He hit a lung, and I coughed up blood for weeks. Had his sword struck an inch higher, I would have died where I stood. No matter how much armor a man wears, Rhun, there is always a place that is unprotected, where an enemy's sword can find its mark and end your life. A soldier lives by his wits and instinct. Never forget how frail your body is, Rhun, how closely death hovers."
The boy had gone pale, and Maelgwn forgot his next words. He could see the fear in Rhun's smoky blue eyes, and he silently cursed himself for aggravating it. Rhun confronted his father's mortality in every gruesome word. After the loss of his stepmother, it was bound to make him feel alone and desolate.
Maelgwn turned to stare grimly at the richly adorned walls. He was a fool—always hurting those he loved. Why could he not think before he spoke?
He brought his gaze back to Rhun. The boy still watched him, forlorn and uncertain. Maelgwn gestured toward the hearth where the slave had left some heated wine. "Fill my cup, then come and get into bed with me."
"What?" The boy looked surprised.
"You can sleep here tonight."
A delighted smile crept over Rhun's face as he hurried to get the wine. He carried it carefully to Maelgwn, who had finally found the strength to pull up the blankets. Maelgwn drank the warm liquid, then moved aside to let the boy get in bed next to him. Rhun snuggled against him like a puppy. Maelgwn set the cup on the floor beside the bed and sighed. He wanted desperately to be alone, to face the terrible darkness that reached out for him. But he could not deny the boy. He would not fail him as he had Rhiannon. The thought made the pain return, harsh and aching, but dulled slightly by the wine and the feel of the warm, young body next to his.
Chapter 23
"You should rest, my dear. You'll tire your eyes working so long."
Rhiannon looked up from her weaving and shook her head. She would not quit, though her leg ached and her eyes burned from trying to see by the dim firelight. The piece of cloth she had finished was pitifully small. At this rate, it would take many weeks to complete a tunic for Ceinwen and a gown for Arianhrodd. Still, she was grateful for her task; it kept her mind from wandering to forbidden thoughts of her former life.
Arianhrodd moved beside her and examined the finished cloth. "It is very fine," she said. "You are exceptionally skilled." Her gaze turned to the gown Rhiannon had fashioned for herself from the rough blanket. "It's like magic, the things you can create with no more than your hands and a needle and thread."
"Not magic, but years of practice. I have been doing needlework since I was scarcely old enough to hold a spindle."
Rhiannon spoke without thinking, but as she felt Arianhrodd's eyes upon her, she realized how strange her words must seem to these simple fisherfolk. Her upbringing as a princess set her apart in a way that was bound to arouse questions.
Arianhrodd's thoughtful look lasted only a moment, then she turned back to the meal cakes she was preparing. Rhiannon breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the older woman's patience. Rhiannon grew stronger day by day, but her hosts still apparently deemed her too fragile to be upset with questions.
Some time later, Rhiannon finally set down the spindle and rubbed her weary eyes. Arianhrodd came to her with one of the warm meal cakes. "Eat this, and then you must lie down. If you do not rest, you will not have enough strength to attend the ceremony tonight."
Rhiannon looked up in surprise. "The ceremony for the Goddess is tonight?"
"Aye, if you had been well enough to venture out after dark, you would know that the moon waxes full. The Goddess's power is at its peak, and we choose this time to call Her down to us. Do you still want to go? You haven't changed your mind, have you?"
Rhiannon shook her head. "Nay, I want to go. I am very curious about your Goddess." She gave Arianhrodd a sudden, warm smile. "You have been so kind to me. I think I must learn about the deity who inspires such generosity."
Arianhrodd's face grew grave. "The Goddess has put you under Her protection. We, as Her servants, have no choice but to care for Her chosen one."
Rhiannon felt a shiver travel down her spine. There was something unsettling about the way Arianhrodd spoke of the Goddess "choosing" her. Rhiannon did not want to be marked as special. So far in her life, she had found being different a difficult burden to bear.
Anxious thoughts continued to plague her after she lay down, and only the exhaustion of her body finally allowed her to sleep. When she woke, she guessed it must be hours later. Ceinwen and Arianhrodd were sitting around the fire, talking quietly. They both turned when they heard her stirring.
"Are you rested, Rhiannon?" Arianhrodd asked. "Do you feel strong enough to make the journey into the woods?"
"Aye. I didn't delay you, did I?"
Arianhrodd's smile was cryptic. "Of course not. We would not think of going without you."
A little past twilight, they set out for the forest. The barely risen moon floated in and out among the clouds, casting a soft, vague light on the barren coast. Ceinwen and Arianhrodd walked a little ahead of Rhiannon, holding hands and talking in low, expectant voices. Their excited mood made Rhiannon uncomfortable, and as they approached the dark woodlands, a sense of foreboding crept over her. She could not help remembering the things Llewenon had told her about the ancient gods, about their terrible vengeful natures, their demand for blood. Suddenly, she was no longer certain she wanted to see the Ceremony of the Full Moon.
Rhiannon began to lag behind, and Arianhrodd paused and turned back to face her. "What is it? Does your leg trouble you?"
"Aye, a little," she answered. It only pulled slightly when she walked, but she considered that complaining of pain might serve as an excuse for her to return to the hut.
Arianhrodd slowed and put her arm around Rhiannon to help her along. Ceinwen joined her on the other side. Rhiannon felt trapped.
"You're trembling, child. Are you cold?"
Rhiannon shook her head and tried to control her terrifying thoughts. She was being foolish. These kindly people had saved her life and cared for her for weeks. They would not let harm come to her.
"It will seem warmer as we go deeper into the forest," Arianhrodd assured her.
The trees did help block the wind, but the greater shelter did little to quell
Rhiannon's uneasiness. Patches of snow shone beneath the pine trees, and the soft sheen of ice coated the bare branches of the oak and alder. As the moonlight touched the icy surfaces and made them glitter among the shadows, Rhiannon's breathing quickened. It seemed she was back in the darkened grove with Llewenon, staring at the small curved knife gleaming in his hand.
"Rhiannon, what is it?" Arianhrodd and Ceinwen stopped and watched her with concern.
"I... I..." Rhiannon's throat felt dry, her limbs rigid. She tried to break the mood, to focus on Arianhrodd's warm, familiar presence.
"I have to ask you... does the Goddess... does She demand sacrifice?"
"Sacrifice?" Arianhrodd sounded doubtful. "We give the Goddess gifts of food and drink to show that we appreciate her bounty—is that what you mean?"
Rhiannon shook her head. "Blood sacrifice," she whispered.
"You think we shed blood during the ceremony? Of course not. All living things are the Goddess's children. She has no wish to see blood spilled for her sake."
A shaft of moonlight shone down through the trees, and Rhiannon could see Arianhrodd's face quite clearly. The expression on the older woman's face was one of puzzlement.
"I wasn't sure. I've heard stories..."
Arianhrodd put a reassuring hand on her arm. "There are people who practice such things, but they are not worshippers of the Goddess. It's true that one of Her faces is an old crone who brings death, but that is because death is part of life. The trees, the grain, the deer in the forest, the hawk in the air—they all must die. We must die, too, but while we live, the Goddess offers us joy and contentment. She teaches us to celebrate life and find beauty in the world around us." Arianhrodd reached out and hugged Rhiannon tightly. "I promise you there will be nothing to fear."
Rhiannon drew away, ashamed. "I should not have thought such things of you."
Ceinwen spoke, his face grave and troubled. "It is wise to be wary. You do not know us well, and who could blame you for being afraid, especially when you have obviously been ill-used..." The man broke off at Arianhrodd's disapproving look, and Rhiannon guessed that the two had discussed confronting her past and decided against it. Her regret increased. Arianhrodd and Ceinwen were the kindest of souls. What had made her so distrustful and suspicious? Maelgwn—a voice inside her answered.
Dragon's Dream Page 24