Rhiannon

by Roberta Gellis

  Simon left off kissing her throat and nibbling her ear to murmur, “You do not deny the lechery?”

  Ten seconds before, she would have done so. As wonderful as she had found her first mating, Rhiannon simply had not thought of repeating the experience immediately. Now warmth flowed through her from wherever Simon’s lips touched, and when she felt the pressure of his hardening shaft against her thigh, a fury of desire seized her. Her breathing went all awry, and her arms went tight around her lover. She no longer felt crushed by his weight and only tightened her grip to hold him when he tried to ease up so he could get a hand to her breast.

  Much as she wanted that, Rhiannon desired union more. She embraced Simon fiercely with her legs, a gesture at one and the same time so innocent and so sensual that Simon’s practiced control deserted him. He thought no more of a long and delicate foreplay. Straining against the pressure of Rhiannon’s embrace, he lifted himself enough to position his shaft and drove into her.

  Rhiannon gasped, but when he thrust again she rose to meet him. In a way, Rhiannon was even more excited this time than after Simon’s careful manipulation before their first coupling. Now she knew what her prize would be. She knew the rising pressure of pleasure inside her would burst in nearly intolerable spasms of joy. She could focus her attention on that pleasure, build it faster, higher. Her climax was an explosive convulsion that left her limp, hardly conscious of Simon driving toward his own release. Rhiannon’s first coherent thought was guilt for that. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I should not have gone so fast and left you.”

  Simon lifted his head, which had been resting beside hers while he gathered strength to withdraw from her. He chuckled. “Do not worry about that. A man can always content himself. It is when it happens the other way that it is a disaster.”

  “Is it not better for you if I…help?” Rhiannon asked rather shyly.

  “Much better, beloved,” Simon assured her, smiling. He kissed her cheek, her forehead, her determined chin. She was perfect, completely, absolutely perfect. Simon was so much in love with Rhiannon’s other qualities that he would have accepted some sexual failings. He had known she was not frigid from her response in the cove near Aber, but her eagerness was more than he had expected and her perception of his need was a real blessing. There would be nothing to teach her except the skills and refinements that prolonged joy.

  “But do not trouble yourself about it,” he went on. “You have done marvelous well for your first and second lessons. There will be time enough to learn the fine points.”

  “And I could not have a more experienced teacher, could I?” Rhiannon remarked a little sharply.

  “No, you could not, so be properly grateful,” Simon responded, laughing. Then he grew serious, sitting up so he could look into her face. “I have sworn I will be faithful in the future. There is no way to change the past. Moreover, you would be a fool to wish it changed. A man without experience always wonders whether there is something he has missed. For me, there have been so many women that I can never doubt I have finally found the one. I need seek no further, eneit.”

  Eneit, he had called her—his soul, his inner life—in the old language, and his eyes with their gold and green flecks were clear, hiding nothing. Rhiannon very nearly cried out that she would yield and be his wife, but she could not say the words. Thus far she had been the winner. Simon was her lover, and she had promised no more than she ever intended—to be faithful to him as long as he was faithful to her. But to be a wife… A wife swore faith no matter what her husband did—and could be harshly punished, imprisoned, or killed, if she paid back his false coin with false coin of her own.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For the moment, it was enough for Simon that Rhiannon had sworn to be faithful. It would not take long, he was sure, before her mother and father convinced her— without saying a word on the subject, perhaps—that she should marry him. It was possible she would hold out until she got with child, but then she would yield. She would not want any question to be raised about her child’s right to the father’s possessions, now that she knew the English law.

  Sitting upright as he was, the wind caught him. He shivered and started to lie down, but Rhiannon shook her head and sat up also. “Get dressed,” she said, handing him his shirt and tunic. “I am sorry to be so unromantic, Simon, but, forgive me, dear heart, I am hungry.”

  He sprang to his feet, laughing, then pulled her up and embraced her. “There are no sweeter words you could have said to me than those. There is a time for love words and they are food for the soul then, but when the belly calls it is a rare woman who has the courage to say so. I am hungry also. Your mother said something about eating, but at that time I had only a hunger to see you.”

  “And now that that is satisfied, the other calls more strongly.”

  Simon yanked his tunic down to look at her, but she was grinning like an imp. There had been no spite or blame in the remark, only a confirmation that she felt the same way. They finished dressing hastily and Simon hoisted his armor to his shoulder. It was a devil of a load, he grumbled, but Rhiannon only said heartlessly that he was lucky their way home led downhill, and it was not her fault he was such an idiot as to rush up the hill fully armed. This drew some sharp reminders from Simon about times when Rhiannon had not been very foresighted, so they arrived at the hall sparring with words and laughing as merrily as on Simon’s first visit.

  Kicva said only that those who came late to dinner could eat cold meat, standing. However, she would have kissed Simon’s feet for making her daughter’s entry into womanhood a warm blessing, had she been that kind of person. There was nothing in Rhiannon’s railing words to betray her, but something in her voice and the glow of her eyes was proof enough to her mother, who knew her so well. Simon’s look was more transparent. The line of his mouth, the sated droop of his eyelids… Kicva laughed as he bowed and made a formal apology for being late to dinner. He looked like Math after a night out.

  “Well, I will forgive you,” Kicva said in reply to Simon’s excuses, and she signaled a servant who brought forward a small table. Others carried in ready-laden trays and drew up chairs. Then in answer to Rhiannon’s raised brows she said, “I am not abating my severity for this scapegrace’s glib tongue but because he brought a letter from Llewelyn that needs consideration by all of us.”

  Simon blinked. He had not expected so direct an attack nor so soon. However, he realized instantly that Kicva had no choice but to mention the letter at once. He began to soak pieces of bread in a bowl of ragout and scoop it hungrily into his mouth. Rhiannon, he knew, had cast a suspicious glance at him, but he paid no attention. He would follow Kicva’s lead.

  She said, “Did Simon have a chance to tell you how the affair between Pembroke and the king was ended—if it has ended?”

  Rhiannon blushed. Simon choked. There was not the slightest change of expression on Kicva’s face, although she made a small gesture of the hand that implied her daughter and Simon should not be fools.

  “Ah, well,” she continued indulgently, “you are young. Stop stuffing your face for a moment, Simon, and tell us now.”

  “It will take more than a moment,” Simon said indignantly, his mouth full of food.

  “I do not desire a blow-by-blow description of each battle, only an overall picture of the terms of the truce.”

  Simon chewed and swallowed and embarked on a summary from which Kicva picked the salient points.

  “Yes, indeed,” she said, “I see very clearly why Llewelyn is so disturbed. If the king holds by his word with Pembroke, he can use the large force both have amassed to attack Wales.”

  “No!” Simon exclaimed, almost choking on a new mouthful of food. “Richard would never agree.”

  “He might argue against it,” Kicva said, “but what could he do? Turn rebel again? He has sworn no oath to Llewelyn; they have no formal agreement that forbids the one to make peace without the other, or that forbids one to attack the other. What
excuse could Pembroke make to refuse the king’s demand?”

  “You are right so far as that goes,” Simon was forced to admit, “but if the king makes peace with Richard, there would be no reason to attack Wales.”

  “A reason could be found if it would make the barons forget why Pembroke had rebelled in the first place. Perhaps you do not realize, Simon, that once the raiders are loose it is most difficult to recall them. When the army withdraws, they may well turn their attentions to the border farms as is their custom. Would this not be an excuse?”

  Simon hissed angrily between his teeth. He had foreseen any number of results of the truce, but not this one. After a moment, however, he shrugged. “It would not work; at least, I do not believe it would. Richard will most likely demand that Winchester and Rivaulx and Seagrave be dismissed before—”

  “Before what?” Rhiannon interrupted. “You say Pembroke will have to be charged and cleared before a sitting of his peers. Then I suppose he would need to bring charges against Winchester and his friends. God knows how long that would take. Meanwhile, there is nothing to stop Winchester from convincing everyone that the most important business at hand is to curb the Welsh, since the king and his chief vassal are at peace. Is that impossible?”

  Scowling, Simon was about to argue further, and then he saw the gleam of satisfaction and warning in Kicva’s eyes. “I suppose it is not impossible,” he said. “The Welsh and the Scots are often used as scapegoats. Agreed that there is raiding and that is a constant irritation, still it is often internal politics rather than any real fault in England’s neighbors that begins a war.”

  “And even if it is not the first likelihood,” Kicva put in, “Llewelyn does not wish to be caught unprepared. He would like to have an emissary—an unofficial emissary—who would plead his case.”

  First Simon felt betrayed. However, even as Kicva explained Llewelyn’s notion that his daughter should serve this purpose, Simon saw the plan—neat, efficient, and accomplishing three purposes at once.

  Rhiannon saw only half. Since she had no reason to think of the close tie Simon’s family had with the king, she did not associate her father’s wish that she be his ambassador with marriage. “But I have no way to reach the king,” she protested, “and even if I did…” A quick glance flashed at Simon and then away. “No, I cannot. I could cause more trouble than good. I cannot offer what most women who serve such a purpose provide, and I have no bond of blood to protect me from such a suggestion. If I should be asked and refuse—”

  “Rhiannon!” Kicva exclaimed. “Your father is no panderer and, even if he was, he is not a fool. He knows well enough that tact is not your greatest virtue, and he has devised a way to protect you from the king and open a path to him at one and the same time. Simon’s brother-by-marriage is cousin to the king—”

  Kicva broke off as Rhiannon jumped to her feet with blazing eyes, but Simon had guessed what would happen and was also on his feet, holding up a hand.

  “I did not know, I swear it,” he said. “I did know Prince Llewelyn intended to write his approval of our union to your mother and propose it to my father, but I knew nothing of this other matter. There is no use being angry with me, Rhiannon. You have known that I desired marriage from our first meeting. I never lied to you, and I never changed.”

  “You still desire marriage?”

  “You know that I do, and that I will strive forward toward that goal until I achieve it or I am dead.”

  Rhiannon’s eyes met Simon’s challengingly. It was entirely possible what he said was true, and all the more reason not to marry him. When he had gained his prize and she was his, the game, the purpose of being faithful would be ended. Simon’s lips tightened at what he read in Rhiannon’s face, but Kicva’s cool voice came between them.

  “There is a middle way that will answer all purposes,” she suggested. “Llewelyn would assume that Lord Ian will approve this proposal, yet it would be courteous and natural to show him the bride chosen for his son. It would thus be reasonable that you and Simon be betrothed and that he take you to see his parents.”

  “Yes, and that would be an easy door to the king also,” Simon added. “I am not Henry’s vassal and may marry in Wales without his yea-say, but my father is his vassal, and in England a son’s marriage needs the king’s approval. Henry would be very pleased if I brought my bride to him—”

  “And if he took a fancy to her?” Rhiannon interrupted.

  “Oh, no!” Simon was shocked and showed it. “Not Henry! There is nothing of King John in him in that way.”

  “He is free enough with his men’s rights in other ways,” Kicva remarked. “Why not in this? Does he not desire women?”

  “He likes women well enough,” Simon replied, “but he is no lecher. As to why he would not cast his eyes on Rhiannon, there are several reasons, but the most important is that family is sacred to Henry. Rhiannon will be Geoffrey’s sister-by-marriage and as inviolate to Henry as his own sister, I assure you. Even if you were deliberately to try to provoke his lust, I do not think he would take you—unless he were too drunk to know what he was doing or otherwise out of his senses. He would be more likely to warn Geoffrey or myself of your lewd nature.”

  “Then you think this mad plan of my father’s has worth? Or is it only a way of forcing me into a contract with you?”

  “Do not be an idiot, Rhiannon,” Simon said with exasperation. “Or, at least, credit that I am not one. The last way to convince you into marriage is by force.” Then he frowned thoughtfully. “As to your father’s plan, I do think it has worth. Prince Llewelyn knows Henry. They have met several times and your father is a keen reader of men. Anyhow, he would never force you into something to further my purpose; therefore, he believes you are the best emissary he could find.”

  This was too reasonable for Rhiannon to dispute. In fact, she realized as soon as the anger of suspicion dissipated that her father’s encouragement of Simon’s suit from the beginning was more political than affectionate. Surely Llewelyn would be glad if she and Simon were happy, but he was more interested in settling her cheaply with a man who could never use her blood as a threat.

  Yes, Rhiannon could see all the reasons now, and the additional advantage of a new pathway to the king’s ear would make the marriage very advantageous. But marriage had not been her intention, ever. Yet her father had always been kind, and if her marriage would aid Gwynedd… She loved her people and her hills and forests. Perhaps her mother’s way was a solution. A betrothal could last many years, not coming to fruition for this reason or that, and at worst it could be broken…and Simon was so eager for it.

  Rhiannon put out her slender hand, and Simon grasped it so hard he hurt her fingers. “I will agree to a betrothal,” she said, “if the contract is made here in Wales.”

  “Of course,” Simon concurred. “It would not be fitting for you to travel with me to England without a betrothal, but it will also be a surety for you, eneit. If you find me not to your taste, I swear I will ask my father to discover some fault with the contract so that it may be broken.”

  Rhiannon laughed at him. “Oh, what a cocksure popinjay you are! It would serve you right if I demanded my freedom just to put you in your place.”

  “Of all idiocies, cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face is the worst,” Simon said complacently.

  “I have heard more modest statements than that in my life,” Kicva commented dryly.

  “Is not honesty the best policy?” Simon rejoined provocatively.

  Rhiannon held her head. “Is this what you wish me to marry, Mother? Do you really desire that I spend my whole life with a man who believes himself God’s gift to womankind?”

  “I have always known that to err brings punishment.” Kicva shook her head and smiled as she rose to her feet. “It was a mistake to open my mouth and thrust myself between you two. I have been battered enough. Now, before this grain of wheat is ground to flour between the upper and nether millstones, I will s
lip away. I leave you to the fate you have sought, Simon, and you to the one you deserve, my dear daughter.”

  “She means,” Simon said, opening his eyes wide to manufacture an expression of surprised wonder, “that both of us will be blessed by great happiness.”

  “I know her better,” Rhiannon remarked. “She thinks the fool will gain a shrew to wife—which will not improve either of them.”

  But both knew better than they spoke, and Rhiannon did not draw her hand from Simon’s. Nor did she even look doubtful when her mother bade a servant fetch her writing desk and set it on a stand by a window. Since it was clear that Kicva meant to write and tell Llewelyn his plan had succeeded so far as a betrothal, Simon was quite content. He leaned forward and kissed Rhiannon briefly, then released her hand. Without more ado, both began eating again.

  After a few minutes and a glance at her mother, Rhiannon asked, “What is your family, Simon?”

  Between bites Simon began to describe his relatives, but Rhiannon soon shook her head. She had asked a stupid question to begin with. No matter what Simon told her, she would not really know his family until she met them. She said this aloud and Simon smiled.

  “True enough, and you will see them differently than I do, but one thing I can swear to you, Rhiannon. They love me and will desire to love you most eagerly. They will not look for faults in you, eneit, but only for good.”

  “I do not fear,” Rhiannon said and smiled. “The worst that can befall is that they will oppose our marriage. Well, that will not displease me! They could not oppose it more than I. No one will care that you are my lover. I may be strange and uncouth, but I am well enough bred.”

  To her surprise, Simon did not look at all taken aback by this statement. His eyes glittered green and gold with laughter. If anything in the world could convince Rhiannon to marry him before the need to provide for a male child pushed her into it, the family at Roselynde would do it. He had many joys in her agreement to the betrothal, but a reason to get her to Roselynde was one of the greatest. Simon had infinite faith in the womenfolk of his family. He was quite certain that they would deliver his love to him, not only bound but content to stay so.