A Memory of Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

swore, startling the boy, who shrank beneath his father's fierce gaze. Seeing it, the prince asked, “What do you like, Glynn ap Llywelyn?”
    “I … I l-like poetry, and tales of daring and magic,” he half whispered. His father was not pleased. Did he not like stories?
    “The lad has the makings of a fine bard,” Morgan said. “Gwilym our cook has taught him to play the harp and all the stories and poetry he knows. You'll see tonight in the hall what an excellent young bard you have sired, my lord prince.”
    “A lass who's a warrior, and a lad who is a poet. Jesu!” ap Gruffydd said. Then he laughed at the absurdity of it.
    At that moment there was a clatter of horses behind them at the fortress's entrance, and a party of hunters came through.
    “Ho! Cousin Morgan,” their leader called out to the captain. “I've brought you a fine young deer for our dinner!” The speaker rode directly up to Morgan ap Owen and pushed the deer from the saddle to fall at the cap-tain's feet.
    “Rhonwyn?” Llywelyn ap Gruffydd didn't know whether to be pleased or horrified at the young ruffian who suddenly stared down at him at the mention of her name.
    Recognition dawned in the green eyes. “By the rood, lads! 'Tis my sire, the prince, come to pay us a call.” She slid easily from her saddle and bowed mockingly. “My lord prince, I am at your service.”
    He glared at her intently. Aye, she was female. Her bosoms betrayed her, but other than that her sex was indistinguishable from any of the other men in the fortress. Her hair was cropped like a man's and dirty. She was dirty. Why had he thought she would be like her mother? Like his delicate and gentle Vala? “Jesu! Mary!” he swore. Then anger began to overwhelm him. He turned on Morgan ap Owen.
    “This is how you have raised my daughter? To be the toughest soldier at Cythraul? What the hell were you thinking, Morgan?”
    Morgan ap Owen wasn't in the least intimidated by his prince. “What did you expect us to do, Llywelyn? Ten years ago you brought me a five-year-old girl-child and a wee laddie of three. You left them here and have not returned once in all that time to see how they were. I did my best by them. They have been well fed and clothed and, aye, loved by the men of this fortress! We taught them what we could. Honor. Duty to you and to our people. What else was there?”
    “You might have taught her that she was a lass!” roared the prince of Wales.
    “How?” demanded his captain. “There are no women here, Llywelyn. We guard the Welshry for you. Oh, occasionally my men seek out a local whore, but they are not the kind of women we bring into the fort, nor are they the kind of women you would want your daughter associating with, my lord prince. Do not complain to me. Rhonwyn is a fine young lass even if she has not learned how to simper and preen like the highborn ladies you have undoubtedly been associating with, my lord prince. Do not blame me that your daughter has not the feminine traits you desire her to have. If you wanted her to have those virtues, you should have taken her to your sister, the abbess, instead of bringing her here! Come into the hall now. I need a drink if we are to continue this argument.”
    Ap Gruffydd burst out laughing again and followed his captain. Inside the hall they quaffed cups of apple beer that had been aging in barrels since the previous autumn. The beer was strong with just a hint of sweetness. Their immediate thirst satisfied, they sat by the fire pit, and the prince explained the reason for his visit.
    “I have promised Rhonwyn in marriage,” he said, “but the bridegroom will expect someone in a gown with a gentle manner, not this breeked and swearing huntress you have created out of my child. I thought she would be like her mother, but she isn't at all.”
    “How could she be?” Morgan answered. “She has had no example but ours to follow, and we are a fort of rough men.”
    “Jesu! Mary!” the prince