Authors: Roberta Gellis
For half an hour more, Simon, Philip Bassett, and their men
held the land between the keep and the camp. A final blast of horns told them
that all the allied forces were out. Then they turned and galloped away. They
assumed that as soon as they were gone, those in the keep would rush down and
try to organize a counterattack, but no one was worried. The men were so
demoralized that they would not respond well to orders, and there was hardly a
weapon or a piece of armor left in the camp. The garrison of the keep had been
somewhat mauled already, and they were far inferior in numbers to the rearguard
Gilbert Bassett had set up.
The rearguard action was maintained all the way to
Abergavenny, but no one expected it to be necessary, and it was not. Having
fought hard twice and having had an energetic gallop with a proper load on him,
the black stallion had settled into a model of obedience. Naturally, the moment
Simon’s mind was free of the need to concentrate on keeping alive, it turned to
Rhiannon. First, equally naturally, he was so consumed by outrage that he
gasped for breath and felt as if he would burst.
What the devil had she meant when she said she had come to
find him in the tent of an officer of an enemy camp? Idiot woman, imagine
wandering around in the middle of a battle looking for a cat! And how dare she
scream aloud that she would marry him where and when he desired and make that
an afterthought to demanding a bow?
At this point, Simon began to laugh. No one would believe
this, no one! He was not sure he would have believed it himself if he were not
riding a strange, black horse instead of Ymlladd. Then, as soon as he thought
of his destrier, he began to worry about whether the wagon had been attacked by
one of the organized bands and, if so, whether Rhiannon had been able to manage
the stallion. Fear for her woke anger again, and he fretted and fumed until the
ridiculous aspects of the situation struck him anew.
Between this seesaw of emotion, he wondered how the devil he
was going to find Rhiannon in the madhouse that Abergavenny keep must be, with
loads of loot of all kinds coming in and ten times the number of men the keep
was designed to hold accompanying it. Actually, Simon should have known better
than to worry about such matters when both the Earl of Pembroke and Prince
Llewelyn had remained at Abergavenny. By the time the rearguard reached the
keep, everything was completely organized. As each man entered, he was asked
his name and the name of his leader and directed to where his group was resting
and reorganizing. Simon’s name made the guard look up.
“You are most urgently wanted in the hall, my lord. Your men
will be quartered and word sent to you.”
Such a summons to a very junior member of the army could
only have to do with Rhiannon, so Simon was not surprised to find her sitting
with Llewelyn, Pembroke, and Gilbert Bassett. Although Simon’s predominant
emotion was outrage as he threaded his way through the bailey and entered the
keep, the expressions on the four faces—no, five, for Math was sitting in his
mistress’s lap—when they saw him struck Simon so funny that he whooped with
laughter and could barely walk straight.
Llewelyn’s face became rigid as wood and his eyes were
suffused. To Simon it was clear his overlord would have been laughing too, if
he were not afraid of offending his companions. Bassett was seated as far from
Rhiannon as possible. One could not call the daughter of a major ally a witch,
but… Pembroke, staring at her, simply looked stunned. And Rhiannon… Simon
choked. Rhiannon and Math both wore the same smug, self-satisfied look of
contentment.
Llewelyn signaled a servant to bring another stool. “Sit
before you fall down,” he said to Simon. “We must settle this quickly. There
are more important matters in hand than the behavior of my idiotic daughter,
but I must be rid of her before I can deal with them. Simon, I will have you
locked up! What the devil are you laughing at?”
“She—she—do you know what she did?” Simon hiccuped. “She—in
the middle of the battle she shrieked at me that she was willing to marry me
where and when I chose. The—the whole army…
both
whole armies are
witness.
Eneit
, you do not do things by halves, I will say that for
you.”
Rhiannon shrugged. “It was no one’s business but ours, and
there is nothing shameful in agreeing to a marriage. Of course, you
are
a Saeson, but not so many in the army know that,” she teased.
“Rhiannon!” Llewelyn roared.
She went silent and lowered her eyes—she had not meant to
say anything offensive to Bassett and Pembroke but had just forgotten they were
there—but Math made a rude noise, a weird mixture of a hiss and a belch.
Llewelyn looked at the large cat with marked disfavor and then looked up.
Bassett’s eyes were going from Rhiannon to the cat and back, and Llewelyn did
not like the look. Other men were looking around at the group impatiently.
There was no more time to be spent on this minor matter.
“I gather from what you have said that you are still willing
to have her. Is this true, Simon?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts. If you are willing to have her, take her now. And
you are responsible for her. Keep her off the battlefield and
away—from—these—gentlemen. I do not care how you do it, just do it. And do not
present yourself to me again until you stop laughing.”
Simon did his best to swallow his unseemly mirth, which was,
of course, compounded of lack of sleep, overexertion, too much tension, and a
great and sudden relief. He seized Rhiannon firmly by the wrist and retreated
hastily, ignoring the fact that Math had fallen from her lap when he jerked her
upright. In the back of his mind, he was surprised that Math had not scratched
him nor had Rhiannon protested; she went willingly right to the edge of the
hall. Here she pulled back a little.
“Wait, Simon, where are we going? The keep is packed like a
cask of herrings.”
Simon paused and looked into her eyes. His half-hysterical
laughter had ended as soon as he gripped her. When his fingers closed on her
arm, it was like taking hold of some great source of strength. Warmth and
refreshment flowed into him, and it was like being back in the tent after
freeing de Burgh. Rhiannon’s eyes had the same deep luminescence, and he had
the same aching need. His face went rigid with desire.
“I do not think my father is really angry,” Rhiannon said,
seeing the change in his expression and misreading it.
“No, and I do not care if he is,” Simon replied through
stiff lips.
Then she understood, and fire coursed through her also. She
turned her hand so that she could grip Simon’s wrist while he still held hers.
They stared at each other. They could not go outside the keep. Not only was it
dangerous, but it was too cold in the middle of a November night. Inside, even
the lice would feel crowded, so close were the pallets packed together. Then
Simon called to mind the stone storage sheds where bins of grain and roots were
kept in Roselynde. If Abergavenny had them too… He started off again and
Rhiannon followed, with Math at her heels like a dog.
Even starved as they both were for each other, the crowded
conditions and organized bedlam of the courtyards began to quell their desire.
If Simon had not already been so tired, he would have suggested that they ride
to his mother’s keep at Clyro. He began to consider the idea seriously while
they struggled across the bailey, but the sheds were there. He chose the
nearest, even though it was small and low-roofed, and prepared to break the
lock—only the door was not locked, it opened easily to Simon’s pull.
The odor of sheepskins in the shed was too strong to be
pleasant, yet both Simon’s and Rhiannon’s eyes lighted and their smiles were
unstrained and full of remembered gladness. The shed had been left open so that
anyone who was cold could take a fleece. They were too large to steal easily
and of little value in any case. Simon laughed and jammed the door shut.
Whoever was cold would have to wait until tomorrow or find some other source of
warmth.
It was black as pitch inside, but when they tripped over a
skin they fell soft on a pile of fleeces and lay kissing. The shed walls were
thick so that only a muted noise drifted in through the air vents under the
roof. They were separated from the crush and excitement in the bailey outside,
and the feel and smell of the sheepskins—not so overpowering now that they were
accustomed to it—carried them back in memory to the open hills and the
shepherd’s quiet hut.
They began to undress each other, fumbling and laughing in
the dark, but the tension and passion of the raid were still in them. Simon’s
teeth left bruises on Rhiannon’s breasts, and her nails scored his back and
buttocks. She was so aroused—by abstinence, by the excitement of being captured
and the battle that followed, by their strange yet familiar situation—that she
came to climax almost as soon as Simon entered her. He was not ready. Near
bursting but still reluctant to let his pleasure end, he held off, kissing and
caressing until Rhiannon began to moan again, and he brought her with him to a
second fulfillment.
They slept at once, both of them, like mallet-struck oxen,
snuggled into the fleeces and covered by their doubled cloaks, until a cat’s
yowl and a man’s cry of pain and curse woke them. A faint light was coming in
through the air vents under the eaves. Simon lifted himself on one elbow to
call a warning, but it was not necessary.
“Leave it alone,” a hoarse voice shouted. “That is the
witch-woman’s familiar. She will curse you—if you need cursing after the cat
has done with you.”
“Damn Math,” Rhiannon said faintly, “he is giving me a
dreadful reputation.”
“And undeserved?” Simon teased. “Bassett is sure you are a
witch. He would accuse you to the Church, only he does not wish to offend your
father. And you have Pembroke badly worried, although not about witchcraft.
What on earth did you say to them?”
“I? I said nothing, as a modest maiden should,” Rhiannon
exclaimed, but she started to laugh. “It was that silly man you sent with me
and the wagon—Siorl. We had a little trouble because there was fighting near
the road. We shot two or three, and then a few charged us. Ymlladd—perhaps by
accident I gave the signal, or he knew what to do himself—he rose to fight.
That must have frightened Math, and he let out a yowl that even startled me. I
do not know what those stupid men thought it was, but they turned and ran. I
suppose Siorl thought I had told my familiar to drive them away.”
Simon had to laugh, too. He knew Siorl had regarded Rhiannon
with awe ever since the stay at Dinas Emrys. After a minute he frowned. “It is
funny and not funny. We will have to think of a way for you to redeem yourself.
Someday this war will be over and Bassett and Pembroke will be reestablished.
We cannot have word spread in England that you are a witch. But what I want to
know is what you were doing in that camp in the first place?”
She told him the whole story, from Llewelyn’s letter through
her capture. Simon laughed again at the Pwyll’s wife fabrication and Math’s
defense of her when she resisted de Guisnes, but despite his amusement his eyes
were troubled.
“You need not tell me it was foolish and dangerous,”
Rhiannon said seriously. “I will not do it again. I would have waited at
Builth, or come here perhaps, only—only I was happy, and I wanted you to be
happy, too, Simon. But I will never be so foolish again. I know I could have
become a chain to bind you. What happened in the camp after I left?”
“We cleaned them out. They are naked as babes, and we are
rich. We have everything, even the pay chests and the king’s tent and some of
his plate and jewelry which, for some reason, were not taken to the keep. They
have no horses, except the few that were in Grosmount, no oxen, no food, no
tents for the men, no armor, no weapons. And we tried not to kill if we could
avoid it, but they know we could have slit their throats in the dark.”
“Is the war over, then?” she asked hopefully.
“Not yet, but I do not think it will be long. The king will
be hysterical after this. First he will blame Richard and make all sorts of
useless threats that he cannot fulfill. Then, after another defeat or two, when
he realizes he is helpless and is being beaten, he will turn his hatred on
those who put him into this case.”
“But until then you will be at war?” Her voice was tight
with fear.
Simon hesitated, but he said, at last, “Yes, Rhiannon. It is
my duty.”
“I will not try to turn you from it,” she assured him. “I am
not that foolish. But I must be near, Simon. I cannot stay at Angharad’s Hall
or Dinas Emrys. I must be near. I will stay where you tell me and will not add
to your danger—so long as it be close enough that you can come to me—or I to
you—when the battle is over, soon after the battle is over.”
Simon burst out laughing. “Soon enough that I still desire
to couple? Am I so worthless at other times?”
“Simon, it is no jest. When I am near, I am not afraid.”
“I understand,
eneit
, believe me, I understand,” he
assured her, still smiling. “I will take you with me whenever I can, right into
the camp. Was it that? Was that why you turned away from me? Or was it
something I did? I must know, lest I drive you away again.”
“No, that will never happen. I told you so many times that
it was not you, but I who was at fault. You see, I never loved anyone except my
mother and father and I—I only loved them as a child loves.”
“I do not understand.”
“It is so hard to make plain,” she sighed. “A child thinks
its elders are invulnerable. A child does not believe in death. When Gwydyon,
my grandfather, died and I saw my mother’s heart torn, I must have learned a
dreadful fear, so dreadful that I closed off my own heart.”