Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [171]
“And so am I. Can’t we have just this one night?”
When he refused to answer, Jill pulled her shirt over her head and threw it on the ground. Rhodry turned and caught her by the shoulders, pulled her close, and kissed her so hungrily that for a moment she was terrified, simply because he was so much stronger than she. His hands ran down her bare back, then turned her in his arms while he kissed her over and over again. She felt as limp and weak as a rag doll, utterly in his control, but when he caressed her, his hand trembling on her breast, she felt her lust rising to match his. She threw her arms around his neck and took a kiss from him as he laid her down on the blankets. The last of her fear vanished like a leaf burning to ash in a fire.
And far away in Dun Gwerbyn, Nevyn sat straight up out of a sound sleep and knew what had happened.
“Those young dolts! Well, I hope they have the sense to hide it from Cullyn, that’s all.”
“And so Jill’s slain Corbyn,” Lovyan said. “By the Goddess herself, I never would have thought it.”
“Oh, I had faith in her,” Nevyn said. “She has resources, you might call them, beyond what she even knows herself.”
“That’s a most cryptic remark.”
“It will have to stay that way. My apologies.”
Lovyan smiled at him in fond exasperation. They were sitting in the little garden behind the joined brochs of Dun Gwerbyn, where the last red roses drooped against gray stone.
“Will your friend from the west be coming here?” Lovyan said.
“He won’t. I’d hoped he would, just in case Rhys wanted to hear that Loddlaen was a murderer, but both he and the Westfolk with him are eager to get back to their people.”
“They’re a strange lot, the Westfolk. It’s odd, so many people abhor them, but I’ve always found them congenial—not enough to ride off with them, but congenial.”
ELDIDD, 1062
Can a blacksmith affix a shoe without nails? Can a tailor make a shirt without thread? In just this way, honor holds the kingdom together, by making a man obey those above him and treat those below generously. Without honor, the kingdom would crumble, until none obeyed even the King himself, and none gave a starving child even a scrap of bread. Every noble-born man, therefore, should honor his overlord in all respects, scrupulously observing every law and pomp of his court …
—Prince Mael Y Gwaedd,
On Nobility, 802
Although she spoke casually, Nevyn felt an odd doubt nag at his mind.
“Lovva, can I ask you somewhat that might be hideously insulting?”
“You may, but I might not answer.”
“Fair enough. Was Tingyr truly Rhodry’s father?”
Lovyan tilted her head to one side and considered him with mischief in her eyes. In spite of her gray hair and the marks of age upon her face, he could clearly see how beautiful she must have been twenty years past.
“He wasn’t, at that. Not even Medylla and Dannyan know, but he wasn’t.”
“Your secret will be safe with me, I assure you. Here, where did you meet a man of the Westfolk?”
“My, you do have sharp eyes, my friend! It was right here in Dun Gwerbyn, when my brother was tieryn.” Lovyan looked away, her smile fading into bitterness. “It was the summer that Tingyr made Linedd his mistress. I was still young then, and I didn’t understand things the way I do now. Just thinking that in the Dawntime he would have had a whole stableful of concubines was very cold comfort indeed, so I rode off in a huff and came to visit Gwaryc. I remember sitting in this very garden and weeping for my hurt pride. Then, as they do every now and then, some of the Westfolk rode in to pay the tieryn a tribute of horses, and with them was a bard who was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, for ail his peculiar eyes.” She paused, the smile returning. “I wanted somewhat of my own back, and I took it. Do you despise me?”
“Not in the least, and you don’t sound like a woman who feels herself shamed.”
“Well, if anything, I still feel rather smug.” Lovyan tossed her head like a young lass. “And somehow my bard made me realize that it wasn’t Tingyr I loved, but the power of being