Before she could collect her thoughts, Eirlys burst through the door that linked the antechamber to Alwen’s rooms and stood frozen in place just inside, staring wide-eyed at her parents. The blank, befuddled gawk quickly turned to giggling.
“Oh!” she said. “Oh, my.”
“Whatever it is, it had better be good and you had better be quick about making it known,” Bledig barked at her.
“You do realize, don’t you,” she lectured, crossing her arms over her chest, “that it is still daylight outside.”
“And what of it?” he growled.
Eirlys laughed at him. “You are shameless, both of you.”
Bledig sighed thickly, scratching impatiently at his nose. Eirlys was sorely wearing on his nerves. “Now say what it is you came to say.”
For all her cheek, Eirlys was quick to know when she’d reached the bounds of tolerance, especially with her father. “Well,” she offered, “there’s to be a feast in your honor. That’s all.”
Bledig, for all his bluster, was quick to know what mattered most to those he loved. He never missed it, ever. It was a truly amazing talent, but then, Bledig had his own sort of magic. Of sprite and spriggan and wicked though it often was, Alwen smiled to herself.
He raised himself up on one elbow to look at his daughter. “Am I to understand, then, that you will have a hand in this meal?”
Eirlys beamed with pride. The girl had a way with palatable delights, a gift of her faerie folk. She was an extraordinary cook, and her father had an extraordinarily appreciative appetite. “Yes, I do,” she announced. “Both hands, even.”
Bledig grinned at her. “Well then, I’ll look forward to it. I don’t think I’ve had a meal worth mentioning since the last one you made for me, and that’s been so long I can hardly recall.”
Eirlys peered curiously at them both. “Are you going to stay in here all day?”
Bledig flopped back to the bed and growled in exasperation. “By all the gods, girl. Will you just get out?”
“All right then,” she sassed. Eirlys turned as she pulled the door shut, unable to resist herself. “But just imagine the tongue wagging when you finally show yourselves.”
Alwen had to smile. “It makes her happy to please you.”
Bledig nodded and then suddenly he frowned, as if he’d been reminded of some terrible thought. “Now, what is it you wanted to say?”
Many things quickly came to mind, but the news she most needed to give him gave her pause. Alwen wondered a minute how best to deliver it.
“Well?” he prodded, turning onto his side to face her. “Out with it.”
“Odwain will be asking to speak with you.”
Bledig’s frown deepened. “And what would Odwain be wanting of me?”
Alwen smiled at his befuddlement, hoping to ease the blow with a gentle tone. “I’m afraid he intends to marry your daughter.”
“My daughter? You can’t be serious.”
“Odwain is quite serious.”
“Ha!” Bledig snorted. “He stands about as good a chance as horseshit sliding uphill.”
“Now, Bledig. If you’re half the man I know you to be, you’ll let the boy prove himself to you. Besides,” she teased, “Rhys has already approved.”
“Passing muster with Rhys comes nowhere near earning my favor,” he grumbled. “We shall see.”
“Please, Bledig. As if you would refuse that girl anything.”
He grinned a bit sheepishly. “True enough, but I won’t give in as easily on this as you might think. Odwain will still have to show me his mettle. But,” he said, softened by fatherly affection, “if Eirlys wants him, he must have more merit than I’ve credited him.”
“He loves her,” Alwen said. “I am glad to see both Eirlys and Rhys happy here. It was a lot to ask, uprooting them from their homes. This is a new land, a new life. They tell me it isn’t so, but I’m sure it has not been easy for either of them.”
“Love demands sacrifice, Alwen. It’s the price we pay for the privilege and any man or woman worth a damn will pay it with pride and pleasure.”
“A lovely sentiment, Bledig, but I wonder if you will still feel so generous once you fully understand what I’ve got you into.”
“Perhaps you should do me the favor of allowing me to determine my own mind on the matter.”
“The ways of the Stewardry are mysterious, even deadly,” she counseled. “There are things you will be hard pressed to understand.”
“Come now,” he scoffed. “Surely you cannot think me so green, Alwen. Have you forgotten my mother’s faerie blood?”
“Of course not.” He had no idea who she had become or what she faced. “But this is not your world.”
Bledig was still for some time, staring intently at her. Alwen waited. She had not meant to offend him, but she did not like that he took her cautions so lightly. It seemed the best strategy to just keep silent and let the tension pass.
“So tell me, Alwen. What use will I be to you here?”
An unexpected statement, coming from Bledig. In all the years she’d known him, Alwen had never seen Bledig Rhi tentative about anything, least of all her need of him. The thought that he might question his worth to her hurt her heart. “I have yet to know what my destiny holds, but I do know I cannot face it alone.”
“Perhaps you will find your destiny does not include me.”
“Bledig, my love,” she said, tracing his nose with her fingertip. “There can be no destiny for me without you.”
“Welcome words.” He looked more closely at her, still sobered by some nagging thought. “But we shall see.”
She smiled into his pensive green eyes, thinking how much she loved this man. “Shall we, then?”
“Shall we what?”
Alwen nestled against him. “Stay in here all day.”
Fourteen
“Of all the hell-fired hog swill,” Fergus blustered, clutching a muck rake in each hand as he balanced on one foot to examine the other.
Rhys and Odwain were both startled around by the bark. Fergus’s highland brogue happened in and out of his speech, especially when he was irked. And irked he was.
Fergus had plodded right through a pile of manure, and Rhys stifled the giant guffaw rising in his throat. The stable hands had taken the horses to water and feed, but the giant Frisian steeds had left behind the remnants of an earlier meal. “Looks like the grounds are as fouled as your mood, Fergus.”
Fergus glared at Rhys as he scraped his boot clean with the teeth of one rake, muttering in the strange language used by the native folk in these parts. “I’ll be deviled and damned before I’ll ever understand your father’s appeal, Rhys. He and his ruffians show themselves whenever they please, and everyone cheers and applauds. Good thing I haven’t to worry about making them fit for the Cad Nawdd. I doubt even I could make honest soldiers of his thieves.”
Rhys’s eyebrows shot up in indignation. Fergus often forgot himself. “Remember who it is to whom you speak, Fergus. They are my people, as well. And am I not worthy of the Cad Nawdd?”
He winced. “I’m a hairy-assed, witless old bastard, Rhys, and I beg you to just put me out of my misery here and now.”
“Maybe later,” Rhys smiled, reaching for the rakes. “After we take care of this mess.”
“Where is Bledig, anyway?” Fergus grumbled.
Odwain nodded toward the temple.
Fergus’s eyes narrowed, but he held his tongue. “I’ll be off then, to see what ruckus those barbarians are up to in the guardhouse.”
Poor Fergus. Since he’d been old enough to notice these things, Rhys suspected that Fergus’s affection for his mother was deeper than any of them would want to admit.
Rhys noticed that Odwain’s gaze had traveled across the courtyard to the herb patch just outside the temple kitchen, where Eirlys was harvesting sprigs and leaves. The barest hint of a smile came to Odwain’s lips, and the blue of his eyes seemed to soften and deepen, as if they were so
mehow enriched by the view. Rhys felt both moved and annoyed. With love in full flourish all around him, he couldn’t help but notice how much his own life was lacking. It was pitiful.
“She spends a great part of every day alone in the garden or the wilds, in some sort of kinship with the things that live there, whatever they are. Flora or fauna or fey,” Odwain mused. “Is it true that Eirlys sees the pixie people?”
“Haven’t you ever asked her?” said Rhys, a bit surprised.
“I was never quite sure I should.” Odwain half turned and shrugged at Rhys without really taking his eyes from Eirlys. “Sometimes it seems that she speaks to herself.”
Rhys grinned at the thought. “Well, I suppose it would look that way, but she is never really alone. My father has blood ties to this land, from his mother. She was kin to the faerie folk, and Bledig says the fey have claimed Eirlys as their own, in my grandmother’s name. They have promised him never to take her unwilling from the mortal world, but she passes freely between the here and the there, as she wishes.”
“Bledig speaks to the faeries?” Odwain frowned.
Rhys shrugged. “So he says.”
“And you believe this?”
“I wouldn’t underestimate my father, Odwain,” Rhys warned. “Or my sister, for that matter.”
Odwain’s expression stiffened. “I would never.”
Rhys regretted his snipe. Odwain hadn’t deserved it, but Rhys couldn’t seem to help feeling irritable. “It would seem, my friend, that Eirlys prefers the mortal world to the magical one. And,” he added, “it would seem that is because of you.”
Odwain very nearly smiled. Whenever a smile did grace his sober countenance, it generally had something to do with Eirlys. “Whatever the reason, I am grateful.”
Again, Rhys felt a pang of empathy and envy. What must it be like to hold someone in your heart so dearly? And how much more amazing it would be, he imagined, to know with such certainty that someone adored you so in return.
“I am grateful as well. Eirlys is an extraordinary girl who requires an extraordinary man.” He turned to face Odwain with sincerity. “And I am relieved indeed that she has found one.”
Odwain nodded, as though lost for words, or prevented from speaking by emotion. Rhys hated the awkward silence that followed these sorts of moments, though he had meant what he said. It had needed saying, but now that it was said, neither one of them knew what to do with it.
“Isn’t it all so exciting!”
Eirlys nearly skipped into the stockyard, swinging a harvest basket. It was a contagious affliction, his sister’s effervescence, but a more appealing ailment Rhys could not imagine.
Certainly Odwain was badly infected. The look he gave Eirlys held such sentiment and reverence it was excruciating to watch. “What have you got there, pet?”
“Mm.” She smiled. “Savor and spice and all sorts of delights. We’ll feast tonight, in honor of Poppa.”
“It makes my mouth water just to think of it,” said Rhys. His sister had the most amazing gift of culinary creation. “Bledig will be elated.”
“He will, indeed.” Eirlys was proud of her talent and the effect it had on people, especially their father. She hadn’t had much opportunity for fussing about a cook fire in recent months, and this occasion pleased her.
“When will you speak to him, Odwain?” she asked.
Odwain blanched. “When I have the chance.”
“You mean when you’ve found the courage.” Rhys watched with amusement as his friend’s teeth set in a nervous grind, thoroughly enjoying Odwain’s distress. “I am glad I’ll never have to stand in your shoes.”
“What do you suppose he’ll make of me?” he asked.
“He already knows you, Odwain. I’m sure he’s made you out to be exactly whom you are. For all his gruff and bluster and blow, my father is an unnaturally good judge of a man. The biggest mistake you could make now would be to attempt to impress him.”
“Well, what the devil am I supposed to do, then?” Odwain was flustered. “What do you mean, don’t impress him?”
“I think what I said, you idiot, is don’t try to impress him,” Rhys chuckled. “He’ll see through it right away and then he’ll be insulted, and that is the last thing you want. Trust me. Just be yourself.”
Odwain eyed Rhys. “What happens when he’s insulted?”
Rhys shrugged. “I’ve seen men skinned alive for less.”
“You jest!” Odwain exclaimed.
“No, Odwain.” About this, Rhys was quite serious. “I do not.”
“You might want to get started at the cask now.” Eirlys giggled. “By supper, the ale will have you so well sodden Poppa might take pity on you.”
Rhys laughed. The truth was that both he and Eirlys knew full well that, while he might have trouble accepting the whole idea, Bledig would find no fault with Odwain. Still, it was good fun watching Odwain wrestling his nerves. “Well, at least you won’t remember anything if he doesn’t.”
Odwain rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll manage without getting soused, thank you, though a draught or two beforehand isn’t a bad idea. I’ll take Rhys with me to keep me out of trouble.”
“Rhys will get you in to trouble, not keep you out of it,” Eirlys warned. “Besides, I want you to stay with me.”
“Odwain and I have work to do yet.”
She wrinkled her nose as though she’d only just noticed the stench of horse sweat and dung. “Leave it to the stable boys.”
“Sorry, lass, but Fergus has put this task to us,” Odwain counseled. “We want his good graces, too, you know, along with my own father’s blessing.”
“I suppose so.” The pixie pout disappeared and a sweet smile took its place. “I’ll leave you then, for now. ”
Odwain stepped close to Eirlys and took both her hands. Rhys had the distinct feeling he was in the way and about to witness something he didn’t think he particularly wanted to see. While he was busy examining his reactions, Odwain leaned in and kissed her.
Not a little peck, either. Oh no, hardly a passing greeting, this, but a more leisurely stay. And an enjoyable one, he noted. There was nothing innocent at all in their kiss. Rhys felt the need to say something stern, though he couldn’t begin to think what. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was bothered, except perhaps it seemed the right thing to be. He should be bothered, he supposed, concerned for his sister’s honor.
Unable to stand it any longer, Rhys cleared his throat. Brotherly duty would demand no less, he figured. He waited, fully expecting Odwain to respond with haste. Odwain did not, though through no fault of his. Rhys was almost shocked when he realized how eagerly his sister offered herself. Torn between amusement and angst, Rhys groaned aloud. And then, finally, they parted.
“I’ll have to hope my father will make up his mind quick about this wedding,” Rhys groused. “Else there will be nothing saved for the wedding night by the looks of this!”
Eirlys flashed her impish grin and all but ignored him as she flounced away. Odwain was hardly contrite, though he averted his eyes as he reached to take one of the muck rakes and turned to work. More out of his own frustration than irritation with Odwain, Rhys smacked him on the back of the head.
“Bloody hell!” Odwain whirled around and snarled at him like a wildcat ready to strike.
“You had that coming.” Rhys grinned as he stepped back, just in case. “What sort of brother would I be if I didn’t at least pretend to defend my sister’s maidenhood?” He studied Odwain skeptically. “There is still maidenhood to defend, isn’t there?”
Odwain narrowed his eyes and heaved a sigh of exasperation. “You can’t really expect me to answer that.”
Rhys shrugged at his friend’s indignation, though he was nonetheless relieved by its inference. “It’s a fair enough question given that bawdy kiss, though I’ll assume that insulted scowl of yours means Eirlys remains chaste.”
Odwain’s expression turned pained. “Between you and your
father, I’ll be a lucky man to live long enough to relish my own wedding night. And don’t think I can’t see how much you’re enjoying this.”
Suddenly Rhys regretted his taunts. He hadn’t really meant to challenge Odwain’s character. He would be honored to call this man brother. “Let’s finish this,” he offered, gesturing toward the mess. “Then we’ll go looking for that ale cask.”
Fifteen
“Be alert,” Machreth instructed, admiring the dark green sateen dress Cerrigwen had chosen as he draped her robe over her shoulders. The color complemented her honey-brown hair and green eyes. “Allegiances will make themselves apparent.”
She frowned. “Yours, or Madoc’s?”
“One never really knows, do they, Cerrigwen?” Machreth warned, offering her his arm as they left her chambers. “Enjoy the food and the wine, but not overmuch.”
Cerrigwen sniffed. “Do you worry I’ll have too much drink and reveal you?”
“If you reveal me, you reveal yourself, and you are far too cunning for that. I worry more that too much wine might tempt you to vent your true feelings for Alwen. You must at least pretend to befriend her, if for no other reason than to keep whatever trust Madoc is willing to place in you.”
“You insult me, Machreth. You can’t possibly think me so stupid.”
“Stupid, no, but envious, that you are.” He ushered her down the stairs. “Jealousy must not be allowed to overrule your reason, Cerrigwen.”
“Now.” At the bottom of the steps, Machreth separated her hand from his arm and straightened the cuffs of his black camlet robe. “We should not arrive together, lest we give Madoc any more reason to suspect.”
Her breath caught for a moment while she considered — and then reconsidered — her reply. “As you wish.”
Cerrigwen tossed her hair, lifted her chin and cut smartly in front of him, sweeping ahead toward the doorway of the great hall. Machreth appreciated her sense of dignity, particularly when it could be manipulated to serve his desires.
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