her.
'Indeed,' the abbess said. 'It must have been a very odd place.'
When her aunt had left the tiny cell where she was housed, Rhonwyn slept. When she was awakened in the early part of the late afternoon, a bowl of lavender-scented water and a cloth were brought to her. She washed herself and dressed again in her lovely green gown. Her hair was unbraided and then replaited as it had been earlier, the mass in the rear of her head being brushed until it shone. A cup of wine and some biscuits were offered, and she ate with a good appetite, for she had had nothing since early morning.
“Are the documents ready for signature?' she asked the abbess when the older woman came to escort her.
'Aye. We are to go back to the palace now. Glynn and the others are awaiting us outside the convent walls. I have made our goodbyes to the mother superior and given her one of your gold marks, niece, in thanksgiving for your marriage.'
'A waste of a good coin, although I do not begrudge this convent my gold. The chapel roof, I noted, leaks.'
Escorted by the queen's page, they walked the brief distance from St. Mary's to Westminster Palace. The king's chamberlain led them to a small room where Rafe de Beaulieu and Edward awaited them. The documents were laid out upon a large oak table.
'The de Beaulieus have already signed, my ladies,' the chamberlain said. 'Will you now sign, my lady abbess, here, and here, and here again.'
The abbess scanned the parchments before her, and then she said, 'My niece is quite capable of signing herself, my lords. Rhonwyn?'
'Traitor!' Rhonwyn whispered.
'You will thank me one day, my child,' the abbess said calmly.
'I think not, aunt,' Rhonwyn countered, but she took up the quill and signed her name in the places designated.
'You can write,' Rafe observed.
She glared at him, and he could not help but laugh. Her look was so deliciously outraged. Her beauty had overwhelmed all other considerations when he had so boldly proclaimed he would have her to wife. If she had been outraged by his offer, his cousin Edward had been equally so. He had calmed Edward by telling him it was better to keep the Welsh girl in the family where they could control her than to let her marry another man who might be cajoled by her beauty into an act of revenge against the de Beaulieus. Edward had reluctantly acquiesced.
The chamberlain stamped the royal seal into the wax that his assistant had dripped onto each document. Then rolling them up, he handed them to Rafe de Beaulieu. 'The archbishop is waiting,' he said.
For a brief moment Rhonwyn looked as if she were going to bolt from the chamber.
Then Rafe de Beaulieu took her arm, murmuring low, 'Certainly ap Gruffydd's daughter is no coward, lady.'
Fury blazed in Rhonwyn's emerald green eyes. 'You shall soon learn just what ap Gruffydd's daughter is capable of, my lord!'
'Lady, have mercy. My appetite for you is already well honed,' he said.
'I should like to hone my sword against your head,' she replied angrily.
'I should far rather lodge my sword within your sheath,' he teased her.
Her cheeks flamed pink at the randy reference.
'What? No sharp retort?' he taunted her.
She raised her hand to hit him. He caught the hand and, turning it, kissed her palm. Their eyes met, and she was almost staggered physically by the lightning she felt shoot between them. Rhonwyn snatched her hand back, her heart hammering with shock.
'How long has it been?' he murmured softly. His fingers brushed over her lips.
'Go to hell!' she hissed as softly as they entered the royal chapel where the king and queen awaited them.
The king was wan, his left eyelid drooping, but his look was a kind one. He smiled at Rhonwyn, coming slowly to her side as she and Rafe reached the altar where Archbishop Boniface awaited them. Rhonwyn noted the queen's worried expression as the king stood on shaky legs beside the reluctant bride. Poor man, she thought, and gave him a dazzling smile.
'You truly honor me, sire, and I thank you for it,' she told the monarch, taking his arm to steady him.
'You will be happy, I promise,' the king said to her, and he patted her hand. 'A woman is happiest when she is well wed.'
'I will remember your words, my lord,' she promised him.
Then in his elegant Latin, Archbishop Boniface began the ancient words to the marriage sacrament.
Chapter 15
Rafe de Beaulieu was more amused than angry when he realized he would not be able to consummate his marriage until they reached his estates. While he enjoyed female flesh, he had never been a man to casually bed a woman. The abbess made certain her niece rode by his side each day of their journey. He knew that she was attempting to foster some sort of a rapport between bride and bridegroom, but Rhonwyn was not feeling particularly cooperative. Each day he would attempt to engage her in conversation. She answered him in monosyllables. He gained far more out of her when he taunted her. She would erupt and excoriate him angrily until she realized just what it was he was doing. Then she would grow grimly silent, her lips pressed together tightly in a narrow line.
Finally one day he asked her bluntly, 'Why is it that you are angry with me, Rhonwyn? I am not the one who betrayed you.'
'You are a de Beaulieu,' she answered him.
'So are you,' he replied.
A strange look passed over her features, and then she laughed bitterly. 'So I am. Twice, by marriage, I vow.' Then she asked him, 'Why did you wed me, Rafe?'
'For the land, of course, lady,' he answered.
'Because anyone else who might have you would have mistreated you' was the surprising reply.
'You felt sorry for me?' Her tone bordered on outrage.
'Aye,' he readily agreed, 'but I also lusted after you. You know how very beautiful you are. I think one reason Edward was angry at me for offering for you is that he, too, sees how lush and ripe you have become. You are no longer the avid little lass who so eagerly sought to go on crusade, Rhonwyn. You are a very desirable woman,
'Edward thinks I am desirable?' she said, a small smile on her lips. Her green eyes were thoughtful.
'Could you not see the hunger for you in his eyes?' Rafe replied. 'He loves my sister, make no mistake, Rhonwyn, but desire you, even briefly, he did. And the secret knowledge of it rendered him full of guilty rage. He directed that anger at you, you will recall.'
'I did not see it,' she said. 'I was too busy defending myself from his cruel charges and half truths, my lord.'
'And what do you feel for him?' Rafe asked, attempting to keep the jealousy in his voice from her.
'What should I feel for him?' she countered.
He closed his eyes a moment, and then opening them, said, 'You will drive me to murder one day, lady.'
'But I suspect not, my lord, before you have plundered my body and gained the pleasures that I can give you,'
