A dull ache started inside him. Odd to remember how much he had loved and depended upon Esylt then. That was years ago, long before she turned into the greedy, jealous monster she became. Why had she changed? What had made her willing to betray him and her own people for the sake of... of what? That had always puzzled him. Why had Esylt betrayed him? At the time, he assumed she did it for the power, but she must have known how little she could ever hope to gain with allies like Ferdic and Gwyrtheyrn. That left only one motivation—her hatred of Aurora.
Rage filled him, blotting out his grief. Nay, he could not forgive her, even in death. She had cost him too much. Not only his kingdom and the men who died in the war with Gywrtheyrn, but those precious months with Aurora. If Esylt had not caused so much trouble between them, perhaps he would have realized sooner how much he loved Aurora. They would have known happiness earlier in their marriage.
But that had always been Esylt's purpose in life, to make sure no one else was happy. At least she had not lived to see him suffer the humiliation of being allied to one of his oldest enemies. It would have amused her greatly to watch him marry Ferdic's daughter.
Good God, he despised Ferdic! How could he care for the man's daughter? What if she had her sire's clever face and bright greedy eyes? How would he endure looking at her? He could only hope she was not as sly and manipulative as her father. He had already known more than his share of clever women in his life—Esylt, his she-cat of a mother, even Aurora in her loving way. He did not want another female plotting behind his back. Nor could he endure a loveless marriage such as his parents had had. Surely it was better never to marry at all than to live with a woman who waited for you to die so her sons could come to power.
Maelgwn shuddered slightly. His father had been a fool to marry his mother, but perhaps Cadwallon had believed he had no choice. His bride had also brought him a valuable dowry, not warriors or land, but peace. By marrying a highland princess, Cadwallon had finally achieved an alliance between the coastal people and the mountain dwellers and ended decades of war. No matter what his feelings for the woman—and Maelgwn's mother had been an extraordinary beauty—it seemed likely Cadwallon had found the marriage a good bargain.
There was a lesson there, Maelgwn admitted. Kings married for the sake of their people's future. Wedding this foreign princess was necessary. If only it was not so hard, if only it did not feel like a betrayal of everything he had known with Aurora.
He gazed again at the distant horizon, feeling the filmy twilight cover him like a mantle. Aurora. Even now he could see her. Her face exotic and elegant, the proud lines echoing some haughty Roman ancestor. Her hair a swirl of dusky, silken waves, so soft and thick a man could drown in it. Her body lush and alive in his arms. She defied him and fought him, but when she lay beneath him, she was warm and yielding. She was brave, nearly fearless, she had even risked her life for him. But when she whispered his name in the darkness, she aroused something tender in him, something desperate and hungry and wanting, something only she could fulfill.
After she died, he had felt broken, empty, cursed. It took years to forget, to heal. He had been twenty-five winters when Aurora died, twenty-nine when he entered Colwyn, thirty-one when Balyn appeared at the priory gate and begged to see him.
Thank God for Balyn. If his loyal friend had not asked him to return to the world, to embrace light and life and feeling again, he might still be in the priory, wallowing in the pain. Balyn had reminded him of who he was—a king, a leader. All the prayers and deprivation of the priory could not blot out the knowledge of his destiny. Gwynedd remained his birthright, his soul. It was why he stood here now, watching the fading light over the hills.
This land was his, and he would not fail it. He would do whatever his kingship called him to do. He would marry this foreign princess, endure the bedding, get sons on her. He would try to bear her no malice for being Ferdic's daughter, but he could not hope to love her. There had been a time for that, when he was young and whole, before the scars of the years had formed a shield over his heart, and he knew that Gwynedd was the only mate left to him.
He started back to the fortress. It grew late; his men waited impatiently for his decision.
A mist had settled over the coast, and even though it was summer, Maelgwn felt a chill in the air. As he neared the fortress, the fog drifted and thinned and then grew dense again. For a moment, he sensed some vast pattern swirling around him. The forces of destiny reached out, pulling him in. The mist swirled and shrieked with silence, then parted to reveal the raw timber walls of the fortress.
Chapter 4
It was nearly dusk when the sentry announced a large traveling party approaching. At the guard's alert, Maelgwn climbed up to the gate tower. In the growing dark, he could make out no more than a mass of men and horses along the coast road. Their late arrival made him nervous, and he hesitated a moment before giving the order to open the gates. He could not help thinking that this would be perfect opportunity for an ambush. But he had trusted Ferdic so far, he realized, and he must trust him a while longer. He ordered the Brigantes welcomed into the fortress.
Even by torchlight, Maelgwn recognized Ferdic immediately. He had changed little since their last meeting nearly eight years before. The Brigante king's long red hair was still bright, his arrogant features still handsome, and the gloating grin he wore still irritated Maelgwn as he walked to meet him.
"Greetings, Ferdic, overking of the Brigantes. I welcome you to Degannwy and invite you to share food with us and celebrate in peace."
"We accept your hospitality," Ferdic answered, continuing to smile in his annoying way. "We will eat with you and renew the friendship between our peoples."
The rest of the Brigante escort began to dismount, and Maelgwn's servants came forward to take their horses and help their slaves with the baggage. Maelgwn could not help glancing behind Ferdic, trying to catch a glimpse of his future wife. She must be there somewhere, he thought uneasily.
Ferdic seemed to guess his thoughts, for he gestured to the back of the caravan and asked Maelgwn if he would like to meet the princess. Maelgwn followed Ferdic to where a small shape sat upon a shaggy gray pony. The girl had her hood pulled close to her face against the night dampness, and Maelgwn could see little more than her silhouette and her hands holding the horse's reins.
"King Maelgwn, I present to you my daughter, Princess Rhiannon of the Brigantes."
Maelgwn bowed, then reached up to help the woman off her horse. She was as light and dainty as a child, he thought as he lifted her down. Standing, her head came only to his chest. He looked down at her expectantly and waited for her to remove her hood so he could see her face. To his surprise, she did nothing. After a moment, his curiosity got the better of his manners, and he reached out and pulled back the loose cloak.
Balyn was right, she was a beauty—pale, delicate face, straight, freckle-sprinkled nose, small mouth, huge, luminous eyes. But despite her obvious youth, the Princess Rhiannon did not look girlish or naive. Her wary eyes gazed at him with the still watchfulness of an animal. She held his glance a moment, then her long lashes fluttered downwards. He studied the narrow face, searching for some resemblance to Ferdic. With relief, he saw none. And yet, she reminded him of someone.
Without thinking, Maelgwn moved his eyes to examine the girl's body, hidden in the heavy cloak. Ferdic saw his probing look and laughed. "I had not fancied you such an eager bridegroom." He nodded to his daughter. "Remove your cloak, Rhiannon. Let King Maelgwn see what he has purchased with our agreement."
Rhiannon seemed to grow paler still, but she moved quickly to obey her father.
"No!" Maelgwn responded harshly. "That will not be necessary. I'm sure I will be satisfied."
Ferdic nodded. "Let us go to your feasting hall. It's time to eat and talk."
One of the women led Princess Rhiannon away, and Maelgwn escorted Ferdic to the great hall. As the two men walked side by side, Maelgwn felt his body grow taut as a b
owstring. Years ago, when he first met Ferdic, he had badly underestimated him. He thought Ferdic very young then, barely even a warrior. But within months, he had stolen half his father's army and was fighting for the Brigante kingship. This time the man would not lull him into false complacency. Guest and ally or not, Ferdic was dangerous.
The meal was quiet. Ferdic's party was small; the rest of the Brigantes made camp outside the fortress. Ferdic and Maelgwn sat next to each other and discussed the details of the alliance, the exact number of archers, infantry and officers who would stay behind to serve Maelgwn and who would be giving orders to whom. Maelgwn's smithy would provide armor and many of the weapons for the combined army. It was agreed that the Brigantes would take a portion of the arms with them when they went home in the fall.
The other negotiations completed, Ferdic turned to the subject of Maelgwn's marriage to his daughter. "Are you pleased with Rhiannon?" he asked, his blue-green eyes glittering from the mead.
"I am."
Ferdic leaned over to speak into Maelgwn's ear. "It's well you find her appealing, for there is something you should know before you exchange vows with her. The girl is not a virgin."
Maelgwn turned and looked Ferdic full in the face, startled. A dozen questions came to mind, but he held them back. "Why are you telling me this now?" he finally asked. "Have you changed your mind about my wedding your daughter?"
"Of course not." Ferdic flashed his smooth smile. "I merely thought you should know. Does it matter that her maidenhead is already lost?"
Maelgwn shook his head. Once he might have cared about such things. Now it seemed meaningless. "Nay, it does not matter. As long as she does not carry another man's babe in her belly, I see no reason why I should not wed her as agreed."
"Good!" Ferdic said heartily. "I told you only as a matter of honor between us. Then, too, if you do not wish to wait to bed her until after the wedding..." He gave Maelgwn a leering grin. "... there will be no harm done."
"I will wait," Maelgwn said in a withering tone. "But I do wish to speak to her alone."
Ferdic took another gulp of mead. "Are you concerned she comes to this marriage unwillingly?"
"The thought had occurred to me. You treat your daughter more like a slave girl put up in a game of dice than as princess of your tribe."
Ferdic laughed. "Question her freely. Despite her meekness, you will find Rhiannon quite pleased to wed you. She thinks you are a great king; I believe she told me you were 'magnificent.'"
"What could she possibly know of me?"
Ferdic shrugged. "She must have overheard something among the women. Truly, your story is touching, a king so bereaved by the death of his wife that he forsakes his kingdom and enters a priory. It's a tale sure to capture the heart of a starry-eyed maiden."
Maelgwn went rigid with fury. This arrogant, conceited man was mocking him! It was almost too much to be borne. "Never mention Aurora's death again! Never!" he threatened.
To Maelgwn's satisfaction, Ferdic flinched. Then he shrugged again and smiled his silly smile. "I meant no harm. It's best if we forget the past. You are welcome to question Rhiannon. Whether she wished to marry you or not, she would obey me. Indeed, obedience will be one of her virtues as a wife."
Maelgwn considered Ferdic's boasting words. The Brigante king was the sort of man who paid little attention to women, and that made him a poor judge of their true natures. Maelgwn would meet with the Princess Rhiannon alone and satisfy his curiosity, and his doubts, for himself.
It took awhile for him to get away, and by the time the meal and the obligatory toasting ended, he feared the young princess was already asleep. He ran into Gwenaseth, Elwyn's young wife, outside the feasting hall and surprised her with his request to meet with his bride.
Gwenaseth smoothed her pale reddish hair away from her face and regarded Maelgwn dubiously. "It's been quite a while since I showed her to your bedchamber."
"My bedchamber?"
Gwenaseth met Maelgwn's startled glance with an irritated look. "Where did you expect me to put her? The guest rooms are filled with Ferdic and his men, and she deserves a soft bed after the journey she's undertaken. I thought you could sleep in your council room, as you usually do anyway."
Maelgwn ignored Gwenaseth's sarcasm. In the absence of a queen, she served as the unofficial mistress of Maelgwn's household. Although she was not much bigger than the Princess Rhiannon, Gwenaseth ruled Degannwy with a crisp authority even he was reluctant to defy.
"I want to speak to her tonight. It's important. You'll have to wake her if she's asleep."
"All right." Gwenaseth wrinkled her freckled brow in thought. "But where will you meet with her? It's not fitting for you to be alone with her in your bedchamber before the wedding."
"Have her brought to the council room."
"Too cold. The fire is seldom lit there. You must see her someplace comfortable. Use the weaving room—I was there a moment ago with the brazier lit. It will still be warm and cozy."
"The weaving room," Maelgwn agreed. "Bring her there."
Maelgwn looked around the small room, taking note of the place for the first time. This was women's domain and he seldom entered it. He walked about, touching objects casually: a big loom and two smaller ones, a spinning wheel, pots for dying wool, scraps of fabric, fluffy bits of yarn. As Gwenaseth said, the cluttered room was cozy. Perhaps his young bride would feel at home amid these feminine trappings.
Maelgwn began to pace. Surely Gwenaseth would not bother fixing Rhiannon's hair or have her put on jewelry. He rather liked the idea of having his bride come to him unadorned and sleepy. It would increase the intimacy between them. So far she was a stranger.
He frowned, recalling Ferdic's strange disclosure regarding Rhiannon's virginity. As hard as he tried to dismiss the matter as unimportant, he could not help being curious about Rhiannon's past. Had she lost her maidenhead at some religious festival? Entered into an illicit relationship with some young warrior? Remembering her demure, almost timid manner, both situations seemed unlikely.
Princess Rhiannon's extreme shyness made him think of a beautiful wild thing, a fawn or a vixen.
There was a slight rustling sound behind him, and he turned to see Rhiannon waiting in the shadows by the doorway. Again, the very petiteness of his future wife startled him. He searched his mind, trying to recall if he had ever bedded a woman so tiny. Would it be even more awkward than first times usually were?
"Rhiannon, thank you for coming." He advanced toward her. The torch on the wall flickered and smoked, casting deep shadows over both of them. Despite the darkness, he immediately sensed her unease. He felt guilty for waking her, for confronting her tonight when she must be near exhaustion from her journey.
"I'm sorry if I had to wake you," he apologized. "I felt this could not wait until morning."
He took her hand and pulled her into the light. Her face was pale and drawn, and deep shadows beneath her eyes showed her need for sleep. He must finish this conversation quickly and let her return to bed.
"I want you to know," he began in a voice that he hoped was soft and soothing. "You don't have to marry me. I won't insist on it, and I will settle things with Ferdic somehow."
She stared at him; the expression on her face reminded him of a trapped animal.
"Rhiannon, please, tell me what you wish."
The girl's voice was impossibly soft, as frail and light as one of the fluffy bits of wool upon the floor. "I... I am willing."
Her words did not convince him. He could never remember seeing anyone so frightened with him, except perhaps an opponent in battle or a man he had condemned to death. It unnerved him.
Abruptly, he reached out and grasped Rhiannon around the waist. A jolt of energy seemed to pass between them. Maelgwn could feel her trembling and almost hear the rapid thud of her heart.
"Why do you fear me, Rhiannon?" he whispered. "Is it your father?"
She shook her head.
"What then?"
>
It took her a moment to compose herself and form the words. She spoke in that light, airy voice again. "I don't know."
His eyes searched her face. Her fear was a shield he could not see beyond. He glanced down at her slight figure. The question was repulsive, but he had to ask. "Is there a babe, Rhiannon? Could you be carrying another man's child?"
Her eyes widened in horror, and she pulled away. "Nay!" she said. "Nay!"
Maelgwn clenched his hands into fists. He could not endure any more of this either. Rhiannon was a mystery, but beyond doing his duty to safeguard that her firstborn was of his blood, he had no desire to know his future wife's secrets. He had asked his questions, and she had answered. He would not press her further.
He smiled, trying to reassure her. "I'm sorry I disturbed you so late. Go back to bed. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow."
He stared at his future wife for a moment, admiring her exquisite face and the long, flowing line of her unbound hair as it shielded her body enticingly. Impulsively, he leaned over and kissed her. Her lips felt cool and dry, her body rigid.
He released her with a sigh. "Wait here. I'll send Gwenaseth to take you back to bed."
Rhiannon shifted restlessly on the great, soft bed. Despite her exhaustion, she could not sleep. Her conversation with Maelgwn in the weaving room kept running over and over in her mind. He had asked her, nay, near-begged her to refuse the marriage. Why? Was she so unsatisfactory a bride?
Recalling his probing look when they met, she moved her hand down to her small breasts, then her flat belly and narrow hips. Narana had always called her a mere morsel of a woman, much too thin and slight to please a man. Was that it? Had Maelgwn been repulsed by her small size?
She shook her head slightly. It did not seem likely Maelgwn would be particular about the woman he took to wife. After all, she brought him a splendid dowry, and she was not deformed or ugly. Even if he misliked her looks, any reasonable man would marry her anyway, then bed her only enough to beget an heir. It had to be something else, some other matter which troubled the Cymry king.
Dragon's Dream Page 4
