CHAPTER TEN #4
‘Fetch who?’ Rhiannon’s attempt at puzzlement was unconvincing even to her own ears.
She glanced at her mentor, surprised to see her smiling.
She feared the old woman would disapprove of her developing an affection for an outsider.
And yet, she had no mother to speak to. No sister to confide in.
No friend to help her make sense of what was happening to her, other than this bird-like grandmother.
Cautiously she asked, ‘Do you think him a man of good sense?’
‘Good sense? Oh yes, certainly.’
‘And mild temper.’
‘So it seems.’
‘And, he has proved himself to be… useful?’
At this Mamgi gave a shriek of laughter so sudden and so sharp Rhiannon wondered it did not wake the slumbering children. Taran raised his head briefly. ’It must be a great passion indeed if a man’s most notable quality is his usefulness,’ she laughed, slapping her bony thigh.
Rhiannon squirmed beneath the teasing. ‘What would you have me say?’
‘That your heart burns for him, your mind is filled with him, and you long to feel his warm hands upon your bare flesh.’
‘Mamgi!’
The old woman laughed some more for a moment and then, seeing Rhiannon’s mortified expression, restrained her glee to talk calmly. ‘You love him, then?’
‘What know I of love?’
‘Do you not love those babes?’ she asked, nodding at the children.
‘Oh, that is different. Might as well ask if I love Taran. Or you,’ she added, letting herself smile now. She plucked at the snowy fleece on her lap. ‘But to love a man…. I know nothing of these things.’
‘No more does many a bride on her wedding night, yet behold! Babies are born.’
Rhiannon found herself blushing. ‘Now you are teasing me again, to speak of weddings and babies. Why, he has not so much as held my hand.’
‘And if he were to do so? What would your response be?’
Rhiannon hesitated before answering, not because she was uncertain, but because she did not know how to put her powerful feelings into words. ‘I would like him to… hold my hand,’ she said carefully. She looked up at Mamgi then. ‘I feared you might disapprove.’
‘Why so?’
‘He is a stranger. We know so little about him. And I have my responsibility to the village, to look after everyone, to become what you tell me I am. What I know myself to be. It may be that the…. complication of a.. of a…’
‘… a lover?’
‘Have I the right to such selfish concerns? There is so much that must be done, and we live in such uncertain times. What matters love?’
Mamgi frowned. ‘You know full well love is all that matters! And besides, have you not considered that this man could have been sent?’
‘Sent?’
‘Did he not save you? Did he not prove his worth? Has not the whole village benefited from his presence?’
‘Well, yes, but…’
‘What’s to say that another gift this young man has been sent to bestow upon you is the gift of love? Of companionship?’
‘Is it allowed, Mamgi? Can I be Rhiannon the witch and Rhiannon the woman at one and the same time?’
The old woman shifted in her chair, searching for a position that did not pain her aged bones.
‘To fulfil your destiny you must needs be all that you are able to be, witch, warrior, woman… You will better serve your coven and your people if you are whole. To deny such a powerful portion of yourself as your heart and your passion, this would not help you to thrive.’
Rhiannon felt a new joy take the place of the guilt she had been carrying. The thought that she could be free to love Tudor, if that was what he truly wanted too, was a wonderful thing indeed. But her mentor had not quite finished speaking.
‘Only know this, cariad,’ she said levelly. ‘If ever the day comes when you must choose between love and duty, between woman and witch, well, then you will know the meaning of sacrifice. Take heed. And do not take this man to your bed unless you are willing to accept this truth.’
‘And what do I tell him? Is all this talk of love folly, indeed, for when he learns the truth of what I am, of who I am, will he want me then? Will he wish to love a witch?’
The grandmother of the village leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Gently but firmly she said, ‘When you have the answer to that question, bach, you will truly know if he was sent.’
CHAPTER TEN
There was great excitement in the camp the following day when one of the children reported glimpsing a boar.
It had ventured from the shelter of the woodland to search for the last of the accessible lowland roots before the snows came.
It was well known that there had been wild boar aplenty in the forest when it had been her father’s domain.
Boar hunts were occasions for sport and for welcome meat, often to supply a public feast or impress visitors.
Now, the thought of roasted hog made the villagers wide eyed with delight.
There was some argument as to the safety of sending a hunting party so far down the mountainside.
They had, through many months, kept watch over the village and it remained deserted.
The great house was uninhabited, but on more than once occasion soldiers had been seen using it.
Whether this was as a temporary outpost or as forerunners of a more permanent inhabitant - such as the new Lord of Cwmdu - they had no way of knowing, save to wait and see.
Each time, after a few days of residence, the men had gone away.
It was sufficient activity to keep the villagers from ever returning to their homes.
However, it was argued that at present the house was known to be empty.
The woodland where the boar lived extended down to the edge of the stables behind the house.
As long as they were stealthy, it would be worth the risk.
After much discussion, the members of the hunting party were chosen.
Disappointed boys (and some girls) were assured their turn would come.
The blacksmith erected a spit over the fire pit in the barn in optimistic anticipation.
Dafydd and Bryn would take spears, as would two of the older boys.
Rhiannon had her bow and Taran. Rufus took a throwing axe.
Two of her father’s soldiers - Dai and Euan - took bows, as did the oldest boy, Ifan.
After a sustaining bowl of cawl, they set off early to make the most of the shortening day.
They went on foot. Dilly was a useful mare but had not the speed nor stamina for the chase.
Having only one horse, Tudor’s mount, would unbalance the team and be of little use.
Rhiannon pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head, securing it at the neck with a pin so that it would stay in place.
Even with the thick woollen garment she could feel the icy wind as it blew through the worn fibres to sting her ears.
She was accustomed to such discomforts now, as were the men she hunted with.
She went ahead, setting the pace so that no-one sought to display their superiority of strength and condition at the expense of the less youthful men, such as Dafydd, or the weaker boys, such as the smallest, Glyn.
She experienced a slight tremor of excitement as they descended the hillside.
To be leaving the mountain again felt if not dangerous, then at least not without possible danger.
She glanced over her shoulder at Tudor and was pleased to see him striding evenly, his wounds completely healed.
He caught her observing him, making her colour and turn away again quickly.
She brought her thoughts to bear on the hunt.
During her months on the hilltop she, like many of the others, had honed her skills at tracking, though for the most part it was rabbits and birds that they searched for.
A boar would be a fine prize. They had not yet started into December, and already she could see the cold beginning to take its toll on some of the villagers.
It was vital that they add to their meagre rations with fine, nourishing food as often as possible.
She scoured the ground for prints. The wiry mountain grass was frozen sufficiently to withstand footfalls while only sometimes allowing an imprint, so that it was harder to see tracks than it might have been.
She watched Taran closely. He was a sighthound, bred to give chase to wolves and large prey on seeing them, which mostly depended on movement catching his ever watchful eye.
He was also equipped with a superior sense of smell, however, and would certainly show interest if he were to pick up the scent of a boar.