A Memory of Love Read Online Free Page B

There wasn't anything feminine about her other than her chest. She strode boldly about like any young man at Cythraul. Her fair hair was cropped short. She could outride anyone at Cythraul, even her brother.
    It had been easier when she had been a little girl, but now, Morgan fretted, some of the younger men were beginning to look at her with lust in their eyes. He had twice in the last months seen her cornered. While she had attacked her foolish admirers so that one of them sustained several broken ribs and the other had his nose broken in two places, Morgan ap Owen knew it was just a matter of time before Rhonwyn would be forced to face the reality that she wasn't one of the lads, but rather a pretty lass.
    Before he might consider what to do about the situation, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd rode suddenly into Cythraul one day. He had not been to the border fortress since that day ten years ago when he had brought his children to Morgan ap Owen. This time he did not come alone, but rather with a troop of about twenty men in his train. The watch on the walls had called out the sighting of an armed party and then called again to say it was the prince himself. The portcullis was raised and the gates to Cythraul thrown open to welcome the lord of them all.
    “My lord prince, we are most happy to see you,” Morgan said, coming forward. “What news?”
    “I have signed a treaty with King Henry. We will keep the peace a while longer, Morgan ap Owen.” Ap Gruffydd looked about. “Where are my children?” he asked.
    Before the captain might answer, Oth came forward with Glynn, and Morgan said, “Here is your son, my prince.”
    Ap Gruffydd looked at the lad and was pleased. The boy looked relatively healthy. He was almost as tall as his father, with dark blue eyes and black hair, but he was a bit thin. Ap Gruffydd remarked on it to his captain.
    “Lads are gangling at his age, my prince,” Morgan answered. “He is growing, and we cannot keep him filled up with food.” He smiled at Glynn, who grinned back mischievously.
    “How old are you now, lad?” the prince asked his son.
    “Thirteen, Tad,” the boy replied.
    “Have you been happy here at Cythraul?”
    “Aye, Tad!” was the enthusiastic reply.
    “Good! Good!” ap Gruffydd said. He looked about. “Where is my daughter, Morgan?”
    “She is out hunting, my prince.”
    “So she has been taught to ride,” ap Gruffydd said, sounding satisfied with the news. “Excellent!”
    “Rhonwyn is the best rider and soldier at Cythraul!” came Glynn's endorsement. “All the men say so, Tad!”
    Ap Gruffydd chuckled. “A soldier, is she?” He was amused by his son's innocence, but then all the boy had ever known in his thirteen years were places of isolation. Perhaps that should change, but first he had his daughter to deal with, and her future was assured.
    “Aye, Tad,” the boy continued, and Morgan ap Owen could only silently stand by. “Rhonwyn is very skilled with sword, main gauche, javelin, and mace, too. With the alborium, she never misses her target. She's our best hunter, Tad!” It was obvious the boy was extremely proud of his sister.
    Ap Gruffydd's attention had been quite engaged by his son's recitation. He looked to his captain. “You taught my daughter how to use weapons, Morgan?”
    “It was either teach her or have someone get injured, my lord prince” came the reply. “She wore padding and even has her own armor. We thought it best.”
    “My daughter is the best soldier at Cythraul, I am told. Did you teach her nothing but warfare?”
    “It is all we could teach her, my lord prince,” Morgan replied.
    “And my son? Have you taught him warfare, too? Why is he not considered as skilled as his sister?” came the query.
    “I do not like weapons, Tad,” Glynn spoke up for himself. “Oh, I can use a sword if I must, and I ride well, but I do not like warfare. I cannot bear to see anything killed, even an animal.”
    “Jesu! Mary!” ap Gruffydd