Chapter 1

chApteR 1

The Kingdom of Gwynedd, 1141

A seagull's cry pierced the air. Rhiannon raised her head to watch the large white bird glide in a wide arc over the sheltered bay and soar out to sea. What freedom such birds enjoyed. To ride the wind and the waves, to travel farther than the eye could see. Rhiannon could only dream of such unfettered liberty.

Stepping over the tide pool she'd been exploring, she turned toward the large house that overlooked the beach. Bryn Eithin's solid gray-stone walls and purple slate roof had protected her since her birth sixteen years previously. Its idyllic location, with the Irish Sea at its front and rolling pastures at its rear, was hard to equal. Indeed, compared to most young women in Gwynedd, she was fortunate. Her father owned land and retained servants. She was well cared for. Beyond the loss of her mother several years before, she lacked for nothing. Except, perhaps, the freedom of a seagull.

"Rhiannon!"

Her father, Iorwerth ap Gwion, appeared where the sand met the scrubby grass of the low dunes. He stood with his hands on his hips, his expression grim. Rhiannon spared the sky another glance, and her heart sank. The sun had lowered, and she had no need to consider the lengthening shadows to realize she was inexcusably late.

Lifting her skirts, she scrambled off the craggy rocks and ran across the beach toward him. "Forgive me, Father." She stopped to catch her breath. "I failed to keep track of the time."

"Clearly." He frowned. "I had hoped that today, of all days, you would not give me cause to seek you out, Rhiannon."

"I would have returned before the evening meal. Truly, I would have."

"The servants have their preparations well in hand, but you are still whiling away the afternoon beside the sea." His gaze traveled from her windswept hair to her sand-dusted gown and damp hem. He shook his head despairingly. "How am I to introduce you as a prospective bride to Owain Gwynedd's cousin when you resemble a foundling? And a wet one, at that?"

She offered him a contrite smile and slipped her arm through his. His frustration was born of concern for her. She knew this. Just as she knew that it would soon pass.

"Walk me back to the house to ensure that I cannot be distracted by the call of the sea again, and then place me in Heledd's expert care," she said. "Heledd will have me dressed and ready to greet your guests in no time."

"Our guests, Rhiannon." He was not yet ready to fully exonerate her. "Cadwgan ap Gronw does us a great honor by coming to dine with us."

"He comes because the king suggested it," Rhiannon said.

"And why should he not? Your mother was the sister of his wife, the queen. Your father is a member of the uchelwr."

"Your position as a member of the pedigreed aristocracy will undoubtedly influence who I eventually marry, but must that decision be made so soon?"

"Yes," her father said firmly. "Cadwgan may wait as long as he wishes for the wedding ceremony—you know that I have no desire to have you leave—but you have reached the age when a betrothal is both expedient and expected."

Rhiannon sighed. This was not the first time they'd had this conversation. No matter how much she hoped for her father's stance to alter, it did not. As his only daughter, it was her duty to marry well. Her father wanted what was best for her. He wished her to have every comfort and security. She should be glad. Mayhap, if she exerted a little more effort, she would be glad.

"This Cadwgan ap Gronw is handsome, is he not?" she said.

They started back toward the house together.

"I am not of a mind to consider such things, but I daresay he is pleasing enough. A little taller than I, with curly, dark hair."

"And young." That attribute alone was more than most young ladies in her situation could claim when meeting a potential spouse.

"Not more than eight and twenty. And yet, despite his youth, he owns a large parcel of land in Dyffryn Clwyd."

The district of Dyffryn Clwyd had been claimed by Gwynedd several years before, but with all the infighting that continued to plague the king, it was no secret that Owain Gwynedd was anxious for an ally within the uchelwr living in that area. As much as Rhiannon wished it were different, her role in this marriage was that of a prize or a bargaining chip.

"What will happen if Cadwgan decides against me?" she asked.

"He will not." Her father's expression softened. "Your lack of awareness of your natural beauty only enhances it, bach. Cadwgan cannot help but be captivated by you."

Her hair swirled wildly around her shoulders, and Rhiannon glanced at her wrinkled, salt-water-stained gown.

"Even if he were to come upon me now?" she asked.

Her father nodded. "Aye. As loath as I am to admit it, even now."

His words, which surely should have offered her greater confidence, in actuality, did the opposite. Rhiannon had oft been told that she had inherited her mother's silky tresses, dark-brown eyes, and flawless skin. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of her disposition. Whereas her mother had thrived as mistress of a sizable home and a hostess of large gatherings, Rhiannon preferred to wander the beach alone and quietly observe others from afar. If Cadwgan were to base his matrimonial decision upon appearances while paying no heed to her preference for solitude, he would undoubtedly be sorely disappointed in his choice of wife.

The feelings of apprehension that had sent Rhiannon to the sea in search of peace resurfaced. She wished to please her father. If she were fully honest with herself, she also wished to please Cadwgan. But only if she could also remain true to the person she was within. She took an unsteady breath. For now, she could only pray that when her upcoming meeting with Cadwgan was over, she could also claim some measure of pleasure for herself.

They had reached the front door. Her father paused. "A small portion of discomfort over meeting Cadwgan for the first time is understandable, Rhiannon, but I expect you to rise above it. A man of Cadwgan's rank deserves your respect." He glanced at her bare, sandy feet. "And that includes being dressed appropriately when you greet him."

"Yes, Father." Her stomach churned, but she somehow maintained a placid countenance. "I shall see to my wardrobe straightway. And I will have Heledd help me locate my shoes as soon as she finishes with my hair."

"Very well," he said. "I shall look for you in the great hall within the hour."

The sleek longboat cut through the rolling waves. Dusk was turning to dark, and from his position in the bow of the agile craft, Leif breathed in the salty air and grinned. Returning home from a successful raid was an exhilarating experience, but unlike most of his companions, Leif's excitement came not from the value of their haul but from being out at sea.

Ahead of his craft, another longboat navigated the breakers. The Norsemen within were silhouetted against the sky even as the row of circular shields lining the craft's hull glinted in the last light of the setting sun. Although currently indistinguishable, Leif's brother sat in the bow of that boat. As the oldest son of Jarl Ottar of Dyflin, Bjorn was the designated leader of this raiding party. Leif did not envy him the position. At nineteen years of age, captaining the second boat was responsibility enough for him.

He pulled on his oar, feeling the water's resistance as his arms moved in unison with those of the other men. The steady, powerful rhythm powered them forward, increasing the distance between the Vikings and the monastery they'd pillaged. Later, if the wind was in their favor, they would raise the sail, but for now, the longboat hugged the coastline, fueled by oars in the hands of twenty Norsemen.

"It would have been nice if the monks had left us something to eat," the man sitting on the other end of Leif's bench grumbled softly.

"What ails you most, Knud?" Although Rune, the rower sitting behind Leif, kept his voice low, there was no mistaking his taunting tone. "Is it rowing all night on an empty stomach or the lack of gold beneath your seat?"

Knud's stroke did not waver, but his square jaw tightened. "You know full well that those goblets should have been mine."

Rune sniggered. "Not so. We each took a cupboard. You could have gathered more of the candles you found in yours had you wished to."

Knud growled his displeasure, but before he could speak further, a low bird whistle sounded from the other boat. A warning call. Other than the gentle splash of oars, all sound on the boat instantly ceased. Every man knew how readily voices carried on the water.

"A light. Over there, just above the bay," Rune whispered.

Leif spotted the flicker even as Rune spoke.

"Is it a traveler?" Knud kept his voice as low as Rune's.

"I think not," Leif said. "I see the outline of a building."

"Aye," Rune said. "Not tall enough to be a monastery or castle but no humble dwelling, to be sure."

Knud's teeth flashed in the gloaming. "What think you, Leif? Is it large enough to provide a meal for forty hungry Vikings?"

Leif glanced at the darkening water. If the decision were left to him, they would make use of the outgoing tide to put out to sea. Leaving the Kingdom of Gwynedd as stealthily as they had arrived was always his preference. Unfortunately, the choice was not his to make.

He kept his eyes on the other longboat, waiting for a signal. The birdcall came again, and with it came the unmistakable grind of oars lifting. Bjorn was turning his longboat toward the shore.

"Looks like you shall fill your belly after all, Knud," Rune said, satisfaction tingeing his low voice.

Smothering his frustration, Leif raised his oar. The men seated behind him raised theirs as well. Those on the other side of the boat lowered theirs and pulled. The dragonhead carved on the prow of Leif's boat swung right to follow the serpent tail carved on the rear of Bjorn's.

Leif gauged the direction of the wind. Already, it had shifted since they had begun their journey. Going ashore for another raid would delay their crossing of the Irish Sea significantly. They would need the wind behind their sails if they were to reach Ireland by morning. He frowned. With two monasteries and a church already looted along this stretch of coastline, news of the Vikings' uninvited presence on Gwynedd's soil would have reached the king by now. It was only a matter of time before Owain Gwynedd would send soldiers to oust them from his land.

"You may take the cupboards in the bedchambers, Rune," Knud said, his eyes on the outline of a substantial longhouse perched above the low cliff. "I am for the great hall. At this time of day, the evening meal should be ready for the taking."

Leif remained silent. His brother had opted to attempt one more raid. Whether Bjorn had oarsmen complaining of hunger, Leif could not tell. He only hoped that they would not pay too heavy a price for satisfying their appetites.