A Memory of Love

because they have begun to bore me, they shall go grieving but wiser for their time with me.'

The abbess burst out laughing, although her nephew looked shocked. 'Thank God and His blessed Mother, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, that you have not been broken by this experience,' she said.

'My heart is broken, aunt, but only a little, and it will heal, I suspect. I returned because I believed in my heart that Edward loved me and would forgive my small sins. I wanted to share all that the caliph taught me about passion and make up to my husband for the early months of our marriage when passion frightened me so greatly I could scarcely bear for him to touch me. The loss is his, I fear, and he will never know the woman I truly am,' Rhonwyn said softly. 'I am very sorry for that.'

The abbess nodded. 'It would appear, my child, that you have more honor than Edward de Beaulieu. For that you may be proud.'

ap Gruffydd appeared at Mercy Abbey five days later, prepared to berate his daughter for leaving her marriage. When, however, he heard the truth, he erupted into a fit of rage. Rhonwyn, to her own surprise, calmed him at long last.

'I am no longer unhappy over this, but our family's honor must be assuaged, my lord,' she told him.

'Are we back to my lord then?' he demanded.

'Tad,' she said with a small smile, mollifying him.

'I'll have another husband for you from King Henry else our treaty be broken for good and all,' ap Gruffydd said.

'And have you kept so assiduously to that treaty, Tad?' she gently taunted him.

He laughed aloud. 'I've had little part in your life, Rhonwyn, and yet you know me better than some of my closest associates. Why is that, I wonder?'

'Because I am like you, Tad. I am proud and have always followed my own path, and devil take the hindmost. It seems to have gotten me into almost as much trouble as it has gotten you.' She smiled sweetly at him. 'I think, however, that I may have learned my lesson.'

Both Llywelyn ap Gruffydd and his sister, Gwynllian, burst into laughter. Rhonwyn's assessment of the situation was absolutely correct.

Finally the prince said, 'There is much of your aunt in you, too, lass.'

'Praise God and His blessed Mother!' the abbess responded fervently, and she crossed herself.

The prince grew serious once again. 'King Henry has not been well these past few years. He will certainly be at his palace of Westminster in London. I will send him a letter, Rhonwyn, explaining that you are alive and returned home to discover yourself declared dead and your husband with a new wife. I will tell the English king that you do not desire to have Edward de Beaulieu back, as his new wife is with child. Besides, the betrayal and insult to you and your family make such a reunion impossible. I will ask for justice for my daughter, and tell him that you will come to Westminster by Lammastide to seek redress from the de Beaulieus. There is no viciousness in Henry Plantagenet, but beware his queen, Eleanor of Provence, who is called behind her back the noble termagant. She is and always has been ambitious for her family, and she will destroy without hesitation anyone that she believes a threat to them.

'Your dower portion, of course, must be returned to you. I cannot be expected to redower you for a new husband.'

'I don't want a husband,' Rhonwyn said.

'Nonetheless you must have one,' her father said firmly. 'We will not argue this point now, lass.' He looked hard at her. 'How is it possible that you have become more beautiful despite your adventures?'

Rhonwyn laughed. 'You will not turn the subject that easily, Tad. I want no husband.'

'Then it is the convent, daughter. How old are you now?'

'Nineteen, this April first past,' she reminded him.

'We'll be lucky to find you a husband at your age. A widow with children is at least a proven breeder,' the prince noted. 'Do you want to enter your aunt's house, lass?'

'Nay,' Rhonwyn said.

'Then another marriage is your only path,' ap Gruffydd said.

Rhonwyn did not argue with him any further. She was a realist. The church would not accept her, for she would be considered a woman of ill repute-a disobedient wife who had run off to interfere in men's business and had been punished for it. And what man of good family would have for his wife such a woman? A woman who had given her body to an infidel? She wanted her dower back, and perhaps a bit of Haven's land for herself. That she would consider recompense for Edward de Beaulieu's behavior. Why argue with her father over something that would never be? There would be no more husbands for Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn.

Chapter 14

Eleanor of Provence, queen of England, had lived five and a half decades. She was still a beautiful woman, with silver-streaked auburn hair and amber eyes that missed little. In her youth she, and her equally comely sisters, had been considered the most beautilul women in Europe. Her eldest sister, Margaret, had married King Louis IX of France. Her younger sister, Sanchia, was married to her brother-in-law, Richard of Cornwall, king of the Romans. Her youngest sister, Beatrice, was the wife of Charles of Anjou, the king of Naples and Sicily. Eleanor's mother, Beatrice of Savoy, and her father, Raymond Berenger V, count of Provence, had reigned over a brilliant court renowned for its patronage of the troubadours. The count himself was one of the last of the great Provencal poets.

At the age of nineteen Eleanor had traveled to her sister's court in France, and from there across a winter sea to marry King Henry III of England. From the moment the couple laid eyes upon one another, it had been a love match. The queen had borne her husband six sons and three daughters. Two sons and two daughters had reached adulthood. While there were some who resented her Savoyard kinsmen-who, along with the king's French half brothers, had come to England to seek their fortunes-the queen's chief care was for her family. Now her husband was slowly dying. She nursed him devotedly. Their kingdom was prosperous and secure. England was not involved in any wars. Their life was peaceful. And then there came from that rebellious Welsh prince a letter that the queen knew was going to cause difficulties.

She sat with the king in their dayroom. About them her ladies sat tending to various small tasks, their sewing and mending, the repair of a small tapestry. The queen's eyes scanned the letter, and she swore ever so softly beneath her breath. This caught the attention of her husband who lay upon his daybed, resting from the exertions of his morning bowel movement.

'What is it?' the king asked his wife weakly.

'Do you remember last year when Edward de Beaulieu returned home from Acre? His wife was alleged to have died, and he requested that she be declared dead so he might remarry?'

The king nodded.

'Well, she isn't dead. The prince of the Welsh's daughter appeared home this spring to find her husband no longer her husband, and his new wife full with a child, ap Gruffydd is outraged that his daughter has been so insulted. The prince requests justice for his child, but says she will not have de Beaulieu back now, for she would not put the stain of bastardy upon his newborn son. Now isn't this a nice kettle of fish, Henry? Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn will come to Westminster at Lammastide for your justice. What are we to do?'

'What does ap Gruffydd want?' the king asked cannily.

'His daughter's dower back from de Beaulieu. A new husband for the girl. And a penalty levied upon de Beaulieu for the affront. The Welsh prince suggests that some of Haven Castle's lands be given to his daughter to recompense her for the insult,' the queen replied.

'It seems fair,' the king said slowly.

'There is more to this than meets the eye, Henry,' the queen told him astutely. 'For one thing, what happened to the lady Rhonwyn that she became separated from her husband and our son's forces? We must send to Haven.