“Do you delay me hoping that these gentlemen,” Rhiannon nodded at the four men who now stood close, “will be discouraged by my appearance? I assure you they will not. They, too, prefer cockleburs. Then the dower my father gives with me could be spent on objects worthier than my adornment.”
“You need no adornment,” one said.
“There is naught worthier than your adornment,” another exclaimed.
The other two, keener witted, said nothing, seeing the trap. Rhiannon raised her fine-arched brows, preparing to impale the unwise flatterers on their own lances of wit. But, before she could praise the economy of one, who would offer fine words in the place of rich gifts, or complain that the other thought her so ugly that any sum expended on baubles to hide her true appearance would be worthwhile, Simon deflected her aim.
“We may all soon be rich enough not to care for your dower or the price of rich gifts,” he suggested provocatively.
Instantly the attention of the four young men shifted. The eldest of them, Owain Brogynton, had not fallen into Rhiannon’s snare, but greed drew him headlong into Simon’s.
“How so, when Prince Llewelyn has forbidden raiding? Do you think yourself safe from his command because of your Saeseneg relations?”
“Not at all,” Simon replied blandly, ignoring the insult implied by Saeseneg—English-speaking—relations. “I am Prince Llewelyn’s man and have neither intention nor desire to disobey any command he may give, but I have news…” He allowed that to drift off temptingly.
“From so noteworthy a source, I am sure your news will be the mainspring of all Prince Llewelyn’s future decisions,” another sneered. He was the youngest of the group and the first to leap into Rhiannon’s pitfall.
Antwn ap Madog, the second man who had been clever enough to hold his tongue, put his hand on the speaker’s arm. His father held lands in Powys and was one of Llewelyn’s bulwarks against the Marcher lords. Thus, he was better acquainted than the others with the nobility and politics of England and knew to whom Simon was related.
“His source may well be noteworthy,” Antwn said. “His brother-by-marriage is cousin to King Henry. What is your news, Simon?”
“You know, I suppose, that King Henry has summoned an army to gather at Gloucester on the Assumption and that many Flemish mercenaries have been brought in also.”
“Of course we know,” Madog ap Sior snapped. He was the second to fall into Rhiannon’s trap and still did not realize she had laid a snare. He was less quick-witted than the others, more stubborn also, prone to cling to opinions he had made on the basis of superficial evidence. “That is why we are forbidden to raid. The king will soon take his army to Ireland, however, and we will be free of him. This is no news.”
“I do not think the king will take his army to Ireland—and neither does Prince Llewelyn,” Simon said, smiling.
“You dare to say our prince fears the stupid, slow-footed Saeson?” Madog snarled, thrusting forward.
Antwn grabbed him. “Do not be a fool, Madog. I am sure Simon would not insult Prince Llewelyn. Go on, Simon.”
“I do not intend insult to Prince Llewelyn by calling him a coward, but I will not insult him by saying he is fool enough to desire that an army of that size fall upon Wales either.”
“What if they did?” the youngster sneered. “They would starve as others have done before them.”
“Yes, and then we would starve all winter also, since the crops are not yet in nor the herds fully fattened,” Owain remarked, his eyes narrowed. “If we must starve, we can. But I agree with Simon that Prince Llewelyn would not invite the Saeson in at this time.”
“Unfortunately, it is not a question of not inviting them in but of keeping them out—if they are not going to Ireland,” Antwn said. “The message with the summons said to ‘bring to obedience the Earl of Kent’s men in Ireland.’ This much I know for certain. Do you think this is a ruse to befool us? If so—”
“That was not the intent,” Simon said quickly. The English were enough hated; he did not wish to add fuel to that fire. “Likely the summons was honestly intended when it went out, but matters have changed. Gilbert Bassett is now in open rebellion. He has sent a defiance to the king, and the Earl of Pembroke knows that justice is on Bassett’s side. He does not wish to fight King Henry, but the earl will do nothing to curb Bassett. If Henry uses this as an excuse to attack Pembroke’s keeps in the south—”
“Who cares what Pembroke or the Saeson king does in the south?” Madog growled. “You may keep your news to yourself; we—”
“But Madog,” the youngster interrupted, having noticed the expressions of glee on the faces of Owain and Antwn and put two and two together, “if Henry’s army is busy in the south—”
“We may all grow rich raiding the baggage trains,” Simon put in smoothly. “Prince Llewelyn would never forbid the raiding of an invading army, even if he does not want attacks to be made on English lands just now.”
The four huddled closer to discuss this splendid possibility, not realizing that Rhiannon had slipped away and that, a few moments later, Simon had followed. He caught her just outside the hall of women, where she had stopped to say some reproachful things to Math, who merely stared at her enigmatically.
“Lady Rhiannon,” Simon said, “do forgive me for foiling your intention of pricking those conceits, but I was most eager to drop my burden of news where it would do the most good.”
“I am happy you found me so useful,” she retorted coldly, “but I cannot say I think much of your discretion. My father does not love men with wagging tongues.”
“Neither do I. It was Prince Llewelyn who bade me start the gossip. No, forget that for now. I could not believe my good fortune when I saw Math and so knew you were here. I have been racking my brains all the way from Clifford to think of a reason to go to Angharad’s Hall—and here you are.”
“Do you think I came to seek you?”
“No! My lady, do not quarrel with me without cause, I beg you. I wish only to please you.”
“Like those others?”
Several pat answers sprang to Simon’s tongue, but he swallowed them. “How can I answer that?” he asked slowly. “I do not know what they feel. You said they desired your dower, but that might have been a jest. I certainly do not—you know that. I will be glad to have a blood bond with your father, but that is because I love him well, not because I hope to gain by it.”
The door of the hall opened, yellow light from the torches spilling from it along the ground. It did not touch Simon or Rhiannon where they stood, but she took Simon by the wrist and drew him around the building to the garden at the back. She was ashamed of her sharp retorts, aware they were the product of her anger with herself and that Simon had done nothing to deserve them. She knew it was time to unburden herself before shame bred more anger, which would breed more shame, and round and round until the walls of self-hatred had grown too high and too hard to be breached.
Simon had been surprised into silence by Rhiannon’s sudden move. When he saw where she was leading him, he maintained silence, afraid he would go too far or not far enough and irritate her again. It was a wise move, giving Rhiannon time to drop her defenses. When they reached a bench set at a crossways amid the beds of herbs and flowers, she stopped and looked up. It was very dark, the moon not having yet risen, but that was all to the good. Rhiannon preferred to get through her confession without either seeing Simon’s expression or having him read hers.
“Simon,” she said quickly, “the question I asked—did I come to seek you—held a falsehood in it because it implied I did not.”
“But, oh, my lady, did you send me a message and think I had not come? I never received it, I swear. You see, I left London suddenly and I have been with the Earl of Pembroke, moving from one keep to another because—”
“No, I did not send any message, nor did I expect to find you here. I came to see if any other man would content me—”
“What!”
“You heard me,” Rhiannon said sharply. “I came to see if—like a heifer—any bull could service me.”
It was most fortunate that Simon’s mother was given to crude and forthright language when it served her purpose and that Llewelyn had told him already that Rhiannon had found all the young bucks at court insufficient. The combination of experience and private knowledge saved him from losing his temper. As soon as the initial shock of Rhiannon saying such a thing of herself had passed, Simon was touched by her desperate honesty—and was amused.
“There are more delicate ways to say you are now ready to consider marriage, my lady,” he said gravely, determined not to make another mistake.
“But I am not ready to consider marriage,” Rhiannon snapped. “And there is no delicate way to say that I desire you.”
Simon gulped. He had been invited by many women in many ways, but never like this. He stared helplessly down, but it was too dark to see anything except the faint gleam of Rhiannon’s luminous eyes. There was no way to make out her expression.
“Rhiannon,” he stammered, “my lady—”
“You have now the right to call me Rhiannon, nor need you add ‘my lady’. We are done with honorifics.”
She put out her hand, and Simon saw the flash of her teeth as she smiled at him. There was no implication in what she said of shame or of being made less than she was. Rhiannon was merely admitting him to an intimacy she had previously withheld by insisting on formality in his address.
“But if you love me—” Simon began to protest.
“I never said I loved you.” Rhiannon cut him off, her voice sharp again. “I said I desired you. Do you not know the difference?”
“Indeed I do!” Simon responded furiously. “Which is why I asked your father formally for permission to address you and asked you for the honor of becoming your husband. I love you! If you do not love me, you do not. There is no need to insult me!”
Whereupon he stalked away, leaving Rhiannon somewhat stunned.
Chapter Six
Neither Simon nor Rhiannon spent a very pleasant night. Five minutes after he left her, Simon hurried back, but she was gone. He regretted what he had said and done, not because he was willing to take Rhiannon on her terms but because of the way he had rejected them. Too late he had remembered Llewelyn telling him that Rhiannon’s mother and grandmother had also been unwilling to marry. He had reacted as if Rhiannon’s offer was one of contempt for him, as if she thought he was not worth marrying, and that was probably not true.
Simon stood in the garden awhile, hoping Rhiannon would guess he would return, but she did not come back and he could have torn out his hair with frustration. It would not be easy, he realized, to find a time alone with her again to explain himself. He stood irresolute thinking that it might not be easy even to be alone with himself in Llewelyn’s court after the news he had dropped, and he had to be alone to think. It might not be difficult—once he found a time and place—to explain away his anger. However, changing Rhiannon’s mind about marriage would be another matter entirely.
Rhiannon had regretted her own blunt words as soon and as deeply as Simon regretted his outburst of temper. She had hurried after him—or so she thought—as soon as she recovered from the surprise of having made him so very angry. But she had assumed that he would have gone back to the hall, and, once inside, she had been snatched up into the group from which she had previously escaped. She had little choice but to stay with them and then excuse herself after a decent interval and go back to the women’s hall. This she did, making a detour into the garden, but Simon was long gone by then.
It had been stupid and unkind, Rhiannon thought, to state her purpose so crudely. There were gentler ways to say that one does not wish to marry. And Simon did not carry, as she did, a leavening of the old religion. Doubtless he thought a union without marriage sinful. At that point Rhiannon paused in removing her clothes and chuckled softly. If so, he had managed to bear up very well under the burden of sin he had accumulated so far. No, it was not his faith to God that had been offended. What then?
Only when she rethought the scene between them carefully did it come to her that she had said she did not love him, whereas he claimed to love her. So it was his pride that had been hurt—too bad. Her eyes sparked angrily, but then the expression in them softened. Perhaps he did love her right now. Perhaps he even lied to himself that he would love her forever. Rhiannon stood staring at the tall night candle considering that possibility. If it was no lie, if Simon did love her and could be faithful, would she wish to bind herself forever?
A response began to build up in her and Rhiannon shook herself sharply, but she felt a greater sympathy for Simon. No doubt he did not lie consciously; no doubt he felt the same urge, the same sneaking conviction that he would love forever as she had begun to feel. Nonetheless, no man was ever faithful, and one like Simon least of all. Too many women followed him, called to him, offered themselves to him. And she was not sure she would love him forever, no matter what she felt right now.
At first, sleep would not come, and when it did it brought such dreams of mingled ecstasy and terror all dappled with blood that Rhiannon started awake sweating. Math leapt onto the bed and walked up her chest, purring loudly. She stroked him, and the soft sleekness of his vibrating body assured her of reality. Yet the dream shadowed her waking, and it was not, as her dreams usually were, clear in memory. She tried to pick it apart, to determine whether the joy had engendered the terror or whether they were two separate things, but even that she could not do.
To Rhiannon, dreams were not to be ignored. They were true foreshadowings—if properly interpreted. But the maelstrom of joy and fear she had experienced could not be disentangled for interpretation. However, as she lay sleepless in the dim light of the night candle, the pleasure took a greater hold on her mind, and that was most unusual. Mostly, with dreams, it was the terror that grew until all else shrank into insignificance. Without clear memory, however, there could be no true guidance. She tried to blank her mind and concentrate wholly on Math’s rhythmic purring on which she could float into sleep.
Simon had no bad dreams, but he had found sleep equally elusive. In England he had not been celibate. It had never entered his mind that when Rhiannon spoke of keeping to one love she could include the casual use of a whore now and then to relieve his body, Nonetheless, he had taken no woman since he had left London with Richard. They had been moving too quickly, and he had been so busy, he had scarcely felt the lack, except for a little while when he had wakened in the morning.
The contact with Rhiannon and her offer had roused desire. To satisfy it would have been no trouble—there were several women in the court who had given Simon solace before he had fixed his heart on Rhiannon. All of their eyes said they would welcome him back, and Mallt uerch Arnallt had even begun to follow him across the hall when he had rushed forward to speak to Rhiannon. That was out of the question, however. Even to look in Mallt’s direction would be the end of any hope he had of convincing Rhiannon to be his wife. Besides, he did not want Mallt.
When the hall was dark and silent, Simon found his way among the other men to his pallet. Not far away Madog ap Sior’s eyes opened. He had been the most annoyed when the four men discussing raids on the baggage train of Henry’s army discovered that Rhiannon was gone because he was the most convinced that a woman should wait patiently until a man had time to attend to her. He had been even more annoyed when it seemed that Simon had gone with her. That Simon should now steal in so late and so silently infuriated him even further. Naturally; he assumed Simon had been with Rhiannon.
Worst of all, Antwn had made it clear to him that it was not possible simply to find a dark corner and stick a knife between Simon’s ribs. Simon was the only son of Prince Llewelyn’s dear friend and clan brother Ian de Vipont. More important, he was personally a great favorite with the prince. And, at the moment, most important of all, he was an envoy from the Earl of Pembroke. Thus,
if any harm should come to Simon, Llewelyn would harrow the court so effectively that Christ’s Harrowing of Hell would seem a jest in comparison.
Madog was not quick of mind, but the pressure of rage and the need for secrecy jolted him into an unusual mental agility. He put together Simon’s English connections and Prince Llewelyn’s affection for him with the fact that Llewelyn’s illegitimate son Gruffydd loathed the English and was jealous of anyone his father preferred. Madog did not mind if Gruffydd got into trouble. He would watch Simon, he thought, and when he caught him with Rhiannon he would report the matter to Gruffydd. Then Gruffydd would take care of the elimination of Simon, one way or another.
The absolute stillness of Simon’s body on his pallet further infuriated Madog, who thought Simon had dropped asleep instantly and associated that with sexual satisfaction. However, it was discipline rather than satisfaction that kept Simon so quiet. He had more or less decided what he would say to Rhiannon, but he was quite unable to think of a way to convince her to listen to him. He had assumed she was so furious at the crude way he had rejected her offer of herself that she would not even permit him to approach her.
To add to the difficulty, Simon did not dare leave it to time to appease her anger while he furthered his cause by looking depressed and lonely—a ruse he had found very efficacious when a lady in one place finally heard of his exploits in another. Time, usually so much a lover’s friend, had turned on him. Simon did not know whether he would have a day, a week, or a month or more before Llewelyn came to a decision as to what he would do, when he would do it, or whether he wished to ally himself to Pembroke at all. He was pretty sure of a day or two while Llewelyn consulted the major clan leaders who were beholden to him. After that, Simon knew he might be sent back to Richard at any time, and then he did not know when he would be able to return. Once the fighting started, it might be many months before his time was again his own.
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