Free Time and Chance by Sharon Kay Penman Page A

briefly, before Eleri pulled back. Rhiannon knew Eleri was hurting, too. But neither one knew how to mend this rift. Whenever they’d tried to talk about it, they ended up arguing again. Even the news of the Rhuddlan pact had not restored peace to their household.
    Picking up her spoon, Rhiannon dipped it into her soup. The silence was as oppressive as the heat; this was the hottest, driest summer she could remember. Rhodri was too disheartened by the family discord to keep the conversation afloat, Enid seemed to be sulking, and when shouts echoed across the bailey, Eleri grasped gratefully at an excuse to flee the table.
    “Someone is coming,” she announced, flinging her napkin aside; she was halfway across the hall before it landed. Swinging the door back, she gave a joyful cry, as sweet and clear as birdsong. “It is Celyn!” Her voice changing, she added flatly, “And Ranulf.” But then she gasped. “Jesú, Prince Hywel is with them, too!”
    As the men dismounted, Eleri came flying through the doorway and threw herself into Celyn’s arms. Rhiannon wisely elected to let Ranulf come to her, and they were soon enveloped in a close embrace. It was left to Hywel to accept Rhodri’s flustered greetings. Stammering a bit, for he was not accustomed to entertaining royalty, Rhodri bade the prince welcome, while Enid blessed her luck for having served a dinner fit for a king’s son.
    With squeals of “Papa!” Ranulf’s children bolted out into the bailey. Ranulf swung Gilbert up into his arms and then hastened to catch Mallt as she tripped. As strong-willed as her namesake, the Empress Maude, Mallt took her stumble in stride, picking herself up with admirable aplomb. “Papa! What you bring me?”
    Ranulf laughed and then set the little girl upon her feet as his uncle limped toward him. For the span of a lifetime, they looked at each other. “Welcome back, lad,” Rhodri said at last. “Welcome home.”
     
     
     
    THE CELEBRATION LASTED long after darkness had fallen. As word got out, borne on the wind across the hills and down into the river valley, neighbors began to trickle in, for Hywel attracted crowds as surely as nectar enticed bees. He liked nothing better than an audience and soon had the men laughing and the women bedazzled, telling them of the English raid upon Môn, describing his father’s meeting with the English king at Rhuddlan, praising Ranulf extravagantly for the part he’d played in the peacemaking, shrewdly mentioning how pleased Lord Owain was with Ranulf’s efforts. That baffled some of Ranulf’s neighbors, impressed others, and offended a few. But even the most unforgiving of them dared not challenge their king’s verdict. Before the evening was done, Hywel would see to it that Ranulf was protected by armor far more effective than chain-mail, the redoubtable shield of Owain Gwynedd’s favor.
    It was almost midnight when Rhiannon slipped from the hall and crossed the bailey toward the chambers she shared with Ranulf. Both her children were in bed, Gilbert tangled up in the sheets and Mallt with her arms wrapped tightly around her cherished rag doll. Rhiannon leaned over their pallets, listening to the soft cadence of their breathing. Reassured that they slept, she backed away.
    The chamber was dark, but she navigated with confidence, for she knew the location of every chair, every coffer; it was a grave offense in her household to move furniture at whim. She had been blind for twenty-six of her thirty-four years, and she’d long ago learned how to cope with her disability, relying upon memory and her other senses and courage to compensate for her lack of sight. She invariably amazed people with her prowess, misleading them by how easy she made it appear. That was an illusion, for her victories were all hard won, her battle begun anew with each day’s dawning.
    Outside, the air was cool on her skin, a welcome relief after so many hours of stifling summer heat. She’d meant to return