Free Falls the Shadow by Sharon Kay Penman

not be back.” Gruffydd whirled, gestured to the closest of his men. “Fetch the horses.”
    Senena’s relief was such that she closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, gave silent thanks to God and His angels, to the saint she’d adopted as her own. But she would not breathe easily until they were safely on the road south, and she glanced nervously toward her sons. “Owain, sheathe your sword. There is no time to saddle a mount for you, Llelo; you can ride behind your brother.”
    Owain did as she bade, but Llelo did not move. “No,” he said, almost inaudibly. “No.”
    Senena turned. “What?”
    Llelo hunched his shoulders, stared at the ground. “I’ll not go. I’ll not leave Grandpapa, not whilst he’s so sick.”
    For Senena, it was almost a relief to have a tangible target for her rage. “You’ll do as you’re told!”
    Llelo shook his head stubbornly, took a backward step, and then another. “I’ll not leave Grandpapa,” he repeated. “I cannot…”
    Owain was regarding his brother with disgust, but no surprise. “Shall I fetch him for you, Mama?”
    Senena, too, was staring at her youngest child. “You’ve always been willful, Llelo, and irresponsible. But I would not let myself believe Owain was right; I could not believe you were disloyal, too. And yet this is your answer to our Christmas Eve talk! You say you cannot leave your grandfather? Stay with him, then. But if you do this to your father, I will never forgive you—never!”
    Llelo gasped, and the look on his face brought tears to Elen’s eyes. But she did not dare intervene; she was the last woman in Christendom whom Senena would heed.
    “Christ, woman, what are you saying?” Gruffydd was looking at Senena as if she’d lost her wits. “You know you do not mean that!” He did not wait for her reply, strode past her toward his son.
    “I’ll hear no more arguments from you, no more back talk. You’ll come with us, come home where you belong. Do I make myself clear?”
    Llelo swallowed. His eyes were brimming with tears, but again he shook his head. “I cannot,” he whispered. “Please, Papa, I cannot…”
    Gruffydd swore, reached for the boy, his fingers digging into Llelo’s shoulder, jerking him forward, so roughly that Llelo stumbled. His face had lost all color; his eyes looked enormous, dark wells of such despair that Gruffydd’s breath stopped. Slowly his fingers unclenched, his grip loosened. Until that moment, he’d not realized how much his son feared him.
    Llelo’s tears were falling free now. He brushed them away with the back of his hand, smeared his face with dirt. “Please, Papa…what if he dies? Please…”
    Gruffydd said nothing; he stood there, looking down at the boy, and then caught the fragrance of perfume, felt a woman’s hand touch his sleeve. “Let the lad stay, Gruffydd,” Gwladys entreated, very softly. “I’ll look after him. What harm can a few days do?”
    Gruffydd’s mouth twisted. “What harm, indeed? He’s taken all else from me; why not my son, too?”
    “Ah, Gruffydd…” Gwladys’s hand tightened on his arm. “I’m not asking you for Papa’s sake, but for Llelo’s. If you must lay blame about, blame Senena, then, for sending Llelo to live at Papa’s court. Blame Papa if you must. But not the boy, Gruffydd, not the boy.”
    Gruffydd stepped back, looked again at his son. “A fortnight,” he said harshly. “But no longer. You understand, Llelo? No longer.”
     
    “I know not why it is so, my lord, but I’ve treated many apoplexy patients, and when the right side of the body is stricken, it is more likely that the powers of speech are also afflicted.” The doctor waited, but Llewelyn gave no sign he’d heard. He hesitated, then said, “In truth, my lord, you were lucky.”
    That got a response; Llewelyn’s eyes cut sharply toward him. “You find that a hard mouthful to swallow. But in time it’ll go down easier. For you were indeed lucky, my lord. Apoplexy