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“This was not about Anarawd at all,” he said, conviction strengthening his voice. “Somebody wanted Cadwaladr dead.”

Knud slowly lowered his full spoon back into the bowl. “Why not simply kill Cadwaladr, then? His bedchamber would have been as easy to enter as Anarawd’s.”

“You are forgetting the other things you listed,” Leif said. “For a man with a vendetta against the royal house of Gwynedd, this was a masterstroke. Of the three brothers, Cadwallon is already dead. Cadwaladr is now gone—whether by death or exile—and Owain’s attempt to increase his power and influence through an alliance with the prince of Deheubarth is thwarted.”

“If what you suggest holds any measure of truth, what is to say that the man behind such villainy will be content until the king himself is dead?”

Leif eyed him grimly. “Nothing at all.”

In the center of the great hall, a minstrel raised his lute and plucked out the first notes of another song. Rhiannon forced a pleasant expression. Surely this banquet would never end. No matter her desire to be back in her bedchamber so that she might have time to think away from the loud laughter and incessant buzz of conversation, she might have enjoyed the evening to some degree had she been seated beside Gwenllian. As it was, her cousin sat on the other side of the table, between her father and Prince Cadell.

Rhiannon was situated between Hywel and Cadwgan, and since Hywel had spent most of the meal talking to his mother at his left, Rhiannon had been required to maintain a stilted conversation with Cadwgan. He had offered his estimation on the music, the meal, and the local countryside in so definitive a manner she’d felt it unnecessary to share her opinions. And as he’d made no effort to extend their discussions, it appeared that he did not wish to hear them.

Indeed, she had all but given up attempting to introduce another topic when Cadwgan surprised her by breaking the uncomfortable silence between them. “It seems that Gwenllian is feeling more herself this evening.”

Rhiannon’s eyes were immediately drawn to the other side of the table where Gwenllian and Prince Cadell were talking with each other. Gwenllian smiled. It was a soft, gentle smile far removed from the vivacious laughter she had often shared with Anarawd, but it expressed genuine pleasure. “I am glad to see happiness on her face,” she said. “It has been a difficult time for her.”

“Better that her loss occurred now than after her marriage,” Cadwgan said.

“I am not sure that Gwenllian would agree. She loved Anarawd and would have gladly spent more time with him than she was given.”

Cadwgan grunted. “She is young and easily influenced. I have no doubt she will be just as happy with the next gentleman her father wishes to make an allegiance with as she would have been with Anarawd.”

Rhiannon tamped down her indignation. It would not do to argue the point with him in front of the king. And Gwenllian certainly did not desire her personal feelings to be given such public attention. “You believe love in marriage is easily come by, then.”

“There are few members of the royal family who marry for love,” he said. “Their marriages are simply political contracts.”

“If that is true, then may I be so bold as to inquire why you desire my hand?”

It was a brazen question, but one that begged asking. Rhiannon had no fortune or land. She came with no potential allegiances.

“Owain Gwynedd would never countenance me marrying his daughter,” Cadwgan said, his response void of emotion. “Not only are you related to the royal family by marriage, but you are one of few who have been welcomed within their circle. Although your dowry was lost to you with the death of your father, your connections are priceless.”

The rock that had sat in Rhiannon’s stomach since Owain Gwynedd informed her of her betrothal to Cadwgan took on the weight of a boulder. Clasping her hands to hide their trembling, she straightened her shoulders. “I see.”

For a fleeting moment, she wished she had not asked, but not knowing would have only added to her misery. At least now, she knew her worth in his eyes. She glanced at him. His eyes were narrowed, his attention directed toward Gwenllian and Cadell still.

“It appears that Owain Gwynedd may not need to look far to form a new alliance after all,” he said.

He had moved past his unfeeling remarks about Rhiannon as quickly as he had his earlier criticism of the minstrel’s playing. Rhiannon swallowed her hurt and followed his gaze. Cadell was saying something to Gwenllian, his dark head closer to hers than it had been before. Gwenllian smiled again. Rhiannon looked to Owain Gwynedd. He too was watching his daughter, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Prince Cadell.” The king’s booming voice carried over those of everyone else in the large room, instantly drawing Cadell’s attention. “I had thought that my party and I would quit Dinefwr Castle at first light tomorrow. Upon further reflection, however, I should like to request that we delay our departure for one day. I believe there are matters that you, Hywel, and I should discuss.”

Cadell inclined his head. “It shall be as you wish, Sire.”

With a satisfied expression, Owain Gwynedd relaxed in his chair and raised his goblet to his lips.

Nearby, Hywel offered his father a surprised look. “If we are to stay longer,” he said, “I have heard tell that the local market is well worth a visit.”

“I daresay it is,” the king said, “but I shall require your attendance when I meet with Cadell. The ladies may go to the market. Cadwgan can accompany them.”

Cadwgan’s frown was quickly hidden by his bowed head. “I am happy to be of service, Sire.”

“Very well,” Owain Gwynedd said. “It is settled.”

Rhiannon thought it likely that no one beyond the king was truly happy with the arrangement, but as the lutist began another song, those at the head table dutifully resumed their previous conversations. Except Cadwgan. He chose to remain silent.

Chapter 29