Page 1
Chapter 1
The Kingdom of Gwynedd, 1141
A seagull’s cry pierced the air. Rhiannon raised her head to watch the large white bird glide in a wide arc over the sheltered bay and soar out to sea. What freedom such birds enjoyed. To ride the wind and the waves, to travel farther than the eye could see. Rhiannon could only dream of such unfettered liberty.
Stepping over the tide pool she’d been exploring, she turned toward the large house that overlooked the beach. Bryn Eithin’s solid gray-stone walls and purple slate roof had protected her since her birth sixteen years previously. Its idyllic location, with the Irish Sea at its front and rolling pastures at its rear, was hard to equal. Indeed, compared to most young women in Gwynedd, she was fortunate. Her father owned land and retained servants. She was well cared for. Beyond the loss of her mother several years before, she lacked for nothing. Except, perhaps, the freedom of a seagull.
“Rhiannon!”
Her father, Iorwerth ap Gwion, appeared where the sand met the scrubby grass of the low dunes. He stood with his hands on his hips, his expression grim. Rhiannon spared the sky another glance, and her heart sank. The sun had lowered, and she had no need to consider the lengthening shadows to realize she was inexcusably late.
Lifting her skirts, she scrambled off the craggy rocks and ran across the beach toward him. “Forgive me, Father.” She stopped to catch her breath. “I failed to keep track of the time.”
“Clearly.” He frowned. “I had hoped that today, of all days, you would not give me cause to seek you out, Rhiannon.”
“I would have returned before the evening meal. Truly, I would have.”
“The servants have their preparations well in hand, but you are still whiling away the afternoon beside the sea.” His gaze traveled from her windswept hair to her sand-dusted gown and damp hem. He shook his head despairingly. “How am I to introduce you as a prospective bride to Owain Gwynedd’s cousin when you resemble a foundling? And a wet one, at that?”
She offered him a contrite smile and slipped her arm through his. His frustration was born of concern for her. She knew this. Just as she knew that it would soon pass.
“Walk me back to the house to ensure that I cannot be distracted by the call of the sea again, and then place me in Heledd’s expert care,” she said. “Heledd will have me dressed and ready to greet your guests in no time.”
“Our guests, Rhiannon.” He was not yet ready to fully exonerate her. “Cadwgan ap Gronw does us a great honor by coming to dine with us.”
“He comes because the king suggested it,” Rhiannon said.
“And why should he not? Your mother was the sister of his wife, the queen. Your father is a member of the uchelwr.”
“Your position as a member of the pedigreed aristocracy will undoubtedly influence who I eventually marry, but must that decision be made so soon?”
“Yes,” her father said firmly. “Cadwgan may wait as long as he wishes for the wedding ceremony—you know that I have no desire to have you leave—but you have reached the age when a betrothal is both expedient and expected.”
Rhiannon sighed. This was not the first time they’d had this conversation. No matter how much she hoped for her father’s stance to alter, it did not. As his only daughter, it was her duty to marry well. Her father wanted what was best for her. He wished her to have every comfort and security. She should be glad. Mayhap, if she exerted a little more effort, she would be glad.
“This Cadwgan ap Gronw is handsome, is he not?” she said.
They started back toward the house together.
“I am not of a mind to consider such things, but I daresay he is pleasing enough. A little taller than I, with curly, dark hair.”
“And young.” That attribute alone was more than most young ladies in her situation could claim when meeting a potential spouse.
“Not more than eight and twenty. And yet, despite his youth, he owns a large parcel of land in Dyffryn Clwyd.”
The district of Dyffryn Clwyd had been claimed by Gwynedd several years before, but with all the infighting that continued to plague the king, it was no secret that Owain Gwynedd was anxious for an ally within the uchelwr living in that area. As much as Rhiannon wished it were different, her role in this marriage was that of a prize or a bargaining chip.
“What will happen if Cadwgan decides against me?” she asked.
“He will not.” Her father’s expression softened. “Your lack of awareness of your natural beauty only enhances it, bach. Cadwgan cannot help but be captivated by you.”
Her hair swirled wildly around her shoulders, and Rhiannon glanced at her wrinkled, salt-water-stained gown.
“Even if he were to come upon me now?” she asked.
Her father nodded. “Aye. As loath as I am to admit it, even now.”
His words, which surely should have offered her greater confidence, in actuality, did the opposite. Rhiannon had oft been told that she had inherited her mother’s silky tresses, dark-brown eyes, and flawless skin. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of her disposition. Whereas her mother had thrived as mistress of a sizable home and a hostess of large gatherings, Rhiannon preferred to wander the beach alone and quietly observe others from afar. If Cadwgan were to base his matrimonial decision upon appearances while paying no heed to her preference for solitude, he would undoubtedly be sorely disappointed in his choice of wife.
