A Memory of Love by Bertrice Small Read Free Book Online

She was always railing at him for not getting married, and he was always telling her he did not have time for a wife and family if Wales was to be independent. Well, it was true. Vala had been content to wait in her cottage for him to come. She had never whined or complained at him for not being more attentive. Vala had understood what he was doing. How many wives would have? Soon enough he would need a highborn mate whose family and connections could help him keep what he had gained. But not yet.
    He glanced sideways at his daughter. While she had her mother's coloring, she was his spit, although her features were more softened and feminine. He smiled to himself again. His timing was always just right where his children were concerned. He had come just in time to save them from death. Now he was just in time to keep Rhonwyn from becoming a soldier. Gwynllian was going to have her work cut out for her. His daughter was ignorant and crude. It was going to cost him a large gift to Mercy Abbey to turn her into a refined and blushing bride for Edward de Beaulie, but if anyone could do it, it was Gwynllian.
    As the sun was setting behind the western mountains, they stopped once again. A camp was set up with a fire over which roasted the rabbits his men had caught along the way that day. The horses were led to a nearby stream to drink, and then allowed to browse about the trees where they were tied. The company ate and then settled down for the night. Rhonwyn had never slept outdoors before. She found it both exciting and a little frightening. The night noises seemed louder and more mysterious than the noises she heard during the day. Still, she managed to get some sleep before the prince was shaking her awake.
    As they rode in the cold and dark dawn hour, ap Gruffydd handed his daughter an oatcake to eat. It was hard and virtually tasteless. She chewed it slowly nonetheless, quieting the rumbling in her stomach. She already missed Gwilym's hot morning porridge. They rode again until the noon hour, stopped to rest and water the horses, then continued on once more. The countryside was beautiful and lonely. They passed no fortresses or cottages.
    In the very late afternoon as the sun was sinking, they crested a ridge, and there in a lovely valley below stood a cluster of stone buildings. It looked a bit grim and forbidding in the late autumn light.
    She heard a noise and turned to the prince. “What is that sound, my lord?” she asked.
    “ 'Tis the pealing of a bell, Rhonwyn. Have you never heard a church bell, lass?” He was surprised by her ignorance as always.
    “I don't even know what a church is, my lord,” she replied.
    He chuckled richly. Oh, Gwynllian was going to have her hands full. His elder sister had always lorded over him and his brothers when they were growing up. Now he would have his revenge for all of them. He would wager that Gwynllian had never had a lass like Rhonwyn in her custody. He almost wished he could be there to see the inevitable confrontation that was sure to ensue between his daughter and his sister. Then it dawned upon him how much alike the two were. He laughed aloud.
    “What amuses you, my lord?” Rhonwyn inquired of him.
    “Nothing, lass, really nothing,” he told her. “That—” He pointed with a gloved finger. “—is your destination. That is Mercy Abbey.”
    “Will I like it there?” she wondered.
    “Probably not,” he replied honestly. “You have a great deal to learn, Rhonwyn, in a very short time. It is important that you learn else I be made to appear a liar. I have enemies.”
    “I am not surprised,” she said dryly.
    He laughed again. There was an honesty about his daughter that he very much liked. “You have a duty to me, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. What you have to do will not be easy, but I know you can do it for you are not, I have been told, someone who shirks a duty, and you are loyal.”
    “My kinsman, Morgan ap Owen, speaks kindly of me,” Rhonwyn said with a