Maelgwn lifted his hand, palm flat. Rhiannon hesitated, and it was too late as Maelgwn's flesh met hers. He grasped her chin in his fingers, lifting it so she faced him. Rhiannon sucked in her breath. She'd missed her chance to flee.
Maelgwn swore softly. "God help me, what a mess I've made of things. Again." Rhiannon watched him, wary and confused. Maelgwn's grip relaxed and his fingers moved to stroke her cheek. "You're as pale as a wraith, Rhiannon."
His touch was tender, caressing. Rhiannon felt her fear ease. Maelgwn apparently did not mean to hurt her.
Maelgwn drew her against him, still fondling her face. "I meant to reassure you, Rhiannon, not give you more cause for fear." His fingers lingered, soothing. "Did Ferdic beat you?" he asked.
Rhiannon shook her head. The pain inside her welled up, rendering her mute. What did it matter if Maelgwn struck her? That sort of suffering was easier to deal with than the heartache throbbing within her.
"Look at me," Maelgwn coaxed.
Rhiannon took a deep breath and obeyed him. His face looked sorrowful and somehow perplexed. She glanced away, but he grasped her chin again. "I don't want to see fear in your eyes, Rhiannon. I may lose my temper again. Indeed, I undoubtedly will. But I don't want you to think I will hurt you."
She nodded. The serious look in his eyes worried her. He had sought her out for some reason, and her instincts told her it concerned Rhun's mother. She had no desire to discuss the subject.
To distract him, she said, "We should go back."
"Why?"
"I... I must see to my sewing. If I spend all day away from the fortress, the women will think me lazy and too proud to work."
"The women be damned."
Rhiannon looked up, startled. Maelgwn's gaze was intent, unsettling. What did he want?
Rhiannon leaned forward and put her arms around Maelgwn's neck, expecting him to kiss her. When he did not respond, she slid her hands down his chest, trying to work her fingers between their bodies so she could touch his groin.
"Nay, Rhiannon." He grasped her hands in his own. "It would be better if I talked to you first."
She waited, filled with foreboding.
Maelgwn took a deep breath. Even now, as Rhiannon stood within his embrace, he felt her remoteness, her stifling unease. Like him, she sought to use the intimacy of their bodies as a substitute for sharing their thoughts. She did not want him to really know her, and he had been cowardly to go along with her reticence. It had been easy, as Eleri had said, to forget that Rhiannon was his queen, his wife.
He had thought of her often while he was on campaign —wondering how she was faring, imagining her fine-boned, delicate body beneath his. But he had been reluctant to examine his feelings for her, and even more reluctant to think about what she might want from him.
Now he had no choice but to settle things with her, to at least set out in words how he meant to deal with her. A twinge of guilt nagged him as he realized he was primarily speaking to Rhiannon to assure Rhun's future and that of his unborn sons. He ought to have more to give Rhiannon, more than kindness and consideration. But he did not, not yet.
"I must explain to you about Rhun," he began. "I didn't mean to surprise you. I only discovered his existence a few weeks ago."
He felt Rhiannon stir uneasily, and he tightened his grasp, determined she should listen. "I remembered the woman, of course," he continued. "But I never knew she was with child. I could blame her I suppose, but once she gave me her reasons, I could not fault her decision."
He sighed heavily, trying to think of a way to broach the painful subject. "She had the baby a few months before Aurora's time to deliver. Thinking that I had a legitimate heir on the way, she decided to keep Rhun secret. When Aurora died in childbirth, it might have seemed natural for her to tell me then that I had a son that lived, but she decided against it, believing that I was too distraught over Aurora's death to accept the child." Maelgwn grimaced. "She was right. I was a monster after Aurora died. As filled with anger and hate as I was, I could not have loved Rhun.
"The fever struck soon after," Maelgwn continued. "She wanted to protect Rhun, and she was not sure he would be safe even in my household. She took him to a small fishing village, not very fine, but prosperous, with a steady living to be made from the sea and the nearby fields. They did not have much, but Rhun grew up strong and healthy, untouched by the inevitable politics of a king's court. In a way, it may have been the best thing for him."
Rhiannon had grown very still. Her breathing was so light and soft, he could scarcely detect it.
"I'm not sure why she finally decided to tell me about Rhun," he went on. "Mayhap she heard my army was successful again, or decided it was unfair to deprive Rhun of his rightful inheritance. It could be it took that long for her to wear out her anger." He suppressed a smile, remembering Morganna's dark eyes narrowed in wariness, the bitterness in her voice as she explained eight years of silence. Morganna had always been easygoing and complacent. Motherhood had changed her. Now she was a she- cat, eager to defend her offspring with claws and sharp teeth.
"I could scarce believe it when she came to my camp," he recalled, so lost in the memory that, for a moment, he almost forgot the woman he held in his arms. "Morganna wouldn't let me see Rhun until morning. She said he needed his rest. What a torturous night of waiting! I was afraid to close my eyes, afraid that if I fell asleep, I would wake up and find it all a dream."
Rhiannon touched him softly, comfortingly. Maelgwn stared into the leaf-strewn clearing. "When I finally met him, it was so strange. It was like looking at myself twenty-odd years ago. It was very nearly the greatest day of my life."
He looked down and smiled sheepishly, wondering if Rhiannon thought him a fool. Her face was, as usual, grave and serious, and her violet-shaded eyes watched him intently. "Rhun was polite when we met, but he's only a boy. I think he was relieved when I dismissed him and he could be off playing again. You should have seen him dart out of Morganna's hut. Like a falcon he was, a glorious, little golden falcon." He paused, savoring the memory.
He bestirred himself to go on, to get to the heart of the matter. "Morganna knew I was going to take him with me. She cried and begged me not to take him away from her altogether." Maelgwn paused. The memory made him uneasy. It was not like him to be swayed from his better judgment by a woman's tears. But had it been her tears, or was it the long-ago memory of Morganna's bountiful body spread out to receive him—her generous breasts with their huge nipples like full-blown roses, the light brown hair between her legs glinting in the firelight?
He forced the memory away. He no longer desired Morganna. After Rhiannon, it was like comparing bland, unleavened bread to a piquant, perfect apple. One was filling, but easy to give up, the other, tantalizingly addictive. But
Morganna still aroused his guilt. He felt he owed her for those distant nights of pleasure and the son that was their fruit. Against his better judgment, he had settled his debt. Now, gauging from the feel of Rhiannon's stiff body in his arms, he would pay in another way.
"I have brought Rhun's mother to live at Penryn, a village east of here," he said abruptly. "I wanted you to hear this from me, instead of the wagging tongues around the fortress. I know that Morganna's presence nearby may be difficult for you to bear, but I have given her my promise. I can't send her away now."
He paused, trying to assess Rhiannon's mood. Jealousy was a dangerous thing. It sometimes festered beneath the surface, rotting a seemingly healthy relationship from within. But how was he to know what Rhiannon thought if she did not speak?
"You are my queen, Rhiannon. I will keep to your bed and hope to beget more heirs. I promise that any son you bear shall have an equal share in my kingdom with Rhun."
She said nothing, but still seemed worried and unhappy. Maelgwn tensed in frustration. How was he to reassure this woman? To let her know he cared for her feelings?
Sighing, he turned away. When he glanced back at Rhiannon she was watching him. Her beautiful eyes s
earched his with a kind of helpless hunger, compelling him nearer. His fingers reached out and touched her breast, surrounding the small, applelike shape and rubbing the sensitive peak against his thumb. Perhaps it was not right to do this, but he could not help himself. He knew no other way to reach his wary, silent wife.
Rhiannon felt her nipples tighten at her husband's caress. She felt torn, manipulated. Maelgwn had said he would not set her aside, that her children would be his heirs. Did he tell her this out of kindness? Duty? Or the selfish urge to placate her so she would not trouble him with her jealousy?
Maelgwn's lips sought her neck and moved lower, nuzzling the soft skin above Rhiannon's gown. He was coaxing her, seducing her. Her mind struggled to ignore the delicious, numbing contentment his touch evoked. Every time she lay with this man and gave in to his powerful magic, he stole another piece of her soul.
Maelgwn slid to his knees, then pulled her down and eased her beneath him. Rhiannon sighed and closed her eyes, unable to resist him any longer. He kissed her mouth with languid slowness. Her body went limp; she floated in a cloud of tingling pleasure. Maelgwn lifted himself away from her, and she heard the jangle of his sword belt as he loosened it, then tossed it to the ground.
She felt him lean over her again, his breath warm on her face. "I have told my secrets, Rhiannon," he said. "Now you must tell me yours. Is it true you are an enchantress?"
Her eyes sprang open. She saw Maelgwn above her, his blue eyes misty with passion. He smiled lazily. "Gavran said you trained with a magician in Manau Gotodin. He warned that you would bewitch me. Verily, I think you have, for I can think of nothing except your beautiful body."
The spell shattered. Rhiannon wriggled away from Maelgwn and sat up. Her body went tight with fear. Gavran had told Maelgwn about Llewenon. Soon her husband would ask questions about her apprenticeship with Llewenon. Questions she could not bear to answer.
"I was only jesting," Maelgwn soothed. "I don't believe in magic spells anyway. But it would be nice to have a healer at Degannwy. Bleddryn is a decent army surgeon, but he doesn't know much about fevers or birthing babies. You have a gentle way about you. I'm sure you would make a wonderful healer."
Rhiannon shook her head. "I know very little, next to nothing. My training is incomplete."
"I will not force you, of course," Maelgwn said. "I only thought it was a way you could help out."
Awful images rushed into her mind. Collecting herbs in the forest with Llewenon, his gray eyes watching her. The healer's hand resting on hers as he showed her how to prepare a poultice. His smooth, seductive voice in her ear, explaining the proper method to decoct a sleeping potion.
Rhiannon sprang to her feet. She gave Maelgwn one last desperate look, then dashed off into the woods.
Chapter 13
Maelgwn stared in astonishment at the silent, empty glade. One moment Rhiannon lay pliantly beneath him. The next she had vanished as swiftly and silently as the wood fairy Gavran said she resembled. The memory of the look of desperation on his wife's face left him stunned. What was wrong? What had he said to throw her into a panic?
He shook his head in bafflement and set out after her. In her turmoil, she had left something of a trail behind, and he was able to track her passage through the dry leaves and underbrush.
He found her among a thicket of birch saplings, squeezed in tightly, her arms wrapped around her knees, her face pressed into her lap. He made his way into the thicket and reached for her shoulders, trying to drag her out of the tangle of branches.
"Nay, stop! Stop!" she cried out hoarsely. Her fingers grasped desperately at the underbrush.
"Rhiannon, it's me, Maelgwn."
She gave no sign that she had heard him. She remained crouched down, her face turned away.
Maelgwn swore in exasperation, then used his much greater strength to gradually loosen her grip so he could pull her free of the thicket and into his arms. Even then she fought him, her delicate, fine-boned body thrashing violently.
Maelgwn's heart pounded as he grappled with his frantic wife. He felt as if he had caught a wounded bird in a trap, and he was half-terrified the creature in his grasp might destroy itself in its desperation to escape. Still, he held on, gripping Rhiannon's fragile wrists tenderly in his hands and cradling her close. "Relax, Rhiannon, relax. It's Maelgwn."
She stilled slightly, and he pulled her body tight against his and lifted her head so he could gaze into her eyes. They were filled with wild anguish, like swirling pools of fear.
Maelgwn took a deep breath. He released Rhiannon's wrists and embraced her, pressing her pale, lovely face into his chest. "It's all right, Rhiannon," he whispered. "You are safe. I'll let nothing harm you, I promise."
She rested against him, still and silent. He felt the rapid thudding of her heart and waited for the fear to leave her. The minutes passed, and she sighed softly at last, as if exhaling the tension from her body.
"Rhiannon, please, tell me what's wrong. Tell me what distresses you."
She shook her head, her disheveled hair rubbing against his chest.
"If you will not talk to me, you must share your unhappiness with someone. Gwenaseth, perhaps?"
Again, she shook her head. Maelgwn felt a surge of helplessness. If Rhiannon refused to reveal the source of her suffering, how would he ever know how to help her?
"Why not? Don't you like Gwenaseth?"
Rhiannon lifted her gaze to his and gave him a startled look. "Of course," she answered. "She has been very kind to me. I truly admire her."
"I don't mean that, Rhiannon. I mean... don't you consider her a friend?"
Rhiannon's eyes grew wary. "I feel she disapproves of me somehow, that I disappoint her."
Maelgwn's sense of protectiveness toward his wife deepened. He had not realized how alone Rhiannon was, how vulnerable. He knew his people treated her with respect and deference, but had no one at Degannwy thought to offer her friendship?
"What of your home in Manau Gotodin? Was there anyone there you were close to?"
Rhiannon considered for a moment, then answered. "Aye, I did have a good friend once, but she is dead."
"I'm sorry." Maelgwn was almost afraid to press Rhiannon further. Softly, he asked, "How did she die?"
"It was a fever that took her—last winter."
He nodded, wondering how to proceed. Although her friend's death obviously grieved Rhiannon, it did not seem related to her earlier panic. Talk of healing had aroused her sudden flight. Healing, how curious. Gavran had implied that Rhiannon was quite skilled, that she had spent a great deal of time training with a magician and herbalist named Llewenon. Yet she vehemently denied having any useful knowledge. What was it about healing that disturbed her?
He watched Rhiannon intendy. Her beautiful eyes remained distant, as if she looked into the past and dreaded what she saw there. Anger twisted inside him. Someone or something had damaged his young wife, crippling her vulnerable spirit in a way he was powerless to mend. Had she been abused? Raped as Gwenaseth suggested? But who would dare rape a chieftain's daughter? Only a man who was very powerful, very sure he could survive Ferdic's wrath. Only another chieftain, or—Maelgwn's breath caught—a magician.
Shards of facts shifted in his mind, then abruptly fell into place, forming a horrifying picture of betrayal and cruelty. What if this healer, Llewenon, had taken Rhiannon against her will? That would explain her abhorrence of the healing skills he had taught her, as well as her earlier fear of sexual penetration. It would also explain why Ferdic had banished a respected bard and healer.
Maelgwn's jaw clenched. He darted a swift look at Rhiannon, then glanced away. He wanted to confront her, to find out if his guess was true. But he could not. The wound to Rhiannon's spirit was too deep, too grievous to risk disturbing. He would not have her flee from him in terror again. He must ascertain the secrets of his wife's past by other means.
He tightened his arms around Rhiannon, keeping her face pressed against his chest
so she could not see his expression. He wanted to kill the man who had hurt this fragile, lovely woman, and Ferdic too, for failing to protect her. But for now, he had no chance to seek his revenge. He could only hold Rhiannon and comfort her, and swear to protect her as best he could.
He stroked her luxuriant hair. "Ah, cariad, it is all right, my darling, my love. I will not let anything hurt you now."
"There he is," Gavran whispered.
Maelgwn squinted in the direction the Brigante man pointed toward, peering into the mist-shrouded forest. Gradually his eyes made out the shape of a huge stag, not thirty paces ahead. The deep red of its body stood out like blood against the dull brown of the late autumn foliage.
"My God, look how big he is!"
"I've seen bigger in the north," Gavran boasted. "Still, there are few as splendid as this."
The two men stared in awe at the prey they had tracked for hours. Every inch of the stag displayed grace and power—the magnificent rack of antlers, the sleek, intelligent face, the mighty shoulders and flanks. In the forest, this beautiful creature ruled supreme. Here he was king, and the two men acknowledged his royalty with a soundless salute.
The stag turned his head, uneasy. His dark eyes watched for movement. His nostrils sniffed the air for danger.
"We'll both have to shoot," Maelgwn whispered. "With two lucky shots, we might bring him down. Otherwise, we'll have to track him through the forest. I don't relish that."
Garvan nodded. They had gone out alone, with no dogs, horses or other men. It had seemed like a grand, heroic thing to do this morning, two men, stalking their prey with only their wits, muscles and bows. Now they recognized their foolishness. If their arrows did not swiftly cause a mortal wound, they might end up following the animal for hours in the dense woods. Once they brought him down, they still had the problem of transporting the carcass back to Degannwy.
The two men gave each other a wary look, then nocked their arrows. Despite the cool autumn air, sweat dripped down their faces. The stag lifted his head again, sniffing the air.
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