Chapter Twelve
Rhydilian Castle
Isle of Anglesey
Built from the black, ancient stone of Wales and rising like a dark beacon out of the forest, Rhydilian Castle sat nestled atop a wooded hill.
The very green and very wet land surrounding it for miles was a marshland, and legend said that there was something evil lurking in the marsh.
Many claimed to have seen it, a beast that rose up out of the swamp and fed during the full moon.
Because of this rumor, no one went near Rhydilian Castle during that time.
It was a legend that made a dark and eerie castle seem even darker and eerier, and the truth was that it wasn’t a legend so much as it was fact.
Since ancient times, there really had been a creature, or at times creatures, lurking in the swamps surrounding Rhydilian and it was an excellent way to keep an army at bay.
Rhydilian had never known a serious siege because of it, making it a rather safe and peaceful place.
Rees de Lohr had arrived at Rhydilian the night before, an exhausted young knight bearing a missive from his father.
He’d handed the missive over to Bhrodi de Shera, Earl of Coventry and the hereditary King of Anglesey, and then he’d been taken into the hall where he’d promptly fallen asleep near the hearth.
This morning, he was still there, now surrounded by the dogs that lived in the hall, all of them snuggling up to the knight.
This was the scene Bhrodi encountered when he entered the hall after a restless night.
A big man with a tight, muscular body and eyes the color of emeralds, Bhrodi snorted when he saw that his young cousin had become the bottom of a dog pile.
He’d tried to get the man to rise and sleep in a good bed, but Rees wouldn’t move.
Now, he was paying the price for being too weary to seek a decent bed.
He was going to smell like a dog.
Leaving the knight and his canine friends, Bhrodi headed for the solar of Rhydilian, a small, circular chamber near the entry that had been used by generations of his ancestors.
His hereditary title came from his mother’s side, as she was the only child of the last King of Anglesey, and his earldom came from his father’s side.
He had a half-dozen very close cousins on that side, men who were English to the bone and men he trusted to rule his earldom fairly and justly, because he felt it was more important to have a presence in Wales as one of the last true Welsh princes.
A prince would outrank an earl every time, even an English earl, so Bhrodi remained in Wales as a beacon of hope and strength to the Welsh people.
But with that beacon of hope and strength came grave responsibilities.
The missive from Chris sat on the large, cluttered table in the solar.
As soon as Bhrodi entered the chamber, he could see it.
He’d left it here last night and had gone to bed, hopefully to sleep on the news he’d received and awaken with a fresh perspective.
But he found that this morning his perspective wasn’t any fresher or any clearer.
The news from Chris was so serious that he’d not even told his wife about it, although it affected her more than it affected him.
A de Wolfe brother had returned from the dead, Chris had said.
Bhrodi’s wife was a de Wolfe, and the missive spoke of a brother she had lost five years ago.
At least, that was what she believed.
In any case, Bhrodi needed to be very careful when he gave her the news.
He hadn’t told her last night for a variety of reasons, but not the least of which was the fact that she was busy with their two children, three-year-old William and the infant, Perri, who had seen seven months.
Both of them had a slight case of the sniffles, and Perri was teething, making for two miserable children.
Bhrodi’s wife, Penelope, had two nurses that helped her with the children, and all three of them had been up for most of the night soothing the boys, who were sleeping peacefully this morning.
Bhrodi hoped his wife was sleeping peacefully, too, as he’d not seen her since he went to bed.
She’d spent the night in the boys’ chamber.
As Bhrodi patiently waited for her to rise, he attended to other things, including a missive he’d received from Howell ap Gruffydd several weeks earlier.
Howell was a warlord in the south of Wales and a man of a minor royal Welsh family, his bloodlines diluted by generations.
Even so, he held a good deal of power in the south along with Rhys ap Maredudd, another minor Welsh prince who, according to Howell’s missive, was beginning to stir up another rebellion.
But it wasn’t the rebellion or the request for support that had Bhrodi’s eye this morning – it was the mention of a bastard son of Llywelyn the Last, a man named Blayth the Strong.
Bhrodi had been shocked to see that name not only on Howell’s missive, but on Chris de Lohr’s.
Howell spoke of Llywelyn’s bastard, a man who would rally all of Wales for one final push against the English, while Chris’ missive spoke of Blayth as the long-dead de Wolfe son, James.
Bhrodi had read both missives side by side last night, first one and then the other, trying to figure out what was going on.
Howell made no mention of de Wolfe, in any form, while Chris said he had an eyewitness who identified the man calling himself Blayth as James de Wolfe.
It was astonishing information.
Bhrodi had never met James. He had died the year before Bhrodi married Penelope.
The de Wolfe family was a very close-knit group, and Bhrodi had been told how James’ death had devastated the entire family.
Penelope had told him that her father had never gotten over the death, so to hear that the man might quite possibly be alive was truly staggering.
Even more staggering was that he was posing as a Welshman and claiming to be the bastard of the last true Welsh prince.
It was a baffling mystery.
In truth, Bhrodi wasn’t entirely sure how his wife would take the information, but he had to tell her.
Chris had asked for an urgent meeting, for Bhrodi to come to Lioncross, and Bhrodi was inclined to agree.
This information needed an urgent meeting because things had to be clarified.
If a man had returned from the dead, that was one thing.
But if he was posing as a Welsh prince and inspiring a rebellion, it was quite another.
With thoughts of dead brothers and Welsh princes on his mind, Bhrodi broke his fast with some bread and warmed wine, pondering the land outside his window as the sun rose.
He could smell smoke in the air, wafting in through his window, which was coming from the cooking fires of the nearby village.
As he stood at the window with the warm cup in his hand, sipping on it and thinking of the chaos happening in the south of Wales, he began to hear his wife’s voice.
He was surprised she was awake so early, given the sick children she had been up with the night before.
But Penelope was in the hall, giving instructions to the servants and her voice grew louder as she came closer.
He could hear her speaking of taking porridge up to the children and of hot water for their baths.
He turned away from the window about the time she entered the solar.
Bhrodi smiled at his wife. Every time he looked at the woman, his heart fluttered anew.
That had never changed, the thrill of seeing the person he loved best in the world.
She was a de Wolfe to the bone, bred from excellent stock, and as beautiful as a new morning with her dark brown hair and hazel eyes that were gold in certain light.
Both of their children had inherited those de Wolfe eyes.
But Penelope was no ordinary woman; because she was a de Wolfe and came from a family of great knights, her father had indulged her and she, too, was raised as a knight.
As the baby of the family, William could not deny his daughter anything, so the result was a beautiful woman who could fight with the best of them.
Bhrodi had tamed the fighting streak in her somewhat, especially when the children were born, but he still wouldn’t tangle with her. He was very proud of his wife who could fight as well as, if not better, than most men.
“Good morn, caria,” he said sweetly. His pet name for her was caria, which meant love in Welsh. “How are the boys this morning?”
Dressed in a soft yellow surcoat, her lovely hair wound and pinned at the nape of her neck, she didn’t look as if she’d been up most of the night. She came to her husband, putting her arms around him as she kissed him sweetly.
“They are perfectly fine,” she said, a weary twinkle in her eye. “It is as if nothing is amiss. William is demanding his toy soldiers and the baby wants to eat, so everything is normal once again.”
Bhrodi gave her a squeeze before releasing her. “And how is their mother?”
She grinned. “I am perfectly fine, too,” she said. Then, she yawned. “Although I am going to sleep this afternoon when they do. Mayhap you will join me?”
He could see the suggestive expression on her face and knew exactly what she meant. He was quite agreeable. “It would be my pleasure, literally,” he said, a seductive hint to his voice. “In fact, I believe an afternoon like that is how we had Perri.”
Penelope giggled. “Mayhap we shall have a girl this time.”
“You promised me twelve sons. We have ten more to go.”
Penelope rolled her eyes and Bhrodi snorted at her, touching her hand affectionately as he made his way over to his cluttered table.
Penelope followed and, seeing the remnants of bread and cheese on a plate, took a piece of cheese and popped it in her mouth.
He handed her the warmed wine still in his hand, and she accepted it gratefully.