by Shari Anton
That might be so, if the depth of Connor’s affection were not now suspect. She hadn’t seen Connor since she was five and had always thought of him as her kindly Welsh uncle. He might still be a kind man, but now, as head of her mother’s family, he also wanted something from his youngest niece. That shouldn’t come as such a shock. That it did caused her further distress.
“What difference, pray tell?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I know the politics of it. King Stephen negotiates my marriage with a Welshman who is apparently inclined to become his ally. Connor wishes me to marry a man who will not be swayed to allegiance with an English king. Either way, I am a means to their selfish ends, and I am not pleased! Why did you not tell me all of this before?”
“Would it have mattered?”
The dolt! Of course his deception mattered!
“Aye! Had you told me of Connor’s intentions in the receiving chamber of Bledloe Abbey, I would have insisted you leave.”
“Would you? I believe you might have asked me to play for Mother Abbess, no matter our differences.”
Nicole couldn’t quite be sorry she’d done so. Rhodri’s music had made Mother Abbess happy in those last few hours of her life. And, to be honest, she hadn’t truly thought of only the nun when she’d asked Rhodri to play at the deathbed.
“You spoke of refuge, and I wanted time to decide if I had the right or desire to accept the offer. Had you not lied, no decision needed to be made, and therefore I would not have asked you to play for Mother Abbess, so you would not have been in the chapel when Aubrey de Vere arrived and, to my mind, abused the power of his earldom.”
“I told you no lies, Nicole, and think you I would have abandoned my quest so quickly?”
Not lied? Perhaps not by word, but certainly by deed!
“Certes, you did not tell me the whole truth! Sweet mercy, I should have allowed Sister Claire to toss you out the gate. That would have ended your quest.”
He shook his head in emphatic disagreement. “Connor gave me the task of bringing you to Wales. If you did not agree to come willingly, I would have found a way to kidnap you.”
“Cur! Think you I would not have clawed your eyes out had you made such a dishonorable, loathsome attempt? You allowed me to believe you acted in my best interests when all you sought was to take me from one place of captivity to another. Blessed be, I should have let you rot in the tower!”
His tolerance began to fray. “Better Wales than England. Better Connor than Stephen. Even Alberic agrees, or he would not have allowed you out of his sight. Damnation, woman! Alberic goes so far as to insist you have the right to agree wholeheartedly to any marriage Connor might arrange! Under threat of retribution, no less. Surely you must believe Alberic serves your interests!”
Oh, now, there was one more male she would dearly love to take to task. After he’d learned how Rhodri had deceived her, how could Alberic have agreed to let Rhodri take her to Wales? True, he’d given the order that she wasn’t to be forced into marriage, but what good the order of a Norman baron to a Welsh chieftain when the chieftain owed no allegiance to the baron?
Alberic couldn’t possibly believe kin ties would bind Connor. Kin strife ran further amok in Wales than in England, giving the Welsh a reputation as savages. The uncle who’d bounced her on his knee had shown her every kindness during her only visit to Glenvair, but she didn’t doubt he could be as ruthless as the rest of his countrymen.
“Do you truly believe Alberic would risk invading Wales? Nonsense! He has no power over Connor, so he cannot enforce his order.”
Rhodri waved the stick, the glowing tip making oddly shaped circles in the air. “Nay, he would not invade Wales, but do not take Alberic or Darian too lightly. Norman barons and Flemish mercenaries are dangerous men, and these two would surely make Connor suffer, I have no doubt.”
Aye, her brothers-by-marriage could also be ruthless when provoked, but by the time they learned of her plight, ’twould be far too late for them to save her.
“No doubt, but by the time they hunt down Connor, I shall be wed, the deed done, my life… destroyed.”
Rhodri tossed the stick in the fire. “I will not allow that to happen. Connor will abide by Alberic’s wishes, my word on it.”
“You will forgive me if I am reluctant to trust your word!”
His ire rose, his mouth tightening and nostrils flaring before he brought his temper under control.
“Believe as you will, but my word is good. After you have thought this through, you will acknowledge the wisdom of it for all concerned, even you.”
Then he got up and strode toward the gelding Alberic had given him for their use, which would make the journey to Glenvair shorter and less strenuous. But her adventure now lay in shattered ruins, the pleasure of it fading away in the light of a harsh truth.
Dispirited, and deprived of a close target at which to fling barbs, Nicole silently brooded over her plight.
The wretch! She’d trusted Rhodri and he’d betrayed her. He’d spoken of refuge, which she’d apparently mistaken for sanctuary. Damnation, she should have realized Connor had sent Rhodri to fetch her for a reason other than for the love of a niece he hadn’t seen in ten and three years.
What a dolt she’d been!
Both King Stephen and Connor wanted her to marry a Welshman. They just had different sorts of men in mind. Nicole wanted no part of either man’s plans but didn’t see how she could avoid becoming embroiled, especially since Connor now had Alberic’s blessing to find her a husband.
She stared into the fire, the flames low now with sunset coming on, knowing she had little choice but to go on. Oh, she could probably steal the horse and make for Camelen, but she was wise enough to know that a woman traveling alone was vulnerable to more hazards than she cared to contemplate.
Besides, as much as she now wanted to be rid of Rhodri, she truly didn’t want to face Alberic anytime soon. Were she seething angry at Alberic, she might not be able to hold William’s spirit at bay, and she wasn’t about to risk the possibility of her brother gaining a dram of power over her.
Hellfire, but she detested the authority men had over women, to decide their fates and expect docile obedience. But that was the way of the world. And while she was neither meek nor fearful of speaking her mind, hadn’t she always known that someday some man would decide her fate? ’Twas only a matter of which man.
Harp music wafted across the campsite, and Nicole cast an irritated glance in the direction of the source, to no avail, because Rhodri paid her no heed.
Heaven forefend, if the wretched bard thought a lilting song or two would soothe her, he was mistaken!
She refused to be comforted by either the harp’s song or Rhodri’s oath to ensure Connor didn’t marry her off without her wholehearted consent. She dared not trust Rhodri’s word or risk suffering heartbreak once more.
She dared not consider how she’d misjudged him, seeing too many of his good qualities and ignoring his faults. She’d allowed a skilled bard’s tongue to mislead her into believing him an honorable man. But worse, she’d allowed a handsome face and smoldering lust to blind her common sense.
Well, now her eyes were open, and she vowed there’d be no more coupling! No more nights cuddled beside Rhodri’s heated body after vigorous lovemaking.
She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms tight around them, resolved to hold on to her anger. To let it loose was to invite a weakening she couldn’t afford.
If she softened, she might contemplate the delights Rhodri had shown her while generously ushering her into her full womanhood. To remember his stirring kisses, gentle touches, and the splendor of his possession would be imprudent.
To admit that during last night’s tumble in the shelter, she feared she’d surrendered not only her body but also her heart wouldn’t be wise. Unwittingly giving one’s heart to a man who didn’t want it was the most foolish thing a woman could do, and Rhodri’s rebuff was simply more than she could bear without
falling apart.
Resolute, Nicole stared into the dying fire, refusing to shatter. From somewhere within, she would find the strength to wrest back her heart and the courage to face whatever awaited her at Glenvair.
She just wished she knew where that somewhere was.
They’d passed through Bristol, giving Nicole a chance to see the town and mighty castle from which Robert, earl of Gloucester, had directed Empress Maud’s rebel army and which her father had so highly praised. They’d crossed the river Severn on a ferry, without incident, landing at Cas Gwent.
They were so very close to Wales, but not yet there.
Rhodri had surprised her when he announced he wished to visit a friend at Tintern Abbey, explaining that if there was news to be had of important recent events in either England or Wales, the monks of Tintern would surely have knowledge of it.
So they’d cautiously passed under the shadow of Chepstow Castle, one of the most imposing of England’s strongholds in the marches, and made their way up the steep-sided valley of the Wye River.
Within Tintern Abbey’s sparsely furnished but neat guest house, Nicole nervously paced while waiting for one of the white-robed Cistercian monks to fetch Rhodri’s friend Kian.
“Troublesome spirits?” Rhodri asked.
Since her brother’s attack on her senses at the inn, Rhodri had asked her the same question whenever they’d passed a graveyard. She hadn’t seen a graveyard on their arrival at Tintern, but surely there must be one on the abbey grounds.
“Nay, the monks rest in peace.”
“Then why so restless?”
’Struth, she should feel peaceful within the walls of the remote religious house surrounded by hills and woodland. And while she missed Mother Abbess and one or two of the nuns, she realized she hadn’t missed Bledloe Abbey overmuch in many a day. She no longer missed the security of the cloister or the strict regulation of her life.
To think, she’d once been disconcerted because of the disruption to the pattern of her days. No longer.
Freedom had its challenges, but also its delights, and she mourned that she would likely lose her freedom again all too soon. Perhaps not immediately upon reaching Glenvair, but surely—later.
“Tintern brings to mind Bledloe. By the saints, one would think both abbeys were built from the same master builder’s pattern. ’Tis disconcerting. Do you intend to beg hospitality for the night?”
“Abbot Henry might grant hospitality, but he feels the same about having a woman under his roof as Sister Claire felt about sheltering a man under hers. Best we move on, methinks. I should like to cease looking over my shoulder for patrols and cannot do so until we are on Welsh soil.”
And perhaps that disturbed her more than the peculiar, disquieting familiarity of the abbey. She, too, was eager to reach Glenvair, if for reasons different than Rhodri’s.
Foremost she wished to confront Connor, tell him of her displeasure at his scheming, and ensure Rhodri informed her uncle of Alberic’s wishes.
Too, despite the delight of certain freedoms when she and Rhodri were on the road, she certainly wouldn’t mind a soft pallet, regular meals, and a roof under which to shelter from the rain.
Perhaps at Glenvair she would also have better fortune in convincing her heart not to yearn for Rhodri’s love.
The two of them had ridden intimately on horseback, her clutching his tunic for balance and trying not to bump into his too-stiff back. Once at Glenvair, she would no longer be forced to suffer his solitary, constant, too-intimate company.
At Glenvair, she could begin to push him out of her thoughts and heart. He certainly had no qualms about giving her over to another man, didn’t object to her taking someone other than him as her husband. And why should he? Rhodri had other plans for his life that didn’t include her.
The door opened to admit a tall, white-robed monk with dark hair and a brilliant smile. Nicole stood aside as Rhodri and Kian exchanged greetings, wondering why a man so handsome and charming would forswear the life of a bard to become a monk. Rhodri had said he and Kian had studied their craft under the same master but Kian had decided to heed a higher calling.
’Twas also odd to find a Welshman in a Norman chapterhouse on English soil. But then, if Kian had been attracted to the Cistercian order, then Tintern was one of the few abbeys in all of Britain he could enter.
With greetings over and introductions made—a slightly raised eyebrow the only sign that the monk recognized her family name and so her Pendragon heritage—Kian’s smile faded.
“I worried for you,” he told Rhodri, “and prayed daily for your well-being. I am most pleased to see you alive and whole, my friend.”
Rhodri’s brow furrowed. “What caused your concern?”
Kian was ominously quiet a moment, making Nicole’s skin prickle. The man had news, and it couldn’t be good.
“I gather you were not at Glenvair when it was attacked.”
Nicole gasped.
Rhodri’s questions came fast and hot. “Attacked? When? Who would dare?”
“We received word three days ago. The raiders were said to hail from Gwynedd. Whether they acted with Prince Owain’s knowledge or no is not known to us.”
Rhodri cursed, expressing Nicole’s precise thoughts. “How bad?” he asked.
“Burning, looting, a few deaths. Connor survived uninjured, praise be to God, but many cattle were taken and the grain barn is lost. I fear there may be much suffering at Glenvair over the winter months.” Kian put a hand on Rhodri’s shoulder. “I know this news comes hard, but Rhodri, there is other news. My friend, you should truly be on your way to Arwystli. In less than a sennight, Prince Hywel holds a contest for a new pencerdd. Indeed, when I heard of what happened at Glenvair, I had hoped you were already on your way to compete.”
For a moment, Rhodri’s eyes flared with excitement, and Nicole understood only too well.
This was Rhodri’s opportunity to compete against the other bards of Wales for the grand prize of earning his chair and becoming the highly honored pencerdd in a princely court.
This had been his dream since childhood, his ambition as a grown man. Here was the opportunity for which he’d served a long, difficult apprenticeship. Practiced endless hours. Waited patiently for a pencerdd either to die or to relinquish a lifelong appointment to one of only ten positions in the entire kingdom. If Rhodri didn’t compete, many years might pass before the chance came again.
As if in physical torment, Rhodri rubbed at the back of his neck. “I have been in England too long. I knew nothing of the contest.” His short burst of laughter contained no humor. “I decided to come to Tintern because I wanted news of worldly events to relate to Connor. I did not expect Glenvair to be the topic of the news, or to learn of a contest. Truly, Kian, could you not have imparted a happier tale?”
Kian sighed. “I do have other news, but I am not of a mind to say it is happier. The archbishop of Canterbury is said to be in Nottingham to confer with Duke Henry on behalf of King Stephen. A settlement may be at hand, praise the Lord, for it will end the English war. ’Twill mean peace in England, but how England’s peace might affect Wales is unknown.”
Rhodri’s frown deepened. “I wish to heaven I knew, but that is for future contemplation. For now, I must take Lady Nicole to Connor.”
And wasn’t that the decision she’d known all along that he would make? Rhodri would see to his duty before reaching out for his heart’s desire. His loyalty to her uncle was commendable. But at what price to Rhodri?
She knew damn well she had no right to interfere but could no longer hold her peace.
“Rhodri, perhaps one of the monks would be willing to escort me to Glenvair. Then you could go to Arwystli.” He began to shake his head, so she pressed on. “You have waited years for this chance to earn your chair. If you allow it to pass by, you might needs wait several more years.”
He didn’t answer immediately, and before he said a word, Nicole knew from the set of h
is jaw she hadn’t changed his mind.
“Nay, this is my task to complete. We will see how things are at Glenvair. Perhaps, after…” He shrugged a shoulder, then turned away, his decision made. “Kian, since you heard naught of my journey to England, might I also gather you have heard naught of Nicole’s disappearance from either Bledloe Abbey or Oxford Castle?”
“Not a whisper.” Kian’s eyebrow arched. “I assume you had somewhat to do with the lady’s liberation. Are you being hunted?”
Rhodri shook his head. “If you have heard no whisper, then the earl of Oxford’s patrols did not venture this close to the border. I believe we are safe enough and will be assuredly better off after crossing the Wye, which we should do sooner than late. Would you do me the great favor of sending word to Glenvair should you hear any whispers?”
With a sharp nod, Kian agreed. “Ferry or ford?”
“Ford, unless the course of the river has changed near Forden.”
Kian smiled. “Nay, the only thing that has changed near Forden is Iorwerth ap Rhun’s surety over the blessed state of his soul. He made a pilgrimage to St. David’s and, while in Deueubarth, did a kindness for Rhys, Prince Maredudd’s edling. Now he feels the prince of Deueubarth is in his debt, and the good deed absolves sins of the both the past and to come.”
While the men shared another humorous jest over this Iorwerth’s beliefs, Nicole shook off the last crumb of guilt over his decision, said a short prayer that they would find Glenvair in better condition than Kian implied, and strove to remember where St. David’s might be. On the far southern coast of Wales, she thought. In Deueubarth, where Maredudd was the prince and his younger brother, Rhys, was apparently the heir.
A chill chased down Nicole’s spine, becoming very aware of how little she knew about Wales.
Oh, she knew somewhat of Deueubarth, Gwynedd, and Powys, the three largest of the Welsh kingdoms, and knew the names of their princes—Maredudd ap Gruf-fydd, Owain Gwynedd, and Madog ap Maredudd. But there were other dynasties, like Arwystli and Cedewain, which were apparently ruled by a man named Hywel.