Bertrice Small - A Memory of Love

Edward de Beaulieu now reached the priest's quarters. "Father, my bride approaches and will arrive at Haven before night. We will celebrate the formalities on the morrow."

"My lord, the girl is young and gently reared," the priest said. "Will you not give her some time to know you?"

"We must wed no matter," Edward de Beaulieu said. "Let it be sooner than later, ap Gruffydd will remain to see the deed done, and I would have him gone from Haven as quickly as possible. Though this match be the king's and prince's decision, I do not want the Welshman here any longer than necessary lest I later be accused of some misdeed. These are dangerous times, good father."

The priest shook his head. "I cannot disagree with you, my lord," he said sadly. "I will marry you tomorrow afternoon. That will give the lady Rhonwyn time to recover from her long trek."

"Agreed," Edward de Beaulieu said, and left the priest. As he crossed the courtyard of his castle, he called to the watch upon its heights, "What do you see?"

"Nought yet, my lord" came the reply.

Edward de Beaulieu decided suddenly to go to his stables. "Saddle my horse," he told the groom who hurried forth to meet him.

"How many men will you be taking with you, my lord?" the groom asked him.

"No escort," he said. "I am riding out to meet my bride, and I am safe on my own lands."

The black stallion was brought out, and the lord of Haven Castle mounted him and rode forth from his home. He was pleased to see the fields were already being plowed for planting. Soon those fields would be golden with wheat and barley. In his meadows the black-faced white sheep browsed, followed by their gamboling and enthusiastic lambs, which were in plentiful supply this year. He possessed a large herd of cows who gave a rich milk that was made into butter and cheese and sold in Shrewsbury on market days. Beyond his fields were great stands of woods where he might hunt. And below the hill on which his castle stood, the river Severn flowed.

He stopped in his passage and turned about to look at his home. It was a fine castle, small and elegant in structure, not at all great or impressive like others he had seen. The grayish-brown stone of which it was built was mellowed with age and in some places covered in ivy. There were four towers, one facing each compass point. Despite the castle's battlements, its interior was more that of a comfortable manor house. Edward de Beaulieu loved his home. The one good thing, he thought, about his marriage was that he would have children with whom to share his love of Haven Castle. For her sake, he hoped his bride would like it, too.

He turned his horse again to the road the Welsh prince and his train would be traveling. He rode for several miles before coming upon Llywelyn ap Gruffydd and his party. He stopped, allowing them to approach. The prince rode forward and greeted his son-in-law.

"Are you eager then, Edward de Beaulieu, to meet your bride?"

The Englishman smiled sardonically, but before he could answer the girl rode forward, stopping at her father's side.

"1 think him curious," she said in a sweetly musical voice. "Is that not so, my lord?" Her look challenged him.

He answered as quickly, "And you, lady, are you not curious as well?"

Rhonwyn laughed aloud, but did not speak. Suddenly her eyes were lowered, and she appeared every bit the meek convent-bred wife he had been told would be delivered to him. He was confused.

"May I welcome you to Haven Castle, my lord prince. And the lady Rhonwyn as well. I know your journey has been arduous. My home is but a few miles onward. There is warmth and wine. I know you will want to rest, lady. Our marriage will be celebrated tomorrow afternoon."

Well, she thought, he wasn't giving her a great deal of time, was he? And since she had not ever imagined what he would be like, Edward de Beaulieu came as a pleasant surprise to Rhonwyn. He was tall and lean, a man obviously used to physical pursuits. The shape of his face was oval, as were his silvery gray eyes. His nose, longer rather than shorter, had a bump in it and had obviously been broken at one time. He had high cheekbones, and his mouth was long, the lips narrow. His hair, which was cut short, had a bang. It was the warm brown color of oak leaves on the forest floor in autumn. The big hands guiding the black stallion so skillfully were square, the nails pared and short. He would not be unpleasant to look at across the hall.

If she had examined him in their brief encounter, so had Edward de Beaulieu scrutinized her as well. He was astonished by the lady Rhonwyn's beauty. He had not expected it at all. A small, dark Welsh girl was what he had anticipated, not this slender creature of medium height with delicate features and even more delicate coloring. The silk gauze veil she wore did little to hide the glorious pale gilt of her hair. And her eyes! They were every bit as green as the emeralds in his sword's hilt. Her cheeks were brushed with rose, her brows and lashes startling ebony against her snowy complexion. Her nose was in perfect proportion with her heart-shaped face, narrow and flaring only in the nostrils. Her mouth was small, but the lips were full.

Llywelyn ap Gruffydd watched the man at his side with amusement. He knew precisely what he was thinking. "Her mother descended from the Fair Folk, a fair race in ancient Cymri. She is beautiful, isn't she, despite the fact she favors me in her features?"

"I had not noticed," his companion said, still slightly dazed.

"She'll give you beautiful children. Her mother did before she died. And she is accomplished, my lord. You have noted she speaks the Norman tongue as well as our own Welsh and Latin."

Flushing, Edward realized he hadn't noticed at all, but then he gained mastery over himself and said, "I am pleased we shall be able to communicate easily. Tell me of her other achievements, my lord."

"The nuns tell me she has great skill in weaving and spinning as well as in making medicines, poltices, and salves," ap Gruffydd replied.

"I am knowledgeable in calculating and logic," Rhonwyn told her bridegroom, moving her mount to his other side.

"These things are not important for women," her father quickly said, as if she had told Edward de Beaulieu something unseemly.

"I beg to differ with you, my lord, but they are most important. What if my husband should go to war, and I be left in charge of the castle? Do you think I want the servants cheating him in his absence? This knowledge is important for me to know. And, my lord-" She turned to Edward."-you had best know the worst of me. I can both read and write."

He nodded solemnly, but said nothing. This was not at all what he had expected. Not at all. Everything he had imagined was now blown away with the wind in the reality of this beautiful girl he was to marry on the morrow.

"She is musical," ap Gruffydd said, eager to cover her deficiencies.

"All the Welsh are musical to some extent," Rhonwyn replied dryly, and Edward de Beaulieu laughed aloud.

Haven Castle suddenly came into view. He reached out and took her gloved hand. "Welcome home, my lady Rhonwyn."

She was silent for a moment, and then said softly, "How lovely!"

They rode up the hill, across the drawbridge, and into the courtyard. De Beaulieu noted his father-in-law taking in every aspect of the castle's defenses, and hid a smile. The wily Welsh prince would never enter Haven by force, and after his daughter's marriage it was unlikely he would ever enter it again. Once they were wed, Edward would allow no divided loyalties in his house.

Dismounting, he lifted Rhonwyn from her horse. She did not look at him but rather kept her glance modest and averted. He was already confused by her manner. Quiet one moment and outspoken the next. When they reached the door of the castle residence, de Beaulieu surprised Rhonwyn by picking her up in his arms and carrying her over the threshold. " 'Tis an old custom to carry the bride over the sill into her new home," he said, setting her back on her feet.