CHAPTER TWELVE
With the worst of the winter behind them, Rhiannon’s mountain community began to turn their thoughts to spring.
As before, a restlessness visited the villagers.
No longer hemmed in with ice or snow, and with days lengthening, the possibility of leaving their hilltop hideout was once again a matter for discussion.
Some feared they would be set upon by de Chapelle’s men if they were seen.
Others thought the nobleman would have more important things to worry about and they might be able to leave the valley and find new lives in the world.
Others still yearned to return to their own homes.
Their most recent scout - Glyn - had returned with the news that both the village and the great house were empty.
It seemed the new Lord of Cwmdu preferred the grander home that Talgar provided.
For her own part, Rhiannon would be happy to stay on the mountain for the rest of her life.
She and Tudor had enjoyed a winter of passion, and she had no wish to break the spell under which they existed.
She knew that, however strong their bond, the demands and dangers of the outside world would test their love and threaten their happiness.
They had hidden away from the turmoil the Normans had brought with them.
While Welsh princes and Norman Barons and English Lords fought for possession of land and titles, Rhiannon’s community had remained apart, secret and safe.
The life path that Tudor had been following before that fateful day in Talgar might call him back were they to venture from their hideaway.
She knew such thoughts were selfish and of little consequence to the rest of the community, but she had only just discovered what it meant to be a young woman in love, and she was reluctant to put that part of herself to one side.
One sun-filled morning, she and Tudor took his horse and rode away from the makeshift village, on an errand of gathering herbs and mosses.
Such tasks had become their habit, to play their part in the work of the community, while also allowing them the privacy they craved.
Both of them were so popular with the children that there was scant possibility of any time alone unless they took themselves off, and only by doing so at some speed could they dissuade the more determined boys and girls from following them.
Although the year had not yet reached the spring equinox, small plants and flowers had begun to emerge from their winter slumbers.
Trees were beginning to bud, the tough mountain grass beginning to grow, and the modest flock of ewes were fat with lambs.
Tudor urged his horse to quicken its pace across the ridge of the hill before steering it down the now familiar sheep track that led to the stream and the glade where they had gathered lichen together for the first time.
Sunlight fell through the leafless branches of the trees that overhung the little river, so that the water flashed and dazzled as it fell over broad rocks in its hurry to descend the mountain.
Rhiannon slid down from the horse and left Tudor to tie the fine animal loosely to a tree so that it might doze while they foraged.
Not for the first time she sighed at the shabby state of her clothes.
She had done her best to repair her one good dress, but all her garments were frayed, patched and faded.
She wished that, just once, she could wear finery with rich fabrics and glowing colours and jewels so that she would be pretty for Tudor.
As if reading her thoughts he stepped close behind her, carefully placing a primrose in her hair.
‘A garland for my princess,’ he said, before slipping his arms around her, pulling her to him, nuzzling into her neck. ‘If I live to be a hundred,’ he murmured, ‘I will never tire of the smell of you. You cast a spell on me.’
His hot breath on her skin gave her a delightful shiver.
The thrill of it kept at bay the worry his words sparked within her.
She knew he loved her, and yet she had not found the courage to tell him the whole truth about herself.
She still did not know the answer to the question she had asked of Mamgi all those weeks ago: can he love a witch?
She placed her hands over his as he hugged her. ‘Mayhap I will cast a spell to keep you here with me upon this mountain, so that you never wish to leave, no matter what.’
He laughed at this. ‘That you have already done!’
‘An easy thing to say when there is no alternative offered to you. What if it is decided we should go from this place? What then?’
‘Then we shall go from it together.’ He spun her round to face him, kissing the tip of her nose. ‘Do not think to cast me aside so easily, mistress. Are you planning to replace me with a Welsh Prince, perhaps?’ he teased.
She wished she could join in with his playfulness, but she knew in her heart that the moment had come to speak plainly with him.
Better he hear the truth from her own lips, and better he was free to make his choices knowing all there was to know.
A thin wind tugged at her braided hair, reminding her that winter had not yet finished with them entirely.
Despite the glowing pale gold of the primrose in her hair and beneath the trees, the ground was mostly bare and hard, and few birds darted among the undressed branches.
Just as the year was not yet safely delivered to the gentle embrace of spring and all it promised, so Tudor’s love for her had not yet had to survive the test of the truth.
She looked into his dark eyes, her blood quickening at what she saw there.
‘Can you truly love a person,’ she asked, ‘if you do not truly know them?’
He smiled ‘Is not true love a matter of faith and trust, rather than knowledge?’
‘Then surely that trust demands honesty. Openness. Truth.’
He frowned at her, puzzled. ‘Why so serious, on such a fine spring morning?’
‘But it is not yet spring. Can you not feel the chill in the wind? Such a sharpness as could still carry off a frail grandfather or a sickly babe. Can you not sense that danger stalks us yet, just as surely as the wolves on the hunt, or the soldiers giving chase?’ She pulled back from him a little, needing to distance herself from the influence of his glorious body so that her mind might rule her heart.
He looked about him. ‘I see no wolves. There are no soldiers here this day.’
‘But you feel that lethal wind blow against your cheek, do you not?’
He shrugged. ‘That I grant you.’
‘Well then, would you believe me if I told you I could stop that wind, had I a mind to. I could turn it from you and instead call down the heat of the sun to warm you.’
He considered this for a moment, as if trying to understand what it was she wanted him to see. At last he said, ‘You have never given me a reason to doubt you.’
‘Others might,’ she told him. ‘Do you remember the mist that descended upon us that day when we fled from de Chapelle’s men? Do you recall how it came as if from nowhere, of a sudden, and how it cloaked us without blinding us? How it hampered our pursuers but aided our escape?’
‘It did seem to favour us, yes. We were fortunate.’
‘Was it fortune, or something… different?’ Without waiting for him to answer she threw her arms wide and her head back, closing her eyes.
She turned her hands palm upwards, raising her arms slowly as if conducting the wind.
She pivoted on her heel then, sweeping her arms around in a movement that caught up those very currents of air and directed them aside.
She opened her eyes to watch Tudor as he realised that she had done exactly as she had said she could.
She had turned the wind from him so that he no longer felt it against his cheek.
As if to check this, he raised his hand to his face which was serious now as he observed her closely.
Under her breath, Rhiannon repeated over and over the words Mamgi had taught her.
The ancient words passed down from witch to witch, through the ages, their meanings lost in time but their sounds and rhythms still holding their powerful magic.
Magic that spoke to the elements, that commanded the weather.
The high clouds heard her and moved on, leaving clear sky above.
The sun smiled down upon them, illuminating the glade more strongly and warming the flat rocks in the river.
When the sunshine kissed Tudor’s cheek, Rhiannon heard him gasp.
She spun on her heel again, this time rotating, her right arm flung towards the primroses, pointing at them as she whirled around and around.
The soft petals trembled under her influence.
She brought forth new words, louder now.
These words had lain dormant within her just as the plants had slept beneath the winter soil, and now they sprang free of their bonds.
The flowers produced more blooms, pale gold and perfect, with fat leaves beneath them.
They doubled in size and number, again and again, appearing where none had been before, more and more, until the entire glade was carpeted with the flawless, creamy flowers.
Rhiannon let her arms fall to her sides. She was breathing hard, the effort of the incantations and the spells not inconsiderable. She looked at Tudor and tried her utmost to keep the tremor from her voice when she spoke.
‘You can see the truth now,’ she said. ‘The truth of what I am.’
He nodded.
She could not read his thoughts in his expression and she feared she had shown him too much. To present someone with such magic was to ask them to question all they knew of the world. Was it too much to expect him not to fear her now? She had to know. She tried again.
‘I am sorry, if you feel… deceived,’ she said.
‘How would I be?’