A Moment in Time (23 page)

From her hiding place Rhiannon's eyes twinkled mischievously and she giggled. Turning to her younger sister, she said, "I think that the beautiful Prince of Dyfed lacks a proper respect, Angharad. Perhaps I can instill it in him."

"What are you going to do, Rhiannon?" demanded Angharad. "The Cymri are best avoided."

"Stay right where you are, little one. As your elder, I am responsible for you. You may watch me, however," came the gay reply as Rhiannon moved her horse forward out of the shelter of the trees. She spurred her mount gently forward into the clearing where the men were gathered, but the creature's dainty hooves made no sound as they touched the ground.

Taran saw her first as she appeared from amid the tangle of woods that surrounded the little area where he and his companions had stopped to eat and drink. His mouth fell open with surprise. Speechless, he could do nothing more than raise a hand and point. Amazed that their usually voluble companion had been rendered silent, Pwyll and the others followed the direction of that shaking finger to find themselves equally stunned.

At first they were not even certain what it was they saw glittering and shimmering as it came toward them. Was it some trick of the light amid the delicate leaves of the golden beech trees and the sturdier quivering branches of the deep green pines? Was it their half-drunken state that made them imagine that they were seeing something? Was it magic of some sort that they were witnessing? Then gradually their confused eyes perceived a young girl upon her horse.

There wasn't a man in that clearing who did not think that the girl was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. A tall, slender maiden with a serene face, mounted upon a dainty black mare with an elegant high step, whose bejeweled red leather bridle tinkled with the sound of tiny silver bells. The girl's heart-shaped face was framed by a mass of thick hair which seemed to be spun of gold and silver mixed together. It poured down her back in a rippling wave, spreading itself out over the shining dark flanks of the horse. Her gown was a pearlescent garment that appeared to have been spun from cobwebs and moonbeams. It floated about her. Her beautiful, delicate hands with their slender, bejeweled fingers rested quietly upon the reins. She seemed to be almost one with her mare. Eyes focused ahead of her on some unseen path, she did not once look toward the huntsmen as she trotted by and vanished on the opposite side of the clearing into the forest as silently and as mysteriously as she had come forth from it.

Open-mouthed, they stared after her. Then Pwyll managed to recover and called to a young huntsman, "Gwyr! Follow her! Quickly! I would know who that lady is,
and
where she goes."

Galvanized into action by the sound of Pwyll's voice, the young huntsman raced to his horse and dashed off after the beautiful girl.

As they watched him go, Taran said, "I think we may have seen some magical creature from another realm, my lord. Perhaps you should not have danced upon the mound."

"Aye, 'tis magic we have seen this afternoon, my lord," spoke up another of the prince's friends, Evan ap Rhys. "I hope you have not offended one of the Fair Folk."

"The Fair Folk are not to be feared," Pwyll tried to reassure his men. "They are our friends."

"They are different from us, Pwyll," replied Taran. "Oh, I know you have had dealings with them before and all has been well; but none of us knows where they live, or even how they live. They simply appear and disappear at will. They are prosperous, and yet do any of us know how they come by their wealth? Such lack of knowledge makes me uncomfortable with the Fair Folk."

"Have you ever known the Fair Folk to d
o
anyone a serious harm?" Pwyll countered.

Taran shook his head. "Nay," he admitted, "I have not."

" 'Tis more than we can say for our more familiar neighbors," Evan ap Rhys muttered.

The huntsmen returned home, and later that evening, as they feasted in Pwyll's hall, Gwyr arrived tired, dirty, and soaked through with the rain which was now falling outside. The young man was given a juicy piece of venison on a trencher of bread and a goblet of wine. His companions waited politely for him to finish his meal, that they might learn of his adventure.

Finally restored, Gwyr put down his goblet and said to Pwyll, "I regret, my lord prince, that I could not catch up with the lady."

"Was her horse so swift then?" demanded Pwyll.

Gwyr shook his head, and his glance was a troubled one. "I kept the lady in my sight for some time, but no matter how fast I drove my own horse onward, I could not catch up with her. She, however, appeared to neither slow nor hurry her beast. Then suddenly she was simply no longer there, yet I cannot recall seeing her disappear. I do not understand it, my lord," he finished with a helpless shrug.

" 'Tis magic he has witnessed," Taran said quietly.

"What magic?"
The query came from the girl who was seated next to Pwyll. "What are you talking about? You have all been so mysterious since your return from the hunt this afternoon. You must tell all!" She smiled winningly up at Pwyll, her eyes soft and alluring.

"There is little to tell, Bronwyn," Pwyll replied. "We saw an extraordinary lovely girl in the forest today, and I sent Gwyr after her to find out who she was, as none of us had ever seen her before. She seems, however, to have eluded young Gwyr."

"Oh," laughed Bronwyn gaily. "Is that all?" Then she reached out and, bringing her goblet to her lips, sipped her wine thoughtfully as the men in the hall went back to their conversation. Bronwyn of the White Breast was the only daughter of Cynbel, lord of Teifi. Next to Pwyll's family, the family of Cynbel of Teifi was the most powerful in Dyfed. It had been assumed by all at court that he would one day make Bronwyn of the White Breast his wife. No formal betrothal had ever been arranged, however, and the ladies of the court all enjoyed flirting with Pwyll at one time or another, although none would have dared to aspire to becoming his wife. That place would belong to Bronwyn of the White Breast, or so it was believed by all at Dyfed's court.

Bronwyn was a pretty girl whose best feature was her milky white skin. Her eyes were dark brown, but perhaps they were a trifle too harsh in her pale face. Her hair was a golden brown. She wore it in two long, neat braids along either side of her head. Still, her features were attractive and in good proportion, if not outstanding or unique. Her teeth were small, white, and even. As she was expected to be Pwyll's wife one day, none would criticize her. Though Bronwyn presented a sweet and pleasant picture, there were those who had felt the sting of her temper, which bordered on the vicious when she was, or felt she had been, crossed. No one complained. She was Cynbel of Teifi's only daughter. She would be Pwyll's wife.

Now as she sat at Pwyll's high board, her goblet clasped within her two hands, she carefully considered the events of today. Why had Pwyll sent after this mysterious woman? Why should he be so intrigued? Instinct warned Bronwyn of the White Breast that such a thing did not bode well for her. She had never considered the possibility that Pwyll might ever marry outside of his court, might ever wed someone other than her. And he would not, if she had anything to say about it.
He was hers!
Then she laughed softly at herself for being such a fool. The lady had disappeared. They should never see her again, but perhaps this was a warning she should heed. She would speak most firmly to her father about arranging her marriage to Pwyll as soon as possible. It was past time she became his wife. Possessively her hand reached out to touch his arm, and she smiled the contented smile of a well-fed cat.

Pwyll did not feel her touch. The Prince of Dyfed was genuinely troubled. He was neither faint-hearted nor superstitious, but like all about him, he acknowledged the existence of the Fair Folk. They were of a far more ancient race than his own. They rarely associated with the Cymri, for they held them somewhat in contempt, Pwyll knew; but when they did deign to associate with his people, it was very much at their own convenience. Even the proud Cymri acknowledged the superiority of the Fair Folk whose magic was legend.

Pwyll knew it was better to have the Fair Folk for friends rather than to have them for enemies. He had had previous associations with some of their powerful clans. It had been very much to his own good and those of his people. His drunken capering in the forest this afternoon may have offended them, Pwyll now realized. Although no one understood the mysterious mounds, perhaps the beautiful maiden was their guardian. Whoever she was, he knew that he wanted to see her again. Unaware of Bronwyn's clinging hand, Pwyll stood up and the hand fell away.

"I have dealt with the Fair Folk before," he began slowly. "The maid this afternoon was unknown to me, but from Gwyr's tale I believe her to be one of them. They are just people, but as I do not wish to offend the Fair Folk, I will return to the forest alone tomorrow to that same grassy mound to wait. Mayhap the same maiden will appear again. I will apologize to her for my foolish behavior and beg her most gracious pardon."

There were murmurs of approval throughout the hall, and Taran said, "Aye! It is a good thing, my lord, that you do so. The Fair Folk are known for their kindness of heart, and surely their men have, on occasion, been in their cups. I doubt you have committed any grave sin against them, but it cannot hurt to apologize."

"No!" The word was said loudly and sharply. All eyes swung about from Pwyll to Bronwyn. "You must not go, my dear lord," she cried, and her brown eyes brimmed with tears. "The Fair Folk are not to be trusted!" She clung to his arm as if his departure were dangerously imminent.

"Nonsense!" laughed Pwyll. "My dealings with the Fair Folk have resulted in nothing but good."

"They are not like us," Bronwyn said firmly. "They have lulled you into a false sense of security. They have built up your trust. Now suddenly this magical maiden appears beneath your very nose! Why? I think she has been sent to lure you to your doom, my lord Pwyll. What will happen to Dyfed if anything should happen to you?"

"Why, another should be chosen to be its prince, dear child. Probably your own father, Cynbel." He chuckled. "Dyfed's survival does not depend merely upon me, but you are sweet to believe it so, Bronwyn," Pwyll finished.

Now there were murmurs of dissent within the hall as some considered Bronwyn of the White Breast's words, and others supported their prince's decision to seek out the magical maiden again to apologize. Pwyll let them chatter for a time. Then he raised his hand for silence.

"I am still Dyfed's prince," he said quietly, closing the matter to any further discussion.

The following afternoon Pwyll eagerly spurred his beautiful white stallion into the deep forest that surrounded his small castle. Finding his way back to the grassy mound, he dismounted to await the return of the maiden. He could not even be certain that she would come, and yet in his heart he felt she would. She did not, however, nor for eight days after that, when he kept watch. On the ninth afternoon, just as he was about to give up in despair, the maiden rode forth from the tangle of forest into the clearing and past Pwyll. He stared after her open-mouthed, but then as his initial surprise subsided, Pwyll leapt upon his horse and galloped after her.

Rhiannon's heart was beating wildly. She had done a most brazen thing that first afternoon, as Angharad had later scolded her; but it had been worth it! It had not been the first time she had seen the Prince of Dyfed, although she had not known at first that he was a prince. Twice before, alone, she had spied upon him. Each time was like the first time when she had come upon him quite unexpectedly, schooling a horse in a meadow on the edge of the wood. Her heart had contracted most painfully in her chest that first time, and each time thereafter when she laid eyes upon him. This afternoon was no different.

Pwyll of Dyfed was even more handsome up close than he had been at a distance. His hair was as black as a raven's wing. He wore it clubbed back as the Cymri were wont to do. About his head was a band of gold which only served to accentuate the darkness of the hair. He was as fair-skinned, however, as she herself, but the color of his eyes she could not ascertain. She had never gotten that close to him. Besides, upon that fateful afternoon when she had first shown herself to him, she dared not stare. His features were strong but for his mouth, which had a softness about it. Still, she longed to kiss that mouth.

Pwyll hurried his horse after Rhiannon, keeping the same gait at first, and then spurring his horse into a gallop. There was no horse in Dyfed who could outrun Pwyll's, yet to his amazement, his straining animal could not lessen the distance between them, though the maiden's mount never appeared to increase its speed. Pwyll burst out laughing. This was powerful magic indeed. He slowed his panting beast almost to a halt and called out to the girl ahead of him, "Maiden, I beg you to stop that we may speak. I must know who you are!"