Now, Creiddylad thought. Now, while the huntsman is away.
“It’s true, father,” she said. “I know he doesn’t look like much, and he hardly has a trace of fae blood to leaven the mix, but Cernunnos has taken an interest in him. Remember, he did kill Madog, whatever he says.”
Lludd nodded heavily. They were alone in his chambers, as they were most mornings for the first meal of the day.
“Camulos is a match for the horned one, I have no doubt,” he said. “The ram against the stag.”
“True, but think of the damage he could do to the ways, in my brother’s hand. At the very least he could forestall pursuit, shutting a way behind him. And at the worst…” She shook her head dramatically, “he could shut down all the ways, and Cernunnos would help. That’s what happened to Madog, in Dyffryn Camarch. I fear for your safety, father.”
He acknowledged her concern. “I will set a judgment for him after the ceremony, not before. There will be fewer in attendance then, to interfere.”
That was the best she could hope to achieve on that front, and she had learned not to push her father too hard. She changed the subject.
“People are talking…” she said, letting it trail off.
His curiosity was piqued. “What about?”
“Angharad. Gwyn even gave him Angharad, and you know how unsuitable that is, that she be matched to a short-lived human.”
He rested his chin on his hand. “Her children have already spoken to me about it. They are shamed by it, as they should be.”
“And I hear she carries his child. Another shame that will be to them,” Creiddylad murmured.
He nodded, scowling.
“I fear this all reflects on you, father, on her disregard for your authority.” She looked earnestly into his face to see how he was taking this, then she set her hook.
“You should take her back and reassert your rights in her. She’s your court artist, and you never gave her leave to depart.”
His fist clenched.
She leaned back in her chair, content. “Others remember this, if you do not.”
Angharad was not happy to be seated at the high table but she had no say in the matter. Rhian’s ceremony was ten days away and George would be away for most of that time, so she did her best to put a good face on it.
She’d been furious with Gwyn after George left, that he would send him almost alone into this nest of vipers that were Lludd’s great lords. He’d stood calm before her and waited for her to pause to draw breath.
“I believe he will be fine,” he said, “and he can accomplish much good, though he may not recognize it.”
She’d been prepared to continue, her worry overriding her judgment, when Gwyn stopped her. “He had to do this, Angharad. It’s what he’s made for.”
He didn’t explain himself, and she was left to puzzle out his meaning. What did that phrase remind her of? She’d been chewing on it since yesterday.
Cai. It reminded her of Cai, her second husband. They’d said that of him, too, toward the end, that he was meant to be a paladin. She hardly ever saw him, those last years.
George was nothing like Cai. He was warm and a bit reckless where Cai had always been calculating and shrewd. And yet… They were both champions of justice. She didn’t doubt that George would rather stay with his family, unlike Cai, but he was changing before her eyes, growing into something more than when they met. Was she too close to see it? Was Gwyn’s perspective more accurate?
Rhian, on the other side of Maelgwn from her, interrupted her thoughts. “What is it, Angharad? You look so worried.”
Angharad made herself smile. “Never mind, dear, just my thoughts straying into unpleasant paths. What do you think of all this, so far?”
Rhian looked around the great hall, several times the size of the one at Greenway Court. “I’ll be glad to go home,” she admitted. “I have no friends here, and I feel like I’m being hunted, all the time.”
Between them, Maelgwn nodded.
“Not what you expected, is it?” Angharad said, sadly.
“What is it George says? All experience is good?” Maelgwn chorused the last few words with her and Rhian grinned. “This won’t kill me, and I’ll feel more comfortable next time.”
They stopped chatting to attend to Lludd, seated several spaces away from Angharad on her left, at the center of the high table.
“Where is your huntsman?” he asked Gwyn, at his right hand. “I haven’t see him since his arrival.”
“I didn’t want to bother you, father. I have him running some errands for me.”
Lludd watched him a moment, expressionless. Then he lifted his head to gaze further down the table, directly at Angharad.
“If your husband takes so little care of you, Angharad, I see no reason you should be expected to wait for him.”
She held her breath.
“I will give you back your old quarters, and you need rely on him for nothing,” he said, in a tone of command.
He’s going to imprison me, she thought, however pleasant the cage.
“You do me too much honor, my lord king. I would rather wait for my husband in my lord Gwyn’s guest quarters.” She raised her voice so that the nearby court could clearly hear her.
She felt Maelgwn at her side freeze, prepared to defend her. She kicked him under the table to stop him.
Rhian said, “Sire, I rely upon my kinswoman to help me prepare for the ceremony. I would be lost without her.”
Angharad saw the sharp look Gwyn shot her, his head turned away from Lludd. She had no trouble reading it. “Leave it,” he was saying, with his expression. “Drop the subject.”
Lludd didn’t notice the byplay. “You’ll be able to consult with her as before, and there will be more space in her old rooms.”
Clang. It was done, and the doors were shut. She noticed Maelgwn nodding in approval to Rhian for her brash attempt at defense, but it didn’t cheer her. Her allies were powerless for now.
All that evening, after dinner, Maelgwn stuck close to Angharad’s heels as her belongings were moved from the bedroom she’d shared with her husband to a suite of rooms down the same corridor.
The apartment had already been cleaned and ready, the bed made, and Maelgwn knew therefore that Lludd had been planning this move, that it was no spur of the moment whim. He didn’t blame Gwyn. There was no way for Gwyn to prevent this without allies in place and Angharad was not being truly harmed for now.
But his own responsibilities were clear. He would attend her as he would his foster-father, as both guard and squire.
Two men in ram’s-head livery stood their posts at the door of her apartment. Angharad’s friends were all to be allowed to come and go, except for George when he should return. Angharad could leave for meals, but her guards would accompany her for that.
He placed himself in a corner of the front room where he could watch the doorway. Angharad stood with Gwyn, surveying her possessions and her old rooms, quiet for the moment.
“May I sleep here, foster-mother?” Maelgwn said.
She glanced over at him. “I would be glad of your company,” she said.
Gwyn shot a look of approval at Maelgwn, and he blinked in surprise at the notice, then worked to make himself invisible once more.
Gwyn spoke quietly to Angharad. “Can you bear this, for a while?”
“He wants me back on the old terms, for hire. He’ll fear to force the issue for some time, I think.” She sighed wearily and gave him a look. “I’ll be fine, don’t be concerned.”
“Should I tell George? He’ll be back in about ten days anyway, for Rhian’s ceremony. Why worry him?”
She shook her head. “Not wise. If he finds out on his own, he’ll be… uncontrollable.”
Maelgwn pictured that for a moment and silently agreed with her.
“You’re right,” Gwyn said, conceding.
“I’ll write him a note and you can have it intercept him on his rounds.”
Maelgwn spoke up. “I could carry it for you, foster-mother.”
They both started, as if they had forgotten he was there. Gwyn seemed to consider it for a moment.
“No, it would be better for you to be here, I think, someone she can rely on. But I thank you, kinsman, for the offer.”
Maelgwn was stunned. It was the first time Gwyn had called him by that name. Acknowledged kin to the Prince of Annwn, was he? He determined to make them all proud of him.
