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Rhiannon glanced at Gwenllian, concern gnawing at her. Her cousin was pale, her posture in the saddle unnaturally stiff. Gwenllian had maintained a dignified calm throughout the burial, but now that they were returning to the castle, Rhiannon feared that her control might slip. She wished she could exchange a few encouraging words with her, but at the end of the brief service at the graveyard, Cadwgan had taken the position beside Rhiannon for their return to the castle. Without comment, Gwenllian had moved forward to ride next to her mother.

Flexing her fingers on the reins, Rhiannon attempted to expel some of her tension. It would be easy to claim that her unease was due to her worry for Gwenllian, but her cousin was in good hands. Her mother was with her and would be mindful of Gwenllian’s fragile condition. Unfortunately, no one in this group was mindful of Rhiannon’s current discomfort.

Cadwgan cleared his throat, and Rhiannon looked at him expectantly. No matter that the nobleman had chosen to ride with her, he had yet to say a word.

“As the king will be announcing our betrothal within the week, I thought it advisable that we be seen together,” he said.

Rhiannon’s grip on the reins tightened again. Was he truly as emotionally detached as he appeared? “I daresay you are right,” she said. “Although, I regret that doing so necessitates such effort. I have no doubt you have many things needing your attention.”

“You are correct,” he said. “Thankfully, our betrothal will be short, so I shall soon return to those important and pressing things.”

Rhiannon was surprised by the pain his words inflicted. To have her fears that there was no real feeling between them so convincingly confirmed was unexpectedly difficult. Mayhap her disappointment came because Heledd had made her believe that marriages could be more than a political contract. Did any young lady desire a husband who displayed such callous indifference to spending time with her?

Keeping her chin up, she watched Owain Gwynedd and Prince Cadell ride through the castle entrance ahead of them. “You do not anticipate that we will spend much time together after the wedding, then?”

“I have no desire to deny you time to pursue your own interests, and I, of course, will continue with mine.” He shrugged. “Such freedom will be mutually beneficial, I believe.”

It struck her then. Cadwgan had no notion of what made her happy or what made her sad. Indeed, he did not know her at all. And by the same token, she did not know him.

The guard standing at the gate saluted. Cadwgan acknowledged him with a slight inclination of his head, and they rode into the courtyard. Ahead of them, the grooms and stableboys hurried to attend to the horses and their riders. The king, Prince Cadell, and Hywel had already dismounted and were walking into the inner courtyard in deep discussion. Cadwgan’s gaze followed them.

“There is no need for you to linger here,” Rhiannon said. “We were seen together the entire journey from the graveyard.”

“Very true,” Cadwgan said, dismounting in one swift movement. “You there!” he called to the closest stableboy. “Take my mount.”

The young boy hurried forward and claimed Cadwgan’s horse’s reins.

“Mind you care for him well,” Cadwgan warned.

“Yes, my lord.”

The stableboy began leading the horse away, and Cadwgan offered Rhiannon a polite bow. “Good day, Rhiannon.”

She hid her relief with a nod. “Good day, my lord.”

The next moment, he was gone, striding swiftly to catch the king and the princes.

Rhiannon looked away. Closer to the stables, she spotted Dai helping Gwenllian to dismount. Another groom was assisting the queen. Guards were leading their horses through the stable’s wide doors, and stableboys were scurrying between them. Rhiannon hesitated, wondering if she should move a little closer to Dai and hope that he would also help her dismount or if she should capture the attention of one of the other grooms.

“May I be of assistance?” A man spoke.

Rhiannon swung around, her heart in her throat. A pair of blue eyes as stunning as they were familiar looked up at her. No longer twisted into two tight plaits, his blond hair fell in gentle waves to touch his broad shoulders.

When she did not speak, he raised his arms. “May I be of assistance?” he repeated. “It seems that your escort has abandoned you.”

“I sent him away.”

The corner of his lip quirked upward as though he were trying not to smile. “Am I to gather that you are in the habit of sending gentlemen away?”

Her cheeks warmed. Her brusque orders that he leave when he’d come upon her on the beach had been justified. He was a Viking.

Memory brought new cognition.

There was a Viking in Dinefwr Castle.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“Offering to help you dismount.”