"I...I'd heard you were grieved over your wife's death," the man quavered. "I thought news that she is alive would gladden your heart."
"Aye, and perhaps feed your family this spring as well." Maelgwn's eyes narrowed. "I'm not a lovesick fool, despite what some might think. It would bring me great joy to find my wife alive and unhurt, but if you are lying to me..."
The man gave a gasp of fear. "I swear, my lord. The woman was your queen. During the ceremony, the woman fainted, and we all gathered round to see if she was well. I saw her clearly. Her hair was as red as blood, her skin pale as the flowers of a wood anemone."
Despite his attempt at self-control, Maelgwn's hands began to tremble. The vision the man described was much like what he had experienced during the battle with the Irish. Could this be another sign that Rhiannon's spirit lingered in the world of the living?
"This woman... did she speak?"
"Only a little. After she fainted, the priestess asked her what she had seen, and the woman... the queen... she said something about her mother, that she had seen her mother."
Maelgwn clutched the thick oak table in front of him. "Her mother," he whispered faintly.
"Perhaps she said more later," the man added anxiously. "But that is all I recall."
In the quiet room, Maelgwn could hear the crackle of the fire, the soft sound of voices outside in the courtyard. He felt as if he were in a dream, a trance. Shaking off the mood, he forced himself to speak. "Was it a spirit, do you think? A wraith?"
The huntsman's eyes widened, and he made the ancient sign against evil. "Nay, 'twas not a spirit! I not only saw the woman, I held her hand. During the ceremony, we all joined hands and danced in a circle. I remember clearly how small her fingers were, how smooth and uncallused. Afterwards, she sat and ate with us. I've never heard of a spirit eating, my lord, nor fainting either!"
"Who else saw her? Who else could confirm what you've told me?"
The huntsman shifted on his short legs and fidgeted. "There were others there... I dare not say. The priestess, Arianhrodd, perhaps she would be willing to speak to you."
Maelgwn felt his composure returning, along with his suspicions. "Tell me about your priestess."
"She leads our ceremonies. She uses her powers to help us. She is a healer."
An obscure sect of Goddess-worshippers led by a priestess with magical powers—what could be a more likely setting for the reappearance of a dead queen? Maelgwn thought cynically.
"What powers does your priestess claim?"
The man shrugged. "She is skilled with herbs and potions and has the old knowledge of the stars and the way they move in the sky. She can go into a trance and visit the spirit world. Sometimes she speaks to the spirits on our behalf. Arianhrodd is not a witch," the man added, noting the cold look on Maelgwn's face. "She uses her knowledge only for good, and she is willing to share what she knows with anyone who wishes to learn. She teaches us that our own powers are as great as hers—if we are willing to learn to use them."
Maelgwn frowned. He had expected more extravagant claims for this so-called priestess, that she could curse a man to death, or bring the dead back to life. The woman the huntsman described sounded very ordinary, a surprisingly modest individual to act as a representative of the Great Mother Goddess.
"Where can I find this Arianhrodd?"
"She lives west of here, along the coast. The man who shares her hut, Ceinwen, is a fisherman."
"Can you take me there?"
The huntsman shifted uncomfortably. "I could tell you how to find her."
Maelgwn nodded. It was to be expected that the man would be afraid of the priestess. No matter how benignly the man portrayed her, she obviously had some hold over the minds of the forest folk. But did she have any real power? Was it possible she could help him communicate with Rhiannon's spirit? The idea excited Maelgwn, but frightened him as well. If he spoke to Rhiannon's spirit, what would he say? How could he atone for the terrible thing he had done?
A small noise made Maelgwn look up. He had completely forgotten the waiting huntsman. He gestured abruptly. "Go to the kitchen and tell the Irish cook, Bridget, to give you a loaf and a jar of oil. Until I know more, that is all the reward I offer you."
The man's face split with a ruined grin. Maelgwn felt a vague stir of pity to think that such a pittance should please him.
After the man left, Maelgwn continued to sit in the empty hall. He knew he should get up, but still he sat, his body growing stiff and tired. He was afraid, afraid to find out the truth—whatever it was.
Arianhrodd knew she was about to meet the king of Gwynedd as soon as she saw the man on horseback. He rode a formidable-looking stallion, and his deep red and blue cloak and long dark hair flew behind him as he galloped down the coast. Arianhrodd glanced at the nearby hut. There was no time to warn Rhiannon. She could only hope the young woman would hear the approach of a rider and know enough to stay hidden.
The man drew his horse to a halt and asked her name. When she answered him, he dismounted gracefully and stood staring down at her. He seemed impossibly tall; Arianhrodd had never seen a man built in such spectacular fashion. Strength and danger emanated from his long, powerful limbs and immense shoulders. His face was handsome and arrogant, his beautiful blue eyes at once brooding and threatening. Arianhrodd stiffened and met his gaze resolutely. She would not be cowed by a mere man; she knew the power of the Great Goddess who ruled all men, even kings.
"I am Maelgwn, Prince of Gwynedd. My wife, Rhiannon, disappeared some weeks ago, presumably drowned. I have since heard a story that she was seen in the forest. It is said you were present the night she appeared."
He was direct, she would give him that. Someone must have seen Rhiannon at the ceremony and gone to the king.
Arianhrodd had not thought any of the forest folk would be so brave as to approach the king, but if there were a reward offered, some might take the risk.
"Well, what say you?" Maelgwn asked impatiently.
Arianhrodd cleared her throat and met his eyes challengingly. "It is said your wife drowned after you wounded her and turned her out of your fortress."
The king's blue eyes filled with rage. "How dare you?" he muttered. He took a step toward her.
Arianhrodd stood her ground. As dangerous as it might be to anger this man, her goading words had their purpose. She wanted to know if he had as little control over his temper as it appeared. If so, she would not consider having Rhiannon return to him.
She met his fierce gaze levelly. "Isn't it true you stabbed your wife, then ordered her away?"
Maelgwn's expression wavered. The anger vanished, to be replaced by a look of pain. "Aye, it is true. But it was not my intention that Rhiannon should die."
The anguish in his face surprised Arianhrodd. Perhaps the king genuinely grieved the loss of his wife. Still, she could not think of trusting him yet. Maelgwn's pain might be feigned. Indeed, he recovered quickly. The kingly mask slipped back into place, and when next he spoke, his voice was commanding.
"You have not answered my question. Was there a woman attending the ceremony who might be mistaken for my wife—a small, fine-featured woman with long red hair?"
Arianhrodd pretended to consider the king's question. "Do you believe your wife is alive?" she asked.
Maelgwn shook his head grimly. "In truth, I can't see how she could have survived."
"Then why come to me? The man was obviously mistaken."
"I don't think it was a living woman the man saw, but a spirit."
"Your dead wife's spirit?"
Maelgwn nodded. His gaze was unflinching. Arianhrodd regarded him with bemusement. She had not taken this proud, powerful king for a man who believed in spirits. Did he really imagine his dead wife's wraith walked the earth?
"Sometimes the Goddess takes the form of a beautiful young woman. If the man you spoke to was familiar with your queen, perhaps the Goddess appeared to him in the guise of your wife. I have heard she was
a beautiful woman—lovely enough to be mistaken for a goddess."
Maelgwn looked away and sighed, a long aching sigh. "Aye, my Rhiannon was very fair." His gaze returned to Arianhrodd, and she saw his features tense with grief. "I come to you not because I think Rhiannon lives, but because it is known that troubled souls often linger among the living, seeking to set aright the things unfinished at their death. As foolish as it seems, I seek to communicate with Rhiannon, to settle things with her so she can be at peace." A faint, grim smile touched his lips. "There are those who say that Rhiannon's death has driven me to madness. Now you know of what they speak."
Arianhrodd could only stare at Maelgwn. While she had suspected Rhiannon's husband would eventually come in search of her, she had not anticipated this. The king was a worldly man, a warrior, a wielder of death and the essence of masculine power. He was also said to be a pious Christian. For him to express the wish to communicate with his dead wife's spirit was astonishing. Arianhrodd abruptly revised her opinion of the man who stood before her. Perhaps it was not a question of protecting Rhiannon from her husband, but finding a way to reconcile them.
Abruptly, Arianhrodd turned and began to walk down the beach. She gestured for Maelgwn to follow her, and he hesitated only a moment, then came after her, his long stride easily matching two of her steps.
"It is not easy to have speech with spirits," she said as he drew beside her. "To seek them out is to risk your hold on your own realm, the existence known as life. It is a dangerous thing for one unskilled. Of those who journey to the other side, many do not return."
She cocked her head sideways, awaiting Maelgwn's response. Something flared behind his eyes, some lingering resentment, perhaps that he must ask a mere woman for help. Then it was gone, and his expression grew thoughtful. "You say it is difficult, even dangerous. But is it possible? Can someone like me, untrained, unskilled as you call it—can I hope to succeed in my quest?"
"Of course it is possible. But you must vow to submit your will utterly to the Goddess." Arianhrodd paused, and her eyes searched Maelgwn's ruthlessly. "Her power is great, but She does not always show you what you wish. When Rhiannon speaks to you, you may not like what She says."
"So be it," Maelgwn answered stiffly.
Arianhrodd nodded. So be it, indeed. Soon they would know what lengths this man would go to in his effort to see Rhiannon.
"I will help you, if you agree to do exactly as I tell you. Tonight, I will send you a message explaining where and when the meeting will take place. You must follow my instructions without hesitation."
Maelgwn's face looked as solemn as a stone statue's. Arianhrodd added, "I must warn you. If you wish to converse with your wife's spirit, you must put your trust in the Goddess. Your life will be in Her hands."
Again, there was hesitation, the hint of resentment in Maelgwn's eyes. Arianhrodd waited, holding his gaze firmly with her own. Gradually the look of doubt faded and he nodded.
Arianhrodd turned away and continued to walk down the beach alone. Her steps were slow and measured even though her heart raced with excitement. Dealing with Maelgwn had been remarkably easy; now there was only Rhiannon to convince. Which would win out?—Arianhrodd wondered. Rhiannon's love for her husband or her fear of him?
When Arianhrodd returned to the hut, she thought at first that Rhiannon had heard her husband's voice and fled. Then there was a small, scuffling sound in the corner by the baskets, and Rhiannon stood up from her hiding place among the herbs and medicines. Her freckles showed dark in her ashen skin, and her eyes were wide with alarm.
"You know who I am," she whispered.
"What did you think, child? Your looks are uncommon, and Ceinwen goes out every day and talks to the other fishermen. As soon as he came back with the story of Maelgwn's queen fleeing his fortress and being drowned, we knew who you were." Arianhrodd went to the fire, thinking to alleviate Rhiannon's distress by preparing her a soothing draught.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"We had no desire to upset you by reminding you of events you wished to forget. I assumed, in time, the king would come looking for you, and we would deal with it then. That day is here."
"He's come to ask for me back! To have me put to death!"
Arianhrodd looked up from the water she was heating. "That would be very odd, considering he already believes you dead."
Rhiannon sucked in her breath. "He truly believes that?"
"So he said."
"But if Maelgwn thinks I'm dead, why has he come?"
"He came here to ask me to help him communicate with your spirit."
Rhiannon looked aghast. She stumbled over to the fire and sat down, her breathing quick and shallow. "What does he want with my spirit? Hasn't he cursed me heartily enough in this world? Is there no end of his hatred for me?"
Arianhrodd reached out and patted Rhiannon's shoulder. "He does not hate you, child. He regrets what he did to you; he seeks your spirit in order to make amends."
Rhiannon flinched. "Who is to say when the madness will come upon him again? It takes only the mention of Esylt to kindle his hatred into a blazing rage!"
"I have agreed to help him."
Rhiannon turned to Arianhrodd, panic-stricken. "You mean to send me back to him! To my death!"
"Nay, nay." Arianhrodd grasped Rhiannon's hand gently. "I will take every precaution to see that you are safe. Besides, it is not you I mean to send him, but your spirit."
Rhiannon gazed at her in puzzlement. Arianhrodd squeezed her hand and went on. "I mean to give the king a drug that causes visions. It will confuse him, blur his senses so he is not sure what he sees. Then, and only then, will I send you to him."
"But what if the drug also stirs his hatred? Even if he thinks I'm a spirit, he might still wish to destroy me."
Arianhrodd shook her head. "The substance arouses visions, but it also calms the spirit and soothes the mind. He will do you no violence under its spell."
Rhiannon considered this information with a wary expression. "I have heard of such potions. Still, I'm afraid."
"I wouldn't risk this if I thought Maelgwn meant you harm. I believe he regrets losing you; I think his love for you is very great, greater even than his anger."
"You cannot know," Rhiannon said mournfully. "You cannot guess why he despises me." Arianhrodd waited expectantly as Rhiannon spoke in a soft, halting voice. "Not only am I Maelgwn's wife, I'm also his niece. Esylt, the sister he hates, whom he blames for every misfortune of his life, was my mother."
"And for this he stabbed you and drove you out to the pitiless sea?"
Rhiannon nodded.
Arianhrodd was silent for a time. Rhiannon's relationship to her husband was convoluted, but that most likely only made the bond between them stronger. If Maelgwn transferred to Rhiannon the sins of her mother, perhaps he also transferred the love which begat his hatred.
She met Rhiannon's eyes reassuringly. "The man I spoke with on the beach was a tortured soul, one near sick with grief. I believes he loves you. That he sincerely wants you back."
Rhiannon shook her head. Arianhrodd continued, "I warn you, Rhiannon, before you decide whether you will take part in my plan, you must consider very carefully the power you hold over your husband. You have the means to heal him or toss him back into the pit of black despair. Which do you wish? Mercy for Maelgwn, or destruction?"
Rhiannon went utterly still, and her lovely eyes looked as agonized as Maelgwn's had. Arianhrodd could see that her will was torn, half-rent apart by the decision forced upon her.
Arianhrodd resisted the urge to reach out in pity. Instead, she made her voice stern. "Look beyond your fear and anger, Rhiannon. If you are truly a healer, you have a duty to aid Maelgwn, even if it imperils your own life. If you would help a wounded bird that lay helpless upon the sea rocks, how much more should you help a man, especially a man who carries the future of Gwynedd on his broad shoulders?"
Rhiannon shook her head. "Don't ask this of
me. I can't do it. I fear him too much."
"It's not I who asks it, Rhiannon. It is the Goddess."
"You know this? She has spoken to you?"
Arianhrodd nodded, suddenly certain it was true. "I have seen enough of the future to know that Maelgwn the Great must live and prosper, or many will suffer. There is good in this man you have wed, and also a deep bond with the land, the Goddess's timeless flesh. She has chosen him, and it is up to all of us to protect the vessel of Her will."
Rhiannon licked her lips uneasily. "I cannot deny the Goddess, nor do I wish Maelgwn ill. But tell me truly, is there no other way?"
"Having seen the determined look in your husband's eyes, I know he will not be satisfied with anything less than confronting your spirit. And since I am not able to conjure the ghostly vision he desires, I must do the next best thing. I will send him a living, breathing woman, but one he believes to be dead." A faint smile formed on her lips. "With the aid of the drug, and your promise to speak no word to Maelgwn when you see him, I think my plan will serve."
Chapter 26
Rhiannon gazed out at the sea, watching the slow lap of frothy waves across the beach. The rhythm of the surf pounded in her ears, like the timeless heartbeat of the Mother herself. She had come to this place every day since her leg was well enough to allow her to walk there. Never before had the sea failed to soothe her, but today she was so oppressed by her thoughts that even the glimmering waves could not wash away her dread.
In a few hours, she would see Maelgwn again. The Goddess had willed it, and she would obey. Still, her heart twisted in her chest at the thought. Her terror did not arise from fear of death, nor dread of the physical pain she might endure if he defied the drug and attacked her. She feared seeing the hatred in his eyes again—knowing that her husband loathed who and what she was with all his soul.
Rhiannon got up from the rock she sat on, her thoughts so disturbing she could no longer remain still. She sighed heavily. There was nowhere she could go, no sanctuary to which she could flee. Even the forest was haunted. The woods no longer echoed with mystery and enchantment. Now they were full of memories, achingly lovely memories that tore her insides and rendered her helpless and empty. Llewenon's attack had not destroyed her refuge, but Maelgwn's love had. He had made her into a woman, a woman full of passion and grown-up dreams. She could never go back. She had lost the simple magic of the wild forest forever.
Dragon's Dream Page 27
