“There are many men, a hundred or more, riding a sweep pattern. They cannot fail to find us. Do you wish to run, stay, or fight, my lord?”
There was another brief hesitation. Simon knew what was right, but it went sorely against his training and the grain of his own disposition. When he had released her lips, Rhiannon had laid her head against his breast for a moment. Now she pulled away gently, and he let her go.
“Run,” he answered, and stalked out of the tent. Rhiannon was already on her knees packing the few things she had taken out of the traveling baskets. Tears of frustration ran down her cheeks, and she cursed the oncoming forces with every ill she knew by the old gods and the new. There would not be another chance like this. Now she would have to tell him before he took her, see the pain in his eyes, and deal with his gentle but irrevocable withdrawal. This had been her last chance to touch him and love him. Once back in Angharad’s Hall, Rhiannon knew she would have to end the relationship completely. If she did not, she would feel every pain for him a thousand times when he was not even hurt.
The pain of parting would be terrible, but it would end if she did not see Simon again. It would be like a twin-trunked tree, riven by lightning. It took long, but the scar would heal over and the standing tree would live. If she could not endure now, she would be smitten with worse pain later, and it would never heal. It would grow worse and worse as her love deepened and she grew more dependent on it with the years. But she had wanted him one more time.
For the first time in her life Rhiannon cursed her womanhood. Many women did so from the day they understood what it meant, but not Angharad’s descendants. They were proud and free—as Rhiannon had been, until she had loved Simon.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was clear as soon as Simon stepped out of the tent that he had managed to ignore more than a few dim noises. Siorl must have called him more than once, but the master-at-arms made no comment on his lord’s most unusual inattention. Siorl had been at Dinas Emrys when Rhiannon sang with the winds, and Simon’s flushed face and suffused eyes were excuse enough. Siorl was only glad the witch had let him go in time.
Quite unaware of his man’s conclusions, Simon gave his complete attention to his duty and was relieved to see that his desire for Rhiannon had not caused a disaster. In case Simon decided to stay, Siorl had taken the preliminary steps for fighting or running without disrupting the overall appearance of the camp.
Final orders were given now and fires were killed with earth, the readied pack animals were loaded, and the tent was rolled up around Rhiannon as she finished strapping the baskets. Then the men came in and took apart cots, table, and stools, and rolled up the bedding. By the time Rhiannon’s mare was brought to her, there was no sign of the tent, aside from a flattened section of grass and weeds that would soon spring upright again. Similarly, there was no sign of past passion or tears on Rhiannon’s face.
Simon’s heart sank as he looked at her. He knew now, without words, what she had been trying to tell him—that she had been willing, but it would be the last time. He tried to think of something to say, something that would change her mind or at least make her suspend her decision before the intention became fixed. But there was no time to think. The need to escape precluded argument. All he managed to say was her name.
“Do not,” she whispered. “Let me be. I will die, Simon. I will die.”
There was a thin, tense quality to her voice that was more frightening, more eloquent of the disaster she skirted, than screams and tears. Simon surveyed his men again, saw they were ready, and gave the order to ride forward. He could do nothing now about Rhiannon. He told himself that the hills would cure her, that when she was safe and could run free again, she would accept him. But there was a sickness of disbelief in him. It was not fear of being captured or any other fear that had driven Rhiannon to reject him completely. It was something to do with him, and her eagerness for lovemaking had been the final, deciding factor in her mind, he feared.
All personal emotions were dulled as Simon led the troop out. They did not go too quickly at first. The fore-riders of the searching groups were not very far away, and it would never do for them to hear a large group thundering off. As soon as a rise of land behind them formed a baffle, they picked up speed as well as they could in the dark, hoping that the slow sweep behind them would give them a good lead. They gained their end and did slip away from that searching troop, but it did little good. It seemed as if every keep loyal to the king in the area had been warned and had sent out its garrison to search. Simon could only curse the unfortunate circumstance that Hubert de Burgh’s own lands and closest allies were east, in Kent, whereas his greatest possibility of safety lay west in South Wales. Thus, the king’s forces were searching with equal assiduousness in every direction.
On foot and without the baggage, Simon, Rhiannon, and the men could have scattered and disappeared into the dark. But Simon was not willing to lose a troop of horses, including his own fine destrier by which it might be possible to identify him. In addition, there was all the clothing and jewelry, his camping equipment, the food, and other supplies that would have to be abandoned. If Simon had to, he would rather identify himself and give one of the excuses he had been concocting for wandering around in the middle of the night; he would even rather fight than lose his horses and goods.
In fact, Simon’s temper was disintegrating so rapidly under the mingled effects of anxiety, distaste for running away, and sexual frustration that he would have loved to have someone pick a fight with him. Unfortunately, every force his scouts noted was stronger than his own. This meant attacking from ambush, which was really unjustifiable, or taking too great a chance of defeat. Simon’s light-armed bowmen were not really the equals of a superior, heavy-armed force in open combat.
So they dodged and zigzagged from one wooded area to another, barely avoiding some troops, running hard ahead of others. Simon tried to keep them headed north, but they were driven east several times. In the end, this was an advantage because they stumbled upon a main road, which Simon figured had to be the Winchester-Cirencester road. Here, Simon decided to stop and outface any searching troop if necessary. It was nearly dawn anyway. Even at first light it would be reasonable enough to be traveling along a road—so long as no one noticed the blown and lathered horses.
That was the deciding factor. The horses had to be rested in any case, and it would be best to rest them before fording the river Kennet. Simon did not know any ford except the one at Marlborough. Since the ford would surely be guarded, they could neither cross it at this time of night nor take the chance that the condition of the horses would be noticed. The only reason not to stop was that Simon had come to the conclusion that he did not want to talk to Rhiannon for a while. The reason was scarcely tactically sound, and Simon was forced to put it aside.
They moved sufficiently off the road to be screened by trees and brush, watered the horses at a small streamlet, and fed them. No scouts were sent out. Simon had decided to run no farther. He did not think there would be any searches on or near the road. It led south to a town loyal to the king and north only to the ford at Marlborough. In either direction there was no escape for any fugitive, so there was no real point in patrolling the road. Simon’s expectation was correct. No one moved on the road until the ordinary traffic of the morning began.
When he had set the watch, Simon came back with some reluctance to where Rhiannon lay. It had occurred to him, somewhere in the muddled night, that if she did not say aloud that she did not wish to see or speak to him again after this journey was over, there would be a greater chance she would relent. Commitments spoken aloud are very hard to forget. Again Simon wondered whether she had thought of the bitter challenge about whose hunger would triumph. He thought it was a draw, but Rhiannon might consider herself shamed. She had first held out her hand. But he had kissed her… Simon’s eyes closed, and he swallowed.
Mercifully Rhiannon was already asleep—or pretending to be
asleep. Simon lay down softly a few feet away. It was cold, but he was accustomed to it. He noticed that Rhiannon, practiced camper that she was, had provided herself with blankets from the horses and would be warm enough. It was marvelous to be with a woman for whom you never had to feel concerned. She could go anywhere. She needed no watching or tending. Then grief choked him. What had he done that had changed her mind? Yet she had said it was not his fault. Had the threat of confinement somehow connected itself in her mind with marriage?
If so, it was all the more important to be patient and not to press her. When she was calmed by safety and soothed by freedom, he could approach her again with promises never to take her from Wales, even from her own home, unless she desired to go. He must do everything in his power to keep her from speaking to him about the future. There were reasons enough now to make haste to Llewelyn’s court. He could leave her there; her father would send her on to Angharad’s Hall with a small escort. Simon intended to ask permission to return to Richard, and he thought Llewelyn would give it, even if he decided to pretend he did not know what his vassal was doing. The tension that had prevented Simon from sleeping eased; he smiled slightly, and his eyes closed. Women were very tender toward a man away at war.
Simon allowed his men to rest until midmorning. Then, when the road was empty for a time, they came out into it and rode openly to Marlborough. Although Simon was questioned minutely and each man in his troop was carefully scrutinized—especially the wrists and ankles, for all three prisoners had been manacled and would have sores there that were impossible to hide—no other problem arose.
Rhiannon asked no questions about their sudden haste. Simon could not help wondering whether this was because she understood that Llewelyn must have news of de Burgh’s escape at once, or whether she was so eager to be free of him that she did not care to ask why. One moment Simon was in a pit of despair, then a quick glance or a turn of her head would give him hope. Perhaps, he told himself, Rhiannon was eager to be at home so that she could think before she said more than she meant to say.
The truth was that Rhiannon did not know either. One moment she wished passionately to be away from the dark, beautiful face and lithe body that aroused her; the next she had all she could do to keep from weeping at the thought that she would never see him again. She was sufficiently absorbed in her own troubles not to realize that Simon was avoiding her deliberately. He seemed busy with his men and the details of traveling, and when it would have seemed unnatural not to speak, she was not surprised that he concentrated on the political situation and how the freeing of de Burgh would affect it.
When they crossed into Wales, Simon began to ask for news of Prince Llewelyn. They learned, to Simon’s relief, that he was at Ruthin and made for the keep with all speed, arriving very late, long after the gates had been locked for the night. However, the guards opened readily enough when Simon and Rhiannon had been recognized. Rhiannon went to the women’s quarters at once, and Simon breathed a sigh of relief. If he caught Llewelyn at first waking, he could be away before she came down to break her fast.
Late as it was, Simon spent some time composing a letter to be given to her, reaffirming his faith and his love. He would come to Angharad’s Hall when he could, he promised. He could not tell her where he would be, he added cleverly, because he did not know. He thought her father would want him to act as liaison between him and Richard, and the Earl of Pembroke would doubtless be traveling from one stronghold to another to make all ready for war.
This letter was handed to Llewelyn to use as he thought fit. Simon had concealed nothing from Rhiannon’s father, who knew he was hearing the story from Simon’s point of view—but his sympathy was with Simon in any case. Prince Llewelyn had long thought Rhiannon quite mad. As long as this madness did not interfere with his plans, he was willing for her to go her own way. Now that he had found a use for her, however, he was determined that she would serve his purpose. To act as intermediary between himself and King Henry, Rhiannon had to be married to Simon, and married she would be by hook or by crook.
Previously there had been some doubt, but now Llewelyn was sure there would be need for an intermediary. He foresaw that there would be handsome profits in the war that was inevitable between Pembroke and the king. If he allied with Pembroke, there was no way a mercenary army, totally unprepared for the kind of warfare that would be waged, could win. And a mercenary army meant pay chests as well as the valuable supplies that any army carried. Llewelyn grinned wolfishly. If they were beaten badly enough, the whole western border would be undefended. And Chester was dead. Llewelyn licked his lips. There was no longer any oath of friendship to hold him back. The cities would be open to looting—not Chester itself; Llewelyn’s spirit shrank from that, but Shrewsbury was just as good. Yes, they would take Shrewsbury.
A double profit would be gleaned from that. The taking of Shrewsbury would surely shock even King Henry and bring home to him the stupidity of what he was doing. Yes, but after that an intermediary would be needed. For a long time, Henry would be too furious to talk reason with any man. But a woman, in no way associated with anything military, truly grieved over the animosity between her father and the king who appreciated her art—yes. It would be of particular value that the songbird the king admired so much had been frightened away from Henry by the threats of the Bishop of Winchester. Llewelyn began to grin again as he thought the story through. Yes, Rhiannon would have returned in spite of her fears to plead for peace between her favorite listener and her father. How touching!
But first there was the question of getting her married. His eyes narrowed and he tapped Simon’s letter, which he had read before it was sealed in his presence, against his fingertips. He could not say too much. There was no forcing Rhiannon. She would run away, even kill herself if the pressure became too extreme. But there were ways to make a person apply pressure to herself. Llewelyn beckoned a maidservant and told her to carry Simon’s letter to Rhiannon. As he expected, it brought her down to the hall a few minutes later, so soon that her hair was uncombed and her gown undone.
Seeing her father, she cried, “Is he gone?”
“Some hours,” Llewelyn replied gravely. “Does it matter? I had proposals to make to Pembroke, and Simon was fittest to make them.”
“Where is Pembroke? I will send a messenger.”
“As to where Pembroke is—I have no idea. Simon will have to track him by rumor and possibly follow him from place to place. Just now the earl’s friends are peculiarly unwilling to speak freely of his whereabouts, even to me. And why, Rhiannon? What is of such importance to say to Simon that you must send a man after him?”
“I do not wish him to come to Angharad’s Hall,” Rhiannon said bleakly.
“And the letter says he will come?” Llewelyn asked, to establish the untrue fact that he had not read it.
Rhiannon nodded. Llewelyn looked at her, waiting for her to say something, but she did not speak.
“I saw that Simon was not happy,” he continued. “How has he offended you, Rhiannon? Were his mother and sisters unkind?”
“No. I was welcomed most warmly.” Her voice dropped. “They will be disappointed that we do not marry.”
“Do you not? Why not?”
“I cannot.” Rhiannon stared glassily at nothing.
“I guessed as much from Simon’s face, although he would say nothing.” Simon might tell only the truth, but Llewelyn was not in the least averse to a big, thumping lie in a good cause. “It is not sufficient to say ‘cannot’, Rhiannon. I ask again, how has Simon offended you?”
“Not at all,” Rhiannon cried, grasping her hair and holding on as if it were a rope and she dangling from a cliff. “It is nothing to do with Simon.”
“You have found him unlovable? He no longer attracts you?”
“No…Father…I love him too much.” Llewelyn reached out and drew Rhiannon to him and put his arm around her. She never called him Father. The word was a cry for help. For an instant Llew
elyn’s resolution wavered, then firmed even harder. Silly chit, it was the best thing for her, and she simply did not know it. She had come too late to desire and was frightened by it—or thought it would restrict her freedom. So it would. And about time, too!
“That is unreasonable, Daughter,” he said gravely. He was about to say that if she knew she could never learn to love the man, a woman might resist marriage, but the other way around was ridiculous. However, Rhiannon cut him off.
“It is not unreasonable,” she rejoined hotly, pulling away, and forthwith described her terror and her pain, ending, “He will be hurt for a little time and then he will find another woman to assuage his pain and—and to take my place.” Her voice stumbled a little over those last words.
Llewelyn had to hide a smile, but he only said, rather flatly, “I do not think so. I knew Simon’s father when we were both barely men. I was seventeen and Ian the same age. He was in love with Lady Alinor then—I heard enough about her to choke a horse. She married his lord and best friend, Sir Simon Lemagne. Ian never touched her nor even looked at her—in the sense of being a woman—but he loved her still. Oh, there were other women to warm his bed, but not one warmed his heart and he never married until Simon Lemagne died. Then he took her for whom he had longed for—what? Near twenty years, it had been.”
Rhiannon had stepped away and was staring at him with wide eyes. She had accepted the fact that Simon would be faithful to her if he became her husband because he had chosen, as Sybelle said, out of knowledge and not out of ignorance. It had never occurred to her that he might have told the truth when he averred he would be faithful whether or not she accepted him. Yet his father had done just that, and without any hope of satisfaction for his love from the beginning.
“You are not by nature cruel, Rhiannon,” Llewelyn said into the silence that fell after his last words. “Perhaps you have not looked at the matter from both sides. Consider whether to ease your own fears it is right to inflict a life of loneliness and childlessness and sadness on a man who loves you. His constant nature is not by his will or sheer stubbornness but something with which he was born.”
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