A Memory of Love (13 page)

As she arose, Rhonwyn realized that she ached. She saw her dagger across the floor and hurried to pick it up. She always kept it beneath her pillow at night, for she had been taught an enemy can come upon you at any time. And an enemy had, but she had not killed him when she had the chance. Had it been necessary for him to be so rough with her? He had enjoyed it, the fiend! Well, at least she would not be bothered with his attentions any longer. He had promised her that, and she sensed that Edward de Beaulie was a man of his word in spite of everything that had happened between them the night before.

Enit helped her lady dress. The two young women were silent. Together they walked to the church. Rhonwyn spoke the words of the mass quite automatically, startled to suddenly realize that her husband was by her side. ap Gruffydd was nowhere to be seen, for he only went to church when it was absolutely necessary. When the service had been concluded de Beaulie took his wife's hand, and they walked back to the great hall where the morning meal was being laid out. Rhonwyn saw the prince standing by the fire, a large goblet in his hand.

“You have not forgotten?” she asked de Beaulie anxiously.

“Nay,” he reassured her softly, “but in exchange, Rhonwyn, I would have you call me by my name from now on, wife. Will you do that?”

“Aye, Edward, I will,” she responded low.

Llywelyn ap Gruffydd saw de Beaulie smile down at his daughter, and the prince thought to himself, perhaps it will be a happy union. For her sake, I hope so. In the end I did my best for her, Vala. “Good morrow,” his voice boomed.

“My lord,” de Beaulie replied. “You will be leaving us this morning, Prince Llywelyn, will you not?” It wasn't really a question.

“Perhaps, if I am satisfied you are well and truly wed to my daughter, Edward de Beaulie. Show me the proof of this marriage's consummation. I would see my daugh-ter's innocence bespattered across the sheet of your nuptial bed.”

Rhonwyn felt her cheeks burning at his words.

Her husband, however, turned to Enit and said, “Fetch the bedding, lass.”

“Nay!” ap Gruffydd said. “I will go with the girl and see for myself, my lord. You cannot object to it, I am certain.”

“Go then,” de Beaulie answered him calmly, but was angered that Rhonwyn should be so openly embarrassed by her own father.

When ap Gruffydd returned to the hall he said, “You did not spare her. That I could see. Very well, my daughter is now your wife. Other than paternal affection, I no longer have any claim upon her.”

“Paternal affection?”
Rhonwyn burst out. “You never had any affection for me, ap Gruffydd! How can you mouth such words with such piety? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

“Rhonwyn.”
Her husband's voice warned her.

She was about to turn her scorn on him, but then she remembered. She was suddenly silent.

“Come, my lord, and let us eat,” Edward de Beaulie said. “I have a boon to ask of you.”

They sat at the high board, Rhonwyn between her father and her husband. The servants bustled about. Small round trenchers of bread, baked fresh earlier that morning, were set before them. Into them the servants spooned an oat stirabout with bits of dried apple. A square board with a small cheese upon it was placed in front of them along with a platter of cold, roasted rabbit. Their goblets were filled with watered wine. They ate for a time in silence, de Beaulie amazed and amused to see his wife's prodigious appetite. He wondered if she always ate like that, but he doubted it, considering her slender form.

Finally, when they were finished and the servants were clearing away the remnants of the meal, the prince spoke.

“What is it you would have of me, son-in-law?”

“Rhonwyn wants her brother here at Haven. She misses him,” Edward de Beaulie said. “If it would make her happy, then I am willing.”

“So the English, having had my daughter, would now take my only son,” ap Gruffydd said.

“Not the
English
, prince, but your daughter, his sister,” de beaulie explained. “There is no trick in this, my lord. Surely you can understand that never having been separated until a few months ago, she misses him.”

“Rhonwyn and her brother are my only offspring,” ap Gruffydd said. “As she has had her value, so my son one day might prove useful to me. But if he is in English hands already, then his value is lost to me, son-in-law.”

“You will marry eventually, Prince,” de Beaulie said. “You must for your heredity's sake. The children of your legal marriage will be of far greater value to you than the two children who were born to you on the wrong side of the blanket. Let Rhonwyn have her brother's company again, my lord. I swear to you that I will protect the boy from any political chicanery and send him directly back to Cythraul should I find I am unable to do so.”

“I must think on it,” ap Gruffydd said slowly.

Now Rhonwyn was unable to contain herself any longer. “Glynn means nothing to you!” she cried. “I will be here, and you will go your way without another thought or care for my brother. I know you well, O prince of the Welsh. Glynn is your son, but he is not you or your brothers. He has no ambitions other than to create beauty. Let me have him, my lord. You know in your heart that you do not want him.”

“If I let you bring him into England, he could be a dagger turned against me one day, Rhonwyn,” ap Gruffydd said.

“And if you do not let me have him, what will happen to him? Would you destroy him because of some imagined fear, my lord?” she said. There were tears in her green eyes, and Edward de beaulie vowed then and there if ap Gruffydd would not willingly let his son go, he, himself, would ride into the Welshry and bring the lad back to his wife. “Please, my lord prince,” Rhonwyn pleaded. “Let me have my brother's company. You have said yourself that he is good for nothing more than the priesthood or poetry. Surely there is no threat to you in that.”

“It is not Glynn who worries me, Rhonwyn. It is the English,” ap Gruffydd said.

“I have said I would protect him,” de Beaulie replied.

“You are the king's man, son-in-law, which is why he chose you to be my daughter's husband,” the prince said. “You are reliable and can be trusted. This is why I have waited so long to marry. I never wanted to be torn between my duty and the woman I loved. That is where you will find yourself, Edward de Beaulie, if I put my son into your keeping. As for your wife, you do not love Rhonwyn. You barely know her. Perhaps one day you will have an affection for her, perhaps not. Therefore I believe your stronger loyalty would be to your king, and not to your wife and her brother.”

“Please, Tad,”
Rhonwyn said, slipping into the Welsh tongue.

“You have never before called me
father
,” he answered her in the same dialect.

Rhonwyn smiled wryly. “It is unlikely I ever will again,” she said honestly. “Let me have Glynn. I swear to you on my mother's honor that if I think the English mean to use him against you or Wales, I will either aid him to escape or kill him myself. You know I am worthy of your trust, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. You know that as much as I love Glynn, that I will do my duty, whatever it may be.
Please!
”

“Say
it
again,” he replied.

She hesitated a moment, and then said, “Please, Tad.”

“You have my pride, daughter, but you know when to yield even as your mam did. Had you been my son the English would have truly had something to fear, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn.” The prince turned now to his son-in-law and spoke Norman words to him. “My daughter has convinced me that my son's interests are better served here at Haven Castle rather than at Cythraul. Since you have given me your word to protect him, I will send Glynn to you.”

“I know you have made Rhonwyn happy,” de Beaulie said quietly. “Thank you, my lord prince. You will find I keep my word, should it be necessary to protect your son from the crown. Since I do not intend to inform the king that the boy is with us, it is unlikely we should face any difficulties.”

“Henry is indecisive, but his cub is far fiercer than most I have known,” ap Gruffydd warned his son-in-law. “He will be king sooner than later, and you must remain on his good side. He is the best and the worst of all his ancestors, son-in-law. How long the peace will hold after he becomes king, I do not know. If we should meet in battle, Edward de Beaulie, look away. I should not like to slay my daughter's husband, the father of my grandchildren.” He arose from the high board. “I have remained here long enough. It is time for me to depart lest you one day be accused of conspiracy,” he chuckled.

de Beaulie arose, as did Rhonwyn. Together they walked the prince of all the Welsh to the courtyard where his men awaited him. Taking his daughter by her shoulders, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd kissed her first on the forehead and then on each of her cheeks.

“Farewell, my daughter. May God be with you always,” he said.

“Farewell, my lord prince,” she responded. “I thank you.”

“For what?” he teased her.

“For my husband and for my brother,” she replied, giving him a small and rare smile.

He chuckled. “A son. You should have been a son,” he said in his own tongue. Then he looked to de Beaulie. “Farewell, son-in-law. God grant my daughter gives you many healthy sons and daughters.”

“Thank you, my lord prince,” de Beaulie answered. “Godspeed!”

ap Gruffydd mounted his charger and led his men from Haven Castle. His daughter and her husband stood for a short time watching them go, and then they turned back into the castle.

“How did you manage to convince him to send your brother to us?” de Beaulie asked his wife.

“I called him
father
,” she said. “I have never before called him that. The prince is a strong man, but he is also sentimental. My calling him father touched him. It was also a victory in his eyes. He felt I was forced to do something he had always wanted. He knows, however, that we are both victorious in this matter, for we have both attained what we sought,” she finished.

“What did you promise him?” he wondered aloud.

“Nothing,” she replied. “Why should I have to promise him anything, my lord?”

“Perhaps you agreed to send him certain information,” her husband suggested softly.

“If you doubt or fear for my loyalty, then make certain that I am not privy to your delicate English matters,” she told him. “I promised ap Gruffydd nought. I merely called him father, a word he has longed to hear from my lips. I had never done so before. There is nothing more to it, Edward.”

“You will have to earn my trust, Rhonwyn,” he told her.

“Whether you trust me or not makes no difference to me, Edward,” she said coolly. “I must live with my own conscience.”

“By the rood, you are the most aggravating woman I have ever known!” he said.

“Have you known many women?” she asked him sweetly.

“A wife should be meek and obedient to her lord's will,” he said.

“My mother was meek and obedient. She gained no wedding band by her position and lost her life, I believe, because of it,” Rhonwyn replied. “Hers is hardly an example I wish to emulate.”

“You have a wedding band,” he said softly.

“We have already satisfied the treaty between our two nations, Edward,” she reminded him as softly.

He flushed, but then said, “Would you like to ride out with me and see the lands I possess, my lady wife?”

“Aye,” she agreed, “I should, my lord husband.”

So the truce was now set between them. They slept each in their own beds, but met at meals and rode together each day. His time was spent in overseeing the management of his lands, meeting with his bailiff and those freedmen who farmed portions of his lands and paid him in kind for the privilege. His flocks of sheep were large, his herds of cows ample. Fields needed to be plowed in rotation. Crops had to be planted and harvested and stored for winter. The days were busy and full.

Rhonwyn, with the help of Enit's uncle Alfred, the cas-tle's steward, was learning the proper management of her home, putting into practice those lessons she had learned at the abbey. She was astounded by all the things she had to oversee and grateful now to the nuns who had given her some of the knowledge she would need. The year, Alfred told her, was a never-ending round of duties and chores. There was a time for slaughtering meat and salting it away for winter. The kitchen gardens had to be planted, the root crops stored in a cold place for use in the winter. The winters at Haven, Alfred said, were among the worst in all of England. Fruit had to be harvested at the proper time and turned into conserves and jellies. Apples, pears, and quinces could be dried as well as coldstored. There was a time of year in which soaps, candles, and beer were made. The hives had to be well kept if the castle was to have honey. Sugar, sold in loaves at the Shrewsbury market fair each month, was expensive.

The weeks went by swiftly. April was followed by May, and then on one bright June day the castle watch called out that riders were approaching from the hills to the west. Three riders and a single pack horse. Rhonwyn could scarcely contain her excitement. She hurried to find Edward.

“The watch has spied a small party of three riders coming from Wales. It is my brother! It has to be Glynn!” she said. “Let me ride out to meet him, my lord!
Please!
”

“We will go together,” he told her, and ordered their horses saddled at once.

They rode out with several men-at-arms in attendance, and with each pace the horses took, she grew more elated. Finally Rhonwyn could no longer contain herself and to Edward's surprise spurred her gelding forward into a gallop. A rider broke away from the incoming party, rushing forward to meet her. Edward de Beaulie held his hand up to halt himself and his men even as the other riders ceased their movements as well. He watched, a small smile on his face, as Rhonwyn pulled Hardd to a stop and leapt off her mount, as did her brother off his. The two siblings flung their arms about one another, crying joyfully.

“Sister! Oh, sister, how beautiful you have become!” Glynn ap Llywelyn said admiringly.