"Aye. Actually she used to converse fairly well in your tongue-twisting language, wife," Rafe said with a small smile. "We had a Welsh nurse as children."
"Then having understood them from the first, Kate will continue to make them believe she is ap Gruffydd's daughter and be safe," Rhonwyn said. "Now we must learn just who has stolen her, and for that I will go into Wales and meet with my father. The messenger who finds him will tell him to come to Cythraul. It is the obvious place."
"Why should you go?" Edward demanded angrily. "I should go."
"Hah," Rhonwyn said mockingly. "Do you think my father will speak with you, Edward de Beaulieu, or give you his full cooperation? After what you did to me? Llywelyn ap Gruffydd is just as apt to kill you as speak with you. You mean nought to him. You have no blood tie with him. Go home and find a wet nurse for my godson, who will die without his mother if you do not. Rafe and I will go into Wales and retrieve Kate for you. There is no shame in your remaining with your sons, my lord."
"What of your son?"
"My milk was not rich enough for Justin, and he already has a wet nurse," Rhonwyn said sadly. "Go home, Edward, and wait for us to send word." She patted his hand in a kindly fashion, for the first time realizing that her bitterness toward him was now entirely gone. Then she said, "And, Edward, please, I beg of you, do not attempt to follow us or join us at Cythraul. It is likely that Kate's captors know you by sight. They will not know who Rafe and I are, however. Trust us."
"I always trusted you, Rhonwyn," he said quietly.
She shook her head. "Nay, you did not, but that is water beneath the bridge long past, Edward. My anger is gone, and I only wish to bring Kate home safely to you. Go now and watch over your sons. Kate would want that."
He nodded and then took up her gloved hand, kissing it. "Thank you," he said.
She nodded. "Not yet, my friend."
When Edward de Beaulieu had gone and they sat at their high board eating venison stew, Rafe said, "We'll need a good night's sleep if we are to start off tomorrow." He tore a chunk of bread from the cottage loaf and sopped up some of the stew's winey gravy before popping it into his mouth.
"Nay, we'll go the day after tomorrow," Rhonwyn answered him. "I want to send Oth off in the morning to find my father. He'll need a day's start. Then you, Dewi, and I will go to Cythraul."
"Just the three of us?" He was surprised.
"I have a fortress of men-at-arms who are loyal to my father. We will only attract attention if we ride out to Wales with a large party, Rafe. This is a battle that will be won with subtlety, not blunt force."
"I did not think your father was a man of subtlety," he said.
"He can be when necessary. You have never met ap Gruffydd. Do not prejudge him by the gossip you have heard. He is a great man for all our differences. He has welded together a country of petty princelings and lords, and held firm. Aye, he has enemies. Do not all powerful men, husband? Will you tell me that our own King Edward has no enemies among his subjects? That there are not those eager to do him a mischief, given the opportunity?"
"How did a little lass raised in a hill fort learn so much about the powerful?" he asked her.
"Men claim that women gossip, but they talk more. I listened," she replied with a smile. "No one paid attention to a small child by the fireside, Rafe. They chattered and bragged and boasted, and I harvested their words for the truth. I did not learn how to weave or cook or sew at Cythraul. I did not learn manners, or about God, or how to play a musical instrument. I learned how to wield my alborium and my sword. I learned how men rule and what drives them to rule. For a woman it was a mostly useless education. Now, however, I will dredge up all the knowledge I gained at Cythraul, and it will help me to win your sister's freedom."
"I think," he said slowly, "that I should be afraid of you, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. Of your mother there is nought said, but much is spoken of your father, and you are obviously very much Llywelyn's daughter."
"I know," she answered him. "It is something I have fought against my whole life, Rafe, but the truth is I very much like who I am. There is, they say, no escaping blood." Then she took his hand up and began to lick the gravy from his fingers. "We will be on the road for several nights and then at Cythraul, where there is, I promise you, no privacy." She began to suck on his forefinger.
Their eyes met, and then he pulled his hand from her sensual embrace. Taking up his goblet, he drew the potent wine into his mouth while pulling her head to him. As their lips met, he transferred the liquid from his mouth into hers, his tongue sliding past her teeth to meet with her tongue among the heady, hot fumes of the wine. As he broke the long, sweet kiss, Rafe murmured to her, "You are far too conventional, wife. There are places other than a bed where a man and a woman may take their pleasure. Come." He stood and took her by the hand, leading her before the hall fire.
Rhonwyn's green eyes widened. "The servants!" she managed to gasp as he pulled her down to the sheepskin before the hearth.
"I see no servants," he murmured, his hand sliding beneath her skirts to caress her legs.
"Flint!" Her head motioned to the dog sleeping near them.
"Will understand perfectly," Rafe said softly, kissing her, his lean body pinioning her down.
"Thank God we have no priest here," she said. "Oh!" His fingers had found what they sought and began to tease at her sensitive flesh. "Rafe! We can't! Not here! Oh!" Holy Mary, this was so damnably exciting and dangerous. What if they were discovered?
" 'Tis our house, and we are the master and the mistress here," he said, divining her thoughts with accuracy. She was, he knew, despite her protests, enjoying every minute of their liaison, for she was already creamy with her love juices. He pushed her skirts above her waist and in a single smooth motion entered her body.
" Tis wicked!" she avowed, but faintly. Oh, God, he felt so good inside of her! With a deep sigh she let herself be carried away, her emerald eyes closing slowly in blissful anticipation of what was to come next. "Oh, Rafe!" Her arms tightened about him.
He grinned down at her. She was a wicked Welsh hussy, and he adored her with every fiber of his being. "Vixen," he said softly, his buttocks contracting and releasing as he pleasured them both.
"Devil," she murmured back, wrapping her legs about him so he might delve deeper into her eager flesh.
He could feel her body quivering as she reached the pinnacle of satisfaction, and as she shuddered over and over again with her release, he loosed his own passions with a gusty sigh. After several minutes he rolled away from her, drawing her skirts down as he pulled his tunic into a semblance of neatness.
"That was deliciously wicked and depraved," she said happily. Her eyes were still closed, savoring the remaining bits and pieces of their pleasure before it faded away entirely. "But we couldn't possibly do that at Cythraul, husband."
"Before we go," he promised her, "I shall showyou what we can do at Cythraul, or anywhere else, for that matter, wife." Then rising to his feet, he drew her up. "Come on, my love, and let us find our bed now. I've plenty of energy yet left for you, and you won't have to fret about the servants. I saw how your concern prevented you from fully enjoying our little interlude, Rhonwyn."