A Memory of Love (48 page)

“He hasn't come, but then neither has Oth. Come into the hall, lass. And who is this fellow who accompanies you?”

“This is my husband, Rafe de Beaulie,” she answered.

“I thought you wed Edward de Beaulie,” Morgan replied.

“I did, but then our marriage was dissolved, and I wed his cousin Rafe. Rafe's sister married Edward. That is why I am here, Morgan ap Owen. Several days ago some Welsh came over the border and kidnapped Lady Katherine, believing she was me. It obviously has something to do with my father. We have to find Kate before she is harmed, and she will be when they learn she isn't me. I needed to meet with ap Gruffydd in a location where we wouldn't be observed so I could learn from him just what is going on, old friend.”

“I understand,” her old mentor said. “Well, there is nothing for you to do but sit down with us in the hall until he comes.”

The evening meal was served, and they sat at table with Morgan ap Owen as bread, venison, and trout were placed before them. At first the men who had raised her were shy of Rhonwyn, but gradually they realized that while her manner had softened and she was a grown woman, she was still
their
lass. The hall soon became noisy as they told Rafe tales of her childhood, and he joined in their uproarious laughter at her many adventures and misadventures.

“I suppose,” said Lug ap Barris, “that you're no longer the fine soldier you once were. After all, you're a mam now.”

“Would you like to go hand-to-hand with me, Lug?” she asked him in a deceptively innocent voice.

He saw the look in her eye and chuckled. “Nay, Rhonwyn. 'Tis obvious I am mistaken.”

“And who do you think will teach my son how to use the alborium, Lug? Is there anyone in your memory who can shoot as well as I?”

“Nay, Rhonwyn,” he replied.

“You taught me well,” she said softly, and he flushed with pleasure that she would remember him now that she was a lady.

Brenin, the ancient wolfhound, came and lay by her side. “He is my first dog,” she told Rafe as she leaned over to stroke the old animal's head.

“Tell me of the laddie,” Gwilym the cook said.

“He has joined the Benedictines in Shrewsbury,” Rhonwyn said, “and is at the abbey. You would have been proud of him. When he learned I had disappeared while on crusade, he came to Palestine and sought me out by doing what King Richard's minstrel, Blondell, once did. He went about entertaining with song, singing his first song always in our Welsh tongue, waiting for an answer, and when he finally received it, he helped rescue me.” Then she told them of her adventures and the reason for the dissolution of her marriage to Edward.

When she had concluded her tale Morgan op Owen spoke up for them all. “The Englishman was wrong to remarry so hastily.”

“He was fearful of dying without heirs,” Rhonwyn said, shrugging, “and he could hardly expect I would return to him. It was a miracle, but the other miracle was that I have found real love with Rafe, my friends. I hold no bitterness any longer toward Edward, and I love his wife, Katherine. I must find her, Morgan. She is a gentle woman, and she has two sons at Haven. One is yet new and at the breast.”

“We'll help you, Rhonwyn,” Morgan said. “You know you can count on the men of Cythraul.”

They slept that night in the hall, cuddling in her old bedspace. Rafe fondled his wife's breasts, but after a purr of pleasure, she warned him off. “We cannot,” she told him.

“Why not?” he murmured in her ear, licking softly at it.

“Would you embarrass the men who raised me by letting them hear the sounds of our passion, Rafe?”

In response he took her hand and placed it on his manhood, which was now rock hard. “You will owe me greatly for this enforced abstinence, lady,” he told her, and then kissed her mouth sweetly.

“I always meet my debts, my lord,” she responded with a smile.

In the late afternoon of the following day Llywelyn ap Gruffydd appeared in the company of Oth. “How is my grandson?” he asked.

“Thriving, and with your chin, my lord,” she told him.

The prince turned and looked at Rafe sharply. “Is this the one they married you to after Edward de Beaulie betrayed you?”

“Aye, and I love him, so there is no harm done,” Rhonwyn quickly replied. “Rafe, come and give your hand in friendship to my sire.”

Rafe held out his hand to Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. “My lord.”

The prince grasped the hand and said, “If she is happy, then I will accept you, Rafe de Beaulie. You look a better man than Edward.”

“I am,” Rafe replied without a moment's hesitation.

Ap Gruffydd stared hard at him a moment, and then he burst out laughing. “By the rood, Rhonwyn, here indeed is your match, and I thank God for it, for certainly I have done little enough for you, daughter.”

“You are a great man, Tad, and have great things to do,” she answered him with a small smile.

“Your mam always said that to me,” he said, a cloud briefly flitting over his features.

“I know,” Rhonwyn responded.

“Wine, my lord?” Gwilym was at his side with a large goblet.

“Aye,” the prince said, taking it and gulping down a swallow. “Come, daughter, and let us sit by the fire while you tell me what it is you desire of me. I will grant it if it is in my power.”

They sat, and she explained the unfortunate situation to him as he drank his wine and listened closely. When she had finished, he spoke.

“It will be Rhys ap Daffydd without a doubt who holds the lady Katherine hostage. He is a weasel of a man and a coward to boot. Long ago I caught him in a treacherous plot with the English. Few would have anything to do with him after I exposed him. You were just a wee lass then, Rhonwyn. He always said he would have his revenge upon me for it. Now he seeks to take advantage of my dispute with King Edward.”

“I think he means to kill you,” Rhonwyn said quietly.

“Aye, that would be his way. Then he would gain more favor with his English masters, and Wales would fall to them. I will not have it! We cannot, of course, storm Aberforth, for he might kill the lady Katherine. Yet we still might make him believe I am coming to the aid of my daughter without endangering her.”

“First we must be certain Kate is there,” Rhonwyn said. “Let us send Oth into Aberforth as your messenger with a date for your meeting with Rhys. Oth will insist upon seeing the hostage so he may return to you and tell you your daughter is being well cared for at Aberforth. Then Rafe, Dewi, and I shall enter the stronghold disguised as wandering entertainers. Such people are always welcome, and I have had experience enough as I worked my way back from Palestine with Glynn. Once inside Aberforth we shall rescue Kate.”

“How?” the prince demanded.

“I shall kill Rhys,” Rhonwyn said quietly.

“How?” the prince asked as quietly.

“With my alborium, Tad. I can do it, never fear,” Rhonwyn told him. “This man has taken Kate from her family and means you harm. I have no qualms about killing him.”

“So, daughter, you would do this for me, would you?” the prince said, rather surprised by her words.

“I was raised here, my lord, and I was taught duty to family and to Wales. I have an English husband whom I love, and I am content to recognize the English king as my overlord. But this business has little to do with England. It is Welsh business, my lord, and it must be concluded by the Welsh. This Rhys ap Daffydd is a man of guile and dishonor. Both he and his vile actions shame our race.”

“And you, Englishman, you are content to allow your wife to do this thing?” ap Gruffydd asked Rafe.

“Aye,” Rafe said. Then he continued, “My wife is not some delicate flower in need of my protection. She is a strong woman, and frankly at times I have been glad for her protection. If she believes she can do this, then I am content to let her. But know that if she should fail, I will, myself, see to this man's death for the temerity he has shown in taking my sister as his hostage.”

The prince of the Welsh smiled slowly. “This time, daughter,” he said, “you have married a
real
man. I do like you, Rafe de beaulie.” He clapped his son-in-law upon the back in a friendly gesture.

It was decided that the prince, along with a troop of men-at-arms from Cythraul, would travel several hours behind the others. They would not enter Aberforth until signaled. Rhonwyn, Rafe, and Dewi would come to Rhys ap Daffydd's castle in their guise as traveling entertainers. Rhonwyn had decided to dress herself as a female in boy's garb, the better to entice the castle's master. Oth would leave Cythraul in the morning, Rhonwyn and her party would come two hours behind him, and the prince and his men would be four hours behind them.

The evening meal was served, and afterward Gwilym sang several ballads of ancient times. “But,” he told them as he so often did, “my laddie, Glynn, has sung and played them better.”

“Now he sings and plays for God,” Rhonwyn said.

“My only son, a priest,” the prince muttered, disgusted.

“He's happy,” Rhonwyn said quietly. “Besides, when you can celebrate your marriage to de Montfort's daughter, get yourself a son on her. That child will be your legitimate heir.”

“I've been betrothed to the wench for long enough, but she is hidden in a convent in France, and the English will not give her permission to travel through their lands so we may marry,” ap Gruffydd groused. “Edward Longshanks is in fear of de Montfort's daughter, the fool.”

“King Edward is scarcely a fool, my lord,” Rhonwyn told her father. “It is you, I'm thinking, who is foolish. Why will you not pledge your fealty to him? If you did, perhaps your bride could come to Wales, and you would have many sons. But nay, you will niggle and haggle to gain an advantage you will never obtain from this king. He is a hard man like his grandfather King John, although he can be quite charming. Nonetheless, Tad, he will have his own way, and you and your allies will eventually cost Wales her freedom, I have not a doubt.”

The prince looked extremely disgruntled by her words. “You still speak your own mind, Rhonwyn, I see,” he said. “The English shall not have Wales as long as I live. I swear it on the true cross!”

“Words come easy to you, my lord, but 'tis actions that count,” Rhonwyn said scathingly.

Rafe was fascinated by the combative relationship between father and daughter. He knew that ap Gruffydd had had next to nothing to do with her upbringing, but he had not realized before just how bitter Rhonwyn was toward the prince of the Welsh. Absently Rafe took her hand in his and, raising it to his lips, kissed each fingertip. “Let us retire, wife,” he said low. “We will have a long day tomorrow.”

Ap Gruffydd sipped on his wine thoughtfully, but when his daughter and her husband had crawled into their bedspace, he said to Morgan ap Owen, “He manages her well, and she does not even realize it. She must indeed love him, Morgan.”

The captain of Cythraul smiled his reply.

Oth was gone before the dawn, and Rhonwyn and her party followed him two hours later. They had borrowed several of Gwilym's old instruments, for it was likely they would have to perform. Dewi and Rhonwyn were skilled in such arts, but Rafe was not. When they camped that night she taught him how to keep time with a tambourine and cymbalum, which were a type of bells. Dewi was adept on the pibau, or bagpipes, and the pibgorn, a reed instrument. Rhonwyn would play the Telyn—a Celtic harp—as well as the lute, and sing.

They traveled from dawn till dusk for two days. On the morning of the third day they reached Aberforth Castle, meeting Oth but an hour after they sighted the castle, and they drew their mounts into a wooded area off the road to await him. Seeing them, he stopped.

“She's there,” he said, “and in the dirty, stained gown they took her in, for the leman of the master will not loan her a clean garment. These are wicked people, my lady. Be careful. I shall ride on to meet with your father and tell him what I have learned.”

“Into the lion's den,” Rhonwyn said, and kicked her mount forward.

They rode down the road, across the heavy wooden drawbridge beneath the portcullis, and into the castle courtyard, asking for the steward when they stopped.

“You must go into the hall,” the stable boy said. “He will not come out here, for who are you but a ragtag and itinerant bunch?”

“Will you watch our horses, you handsome fellow?” Rhonwyn said, favoring the lad with a broad smile and chucking him beneath the chin. She bent, allowing him a generous view of her breasts. “We'll make it worth your while,” she purred.

The boy swallowed hard, scarcely able to look away from her bosom. Without a word he took the reins and nodded, blushing beet red when Rhonwyn pinched his cheek and blew him a kiss.

“Must you be so damned bold?” Rafe muttered as they mounted the steps to the porch and went through the door of the castle.

“Men like bold women, for they always assume that bold women are bad women,” Rhonwyn told him. “I may have to do things that I would certainly not do otherwise, Rafe, but you must trust me.”

“Aye, my lord, follow her lead,” Dewi said. “She's a clever lass and more than once got us out of a scrape as we made our way home through France.”

In the great hall they asked for the steward and were directed to his chamber. Knocking, they entered, and Rhonwyn immediately spoke up.

“Greetings, my lord steward. I am Anghard, and these are my two companions, Dewi and Rafe. We are musicians and thought perhaps that you might have a need of a night's entertainment.”

“It is not often we get travelers in this place,” the steward said, a hint of suspicion in his voice. “Where are you from and where are you bound for, Anghard?”

“We have no real home, my lord steward, but we have at last been in Shrewsbury and now make our way to Prince Llywelyn's stronghold, for we hear he is a lover of music and generous to boot. We have spent the last two nights out-of-doors and would welcome a night beneath a strong roof with a fire and some hot food.” She smiled at him.

“I can save you a long trip,” the steward said, “for the prince will be here in a few days' time. He is coming to visit my master, Rhys ap Daffydd, lord of this castle. We will give you a week or more of shelter, Anghard, and you and your companions will entertain us, eh?”