Daughter of Time (Prequel to The After Cilmeri Series)

Daughter of Time (Chapter Twenty-three)

Meg

I paced the battlements at Brecon, looking east. I felt like a seaman's wife, watching and waiting on a widow's walk for the ship that would bring her husband home. I waited through All Saints' Day, and the next, for Llywelyn's return. And he did come, he and Goronwy, leading a much diminished company of men. Humphrey was not among them.

I met him at the entrance to the hall; he didn't speak, just put his arms around me and rested his head on my shoulder. I looked past him to Goronwy, who met my eyes, just briefly, before looking down.

"Tell me," I said.

"We lost half our men," Goronwy said, "and the other half wounded. Those who could ride, or for whom we had horses are here. The rest we left at our borrowed castle to await aid and their women."

"From one moment to the next, the world ended, Meg. It's only because of our young Bohun that I live."

"Prince Edward was behind this," Goronwy said.

"Edward!" I said.

Goronwy heaved a sigh and lowered himself to a bench near the fire. "He's spreading his wings. This was only the beginning of his plans for Wales, and he made it clear that nothing—no treaty, no sense of honor, no right—will hinder him."

Llywelyn leaned heavily on me and we walked together to sit beside Goronwy. "Are you injured?" I asked him.

"No," he said. "My pride is bruised. A paltry thing, considering the number of men I lost because I expected better of Clare. He took me completely by surprise."

I looked down, not answering. He glanced at me. "Yes, I know you expected it, because of Cilmeri. But that was a rare thing, you know. How could any treaty ever be signed if the men coming to the meeting feared for their lives? It is a terrible precedent that Edward sets."

"He doesn't care," I said. "He feels that he is a law unto himself."

"He wears the right of God like a crown," Goronwy agreed. "We face much danger from him in the coming years. Maybe he'll be killed by the Saracens during his Crusade and we'll be saved from facing him again."

"No," Llywelyn said. "Wales has never been that lucky."

* * * * *

Some days later we lay side by side in bed, our hands clasped beneath the blanket. Then Llywelyn rolled over and put a hand on my belly. "I spoke of luck," he said, "and our lack thereof."

"Yes."

"But you are more than lucky for me. You give me the hope that God has seen our plight and seeks to aid us in our time of need."

I put my hand on his. "I hope so, Llywelyn, but I'm scared."

"Of the birth?"

"Of everything," I said. "I'm scared of loving you so much and not deserving that love. I'm scared of losing you. It was a near thing. How many more chances do you get?"

"Fourteen years you gave me, Meg. I plan to use every single one of them."

"Did you think of that, there on the hill?"

"No," he said. "I was so damn scared that all I could think about was dying and leaving you and our son unprotected, with only Dafydd standing between Wales and England—Dafydd and his loathsome designs on you."

"But you want to name our baby Dafydd, if it's a boy?" We'd talked about names over the last months, and he'd always come back to that one.

"It was my uncle's name, and the name of the patron saint of Wales. What name could I give him that wasn't that of an enemy or one who has betrayed me? Owain? Gruffydd? Rhys? I think not."