Magic in His Kiss

by Shari Anton

  How did one say fare-thee-well to one’s own heart?

  “I thank you for your excellent escort and wish you good fortune in the contest. I shall miss your… music.”

  Rhodri reached down into the harp’s sack, pulled out her circlet, her brother’s dagger, and the sack of coins Alberic had given him. He stood and gave them over with no discernible reluctance.

  “’Twas an honor and delight to have enjoyed your company all these weeks, my lady.” Then he leaned in close and whispered, “You shall hear the music again, Nicole. Soon.”

  He meant the tale of their journey, of course, and would keep his oath to allow her approval. Nothing more.

  “I shall look forward to it, Rhodri ap Dafydd. Fare thee well and Godspeed.”

  Nicole turned and followed the wench across the hall to the stairs, determined not to choke on her unshed tears.

  Rhodri watched Nicole stride toward the stairway to the keep’s upper floor, her head high, spine straight, and shoulders squared, as if preparing to do battle, not sleep.

  He wished he could climb those stairs with her, tell her there were no more battles to fight. But he couldn’t, because he didn’t yet have the right.

  There was more he’d wished to whisper in Nicole’s ear, but the moment of their parting had passed by too swiftly, and the hall wasn’t the place for revealing his heart and intent, especially because he must first speak of that intent to Connor.

  Still, he wished he could have brought a smile to her lips before she’d walked away, tell her he knew she’d miss more of him than his music.

  So he eased back onto the bench across from Connor. Cynddelw had wandered off, leaving the two of them alone.

  “Was the journey truly hell for her?” Connor asked.

  Not all hell. Interspersed with danger and deprivation were laughter and loving, and those were too precious and private to tell anyone, even in a song.

  “I gather you heard Nicole and I were taken to Oxford.”

  “Somewhat.”

  Briefly, Rhodri related the events leading to his unfortunate confinement in Oxford Castle’s tower, then described how he and Nicole escaped, leaving out Nicole’s dealings with Thomas’s spirit.

  “Being on foot and without coin, and avoiding the roads because of the earl’s patrols, lengthened our journey far more than either you or I had planned for.” Hoping to leave the tale at that, for now, Rhodri went on. “As events turned out, the delay was a good one for Nicole’s sake. Had she been at Glenvair when Gwynedd attacked, she might now be ensconced in Owain’s castle at Aberffraw.”

  Connor gave a long sigh. “The raiders rode in with the intent to kidnap Nicole. The leader was irate that she was not there for the taking, accused me of falsehoods. ’Twas then they fired the grain barn. When I continued to protest that Nicole had not yet arrived, they fired some of the tenants’ cottages. And when they fired the manor house, and I still held out, they decided I might be telling the truth. God’s blood, by the time they were done, Glenvair was near in ruins!”

  Rhodri heard Connor’s anger and woe, felt the man’s sense of loss, and refrained from asking if he would have handed Nicole over when the raiders lit the first torch. Connor would deny it, certes, but Rhodri couldn’t be sure of what Connor might have done when watching flames devour the manor’s hope of surviving the winter months.

  “Well, Nicole is safe from Gwynedd now, and that is what is important.”

  Connor huffed. “She will be safer once wed.”

  So Rhodri, too, believed. The soonest the best, and he had just the man in mind.

  “Connor, I was privileged to meet Alberic of Camelen and Darian of Bruges along the way.”

  Connor’s eyebrow shot up. “You went to Camelen?”

  “Nay. The two are both intelligent men and between them made a correct guess at my route to Wales. They were waiting for us when we crossed the Avon.” To both his consternation and relief. “As Nicole’s brother-by-marriage, Alberic commands me to inform you he is not pleased that you sent me to England and that Nicole no longer resides in Bledloe Abbey. For a time, I thought certain he would take Nicole from me and sweep her off to Camelen. He did not.”

  Rhodri still wasn’t sure why that was so. He still had no notion of what Darian had said to Alberic to sway the baron.

  He continued. “Alberic allowed Nicole to continue this journey for reasons of his own, but with a condition. Nicole is to give her wholehearted approval to any marriage you might arrange. Alberic is most insistent she have her choice of husband. He threatens to invade Wales if he learns events play out differently.”

  Connor huffed. “Alberic has not sufficient men or resources to invade Wales.”

  “Perhaps not, but Alberic is not without influence, and were I you, I would not test his vow to cut out your black heart if you do not heed him. Besides, I gave Alberic my oath I would ensure you adhere to his wishes.”

  Rhodri braced for the tirade he saw brewing.

  “By what right did you give Alberic such warranty?”

  “He gave me little choice! And you do wish Nicole to marry a Welshman, do you not?”

  “Certes, but one of my choosing, not hers! By the saints, Rhodri, you overstepped! I will not be bound by an oath given by my bard to a Norman baron!”

  Rhodri leaned forward. “You will, Connor ap Maelgwn, or this bard will sing the tale of Alberic of Camelen’s generosity and your lack of appreciation for his liberality all over Wales!”

  For a moment, Connor’s face paled as white as his hair. “A damn vicious threat against the man who raised you, Rhodri ap Dafydd.”

  Hurtful, to be sure, but apparently necessary.

  “Perhaps, but I mean every word.”

  Connor relented with the wave of a dismissive hand. “Prince Madog has several eligible sons and nephews. Now that Nicole has arrived, we can summon them to Mathrafal. Certes, Nicole will find one of them agreeable enough to marry.”

  Did Connor believe all he must do is stand the men in a line in front of Nicole for her to make her selection? With a twinge of chagrin, Rhodri admitted that might be the case. The men were all of noble family and possessed land, and a few were even physically appealing. And what man who possessed a dram of sense would say Nicole nay?

  However, he hadn’t thought Connor would allow Nicole to marry a son or nephew of Madog ap Maredudd.

  “Prince Madog is allied with the earl of Chester and will continue that alliance as long as Owain Gwynedd controls more of Powys than he ought. Madog’s sons and nephews favor that alliance. I thought you wanted Nicole to marry someone who would not be willing to treat with the English.”

  “Well, think on it, Rhodri. Prince Madog has sheltered us and will help me rebuild Glenvair. Giving his sons and nephews first chance for Nicole’s favor seems only right, does it not?”

  Connor’s hopes for a grand marriage to unify the Welsh princes against the Norman magnates of England had apparently changed in the time Rhodri had been off fetching the bride. Now Connor thought to use Nicole to his best advantage. One of Madog’s heirs would be rewarded with a Pendragon princess in return for the funds to rebuild Glenvair.

  Rhodri would have shaken his head in disgust had he thought it would do one whit of good.

  As was the Welsh way, upon the death of Prince Madog, whatever lands the man held at the time would be divided among his heirs, with the grandest share going to the man Madog considered the most worthy. All knew that would be Gruffudd, Madog’s second son.

  In Rhodri’s opinion, two of Madog’s unmarried male heirs might stand a chance of winning Nicole’s favor. Gruffudd, of course, and one of the nephews, Owain.

  Both men would one day have lordships of their own and funds plentiful enough to support themselves and their wives in noble fashion. But would either of them love and cherish Nicole as she deserved? Would they honor her Pendragon heritage as they ought, or use it for their own selfish gains?

  Would either of them provide
a bard for Nicole to call upon when restless spirits demanded more from her than she could give? Could any bard’s harp have the same soothing effect on spirits, or only his? ’Twas a question he had no answer for, and ’twas likely vain and prideful to believe his music alone calmed impatient, demanding spirits.

  Damn it, Nicole would be best off marrying a bard. And what better bard than he, who would not only love and cherish her all her days but could help her accomplish what she considered her life’s purpose?

  Problem was, he had to convince Connor without revealing Nicole’s secret ability.

  “Connor, I realize I hold no hope of coming into a princedom, but I am of fine Welsh blood and, I believe, have prospects for a secure future. I also realize I am not your first choice of husband for Nicole, but I ask you to consider my suit for her hand in marriage.”

  To Connor’s stunned expression, Rhodri continued.

  “Nicole has become precious to me these past weeks. Believe me, Connor, she is all you had hoped she would be, and more. I have said naught to her about my intentions, feeling I must do you the honor of first obtaining your consent.”

  Rhodri grew more nervous and wary the longer Connor remained silent. He saw the refusal in Connor’s eyes even before the man spoke and steeled himself against the words.

  “You are a fine man from an esteemed bardic line,” Connor began. “I can see you have grown fond of my niece, and I thank you for delivering her to me hale and hardy. But she is not for you, lad. Nicole deserves a husband of established wealth and rank, a nobleman with whom she can make fine, noble sons worthy of the Pendragon heritage.”

  “I remember another princess of Pendragon who wished to marry a bard. Why would you not approve of my marrying Nicole when you consented to my father marrying your sister?”

  Connor took a long sip of ale before he answered. “A mistake I have regretted since the day Nest died. Had I followed my instincts and married her to a noble of Deheubarth, she would not have died so young, and in so foolish a manner.”

  Rhodri heard both the guilt and the blame. “The river took them. ’Twas nobody’s fault—”

  Connor slammed his tankard on the table. “By the saints, ’twas your father’s fault for giving in to some whim of Nest’s! If Nicole must approve of her husband, then approve she will, but I vow ’twill be to a man who knows how to keep a woman in her place!”

  With that, Connor rose, unsteadily, and staggered off, leaving Rhodri to count the many times he’d given in to a whim of Nicole’s, to remember how many times he’d purposely put her in danger. Too many of both, certes. Yet they’d both survived, even thrived.

  He wasn’t his father; Nicole wasn’t her aunt. ’Twas unfair and ridiculous for Connor to make the comparison, and unreasonable to expect any man to keep Nicole in her place.

  Further reasoning with Connor didn’t seem possible. True, the man had imbibed too freely of the ale and allowed his tongue to wag too loosely. But even when sober, Connor likely wouldn’t hear of a marriage bargain between Rhodri ap Dafydd and Nicole de Leon.

  But now that he’d voiced his heart’s yearnings and argued his case, Rhodri could think of naught else. For the next hour he pondered what he must do and decided how to go about it.

  Unfortunately, once more, all depended upon whether or not Nicole would cooperate.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nicole. Time to awaken.”

  She’d been dreaming of Rhodri most of the night. Wonderful dreams. Heartrending dreams. Hearing his voice, so clear and close, calling her from sleep, didn’t startle her one whit.

  She felt his large, warm palm on her cheek, breathed in his musky scent. Both sensations filled her with a sense of rightness and a longing for things that would never be.

  Nicole woke far enough to realize she wasn’t dreaming anymore and opened her eyes to a chamber lighted by a single night candle. She peered into the deep-set brown eyes she’d often become lost in.

  “Rhodri.”

  “Do you know how beautiful you are when you first awaken?” He smiled, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, thrilling her more than his compliment. “Had I the time, I would write a poem extolling the allure of your sleep-misted eyes.”

  Except he had no time. He must have come to say a final farewell before leaving for Arwystli.

  He shouldn’t be in her bedchamber, but in the past few weeks the two of them had shared so much and done so many things they ought not to that one more transgression seemed of little consequence.

  Nicole placed her hand over Rhodri’s and kissed his palm, glad he’d come but hating to bid him Godspeed and good fortune all over again.

  “You are ready to leave for Arwystli? So early?”

  “Not as yet. I am of a mind to take you with me, if you will but rise and make yourself ready. What say I kidnap you and we begin a new adventure?”

  Stunned fully awake, she rose up on an elbow, hugging the finely woven bed linens against her naked skin. He couldn’t possibly be serious about her going to Arwystli with him! Except she sensed Rhodri’s urgency when he fetched her chemise and gown from the clothing hook and tossed them on the bed.

  Something was seriously amiss.

  Nicole sat up fully and reached for her chemise.

  “What happened after I left the hall last eve?”

  He crossed his arms. “I told Connor about meeting with Alberic, and of his order.”

  ’Twas as she’d feared. Connor had balked at Alberic’s insistence that she have the right to approve her marriage.

  “So he refuses to give me the right of approval?”

  “Oh, Connor intends to allow you to approve, but from a very few number of men of whom he approves. I am sure that is not what Alberic had in mind when he allowed you to continue on to Wales. Where are your dagger and circlet?”

  Disconcerted over Rhodri’s revelations, she pointed to the mantel over the hearth and slipped the chemise over her head.

  Apparently Rhodri was angry with Connor, but in truth, her situation hadn’t changed. Naturally, Connor would allow her to choose a husband from only among men he thought suitable.

  “You disapprove of these men?”

  “Of the men, nay. Of the reason for his choices? Aye! Connor sent me to Bledloe Abbey to fetch a Pendragon princess, who was to join with a Welsh nobleman for the glorious, honorable cause of uniting the Welsh against the Norman magnates of England. ’Twould seem Connor has undergone a change of heart. Now he intends for you to be the prize for the inglorious cause of rebuilding Glenvair!”

  She began to understand. “’Tis hardly the ending you had hoped for to end your tale of our journey.”

  He looked confused for a moment, then smiled. “Hardly. But that is not why I want you to come with me. Those men are not suitable for you for another reason entirely.” Holding her circlet and dagger, he sat on the edge of the bed. “You need to marry a bard, Nicole. Someone who can silence disagreeable spirits when needed. Not one of the men Connor named can do more than pluck a string or two.”

  So he thought she could find a suitable bard from amongst those gathered in Arwystli for the contest. While he competed for the position of pencerdd to the prince, he expected her to find herself a husband. Sweet mercy, the only bard she wished to marry sat on her bed, less than an arm’s length away.

  “We do not know if another bard’s harp can perform the same magic on spirits as yours does.”

  “That we do not.” He paused a moment before continuing. “Nicole, we know that together we can aid spirits. Would you consider marrying me?”

  They were the precise words she wished to hear. Her heart thudding with joy, Nicole wanted nothing more than to drag him further into the bed and show him how wholeheartedly she would accept him as her husband.

  But to agree would put Rhodri in danger and destroy his chance to attain his life’s ambition.

  She was truly flattered he sought to help her and loved him all the more for his noble sentiment, but she
couldn’t allow him to give up so much out of a misplaced sense of duty.

  She wanted to cry out her misery, and dared not. With as much princess-like dignity as she could muster, Nicole shattered her own heart.

  “I thank you for your offer, but if we step beyond Mathrafal’s gates, Connor is sure to send men after us. We would again be hunted, this time by Welshmen. If caught, you could spend the rest of your days in a tower cell.”

  He opened his mouth to utter what she was sure was a protest; she put a finger to his lips to silence his argument.

  “You have a dream you have pursued your life long. The lessons, the practice, the poetry, the music—they have shaped you and prepared you for the day when you would play for a prince and earn your chair. If you are hunted, and so cannot perform without fear of being captured, then all you have worked for is lost. You must go without me and earn your chair.”

  “So you do not wish to go with me?”

  She wished to go with all her heart. Bards from all over Wales would gather for the contest. There would be music, feasting, dancing, and such gaiety as she hadn’t experienced since entering Bledloe Abbey.

  And she would be with Rhodri. But as much as she yearned to agree, she refused to put her selfish wishes above his well-being.

  “I cannot.”

  Rhodri waved a dismissive hand. “You will be content to select a husband from among the dullards Connor presents to you?”

  She inwardly winced. “Not all can be dullards.”

  He scoffed. “You have yet to meet them. And what of your own life’s purpose? Will this husband allow you the freedom to aid spirits—if, indeed, you can convince him you hear the dead speak—or will he forbid you concourse with any but the living?”

  “He can hardly prevent the dead from speaking to me. I may have a difficult time silencing their voices when they persist, but I learned how to hide my ability while in the abbey and can do so again.”

  “If you marry me, you need not hide the rare and exceptional power that is so much a part of you. You could pursue your quest to aid as many spirits as you are able, and I shall help you.”