Here Be Dragons - 1

knowing you go where he cannot follow""Adda hears just fine! Do not speak of him as if he were not even here!"There was a strained silence. Adda had gone very pale, but he said, quite evenly, "I want Llewelyn to go, want him to claim what is his. So would I, hadGod not willed otherwise."Hugh felt a touch of shame; it was Llewelyn he'd wanted to wound, not the innocent Adda. Llewelyn was staring at him, accusing, defiant. Whatever chance he might have had of prevailing was utterly gone now. Llewelyn might, he knew, forgive a slight on his own behalf, but on Adda's, never. He'd not yield in this, knowing he had the full backing of his Welsh kinsmen. All their plans set at naught, their hopes of an alliance with Chester now gall and wormwood, ashes in his mouth."Go to Gwynedd and be damned, then!" he said bitterly, and turned away.They watched in silence as Hugh strode from the hall. But when Marared rose to follow him, Llewelyn stepped in front of her. "Mama ...""No, Llewelyn. Do not expect my blessings. Do not expect my forgiveness, either."He'd won. But he could take no pleasure in it, not now. Llewelyn sank down on the dais steps, passed some moments disconsolately sliding his dagger up and down its sheath. The excitement he'd experienced in sharing his plans withEdnyved and Rhys had gone suddenly sour, tarnished by his mother's tears."Adda?" Marared let her hand linger on her younger son's shoulder. "Are you coming, lad?""Yes, Mama."As Adda rose, Llewelyn looked up, said, "Hugh did not mean that, Adda. He was angry, just did not think ...""People never do, do they?" Adda smiled thinly. "Yet we'd be apart, too, once you were sent off to serve as Chester's squire. Better you should follow your heart."
34Their eyes caught, pulled away. Marared was waiting. Adda reached for his crutch and angled it under his armpit. Watching his brother limp toward the door, Llewelyn felt a protective pang. What Adda had just said was true. It was also true that he was being left behind."Morgan . . . Morgan, am I doing the right thing?""If I said no, would you heed me?"Llewelyn considered, and then gave the priest a rueful smile. "No," he conceded. "Gwynedd is my birthright. But it's like to take years to claim it.Years I can ill afford to squander in Shropshire. I have to do this, Morgan. Ihave to."Morgan nodded slowly; he'd expected no less. He, more than anyone else, had nurtured in Llewelyn a love for his heritage, his homeland, had molded youthful clay into adult ambition. He was proud of what he had accomplished, proud of Llewelyn's resolve, his daring. But he could not help feeling fear, too, for Llewelyn was the son he'd never have."I cannot say I approve, lad." And then, very softly, "But I do understand."3CHINON CASTLE, PROVINCE OF TOURAINE}um uSg"wV YHAT is your name, girl?""Lucy ..." She added "my lord" for safety's sake; a fortnight at Chinon had not been long enough for her to absorb the intricacies of the castle hierarchy. She knew only that this man was a bailiff, a being as far above her as stars in the firmament, and she was trembling with dread that she'd somehow displeased, that she might be dismissed in disgrace."Turn around," he directed, and as she complied in bewilderment, he gave a satisfied nod. "Yes, you'll do once you're cleaned up some;
35he's right particular about such niceties. Agnes, see that she has a bath first. I expect it is too much to hope that you would still be a virgin?"Lucy gasped so audibly that several men laughed, and the bailiff looked at her with the first flicker of genuine interest. "Well, well. That is a stroke of luck for you, girl. How many wenches get to lose their maidenheads in a royal bed?" He laughed, moved on to other matters, and Lucy was forgotten.She stood there, rooted, until Agnes stepped forward and slipped a supportive arm around her waist. "Shall we get you that bath?" she said, and giving Lucy no chance to balk, she guided the girl toward the door. "Do not look so stricken, lass. It'll not be as bad as you think; you might even enjoy it.""But . . . but he's so old and sickly!" Lucy shuddered. She'd seen the oldKing infrequently since his arrival at Chinon. There was in his face the haggard, grey gauntness of coming death; it would, she thought with horror, be like embracing a corpse."Old?" Agnes echoed and then laughed. "You need not fear, Lucy, you're not for poor King Henry. God pity him, he's beyond feeling the itch that only a woman can scratch. No, his son rode in within the hour, and it is a rare night when that one does not want a wench to warm his bed.""Lord John?""Well, for certes not Richard!" Agnes giggled, but thought better of pursuing that particular brand of high-risk humor; instead, she took it upon herself to allay Lucy's fears. "He's handsome, is Lord John. Not as tall as Richard, of stocky build like his father, although dark as a Barbary pirate. And young, one and twenty against his sire's six and fifty, a far better age for bedding!"But Lucy did not seem to appreciate her good fortune; she looked dazed. Agnes thought she knew why, and glanced about to make sure no others were within earshot."You must not believe all you hear, child. It is true John does have men about him who'd make even Hell the fouler for their presence. He might not rein them in as he ought, but he does not seem to be one for sharing their nastier sport. In the five years I've been at Chinon, I've never heard it said that he takes pleasure in a woman's pain, and whilst I cannot speak firsthand, mind you, I've been told he has no quirks a woman would not enjoy, too. And he's ever