He smiled to himself. Gwynllian would certainly be surprised to learn he had two children. She was always railing at him for not getting married, and he was always telling her he did not have time for a wife and family if Wales was to be independent. Well, it was true. Vala had been content to wait in her cottage for him to come. She had never whined or complained at him for not being more attentive. Vala had understood what he was doing. How many wives would have? Soon enough he would need a highborn mate whose family and connections could help him keep what he had gained. But not yet.
He glanced sideways at his daughter. While she had her mother's coloring, she was his spit, although her features were more softened and feminine. He smiled to himself again. His timing was always just right where his children were concerned. He had come just in time to save them from death. Now he was just in time to keep Rhonwyn from becoming a soldier. Gwynllian was going to have her work cut out for her. His daughter was ignorant and crude. It was going to cost him a large gift to Mercy Abbey to turn her into a refined and blushing bride for Edward de Beaulieu, but if anyone could do it, it was Gwynllian.
As the sun was setting behind the western mountains, they stopped once again. A camp was set up with a fire over which roasted the rabbits his men had caught along the way that day. The horses were led to a nearby stream to drink, and then allowed to browse about the trees where they were tied. The company ate and then settled down for the night. Rhonwyn had never slept outdoors belore. She found it both exciting and a little frightening. The night noises seemed louder and more mysterious than the noises she heard during the day. Still, she managed to get some sleep belore the prince was shaking her awake.
As they rode in the cold and dark dawn hour, ap Gruffydd handed his daughter an oatcake to eat. It was hard and virtually tasteless. She chewed it slowly nonetheless, quieting the rumbling in her stomach. She already missed Gwilym's hot morning porridge. They rode again until the noon hour, stopped to rest and water the horses, then continued on once more. The countryside was beautiiul and lonely. They passed no fortresses or cottages.
In the very late afternoon as the sun was sinking, they crested a ridge, and there in a lovely valley below stood a cluster of stone buildings. It looked a bit grim and forbidding in the late autumn light.
She heard a noise and turned to the prince. "What is that sound, my lord?" she asked.
" Tis the pealing of a bell, Rhonwyn. Have you never heard a church bell, lass?" He was surprised by her ignorance as always.
"I don't even know what a church is, my lord," she replied.
He chuckled richly. Oh, Gwynllian was going to have her hands full. His elder sister had always lorded over him and his brothers when they were growing up. Now he would have his revenge for all of them. He would wager that Gwynllian had never had a lass like Rhonwyn in her custody. He almost wished he could be there to see the inevitable confrontation that was sure to ensue between his daughter and his sister. Then it dawned upon him how much alike the two were. He laughed aloud.
"What amuses you, my lord?" Rhonwyn inquired of him.
"Nothing, lass, really nothing," he told her. "That-" He pointed with a gloved finger."-is your destination. That is Mercy Abbey."
"Will I like it there?" she wondered.
"Probably not," he replied honestly. "You have a great deal to learn, Rhonwyn, in a very short time. It is important that you learn else I be made to appear a liar. I have enemies."
"I am not surprised," she said dryly.
He laughed again. There was an honesty about his daughter that he very much liked. "You have a duty to me, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. What you have to do will not be easy, but I know you can do it for you are not, I have been told, someone who shirks a duty, and you are loyal."
"My kinsman, Morgan ap Owen, speaks kindly of me," Rhonwyn said with a small smile, "but he does not lie. I will do what I must to meet my obligations to you, prince of Wales, and I do not lie."
Chapter 3
Gwynllian, the lady abbess of Mercy Abbey, looked down her long thin nose at her brother. They could have been twins, so similar were they in face and form. "And what, O prince of Wales, brings you to my house this day?" she demanded of him. She was a tall, thin woman whose long black robes and startling white wimple made her appear even taller and more spare. An ebony crucifix, banded in silver and adorned with a silver lily in its center, lay on her almost flat bosom.
"Can I not come to visit my only sister without reason?" he replied jovially. Jesu! He hated having to beg.
"You came six, or was it seven, years ago, Llywelyn. You were seeking funding for your never-ending disputes with the English or your fellow Cymri. 1 cannot remember which. We gave you what we could, and you were as quickly gone. Now what do you want, brother, and do not waste my time in prevarications and half-truths," she said sternly.
Ap Gruffydd reached behind him and drew Rhonwyn forward. "This is my daughter," he said to his sister.
Her mouth fell open, and then closed with an audible snap. "Well, Llywelyn, you have surprised me for the first time in years. You are certain, of course?" The abbess peered at her niece and immediately recognized her as kin.
"Her mother was my mistress," he began. "She gave me two children, first a daughter, then a son. She died attempting to birth a third child. I came by chance and found my children yet alive. I brought them to Cythraul. The lad, his name is Glynn, is still there."
Gwynllian's brown eyes swept over the girl at her brother's side. She hardly looked like an orphan of the storm. She looked hard and quite capable of taking care of herself. "How long ago did you leave your children at Cythraul?" she asked her brother, fearing the answer.
He flushed guiltily. "Ten years ago," he said.
"Ten years and seven moon cycles," the girl spoke up for the first time. The look she gave the prince was scathing.
"Why bring her to me now, Llywelyn?" the abbess said.
"I spent the summer in Shrewsbury, hammering out an agreement with the English king, Henry. My ally, de Montfort, is dead, and Henry's cub, Edward, is a fierce man. I thought to make a treaty with Henry so that his heir will leave us in peace. The pact was signed at Montgomery at the end of October. You know the customs, Gwyn. I offered the English my daughter in marriage with one of their lordlings."
"But when you went to fetch her she wasn't quite what you had expected, was she, Llywelyn?" The abbess chuckled. Then she looked to her niece. "What is your name, child, and what have you done to your hair? And do you know your age?"
"My name is Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, and I like my hair kept short."
"She was fifteen April first last," ap Gruffydd said.
"Who raised her?" the abbess inquired.
"Morgan ap Owen, my captain at Cythraul" was the reply.
"Were there no women at this fortress?" the abbess exclaimed, shocked.
" 'Tis a fort in the Welshry. Women don't belong there," ap Gruffydd told his sister.
"No, they don't, yet you left your daughter there! Llywelyn, you are truly the most thoughtless and foolish man I have ever known, for all you have managed to become prince of Wales," the abbess said angrily. "Why did you not bring Rhonwyn to me in the first place? What do you expect me to do with her now?"
"Cythraul was nearer to her mother's cottage, less than a day's ride. To bring my children to you would have taken me almost three days of traveling. I had not the time."
"Could you not have instructed Morgan ap Owen to bring them to me, you dolt?" She swatted at him indignantly.
"She isn't lit to be wed," he said, his voice desperate.