“I don’t know that I am such a fine lady. I’m sure you are very busy without having to worry about me.”
“Never mind,” Angharad said, waving her hand. “It’s a pleasure to get out of the kitchen.”
She tsk’ed over me, looking me up and down, and then noticed Anna. I’d allowed her to wander off with a maid earlier, but she’d come back, checking in with me as she always did, as if we shared an invisible cord that reeled her in every once in a while.
“What a beautiful child!” Angharad said. She came closer as Anna, who was standing on the bed and holding onto my arm, peered around me. “What is your name?”
“Anna dw i,” Anna said.
I gaped at my daughter.
“She speaks very well,” Angharad said, obviously pleased. “I’d heard that she didn’t have any Welsh; that you spoke only the French language, but it’s not true. She’s very small to be speaking at all.”
“Anna has just spoken her first words in Welsh.” I said.
“Well, good for her,” Angharad said.
“I speak only a little Welsh,” I added, “though I understand more than I speak, provided you talk slowly.”
“I will do my best,” Angharad said, speaking much more slowly—over-exaggerating now, which wasn’t really what I wanted either.
We muddled through, however and the rest of the morning was taken up with dressing and caring for Anna, eating breakfast, and a little exploration of the grounds. It had turned colder in the night and I didn’t want to spend too much time out of doors without something more substantial for warmth. Like a parka.
The manor house was a two-story affair, surrounded by a wooden palisade. Goronwy said that it wouldn’t stand up to a concerted assault, but would protect us for the time it took to organize a defense and give us walls for archers to hide behind. I didn’t enter the long, low building that was the stables; Goronwy asked us to avoid it as he was keeping a prisoner, Dai, inside, though he’d allowed Humphrey de Bohun, as a nobleman, out. Anna and I were standing on the steps to the manor, in fact, when Llywelyn and Humphrey walked down them to meet Hywel, who led Dai and a horse across the courtyard, ready for release. At Llywelyn’s nod, Hywel stepped behind Dai and severed his bonds with his belt knife.
“You understand the importance of your charge?” Humphrey said.
“I’m a free man of Wales and no servant of yours,” Dai said, in Welsh, the sneer evident in his voice and on his face. “I ride with Lord Owain of Powys, not with English bastards.”
Humphrey stepped towards him, his face flushed, but before he could get farther, Hywel had the man up against the stone wall of the manor, moving so fast it had barely registered that he’d moved at all.
“Do you know who this is?” He tipped his head to Llywelyn. His voice was low and urgent, but carried no anger, just a dark intent that any fool should recognize.
“The Usur—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Hywel cut him off with a shake, choking the words out of him. He tightened his grip on Dai’s tunic and knocked his head against the stones. Dai coughed and sputtered—and when he quieted, Hywel spoke again, his teeth gritted, every ounce of power in his large frame directed at overpowering the man.
“He is the Prince of Wales, and Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn’s liege lord,” Hywel said. “You do understand what that means?”
Dai didn’t answer, trying to get his breath through the constriction around his throat.
Hywel didn’t seem to expect a response and answered for him. “It means that you obey him or so help me God I will hunt you down and personally see that your head is removed from your body. Is that clear?”
The man coughed again and nodded. Hywel released him and stepped back. Dai slumped to his knees, his hands around his neck, pulling at his collar to help him breathe.
“Apologize,” Hywel said. He kicked Dai in the thigh. Dai straightened, using the wall for support and looking a little green, he levered himself to his feet.
“My lords Llywelyn, Humphrey,” the man bowed. “I beg your forgiveness. I am prepared to carry your message if you would be so good as to give it to me.”
Llywelyn, who’d been watching the proceedings with an impassive expression, didn’t answer. It was Goronwy who spoke.
“Tell Lord Bohun that Prince Llywelyn sends his greetings and wishes to discuss with his lordship his grandson’s activities in Wales. You are to assure the Earl that Humphrey is unharmed and being treated as befits his station.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man said, bowing again. His held his shoulders stiff and limped to his horse. He scrambled onto it while we watched, nobody making a move to assist him.
“See that you complete your charge,” Hywel said.
Dai saluted, turned his horse’s head, and rode out the gate of the manor.
“See that he takes the road to England,” Llywelyn said to three of his men who’d sat in the saddle, waiting for Dai to mount.
They obeyed and Anna and I watched them go, still silent.
Llywelyn put a hand on my shoulder before turning back inside. “You are well?”
“Yes, Llywelyn,” I said.
“Good. If you need anything, let me know.”
“I will.”
What I didn’t immediately say was that I didn’t feel I’d needed to see that little drama in the courtyard. Anna really hadn’t needed to see it. I didn’t tell him that what I needed was a shower, which he couldn’t help me with, or at a minimum, a good book to read. I was really glad I’d told him I was from the future, though. My heart had been in my mouth the whole time, but it cleared the air between us. He might not believe me—or might not be able to believe me, more to the point—but I wasn’t keeping secrets from him or living a lie, and I could live with that.
“And the ransom?” Humphrey said, matching Llywelyn stride for stride as they took the stairs two at a time back up to the manor house. “What are you asking in exchange for me?”
“I’m leaving that up to your grandfather,” Llywelyn said. “We will see what he feels you’re worth.”
Humphrey’s face fell. It was a scary thought—to assert a monetary or territorial value on a person, and have that person know what it was. Goronwy stayed behind a moment with Anna and me. Anna had found a stick and to draw with in the dirt.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said.
“Dai was going to say ‘Usurper’,” I said. “What did he mean by that?”
Goronwy’s mouth tightened. “Owain and his father are Prince Dafydd’s allies. They believe Prince Llywelyn has denied his brothers their proper place as rulers of Wales. Owain, at least, is Prince Llywelyn’s elder brother and feels he should have primacy.”
“I did realize that,” I said. “But—”
Goronwy didn’t let me finish. “It might be better if you stayed inside. It’s Boots’ job to see to the obedience of the men—whether they are his own men-at-arms or another’s.”
“I understand,” I said, and I guessed I did. To obey one’s superior, to place oneself in line in the social strata, was the natural order of things in the thirteenth century. I wasn’t too sure about it for myself, however, obedience never having been my strong suit, as my relationship with Trev could attest.
“We’ll be here a few days,” Goronwy said. “The weather is due to turn colder.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
Goronwy waited, watching me. At first I didn’t know what he was waiting for, and then I realized he meant I was to start obeying now.
I picked up Anna and we went inside. But there wasn’t anything to do. Within a few hours boredom set in to the point that my back teeth ached with it. My Welsh wasn’t as good as Angharad seemed to think, especially in the hall when it was crowded with people and the general noise drowned out individual sounds. During daylight hours, few men stayed there, as they rode on patrol (or hunted to feed us) most of the day and returned, sweaty and hungry as dusk fell. They’d not found a
ny sign of Humphrey’s former companions, nor any clue as to what had happened at the village.
“Or what has become of Owain,” Goronwy said over dinner. “The man is a well-heeled snake, much like his father.”
“No,” Llywelyn said, “his father is much more predictable. He wants land and power and fights me for it. Owain appears to do what he does out of spite.”
“Or arrogance,” said Hywel.
“And leaves others to pay the price,” Goronwy said, with a glance at Humphrey. They’d been speaking in Welsh and Humphrey gave no indication that he could understand. Like me, however, he probably understood more than he could speak.
“I will speak to Owain’s father of it the next time I see him,” Llywelyn said, “but that might not be for some time.”
“He can come to Brecon,” Goronwy said. “He will hate the time spent away from his lands and view it wasted, but it will do him well to see you exert your authority in a tangible way.”
“What Gruffydd needs to do is keep a tighter rein on his rule—and on his heir, if he expects to keep hold of what he has,” Llywelyn said.
I was pretty sure that Gruffydd wouldn’t be too pleased to hear that either.
* * * * *
The days passed, one much the same as the next, which was kind of remarkable in itself, given where and with whom I was. It wasn’t that life was the same as at home—not in the slightest—but Anna and I fell into a routine, just as we had at home: get up, dress, eat, play with a toy or two, eat again, sleep. The worst thing was that I had no books to read, either to her or for me, and I was going to have to do something about that if we stayed here much longer.
Perhaps of most immediate concern to me—and the most disconcerting—was that Llywelyn and I slept together every night and spoke of the events of the day, but he never touched me, not even a repeat of that fierce kiss from the first morning at Criccieth. I hadn’t a clue why, didn’t dare ask, and was reluctant to admit to myself, even for one second, that I wanted him to kiss me. He was just so . . . damn compelling, and I found myself watching him during the day, waiting for him to come to bed before I myself could sleep, and measuring the tempo of the day by what he was doing.
Given the disconnect between my twentieth century reality and his thirteenth century life, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was happening between him and me; which is why Angharad’s comments the morning of the fourth day at the manor proved so enlightening.
“You’ve started your courses, then,” Angharad said.
“Excuse me?” I asked, and then twisted around. She showed me the blood on my nightgown.
“Oh,” I said, nonplussed.
“I’ll inform the Prince. Where are your cloths?”
My what? You’ll do what? “You’re going to tell Llywelyn?”
Angharad gave me a look that clearly said how can you be so clueless? “He has to know,” she said.
“Why?”
Angharad let out a forceful burst of air that told me she didn’t want to explain this. Since I wasn’t getting it, I couldn’t help her. Finally, she took the plunge. “He must know if any child you carry is his.”
I gaped at her, at a loss for words. Llywelyn wasn’t being thoughtful or romantic. He hadn’t touched me because he was worried I could be pregnant by someone else and pass the child off as his. The color rose in my face, along with my temper and I was marshalling some kind of horrified response when Angharad cut into my thoughts to explain further and make me reconsider.
“The Prince has no children, you see,” she said.
“No sons, you mean,” I said, getting a grip on reason. “No heir.”
“No,” Angharad said. “He has no children at all. No one knows why. The physicians cannot provide an answer for him. The people whisper that it is a curse against him; that he is bewitched, or he has a traitor among his household who poisons the womb of all the women who’ve lain with him.”
Angharad nodded, almost talking to herself rather than to me. “That’s why he hasn’t married, and why the women have become fewer and far between in recent years. Each one must belong to him alone, so that any child she bears must be conclusively his, or no one will believe it. His childlessness has gone on too long and is known by too many people. Even King Henry has been known to mention it, thankful as he is for his own son, Edward.”
“Llywelyn hasn’t said anything to me . . .” I stopped again, my brain refusing to function properly.
Angharad patted my hand. “You’re so fortunate,” she said. “Perhaps you will be the lucky one.”
Holy crap! And then I thought again and realized that he assumed I knew all about this. Just like he assumed I wouldn’t fear him when he told me at Criccieth that he was the Prince of Wales. He was a forty year old Prince who had no heir, and the entire world mocked him for it.
Yet I knew, and now he knew because I’d told him, that he did have at least one child with a wife he had yet to find. I didn’t know how that changed anything, but maybe it would relieve some of the pressure on him to produce a child now. Of course, the child was a girl and his wife died giving birth to her. I thought back to our conversation. Yeah, I’d mentioned that.
I had less than a week to figure out what I was going to do about this, if anything, and how I was going to respond to Llywelyn, when and if he asked for more from me than friendship. I gazed at the wall above Angharad’s head as she got my clothes together. Going home never seemed less possible and more necessary.
We’d awoken that morning to snow—a lot of it—and only a handful of men stood sentry or left the gatehouse. It wasn’t so cold in our bedroom I could see my breath, but these rooms were hard to heat in winter, and unless you were standing right next to the fire, they were often chilly. Since Llywelyn’s bedrooms were always large, the fireplace tended to do a poor job.
Nobody was allowed to go anywhere and Llywelyn’s questions about the ambush remained unanswered. From what I gathered, the assumption was that if we couldn’t see anything in this weather, nobody else could either. But by that afternoon, I was thoroughly sick of myself and everyone else.
Anna and I hid in a corner of the great hall, Anna playing with a doll Angharad had given her. I was beginning to think that learning to sew might be a viable option—appalling notion that it was. To stave off such dreadful thoughts, I began to look through the wooden boxes that were positioned along the wall opposite the fireplace.
Most were full of clothing and blankets but I opened one to find a set of musical instruments, which included a simple flute, a tambourine, a small drum, and, unbelievably, a six-string guitar. Learning guitar had been my small musical defiance when every other girl played the flute or the clarinet, and my eventual answer to the symphonic hell that was middle school band. I hadn’t know they had guitars in the Middle Ages.
I pulled it out and one of the strings twanged. Instantly, the hall fell into such a complete silence, you’d have thought they’d never heard an instrument before. I straightened and found every face turned towards me, looking expectant.
Goronwy spoke from his seat by the fire. “Can you play that?”
“I . . . I think so,” I said. “It needs tuning.”
“We’ll wait,” he said.
Huh. My fingers slipped on the strings, sweaty from nerves. Thankfully for me, since there was no way I’d have been comfortable playing with him there, Llywelyn was absent, probably laboring in his office. Goronwy brought a stool for me to sit on and I plucked through the strings. They hadn’t been tuned to the standard ‘E A D G B E,’ but I fiddled with them a bit and finally got them right. It seemed likely that my playing would be totally different from what the men were used to, but I didn’t actually know. The man-at-arms who doubled as a bard had died at the Gap and except for some drunken bellowing after dinner, no one had sung since we’d been at the manor.
As I tuned the guitar, my stomach roiled because every one the songs I could think of was in English—or rather, American.
Plus, I didn’t think R.E.M. was going to go over well with this crowd.
I met Goronwy’s eyes. “Are you sure about this?” I said, my voice low. The men had returned to their conversations while I tuned the guitar, but I could feel their glances as they waited for me to get ready.
He nodded. “Please play for us,” he said. “We will enjoy whatever you feel like singing. Take your time.”
I allowed myself a relaxing breath and thought again. I did know some folk music; maybe a few simple songs would do to start. It only took one strum for the hall to quiet, and another for everyone’s heads to turn to me again. From the interest in the men’s faces, I knew I had my audience.
“Three score and ten, boys and men were lost from Grimsby Town . . .”
Since the Welsh were morbid a lot of the time, I hoped an English sailing song was appropriate and the sentiment carried, even if nobody but me understood the lyrics and it had been written six hundred years from now. With the second time through the chorus, the men began to nod their heads and keep time with their feet. When I finished that song, I went on to a jig, a ballad, two drinking songs and a couple of anti-English Irish folk songs which everyone would have appreciated if they’d understood the words. I was willing to bet there were plenty of anti-English Welsh folk songs I could learn to play later.
A servant brought me a cup of water and I stopped playing to drink it—and to give myself time to come up with something else.
“More!” Someone at one of the tables shouted, followed by a chorus from several others and some nodding of heads.
I looked over the rim of the cup at Goronwy, who now had Anna on his lap with a rattle she’d been shaking to an approximation of the beat.
“Please,” Goronwy said.
“Okay,” I said. “Tell me when to stop.”
“We won’t,” he said. But he was smiling when he said it.
I strummed another chord, and with it, remembered that I did know one Welsh ballad. I had no idea what the words actually meant, but Mom was always humming it. I gave Goronwy an assessing look, had a moment’s panic that the song had something to do with Llywelyn’s death, and launched into it:
Daughter of Time: A Time Travel Romance Page 10