Rhiannon bowed her head. "I cannot make myself tell Maelgwn. You must do it for me."
"Tell Maelgwn!" Gwenaseth gasped in horror. "You must not! He must never know!"
Rhiannon shook her head, her eyes closed. "I will not live this lie. I will not have him hold me and speak words of love... all the while knowing..." she broke off, her voice a smothered gasp.
Gwenaseth tightened her grasp upon Rhiannon's shoulders. "Listen to me, Rhiannon. You cannot tell him. Ever. You will go on as if everything was as before. You must!"
Rhiannon's eyes opened, wide with shock. "How can you say such a thing? Knowing what I am to Maelgwn, knowing how he would hate me if he knew who my mother was?"
"That is exactly why you must do as I tell you!" Even to her own ears, Gwenaseth's voice sounded strained. Somehow she must convince Rhiannon to disregard the horrible secret she learned at her father's deathbed. "It would destroy Maelgwn; surely you don't want that, Rhiannon."
She saw the younger woman hesitate. There was a flash of hope in her eyes; then it was extinguished, smothered by the despair and grief that lay there. "But if there should be a child..." Rhiannon shook her head, her face a mask of agony. "I would not curse a child to that, to be unloved, unwanted..." Her voice trailed off, a mere whisper, etched with the longings of a lifetime.
Gwenaseth gave her a little shake. "It would not be so. You would love your child, and so would Maelgwn. He need never know the rest."
Rhiannon shook her head. "But the truth of my parentage—secrets always come out in the end."
"Nay, they do not. No one knows, save you and I. Therefore, it is up to us. If we are determined, we can take this secret to our graves."
Rhiannon looked doubtful. Gwenaseth licked her dry lips. "Think of it, Rhiannon. If you had not gone to Manau Gotodin, if Ferdic had died but a day or two sooner, you would never have known the truth. All you have to do is pretend your father's deathbed confession never occurred."
"Aye, there is that too," Rhiannon said sorrowfully. "Ferdic is not my father."
"What?"
"He told me my father was an Irish slave, a young boy Esylt took to bed for fun." Another grimace of pain crossed Rhiannon's features.
Gwenaseth silently cursed the dead Brigante king. What had the man been thinking of? Had he intended to ruin Rhiannon completely? If so, he had well-nigh succeeded. Rhiannon's face looked haunted, utterly devastated. Still, she was strong; beneath all that delicate beauty was a core of sterner stuff. There had to be. After all, she was Esylt's daughter.
"I know you've had a shock, Rhiannon, but you must think seriously about this. If you care for Maelgwn, consider how the truth will hurt him. Could you bear to see him suffer so? Would it not be better to keep your secret and save him the pain you have just endured?
Rhiannon's anguished face was suddenly imbued with tenderness. "I love him so; I would not see him hurt for anything!"
Gwenaseth's heart leapt with relief. This, then, was the means to ensure Rhiannon's silence. "Think of it," she coaxed. "Maelgwn has already lost one wife and grieved for her overlong. If he should lose you—by any means—I fear for his mind. It is not merely idle talk to say you could destroy him. If you love Maelgwn, you must put Ferdic's words from your thoughts and continue on with your life as if your journey to Manau Gotodin never took place."
Rhiannon sat in silence for some time. Gwenaseth moved to leave. She was halfway to the door when Rhiannon called to her.
"Gwenaseth, tell me the truth; my husband is my uncle. Is it not unseemly for me to lie with him?"
Gwenaseth turned; exhaustion seemed to be seeping into her very bones. "Perhaps it is mad of me to think so, but I wonder if it is not the very nearness of your blood which makes you suit Maelgwn so well as a wife. You appear to bring the king peace and happiness. How can that be wrong?"
After Gwenaseth left, Rhiannon stared after her, wondering. Did she dare believe Gwenaseth's words? Could the love she felt for Maelgwn possibly be stronger than the curse of betrayal and hatred Esylt had entangled them in? She wanted to believe. It was the only alternative to despair. And yet... Another shudder racked her. If Maelgwn ever learned the truth, he would surely kill her. How was she to lie beneath him, accept his body, knowing he despised the very blood that flowed in her veins? And a child— Gwenaseth was wrong about that. She could never risk bearing a babe to Maelgwn; she would not risk dooming another living being to the pain and grief she had known.
Gwenaseth entered her house and sank down on the bed. She wondered suddenly if she had done the right thing. Her first instinct had been to protect Maelgwn. Gwynedd needed him to be sound of mind and at ease with his future, and all decisions must be directed toward that goal. Preserving his marriage was essential, and any deceit involved could be forgiven in light of the greater good.
But what about Rhiannon?—a voice whispered. This is her life you are meddling with as well. Gwenaseth sighed. She cared for Rhiannon, truly she did. Despite her doubts about the girl in the beginning, she had been won over by Rhiannon's sweet temperament, her kindness. As far as she could tell, there was no trace of Esylt's evil in her daughter. Rhiannon made a fine wife for Maelgwn, and in the long run, that was what mattered. Besides, what was best for Maelgwn was truly best for Rhiannon. If Maelgwn ever found out the truth, Gwenaseth did not doubt he might kill Rhiannon. Hiding the truth from Maelgwn was the best way to protect everyone involved.
But could Rhiannon do it?—Gwenaseth wondered with a shiver. Could anyone keep such a terrible secret? What if Rhiannon slipped up, perhaps talked in her sleep or mentioned Esylt's name without thinking? Nay, she would not think about that. As she told Rhiannon, they must put it out of their minds. They could tell no one, not even Elwyn. As much as Gwenaseth trusted her husband, he was too open and honest for her to dare burden him with something so dangerous as the truth of Rhiannon's parentage.
With a deep sigh, Gwenaseth lay down on the bed. She flexed her shoulders, feeling as if a great weight was bearing down upon her. Her mouth twisted into a grimace. How right her instincts had been. At last she knew the mystery of Rhiannon's haunted eyes, and it was as she had thought—she did not want to know at all.
Chapter 17
Rhiannon's hand jerked at the sound of Maelgwn's angry bellow in the courtyard. Ruby-colored drops oozed from where she had stabbed herself with her needle. She glanced quickly at the other women in the weaving room, sure they guessed she was cause for Maelgwn's foul mood. Neither Gwladus, working at the loom, nor Melangell and Sewan, busy carding raw wool in the corner, bothered to look up. It was obvious they did not blame her for the rift with her husband, but instead, took her side in a show of feminine sympathy.
Rhiannon went back to sewing and tried to block out the sounds from outside the room. Every crescendo of Maelgwn's deep voice made her shudder. She felt profoundly guilty for her role in his distress. A week had passed, and their relationship had deteriorated to one of strained avoidance. A dozen times she had made up her mind to go to Maelgwn and tell him the truth of her parentage. Another dozen times she decided to pretend nothing had happened and welcome him back to her bed. She was unable to act upon either decision. Instead, she did nothing. Each night, she slept, or tried to sleep, in Maelgwn's chamber, while he bedded down in his council room.
They were at a stalemate, and Rhiannon was unsure how it would ever end. Maelgwn would not come to her unless she asked, and she seemed incapable of committing herself to a relationship based on deception.
The voices in the courtyard rose again. Rhiannon tensed as she heard Rhun's young voice mingled with Maelgwn's much deeper one. This time Sewan looked toward the door, then glanced her way. Rhiannon felt her face flush. Sewan obviously expected Rhiannon to intervene between her husband and her stepson. Did she dare? Such a confrontation might force them to face the deeper chasm that loomed between them these days.
"Nay! I won't let you." Rhun's voice, distraught and tearful, pierced the silent weaving room.
The sound pulled painfully at Rhiannon's heart. She put down her sewing and started toward the door, jumping back in surprise as Rhun came hurtling into the room. He threw himself at Rhiannon and grabbed her skirts.
"Don't let him!" he cried. "Don't let him cut it open."
Rhiannon looked up in dismay as Maelgwn entered the room. His face was flushed, his blue eyes angry. "He has a wound on his hand, Rhiannon. He let it go too long, and now it's festering. If it isn't opened and cleaned, his hand..." Maelgwn didn't finish; his voice shook. It was clear he was beside himself with worry.
Rhiannon looked from her husband to the trembling boy in her arms. "Rhun," she whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Let me look at it. Please."
Rhun darted an anxious glance at his father, then held out his hand. Rhiannon took it carefully. One look and she knew Maelgwn was right. The cut had closed up, but the edges were red and raw, the area around the wound swollen. More ominous yet, a thin streak of red flared up the boy's arm.
Rhiannon kept her eyes trained on the wound and tried to keep the concern from her face. The poison in the wound had begun to spread; if it was not stopped, the boy could lose his arm, or even his life. Her thoughts moved rapidly as she tried to recall what herbs would best draw the poison out
"Rhiannon, please, don't let them cut it open!" Rhun's pleading voice jerked her back to awareness.
"Tell him, Rhiannon," Maelgwn urged. "Tell him that he must let Bleddryn see to it."
Rhiannon glanced at the boy. "Rhun," she whispered. "Maelgwn is right; the wound must be tended to."
Rhun whimpered.
"Don't be a baby, Rhun. 'Tis nothing. You will never be a soldier if you don't learn to care for your hurts!"
Rhiannon shot her husband a reproving glance. "He's only a boy. Stop shouting at him."
Maelgwn opened his mouth, as if to protest, then closed it again.
"Rhun." Rhiannon made her voice as soothing as she could. "Would you let me tend it for you?"
Rhun watched her, wary. "Will you have to cut it open?"
"Aye," she replied gravely. "I will. 'Tis the only way."
Rhun stared at her, then nodded. "I will let you. I've seen you with Belga's puppies. You're gentle with them."
Rhiannon glanced at her husband. "This is no place for tending wounds. Why don't you take him to our bedchamber? I'll have Taffee bring some hot water and some clean linen rags." She frowned. "Do you think Bleddryn has any healing herbs?"
Maelgwn shook his head. "I don't know. Some, perhaps. What do you need?"
"Some cross-wort or wood sage, or perhaps some golden-rod. If Bleddryn has none, see if any of the women might. It is not enough to clean the wound now; we must have something to draw the poison out." She turned back to Rhun. "Your father is going to take you to his bedchamber. I will meet you there. On the way, why don't you get one of Belga's puppies to hold. It will take your mind from what I am to do."
The boy nodded obediently and left the room. Maelgwn had not moved; he stood at the door, staring at her. Rhiannon gave him a defiant look. "Do not fear, my lord. Treating poisoned wounds is among the simplest of healing skills."
"I don't doubt you, Rhiannon. I... I am very grateful."
Rhiannon's eyes met his again, and this time she did not try to hide her anxiety. "Don't be grateful yet. For all its smallness, the look of the wound is bad. It is very like what killed my fath-... Ferdic."
It had gone as well as could be expected, Rhiannon thought as she gazed upon the sleeping boy. The puppy had served to distract Rhun from the pain. He had scarcely looked up as she cleaned the oozing wound. He could not know how serious it was. But Maelgwn did. She could feel his eyes boring into her as she worked on the boy. Her husband was sick with dread for his son, and well he should be. If the cleansing herbs did not halt the poison's spread...
Rhiannon turned the thought away impatiently. She would not think of that. She had done what she could, and the boy was healthy and hardy. The chances were he would recover completely.
She reached down and smoothed a lock of hair from Rhun's forehead. What a beautiful child he was, with his gleaming hair the color of autumn leaves, his plump pink mouth, his thick, dark eyelashes sweeping low over downy golden cheeks. A lump formed in her throat. He was so sweet and innocent; he trusted her so readily. How could she betray that trust? How could she reveal who she was to Rhun's father and throw all their lives into turmoil?
A shudder passed through her, and she shook her head. She could not do such a thing. Her secret had the power to rend apart not only her and Maelgwn's lives, but also Rhun's. Gwenaseth was right; for the sake of everyone, she must learn to live a lie; she must pretend that Ferdic had never told her who her mother was.
Going to the table, she began to put away the things she had used to prepare a potion to make Rhun sleep. Doubts still swept through her, undermining her plan. Her chief remaining worry was what would happen if she ever bore a child to Maelgwn. She could not risk the chance he might somehow find out the truth and reject the child. Somehow she must make sure she did not conceive. There were herbs she could take to prevent conception, but they might be hard to find this late in season.
Frustration made Rhiannon's temples pound. Every time she came to a decision, she found a reason to back out of it. Perhaps her indecisiveness stemmed from the finality of her choice. Once she made up her mind to keep the truth from Maelgwn, there could be no turning back. She would be stuck with the decision the rest of her life.
Rhiannon went to the bed and again stroked Rhun's brow, searching for a hint of fever. There was none. She let out the anxious breath she had been holding. Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned and saw Maelgwn approaching. He moved cautiously, as if he feared she would send him away.
"Rhiannon, I am grateful." Maelgwn nodded toward the sleeping boy. "You were wonderful with him. He trusts you."
"You said yourself that he was used to women, that he had not shed his ties to his mother."
"It is more than that." Maelgwn's eyes were vivid with tenderness. "You do have the gift of healing, even if you deny it."
Rhiannon sighed. "I will deny it no longer. If I can, I'll use my skill to help your people."
"They are your people too, Rhiannon," Maelgwn said softly.
Rhiannon glanced uncomfortably at her husband, uneasy with the entreating look on his face. In his own way, he was asking her to be his wife again, to heal this rift between them.
"You look tired, Maelgwn. Perhaps you should go to bed yourself."
Maelgwn's glance flickered to the bed where the sleeping boy lay, then a look of pain crossed his face. "Of course, you will keep the boy beside you this night." Turning stiffly, he walked from the room.
Rhiannon watched him. A band of grief was constricting her chest. She could not stand to watch her husband suffer so. She would have to settle this thing once and for all. Tomorrow she would do it; tomorrow she would find the strength.
The next morning, Rhiannon dressed, tense and contemplative. She put on her fur-lined boots and her warmest cloak. After a quick glance at the sleeping boy and a word to Taffee, she closed the bedchamber door softly behind her and slipped out into the courtyard. It was still dark, but she could see a tinge of light in the east. A few sleepy servants were about, carrying water for washing and food for breakfast. She hurried to the stables and met the stablemaster in the doorway.
"Rufus. I need a horse—I wish to go riding."
The old Roman stared at her a moment, then nodded his head. "Aye, you may take Sawyl; she is gentle enough and needs the exercise."
Within a few minutes, Rufus had the mare saddled and ready. He helped her up, and Rhiannon directed the horse toward the gate.
The sentry's expression was similar to the stableman's when she told him her wishes. He looked at her in surprise, then climbed down.
"You should take a guard," he told her as he turned the pulley to open the heavy gate. "Maelgwn insists you should always be acco
mpanied whenever you leave the fortress."
"I won't go far. If I wait for you to find a man to go with me, I'll miss the sunrise." Rhiannon's eyes were pleading.
The man sighed. "All right, but hurry back. There'll be hell to pay if the king learns I let you go alone."
She rode along the trackway by the river, smelling the salt marshes and watching the black-backed gulls and other water birds that stayed during the winter. Then she turned the horse sharply and headed toward the gray shadow of forest that spread over the hills further inland. Her riding had improved a great deal and taking the horse would be much faster than walking. She had little time before Maelgwn rose and noticed her absence.
The woods were mostly bare and drab, except for the dark pine trees. She left her horse tethered to an alder tree and entered the forest on foot. The sunrise was beginning to warm the dull morning sky, but she had to walk briskly to keep the chill off. She saw a bush of red bryony berries, now dried to the color of old blood, and recalled passing them with Maelgwn. The memory evoked was sharp and bittersweet. It had been fall then, the forest a blaze of color with the turning leaves and bronze glow of the sun. Now it was a silent pattern of shadows and leafless trees; underfoot, a carpet of mosses and dried grasses whispered as she passed by.
She walked slowly, feeling the gods of the woods all around her: Nemetoma, the goddess of the trees; Uiska, goddess of streams and springs; bold Cerrunos, the stag god. Rhiannon bowed her head and murmured a plea to all of them for protection.
She came to the great oak tree where she had lain with Maelgwn. The leaves that had made their bed were gone now, scattered by the wind, and the oak's boughs were almost completely bare. The pale morning light filtered down coldly through the empty branches. Tears came to Rhiannon's eyes, remembering. Their lovemaking that day had been magic of the rarest kind. For those moments, no one in the world had existed for her but Maelgwn, beautiful, passionate Maelgwn, with his burning eyes and warm mouth, his sleek muscles and broad chest. In his arms she had forgotten Llewenon and Morganna and Rhun, and everything else that troubled her.
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