Free Winds of Time by Sarah Woodbury Page B

figure standing at the top of one of the towers.
Llywelyn looked down at me—and it felt like the whole world paused
and took a breath.
    “ It’s Llywelyn.” I gripped
the back of David’s cloak. “I look terrible! My hair, my clothes
are full of salt. I don’t even have shoes. He can’t see me like
this.”
    David ignored me, not dignifying my concerns
with a response. Llywelyn left the battlements and reappeared at
ground level. He crossed the bailey with his characteristic long
stride, his head steady and his eyes fixed on me, and then halted
at my knee. He reached for me. My heart breaking and healing in the
same instant, I slid into his arms.
    “ I never meant to leave you,
Llywelyn. I didn’t want to keep your son from you.”
    Llywelyn slipped one arm around my waist and
brought me close to him while threading his other hand through my
hair. “I never for a moment thought you did,” he said. And kissed
me.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Later that evening, after all the hubbub had
died down and Llywelyn and I were alone, I sat on a stool by his
chair in front of the fire, resting my head against his knee. We’d
sat this way so many times when I was pregnant with David, it felt
like I’d fallen through time—not just to Wales—but to when I was a
girl.
    But I wasn’t that girl—or
even a girl—and the
world was a different place now. Not just my world either, but his
too. Neither of us were the same people who’d parted sixteen years
ago, and that would take some getting used to.
    Llywelyn rested his hand on my hair. He’d
kissed me long and hard, not just the once but many times. He was
determined, however, to abide by the Church’s restrictions for as
long as it took to organize our wedding. In our hearts, we’d been
married all along—and even been married legally if Llywelyn had
been a commoner. All it took to be married in Wales in the Middle
Ages was for both parties to claim it and consummate it. But to say
so would have nullified his marriage to Elinor (who had died in
1282 giving birth to his daughter). Neither of us wanted to do
that.
    “ Something is troubling
you,” he said. I looked up at him, noting his serious tone. He
smiled down at me. “More than you might be troubled by this change
in your fortunes for a second time.”
    “ I don’t quite know where to
begin,” I said. “We have so much to catch up on, and you have so
many pressing cares.”
    “ None that are more
important than you right now,” he said. “I missed you every day we
were apart. Is that what is bothering you? Have you left someone
behind?”
    By someone, he meant
someone male . “No,
Llywelyn. I didn’t marry again. I couldn’t.”
    “ I imagine you had suitors
…” his voice trailed off and I smiled. He didn’t want to ask but I
saw no reason not to tell him the truth.
    “ You would be disappointed
in the men of the twenty-first century if they hadn’t chased after
me, wouldn’t you?”
    I had him there. “I would.”
    “ None could compare to you,”
I said, “and so none lasted. I had my work and my
children.”
    “ And that was
enough?”
    “ It was never enough.” I
sighed. “But that’s not what you asked about.” I pushed to my feet
and pulled a stool closer to him so my face was more level with
his. “And that’s not what I need to tell you about.”
    “ Did something … happen to you on your
journey here?”
    Fear resounded in his voice, but I put a
hand on his knee, anxious to reassure him that he was far off the
mark. “No, Llywelyn. But I did have an encounter with a man, one
who used to serve your brother, Dafydd.”
    This was not what he’d been expecting. “What
was his name?”
    “ Marc,” I said. “He and the
prioress at the convent shared a father, Evan, who served you once
upon a time, during a fight with Roger Mortimer in
Powys.”
    Llywelyn shook his head. “I have no memory
of the man.”
    “ Well, the son was in your
brother’s teulu ,
and you probably remember