Rhiannon

by Roberta Gellis

  It would be unwise to say what he thought, but Simon knew Rhiannon had seen his impulse to laugh and he had to say something. “They will not find you uncouth, my love. Exotic, perhaps, but that will do you no harm. And if you can set one of your wild tales into French, my mother will think the sun rises and sets on you. She and Gilliane are great ones for a tale of romance.”

  “I will do it gladly.” Rhiannon’s eyes grew bright with pleasure. “Do you really think they will like my songs?”

  “Eneit, they will take you away from me completely for the sake of those songs if I allow it. Geoffrey will want you to teach him every note. He is a fine player of the lute and sings most sweetly himself. My father will hang on every word, remembering the joys of his youth, and the children will keep you at it from dawn until they are driven to their beds. They are never done pestering my father to tell them tales of giants and magic in Wales.”

  However uncaring of disapproval a person may claim to be, it was pleasing and reassuring for Rhiannon to believe that she had a shield against criticism. Although she would never have admitted she wished to be liked and accepted by Simon’s family, the key to their regard that he had given relaxed her. Roselynde ceased to loom so large in her mind that it obscured all else. She began to ask questions concerning the greater purpose behind their betrothal, questions about the king and the court.

  It was a theme to which Rhiannon returned again and again. Simon, who had initially given little or no thought to what she could accomplish, began to recast his ideas. Over the next few days Rhiannon extracted from him a wealth of information that he did not even know he possessed and had designed several tentative plans to ingratiate herself with the king.

  “You know,” she said thoughtfully one afternoon as they lay together in the woods, “even if the peace is broken and my father makes common cause with Pembroke, Henry will probably not blame me—a mere woman. And if he likes me and I interest him—not as a woman, of course, but as an entertainer—I could be useful when the terms of peace are made even in future times.”

  Simon turned a little more toward her and pressed his face into the hollow of her throat. He did not wish her to see the amusement and delight in his eyes. Rhiannon knew that her presence in the English court presupposed a bond with his family, and, more and more, she spoke in the long term as if their being together was a natural thing. This had to mean marriage. Simon was far too wise to bring this to her attention yet. Let her mire herself in the quicksand farther. Then he would think of some good, pride-salving reason—and he would have her.

  She stroked his head idly as he kissed her neck, not aroused by his caress because they had just finished making love a little while before; also, her attention was on a serious subject. Simon did not feel rejected. He was quite accustomed to women who regarded sex just as men did—a great joy and pleasure but only when more important matters did not supervene. He rolled to his back again, agreed with what she had said, and contemplated with extreme satisfaction the small forest glade in which they lay.

  There was, of course, no way for them to be together inside the hall. Simon slept in the common room with all the men, and Rhiannon slept in the women’s quarters, so they had not yet made love in a bed. There were plenty of other places, though, even when it rained, like the shepherd’s hut where they had spent all of the preceding afternoon. The fleeces, with their sweet, oily odor, had made a softer bed than Simon’s cloak over a heap of pine needles, but he still preferred the open, whether it was the hay-scented hillside in the sun or this odorous, mysterious hollow under the great, silent trees.

  “How long will I have to make a friendship with the king if I can manage to do so?” Rhiannon asked after a few minutes of contemplative silence.

  “The conference is called for the Sunday after Michaelmas. If anything is to be accomplished, it must be before then, of course, but—” He jerked upright. “I have been too much bemused by your sweetness, Rhiannon. The truth is that we have very little time indeed—if we are not already too late. Winchester would have begun at once to rave of the depredations of the Welsh and the need to bring us to heel if he intended to use that device. We should have had the contract written at once—but I did not know what to put in it. No, that is only an excuse. I thought only of being here with you.”

  Rhiannon sat up also, but she was smiling slightly. “I do not think your bemusement will have caused any delay. My father’s wits are not so lightly beclouded, and I am sure he is as aware of the need for haste as you. Did you not notice how swiftly my mother went to reply to him?”

  “I thought that was to keep you from changing your mind.”

  “I am not much given to changing my mind,” Rhiannon said, but there was no sharpness in the words, and she leaned closer to kiss Simon’s shoulder.

  He did not need more invitation and soon they were coupled again, working more slowly and sweetly—as was usual for the second time—toward a rich flowering of satisfaction. Nonetheless, as soon as they had caught their breaths, Simon and Rhiannon rose and dressed. They knew the sweet idyll was ended. They would not enjoy their love less in the future, but in these few days the love had come first.

  It was as if they had wandered over hillsides and forest-land, examining sections of the countryside to find those that would best serve as a backdrop for their passion. Henceforward other things would come first. Love would bring surcease from worry and tension, would sweeten life and make islands of joy, but they would no longer see the shape of the land only in terms of love.

  After dressing they went back to Angharad’s Hall. On the way they decided that it would be best to go to Llewelyn so that they would be ready for whatever he decided was best. Neither was very pleased with this notion. It would be difficult at best and impossible at worst to find any privacy for themselves, but each knew there was plenty of time for them to pleasure each other. The political problems in which they would be involved could not wait.

  Just as they entered the gate, Math stalked up, spat viciously at Rhiannon, and ran his claws into Simon’s leg. Both were too shocked to cry out, and stood staring, first at Math and then at each other, in blank amazement. Rhiannon had wondered after she and Simon became lovers whether Math would be jealous. He had given no sign of it, seemingly as affectionate to Simon as ever.

  But now Math had stalked ill-naturedly out toward the woods. Since standing and staring at each other could not produce any answer, they continued on into the hall. Here they found the solution. Kicva rose from her knees beside a long, wicker traveling basket as they entered.

  “So that was why!” Rhiannon cried, and burst out laughing.

  “Why?” Simon echoed.

  “Math saw Mother packing my things. He is always furious when I go away.” She laughed up at Simon. “Somehow he must know it is something to do with you. That is why you were punished worse. Sometimes I wonder if that cat is altogether of this world. He has always ignored my other suitors. Could it be that he smelled I was attracted to you and thought you would keep me from leaving?”

  “I see that we are going,” Simon said, smiling at Kicva, “but I hope it is not any trespass that has decided you to drive us out.”

  Kicva laughed at him. There had been a faint note of inquiry under his jesting remark. Simon had been certain Kicva knew and approved of his relationship with Rhiannon, but seeing her packing her daughter’s things had worried him because, until she had laughed at his remark, she had looked rather stern and sad.

  “Only a need for haste. The betrothal contracts came from Llewelyn this morning, together with a gift for Henry and letters for you and me. Llewelyn is very eager for you to go to Roselynde with all speed. You had better read your letter and decide whether matters are so urgent that you should leave as soon as packing can be finished, or whether you can stay until morning.”

  Simon was cracking the seal as she spoke, and his eyes skimmed over greetings and formalities down into the meat of the message. In a few minutes he lo
oked up. “There is no order here for me, only an explanation of some matters in the contracts and a message to my father, but if you are willing, Rhiannon, I would like to go as soon as you can be ready. I have a feeling that your father would not have sent the contracts here if he did not think that even one day might be of importance. If time were not of the essence, he would have bade us come to him.”

  “So do I think also,” Kicva said gravely.

  “Then I am ready now,” Rhiannon stated.

  “At least put on your riding boots, beloved,” Simon suggested with a grin.

  Rhiannon wrinkled her nose at him for his teasing, but did not delay to reply to it. She went to attend to her own packing, and Kicva began to assemble Simon’s belongings while he returned to the courtyard to tell his men to bring in the horses and collect their gear. They ate an early meal and Simon donned his armor. But when Rhiannon was seeing to the loading of the pack animals, he went to say a private farewell to Kicva. He found her, for once idle, sitting empty-handed before her empty loom. Simon stopped short, staring in amazement.

  To his memory it had always held a marvel of beauty, the leaf-green cloth with its interlacing trees on which perched myriad birds, all glittering so that they seemed to be in constant motion. He did not remember until that moment that the loom had been empty when he arrived for his first visit. Kicva had strung it the next day, and by the time he had taken Rhiannon to Dinas Emrys enough of the fabric had been woven to show the design.

  “Where—” he began.

  “It is for Rhiannon’s wedding gown,” Kicva said, looking past him. “It is packed in the basket.” Then she brought her eyes to him and smiled. “I had the weaving of it. Let it be your mother, Simon, who has the cutting and sewing of it. Thus we will share in the decking of the bride.”

  “Will you not come to our wedding, Kicva?” Simon asked anxiously.

  “Perhaps. That is as the future will decide. But it does not matter. I have seen your joining, and it was good. I am grateful to you, Simon.”

  “And I to you, Kicva, for you made—and I do not mean by breeding only—a daughter that could give meaning to the word woman and to my whole life.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Math refused to go with them. He came out of the forest when Rhiannon called, but only to spit at her and stalk haughtily past his traveling basket. That meant he did not choose to go. Rhiannon would miss him; nonetheless, she was glad. He would not have been happy, she thought, on so long a journey with a host of unfamiliarities at the end of it.

  They spent that night at Dinas Emrys. For reasons of her own, Rhiannon did not wish to share Simon’s bed that night. She slept, if she slept at all, wrapped in her cloak on the walls. Simon watched beside her, dozing sometimes, while she listened to the voices in the wind. She never told him what she heard, but it was something that sent them forth before the dawn with increased urgency. Long after dark they came to Krogen, exhausted, the horses stumbling with weariness—except Ymlladd, of course, who bit the incautious groom for judging his condition by that of the other animals.

  Simon and Rhiannon shared a bed that night, but they did not make love in it. Hardy as she was, Rhiannon was too quickly asleep to think of it, and Simon was tired enough himself that he was content just to have her beside him. The withdrawal at Dinas Emrys had frightened him at first, but later he understood that Rhiannon had made no attempt to exclude him from her communion with whatever lived there. He did not understand it as well as she, but he never felt personal threat from it, and Rhiannon seemed even more eager for the journey. Thus, he was content, not needing to claim and reclaim what was surely his.

  They rode out of Krogen with a full troop, Siorl in command. When Rhiannon protested in surprise, Simon told her the tale of Sybelle and the raiders. He assured her he would try to avoid any area under contest, but such activity had a habit of spreading, and he did not wish to be caught unprepared. Although Simon was technically neutral in the quarrel between Pembroke and the king because his overlord was neutral, many things could happen to him—and more especially to Rhiannon—before that neutrality was established. Over the three days it took them to reach Roselynde, Rhiannon saw that Simon had been right. They had no trouble, but only because they were too strong to be attacked with impunity.

  Rhiannon was stunned by the immensity of Roselynde keep. Some of her father’s fortresses were very strong, but none were like Roselynde. “I will get lost,” she cried.

  Simon laughed at her. “It is very simple, really, but there will be guides enough—if you are not jesting.”

  “As to getting lost—yes,” she answered, “but…it is too large, Simon. It has driven away the woods and the wild things, and the walls are steeped in blood. This is not a refuge but a threat to all who come this way. I could not live here.”

  “No, eneit, no. It does not come to me,” he soothed as they rode up the steep path to the main gate. “The blood you sense is very old. The threat is only against those who come with hatred and evil in their hearts. There has been peace and love in Roselynde for near a hundred years.”

  She said no more, but her eyes were very large and her breath quicker than natural as they fronted the drawbridge. Ymlladd stepped on it without hesitation, but Rhiannon’s graceful mare, Cyflym, balked and danced. Simon backed his horse and held out his hand. He knew the bridge was sound and steady as rock. It could only be Rhiannon’s fear that caused her mount to refuse.

  “Inside there is love,” Simon said.

  Rhiannon took his hand and they went forward together. At the first shouts of happy greeting from the men on the walls and the watchtowers, the tension in her fingers began to relax. She could not understand what they said, for they shouted in English and Simon replied in that tongue, but no one could mistake the tone. It was in the servants’ voices too, in the grooms who came to take the horses, in the men and women who broke away from their tasks to welcome home a son of the house with whom they were not afraid to laugh and joke.

  By the time Simon had greeted Knud, who had taken Beorn’s place as master-at-arms when the old man died, Rhiannon was standing at ease, looking curiously around at the activities of the inner bailey. It was not really so much different from the keeps in Wales. Here, too, the kitchens crouched against the wall of the inner keep close by the door of the forebuilding. She had noticed the grooms leading the horses around to the back, so there must be some stables there, although the pens for the cattle and other stables had been in the outer bailey. Off to the side, opposite the kitchen shed, were other sheds plainly used for storage.

  Men and women moved about purposefully but without hurry. All seemed to be well fed, better fed, perhaps, than her father’s servants. Their faces, although broad and fair instead of dark and narrow, had the same look about the eyes as her mother’s servants. Simon had told the truth. Whatever threat Roselynde keep posed against intruders, those inside were, for the most part, content with their lot.

  Knud had advanced on Siorl and began to discuss in broken French-English where to house Simon’s men. Siorl replied in even more fractured French-Welsh. Simon grinned, but left them to solve the problem. “They are a little crowded,” he explained to Rhiannon, “because everyone is here. We were wise to ride so hard. We have only just caught them before they left for Oxford. Usk is to be returned to Pembroke on the twenty-third. There has been a family conference on what to do if the king will not keep his word.”

  Rhiannon began to look a trifle apprehensive again, but Simon did not notice it in the joy of coming home. She was a step or two behind him when he was enveloped in a warm embrace by a man who came hurriedly out of the forebuilding. Rhiannon knew him at once, although many years had passed since she had seen him, and the lines of his face had blurred with age. This was Lord Ian.

  “You cannot imagine my joy when I received Llewelyn’s proposal,” he said to his son. “I never imagined he would consider you for his daughter. I have written my approval, of course, and also
a request that you should be sent home—but I did not expect you so soon. My messenger only went out the day before yesterday. But come in, Simon, come in.”

  “Are you well, Papa?” Simon asked.

  They were the first words he had been permitted to say, and Rhiannon was startled at the intensity and anxiety in them. She looked more intently at Lord Ian. He was not young, but he had moved almost as gracefully as Simon. He was hard and fit and showed no sign of illness, except… Perhaps the husky breathlessness of his voice was not all hurry. Nonetheless, he laughed at Simon’s question and waved it away.

  The gesture, taking his eyes from Simon for a moment, made him aware of Rhiannon. He stopped all movement and stared at her, his face softening into gentleness. “Forgive me,” he said. “I was so surprised to see Simon that I did not notice you, my dear. You are Lady Rhiannon. I would never have known you. How good and kind of you to come. Be welcome. Be very welcome.”

  There was such warmth in him that the simple words were infused with deeper meaning. Without thinking, Rhiannon put her hand in Ian’s and stepped forward to kiss him on the cheek. He circled her waist with his free arm and pressed his lips to her forehead, murmuring, “Be welcome, Daughter.”

  “I do not know how he does it,” Simon cried, laughing. “Papa, you should be ashamed. You are sixty years old, and still no woman can resist you.”

  “Hold your tongue, you impertinent boy,” Ian said. “If she resists you, you deserve it.”

  “Indeed, he does,” Rhiannon agreed, remaining comfortably in the circle of Ian’s arm. “I am sure you never preened yourself like a cock on a dung heap, Lord Ian. You should hear your son.”

  “I would like to, but owing to our prior knowledge of him he is very modest with us.” Ian looked at Simon with mock disfavor. “I do not doubt you speak the truth, Simon. I have never known you to lie. But your lack of wisdom shocks me. Is that how I taught you to woo a woman?”