like her? Did it even matter? She had a duty, and she would perform it to the best of her ability so as not to bring shame upon her lord father.
Glynn had returned with her garments, and Rhonwyn dressed herself carefully beneath the furs. Then climbing from her bed-space, she ran her fingers through her cropped hair to neaten it. She pulled on the boots Glynn had left by her bedside, stamping her feet. The boots were just a bit short now. Her feet were obviously still growing. She pulled her tunic down and buckled her belt about her narrow waist, sliding her dagger with its horn handle into its sheath.
In the hall the men were stirring now and hurrying out into the courtyard to pee. Gwilym brought a kettle of porridge from the kitchen and began ladling it into the round trenchers of bread upon the table. Rhonwyn sat in her usual place with Glynn and ate silently. Higher up the board Morgan sat with Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, eating and talking. Occasionally they would glance at her, and Rhonwyn wondered what they were saying about her. Around her the men ate silently or spoke in low morning tones.
Finally the prince arose. 'It is time for us to leave. Rhonwyn, are you ready? Where is your pack, lass?'
'I have nothing to carry but what I wear, my lord,' she answered him. 'You have instructed that I leave my weapons behind.' Rhonwyn stood.
Llywelyn ap Gruffydd looked at his daughter. She seemed very young and vulnerable in the light of the morning. She was well scrubbed, he could see, but her garments were practically threadbare and as simple as any soldier's. The brown tunic, unornamented and plain, made her look so pale, yet the girl was in good health. For a moment he felt guilty that he had not, until he needed her, thought of her. 'Say your good-byes, lass,' he instructed her gruffly, and then he left the hall.
They crowded about her, these men who had raised her since she was just a wee girl. Rough soldiers, with tears in their eyes. Their voices broke when they instructed her to be a good lass, remember what they had taught her, and not forget them. They turned away, one by one, each wishing her good luck. But Morgan ap Owen, who loved her best, said, 'This is your home. I am your blood kin. If you need me, I will come.' Then he kissed her cheek and led her out into the courtyard where the prince and her brother awaited her.
Glynn had been crying, she could see. Rhonwyn put her arms about him. 'Don't,' she pleaded, 'or I could weep, too. Be patient, and I will send for you, brother. We will not be parted for long.'
'You never cry,' he said softly. 'You are the strong one.'
'And you the clever one,' she replied, kissing his damp cheek. 'I love you, Glynn. You are safe here at Cythraul.'
Glynn gave her a half grin. 'Tad sees what I am and is too wise to make me change. I shall make up a poem about you, Rhonwyn, and sing it in the hall tonight. They shall all weep for you, sister.'
The siblings hugged, and only ap Gruffydd's voice broke their tender embrace.
'When you come to me,' Rhonwyn instructed her brother, 'bring my weapons with you, Glynn, but tell no one. Do you understand?' She looked directly into his eyes, and then smiled once more.
Rhonwyn mounted her horse, a gray gelding with a black mane and tail that Morgan had obtained for her two years ago when she had outgrown the dainty old mare. The gelding was a big beast with large hooves. Ap Gruffydd was a little surprised to see his daughter mounted so, and remarked on it.
'The animal is steady,' Morgan ap Owen replied. 'I wanted her to have a safe horse.'
The prince turned his mount and led them through the gates of Cythraul and down the hill upon which it sat. Rhonwyn rode by his side. They did not speak. Behind them the troop of men accompanying ap Gruffydd also rode silently. Rhonwyn realized that even the hooves of the horses were relatively quiet as they moved along. It was unlikely an enemy would bear them until the soldiers were upon them. When the sun was at the midpoint in the sky, they stopped.
'If you want to pee,' ap Gruffydd said, 'go into the bushes.'
She took his advice, going deep into the greenery. When she returned she was handed a chunk of bread and a wedge of cheese. She ate swiftly, cramming the food into her mouth. The prince passed her his flask, and she swallowed the liquid within without thinking. The taste of apple on her tongue told her it was cider. They remounted and continued on their way.
As they crossed an open meadow Rhonwyn said low, 'How long will it take to reach our destination, my lord?'
'Until tomorrow, late,' he told her.
She was about to offer to hunt for their dinner when she realized she didn't have her bow. She swore softly beneath her breath, and the prince chuckled.
'You cannot say words like that any longer, Rhonwyn,' he told her. 'Ladies do not swear, and I fear your aunt would beat you black and blue if she heard such language.'
'She had best not raise her hand to me,' Rhonwyn responded darkly. 'I am not an animal, and I have never allowed anyone to beat me.'
'Morgan did not punish you when you were naughty?' Ap Gruffydd was surprised by the revelation.
'He did not feel he had the right to lay his hand on your children. He had other ways of punishing us. He would forbid me from my horse or take my alborium from me so I could not hunt. Glynn was rarely bad. A harsh look could set him crying,' Rhonwyn told ap Gruffydd. 'My brother is a gentle lad. He is not meant to be a soldier, but there are so many things he is good at that there is surely a place for him in this world.'
The prince said nothing more. He was no fool and understood what she was telling him, and he had seen his son was not fit for a military life. He had spawned either a bard or a priest, he was not yet certain. Once they could determine if the boy liked women, then he would know. He could not be sure if he wanted a priest in the family. His sister the abbess was more than enough.
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.
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
