Rhiannon did not look up, but Gwenaseth saw a slight tremor in her shoulders.
"You once told me, Rhiannon, that you would not bear Maelgwn's babe. I can't help wondering if you took something to make yourself lose it."
"That's absurd. You know everyone hopes that I give Maelgwn another heir." Rhiannon's voice was soft, almost inaudible. Her hands in her lap began to tremble.
"But you, Rhiannon, you don't really wish that, do you?"
The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire. Gwenaseth held her breath, wondering if what she was doing was wise. Was it right to force this fragile woman to admit she had killed her own child? The queen had not regained her color since the miscarriage, and she appeared to have lost weight as well. Her pallor and slenderness had not damaged her beauty, but instead gave her features an unearthly, ethereal quality. There seemed no substance to Rhiannon; she was a shadow of a woman, reduced to a dazzling flame of bright hair and huge, haunted violet eyes.
"Rhiannon, please. You dare not try such a dangerous thing again. Next time you might take too much; next time you might die."
"Do you think I do not know that!" Rhiannon abruptly looked up, her eyes bright with anguish. "It was a mistake. I did not even know I was with child. I took the herb thinking it would keep me from conceiving. I'm such a halfwit that I did not consider I might have already conceived during the last moon cycle."
Gwenaseth took a deep breath. "You did not know you were pregnant? Truly?"
Rhiannon shook her head. Gwenaseth relaxed slightly. At least Rhiannon had not killed her babe deliberately. There was hope she might be able to convince the queen that bearing Maelgwn's child would not be so dreadful.
"Then you will not try it again?"
Rhiannon sighed. "I don't know. I don't know what to do. There are days I wonder if it would not been better if I had died along with the babe. Maelgwn might grieve for me, but in the end, he would heal, he could marry again and have a chance to found the dynasty he dreams of."
"Oh, Rhiannon, don't say such things!" Gwenaseth gathered the queen into her arms. "My poor child. I am so sorry. It is not fair that Esylt did this to you, that she should burden you with her terrible secret."
"Nay, Esylt is not to blame," Rhiannon answered in a muffled voice. "She did not mean to hurt me; she sought to protect me."
Gwenaseth shook her head. Poor Rhiannon. Even now, she would defend Esylt. She had not an inkling what kind of woman her mother had been. "Hush. Hush. You must forget this. You must forget that Esylt was your mother, and all else that Ferdic told you. Live for the present, Rhiannon. Maelgwn loves you, all he asks is that you be happy. He told me that he does not even care if you ever conceive again, if only you will smile and love him as you used to."
"How can I? Knowing that Esylt is my mother, knowing how he hates..." Rhiannon broke off with a horrified gasp. Her body went stiff in Gwenaseth's arms. Gwenaseth jerked her eyes toward the door. She sucked in her breath as harshly as Rhiannon had. Maelgwn stood in the doorway, as still as a statue.
Chapter 19
Gwenaseth tightened her grip on Rhiannon, fearing the queen would faint to the floor. "Maelgwn, how long..."
"Long enough." He spat out the words. His eyes locked with hers.
She tried to meet them fearlessly. "We were speaking of Rhiannon's miscarriage. I was telling her not to fret— that there would be other babes."
"Nay, you were not. You were speaking of..." Maelgwn's voice choked, and the color returned to his face. Gwenaseth could sense the rage building inside him.
She released the trembling queen and stood. "It's all in the past, Maelgwn. Rhiannon had nothing to do with this."
"She is Esylt's daughter!"
The hatred in Maelgwn's eyes made Gwenaseth flinch. The unthinkable had happened, and she did not know what to do. One thing was certain, she reasoned, as her mind was beginning to function again—she could not leave Rhiannon in the room with her half-crazed husband. She groped for the queen's arm and kept her eyes focused on Maelgwn.
His eyes gazed off into the distance. His words were directed to a dead woman, a ghost from his tormented past: "Ah, Esylt—I thought that your poisonous hold over my life had ended. But I was wrong. Even from the grave you manage to spin your web of corruption and treachery."
Gwenaseth took a deep breath and gently pulled Rhiannon from her seat before the fire. Perhaps if they walked slowly and quietly past Maelgwn, he would let them leave.
They had almost reached the door when Rhiannon pulled away and turned to her husband. "Maelgwn, please, let me explain. Let me tell you why..."
Rhiannon's voice died, and Gwenaseth guessed the reason when she faced Maelgwn. No one could see the look on the king's face without knowing terror. His features wore an expression of barely controlled violence, of wrath so great it transformed his face into a mask of murder, a visage of death.
"You!" Maelgwn ground out in a tortured rasp. "You knew, and still you married me, you came to my bed, you made me love you..."
Rhiannon shook her head, reduced to muteness by the look on her husband's face. Gwenaseth stepped between the queen and Maelgwn.
"Nay, she did not know. She only found out the truth when Ferdic told her on his deathbed."
"That was weeks ago!" Maelgwn turned his fury-darkened eyes to Gwenaseth. "You've made a secret of Rhiannon's parentage all this time. You never meant to tell me, did you?"
"Some things are better left as secrets, and this was one. Blame me, not Rhiannon. I convinced her to conceal the truth."
"You meddling little witch!"
Gwenaseth took a step back in fear. "Maelgwn, I..."
"I want you out of this room. Out of my life! Be gone with you!"
Gwenaseth glanced uneasily at Rhiannon. The queen looked as if her wits had fled her. Gwenaseth took Rhiannon's arm again, trying to lead her to safety. Maelgwn stepped forward. He grasped Rhiannon's hair and jerked her head up so she faced him.
"My lovely wife... my niece... the daughter of my beloved sister."
With a swift jerk of her hair, Maelgwn flung Rhiannon to the floor with all his strength.
Gwenaseth screamed. "Dear God, Maelgwn, you'll kill her!" She hurried to help Rhiannon up, then confronted Maelgwn, her eyes blazing. "She's a sweet, innocent girl. She had no part in this."
Maelgwn moved threateningly toward Gwenaseth. His eyes flared like twin blue marshlights. Before he came close enough to grab her, Gwenaseth's nerves failed her. She released Rhiannon and fled the room.
Rhiannon gazed at Maelgwn, frozen like a hare before the hunter.
"Why?" Maelgwn whispered. "Oh, God, why?"
The despair in Maelgwn's voice made Rhiannon's heart twist in her chest. Her husband looked as if he were in terrible pain. His unseeing eyes stared straight ahead; his forehead was beaded with sweat. She understood exactly how he felt. She had endured such loss, such emptiness after Ferdic told her the truth. Now Maelgwn was experiencing a like anguish. She could not bear to see him suffer.
She touched his arm. "I know," she said softly. "It seems so cruel, so unfair. But I don't believe Esylt did this to us out of hatred. I think she hoped we would be happy, that we would come to love each other."
"Esylt!" he hissed. His tormented eyes met hers. "She planned this foul deception to destroy me!"
"Nay, she did not," Rhiannon shook her head. "She did not mean..."
She gasped in fear as Maelgwn seized her again. She felt his hands dig into her arms, as if he would crush her very bones. His eyes had gone black and senseless again. The rest of his features were distorted with anger.
"You are of her blood! You, too, are evil!"
"Nay!" She swayed and stepped back as he released her. The sound of Maelgwn drawing his knife echoed through the room.
"I should kill you. That would end the evil once and for all."
Wings of terror beat through Rhiannon, as though her heart might leap from her chest. The gods help her! She was afra
id. She must escape; she did not want to die. Her will returned, as hot and raw as the blood surging through her veins. Her eyes measured the distance to the door, then veered back to Maelgwn.
Do not look before you move—a voice said. He must not expect it.
"Maelgwn, I..." What to say to distract him? She dared not mention Esylt; to do so might incite him further. "Gwenaseth," she whispered. "Do not blame her for this."
"Gwenaseth?" Maelgwn sounded startled, as if the name confused him.
"I didn't mean for her to know. She only found out by accident; she was trying to protect me."
The look of befuddlement on Maelgwn's face deepened. It was clear he had forgotten Gwenaseth, that she did not even exist in his tortured world. Rhiannon watched her husband warily. There seemed to be a slight relaxation in his stance. Now—the voice whispered. Now!
Rhiannon's muscles responded, sending her body into flight toward the door. Maelgwn lunged a second later. His hand flashed out. The knife caught Rhiannon's thigh.
A burning sensation, then a sudden loss of balance. Halfway to the door, Rhiannon fell. A shower of stars followed her down. Her stunned state lasted a few moments, then she rolled over to see Maelgwn looming above her. His eyes were still frenzied, his breathing came in gasps.
"Go," he said. "Take your things and go. Otherwise, I will have to finish."
Rhiannon got to her feet. Pain throbbed along her thigh, and warm wetness trickled down her leg. A wave of uncontrollable trembling seized her, but she shook it off.
The room seemed gray and wavy, as if under water. She went to where her cloak was hung and her boots lay out to dry. Bending awkwardly, she put the boots on, then wrapped herself in the cloak. She walked unsteadily toward the door. She did not look back at Maelgwn.
The courtyard was nearly deserted. Rhiannon walked across it in a trance, her body stiff and slow. She reached the open gate and stepped outside the fortress. The cold sea breeze struck her face, sharpening her dimming consciousness.
She walked unsteadily down the track from the fortress. By now she limped badly, and there was a pulling and heaviness in her leg. The blood pooled in her boot and grew cold. When she glanced down, she saw that she was leaving a trail of blood behind her on the muddy ground.
The voice inside her told her to head toward the sea. The sound of the waves would soothe her and help her think, and she could wash there.
How tired she was. She walked across the sea grass which led out to the promontory above the ocean. The pain deepened and then ebbed, like the waves crashing below. The tangy sea scent filled her nose, and she listened vaguely to the mournful cry of the water birds. She seemed to be floating; the sounds of the sea came to her from far away. She fought the urge to stop and rest. She had to get to the water, to wash and stop the bleeding.
She stumbled on the pathway down the cliffs. When she looked down to secure her footing, she saw the glitter of blood on the rocks. She must keep moving.
The soft sand of the beach was even more difficult to walk on than the rocky pathway. She stopped for a moment, breathing heavily. Everything seemed to be fading, as if a thin mist hung before her eyes. She heard a ringing in her ears, or was it the sound of the sea, crashing and thundering? She was almost there; the blue-gray waves danced in the misty light.
She sank down near the edge of the dark water. It was terribly cold, and her gown felt slimy and unpleasant against her skin. She removed her cloak, then stripped off the soiled garment. Shivering violently, she again wrapped herself in the cloak and walked to the water. She held the cloak out of the waves and washed off the streaks of dazzling red blood that ran down her leg. Wincing, she examined the wound on the side of her thigh; it still seeped blood. She covered it with a piece of seaweed, holding it tightly against the gash.
She tried to leave the water, but the soft sand sucked at her quivering legs. Her strength seemed to be trickling away with her blood, and it took all her resolve to pull herself from the lapping waves and stagger to the dry beach. Then she sat down and numbly wrapped the cloak around her. She was safe at last.
The blood pounded in his head. His body felt hollow, like a husk, a shell. Maelgwn still clutched the knife, holding it before himself for protection. He recalled Rhiannon trying to escape and remembered sending her away. Still, it seemed he was not alone in the room. The shadows crowded forward, moving toward him, blocking out the light. He whirled around. There was nothing there, but he could smell the sharp, unpleasant perfume Esylt always wore. Dread filled him.
He looked toward the corner where the fire smoldered. A haze of smoke drifted across the room toward him. He blinked and tried to see through the murky air. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end; his mouth opened in a silent scream. Esylt—she was there, standing quietly in the shadows. Her hair was as black as a raven's wing in sunlight, her skin as white as frost upon the moonlit hills. She moved closer, so close he could see a pale blue vein pulsing in her throat.
His eyes moved up to meet Esylt's. Her eyes gleamed with triumph and exultation, sparkling like hot blue stones. She threw back her head and laughed.
Maelgwn swayed, feeling the sweat soak his clothes. He reached out, intending to grasp his tormentor's thick flowing tresses. His fingers found dry, empty space, and fear curled more tightly around his heart. He reached out again, and his knife clattered to the floor. He could not breathe. A hand seemed to be squeezing his chest, pressing the air from his lungs. He swayed, then righted himself. He could feel the force like a vise around his heart. It was a living thing, a choking mist. He struggled against it, using all his will to stay on his feet and maintain a grasp on his fading consciousness. He was as sure of it as he had ever been of anything—if he swooned now, the ghosts would possess him; he would die.
Slowly, almost gently, the thing left him. His vision cleared. He was panting. His throat was raw, his body rank with sweat. Weakly, he groped his way to a stool by the fire and collapsed upon it. The fire still smoldered, filling the room with darkness. He closed his eyes against it. He felt defeated, despairing, helpless. Beyond the years, across the hills of Britain, defying even death, Esylt had worked her final wicked vengeance. She had come to remind him he could never be free of her cold, evil touch. It was as if she were a part of him; some foul putrefaction that could not be cut out without leaving a mortal wound. And now, through Rhiannon, Esylt had bound him to her even more dearly.
He stood with a gasp. The horror of his thoughts was draining his strength, his very life from him. But he would not give in; he would fight. He would find some weapon that would free him.
Maelgwn crossed to the corner of the room and opened the bronze-bound chest. He began to search through it. Beneath the piles of clothes and jewels, he found the cross he had worn in the priory. He lifted it up. The rubies set in the center caught the light from the fire and glinted like drops of blood. He clutched it to his breast and closed his eyes, waiting for the sense of peace, of forgiveness to come upon him. He felt nothing; the grinding dread in his chest did not ease.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the cross. The thing was cold, empty, without life. He dropped it with a sense of wretchedness. Even the true God, the Christos, had no power here. His struggle was with the ancient forces, with gods so old no man recalled their names.
He ran his hands across his sweat-soaked face and repressed the urge to weep like a child. What was to become of him?
"Maelgwn?"
Balyn stood in the open doorway, trouble written on his broad, open face. "Gwenaseth came to me with this story..." He paused, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "She said you and Rhiannon quarreled. She implied that you... you attacked Rhiannon."
Maelgwn met Balyn's gaze squarely. "It is true."
Balyn took another step into the room. "But why?"
Maelgwn hesitated. It seemed ill-fated to speak the words aloud. Still, Balyn must know sometime. Maelgwn's jaw clenched as he answered. "Rhiannon is Esylt's daughte
r."
"Her daughter!" Balyn gasped, then quickly crossed himself. "By the light! You believe this?"
"How can I deny what I heard from both Rhiannon and Gwenaseth's lips?"
Balyn's mouth worked. "I cannot imagine... Rhiannon... she seems so shy and gentle, without even the usual womanly guiles. Looking at her, you would not think it." His eyes jerked to Maelgwn's. "I can see no hint of Esylt in her. None."
"Rhiannon herself confirmed the truth. She even attempted to defend Esylt."
Balyn's eyes widened. "Nay, she did not! Blessed Jesu! It's no surprise you struck her."
"I didn't strike her. I stabbed her with my knife." Maelgwn walked wearily toward where Balyn stood by the door. "There are bloodstains here which must surely be hers."
"Must be...?"
Maelgwn shook his head. "It comes to me from a distance. I recall that Rhiannon was injured, but I don't think severely. I urged her to flee. If she had stayed here, I could not have contained myself. I would have killed her." He turned, regarding the room warily. "Her presence reminded me too clearly of Esylt, and my sister has a very long reach as it is. Even now, I sense her with us, hovering in the shadows of the room, laughing at me."
Balyn crossed himself once more. His dark eyes bulged with dismay and fear. "You are saying that Esylt knew you were to wed her daughter? That she had a hand in this?"
Maelgwn closed his eyes again, wishing he could avoid the horror of the truth. "Aye, she knew. I guessed that she must, and Rhiannon confirmed it."
"But why?"
"A bitter jest, I presume." He opened his eyes. "My sister did not need much of a reason to be cruel."
"But Rhiannon—to do that to her own daughter. I didn't think even Esylt capable of such heartlessness."
Maelgwn exhaled softly. "I never truly understood my sister. I thought once that I did, but that was many years ago. Long before the sickness began to eat away her soul." He shook his head, trying to clear it. Memories pulled at his thoughts, tugging him into the past. He had once loved Esylt, admired her even, as a younger sibling looks up to an elder one. How odd to think it had all led to this. "It was the curse of my family," he whispered. "My mother and brothers suffered from it too. Their quest for power was all-consuming; it finally destroyed them."
Dragon's Dream Page 20
