A Moment in Time

people. His drunken capering in the forest this afternoon may have offended them, Pwyll now realized. Although no one understood the mysterious mounds, perhaps the beautiful maiden was their guardian. Whoever she was, he knew that he wanted to see her again. Unaware of Bronwyn's clinging hand, Pwyll stood up and the hand fell away.

'I have dealt with the Fair Folk before,' he began slowly. 'The maid this afternoon was unknown to me, but from Gwyr's tale I believe her to be one of them. They are just people, but as I do not wish to offend the Fair Folk, I will return to the forest alone tomorrow to that same grassy mound to wait. Mayhap the same maiden will appear again. I will apologize to her for my foolish behavior and beg her most gracious pardon.'

There were murmurs of approval throughout the hall, and Taran said, 'Aye! It is a good thing, my lord, that you do so. The Fair Folk are known for their kindness of heart, and surely their men have, on occasion, been in their cups. I doubt you have committed any grave sin against them, but it cannot hurt to apologize.'

'No!' The word was said loudly and sharply. All eyes swung about from Pwyll to Bronwyn. 'You must not go, my dear lord,' she cried, and her brown eyes brimmed with tears. 'The Fair Folk are not to be trusted!' She clung to his arm as if his departure were dangerously imminent.

'Nonsense!' laughed Pwyll. 'My dealings with the Fair Folk have resulted in nothing but good.'

'They are not like us,' Bronwyn said firmly. 'They have lulled you into a false sense of security. They have built up your trust. Now suddenly this magical maiden appears beneath your very nose! Why? I think she has been sent to lure you to your doom, my lord Pwyll. What will happen to Dyfed if anything should happen to you?'

'Why, another should be chosen to be its prince, dear child. Probably your own father, Cynbel.' He chuckled. 'Dyfed's survival does not depend merely upon me, but you are sweet to believe it so, Bronwyn,' Pwyll finished.

Now there were murmurs of dissent within the hall as some considered Bronwyn of the White Breast's words, and others supported their prince's decision to seek out the magical maiden again to apologize. Pwyll let them chatter for a time. Then he raised his hand for silence.

'I am still Dyfed's prince,' he said quietly, closing the matter to any further discussion.

The following afternoon Pwyll eagerly spurred his beautiful white stallion into the deep forest that surrounded his small castle. Finding his way back to the grassy mound, he dismounted to await the return of the maiden. He could not even be certain that she would come, and yet in his heart he felt she would. She did not, however, nor for eight days after that, when he kept watch. On the ninth afternoon, just as he was about to give up in despair, the maiden rode forth from the tangle of forest into the clearing and past Pwyll. He stared after her open-mouthed, but then as his initial surprise subsided, Pwyll leapt upon his horse and galloped after her.

Rhiannon's heart was beating wildly. She had done a most brazen thing that first afternoon, as Angharad had later scolded her; but it had been worth it! It had not been the first time she had seen the Prince of Dyfed, although she had not known at first that he was a prince. Twice before, alone, she had spied upon him. Each time was like the first time when she had come upon him quite unexpectedly, schooling a horse in a meadow on the edge of the wood. Her heart had contracted most painfully in her chest that first time, and each time thereafter when she laid eyes upon him. This afternoon was no different.

Pwyll of Dyfed was even more handsome up close than he had been at a distance. His hair was as black as a raven's wing. He wore it clubbed back as the Cymri were wont to do. About his head was a band of gold which only served to accentuate the darkness of the hair. He was as fair-skinned, however, as she herself, but the color of his eyes she could not ascertain. She had never gotten that close to him. Besides, upon that fateful afternoon when she had first shown herself to him, she dared not stare. His features were strong but for his mouth, which had a softness about it. Still, she longed to kiss that mouth.

Pwyll hurried his horse after Rhiannon, keeping the same gait at first, and then spurring his horse into a gallop. There was no horse in Dyfed who could outrun Pwyll's, yet to his amazement, his straining animal could not lessen the distance between them, though the maiden's mount never appeared to increase its speed. Pwyll burst out laughing. This was powerful magic indeed. He slowed his panting beast almost to a halt and called out to the girl ahead of him, 'Maiden, I beg you to stop that we may speak. I must know who you are!'

It was a mad thing to do, and she knew it. To play hide and seek with this Cymri was one thing. To become involved with him was not wise, but nonetheless, Rhiannon drew her own mount to a stop. When she turned about, it seemed to Pwyll that there had been no distance between their horses at all.

She smiled at the prince and cast a look of sympathy at the panting charger with its sweating, heaving sides. 'Poor beast-ie,' she crooned to the horse and, reaching out, stroked his neck. Then she looked at Pwyll, saying, 'You did not have to chase me over half the forest if you wanted to speak with me, my lord. I would have stopped before if you had asked, Pwyll of Dyfed.'

He was enchanted by the incredible sweetness of her smile, the lilting tone of her voice. Then it dawned upon him that she knew his name. Of course she knew his name! 'Who are you?' he asked her, feeling both elation and despair even as he asked.

'My name is Rhiannon. I am the daughter of Dylan and Cornelia, rulers of the Fair Folk of this forest.' Her voice was melodious; clear yet soft. 'Why did you pursue me, Pwyll of Dyfed? I am told that you have returned to this place for many days now.'

'I wanted to apologize for offending you,' he began, wondering who had told her he had returned here.

'Offending me? How?' she asked him, amused.

'Are you not the guardian of this grassy mound upon which I danced?'

For a moment Rhiannon stared at him in surprise. Then, unable to help herself, she burst into laughter. The merry sound was that of water tumbling over stones in a stream bed, and he was not in the least offended that she found him funny. 'My lord of Dyfed,' she finally managed to say as she struggled to regain control of herself, 'those grassy mounds have been here since time began. Even we of the Fair Folk do not know their true origins. It is really I who must apologize to you, for, knowing the superstitions held by the Cymri, I decided to play a jest upon you when I saw you dancing upon the mound the other day. I knew that should I appear before you without speaking and go silently about my way, you and your Cymri huntsmen would think it some great magic connected with the mound. My sister, who was with me, scolded me quite roundly for it, I might add.'

'Then you are not angry with me?' Pwyll said, relieved.

'Nay, my lord, and I hope you are not angered with me,' Rhiannon replied sweetly.

He shook his head. 'I am not angry, princess. It is only just, however, that I claim a forfeit of you for your most mischievous behavior,' he told her boldly. ' 'Twas not fair to tease a mortal so.'

A faint rose colored Rhiannon's pale cheeks. She looked directly at him and said, nodding, 'You have the right, prince.'

Staring into the most incredible pair of eyes that he had ever seen, Pwyll could not speak for a long moment. Surely it was enchantment. Never before had he beheld eyes the deep, rich color of woodland violets, but her eyes were precisely that color. He was quite happy to drown in their bottomless depths.

Rhiannon's thoughts were strangely similar. As he gazed into her eyes, she saw his for the first time. They were the same wonderful deep blue shade as the sea off the island where her maternal grandfather ruled. To Rhiannon they were the most beautiful eyes she had ever beheld. At that precise moment in time she knew why it was that she had sought him out. She loved him. She did not know why she loved him. Indeed, she did not even know him, but she loved him. Of that she was certain. She loved him and she would love him forever.

The silence between them seemed long, but finally regaining her senses, she gently encouraged him. 'What would you have of me in forfeit, my lord of Dyfed?'

'Your company, princess,' he said simply. Then dismounting from his own beast, he lifted her down from her horse.

The touch of his fingers about her slender waist seemed to burn through her delicate clothing to her sensitive skin. She shivered. His boldness was exciting, for boldness was not a trait amongst her own people, who were more controlled. Rhiannon watched in silence as he slipped the reins from both their animals over the branches of a rowan bush to keep the horses from wandering. At last she said softly, 'Would you like to walk? There is a pretty pond nearby that I could show you.'

'Aye, lady,' he replied simply, and, taking her dainty hand in his large one, he let her lead him.

They walked through the forest. The sun slipping down through the trees crowned the tops of their heads with