Bertrice Small - A Memory of Love

"Do not think to cajole me so easily, wife," he said. "I am wise to your clever ways, Rhonwyn." He shook a warning finger at her.

"And you love them all as you do me," she taunted him. "Do you not, Rafe?" She gave him another quick kiss.

He laughed. "You are impossible, wife," he told her.

"Would you have me any other way, husband?"

"Nay, I would not," he admitted.

Haven Castle was a two days' ride from Ardley. How odd it was to be returning there, Rhonwyn thought as they approached it. She remembered the first time she had seen Haven as she came with her father to marry Edward de Beaulieu. How impressed she had been by the beauty of the castle. How frightened, and yet how hopeful her innocent heart had been when she met Edward. She had never been like other girls by the very nature of her upbringing. When he had demanded his marital rights, and she had bargained with him to gain custody of Glynn, Edward had been angry. She suspected he had never forgiven her.

How shocked he had been by her skill with weapons. Why could he not, like Rafe, have appreciated her expertise with the alborium and the sword? Perhaps that was why he had been so ready to declare her dead when she had been captured by the infidels. Rhonwyn smiled wryly to herself. Poor Edward. Kate was the better wife for him, and Rhonwyn was certainly the best wife for Rafe. This would be the second time since her marriage to Rafe that they had come together as a family. It had not been a successful meeting last Martinmas.

Kate greeted them joyously, coming slowly across the hall to meet them. "You have come! Mab, bring the baby so his godparents may view him. Come and sit with me, brother, Rhonwyn. Where is the wine for our guests?"

"You are pale," her brother said, a note of concern in his voice. He took her little hand in his and kissed it.

The baby was brought, and he looked exactly as his older brother had looked the previous year.

"He is your spit," Rhonwyn remarked cheerfully to the castle's lord.

"Aye!" Edward replied proudly. "Two fine sons in two years, and more to come, I promise you."

"Perhaps you will wait a bit before you make another," Rhonwyn said quietly. "Kate looks tired and should have a rest."

"Are you jealous then, lady, that I can get sons on Katherine so easily when I could not get them on you?" he said belligerently.

Rhonwyn swallowed hard. "I think of Kate, and so should you, Edward. It is not easy, I am told, to conceive and bear new life. If you love your wife, you will give her time to recover from this birth. Two sons in two years is hard on a woman. If, on the other hand, your pride in your randy cock and Kate's fertile womb are greater than your love for her, you will kill your wife sooner than later. But then you would take another wife as quickly as you could find one, would you not? That, it would seem, is your custom." She smiled sweetly.

Rafe held back his laughter, instead saying, "Rhonwyn," in a warning tone. Secretly he agreed with his fiery wife.

"Outspoken as ever," Edward said meanly. "Rafe should beat you."

"He finds loving me works better," Rhonwyn snapped.

"What? You actually allow him between your legs, lady?"

"As often as he desires me, and that is quite often," she snarled.

"Enough!" Rafe said in a harsh voice.

"Oh, yes, please," Kate said. "Let there be peace between you two. We are a family and must be united."

"I apologize, Kate," Rhonwyn said softly. "I shall try and behave for your sake. When is the baptism?"

"Tomorrow," her sister-in-law said.

"Then we shall be able to return to Ardley afterward."

"Oh, will you not remain longer?" Kate pleaded.

"We cannot," Rafe spoke up quickly. "Rhonwyn is in the midst of making soap and conserves, and I must supervise the building of a new granary we must have before the harvest next month."

"Do you not have a bailiff to do such work?" Edward asked.

"Why should I hire a bailiff to do what I am capable of?" Rafe replied. "I am not the master of a castle, Edward. I have but a small manor."

"Greatly enriched by additional lands since your marriage,'' his cousin said sourly.

"Which reminds me," Rafe continued, "you have not yet repaid Rhonwyn's dower, and we will be wed a year next month."

"You will have to wait until I sell some cattle," Edward replied.

"I will take the cattle in exchange for the coin," Rafe said. "This is not a debt you want outstanding, Edward."

"What an excellent solution," Katherine de Beaulieu quickly spoke up. "Is it not, my lord? Now you may avoid all that fuss of driving the cattle to market and the haggling that goes with it."

"Indeed, my love, you are correct," Edward said with a smile at his pretty wife.

Kate smiled back, secretly relieved to have avoided any further argument. She was very tired and had not the strength to mediate between her husband, her brother, and Rhonwyn, who was so damned prickly, although she was trying not to be. Kate had had to give her elder son to a wet nurse as she could not nurse both children; but even so the new child had a healthy appetite that exhausted her. He persisted in nursing every two hours.

Henry John de Beaulieu was baptized the following day at midmorning. Afterward his family drank a toast to him in the great hall of Haven Castle. The baby had howled loudly as Father John had poured the holy water upon his fuzzy head, and everyone in the church had smiled. The infant's cries were an assurance that the devil was leaving him. Rhonwyn held her godson, and when he turned and nuzzled at her breast, she felt an odd sensation surge through her body. She continued to cradle Henry in the hall until finally his nurse took him away, but not before she had kissed his little downy head. Then and there she realized with surprise that she wanted a child of her own.

"So," Rafe said, coming to stand by her side, "I see in your eyes that you have decided to stop drinking that brew of yours each morning."

"You knew?" She was amazed, and quick tears filled her eyes. He had known she was preventing conception, yet he had not forbid her, even though it went against him and the church.

"You have been forced your whole life. Why would I make you have a child until you were ready? I know I am capable of making babies, for I have two bastards at Ardley. Besides, I am a selfish man, wife, and have been enjoying our shared passion. If you now want a babe, then we shall work very hard at making one." He kissed her forehead and brushed away the tears that slipped down her cheek.

"I do love you," she said softly to him.

"I know," he replied.

"Devil!" She smiled at him.

"Witch!" he rejoined.

Seeing them, a shadow crossed Edward de Beaulieu's handsome features. Why had Rhonwyn not loved him the way she obviously loved his cousin Rafe? He would never understand it, but he had at least been fortunate in his Katherine. He had no doubts regarding his sweet wife, and he knew he never would. Still, he could not help but envy the fire that so obviously burned hotly between Rhonwyn and Rafe. Why had not such a fire burned between him and Rhonwyn?

Over Katherine's gentle protests her brother and his wife departed for their own home, but not before Rafe had taken Edward aside.

"Rhonwyn is right," he told his cousin. "Kate is fragile, and she is now well worn with giving you two sons in so short a time. If you cannot contain your lust, find a willing serf upon which to slake your desires. You do not want to kill my sister with your loving, cousin."

"I know you are right, though it galls me to be chided by you," Edward replied. "Still, I do love Katherine, and I would not harm her. I will do as you advise… if I cannot contain my lust."

Rafe grinned. "Good," he said. "Then I shall not have to kill you, cousin."

Edward laughed, and the tension was broken between them. "Tell me," he said, "do you truly love Rhonwyn?''

"Aye," Rafe said, not in the least offended.

"And she loves you?"

"Aye," his cousin drawled. "Do not fret yourself wondering about all that has happened between us, Edward. Kate is the perfect wife for you, and Rhonwyn is the perfect wife for me. What came before doesn't matter. Let us both be content with what we have, and thank God."

They had been wed a year, and they celebrated the occasion on Lammastide as the early harvest began. It had been a good year, and the manor prospered as it never before had.

"You are good luck for Ardley," Rafe told his wife.

"The weather has been particularly favorable this summer," the more practical Rhonwyn said with a smile.

The grain was reaped and stored in the new stone granary. The apples and the pears were gathered. Cider was made from some of the fruit. The rest was stored in a cool stone cellar. Like the good chatelaine she was, Rhonwyn sat with the female serfs on the late summer days picking straw and other bits of dirt from the wool that had been sheared from the sheep earlier in the summer. It would have to be washed before it was carded, and then spun into cloth. It was a time-consuming labor, but it allowed her to get to know the women on the manor, and it permitted them to know her. It was soon decided that the master's wife was not just a pretty face, but a hard worker with no fancy pretentions. This decision having been made, the women were Rhonwyn's own from that moment on. No matter she played with weapons or was Welsh, she was a good lady.

The world about them seemed peaceful enough. They had had no visitors since Glynn had come earlier in summer to warn them of ap Gruffydd's disobedience and that his enemies were plotting with the English against him. King Henry had died the previous November, and King Edward, trusting in his mother's ability to maintain order in England, was slowly wending his way back there. He was not expected to return before next year, but when he came, he would exert his authority over Prince Llywelyn and the Welsh, Rhonwyn knew. But perhaps, she thought, her father just pressed the English while the the king was out of the country. Surely ap Gruffydd was wise enough to know that when Edward returned, he must give sway to the man to whom he had pledged his fealty. It was his duty and the honorable thing to do. Duty and honor were something that Rhonwyn knew her father understood.

September passed, and then October. Rhonwyn loved the autumn. It had always been her favorite time of year. Now she and Rafe spent the daylight hours each day out hunting with their men as they prepared for the long winter to come. The deer were wonderfully fat that year, and soon the winter's supply of meat was more than ample. Although Rafe would see his people were fed during the cold months, he still allowed them to glean in the fields, hunt for rabbits twice a month in his woods, and fish in his streams one day a week. He was a generous master, and his people were loyal to him because of it.

It was Enit who noticed that her mistress's link with the moon had not been broken now in seven weeks. She had also noticed that Rhonwyn's appetite was peckish. "Lady," she said one morning as the two women were in the garderobe going over Rhonwyn's gowns to see what needed mending, "I think you may be with child. You have had no show of blood in many weeks now, and your food does not seem to agree with you. These are all signs of a breeding woman; I know this from my mother."

"Is it possible?" Rhonwyn wondered aloud.

"There is a midwife on the manor, lady. She is Maybel, the miller's wife. Perhaps you should go and see her."

"We'll go today, and you will come with me," Rhonwyn said. "If I am seen going alone, there will be gossip."

"There will be gossip anyway," Enit replied dryly, "but no matter. If you are with child, all will be joyous for you and the master."

They went to visit the miller's wife. She took one look at her mistress and nodded, saying, "Aye, you are with child, lady. God be praised!" Then she beamed a sweet smile at them.

"How can you tell by just looking at me?" Rhonwyn demanded. Surely there was more to it than that.

"Why, I can see it in your eyes, my lady," the miller's wife said. "And in your face. It glows with an inner radiance that only a breeding woman has. Still, I will listen to your symptoms."

"She ain't had a show of blood in seven and a half weeks now, and her food don't agree, even her favorite blankmanger," Enit said before her mistress might even open her mouth.

"Breasts tender?" Maybel asked bluntly.