Subdued, but not defeated, Eluned went to fetch Guyon something to drink and Rhys sat down before the banked fire, hugging his knees, a dark scowl on his face.
‘How long will you stay?’ he demanded, slanting Guyon a hard glance.
‘Rhys!’ his mother reprimanded more sharply than she had intended. It was a question she herself wanted to ask but dared not.
Guyon waved aside her anger with a grin. ‘I am accustomed to it by now. If he was not so obviously a boy, I would think it was my wife sitting at my feet. She has that way with her too.’
There was a strained silence. Rhys’s question was just the crust of the loaf, one of a thousand questions Rhosyn longed to ask him, but would not do so in the presence of the children and for the sake of her own pride.
‘A few hours only, Rhys,’ Guyon answered the boy. ‘I have dared to pull the devil’s tail and I must be in my own bed before dawn lest he scorch me with his pitchfork.’ He smiled at Eluned and took the mead she offered him. It was strong and sweet and as honey-golden as the fragrant harvest evening on which the unborn child had been conceived.
Rhys looked blank for a moment and then his quick mind took in the implications of the rough Welsh garb and coupled it with his knowledge that Guyon had skills most Normans did not. Something clandestine had been afoot and Lord Guyon didnot intend the blame to lie lying at his door. Eluned, younger and impressionable when it came to tales, took his words at face value and regarded him wide-eyed.
‘And precisely where is your own bed?’ Rhosyn asked, setting a platter of bread and cheese before him and thinking with a hint of bitterness that they were like courtiers, fêting him with adulation.
Guyon gave her one of his quicksilver glances. ‘Ledworth,’ he answered and did not elaborate. Instead, he tossed something to Rhys.
The boy caught the item deftly and transferred it to his lap. It was a leather sheath, lined with raw wool to hold in place the knife it contained and keep it naturally oiled. The knife itself was almost a weapon. Eight inches long with a blade gleaming as bright as fish scales against the blue herringbone pattern that fanned from its centre. The hilt was carved from a narwhal tooth.
‘I know it is a month after Candlemas, but I had not forgotten your year day,’ Guyon said as Rhys examined the knife with speechless delight.
Rhosyn eyed the gift with mixed feelings. Childhood was almost behind the boy and the knife was a symbol of the man too soon to emerge. ‘You should not,’ she said to Guyon with a frown.
‘Grant us both the indulgence,’ he answered, his voice light, but his gaze eloquent as he drew Eluned into the circle of his arms. ‘And I had not forgotten that it is your own year day come Easter and, since I am unlikely to be here, I have brought your gift early. Guess which hand.’
Delighted, Eluned played the game with him and he teased her, knuckles clenched, his sleight of hand eluding her. At length she pounced on him, giggling and he conceded defeat, begging abjectly for mercy and presenting her with a small cloth pouchcontaining a string of amber beads. Eluned flung her arms around Guyon’s neck and delivered him a smacking kiss. ‘The surest way to a woman’s heart,’ he chuckled as he fastened the beads around Eluned’s slender throat.
‘You buy us all,’ Rhosyn agreed and, blinking, turned away to mend the fire. Guyon watched her over the child’s tumbled black hair.
‘That is not true,cariad,’ he said softly. ‘I have never had the price of you and I doubt I ever will.’
Rhosyn savagely poked the logs. ‘You have always had the pretty words to cozen what you cannot buy!’ she snapped. ‘Rhys, Eluned, it is long past time you were asleep. Go on, get to your beds now!’
‘But Mam … !’
Her eyes kindled with wrath. ‘Do as you are told!’
Guyon lifted his brow at her tone, shot her a speculative look and squeezed his warm, rebellious armful. ‘Obey your mother,anwylyd,’ he said gently. ‘It is time she and I had a private word. Go now.’
Eluned pouted, unconvinced. Rhys stood up, the knife in his hand, his expression a mingling of childhood and maturity as selfishness warred with duty. After a hesitation, the latter dominated. He thanked Guyon most properly for the knife, kissed his mother on the cheek and crossed the hall to withdraw behind the bed curtain.
‘It’s not fair!’ Eluned complained.
‘Life never is, my love,’ said Rhosyn bending to hug her daughter. ‘You’ll discover it time and again as you grow older. Now say good-night and be off with you.’
The child sighed heavily but did as she was bid. Her grip around Guyon’s neck almost throttled him. ‘I wish you could stay,’ she said, her lips warm on his cheek.
‘So do I,anwylyd,’ Guyon replied and meant it.
When they were alone, Rhosyn again mended the fire even though it was unnecessary. The silence stretched out and the old dog whined. When she could bear it no longer, she threw down the poker and spun round to face him, her words almost a cry. ‘Why have you come?’
‘I thought you would be pleased to see me.’
Rhosyn drew breath to snap that he thought wrong, but changed her mind before the words were spoken. ‘I am too pleased. You disrupt our lives. You come with your gifts and your ensorcelments, you beguile us into adoration and then you leave. I cannot bear it!’
‘You have it in your power to change that,’ he answered gently. ‘You are welcome to make your home at one of my manors.’
‘A pretty caged bird to sing at your pleasure!’ she flung, turning back to the fire.
