A Memory of Love (38 page)

“Of course,” the queen agreed, smoothing a wrinkle from her royal purple gown. She looked at Rafe de Beaulie. “Sir, what have you to say to the abbess's query?”

“Through my maternal grandfather who had no other heirs, I hold the title of Baron Bradburn of Ardley,” Rafe said. “My manor is small in land, but I have a fine house, servants, and ten serfs to work my fields. My cousin, Edward, has a piece of land, separate from his other holdings, that matches with my land. If you will give me the lady Rhonwyn for a wife, this land could serve as my cousin's forfeit to the lady, and my holdings would thereby be measurably increased. I have cattle and I have sheep among my possessions as well. I am not a very wealthy man but I am comfortable and my wife will not lack. I am not a powerful man, but my blood is as noble as hers. I will not hold the past against her. I will take her to wife despite her adventures and her bad temper.”

Rhonwyn threw her rosary beads at his head, shouting, “You will have me in exchange for Edward's land, you bastard?
Never!
I would sooner spend the rest of my days in a windowless dungeon than have you for a husband!”

“The choice is not yours, my child,” the abbess repeated quietly.

“Aunt …”

“Listen to me, Rhonwyn,” the abbess spoke in the Welsh, “they will marry you off whether you will or no. At least you know this man. You may not like him, but you know him. What other will have you? Perhaps some lecherous old lordling who will use you and beat you and squander your dower portion? Rafe de Beaulie is young. He will give you children. And, I suspect, in time you will come to an arrangement that pleases you both. I have the power to make this match, and I intend to do so. I would prefer, however, that you agree to it also. Not willingly, I know, but I beg you to agree, Rhonwyn.”

“I feel like an animal caught in a trap,” Rhonwyn said in her childhood tongue. “I hate it!”

“I know,” the abbess sympathized, “and I do understand, my child.”

“Why must I wed again?” Rhonwyn demanded angrily, but even as she asked the question she knew she was beaten. How in hell could she hope to prevail against the queen and the church? She couldn't. No one was going to come to her aid. Her brother stood silently, his gaze averted. She could see Oth and Dewi at the end of the hall, but she knew as much as they loved her, they would not act against what they knew her father and her aunt would want for her.

“Rhonwyn?”
Her aunt's voice gently pressed her.

“I will marry him, but not willingly,” she said, once more using the Norman tongue.

“Excellent,” Queen Eleanor replied, well pleased.

“I shall marry them myself, here and now,” the archbishop of Canterbury announced beneficently, a broad smile upon his face.

“You honor our family, my lord archbishop,” the abbess said smoothly, “but I know I should feel more comfortable if all the legalities were tended to first.”

“An excellent suggestion,” the queen agreed. “They shall be wed late this afternoon, and if the king is better, he will come and give our beautiful bride away. My dear, I did not mention it before, but green becomes you well.”

“I shall take my niece back to the convent, gracious queen, until the documents are ready for signature,” the abbess replied.

The queen nodded. “I shall send my own page to fetch you.”

The abbess and her escort turned to shepherd their charge from the hall. Rhonwyn was seething with anger. Edward de beaulie would not look at her, but Rafe stepped forward, taking her hand up and kissing it. His eyes met hers mockingly.

“You will regret your impetuosity, my lord,” she snarled at him.

“I think not, Rhonwyn mine,” he answered her.

“I will never be yours!” she cried heatedly, and the abbess took her niece's arm and hustled her off before the now affianced pair came to blows.

“Do not cause a scene!” the abbess snapped.

“I hate him! I hate him!” Rhonwyn said heatedly. Her pale skin was flushed with her ire, and the color made her features even more attractive than they usually were.

“You are fortunate,” her brother said, coming to her side.

“
What?
Are you on his side, too?” Rhonwyn complained.

“You had to have another husband,” Glynn said.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” she demanded.

“Look on the brighter side of the situation,” Glynn said. “Ardley is far nearer to Shrewsbury than Haven. We shall see each other often.”

“I don't know why he wants to wed me,” Rhonwyn replied, ignoring her brother's comforting words.

“He lusts after you,” Glynn said with a chuckle.

“A man who is devoting his life to God should not say such things,” she scolded him roundly.

“Had I not had as full a life as I have and known my share of women, sister, I should not be able to give up my life to God so easily,” her brother told her with a smile. “Chasing after you and my time in Acre proved quite enlightening.”

The abbess chuckled. “You are much your father's son, Glynn. I find it amazing that you can speak of giving up the world so cheerfully. The religious life is a hard life, nephew.”

“I know,” he said. “In my time in the abbey school I saw how difficult it could be sometimes, but it is also joyous and meaningful as well, my lady abbess. I will be happy at Shrewsbury.”

“Then God bless you, Glynn ap Llywelyn,” she said. The abbess turned to her niece. “You must rest, Rhonwyn, for you are certainly exhausted in body and spirit after these last few weeks.”

Rhonwyn didn't argue with the older woman as they reentered the convent, allowing her aunt to help her from her beautiful gown so she might lay down in her chemise.

“Now listen to me, my child,” the abbess said. “After the marriage ceremony I shall announce that we are all leaving immediately. That your father's men-at-arms will want to escort you to your new home, and as we yet have several hours of daylight, we shall leave right away. No one, not even your new husband, will gainsay me, I promise you. We can travel at least five miles tonight before darkness sets in. There is a small religious house just that distance away. It is there we shall shelter tonight. As you know, there will be no accommodations for a newly wed couple. You and your husband will be forced to sleep in separate quarters. Tomorrow we can retrace our route exactly, sheltering at the various convents and monasteries that we sheltered in on our way to Westminster. Until we reach your new home I can protect you from Rafe de Beaulie's eagerness. Use that time, Rhonwyn, to know him better. You are not the frightened girl who married his cousin. You are a woman, and you know what is expected of you. I have never known a man, but I have heard it said the experience is pleasanter if the couple at least likes each other. There must be something you can learn to like in him.”

Rhonwyn shook her head, but she was smiling slightly. “Aunt, I wish I had a predilection for the religious life, for I should enjoy being with you for the rest of my days. I do not think I shall enjoy that same pleasure with Rafe de Beaulie. I am certainly being punished for my foolish ways.”

“Tell me something,” the abbess said, turning the subject. “How exactly did Sir Fulk die? You have never been particularly forthcoming in that matter. Do you feel such guilt for his death?”

“He did not die,” Rhonwyn said. “I wanted him to return home with me, but he would not. He had been put in charge of Prince Mohammed's military training. The prince is but two years younger than Glynn and just a few years younger than Sir Fulk. They liked one another, and Fulk felt his opportunities would be greater in Cinnebar. He did not believe, however, that his family would understand his remaining with the infidels.”

“Could he give up his faith so easily?” The abbess looked disturbed.

“Nay, he did not give up his faith, aunt. In Cinnebar all faiths are permitted to worship freely,” Rhonwyn told her.

“Indeed,” the abbess said. “It must have been a very odd place.”

When her aunt had left the tiny cell where she was housed, Rhonwyn slept. When she was awakened in the early part of the late afternoon, a bowl of lavenderscented water and a cloth were brought to her. She washed herself and dressed again in her lovely green gown. Her hair was unbraided and then replaited as it had been earlier, the mass in the rear of her head being brushed until it shone. A cup of wine and some biscuits were offered, and she ate with a good appetite, for she had had nothing since early morning.

“Are the documents ready for signature?” she asked the abbess when the older woman came to escort her.

“Aye. We are to go back to the palace now. Glynn and the others are awaiting us outside the convent walls. I have made our good-byes to the mother superior and given her one of your gold marks, niece, in thanksgiving for your marriage.”

“A waste of a good coin, although I do not begrudge this convent my gold. The chapel roof, I noted, leaks.”

Escorted by the queen's page, they walked the brief distance from St. Mary's to Westminster Palace. The king's chamberlain led them to a small room where Rafe de Beaulie and Edward awaited them. The documents were laid out upon a large oak table.

“The de Beaulies have already signed, my ladies,” the chamberlain said. “Will you now sign, my lady abbess, here, and here, and here again.”

The abbess scanned the parchments before her, and then she said, “My niece is quite capable of signing herself, my lords. Rhonwyn?”

“Traitor!” Rhonwyn whispered.

“You will thank me one day, my child,” the abbess said calmly.

“I think not, aunt,” Rhonwyn countered, but she took up the quill and signed her name in the places designated.

“You can write,” Rafe observed.

She glared at him, and he could not help but laugh. Her look was so deliciously outraged. Her beauty had overwhelmed all other considerations when he had so boldly proclaimed he would have her to wife. If she had been outraged by his offer, his cousin Edward had been equally so. He had calmed Edward by telling him it was better to keep the Welsh girl in the family where they could control her than to let her marry another man who might be cajoled by her beauty into an act of revenge against the de beaulies. Edward had reluctantly acquiesced.

The chamberlain stamped the royal seal into the wax that his assistant had dripped onto each document. Then rolling them up, he handed them to Rafe de Beaulie. “The archbishop is waiting,” he said.

For a brief moment Rhonwyn looked as if she were going to bolt from the chamber.

Then Rafe de Beaulie took her arm, murmuring low, “Certainly ap Gruffydd's daughter is no coward, lady.”

Fury blazed in Rhonwyn's emerald green eyes. “You shall soon learn just what ap Gruffydd's daughter is capable of, my lord!”

“Lady, have mercy. My appetite for you is already well honed,” he said.

“I should like to hone my sword against your head,” she replied angrily.

“I should far rather lodge my sword within your sheath,” he teased her.

Her cheeks flamed pink at the randy reference.

“What? No sharp retort?” he taunted her.

She raised her hand to hit him. He caught the hand and, turning it, kissed her palm. Their eyes met, and she was almost staggered physically by the lightning she felt shoot between them. Rhonwyn snatched her hand back, her heart hammering with shock.

“How long has it been?” he murmured softly. His fingers brushed over her lips.

“Go to hell!” she hissed as softly as they entered the royal chapel where the king and queen awaited them.

The king was wan, his left eyelid drooping, but his look was a kind one. He smiled at Rhonwyn, coming slowly to her side as she and Rafe reached the altar where Archbishop Boniface awaited them. Rhonwyn noted the queen's worried expression as the king stood on shaky legs beside the reluctant bride. Poor man, she thought, and gave him a dazzling smile.

“You truly honor me, sire, and I thank you for it,” she told the monarch, taking his arm to steady him.

“You will be happy, I promise,” the king said to her, and he patted her hand. “A woman is happiest when she is well wed.”

“I will remember your words, my lord,” she promised him.

Then in his elegant Latin, Archbishop Boniface began the ancient words to the marriage sacrament.

R
afe de Beaulie was more amused than angry when he realized he would not be able to consummate his marriage until they reached his estates. While he enjoyed female flesh, he had never been a man to casually bed a woman. The abbess made certain her niece rode by his side each day of their journey. He knew that she was attempting to foster some sort of a rapport between bride and bridegroom, but Rhonwyn was not feeling particularly cooperative. Each day he would attempt to engage her in conversation. She answered him in monosyllables. He gained far more out of her when he taunted her. She would erupt and excoriate him angrily until she realized just what it was he was doing. Then she would grow grimly silent, her lips pressed together tightly in a narrow line.

Finally one day he asked her bluntly, “Why is it that you are angry with me, Rhonwyn? I am not the one who betrayed you.”