"Father!"
"Sire!"
Both had spoken in unison, but Dylan gestured to them to be silent. "Hear me out, my children," he said in kindly tones. "I have but your interests at heart. You must understand that in all of our joined histories there has never been a marriage recorded between the Fair Folk of this forest and the Cymri of Dyfed. There have been lovers amongst our peoples, it is true, but those lovers have always been parted in the end. Alas, the differences that separate us seem great, although in truth they are not. Still, it is something we have not been able to overcome.
"My elder daughter, however, insists that she be your wife, and you have agreed. As her father I am fearful that Rhiannon's heart leads her into a world of darkness rather than one of light. But I must accept her wishes whatever I may feel, for that is our way. Nonetheless, I would protect my child as would any good father. If you consummate your marriage immediately, there is certain to be a child. We of the Fair Folk are noted for our fertility. Once there are children, Rhiannon is bound to you.
"If you are both wise and willing to wait for your pleasure, what do you lose? Even in the Cymri world, a year is not a great deal of time. It will give my daughter a chance to learn your ways. It will give her the opportunity to know for certain if she can really be happy among the Cymri, if the love you have for one another is strong enough to sustain you in the face of opposition; for I know, Pwyll, that there are those within your court who are not happy with this decision you have made to marry my child. A year will give Rhiannon time to win the Cymri of Dyfed over, to learn if your people will really accept her as one of you.
"Rhiannon gives up everything to be your wife. She has willingly forfeited her inheritance as our next queen. She has accepted the loss of her powers. Once she is completely yours, she cannot return to us. I think her sacrifice for the love of you is much too great, Prince of Dyfed. What can you offer her in return that is of equal value? Nothing that I can see. The risk is all hers.
"Therefore I ask that you both agree to these, my terms. Today we will celebrate a marriage between you, but there must be no consummation of that marriage for one year. If in a year you have decided that you cannot be happy together as man and wife, the marriage can be easily dissolved. Rhiannon can return to us, and although she has given up her rights to be my successor, it is within my ability to restore her powers to her. She may wed among our people and be happy, even as you may wed among your people and be happy.
"This pact will be between those of us within this chamber. No others need know, lest they use this knowledge to cause trouble between Pwyll and Rhiannon. Think carefully, my children, before you answer me; but for both your sakes, I beg you agree," Dylan concluded.
"It is ridiculous!" Rhiannon burst out. "Of course we will not agree! How can you even ask such a thing of us, Father?"
"Wait, my love," Pwyll said. "Do not be hasty in your anger, but consider what your father has said. You are very wise, my lord king, and I believe you correct when you say there is little risk for me in this marriage, but risk aplenty for Rhiannon. I would never willingly harm her."
"Do you not think I know that, Pwyll?" Rhiannon cried. "Still, it is not fair what my father asks of us! Nay, he does not even ask, he demands it as the price of his blessing upon our union! Let us leave this place and be wed in your castle this very day. I will give you a son before another year passes!"
Dylan and Cornelia looked to the prince, whose handsome face was serious and his tone grave as he spoke again.
"Rhiannon, I once told you that I did not feel worthy of one such as you. What your father asks of us is not so hard. It is the only way in which I may prove myself fit within my own mind to be your husband. Give me this opportunity, dearling, I beg of you! Let me show your father, your family… nay! Let me show all the Fair Folk that a Cymri prince is indeed a worthy husband for Rhiannon, the most perfect and beautiful princess of the Fair Folk of this forest." He knelt before her and, taking her hand in his, he kissed it tenderly.
Cornelia looked to her husband, and Dylan nodded his approval. They did not need to speak aloud to communicate their thoughts with one another. Pwyll's behavior was more than promising and boded well for the success of this marriage, they thought.
Tears, however, sprang into Rhiannon's violet eyes. They were tears of both distress and frustration. How could she deny this man whom she loved so dearly a chance to prove himself, not just to her own people, but in his own mind as well? She could not. "Stand up, Pwyll," she said, resigned. When he stood by her side she sighed deeply, and then looking at her father, told him, "I will agree to your terms, sire. I think it unfair of you to impose such a stricture upon us, but as my beloved lord has no objections, then I too must concur with your wishes."
Suddenly the mauve mists swirled about them and time dissolved around her, even as it raced by in its eager pursuit of the future.
"One year," she heard Pwyll say, and his breath was warm against her ear. "We have been wed one year this day. The time has flown by so quickly, Rhiannon."
She was in his arms and, looking up at him, she smiled, the year behind them now all quite clear in her mind. "We have met my father's foolish terms," she told him, "and tonight we may, at last, consummate our union. Our people grow quite anxious for an heir. Perhaps when I have given you one they will be less suspicious of me."
He kissed her pale brow. "You fret needlessly, my love. Our people both accept and love you," Pwyll assured his wife.
Rhiannon did not bother to reply, for she knew the truth of the matter, even if Pwyll refused to see it. The Cymri had been nervous and suspicious of her from the moment she arrived at Pwyll's castle. The women of the court were particularly unkind, though never before the prince. Led by Bronwyn of the White Breast, they ignored her when they were alone. They made disparaging remarks about her pale gold hair and very fair skin. They were jealous of her talent at weaving, which far surpassed their own.
"I could weave every bit as well as you," Bronwyn told her one day, "if I had magic in my fingertips as you do."
"There is no magic in what I do," Rhiannon exclaimed to her disbelieving audience. "I left my magic behind when I came to Pwyll as his wife."
"What lies she tells," mocked Bronwyn boldly. "As for Pwyll, he would have done better to wed with me as was intended. At least I should have given him a son by now."
Rhiannon held her peace as the women about her tittered meanly and, then rising, followed Bronwyn from the hall in a show of open rudeness.
"Why do you not tell Pwyll of their disrespect, my princess?" Taran of the Hundred Battles was by her side. His rough features were troubled. From the beginning he had set himself up as her champion.
"What could he do, Taran? Order them to like me? That is something that they must do on their own," Rhiannon told him serenely. "I will not distress Pwyll with this foolish pettiness. Do you think I do not recognize Bronwyn's bitterness for what it really is? I know that she would sit in my place. All her life she has assumed that she would be Pwyll's wife. Her family has encouraged her in this ambition, none of them considering for a mere moment whether that might be what Pwyll wanted also. Well, he did not, and Bronwyn, in love with my husband, or at least as much in love as she can love anyone other than herself, must blame someone for her disappointment. I am the logical choice. The other women, used to following her lead, continue to do so, though none of them dare to show me discourtesy before Pwyll."
"Bronwyn is right about one thing," Taran answered, and Rhiannon knew instantly to what he referred.
"Soon, Taran," she promised him. "Soon I will give our people the news they desire."
And soon, Rhiannon thought from the comfort of her husband's arms, was at last here. In the year she had been Pwyll's wife, she had not been entirely without allies. There were Taran and his friend, Evan ap Rhys, who, unlike the bluff warrior Taran, were a man of learning. It was he who had taught her all he knew of Cymri history, and Rhiannon in return had
shared with him a chronicle of her own people. The simple people of Dyfed held Rhiannon in a great respect, for from the moment of her coming, she had gone gently amongst them as any good chatelaine would. She listened willingly to their problems and concerns, dispensing her own brand of common sense, which was considered magical wisdom by them all. She eased burdens grown too heavy when she could by her personal intervention. She healed through her knowledge of herbs and other medicinal poultices. She was generous with her purse.
All of this had kept her busy, but it had not been enough to make up for the lack of one woman friend with whom to share her secrets and her days. She missed Angharad, for her sister had always been her best friend. She wondered how her family got on, but heard nothing of them. On the day she had ridden from the forest with Pwyll as his wife, she had known that that was how it would always be. She was no longer Rhiannon of the Fair Folk, but neither was she considered a Cymri, because they would not accept her as such. A child. A son and heir for Pwyll, she thought. Perhaps then some of the women would begin to accept her, and the cruel influence wielded by Bronwyn of the White Breast would begin to lessen at last.
Slipping her arms about Pwyll's neck, she said huskily, "Why, my dearest husband, should we wait any longer to culminate our union? The year is over and the terms we agreed upon have been fulfilled. Among my people passion is not a thing confined to the dark hours only."
He laughed happily. "Dearest Rhiannon, my desire for you has only grown over this year, but alas, I am expected at a council meeting this morning. The matter of a trading agreement with the land of Gwynnd. I should, I assure you, far rather linger here. It has not been easy sharing a chamber with you these months past while denying what is natural and should have been between us. This afternoon, however, I shall be free."
"Do you remember the little pond that I showed you in the wood the first day that we spoke?" she asked him.
He nodded slowly.
"Do you think that you could find your way back there this afternoon, Pwyll? I will await you with a picnic feast, and we will allow nature to take its course between us at long last." Rhiannon smiled into his eyes meaningfully.
"I will be there," he told her softly, smiling back into those wonderful violet eyes of hers.
Rhiannon hurried to the kitchens of her castle, and the cook, with a smile, packed the picnic basket himself. He liked his master's wife, who had only recently cured his son of a horrible rash the boy had most of his life. It had left the child withdrawn and afraid. Now his son played happily with other children, and even spent part of his day in the kitchens willingly helping his father.
"There's a newly roasted capon, my lady," the cook told Rhiannon, beaming at her. "And fresh bread, and a good, hard, sharp cheese. Apples too! Crisp and sweet. And a flacon of wine to warm your blood should the afternoon grow cool."
She thanked him, asked after his son, and, satisfied with the answer she received, left the kitchen. The day was so fair that Rhiannon could not bear to remain within Pwyll's castle. Her ladies were in the Great Hall, clustered about Bronwyn like hens, and gossiping as usual. Few would miss her. Taking her basket of food, she hurried out into the sunshine and made her way on foot through the forest to her pond, where she found, to her great surprise, that Angharad was awaiting her.
The two sisters embraced and Angharad said, "I knew that you would come here today. You are ever the romantic, dearest Rhiannon!"
Rhiannon laughed. "How Cymri of me to be so predictable," she said.
"You will never be one of them!" Angharad replied, not without some bitterness. "They do not accept you, sister, nor do they treat you well. I know."
"It has only been a year, Angharad, and I have no child with which to win them over. Before the next year is past that will all change, and so will their attitude toward me," Rhiannon answered. "But tell me of yourself and of the Fair Folk. Are Mother and Father well?"
"I have a son now," Angharad told Rhiannon proudly. "We call him Ren. He will rule our people one day when I decide to put my mantle of office aside. I will be crowned Queen of the Fair Folk on Samhein. Father is well, but he no longer wishes to rule. He and Mother desire to visit the island kingdom from which she came and spend some time with our grandparents."
"Aye, Mother spoke often about returning once we were grown. Our parents are very old now," Rhiannon noted.
"Return with me to our people, Rhiannon!" Angharad said suddenly. "Do not stay amongst the Cymri any longer, I beg you!"
Rhiannon put a comforting arm about her sister, saying as she did so, "No, Angharad, I cannot return with you, but I thank you for the asking. I love Pwyll more, if that is possible, than I did a year ago, despite the fact our marriage has yet to be consummated. And he loves me. Nothing else matters. Not the scorn of Bronwyn of the White Breast, nor the other women of the court. Nothing matters but our love for one another. I have some friends among the court, and the simple people know that I am good. It is enough for now. When I have given Pwyll half-a-dozen children, fine Cymri sons and daughters of which he may boast with pride in the hall among his friends, do you think Bronwyn's bitterness will still have any influence? I do not. If she is foolish enough to wait about for Pwyll to cease loving me, she will grow withered, and old and alone."
Tears of frustration sprang into Angharad's eyes. "I do not care for that Cymri woman, Rhiannon. 'Tis you for whom I fear!"
Rhiannon comforted her sister as best she could, but she knew that Angharad could never really understand how deep her love for Pwyll went. It was unusual for the Fair Folk to love so strongly. Even Rhiannon knew how rare and unique a love it was she felt for Pwyll. "1 will be all right, little sister," she soothed her sibling.
"At least let me help you," begged Angharad. "I will put a spell upon that creature, Bronwyn of the White Breast, that she fall madly in love with the next eligible man to visit Pwyll's court! A foreigner who will take her far away!"
Rhiannon laughed. "Poor man!" she said. "What a dreadful thing to do to some poor unsuspecting soul, Angharad."
"You have lost your ability to see clearly, my sister," Angharad fretted. "Are you really unaware of how wicked a woman this Bronwyn is? She would not hesitate to destroy you if she believed that she might have Pwyll as reward for her deed."
"You will not interfere in my life, Angharad, no matter how righteous you believe your cause," Rhiannon warned her sister. "Promise me that!"
Angharad but her lip with vexation. "I cannot promise you, sister, for I love you too much," she admitted honestly.
"Then at least swear you will let me attempt to remedy my own ills before you interfere. Remember, I am trying very hard to become the perfect Cymri wife in the eyes of all of my husband's people. It does my efforts little good to have you about, weaving spells on my behalf, Angharad, no matter how well-meaning you want to be! Were our positions reversed, I should respect your wishes, even as I expect you to respect mine. You cannot mother the entire world, my sister!"
Angharad sighed. "We will never come to an agreement on this point, Rhiannon," she said sadly, and kissed her sister on the cheek. "I can only hope the Creator will watch over you that you be kept safe from all harm. I must go. Your husband even now is making his way eagerly out of his council chamber that he may join you."
The sisters kissed once more, and then Angharad moved toward the forest, mingling with the afternoon sunlight and melting away even as Rhiannon watched her. When at last she was gone, the princess slipped from her tunic gown and chemisette, leaving them where they fell. Pinning her long golden hair up, she entered the pond, slipping gracefully into the sun-warmed waters of the forest pool just a moment before Pwyll entered the small clearing.
He stood for a long minute, entranced by the sight of her fair, rounded limbs, which until today he had never seen. She smiled and beckoned him to join her. He needed little encouragement and quickly shed his clothing. They met in midpond, feet upon its sandy bottom, the crystal water caressing their naked b
odies. Rhiannon slid her arms about her husband's neck and, bringing her mouth to his, kissed Pwyll with a deep and burning kiss. Her round, full breasts pressed hungrily against his well-furred chest, and so desperate was his long suppressed desire for her that he became instantly aroused. His hands slipped beneath her buttocks and, lifting her up, he impaled her upon his raging manhood. She received him gladly, welcoming him as he plunged deep within her equally eager body.
"Ahhh, Rhi-an-non!" he moaned against her mouth, and again she found herself enveloped by the swirling mists of time and place, and she protested against the intrusion, even as she heard a voice saying,
"The princess has been delivered of a fair son!"
Chapter 8
Rhiannon opened her eyes to find herself lying upon her bed, feeling both tired and happy. Turning her head slightly, she saw sleeping in the cradle next to her bed a fair-haired infant. She felt a kiss upon her opposite cheek and, turning, looked into the eyes of her husband. Pwyll's demeanor was one of pride, and he smiled happily at her.
"He is to be called Anwyl," she told Pwyll.
"Anwyl ap Pwyll," he gently corrected. "Anywl, the son of Pwyll."
"Anwyl, meaning the beloved one," she answered softly. "Anwyl, our beloved son."
"He has your coloring," Pwyll remarked, "but he is sturdily built, as are all the Cymri, dearling. Our people are ecstatic with this next prince of Dyfed. Anwyl was worth the wait."
"I am cold," Rhiannon said. "Come into our bed, Pwyll, and keep me warm."
"I cannot, my love. It is a custom of the Cymri that for the next few months we be kept from one another. It is a good custom, for it will allow you to regain your strength, Rhiannon. I will sleep in the hall with my men while you remain here. You will have Bronwyn and the other women to wait upon your every need. They will also keep watch during the night that no harm comes to either you or to Anwyl," he told her.
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