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He smiled ruefully. “It takes a great many vessels to transport two thousand head of cattle.”
She swung to face him. “Is it certain, then? Owain Gwynedd has accepted Cadwaladr back and has paid your father what was promised?”
“Aye.” Leif rubbed the back of his neck. “There were times last evening when I wondered if all parties would remain at the table long enough to settle upon anything. Cadwaladr was on his feet the instant the king attempted to excuse razing his castle to the ground. But Owain Gwynedd is a skilled negotiator, and with a promise to restore his brother’s lands and to provide the pledged livestock to my father, Cadwaladr was wise enough to return to his seat.”
“I daresay it will take time before the brothers have full confidence in one another again, but I am glad that they have taken these first steps to heal the rift that tore them apart,” Rhiannon said.
Leif nodded. “I believe my father is pleased with the outcome also. Owain Gwynedd claims that his men can have all the cattle to the longboats by day’s end.”
“And the boats will sail for Dyflin immediately afterward?”
“Aye.”
Rhiannon’s heart sank. “It is too soon,” she said.
A smile tugged at his lips. “You wish to share your beach with all those Viking longboats longer than that?”
“Not the longboats. Just one Norseman.”
All trace of amusement left him. “If having me stay is something you truly desire,” Leif said, “there may be a way.”
“Tell me,” she whispered.
Leif hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully. “You are undoubtedly aware that both my father’s and Owain Gwynedd’s positions of power are only as strong as they make them. No matter their personal attachment to family members, their focus rarely strays from the truth that all family members’ marriages must be used to their advantage. Allegiances born of blending two governing families are highly prized, and with Cadwgan gone, it stands to reason that Owain Gwynedd will soon be seeking a new match for you.”
Rhiannon stared at him. She needed look no farther than Gwenllian’s situation to recognize the truth of Leif’s words. Why had she not considered her own position in like manner?
“When the meeting between Owain Gwynedd, Cadwaladr, and my father concluded last evening,” he continued, “I petitioned the king for a private audience. Despite the lateness of the hour, he graciously agreed to meet with me after the other men retired to their beds.”
He paused. A butterfly flitted past, and Rhiannon fancied she could hear the beat of its fragile wings in the ensuing silence. She met Leif’s eyes and recognized a vulnerability she had never seen before. He cleared his throat.
“I asked that he consider the benefits he and the kingdom of Gwynedd would reap if he were to arrange a marriage between the son of the jarl and the niece of the king.”
Rhiannon’s heart began to pound. “What did he say?”
“He acknowledged that an allegiance such as the one I suggested would undoubtedly protect his people from Viking raids in the future. It would also increase the likelihood of trade between our two nations and give him a powerful ally abroad.”
“But I am not the king’s daughter,” Rhiannon said. “Surely my marriage could not possibly have such influence.”
“It would seem that Owain Gwynedd disagrees.”
“He . . . he gave his approval?” She was beginning to wonder if her heart would survive this encounter.
“He did.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “I would have you know how deeply I have come to love you, Rhiannon. Our time together at the cemetery gave me hope that if I could secure the king’s consent, you might agree to be my bride, but I will not force you to accept my hand. The choice must be yours.”
Tears pricked Rhiannon’s eyes. How different this was from her summons to the great hall when she’d been informed that she was to marry Cadwgan. The dread that had settled in her stomach that day was gone, replaced by feelings of hope and joy.
Above her head, a seagull cried, and as she watched it sail over the headland and out to sea, a tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She may never fly, but Leif had offered her a new, equally rare gift: the freedom to choose love.
“When Cadwgan held me captive at Dinefwr Castle,” she said. “I knew you would come. Each morning since our return to Ynys Môn, I have walked this beach, watching for your return. I was unaware of how desperately I needed you yesterday until you came again.” Another tear fell. “I am beginning to believe that I have been waiting for you all my life.”
He slid his fingers free of hers to cup her face in his hands. His thumb gently wiped the moisture from her cheek. “If you will it, this day shall mark the end of your waiting and mine.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “That is what I wish.”
He lowered his head, and his lips claimed hers. Her arms slid up around his neck, her fingers finding his hair. He sighed and murmured her name once, twice, thrice before deepening his kiss. And Rhiannon was swept away by the wonder of the love they shared.
It was the seagulls’ cries that eventually penetrated her befuddled mind and brought awareness of the dew soaking through her gown. She shifted slightly. Leif responded, drawing back enough to gaze upon her with glazed eyes. She smiled, reaching up to touch his face. He turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand.
