Rhiannon
Roberta Gellis
The Roselynde Chronicles, Book Five
Possessing an unusual combination of shyness and wildness, Rhiannon is the raven-haired daughter of a Welsh prince. Notorious for loving and leaving the most beautiful women in the realm, Simon is the handsome nobleman and youngest son of Lady Alinor of Roselynde.
When the two meet, romance sparks and burns into a love so strong that it endures battles, betrayals and their own fiery passions. While rebellion rages across medieval England and divided loyalties claim their hearts, they risk everything for eternal love.
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Rhiannon
ISBN 9781419931949
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Rhiannon Copyright © 1981, 2011 Roberta Gellis
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication May 2011
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Rhiannon
Roberta Gellis
This book is dedicated to the many faithful readers who wrote the publisher and me requesting a continuation of the Roselynde Chronicles. I wish here to thank them for their interest and the trouble they have taken.
Preface
In 1233 Richard, the Earl Marshal, raised rebellion against King Henry III because of the intolerable behavior of two ministers the king had appointed, Peter des Roches, Bishop of Winchester, and Peter of Rivaulx. These men advised the king to turn out nearly all his past officials and appoint new ones, thereby concentrating power completely into his own hands. Whether or not their advice was given for the king’s benefit (it probably was), it was very bad advice for England, which had a long tradition of shared power between the king and his barons. In addition, the barons had a written guarantee of the power of the barony in the Magna Carta—to which the king had sworn when he was crowned.
For the family of Roselynde this problem raised dangerous strains. The older members, Ian and Alinor and Geoffrey and Joanna, remain faithful to Henry—Ian out of honor, Geoffrey because he is the king’s cousin. Geoffrey has been greatly favored by Henry, and feels he cannot “bite the hand that has fed him”. When we first meet them, Simon, Alinor and Ian’s son (now twenty-two), and Adam, Alinor’s son by her first marriage (now thirty-five), lean strongly in the other direction, and they are joined by Sybelle, Joanna’s eldest daughter.
Cast of Characters
THE LORDS AND LADIES OF ROSELYNDE KEEP
Alinor de Vipont, Lady of Roselynde
Ian de Vipont, Alinor’s husband
Adam Lemagne, Alinor’s son by her first marriage
Joanna FitzWilliam, Alinor’s daughter by her first marriage
Simon de Vipont, Alinor and Ian’s son
Gilliane Lemagne, Adam’s wife
Geoffrey FitzWilliam, Joanna’s husband
Sybelle FitzWilliam, Joanna and Geoffrey’s eldest daughter
THE COURT AND BARONAGE OF ENGLAND
Henry III, King of England
Peter des Roches, Bishop of Winchester, Henry’s primary adviser
Peter of Rivaulx, Winchester’s nephew
Richard of Cornwall, Henry’s brother and husband of Isabella, Earl of Pembroke’s sister
Richard Marshal, Earl of Pembroke
Seagrave, Ferrars, Norfolk, barons torn between their loyalty to the king and the terms of the Magna Carta
THE CHURCH
Roger of London, Bishop of London
Robert of Salisbury, Bishop of Salisbury
THE OUTLAWRY AS DETERMINED BY THE KING
Hubert de Burgh, Earl of Kent, Henry’s former tutor and adviser
Gilbert Bassett
Richard Siward
THE WELSH
Llewelyn ap Iowerth, Prince of Gwynedd, Rhiannon’s father
Rhiannon uerch Llewelyn
Kicva, Rhiannon’s mother
Gruffydd, Rhiannon’s bastard half brother
David, Rhiannon’s legitimate half brother
Gwydyon, Rhiannon’s grandfather
Angharad, Rhiannon’s grandmother
NOTE: There is a glossary of feudal terminology provided at the end of the book.
Chapter One
“It will kill Papa!” Joanna hissed, holding Simon, her little brother, by the wrist as hard as she could.
“And I will die of frustration myself if I do not speak my piece. The barons must not tolerate King Henry’s behavior,” Simon snarled, but his voice was low, and he cast a glance over his shoulder toward the stairwell where his father and mother might appear at any moment. He looked in vain for a sympathetic face among his gathered relatives.
Restraining Simon was like clinging to a living version of the black leopard painted on his shield. Joanna could feel the ripple of steel-hard sinews under the skin and the quivering tension in his whole body, but he did not pull loose. His eyes were full of flickering green and gold light, and his beauty could have stopped a woman’s heart. He had Ian’s face and Alinor’s eyes, Joanna thought, and until this visit, Joanna would have said he had the best of both their natures.
“Ian is not so frail as that,” Adam rumbled. There was a defensive note in his voice, however, and his eyes, too, went to the stairwell. He adored his stepfather and, simultaneously, resented the implication that Ian was aging and secretly feared that any exertion might in fact be a strain for him.
“That is not what Joanna means,” Gilliane said. Her voice had none of Joanna’s whiplash quality, but there was a silken strength in it. Fourteen years of happy marriage to Adam had changed her from a fearful, anxious girl to a very strong, though quiet, woman. “You know what kind Ian is,” she continued. “What he has sworn, he will abide by. You will break his heart, Simon, if you openly defy the king.”
“Why?” Simon asked passionately. “I have not even sworn to Henry. But cannot you all see that he intends to make you slaves?”
Gilliane, too, was wondering what was wrong with Simon. Not only was his disposition usually very sweet, but he had never cared a bit about politics. There was a wild streak in him—not in the usual sense of drinking and gambling, but in disregarding practical matters. Unlike the rest of his family, he was totally uninterested in land and had little sense of possession. He did not wish to be encumbered by the management of property. So, usually, he did not care what the king did, but after Henry had dismissed the Earl of Pembroke’s deputy from office—which he had no right to do—Simon had come roaring out of Wales to demand that his family defy the king.
“I have sworn to him, and I am still of your mind, Simon,” Adam growled. “There can be no question of oath-breaking if we refuse to
go to this summoning. The king has broken his oath first. Does he hold by the great charter that he has sworn to more than once? Well, Geoffrey, what have you to say?”
Geoffrey, Joanna’s husband, had been sitting in one of the deep window embrasures, staring out into the beautiful garden of Roselynde keep. Roses made a blaze of color against the wall, and their perfume, mixed with the sweeter, stronger scent of the lilies that edged the beds, came up to him on the soft, sun-warmed breeze of June. He was only six years older than Adam, but his face was graven with deep lines of worry, and his eyes, golden in laughter or rage or passion, were dull mud-brown.
“What can I say?” he replied to Adam’s prodding. “The king has broken that oath and others, yes… But he is no John, Adam. There is no evil in Henry. He wishes to be loved. He desires to do good.”
Simon made a strangled, furious sound and Geoffrey’s eyes moved to him.
“I cannot blame you for your anger,” Geoffrey admitted, “but what can I do? There is a close blood tie between us—he is my cousin—and he has cherished me and mine. William and Ian are in his household, and he is as kind and indulgent to my sons as a fond uncle. Can I turn on him like a mangy cur and bite the hand that has fed me?”
“And what will you do when he bites you?” Simon challenged. “Has he not turned on those closest to him already? Did he not call Hubert de Burgh ‘father’ on one day and imprison him in chains in a deep vault the next?”
“Henry will not turn on Geoffrey.” Ian’s voice, deep and slightly hoarse, came across to them from the entryway.
Everyone tensed a trifle. Gilliane rose from the window seat opposite Geoffrey and drew Alinor forward to sit with her, while Geoffrey smiled a similar invitation to Ian. Now Ian looked around at the assembled faces. The profusion of black curls was gone and his olive skin was sagging somewhat over his jowls and throat, but the luminous dark eyes were as warm and bright as ever and the good bones beneath the aging flesh showed where Simon had inherited his looks.
“Blood is a sacred tie to Henry,” Ian reiterated. “He will never strike at Geoffrey, just as he has never acted vengefully toward Richard of Cornwall.”
“Sit down, Papa,” Simon urged.
“Do you think I am exhausted from walking down the stairs,” Ian teased, “or do you want me to sit so I will not collapse with shock when you tell me you want all of us to join Richard Marshal’s party?”
Joanna frowned furiously at her half brother, and Ian smiled at her, slipped an arm around her waist, and kissed her brow. Alinor laughed. She had grown somewhat heavier with the years and her black hair was now iron gray, but her acerbic personality had not changed and her eyes snapped and sparkled as clearly as Simon’s.
“Perhaps it is time you presented your lord with a new young one, Joanna, and stopped trying to be a mother to Ian and to me,” Alinor remarked, smiling. “We are neither blind nor stupid. We hear quite well—even what is not said aloud.”
“Then I assume you have heard that Henry is become insufferable,” Simon snarled.
“It is not so much Henry himself as the Bishop of Winchester and that bastard of his,” Adam said, trying to smooth over the vicious tone in Simon’s voice.
“Peter of Rivaulx is said to be Winchester’s nephew,” Ian corrected absently, while his mind was obviously elsewhere. Then he sighed and went to join Geoffrey. “Winchester has been too long out of this country. He seems to have forgotten everything he once knew about the English.”
“No,” Geoffrey said softly, “no. He has not forgotten. He remembers very well. He always hated the fact that power in this realm was divided by right between the barons and the king. He was as strong for the king’s uncontested right in John’s day as now, but John was so hated that Winchester realized any effort to curb the barons would bring war. In the end John tried it, of course, and it did bring war.”
“You would have thought Winchester would have learned something from that,” Simon remarked caustically.
“Yes. I am disappointed in him. We were good friends once,” Ian mused.
“Oh, he loved you well. You were always faithful. Why should he not love you? And you always see the best in everyone, my love,” Alinor said. “Those who desire power seldom see the truth and never learn.”
“That is true and not true,” Geoffrey amended. “Winchester assigned the wrong reasons of the resistance toward John. He thought it was because John was hated for himself.”
“Well, he was,” Adam put in, his mouth set in grim lines.
“Yes, which made men spring to arms faster,” Simon cried passionately, “but even had they loved him, they would not have permitted the king to trample on their rights, seize their property without reason or justice, and set himself above the law. Nor will they endure it now.”
“Nor should they,” Ian agreed, “but Henry is not John, and there is no reason to fly to arms. I did not take up arms against John, and I certainly will not offer violence to the king who trusts me and to whom I swore when he was a child.”
“There is no question of taking up arms,” Joanna said quickly. “Even Richard Marshal has no intention of taking up arms. We are only discussing what to do about this summons to a council on the eleventh of July.”
“What is there to discuss about that?” Ian asked.
“Whether to go or not—that is what there is to discuss,” Simon snapped.
“Do not be a fool!” Ian responded sharply.
“Are you afraid to defy him?” Simon taunted.
“Simon!” Alinor exclaimed. “You shame me! I knew your father should have used his belt on you more often, and if he did not, I should have. Thus are we justly rewarded for our indulgence.”
Simon had crimsoned so much that tears came to his eyes, and he knelt down before his father. “I am sorry, Papa. You know I did not mean that—not that you are afraid for yourself.”
Ian touched the unruly black curls of the bent head. “I know what you meant, and I am not ashamed that I fear for my loved ones. When you have what I have in this family, you will also be less daring. But that is not why I said you were a fool, Simon.”
“What your father meant,” Geoffrey remarked dryly, “was that absenting ourselves from the council can accomplish no purpose beyond angering the king. We have already used that method to no purpose. Now, since Henry will be enraged in any case, it is reasonable to tell him what we think in plain language and anger him that way. If there is to be a measure of bravery, Ian’s way is more courageous than sulking from a distance.”
“You are right about that,” Adam put in, his eyes brightening. “I was half-minded to go back to Tarring and tell my vassals to close themselves into their keeps, but I like Geoffrey’s notion much better. First I will tell the king what I think of him, his ways, and his new favorites, and then I will seal my keeps.”
“You will need to seal them if that is the way you go about it,” Gilliane pointed out tartly.
Alinor laughed. “Sometimes you remind me very much of your father, Adam. He could be horribly honest at just the wrong time, so that he ended by running his head into a stone wall.”
“But not about managing a king, beloved,” Ian reproved.
“Oh, yes,” Alinor insisted. “He crossed the last Henry so unwisely that he was told to go sit on his lands and not stir lest worse befall him.”
“That Henry and this are not to be compared—unfortunately.” Geoffrey sighed. “The one was a man—sometimes overhasty, greedy, and unjust, from what I have heard, but a real man in every sense. This one is a spoiled child who never grew up.”
“Such a man is not fit to be king,” Simon said, lifting his head. “Richard of Cornwall, however—”
“Do not let Cornwall hear you say that,” Ian ordered sharply, “or he will kill you where you stand. Henry has many faults, but lack of love for his brother and sisters is not one of them, and they return that love full measure. Richard of Cornwall may stand up in full council and roar at the top of h
is lungs that his brother is a coward and a fool, but he loves Henry dear, very dear. He will never rebel against him. That door is closed, Simon.”
“Yes, it is,” Geoffrey agreed forcibly. “I tell you that if Henry died in battle against rebels, Richard would pursue them until the last man was dead. He will not take the throne while Henry lives, and he would never forget or pardon any man who had even the remotest connection with those who caused his brother’s death.”
“I know it,” Simon said ruefully. “I do not know why my tongue is running at odds with my head today. I just feel that if I cannot do something, I will burst.”
“The only thing you could do in the mood you are in is harm,” Ian remarked wryly. “Why do you not go back to Wales? This is a most beautiful season in the hills. No doubt Llewelyn can find a nice little war for you if you feel you must break heads.”
“No!” Simon exclaimed, and stood up abruptly.
Ian looked very much surprised. He had, with his overlord’s approval, ceded the Welsh lands Llewelyn had bestowed upon him to his son as soon as Simon had won his spurs. It was a happy arrangement for everyone. The Welsh lands needed closer attention than Ian had been able to give them since he had married Alinor and taken up the responsibility of defending her huge estate. Simon was so wild that he would have made endless trouble for his parents idling about the rich, smooth-functioning estates in England. Llewelyn was glad to have a strong, eager fighter to lead Ian’s men. Alinor and Ian, although they worried about him a little, were delighted to have their son usefully occupied instead of making mischief.
Wales and Simon suited each other as a hand fits a glove. There was something feral and untamed about Simon that was more at home in the untouched forest and precipitous mountains of northern Wales than in the tilled fields and softly rolling hills of Sussex. The young man had always loved the Welsh estates passionately—which was why Ian gave those to him rather than the northern lands—and Simon was always happier there and in Llewelyn’s court with its barbaric undertones than in England. Thus, Ian was startled when his suggestion was rejected so violently. In the past Simon had been delighted to be sent to Wales.
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