I took my time that winter, spinning the yarn for Owain’s tunic. It helped to have the spindle whirling before me when the Ri asked me to draw. All I had to do was shake my head no and nod at the yarn as my excuse.
I longed to look up and explain myself, but what had Finn said? A clean cut by a sharp blade. So I remained bent over the yarn. Besides, I didn’t want him to see the tears in my eyes. One night, when the wind beat against the walls of the great hall, he saw the spindle and didn’t even speak to me.
Once the yarn was spun—more than enough for one tunic!—I knit so slowly I was ashamed of myself. But my slow pace kept the Ri respected among his chiefs. It kept him safe from me.
I finished Owain’s tunic the spring night before the Ri left to visit the chiefs who ruled beneath him. While Ionwyn spun a story about the beautiful maiden Deidre and the wars waged by the men who loved her, I joined the sleeves to the body of the tunic. I spread the tunic across my lap with trembling hands as the last words of her tale hung in the air.
I was finished.
Here was the last of my brothers’ redemption, spread out on my lap. Conversations became a low thrumming, like bees deep in their hive. That seemed right, somehow. The tunics had been created in silence. How fitting that they would be finished in it.
Finally, I looked up—and met the Ri’s gaze.
He’d seen me finish the tunic. I plucked up the tunic and checked it for any holes or thin spots that might keep Owain from becoming a man again. I didn’t look up till the last footsteps had faded from the hall.
I wasn’t alone.
The Ri hadn’t been fooled. He stood near the fire, waiting for me. “You’ve finished the last one. I’d have known from the look on your face, even if I hadn’t watched you make it all winter.”
I didn’t answer, by look or sign.
“You could’ve made it in a month’s time. But you didn’t want to, did you?”
He’d known all along!
He crouched before me so his head was level with mine. “One last night, Lady Wyn, when you’ve spent so many on this tunic. Will you draw me a story?”
There was such kindness in his eyes that he seemed the safest place in this wild, cold world.
Shake your head—a clean cut by a sharp blade.
I couldn’t tell him no, but I didn’t dare agree.
So I shrugged.
“Tell me no, but don’t shrug! Don’t look away. It is an insult to my hospitality, a fear that I’d harm you if you deny me.” He softened a bit, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And it is an insult to your courage, Lady Wyn. Do what you have in your heart to do, and don’t fear the consequences. I’ve seen too much of you to believe you would cringe from the path you’ve chosen.”
I sat perfectly still, caught by the truth he’d spoken. And the honor of it.
And I saw that he waited for me to tell him to leave.
I slowly folded the tunic. The last tunic. The last night before the Ri left for months. The last moon of the enchantment might come before he returned.
Very well. I would do what was in my heart.
I walked to the hearth and knelt beside it. When the Ri joined me, I swept a fingertip through the soot and drew one last picture.
I drew the swans from the Cynwrig crest.
I drew the necks stretched for freedom. I drew the wings spread against the blue background. I drew it with all the hope of a daughter who believed she could reclaim her father. I drew with the innocence of a girl who has not yet learned grief. I let the Ri into the heart of my family’s wretched story, even though he’d never know what he saw.
When I finished, he sat back on his heels. “Ah, here’s speech enough, if only I knew how to hear it. Thank you, Lady Wyn.”
I waited for him to ask about the three swans, but he didn’t. He simply looked down as if memorizing the lines, while silence surged between the two of us like a river.
“Will you ever speak again?” The question flew through the dim like an arrow.
I stared at him. No one had asked before.
“It was wrong of me to ask.” He stood abruptly. “Sometimes you look as if you’re saving words, like a bard gathering a story. So I wondered, and I h—”
Hoped?
I stood too, but I couldn’t leave, couldn’t move toward him. It was like the moment the Hunters had found me so long ago while I knelt by the hut, every fiber of me stretched to hear them coming.
Here I was, years later, listening again. Perhaps this time, I wanted to be caught.
The Ri looked wretched. “I’m sorry, Lady Wyn. I won’t ask again.”
I nodded.
He half-smiled. “You won’t hold it against me, then? The question doesn’t cheapen my hospitality?”
How like him to laugh at himself to blunt the moment’s edge.
I put a hand on his arm and waited till he looked me in the eye. Then I nodded again, willing him to understand the question I was answering.
“You mean it? You’ll speak again?”
He’d grown still beneath my touch, every bit of him poured into the way he looked at me. I released his arm and stepped back.
But the Ri closed the distance between us.
“Soon?” he asked, his voice so low that I felt it more than heard it.
I nodded, wondering how I managed even that.
“Truly? You’ll be able to speak soon?” His gaze danced over me. “What will you say, my lady Wyn, when you have fulfilled your vow? Will you shout a ballad? Will you gossip with the old wives until even they chide you for talking too much?”
I grinned. I’d thought of it a thousand times: speaking to Carrick for the first time, telling him how Tanwen had loved him. I’d call each of my brothers by name.
The Ri leaned closer. “I wonder what you will do that day.”
The laughter left his brown eyes, but not the warmth, not the fire.
I didn’t think of the Queen. I hardly thought of my brothers. I just looked up at the Ri.
He’d seen me when few else had. He’d sheltered Carrick and me.
What would I do? I’d tell him my name, and I’d hear him say it back to me: Andaryn. I’d tell him about Father and home, and I’d introduce him to my brothers, but not before telling Cadan to mind his manners. I’d—
I reached up and framed his face with my hands. His eyes widened, but he didn’t move. He didn’t have time to. I stood on my toes and kissed him, right on the mouth, soft as a sigh because my courage failed me at the end.
Then it failed me entirely. I turned on my heel, ready to run as if the Hunters themselves chased me.
The Ri caught my wrist and tugged me gently back to face him, the hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.
He released me carefully, watching me as if he feared I’d run again. “That’s not fair, my lady Wyn,” he said, so low, so soft. “Not fair at all to kiss a man and then leave him to wonder at his good fortune.”
He stepped closer, a question in his eyes, asking if I minded.
I didn’t mind at all, but I looked down anyway, thoughts of my brothers rushing back over me. Now wasn’t the time. Why had I let myself become so distracted?
Think of Aiden, of Mael and—
He brushed a finger against my jaw.
All thought fled as he bent close.
“In Eyre,” he whispered, “a man is taught respect for a woman. If she doesn’t wish his company, she has only to say so. If he presses his attention, he forfeits his honor. So hear me, Lady Wyn: much as I want to kiss you, I won’t.” His voice dropped to a breath against my cheek. “You can’t tell me to leave while bound to silence. And I won’t kiss you if there’s a chance that you don’t want me to. Perhaps that will be something you do after you fulfill your vow.”
I opened my eyes then, and leaned back to look at him. He watched me, his expression asking if he should step away.
He was such a good man.
I lifted my hand to his face. He raised his eyebrows, still questioning. “Wyn, you don’t have to . . .”
I wanted to—how I wanted to! But I couldn’t move.
Slowly, he brushed his lips against mine, his own way of asking. It was fire and moonlight poured inside me, and if his arm hadn’t tightened around me I might have flown away.
He pulled back to see if I had minded, looking like a boy uncertain of himself.
But his mouth was too far away, so I stood on my toes again, just to be nearer. He smiled down at me, all boyishness gone from his eyes.
His next kiss wasn’t a question.
But mine was an answer—my chance to speak without words, to tell him everything I’d held inside me. Even when we stopped and I stood breathless in his arms, I did not feel mute.
“Ah, Wyn,” he said, his voice a rumble in his chest, “I wasn’t sure.”
I lifted my head and raised an eyebrow. Sure of what?
His arm tightened around my waist. “What was I supposed to do after you ran from me? I couldn’t let you go, but I couldn’t catch you up in my arms like I wanted.”
I silently laughed into his tunic to hear him talk so. Foolish, foolish man.
His hand rubbed my shoulder in wide sweeps, and he whispered, “It wasn’t fair of you, my lady Wyn, my heart.” He pressed a kiss against my hair, and I heard the smile in his voice. “It wasn’t fair. I might have lost my honor.”