A Memory of Love (49 page)

“With pleasure, my lord steward, and I thank you for your generosity,” Rhonwyn said.

“Go into the hall,” the steward told them. “You may sleep there and eat at the lord's tables below the salt. If you play well, there may be a little something else for you as well.”

“Thank you, my lord steward,” Rhonwyn said, bowing as she backed from the room.

“You are a devious woman,” Rafe said as they returned to the hall. “I should have believed you myself did I not know you.”

“We must find the perfect place,” Rhonwyn said to Dewi, “and then you must make certain my alborium is ready to be used. We'll watch for servants while you prepare it, for if it is learned we have brought weapons into this lord's hall, we may be killed for our daring.”

They found a niche in a dark corner and, drawing a bench before it, shielded Dewi as he prepared Rhon-wyn's bow for use when the proper time came. When all was in readiness they rested, waiting for the main meal of the day when they would certainly be asked to entertain. In midafternoon the servants began to come into the hall with platters and bowls. Rhys ap Daffydd, his leman, his captain, his brother, Ifan, and Katherine came into the great hall and took their places at the high board. The tables below the salt began to fill, and Rhonwyn and her companions found seats at the very last table.

At the high board a plethora of dishes was served, but below the salt there was bread, a pottage, and some hard cheese with only beer to drink. Rhonwyn looked toward the dais, seeing that Katherine, while pale, was hardly cowed by her captors. She has more courage and strength than I believed, Rhonwyn thought proudly. She found, though, that she was angered by the fact that Rhys ap Daffydd had not had the decency to find his captive clean clothing. Katherine wore, as Oth had told them, the milk-stained gown she had been taken in. You shall soon pay for all your wickedness and deceit, Rhonwyn silently thought.

When the meal was over, the steward came forward and said to his master, “My lord, three traveling musicians have asked leave to entertain you in exchange for shelter and food. Anghard and troupe, come forward at once!” He waved his hand in their direction.

Rhonwyn and her companions arose and came before the high board, playing and singing as they gamboled along. The men were dressed in spring green tunics that came to just above their knees and chausses striped in blue and green. Rhonwyn was garbed in a darker green tunic that was extraordinarily short, coming to just below the tops of her thighs. Her chausses were also striped, but in gold and green. She had loosed her hair, and it flowed down her back, hiding her alborium that was affixed there, the string of the bow hidden by the tunic's dark colors as it rode across her chest. In her hair were silk flowers of many hues. Her tunic had a bateau neckline, and she wore nothing beneath it. When she bobbed low her breasts were quite visible to all, and the length of the garment, or rather lack of it, offered a bold view of her tight, round buttocks. She was every bit the picture of an entertainer with an easy and loose virtue.

Rhys ap Daffydd leaned forward—much to his leman's annoyance—very interested in the beautiful musician who smiled most seductively at him, bowing low with her two companions and then standing once again.

“My lord, will you allow us to entertain you?” Rhonwyn purred in a smoky, seductive voice. “I am certain that we can please you if you will but let us.” She smiled again at him, their eyes making contact, and Rhonwyn was appalled by the cruelty and the lust she saw in his gaze. This was indeed an evil man.

“You have my permission,” Rhys said grandly. He had already decided to bed the wench later.

“Before we begin,” Rhonwyn said, “may I know for whom we are performing? I enjoy making little personal songs for all if I but know their names, my lord.”

“This is my brother, Ifan, my captain, Llwyd ap Nudd, my mistress, Iola; and my guest, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, whose father is the prince of all the Welsh, or so say the English.”

“And many of the Welsh as well,” Rhonwyn replied, “or so I am told, Rhys ap Daffydd.”

At first he wasn't certain if she had insulted him, but then he laughed. “You are bold, my pretty one.”

“And you, my lord, are a fool,” she replied easily.

There was an audible gasp in the great hall.

“Boldness is only amusing for a brief time, wench,” Rhys said threateningly. “If you offend me again, I shall have your tongue torn out, and then how will you earn your living but upon your back?”

Rhonwyn laughed loudly. “You say your guest is the daughter of Prince Llywelyn, my lord,
but I tell you she is not
. If you wish to use ap Gruffydd's daughter against him, you will have no chance with this woman. She is Lady Katherine de Beaulie of Haven Castle, wife of Lord Edward. His first marriage to ap Gruffydd's daughter was dissolved several years ago. Did you not know?”

“And how, you audacious and brazen wench, do you know?” Rhys ap Daffydd demanded angrily.

“Because, my lord, I am Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn,”
Rhonwyn replied.

Rhys ap Daffydd stared hard at Rhonwyn, and then a cruel smile touched his mouth. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Of course. Why did I not see it before when you first stood before me? You have her coloring, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. While you are more ap Gruffydd's daughter in your features, you have Vala's coloring. Do you remember me, my pretty? Do you remember that night I visited your cottage and had my way with your mother? Ah, how she wept and pleaded with me; and you stood, wide-eyed, clutching your baby brother in your arms. How I enjoyed that night, and how I will enjoy this one. Will you give me as much pleasure as your mother gave me so long ago, Rhownyn uerch Llywelyn?” He grinned at her.

All in the silent hall heard the whining sound, but until the arrow buried itself deep into Rhys ap Daffydd's chest, they did not connect it with a weapon. As the lord of Aberforth fell face first into the remains of his meal, Rhonwyn loosed the two arrows that Rafe quickly handed her, one killing Ifan ap Daffydd and the other Rhys's captain, Llywd ap Nudd. Rhys's mistress began to scream in terror as the trio made their way to the high board. It was very necessary to gain control of the cas-tle's inhabitants before they fully comprehended what had just happened.

“Do not be afraid,” Dewi shouted to them all. “Prince Llywelyn is even now marching into Aberforth. Our quarrel was with your master and his ilk. It is not with you. Welcome the prince as loyal Welshmen, and you will be left in peace. Now go and open your gates for my master.”

The hall virtually emptied at his words.

“I'll go and make certain they obey me,” Dewi said.

“Be careful,” Rhonwyn cautioned him. She turned to Rhys's mistress. “Stop howling, you silly woman! You are not hurt nor will you be unless, of course, you don't cease that unpleasant caterwauling.”

“Oh, Rhonwyn, you are so brave!” Katherine said breathlessly, hugging her sister-in-law. “When I saw you all come before the high board, I could not believe my eyes. Gracious, brother, you do have a well-turned leg,” she teased him as she released Rhonwyn.

“Thank God you are safe, Kate!” he said, hugging her hard.

“I didn't know what was going to happen,” Kate admitted, “but thank heavens for our old nurse, Wynnifred. After a few minutes the language began to come back to me, and I quickly realized they thought I was you, Rhonwyn. I was afraid to say I wasn't for fear they would kill me, and I decided that since you had grown up in such an isolated location, it was unlikely they would know I wasn't you.”

“It was cleverly done, Kate, and Edward will be proud when he learns how bravely you have conducted yourself.” She turned to the woman Iola. “Selfish cow, you will regret your mean spirit. Lady Katherine's servant will pick a gown from among your possessions for her mistress, and come the morning you will go from Aberforth with only what you can carry. I am certain you will find another lordling to whore for soon enough. Leave us now!”

Iola scurried from the great hall.

When she had gone Rhonwyn turned to her husband and sister-in-law. “You heard Rhys ap Daffydd's words. Until he spoke I did not know him. Many years ago when I was a child he came in the dark of night to our cottage and raped my mother. She never told my father, and I do not want her memory fouled by the tale now. Dewi, I know, will say nothing.”

“I understand,” Katherine said. “You have my word that I will not repeat what I have heard this night.”

Rafe put his arm about his wife, and as their eyes met he gave her his silent promise.

People were beginning to stream back into the great hall of Aberforth Castle. They could hear cheering. The sound of booted feet came marching toward them and into the chamber, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd at the soldiers' head upon his stallion, which he rode up to the dais, looking dispassionately at the three bodies draped across the high board.

“Well done, daughter,” he praised her. “Well done!”

“And now, my lord tad,” she replied, “you will thank Morgan ap Owen for raising me as he did.”

“I do indeed thank him,” the prince said, a small smile upon his lips. “But you get your eye for marksmanship from me, daughter.” His look went next to Katherine de Beaulie. “Lady Katherine, I apologize that one of my subjects should have mistreated you so. You are free to return to Haven with your brother and Rhonwyn.”

“I thank you, my lord prince, for your timely rescue,” Kate answered him graciously, and then she curtsied prettily.

“Remove the bodies and put them outside for the dogs,” the prince said, dismounting his beast and ascending the dais to stand before the hall, which now erupted into cheers.

“How inconstant and capricious are men's loyalties,” Rhonwyn murmured sardonically.

“Not mine for you,” Rafe said softly.

“You are certain?” She was smiling at him.

“Very certain,”
he assured her.

She sighed happily, laying her head upon his shoulder. Whatever memories she had once had—of love or evil— had been replaced in her heart and her mind by the reality of this man and his love for her. There could surely be no more than that in life. Looking up at Rafe, she smiled once again, saying, “Let us go home, my lord,” and he nodded in agreement as he took her hand and they walked from the hall together.

Ap Gruffydd watched them go, and then he said, “Oth, Dewi. You belong to her as you always have, but before you return to Ardley, will you bring Lady Katherine home to her husband?”

“Aye, my lord,” the two chorused, grinning.

He acknowledged them absently, his eyes taking in a last glimpse of his daughter.
Farewell, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn,
he said silently to himself.
Farewell!
And then to his surprise she turned, giving him a brilliant smile and raising her hand to him in salute.

“Farewell, Tad!” he heard her call, and then she was gone.

The prince of the Welsh felt his eyes moisten with tears. He blinked them back quickly lest anyone see his weakness. Now what the hell was he going to do with another castle? he thought.

T
he year between 1276 and 1277 was not a good one for the prince of the Welsh. Llywelyn ap Gruffydd had badly misjudged the new king, and Edward reacted fiercely to the man who would not fulfill his obligations as a vassal. He immediately declared war on the Welsh, which was concluded by an English victory at Aberconwy in 1277. As punishment Edward took most of ap Gruffydd's lands, leaving him with only Lesser Gwynedd and the overlordship of five lords. Finally chastened, ap Gruffydd was at last allowed to marry the daughter of Simon de Montfort, to whom he had been betrothed since 1265. It was hoped the marriage would settle ap Gruffydd down. The marriage took place in 1278.

Disputes did arise regarding the use of English or Welsh law in the prince's lands, but the peace held until 1282 when ap gruffydd's younger brother, Daffydd, attacked Harwarden. The prince, bound first by family loyalty, was forced to go to his brother's aid and was killed at Builth. He was buried at Cwm Hir, a Cistercian monastery he favored. His wife was already dead in childbirth, and his only legitimate heir was a sickly daughter, named for his sister, Gwynllian. She was put into a convent where she lived out her life. Daffydd ap Gruffydd was finally captured and executed in 1283.

When the Welsh told King Edward that they would only accept a prince who spoke no English, he cleverly presented them with his infant son, Edward, who had been recently born at Llywelyn ap Gruffydd's former stronghold of Caernavon. Thus ended Wales's last attempt at political independence.
Until the year 1999.

Don't miss this sizzling novel by Bertrice Small!

TO LOVE AGAIN

She would ride the fiery passions of her troubled past to forge a magnificent destiny… .

Legendary for her exotic novels of faraway places
teeming with adventure and intrigue, Bertrice
Small has written an extraordinary tale of passion
and history, sweeping readers back to fifth-century
Britain and Constantinople, where battles of love
and war are fought with abandon—and victory is
savored with sweetest pleasure… .