Page 20
Two Years Later
“Will I do?” Gwenllian turned a slow circle in front of Rhiannon, her green silk gown shimmering as she moved. The gold coronet atop her light-brown hair and the gold girdle at her waist glistened in the candlelight.
“You look magnificent,” Rhiannon said. “Anarawd will not be able to take his eyes off you.”
Gwenllian pressed a hand to her stomach, and Rhiannon might have been concerned that her cousin would empty it had she not known that Gwenllian had eaten next to nothing all day.
“I am to be married on the morrow,” Gwenllian said. She had repeated the same phrase on and off all day. Clearly, her mind was struggling to grasp what the steady trickle of guests who had been arriving at the llys for the past several days all knew. “What is the matter with me? After all this time, I should be glad that my wedding day is almost here. Instead, I can barely stand upon my own two legs.”
Rhiannon rose from the chair she’d been occupying in Gwenllian’s chamber and took her cousin’s hands. “You have nothing to fear. Already, you and Anarawd have formed an amicable relationship.” She tilted her head to one side and offered Gwenllian a knowing smile. “I might go as far as to say a loving relationship.”
Her comment was met with the lowering of Gwenllian’s eyes and a hint of color in her pale cheeks.
“He is a good man,” Gwenllian whispered.
“He is indeed, and you shall be sickeningly happy together.”
Gwenllian raised her head in time to catch Rhiannon’s teasing look. “Sickeningly?”
“If your new husband is not catering to your every whim from the moment you step out of the church, I shall eat a bowlful of gooseberry fool before sundown.”
“But you detest gooseberry fool.”
“I most certainly do,” Rhiannon said. “That is how sure I am that with Anarawd at your side, you will be the happiest of brides.”
The hint of a smile tugged at Gwenllian’s lips. “I own that I am the most fortunate of women.”
“Mayhap the most fortunate of all,” Rhiannon said, squeezing her hands before she released them.
“Until you are married to Cadwgan.”
Rhiannon’s smile suddenly felt forced. Cadwgan had visited the llys half a dozen times in the two years she’d lived here. Each time, he had singled her out to exchange a few words in the great hall, but he had never broached the subject of marriage again. At first, Rhiannon had assumed he was honoring her desire for a time of mourning. But as the months wore on with no renewal of his intentions, she had begun to wonder if he had changed his mind on the matter.
For her part, Gwenllian remained adamant that Cadwgan was simply biding his time. Rhiannon was not so sure. Perhaps another young lady had attracted his attention—one whose heart responded more vigorously to his presence than did hers.
The clatter of horses’ hooves and urgent shouts coming from the courtyard saved Rhiannon from responding to Gwenllian’s comment.
“Anarawd,” Gwenllian whispered. “He is come.”
Rhiannon reached the window first and pushed open the shutters. Twilight was falling, but there was sufficient light to see the cluster of mounted horses gathered near the doors to the great hall. A man in a dark traveling cloak leaped from the lead horse, tossing the reins to one of the two young grooms who had hurried to join them from the stables on the other side of the yard.
“Is that Hywel?” Rhiannon asked.
“It would seem to be,” Gwenllian replied. “The horse he dismounted has the correct markings.” She frowned. “But why is my brother here with no more than the number of men he had with him when he left? Father sent him to Deheubarth to accompany Anarawd to the llys for the wedding. I see no sign of Anarawd, and surely the prince of Deheubarth would travel to his own marriage with a larger retinue than that.”
“It is possible that Hywel has ridden on ahead to warn the household that the guests’ arrival is imminent.”
“Perhaps.” Gwenllian stepped away from the window, her expression troubled. “But I think it best if we go to the great hall to discover for ourselves what the shouts are about.”
Rhiannon did not argue. The air of tension hovering over the men in the courtyard did not omen well. And if the speed at which Gwenllian exited her chamber and made for the great hall was any indication, she had sensed it too.
The doors to the great hall hung open, and as the women approached, the rumble of male voices, low and pressing, reached them. Hywel spoke again, and Owain Gwynedd’s roar filled the llys, reverberating off the stone walls and stopping Rhiannon and Gwenllian in their tracks.
“What manner of treachery is this?” the king bellowed.
Gwenllian reached for Rhiannon’s arm, clutching it tightly. “Something . . . something terrible has happened.” She took an unsteady step back. “We should go.”
“No.” Rhiannon faced the entrance, waiting, straining to hear more. “We must learn what this is about. If Hywel is here without Anarawd, the news must involve him. And if so, you have a right to know what has happened.”
