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“That is because your eyes have not seen sunlight for far too long,” Rhiannon said, pushing the tapestry back far enough that Bethan could draw a cord around it and anchor it to the wall. “There. You may take a moment for your eyes to adjust. But a moment is all you have because Bethan is going for fresh water to bathe your face and wash away the tears.” She gave the maid a meaningful nod, and the savvy girl hurried away to refill the pitcher. “You will feel far more yourself after you dress and freshen up.”

“How can you say such a thing?” Gwenllian’s arm dropped from across her face, and she glared at Rhiannon through puffy eyes. “Anarawd is dead.”

“He is. And I am more sorry than I can say. But you are not dead, my dear cousin. You are still here to bless your father and mother with your presence, to watch out for your brother, and to be my dearest friend.”

“I am in no fit state to do any of those things.”

“Not now, perhaps,” Rhiannon said. “But you will be one day.”

Gwenllian rolled over and faced the wall. “That day is not today.”

Rhiannon sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on her cousin’s shoulder. “I may not understand exactly what you are feeling in losing the man you were to marry, but I do understand the pain of having someone you love torn from you before you were ready. Believe me when I tell you that one of the most difficult things you can do is to arise each morning to face the day with that person gone from it. It is also one of the most important.”

“It is beyond me, Rhiannon.”

“No, Gwenllian, it is not. You are far braver than you believe. I have seen you rise from your bed after enduring the misery of sweating sickness and return to the saddle after losing your beloved horse to a broken leg.”

“Neither of them was as painful as this.”

“I know,” Rhiannon said. “Nor had they effects so long-lasting. But they exemplify your courage and reassure me that you will overcome this challenge also.”

“I should like to postpone being brave until the morrow,” Gwenllian said.

Rhiannon laughed. “You may postpone taking a walk into town with me until the morrow, but rising to wash and dress are to happen today.”

Gwenllian’s head swiveled to face her. “I will not go into town.”

“Why is that?” Rhiannon asked.

“I could not bear it.” Gwenllian’s voice broke. “All the whispers and the pointed fingers.”

“There will be no blame or criticism for something so wholly out of your control. If those you meet outside the walls of your chamber are sorry for what you have endured, accept their kindness graciously. It has been my observation, however, that most people have burdens enough of their own. They have little time to spare for worrying about the concerns of others—especially one so fortunate as the daughter of Owain Gwynedd.”

“You make me sound terribly self-absorbed.”

“Are you?” Rhiannon asked.

Gwenllian looked away. “I suppose I am. Or I have been these last few days, at least.” She swallowed hard, and when she turned back to Rhiannon, there was a hint of determination in her voice. “I shall wash and dress.” She gave Rhiannon a look of warning. “But do not expect me to eat. My mother has already begged me to take some broth, but the very thought of food turns my stomach.”

Rhiannon had a fairly good idea of how long it had been since her cousin had partaken of a meal. She also knew that the courtyard was currently filled with the smell of freshly baked bread and pottage.

“Very well,” she said, “I will forebear from all mention of food.” She moved away so as to hide her smile. “There will be time enough for you to change your mind when you smell today’s dinner cooking.”

“I will not change my mind,” Gwenllian said, but as she slipped out of bed, she did not sound quite as certain as she had before.

Leif and Knud rested their oars and eyed the shoreline from the small boat.

“Do we bear north or south?” Knud asked.

“South,” Leif said. “To that rocky area beyond the bay.”

Knud nodded his agreement and dipped his oar into the water once more. Leif waited until the small faering began to turn before lowering his oar and matching his rowing stroke with Knud’s.

They were too close to land to use the sail now. The red-and-white striped fabric would immediately identify them as Vikings, and Leif wished to avoid any chance of encountering resistance before making landfall.

“Look,” Knud said. “Do you see it? There’s an inlet just beyond the promontory.”

“Aye,” Leif said. “It will put us close to the llys but keep us hidden from anyone who may come to the beach.”