He managed a wry grin.
Eleyne ignored it. ‘It’s strange that you want to leave and I want to stay.’
It was a world apart here: safe, cocooned. Far from Einion and from Aber; far from the thought of marriage. The only world she was not safe from was the world of her dreams. There had been one dream over the last few months which had come again and again. A dream she had had since childhood, but which had condensed and clarified until she could remember every detail. A dream of a man who was tall and red-haired with blue-green eyes and a warm smile. A man she knew and yet whom she could not name. A man as old as her father yet for whom she felt as no child should towards a parent. A dream which she welcomed guiltily and gloated over night after night in the privacy of the darkness, as she slept back to back with Luned in their tower bedchamber.
‘It’s terrible to have no freedom, Eleyne,’ Gruffydd said. ‘It’s different for you. You are a woman. You will never have much freedom, sweetheart. Always a father or a husband to rule you. But for a man it’s different. A man must be free.’ He could not disguise the anguish in his voice.
Never to have freedom; always to be ruled by someone else. Put like that, starkly, life for a woman was indeed a frightening prospect. It was something Eleyne had never even considered, and now she pushed the thought aside. It belonged to that dark area of the distant future which she had walled off in a corner of her mind – that part of her future which concerned her husband, the Earl of Huntingdon.
‘Sir William de Braose would know what I mean.’ Gruffydd sighed, not noticing his sister’s sudden silence. ‘He knows he is a prisoner even if he is treated as father’s guest.’
Eleyne seized on the change of subject gratefully. Every time she thought about Sir William she felt warm and special. She liked to say his name, and she sensed her brother’s secret admiration for the man. Once or twice she had dreamed about him, adding his face gloatingly to that other face she dreamed about, the face about which she had told no one, not even Rhonwen, the face which she hoped belonged to the Earl of Huntingdon, but which in her heart of hearts she knew did not. The sixteen-year-old youth who had held her so awkwardly in his arms for a few brief moments after their wedding had fair hair and light blue eyes. If she remembered him at all, it was not as the man in her dream.
‘Freedom is everything, Eleyne,’ Gruffydd went on, his voice tight with frustration. ‘To be held behind walls, however comfortable the surroundings, is a torment for someone who wants to leave. It is better than a dungeon, of course, but you are not your own master. I can’t leave here until father agrees; Sir William can’t leave Aber until he has paid his ransom and father gives him his freedom in exchange.’
‘And when he has done that he can go home and then he will agree to Isabella marrying Dafydd.’ Eleyne smiled with relief. ‘I wonder if Dafydd is pleased.’
Gruffydd gave a rueful grin. When and if the wedding took place, Eleyne would be summoned back to Aber and he would lose his small companion. He glanced at her thoughtfully. She was pleased about the wedding, but would she be pleased to go back to Aber? She was afraid of something there. Mortally afraid. If only she would tell him what it was.
XV
DEGANNWY
‘I don’t want to go!’ Tearfully Eleyne caught Gruffydd’s hand. The letter she had dreaded had arrived at last.
‘I know, sweetheart, but father has sent for you. There’s nothing you can do. You have to obey him. You can’t stay here forever.’ Her hands were ice-cold in Gruffydd’s and he could see the fear in her eyes. ‘What is it, Eleyne? What are you afraid of?’
‘Nothing.’ She met his gaze, half defiant, half pleading, before she turned away. ‘Nothing at all.’
After tearful goodbyes to Gruffydd and Senena and her small cousins who had to remain in their prison, Eleyne, Luned and Rhonwen, escorted by Cenydd and his hand-picked band of guards and by Llywelyn’s messengers, embarked once more across the Conwy and set off west towards Aber. Tucked into Eleyne’s baggage were several letters from Gruffydd to his father begging forgiveness; begging for leave to come to his side.
Eleyne rode upright, her face pinched with cold, her fear buried deep inside her. She could not tell Senena or Gruffydd, she would not tell Rhonwen, that she was still afraid. Instead she clung to the thought that Isabella would be at Aber waiting for her. Sir William had, it appeared, long ago paid his ransom and gone. The wedding arrangements had been made. It should be a lovely spring.
Above them in the mountains great swathes of snow still lay unmelted in the shadowy crevices and valleys, and over the peaks the crisp whiteness shone like caps of beaten egg-white. Wild daffodils, small tight spikes in the cold wind, only here and there showed a yellow trumpet. The wind cut like a sword. The mountain route west was impassable, so they took the road along the coast.
As Eleyne entered the crowded, noisy hall of the llys, still swathed in her furs after the ride, Einion was the first person she saw, standing behind her father’s chair. She stopped in her tracks, shielded by the crowd of people around her. Behind her, Rhonwen too saw him and grew pale.
Einion spotted them at once, his eyes going unerringly to Rhonwen and then to the child at her side, and they saw him stoop and whisper into the prince’s ear.
‘No!’ Eleyne turned away, trying to fight her way back through the crowd. Her heart was thumping with terror and she felt sick.
‘You have to go on.’ Rhonwen caught her arm. ‘You have to greet your father. You have to give him Gruffydd’s letters and plead for your brother’s release.’
‘No.’
‘Yes,’ Rhonwen insisted. Now she was near him, her own fear of Einion had returned and she was torn between her protective love for Eleyne and her duty and obedience to the seer. ‘You are a princess, Eleyne! You are never afraid!’ she whispered harshly. ‘He’s just an old man! He can’t hurt you!’ She crossed her fingers, afraid that he would know what she had said, then remembered, comforted, that he was not all-seeing. There were things he did not know.
Eleyne was rooted to the spot with fear, but somehow Rhonwen’s words penetrated her terror. She clenched her fists, goaded by her nurse’s tone. He was just a tired old man. He was nothing like the wild-eyed wizard of her nightmares. Besides, her father was there. She forced herself to walk on, her eyes avoiding those of the bard.
It was only when she drew near the dais where her father sat that Eleyne saw her mother. Joan was seated on the far side of the roaring fire, dressed in a gown of scarlet, stitched with gold thread. Over her shoulders was her mantle trimmed with fox furs. At her side, deep in conversation with her, sat Sir William de Braose. Eleyne felt her heart jump with happiness and surprise at the sight of him, and relief that beneath her heavy cloak she was wearing one of the new gowns Senena and Rhonwen had made her during the long winter days. It was a deep moss green, heavily stitched and embroidered, showing her colouring to perfection and every bit as beautiful, in her own eyes, as her mother’s.
As she curtseyed to her father she glanced half defiantly at Einion. His expression was unreadable. He looked at her and then once more at the prince. ‘Your daughter has been away too long, sir. Aber has missed her.’
‘Indeed we have,’ Llywelyn agreed heartily. ‘Greet your mother, child, and take off your cloak. We are to have a recital.’ He indicated the harp standing near them.
Eleyne curtseyed dutifully to her mother and then more animatedly to Sir William. There was no sign of Isabella.
Sir William smiled. ‘So, do you want to ride Invictus again? I’ll toss you for it tomorrow. My imprisonment is over, but it seems that I can’t keep away!’ His smile deepened. ‘I have come back as a guest this time to make the final arrangements for Bella’s wedding, so we can ride together. With your mother’s permission.’
Eleyne’s