She picked up the empty vial of poppy juice. In Cardiff she could probably get a supply fairly easily. Although there was no certainty when she would be able to return to Cardiff. Most likely she would be stuck at Caer Maes-Llyn for the whole winter. She put the vial in her basket along with the dozen jars of medicine she’d already decided to take.
There was a meow and she looked down to see the Melyn Bach. As the cat began to rub against her legs, another pang of loss went through her. She’d fought so hard not to become attached to the animal. But she’d lost that battle. Along with many others.
She stooped to pet the cat. As she stroked the animal’s golden fur, she noticed the cat was noticeably plumper than she remembered. “Oh, Mellie, must you break my heart as well?” The cat was pregnant. Quite pregnant.
She could not stay to see the kittens. It might be a few weeks before they were born. Far too long to linger. Already, she could sense her resolve weakening. She must go now, before William guessed her plan.
She’d told him she was going to send a message to Owen and ask him to send an escort. William would assume it would be several days before that escort arrived. But there were problems with that plan. Owen might refuse to send an escort. Or come himself and try to bully her into staying. Her strategy had been to tell Owen that William had refused to marry her. She dare not let Owen discover the truth: that she was the one who didn’t want to wed.
She must leave as soon as possible and travel directly to Caer Maes-Llyn. Her uncle would support her right to decide whether she wed William. As would her Aunt Branwyn.
But traveling to Caer Maes-Llyn by herself would not be easy. To avoid Cynan ap Ifan’s men, she would have to take the coastal route until she was close to Cardiff and then quickly travel north from there. Even if she rode Cinder, the journey would take four or five days. It sounded very daunting. But the alternative also terrified her. If she remained here, she would end up ruining both William’s life and her own.
She collected several small bowls, her mortar and pestle, scissors, and put them in a cloth bag. Then she added a dozen different bunches of herbs.
Hours later, carrying her full pack and two bags with the rest of her possessions, she left her cottage. A nearly full moon guided her way as she headed for the castle. As she came out of the woods, the brewer’s dog barked. She froze. But no one came out of the cottage, and she continued on.
She reached the castle without incident. As soon as the guards saw her, they opened the gate, clearly assuming she was there to see William. Leaving would be trickier, but she hoped with Ralf’s aid, she could manage it.
She’d seen the young knight in the village earlier and asked him for his help. Now, as planned, Ralf met her at the entrance to the stables. The lantern he carried illuminated his face, revealing his displeasure with what she was doing. But he knew he owed her. Perhaps she had not saved his life, but her treatment of him had certainly speeded his recovery. And she had promised to speak to Owen about whether Merion might consider wedding his daughter Gwellian to Ralf.
Ralf took her to a stall where Cinder waited, already saddled and bridled. She transferred her supplies to the horse’s saddlebags and Ralf led the mare out of the stables. “I don’t like any of this,” he muttered as he helped her mount.
“’Tis for the best,” she whispered back.
He led the horse to the gate and then loudly spoke the words she’d told him to say. “I hope having the horse gets you there faster. Although I thought babes usually took their time.”
Rhosyn also sought to make her words carry. “This one is stuck in the birth canal. If I don’t get there quickly, both mother and babe could die.”
Ralf grunted. Rhosyn immediately called up to the guards. “Please open the gate. A woman is in travail and I need to get to her as soon as possible.”
“Why do you need a horse?” asked one of the guards.
“The woman is the wife of a shepherd. They have a croft up in the hills. ’Tis some distance away.”
There was muttering in the gatehouse. Then a different knight called, “Should you not have an escort? I’m not certain Lord Fitzhugh would want you riding alone at night.”
“There isn’t time!” Rhosyn didn’t have to try to sound panicked; her voice naturally grew high and frantic as she saw her plan unraveling. “Lord Fitzhugh will be more displeased if you delay me and the woman dies!”
She could hear more muted conversation. The portcullis creaked open and Rhosyn rode down the trackway. At the bottom, she pulled her mount to a halt. Her plan had gone perfectly. So why did she feel so bleak and discouraged? Because she did not truly want to leave this place. The villagers might not quite accept her as one of their own, but she believed they would in time. She had not been here even a year.
But how could she stay and face giving up what she had with William? He could not see it now, but someday he would realize the truth: he needed an English wife. The king would likely choose one for him. Then she would have to endure the misery of watching him with another woman, knowing that woman was what he needed, but still having her heart broken every time she saw them together.
But that might not happen for months. If she stayed, she could enjoy what she and William shared for as long as it lasted. She thought of making love with him, the splendor of their bodies being joined. The incredible pleasure and magical sense of completion. But that was not what she would miss the most. It would be what they shared afterwards. The tender way he held her close. So close she could feel his strong, steady heartbeat as she lay cradled against his chest. She had never felt so safe as she did then. So utterly content.
She would also miss talking to him. The way he listened to her. The way he showed respect and admiration for her skills as a healer. He treated her as if she was as important as any of his knights, or the villagers.
And in a way, she was. She had the knowledge and skill to save lives. If she left, who would the people of Higham turn to when they were sick or injured? Adela and Hilde were both pregnant, and she suspected Egelina was, too. Who would deliver their babies? Amara had made great progress in learning healing skills, but she was long way from being able to deal with delivering a babe on her own.
Regardless of her feelings for William, how could she leave all the people who depended on her? She had been taught from girlhood that healing was not merely a skill, but a responsibility. She had argued with William that as a healer, she must choose duty over her desire to wed him. Did she not also have a duty to stay and take care of the villagers and people at the castle?
She tried to think of what her mother would say. How she would advise her. The thought of her mother reminded her of the grimoire. She could not leave it buried by her cottage. It was too precious to risk something happening to it. She must go and fetch it.
She urged the horse towards the village. Along the way, she continued to fret.
By the time she reached her cottage and dug up the grimoire, the night would be half over. She would not get far from Higham by morning. What would William do when he discovered she was gone? Would he send someone after her? Go himself? Or would he respect her decision to leave and gradually come to terms with it? Move on and find an English wife?
As she reached the commons area, she halted the horse. She wished she had a scrying bowl so she could look into the future. But if such magic had once existed, it had been lost years and years ago. In this time, there was no way to know for certain how events would unfold. All she could do was try to reason things through.
She loved William, but feared to lose him. She dreaded staying and having her heart broken. But if she left, other people might suffer. Lives could be lost, and it would be her fault for running away and being unwilling to face her fears for the future.
Looking at it like that, the answer was clear. She could not leave, at least not now. If she stayed and William eventually wed another woman and broke her heart, she would have had more time to train Amara. William might not
wed for months. He was so stubborn. And he was loyal. Although Rollo had tried to kill him, he still mourned his cousin’s death.
Maybe he wouldn’t change his mind and decide he needed a noblewoman as a wife. The king could insist William wed a woman of the king’s choosing. But William could always refuse. And the king might be too busy with other things to insist.
There were so many unknowns regarding the future. It seemed foolish for Rhosyn to leave now. Foolish and irresponsible.
She leaned down to pat Cinder’s neck. The horse was growing restless, as if wondering why they were stopping. “What should I do?” she murmured to the animal. “Go back to the castle? But what will I tell the men at the gate?”
It seemed better to ride to the cottage, and return the horse in the morning. If William learned she had ridden off alone at night, he might well be angry. But if she told him the story about the shepherd’s wife and the babe, he would understand. He knew she had a duty as a healer to aid those in need, and he’d always expressed admiration that she took her responsibilities seriously.
As she urged Cinder forward, Rhosyn smiled. William Fitzhugh was a reasonable and thoughtful man. Who would have guessed an English knight could be like that?
*
“Milord.”
William came to awareness slowly. He’d struggled to sleep for hours. Now, just when he’d finally dozed off, someone was waking him. Groaning, he rolled over and squinted in the faint light from the night candle. “Stephen, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Milord… that is…”
William felt a surge of irritation at the knight’s reticence. What was it he was afraid to tell him? “Come on, man! Speak up!”
“Rhosyn the healer left a short while ago. She said a woman who lives in the hills was in travail and needed a midwife as soon as possible. But I don’t think that woman exists.”
William’s head felt like it was full of cobwebs. He could not make sense of what the man was saying.
“I think Rhosyn is leaving Higham,” Stephen said. “She had several bags of supplies with her. Far more than she would need to tend a woman having a babe. I think she’s going back to Wales. It’s hard to believe she is a spy, that she might be involved in the raids. But something is amiss here, milord. I can tell.”
Rhosyn was leaving. Going back to Wales. That could only mean one thing. She’d made up her mind not to wed him. She’d decided she wanted to be back among her own people.
The grief and loss he felt near choked him. ’Twas far worse than what he’d experienced when he learned Adam was dead. Adam had been a friend and he mourned him, but he had not felt this deep, devastating sense of loss. As if his life was almost no longer worth living.
“Do you want me to saddle up Trueheart, milord?”
“Why? What?”
“Are you not going after her?”
Go after her. Beg her. Plead with her to come back. He wanted to do that. He wanted to, with all his heart. But it would not be right. This was her decision. Her choice. What right did he have to gainsay it?
“I mean, if she is a spy, she could tell the raiders… well, I suppose she could tell them something.”
“Rhosyn is not a spy. I can promise you that.”
“I didn’t think so. Not really. But if not that, then why would she leave?”
Because she does not want to wed me. I asked her, and she refused.
And yet, thinking about it that way, hearing the words in his head, that explanation didn’t make sense. If she truly didn’t want to wed him, there was no reason for her to leave. She was leaving because she thought it was the right thing to do. She believed if she stayed, her presence would keep him from wedding a woman of his own kind, as she referred to it. And if that was the reason for her leaving, it meant she did love him, and she was leaving because she wanted the best for him.
But Rhosyn was the best thing for him. Nothing in the world would convince him otherwise. She was as important to him as the air he breathed. The food he ate. Her very presence heartened him. Made him braver and bolder and stronger. Wiser and shrewder. With her at his side he felt he could do anything. Overcome any obstacle. Defeat any foe. She was his life’s blood.
“You’re right, Stephen. Saddle up Trueheart. I should go after her. Not because she’s a spy. But because I think she is leaving due to a… a misunderstanding.”
She misunderstood what he needed. She thought he needed a wife like other English lords. But what he needed was her. No one else would do.
*
Rhosyn collapsed on the bed as the fatigue hit her. It had been a very long night, and it wasn’t yet morning. She’d had to remove Cinder’s bridle and saddle, something she’d never done by herself before. Find a rope to tie up the horse. Then she’d emptied the saddle bags and put away all the supplies she’d packed. She could have waited until morning to do that. But having made the decision to stay, she wanted to get things back to normal. Then, finally, driven by a frantic desire to make certain it was safe, she’d dug up the grimoire.
She inhaled the fragrant herbs in the straw mattress of her bed as her fingers stroked the cover of the precious book. Tomorrow, she would rebury it. For now, it was good to have it close. It reminded her of her mother. Her mother had died because she sought to protect her. She’d made that decision out of love. Which meant her mother believed love was as important as her duty as a healer.
Rhosyn moved her fingers from the grimoire to the blanket. Stroking the soft wool, she immediately thought of making love with William. She wished he was here. Not to pleasure her, but to lie next to her. His big body beside her, the two of them squeezed together on the narrow bed.
This was where she belonged, she felt certain. Her heart might yet be broken, but William was right. It was better to take a chance. Love was as important as duty. She sighed and then gave in to blissful sleep.
*
William came out of the trees and saw Cinder tied up near Rhosyn’s cottage. His heart jolted with relief. The villagers he’d talked to had been right. Rhosyn had not left after all. He wondered what had changed her mind. He decided he didn’t care. She was here, and that was all that mattered.
But at the door of the cottage, he hesitated, overcome with nervousness. What should he say to her? Should he pretend to believe the tale that she had gone to help deliver a babe? Nay, he didn’t want any more lies or secrets between them. He would tell her he knew she planned to leave Higham and then try to convince her to stay. This time, somehow, he would make her understand how much he needed her.
Flush with determination, he called out her name. When there was no answer, he felt a flutter of unease. Was it possible she hadn’t taken the horse, but set out for Wales on foot? That would be witless.
He called her name again. This time he heard sounds from inside the cottage. He considered entering, but then decided to wait. Better to respect her privacy.
He felt something brush against his legs and looked down in surprise to see a yellow cat. What did Rhosyn call the creature? He couldn’t remember the Welsh name she used, but she had told him it meant little yellow. Although the cat wasn’t as little as he recalled.
The animal looked up at him with enigmatic gold eyes. William reached down to pet it. “Rhosyn,” he called out. “There is someone here to see you. Someone I think is hungry.”
More rustling sounds. The door opened. Rhosyn looked flushed and breathless, but she was smiling. “William.”
“And Little Yellow, or whatever you call the creature.” He gestured to the cat, then realized the animal had already transferred its attentions to Rhosyn.
She picked up the cat and petted it. “Melyn Bach.” She smiled at William again, then moved aside. “Come in.”
He entered the cottage. Rhosyn put down the cat and went to open the shutters to let in more light. Her hair was disheveled, as if she’d been in bed. She was wearing her plainest gown, the one she gathered herbs in. It was brown and cream checked, a patte
rn he’d come to realize was common to Welshwomen’s clothing. He wondered if she’d ever feel comfortable wearing an elegant silk or sarcenet bliaut and a veil. Or adorning herself with jewelry. Such as the dragon necklace he’d bought in Cardiff.
He hadn’t given it to her yet. There had not seemed to be a proper time to do so. Now he wondered if it would please her. ’Twas a dragon, true. But it was also very elaborate and showy. He didn’t want her to think he was trying to get her to dress more like a wealthy English noblewoman. He didn’t want her to think he hoped to change her. It was important she knew he loved her exactly the way she was.
She was petting the cat as it stood on a chair near the table. “I fear I have nothing to feed you, Melyn Bach,” she crooned. “I will have to fetch something. Or perhaps Emma will come by with some fresh milk.”
William cleared his throat. He would not forget his resolve. “You have no food in the house. The fire is not lit. And there is a horse outside. ’Tis clear you meant to leave Higham.”
She looked up at him, wary as ever.
“And don’t tell me you went to help deliver a babe. I know that’s not true. You were going to leave. To go back to Wales, I presume.”
She nodded. “I was.”
“But you changed your mind.” His pulse was racing. He feared she would say she still intended to leave.
She smiled again. The warmth of her expression eased some of his fear. She returned to petting the cat again. The animal arched its back and purred as she stroked its body in long smooth movements. “I realized it would be irresponsible to leave. Higham would not have a healer. I know at least two women here who are with child, and if anyone was injured, there would be no one to treat them, except Amara, and she is far from experienced.”
William nodded. He wished she was staying for his sake, because she loved him. But as long as she remained at Higham, for whatever reason, there was hope he could win her over.
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