“It would be easier if you just didn’t give me orders at all. That way I wouldn’t feel I needed to disobey them.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” Llywelyn said, a half-laugh in his voice, though the exasperation was even more evident. “Are we really arguing about whether or not you’re going to obey me? What kind of land are you from? Do women there not obey their men?”
“Not—” I stopped. “Not like this. Besides, I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. I helped, didn’t I?”
Llywelyn flexed his big hands around my shoulders once and then put his nose only inches from mine. “When you disobey me in front of others, you undermine my authority,” he said, articulating each word clearly. “Now, you may not care much about Wales, or its rule, but I care about both very much. It matters little to me if you don’t like it, don’t want to, or think that you shouldn’t have to. But I am the captain of this ship and as long as you are on it, you will obey me.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I said. “I just don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know that anyone has ever used the word obey in my presence before—ever. In my world, some parents feel that their children should obey them, I suppose, but we never talked about it that way in my family, and women—wives, mistresses, whatever—certainly don’t obey their men. We’re equals.”
“I can’t imagine how that might actually work, Marged,” Llywelyn said. “But in any case, it isn’t just women. It’s everyone. Look a little closer and you’ll see it and maybe start to understand. In the meantime . . .” he put an arm around my shoulders pulled me into his arms, “I expect you to try.”
“Yes.”
Llywelyn laughed as he steered me to the door. “See. That wasn’t so hard. Now if you can just tack ‘my lord’ on there at the end, we’ll be all right.”
* * * * *
I tried to pay attention to what Llywelyn was talking about, and he did begin, ever so incrementally, to treat me a little differently—more like a friend and less like a possession. That, I appreciated, but it didn’t make me any more certain of him. If anything, it confused me more.
The thing that irked me most about this new twist was that I really liked Llywelyn—was undoubtedly starry-eyed over him. He was such a contrast to Trev that I was consistently amazed that such a man as Llywelyn could even exist. It wasn’t just that he was a prince, but that men appeared to follow him because of how he was on the inside, rather than who he was on the outside. He didn’t have to make up stuff to prove what kind of man he was. He didn’t have to pretend to be something other than what he was, because he was amazing.
From our conversations, I’d gotten a glimpse of what it must have been like when he was younger—the struggles and the uncertainty and the endless striving for the impossible. He didn’t become the Prince of Wales only because of who his father was. He became the Prince of Wales because he got down in the trenches—whether in warfare or politically—and made himself worthy of it, sometimes through sheer willpower and against incredible odds.
All the while, he carried in his heart his grandfather’s dream of a united Wales, and all the while, every other noble, including his own brothers, were working to undermine his vision because if he became the Prince of Wales, they would have less power than they thought they deserved. Hard to argue with that, actually; hard not to feel sorry for them. In an age when democracy was unheard of, it was tough to be born in a time when only the fittest survived and you weren’t one of them.
Llywelyn’s biggest flaw, it seemed to me, was that pride of his. If anything, he was arrogant to a fault and the people he treated least well were those he deemed to be foolish. I’d seen him publically dress down one of his men and I was glad that when he’d chastised me, at least we’d been alone.
At the same time, he’d saved Humphrey when he didn’t have to. He was playful with Anna, and had taken to carrying her around on his shoulders or playing horse between dinner and bedtime. He was courteous to servants, even, and that was important. I remembered reading somewhere that it was how a man treated his inferiors that was a true measure of him.
Well, everyone is inferior to Llywelyn. Except, perhaps, for me. Even if he doesn’t know it.
* * * * *
“Tell me about your husband,” Llywelyn said. “Was he a good man?”
We were riding at the head of Llywelyn’s host of men, finally heading towards Castell y Bere, his primary castle in south Gwynedd, built by his grandfather as many of his castles had been.
“No,” I said. “He wasn’t.”
“Why did your father choose him, then? Or is this another matter where you weren’t required to obey, hmmm?”
I refused to rise to the bait. “My father died when I was seventeen so he wasn’t there to help me choose.”
Llywelyn’s expression turned grave. “I’m sorry. I was sixteen when my father died.” He paused. “We were not close.”
“I gathered that,” I said. “I loved my father. I think I’m only now recovering from his death, three years on.”
“But you chose a husband of whom he wouldn’t have approved.”
I ducked my head. I didn’t know why he was pushing this line of questioning, and felt the pressure of a correct response. “I went a little crazy, I think, when my father died. I made some poor choices.”
“You had no uncle to step in? No brother?”
“Where I grew up, women choose their own husbands.”
“Humph. And look where it got you. Your husband beat you, didn’t he?” Llywelyn asked, sending the conversation into a new, and even more unwelcome, direction.
I turned to face him, though for once he wasn’t looking at me.
“Yes.”
“And Anna?”
“I left him because of her,” I said.
Llywelyn grunted again at that and released some of the tension in his shoulders. “The man was a fool to treat you thus,” he said, finally looking at me. “In Wales, under the law of Hywel Dda, a husband may beat his wife for laying with another man, for mistreating his possessions, or for maligning him in public.”
“I didn’t do any of those things. What happens to wives like me?”
“They can ask for a divorce,” Llywelyn said.
“Well I was working on that when he died,” I said.
“Just how did he die? In battle?”
“Battles are few and far between in Radnor,” I said. “No, he was dying of a disease we couldn’t cure and was drinking too much alcohol at the pain of it. He drove his vehicle into a tree.”
“Madam.”
I started and turned to find Humphrey moving his horse closer.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your last words,” Humphrey said. “My nanny died of such a disease. It’s a terrible end and I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Humphrey.” I glanced at Llywelyn and shared a rueful look with him. We needed to be more careful about our conversations if there was a chance that someone else could overhear. We hadn’t said anything too terrible or obviously out of place, but I was so comfortable talking with Llywelyn now, I could easily have done so.
It was fewer than twenty miles from the hunting lodge to Castell y Bere. The road wasn’t as well maintained in this section as nearer to Criccieth, but even so, we made good time. By noon, we approached a significant river and could see Castell y Bere in the distance, standing guard over its valley. Whether through a trick of the light, or just because the sun chose that moment to come out from behind a cloud, it seemed to be shining above us, the sun reflecting off the whitewashed stones.
“A beacon, isn’t it?” Llywelyn said. “Guiding us home.”
Clearly, the other men thought so too because our pace quickened and we came in a rush to the river’s bank. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a ford.
“It’s in flood, my lord!” Hywel shouted over the roar of the water.
“If I’d not seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed the sno
w could melt so quickly,” Humphrey said. “It’s become so warm, I can hardly believe we’re only a week into February.”
“What are we going to do?” I said.
Humphrey shrugged, while Llywelyn pondered the river. I wasn’t at all happy at the idea of crossing it on the back of a horse, especially not with Anna on my lap.
“There’s really a ford here?” Humphrey said.
Goronwy turned to glare at him. “You will not take advantage of the generosity of my lord to work against him.”
“What was that?” I said.
Humphrey shook his head. “The location of fords are open secrets among the common folk, but to betray such knowledge to an enemy is worthy of death. Lord Goronwy doesn’t care for the fact that I will know the location of this ford. It’s too close to the castle for comfort.”
One of Llywelyn’s men had dismounted to probe the water with a stick. He took a step, determined how deep the next step was, and then hopped forward through the water as he found a path. He reached the other side without mishap. “It’s five feet deep at the most, my lord,” he called to Llywelyn across the water.
“We will cross,” Llywelyn said. “Castell y Bere isn’t far and it’s worth a little wet and cold to reach it today.”
Llywelyn sent two men into the water together. Their horses didn’t even balk, which surprised me, but they were extremely well-trained. The men had reached the middle of the river when one of the horses suddenly sank another foot into the water.
“Careful!” Hywel shouted.
“I’m all right!” The man said, and his horse managed to right itself on the next step.
Goronwy came back to me. “I’ll take Anna,” he said. “You may need both hands on the reins.”
“Okay,” I said, and passed her over, glad she was content with the arrangement. She liked Goronwy.
Goronwy directed his horse into water, with two men-at-arms on either side. Anna’s head swiveled right and left, as curious as always about what was going on around her. All three horses avoided the potholes in the ford and soon they were at the opposite bank and trotting up and out of the river. Anna didn’t even get wet. Goronwy turned back to the river and Anna waved to me from her seat on his lap.
I still didn’t want to cross, balked at it far more than any horse, but then Humphrey pulled up beside me. “We’ll go together. I’ll cross downstream from you, so that if you fall, I can catch you.”
I thought that was very noble of him, and with no more excuse for cowardice, urged my mare into the river. I pulled my knees higher, not wanting to get my feet wet. The water quickly rose almost to his withers. We’d taken care to avoid the hole that the first rider had hit, but all the same, half-way across, my luck failed. Unfortunately, Humphrey’s did too. At the same instant, our horses’ right forefeet sank. I fell sideways, clutching at the reins and trying to keep my seat. I tried to grab the mane of Humphrey’s horse, but his horse had overbalanced more than mine and foundered.
We went into the water together and it was so cold my heart froze in my chest. I came up sputtering.
“My lady!” Humphrey reached for me but within half a second, he’d sailed three feet further downstream from me. Voices behind us at the ford rang out above the roar of the rushing river, but it took only another second for both of us to plunge out of reach.
“Llywelyn!” I caught a glimpse of him, urging his horse into the water after us, and a flash of Goronwy clutching Anna to him before I spun around a bend and lost sight of anyone but Humphrey.
The rough river swamped me. I swallowed a gulp of water, choking on it as it went down. I wasn’t a strong swimmer under the best of circumstances, and the heavy cloak, petticoats, and boots I wore weighed me down and made it hard for me to keep my head above water. I pulled up my knees to try to work my boots from my feet, but my fingers were already so stiff from the icy water they didn’t want to move.
I manage to kick the boots off, however, as well as unpin the broach that held the cloak around my neck. Further on, Humphrey fought the force of the water, trying to swim toward me, but in vain. The river swept us downstream and further apart with every second that passed. Then, our river met another and spun us into a larger channel twice as big as the first. Debris sailed past me and I tried to grab onto something that would keep me afloat.
I was fighting my way to the bank when Humphrey cursed. He hung in the water twenty yards ahead of me and though I couldn’t see what he’d hit, it was big enough to hold him steady in midstream. In the half a second I had to think about it, I braced myself for the impact.
A thick branch projected out from the northern bank and I slammed into it further into the stream than Humphrey. Much of the year, it might have hung above the waterline, but with the heavy rains and flooding, the river had risen to meet it. Humphrey and I hung on, bent at the waist and exhausted, with the water flowing over and around us, undeterred. The impact had forced the air from my lungs and I struggled and spit, glad to have stopped moving but aching from the cold and the effort of holding on.
Humphrey grabbed my arm. “This way. We have to get you out of the water.” He tugged on my arm to get me moving.
Slowly we edged our way along the log to the northern bank of the river. Humphrey grasped a low-hanging tree branch and pulled himself out of the water. He fell forward on his hands and knees on the muddy bank in relief. I wasn’t far behind him, standing to the waist in the swirling river, but was still having trouble moving my legs with my dress wrapped around my ankles.
“My lord,” Humphrey said and coughed. “Help her.”
I looked up to see Llywelyn’s brother, Dafydd, standing on the log beside me. He hung onto a branch above him to keep himself upright, and reached with the other hand towards me. And grinned.
I stared at Dafydd—and at his hand, which he held out to me—and refused it. I turned away, thinking that throwing myself back into the water was a better option than accepting rescue from him. Humphrey, not understanding my sudden fear, lunged back to me and caught my arm before I could slip away. Dafydd, in turn, grasped me around the waist and heaved me onto the bank.
“My lady!” Humphrey said, his breath coming in gasps, still thinking that Dafydd had saved us. “Are you all right?”
I lifted my eyes to his and he closed his mouth. I don’t know what he saw in my eyes that silenced him. I only know that I shivered as much from fear as from the cold of the river. I was afraid of Dafydd—of what he might do out of mischief and amorality. Though it wasn’t for myself that I feared so much as for Anna, who couldn’t possibly understand where I was, except that I wasn’t with her.
Dafydd, still grinning, scooped me off the bank and tossed me onto his horse. Again, it appeared that my sole function these days was to act as a dead weight or useless object for men to throw this way and that and use as they pleased. He swung onto his horse behind me, leaving Humphrey on his knees in the muddy leaves and dirt beside the river. Humphrey scrambled to his feet but we were away before he could counter Dafydd.
“Did you miss me?” Dafydd said, his voice an erotic whisper in my ear.
I shuddered. Unfortunately, he interpreted the motion as a request for warmth. He more snuggly wrapped his cloak around me and pulled me to his chest.
“Please let me go. I don’t want to be with you.”
“You will,” Dafydd said, all confidence.
I didn’t want to mention Anna, afraid that he would use her in some way against me later. I refused to speak to him and the hour’s ride to the sea passed in a blur of cold and fear, and growing numbness, both physically and mentally. With the sight of the beach, however, the horror came back in full force. Boats had been pulled onto the shore and we made for them.
“You see,” Dafydd said. “We came prepared.”
“You couldn’t have planned this,” I said. “You couldn’t have known I would fall at the ford.”
“It wasn’t you that I was prepared for,” Dafydd said. “I confess
I’d put you from my mind entirely. Owain wanted to rescue Humphrey, but I know that tight-assed youth better than he does and told him he wouldn’t come, not even if we asked. It was Llywelyn we wanted.”
“You think you could have taken him?” I said. “How?”
Dafydd smirked. “Never you mind.”
He dismounted and pulled me from my seat on the horse. I fell into his arms, wobbly again, but in that instant, I knew I couldn’t go quietly with him. My feeble attempt at gaining an advantage over Llywelyn that first night in Wales had been a failure, but I told myself I wouldn’t enter that boat with Dafydd under any circumstances.
I twisted out of Dafydd’s arms and the second my feet hit the sand, I ran. The long emersion in the cold water, however, coupled by the hour-long ride on the back of a horse, had tightened my muscles so that they refused to move like I wanted them to. I stumbled along the shore, moving as fast as I could but not fast enough.
“Get her!” Dafydd said.
I looked back. The rider Dafydd had directed to chase me gained on me with every thud of his horse’s hooves. I swerved up the beach, cursing myself for running in a straight line like the idiots always did in movies, but I’d come to my senses too late. The rider leaned down, grasped me around the waist, and lifted me off my feet. He carried me back to Dafydd like the sack of potatoes I’d become (or turnips, here, since they didn’t have potatoes yet), and dumped me into one of the boats.
“Swine!”
Dafydd laughed. He actually laughed.
“I love a woman with some spirit in her,” he said.
Then he tugged at my arm and pulled me onto a bench away from the feet of the oarsmen on either side of me. I sagged against him, purposefully giving him the impression that I’d given up, but he took it wrong and grabbed my chin. He kissed me and I let him, recoiling inside all the while.
Smirking, he released me. My shudder should have been apparent to the blindest man but he didn’t see it.
Daughter of Time: A Time Travel Romance Page 12