A Memory of Love (15 page)

“He is growing up,” she admitted. “Oh, Edward, what shall I do when he goes off for good one day? I am so used to looking after him. What will I do?” she repeated.

“You will raise our children to be every bit the fine young man your brother is becoming, Rhonwyn,” he told her.

“Our children?”
She swallowed. “We have no children, my lord.”

“Nor the hope of any unless we can together overcome your fears, Rhonwyn,” he said quietly. “Our wedding night was a cruel time for you, but it was necessary for all the reasons that you well know. By the rood, wife, would you have your father still living with us?” he teased her as they walked back into the hall.

“Mary's blood, no!” she exclaimed.

He chuckled. “Do you think you know me well enough, my wild Welsh wife, that you will let me into your bed again? With your brother away it is the perfect time for us to attempt our reunion.”

“Let me think on it,” she said low.

“You have had almost six months to think on it, Rhonwyn,” he told her, a slight edge to his voice. What the hell was the matter with her?

“Will you force me again, my lord?” she said angrily. “I know I cannot hope to overcome your strength, but I will hate you for it! I do not know if I can bear to be so
possessed
again.”

“When passion is felt by both lovers, Rhonwyn, both are possessed, and the pleasure is sublime, I promise you,” he responded patiently, yet he was impatient. Whenever the matter of conjugal relations came up, she behaved as if he were a monster.

“I felt pain and fear and loathing on our wedding night, my lord,” she told him frankly. “I hated it when you covered my body with yours. I was helpless to your lusts, and there was no escaping it. I do not know if I can feel any other way.”

“We do not have to mate at first, Rhonwyn,” he said. “We will begin slowly, by touching. You are as free to touch me as I am to touch you, wife. We need not be in our bed or even unclothed at first. I do not think you would be fearful then.”

“Does it always hurt?” she asked him pointedly.

“Nay. The first time when a maiden's virtue is taken from her, aye. But once she is used to her husband's lance sheathing itself on a regular basis, nay. There is no pain,” he promised her.

Rhonwyn was thoughtful for a time. She didn't know if she could ever overcome her distaste for this
passion
of his, but for his sake she must try. Edward was a good man, and he had been very patient. “Can you bear to go slowly, my lord?” she asked him.

“I must for your sake,” he replied honestly.

“Then I will try,” she said.

“Why are you so fearful?”

Rhonwyn shrugged. “I cannot say,” she told him. “I know what you want is a natural thing, particularly between a man and his wife, but I felt so powerless on our wedding night. Never before did I feel so impotent, and I never again want to feel that way, Edward. I will never forget seeing my mother helpless to ap Gruffydd's passions, not that she seemed to mind. Her whole existence was for him, so I was left to take care of myself and Glynn. It is true my kinsman and the men of Cythraul had charge over us,
but I was my own mistress.
I wanted to ride, and they taught me. I wanted to learn how to use a sword; they taught me. They even taught me how to dice, although they were reluctant to do so, especially afterward when I beat them. I was always in charge of my own being. Yet when we consummated our marriage, I was not in control of myself. You were in control, and I could not bear it.” She bit her lower lip in vexation. “I am sorry, Edward. I truly am.”

“But it is a man's place to lead,” he said slowly, trying to understand her point of view, but he really didn't. Why could she not be obedient? He was half in love with her yet he did not know if he could be happy with a woman who constantly questioned him, and would not do her duty by him.

“Why?”
she asked.

“Why? Because that is the way it has always been, Rhonwyn. Is that not what the church teaches? And did not God create Adam, the man, first?” he said somewhat tersely.

“And realizing his error,” Rhonwyn replied quickly, “he created Eve, the woman, or so my aunt the abbess says.”

“You are too independent for a wife,” he said, shaking his head in mock despair, unable to be angry with her.

“I was raised to be so, my lord,” she responded softly.

“Be independent, wife, except when you come to our bed. Then I would have you rely on me, Rhonwyn. I find that I am beginning to care for you in ways that have nothing to do with lust or desire, although I do desire you. I believe they call what I am feeling
love
.” He took her hand in his, and raising it to his lips, kissed it softly, first the back, and then turning it over, the palm.

The moist warmth of his mouth on her flesh sent a small shudder through her, but it was not, she decided, entirely unpleasant. She did not pull her hand away from his.

He drew her close and said softly, “Put your head upon my chest, Rhonwyn, and let me hold you for a moment.” His arms came about her, but his grip was an easy one she might have broken away from if she chose to do so. “You are so beautiful, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn,” he told her. “Your hair is like moonbeams that have been spun with the sunlight by spiders. And it is as soft as thistledown, wife.”

Her cheek rested against his doublet just below his shoulder. She could smell the scent of him, and it was not unpleasant.

Reaching out, he captured her chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting her head up to him. “You have eyes like emeralds.”

“What are emeralds?” she asked ingenuously.

“The green jewels in my sword's hilt,” he told her.

“You think my eyes are like green stones? For that is what those pieces of glass are. Green stones,” Rhonwyn told him, not certain that what he had obviously meant as a compliment was truly a compliment.

Edward laughed. “Don't be so damned practical,” he scolded her, and then he brushed her lips lightly with his before releasing his grip on her. “Emeralds are, in their unset form, exquisite jewels, and your eyes are exquisite, wife.”

Her mouth was tingling as it had when he had kissed her at the altar. It was rather nice, she thought. “Your eyes are like a rainy sky,” she told him, “and your hair is like an oak leaf in November.”

He grinned at her. “ 'Tis as pretty a compliment as I have ever received, wife.”

Rhonwyn giggled. “I think you mad, my lord,” she said. “Now I must go about my chores, for just because Glynn has departed and you are of a mind to play the gallant does not mean I have been relieved of tasks.” She curtsied to him, and turning, hurried off.

Edward watched her go. He felt they had made a good beginning this morning. In the months she had been his wife he had grown to genuinely like Rhonwyn. He had told her the truth when he had said he had deeper feelings burgeoning within him. And it had all happened without kisses or copulation, much to his surprise. He had done what he must on their wedding night, but now that he knew her, he honestly desired her. He had heard of women for whom passion had no meaning. He hoped that his wife was not one of them. He prayed silently that she simply needed to be awakened. There was no pleasure in just satisfying an itch. He could do that with any female. He wanted to really love her and have her love him in return. Until now it had been easy to be patient. He sensed it would not be any longer.

That evening he invited her to play at dice with him, laughing when she won a silver penny. “You have been well taught, lady,” he complimented her. “Next time I shall challenge you to a game of chess instead,” he finished with a wry grin, rising from the game table and moving to his chair by the fire.

“I am skilled at that as well, my lord Edward,” she told him.

The hall was empty, the servants gone. A fire burned in the fireplace flanked by their great stone lions. Edward de Beaulie now sat in the master's chair with its leather seat and back.

“Will you sit in my lap, Rhonwyn?” he asked her.

What harm could there be in it? she thought. Rising from the game table, she sat herself within the curve of his arms. They remained quietly for a time, and then Rhonwyn said, “The harvest has proved to be excellent, my lord. The granaries are full. The orchards are ready to be picked, and if the rain holds off, we shall be able to start tomorrow.”

“Why does your hair smell like heather?” he asked her, sniffing.

“Enit's mother makes the oil we put in my soap,” she replied. “The apple crop would appear to be bounteous. We should begin pressing the cider in another week or two.”

“It's delicious, wife. The scent is delicate and suits you well.” He sniffed again, and then kissed the top of her gilt head.

“My lord! Do you not wish to know how we fare here at Haven?”

“Tell me after the mass when we break our fast on the morrow,” he said. “The evening hours should be for gentler pursuits.” Then he tilted her back in his arms and kissed her, a lingering soft kiss that to Rhonwyn's surprise set her pulses racing. But as quickly as his mouth had made such delicious contact, he tipped her gently from his lap. “Go to your bed now, wife. I bid you pleasant dreams. I know that I shall have them this night.”

Slightly dazed, she walked from the hall and climbed the winding staircase to her chambers. Enit was awaiting her and helped her prepare for bed. Finally alone, Rhonwyn lay in her bed, eyes wide open, considering what had happened this day. Would she be able to overcome her aversion to her husband's passion? She was beginning to hope she could.

The following day they had surprise visitors. Edward was in the orchards overseeing the apple picking. Alfred rushed into the hall where his mistress was seated, weaving a tapestry that would be placed over the fireplace. The steward was flushed and pale by turns.

“My lady! My lady! The lord Edward and his wife are but a mile from Haven! The messenger has just now come. What are we to do?”

“The lord Edward?”
Rhonwyn was slightly confused.

“
The prince,
my lady! King Henry's son with his lady wife. What shall I do?”

Rhonwyn stood up. “We do not know if they will remain the night, but have the best guest chamber prepared just in case they do. Did the messenger say how many are in their party? The cook must be able to feed them all and well, no matter. Send John to the orchards to fetch my lord immediately! I must go and change my gown. I cannot greet the king's son looking like this. Hurry, Alfred!
Hurry!
” She ran from the hall, calling as she went, “Enit! To me, lass!”

But Enit, by some magic known only to servants, was already in her mistress's garderobe, pulling out a more elegant gown for her lady to wear. It was apple green silk with a sleeveless overgown of deeper green and silver brocade. She lay it with a silver brocaded girdle upon the bed even as Rhonwyn hurried into the chamber, pulling her everyday kirtle over her head as she came. After dressing Rhonwyn, Enit quickly redid her hair, parting it in the center and plaiting it, and then fixing the braids about Rhonwyn's head. A gauze veil with a small silver circlet completed the attire.

“Thank you,” Rhonwyn said, jumping up and hurrying from her chamber. It simply would not do to have the prince and his wife arrive and have neither she nor Edward be there to greet them. She ran down the stairs, hearing Enit coming behind her.

In the hall the servants were running back and forth with wine and plates of fruit and cheese for the high board. The fire was built higher. Edward dashed in, his handsome face streaked with dirt. Seeing his wife, he gave her a wave and bolted out again, heading to his own chamber to change his clothing.

“They're at the foot of the hill, lady,” Alfred said as a young lad ran in to whisper to him.

Rhonwyn swallowed hard. There was nothing for it. She would have to greet the prince and his wife alone. She walked from the great hall, down the corridor a short distance, and out the door of the castle to stand a moment on the stairway landing, even as the lord Edward and his wife rode into the courtyard. Then she glided down the staircase, reaching them as the prince dismounted and lifted his lady from her horse.

Rhonwyn curtsied gracefully and low. “My lord Edward, my lady Eleanor, I bid you welcome to Haven Castle.”

The prince raised her up and looked directly into her face. “So you are ap Gruffydd's wench,” he said.

“I am, my lord,” Rhonwyn replied.

“You are not at all what I expected. The Welsh are dark, are they not, lady?”

“Most are, my lord, but my mother descended from a race who were known as the Fair Folk. While I resemble ap Gruffydd in features, I have my mother's coloring.”

“You are far prettier than ap Gruffydd,” Prince Edward said with a small chuckle. He turned away from her a moment. “
Mon coeur,
this is the prince of the Welsh's daughter and the wife of Edward de Beaulie, the lady Rhonwyn.” He turned back to his hostess. “My wife, the lady Eleanor.”

Rhonwyn curtsied again, then rising, said, “Will you not come into the hall and be refreshed? There is both food and wine awaiting you and water with which to wash the dust of your travels away.” She led them into the castle.

In the hall Edward de Beaulie came forward and bowed to the royal couple. “Forgive me, my lord, for not being here to welcome you, but I was in the orchards when I was informed of your arrival. As I would not greet you in the clothing I have worked the day in, and as there was little time to change, I had to leave my wife to see to you both.” He bowed to the prince again and kissed the lady Eleanor's gloved hand.

“Your wife did you proud, de Beaulie. And I was happy to be greeted by so fair a lady,” Prince Edward said graciously.

Rhonwyn nodded to Alfred, who hurried forward with a tray holding four of the silver goblets with the green stones. He offered one to the prince first, and then to his wife, his master, and his lady.

“To the king,” de Beaulie said.

“To the king,” his companions repeated, and they drank their wine as the prince's retainers filed into the hall.