"What does this marriage involve?" she finally asked of him. "What am I expected to do? I have been taught I have a duty to you, my lord, and I would not he derelict in that duty or bring shame upon your good name."

"You will become Edward de Beaulieu's wile, his mate. You will be expected to manage his home and give him children of your body."

Her green eyes had widened slightly at his words, but she yet remained calm. "I have absolutely no idea of how to do any of the things you have told me I must, my lord prince. Have you not another female relation of your blood who would be better suited for this marriage?"

"Nay, I do not, Rhonwyn, but more important, I have given my word that it is my daughter who will marry Edward de Beaulieu. Having given my word, I must keep it."

"Aye," she said, understanding his pledge was a matter of honor. "You are my lord, and I have been taught I owe you a duty," Rhonwyn began. "This marriage is my obligation to you, is it not?"

"It is," he said. How amazing. She was incredibly ignorant in almost every way, but she understood duty and honor. He must thank Morgan. He had expected tears and refusal, not this calm acceptance.

"My lack of knowledge and unfamiliarity with the world outside of Cythraul may prove an embarrassment to you, my lord prince. I do not wish to be a liability. I would not have people say Llywelyn ap Gruffydd has gulled the English by sending an unsuitable and uncivilized bride. What will you do to help me?" It was a reasonable request, and it pleased him that she was aware of her deficiencies.

"We will leave on the morrow for Mercy Abbey, where my sister, your aunt, is the abbess. She will help you to become the lass you must be, Rhonwyn."

"And my brother? What of him?"

"He remains here," the prince said. "I have no use for him at the moment, and he is still but half grown." He saw the look of anger in her eyes, but she strangely remained silent. "You do not like me, Rhonwyn, do you?" he probed.

"Nay, I do not, my lord prince. You gave me life, and you saved my brother and me from death once, but I do not like you. Why should I? You have done nought but a scant duty for us, but both Glynn and I will repay that duty with duty of our own."

"Do you have any clean clothing?" he asked her, suddenly weary of their conversation.

"I have what 1 wear, my lord. You sent no coin or fabric. Cythraul has little to spare. My cousin and his men have done their best by us. If it would please you, 1 will wash my garments. There is a warm wind to dry them in the night, and if they are a bit damp on the morrow, what matter."

"And wash yourself," he ordered her. "What have you done with your beautiful hair, lass?"

"Long hair does not fit under a helmet, my lord prince," she answered him sharply.

"Leave the helmet here," he said. "You will not need it, nor the weapons with which I am told you are so proficient. I am to bring the English a sweet virgin to wed, not a warrior maid whose skills will terrify them and lead them to believe I meant the bridegroom harm."

To his surprise Rhonwyn laughed aloud. "I am not like others my age, my lord prince, am I?"

"Nay, lass, you are not," he admitted. "Go now."

Dismissed, she hurried to find her brother in the kitchen with Gwilym. She told him everything that had passed between her and their father. Then she turned to the cook. "I need your help," she said.

"Whatever I can do, Rhonwyn," he replied.

"Hot water is the best for cleaning. Will you boil it up for me? I have been told to wash both my clothing and my person before we leave in the morning. Glynn, go and beg Morgan for the use of his extra sherte. I must have something to wear while I wash my own garments and to sleep in tonight while my clothing dries."

Glynn ran off to do his sister's bidding.

"Alter I've fed the hall, we'll set up a rack by the fire to dry your things," Gwilym said. "The wind will be too clamp, and you shouldn't ride wet on the morrow. After the meal, while I entertain the hall, you come down and do what you must. I will warn the captain and the prince of your intentions, and they will see you are not disturbed."

She was not as she scrubbed her chemise, her sherte, and hose. Her tunic she brushed thoroughly of dirt and dust. Then after she had hung her garments on the drying rack, she polished her well-worn boots. The kitchen of the fortress's main building was located beneath the hall. Rhonwyn barred the doors leading to the kitchen garden and the hall. Satisfied she was secure, she removed Morgan's sherte and climbed into the small oak washtub to bathe herself. The water was still warm and very pleasant. On the rare occasions that she bathed, she did it like her companions, in a nearby stream. Cold water, however, was not conducive to a long stay. The thin sliver of soap she had used to wash her clothing easily removed the dirt from her person and hair.

Rhonwyn climbed from the tub and rubbed herself dry with a rough cloth. She couldn't ever remember having been totally naked. Morgan had always insisted she bathe in her chemise when she went to the stream to wash herself. Curiously she began to examine her body. Her breasts seemed to be growing larger each year. She had a thick tangle of curls on the mound between her thighs. It was just slightly darker than her pale hair. Since she had caught a glimpse of Glynn once with the same thatch, it didn't bother her as much as her burgeoning breasts. She pulled the sherte back on, then sat by the kitchen fire to comb out her short, wet hair.

She could hear Gwilym and Glynn in the hall, their voices rising in a duet. She climbed the stairs and slipped back into the hall, going to her bedspace. She and Glynn now had separate sleeping areas, for Morgan had decided several years ago that they were both too big in form to make sleeping together comfortable any longer. Now her brother was singing a tale of love lost and found again. Rhonwyn felt her eyes growing heavy with the sweet sound of his voice.

Glynn came to wake her just before dawn, climbing into the sleeping space with his sister to ask, "What will happen to me now, Rhonwyn? Why is Tad leaving me here alone?'' He pressed his thin frame next to her, seeking reassurance and comlort.

"He says you are but half grown, and so be has no use for you yet," she answered her brother, putting a protective arm about him.

"I am afraid," the boy admitted.

"Nay, you need not be," she tried to reassure him. "You will be in the place you know best with Morgan, who is our mother's kin, and with Gwilym. Both care for you as they would a son, little brother."

"Some of the others do not like me. They say you are more our father's son than I am," Glynn told her.

"Do not listen to such things," Rhonwyn replied, thinking angrily she would like to get her hands on those who would hurt her brother.

"We have never been parted, Rhonwyn." His face was woebegone. "Where is Tad taking you? Why can I not come?"

"I must learn to be a wife. You cannot come with me to Mercy Abbey. It is a place for women only. But when I am married to this lord, I will ask him to let you come and live with us, Glynn. There is more, I am beginning to realize, to the world in which we live than just Cythraul. You are not meant to be a soldier like the prince. There is something that you can be, but you cannot learn that here at Cythraul. Tell no one of what I have said to you, except perhaps Morgan and Gwilym. I have never lied to you, Glynn. I promise you I will send for you when I can." She kissed his cheek, and then shoved him from the bedspace. "Go to the kitchen and bring me my clothing from the drying rack."

He ran off, and Rhonwyn lay quietly for the next few minutes. She was wide awake now and a little nervous. Today she would leave her home forever. Soon she would leave the prince's realm as well for England. What was it like? Would it have the green hills and deep valleys of Wales? Would she like this lord she was to marry? Would he like her? Did it even matter? She had a duty, and she would perform it to the best of her ability so as not to bring shame upon her lord father.

Glynn had returned with her garments, and Rhonwyn dressed herself carefully beneath the furs. Then climbing from her bed-space, she ran her fingers through her cropped hair to neaten it. She pulled on the boots Glynn had left by her bedside, stamping her feet. The boots were just a bit short now. Her feet were obviously still growing. She pulled her tunic down and buckled her belt about her narrow waist, sliding her dagger with its horn handle into its sheath.

In the hall the men were stirring now and hurrying out into the courtyard to pee. Gwilym brought a kettle of porridge from the kitchen and began ladling it into the round trenchers of bread upon the table. Rhonwyn sat in her usual place with Glynn and ate silently. Higher up the board Morgan sat with Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, eating and talking. Occasionally they would glance at her, and Rhonwyn wondered what they were saying about her. Around her the men ate silently or spoke in low morning tones.

Finally the prince arose. "It is time for us to leave. Rhonwyn, are you ready? Where is your pack, lass?"

"I have nothing to carry but what I wear, my lord," she answered him. "You have instructed that I leave my weapons behind." Rhonwyn stood.

Llywelyn ap Gruffydd looked at his daughter. She seemed very young and vulnerable in the light of the morning. She was well scrubbed, he could see, but her garments were practically threadbare and as simple as any soldier's. The brown tunic, unornamented and plain, made her look so pale, yet the girl was in good health. For a moment he felt guilty that he had not, until he needed her, thought of her. "Say your good-byes, lass," he instructed her gruffly, and then he left the hall.

They crowded about her, these men who had raised her since she was just a wee girl. Rough soldiers, with tears in their eyes. Their voices broke when they instructed her to be a good lass, remember what they had taught her, and not forget them. They turned away, one by one, each wishing her good luck. But Morgan ap Owen, who loved her best, said, "This is your home. I am your blood kin. If you need me, I will come." Then he kissed her cheek and led her out into the courtyard where the prince and her brother awaited her.

Glynn had been crying, she could see. Rhonwyn put her arms about him. "Don't," she pleaded, "or I could weep, too. Be patient, and I will send for you, brother. We will not be parted for long."

"You never cry," he said softly. "You are the strong one."

"And you the clever one," she replied, kissing his damp cheek. "I love you, Glynn. You are safe here at Cythraul."

Glynn gave her a half grin. "Tad sees what I am and is too wise to make me change. I shall make up a poem about you, Rhonwyn, and sing it in the hall tonight. They shall all weep for you, sister."

The siblings hugged, and only ap Gruffydd's voice broke their tender embrace.

"When you come to me," Rhonwyn instructed her brother, "bring my weapons with you, Glynn, but tell no one. Do you understand?" She looked directly into his eyes, and then smiled once more.

Rhonwyn mounted her horse, a gray gelding with a black mane and tail that Morgan had obtained for her two years ago when she had outgrown the dainty old mare. The gelding was a big beast with large hooves. Ap Gruffydd was a little surprised to see his daughter mounted so, and remarked on it.

"The animal is steady," Morgan ap Owen replied. "I wanted her to have a safe horse."

The prince turned his mount and led them through the gates of Cythraul and down the hill upon which it sat. Rhonwyn rode by his side. They did not speak. Behind them the troop of men accompanying ap Gruffydd also rode silently. Rhonwyn realized that even the hooves of the horses were relatively quiet as they moved along. It was unlikely an enemy would bear them until the soldiers were upon them. When the sun was at the midpoint in the sky, they stopped.

"If you want to pee," ap Gruffydd said, "go into the bushes."

She took his advice, going deep into the greenery. When she returned she was handed a chunk of bread and a wedge of cheese. She ate swiftly, cramming the food into her mouth. The prince passed her his flask, and she swallowed the liquid within without thinking. The taste of apple on her tongue told her it was cider. They remounted and continued on their way.

As they crossed an open meadow Rhonwyn said low, "How long will it take to reach our destination, my lord?"

"Until tomorrow, late," he told her.

She was about to offer to hunt for their dinner when she realized she didn't have her bow. She swore softly beneath her breath, and the prince chuckled.