A Memory of Love

she favors me in her features?'

'I had not noticed,' his companion said, still slightly dazed.

'She'll give you beautiful children. Her mother did before she died. And she is accomplished, my lord. You have noted she speaks the Norman tongue as well as our own Welsh and Latin.'

Flushing, Edward realized he hadn't noticed at all, but then he gained mastery over himself and said, 'I am pleased we shall be able to communicate easily. Tell me of her other achievements, my lord.'

'The nuns tell me she has great skill in weaving and spinning as well as in making medicines, poltices, and salves,' ap Gruffydd replied.

'I am knowledgeable in calculating and logic,' Rhonwyn told her bridegroom, moving her mount to his other side.

'These things are not important for women,' her father quickly said, as if she had told Edward de Beaulieu something unseemly.

'I beg to differ with you, my lord, but they are most important. What if my husband should go to war, and I be left in charge of the castle? Do you think I want the servants cheating him in his absence? This knowledge is important for me to know. And, my lord-' She turned to Edward.'-you had best know the worst of me. I can both read and write.'

He nodded solemnly, but said nothing. This was not at all what he had expected. Not at all. Everything he had imagined was now blown away with the wind in the reality of this beautiful girl he was to marry on the morrow.

'She is musical,' ap Gruffydd said, eager to cover her deficiencies.

'All the Welsh are musical to some extent,' Rhonwyn replied dryly, and Edward de Beaulieu laughed aloud.

Haven Castle suddenly came into view. He reached out and took her gloved hand. 'Welcome home, my lady Rhonwyn.'

She was silent for a moment, and then said softly, 'How lovely!'

They rode up the hill, across the drawbridge, and into the courtyard. De Beaulieu noted his father-in-law taking in every aspect of the castle's defenses, and hid a smile. The wily Welsh prince would never enter Haven by force, and after his daughter's marriage it was unlikely he would ever enter it again. Once they were wed, Edward would allow no divided loyalties in his house.

Dismounting, he lifted Rhonwyn from her horse. She did not look at him but rather kept her glance modest and averted. He was already confused by her manner. Quiet one moment and outspoken the next. When they reached the door of the castle residence, de Beaulieu surprised Rhonwyn by picking her up in his arms and carrying her over the threshold. ' 'Tis an old custom to carry the bride over the sill into her new home,' he said, setting her back on her feet.

'We are not wed yet, my lord,' she replied.

'All the legalities are signed and sealed, my lady. It is only for the priest to say the words over us. Licitly, you have been my wife since the treaty was ratified at Montgomery last autumn.'

'I was not aware of it,' Rhonwyn assured him. 'I am not conversant with the law.'

'I would not expect you to be,' he told her as he led her into the great hall. 'Are you thirsty? Or perhaps you would prefer to rest in your chamber? I have had my steward choose a young maidservant for you. Her name is Enit, and she will care for you.'

'You are kind, my lord. I have never had a servant,' Rhonwyn said. 'I am quite capable of looking after myself.'

'My daughter has been raised simply,' ap Gruffydd said, quickly interjecting himself into the conversation before Rhonwyn said something she should not. 'Mercy Abbey is not grand in material comforts.' He shot his daughter a quelling look that obviously did not intimidate her at all.

She shrugged, her return glance almost mocking.

Now what was that all about, de Beaulieu wondered, and how was he to get to the bottom of it?

'I should enjoy some wine,' Rhonwyn said quietly.

The lord of the castle signaled to his servants, and the requested wine was immediately sent for.

'Come and sit by the fire,' he invited her. 'April can be a cold month despite the fact it is spring.' He seated her on a bench facing the blaze.

Rhonwyn leaned forward, pulling her gloves from her hands and holding them toward the warmth. Even in profile she was beautiful, he thought. He took a goblet of wine from the serving man and handed it to her. She smiled up at him gratefully, taking it and admiring the beauty of the silver, its base studded in green stones. Slowly she sipped the wine and felt its warmth coursing through her veins.

'Will your guests arrive in time for the wedding?' ap Gruffydd asked his son-in-law jovially.

'There will be no guests,' de Beaulieu replied. 'I have no nearby family. My closest kin are my cousins, Rafe de Beaulieu and his sister, Katherine. I have not yet told him of this marriage, for Rafe has always hoped I would wed Katherine. I suppose I might have, but there was no formal, or even informal, agreement between us. Besides, I could not be certain when you would arrive. You, your men, and my servants will witness the ceremony, but the formalities were settled months ago, my lord prince. I could bed your daughter tonight and be within my rights, but I prefer to wait until we have celebrated the sacrament in my church.'

Rhonwyn blanched at his words. The bedding was something that no one at Mercy Abbey had explained, and she was damned if she would ask her father. She remembered him with her mother and assumed it would be the same, although she had never quite known what they were doing, for their bodies had always been pressed so closely together. A small flame of rebellion burned deep within her. She wasn't certain that she wanted this bedding. If she was de Beaulieu's wife, wasn't the treaty marriage agreement satisfied? She arose suddenly.

'I am weary, my lords. I would retire until the morrow.'

'I will show you to your chamber, my lady,' de Beaulieu said, then turned to ap Gruffydd. 'I will return shortly, my lord, and we will have food.' He took Rhonwyn by her arm and led her from his hall. 'Your rooms face southwest, lady. It is the warmest tower.'

'My possessions…' she began hesitantly.

'Will have been brought to your apartment by now. Your young maidservant, Enit, will be unpacking for you.'

Suddenly Rhonwyn burst out, 'I have never been in such a fine place, my lord. Am I truly to be mistress here?'

He smiled at her ingenuousness. 'You are mistress here now, lady. This is your home, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn.' How charming she was, his convent-bred bride. He had to wed sometime, and now having seen this tender beauty, he thought that perhaps the king had done him a great favor, although that had not, of course, been Henry's intent when he had arranged this match with the Welsh prince. Rhonwyn was to all intents and purposes a hostage for her father's behavior; and he, Edward de Beaulieu, Lord Thorley of Haven, was her keeper. The marriage was a practical matter, but if they were content with one another, so much the better.

He led her up the stone staircase and down a short passageway, and then opened the door to her apartment. Enit, hearing them, turned and curtsied, looking anxious. 'Here, lady, are your chambers. There is a dayroom for your pleasure, a bedroom, and a garderobe for your clothing, which also has a sleeping space for Enit.' He led her from the dayroom, into her bedchamber. 'That door connects with my apartment, lady.' He pointed.

Rhonwyn scarcely knew where to look. To have all these rooms for herself alone! At Cythraul she had slept in her sleeping space in the hall. At Mercy Abbey she had been assigned a tiny cell in the guest house. But this was all hers. There were tapestries on the walls. Sheepskins on the stone floors. Fine oak furniture the like of which she had certainly never seen. The bed appeared to her eyes to be huge and was hung with gold and green brocaded velvet curtains. There was a red fox coverlet atop it.

'I have two fireplaces?' She was astounded.

'Then you are pleased?' he asked her.

She turned, eyes shining. 'Aye, my lord, I am pleased!'

'Would you like Enit to fetch you something to eat before you retire?' he asked her. Her eyes were so green. How could someone as hard as ap Gruffydd produce such a delicate creature for a daughter?

'Thank you, my lord. I should like something to eat, but I could not sit in the hall with my father another minute. I am weary,' she quickly explained, 'for we rode several days from sunup to sunset.'