Watching the manor from their overlook, Caelym and Annwr saw the door open and Aleswina and the boys come tumbling out of it. That was enough for Caelym, who was off and running down the path before Annwr could get to her feet.
Glancing back over the edge as she gathered up the staves and the wooden bowl—which they’d still need, and she was not about to leave behind—Annwr saw the unexpected scene of Arddwn fighting to stay with Benyon. Thinking this meant that they’d misjudged a loyal servant and that he’d been a loving guardian to the boys after all, she rushed after Caelym, bent on keeping him from killing an innocent man.
She caught up with him halfway down the trail. Dropping the staves and the bowl, she grabbed hold of the rope knotted around his monk’s robe for a belt, dug her heels into the dirt, and held on, shouting at him to stop and listen to her.
He did neither. Continuing to careen down the trail, he dragged her along after him. Still, she succeeded in slowing him enough that they were just skidding down the last slope as Aleswina rounded the bend, leading Lliem by the hand and gripping Arddwn’s wrist as he dragged his feet and stumbled blindly after her.
As he struggled to free himself from his captor’s hold, Arddwn heard the birdlike whistle that had been his father’s signal to call him back when he’d run off too far on their romps through the woods above the shrine.
Not about to be kept from his father by a Saxon boy who was not much taller or older than he was, Arddwn clenched his fists, determined to prove he could hit as hard he’d been hit himself. And he would have if Caelym hadn’t appeared as if from nowhere and stopped Arddwn’s fist mid-swing, saying sternly, “This cannot be my son who has been away from me so short a time and yet has forgotten all manners, raising his hand against one to whom he should be forever grateful and having no proper greeting for his father!”
Wrenching free from Aleswina’s grasp, Arddwn launched himself into Caelym’s arms with a force that would have knocked a weaker man off his feet, sobbing “Ta! Ta! Ta!” as if he were a baby even younger than Lliem.
Aleswina had no memory of her own father and if she had, it would only have been of making timid little curtsies in his presence or peeking out at him from behind nearly closed doors. Nothing in her experience at the palace or in the convent had prepared her for the sight of a grown man giving passionate hugs and kisses to a half-grown boy. Nervously, she looked at Lliem to see if he was going to follow his brother.
Equally bewildered, Lliem looked back and lifted both his arms up to her. Acting out of instinct, Aleswina picked him up and hugged him to her breast, again filled with a wave of fierce, protective love for the too-thin boy who clutched at her neck and felt so warm and fragile in her arms.
Still holding Arddwn, Caelym saw Aleswina picking up Lliem and experienced an irrational surge of jealousy mixed with heartache at the sight of his son embracing a woman who was not Feywn. Reminding himself of all he owed Aleswina for hiding him from his pursuers, nursing him back to health, and now bringing his sons to him, Caelym did not tear the boy away from her. Instead, he drew in a long, calming breath before he put Arddwn down, rushed over, and reached for Lliem, saying how much he loved and missed him—only to have the little boy shrink from him and cling tighter to Aleswina.
Arddwn saw the problem at once and assumed a knowing tone as he explained, in Celt, to his father, “He does not understand you, Ta. He only speaks English, for we were beaten if we spoke Celt, and he is a stupid little brat and has forgotten how, even though I told him he must remember.” Then he added, with no small air of pride, “You may say it to me, and I will tell him for you.”
“Ah, now I understand, and I thank you for this kind offer, but I myself am now somewhat learned in the use of English and so will speak for myself.” Pausing a moment to nod solemnly at his older son, Caelym went on in a firmer tone, “And I will not ever again hear you call your own dear brother a ‘stupid little brat,’ knowing as you do that he is your closest and most beloved kin.”
After kissing the tips of his fingers and touching them to Arddwn’s lips to take the sting out of his rebuke, Caelym turned and edged slowly, almost timidly, over to where Aleswina was standing with Lliem, who was clinging to her like a limpet to a rock. He stopped a pace away, bent down low enough to be eye level with the quivering boy, and spoke in careful English.
“Greetings, my son. I see you do not remember me, for it has been now two years since we parted. I, however, remember you well and am most pleased to see you once again. With your kind permission, I will call you Lliem, the name your dear mother and I gave you with the blessing of our people’s greatest bard.”
Still clinging tightly to Aleswina, Lliem gave a barely perceptible nod.
Caelym returned it with a nod of his own and continued, “Now I will tell you that while my usual name is Caelym, I am hoping you will do me the honor of calling me ‘Father’ or ‘Papa’—or, if you wish, ‘Ta,’ for that is the name that Arddwn gave to me before he could say ‘Papa,’ and he has used that name ever since out of fondness and affection.”
Too overcome with relief to be annoyed with Caelym’s speech-making, Annwr stayed sitting in the grass, drinking in the sight of Aleswina hugging Lliem and rocking him in her arms.
If she’d ever admitted to having disappointment in Aleswina— which she never would have—it would have been the girl’s apparent inability to care for anyone besides Annwr herself. Caelym, of course, would have added that to his reasons to disparage the innocent child who’d lost her own mother so young, but now the womanly warmth Annwr had always hoped Aleswina had inside her seemed to flow out and swirl into a warm cocoon that enveloped her and the younger of Caelym’s sons. It was a moment she would keep in her heart to her dying day, one that pulled all the more on her heartstrings because Caelym had never thought to mention that Lliem had curly red hair just like Cyri’s.
She would have been glad to have that moment last forever, but moments never do. Blinking back the tears that burned her eyes and swallowing the lump in her throat, Annwr got to her feet and herded the lot of them off the road and into the cover of the underbrush.
Once they were safety out of sight of any passing travelers, she explained what they would to do next, speaking in English so that little Lliem would not feel left out.
“Now that we are all together”—here, Annwr couldn’t help putting out her hand to stroke each of the boys on their cheeks—“we can go back across the bridge and up the road to where we left our packs. From there, we will have to find a road or track that will take us to Llwddawanden without going through Derthwald.” She intentionally left out anything about finding a convent for Aleswina, hoping that Caelym would see how unnecessary that was.
If she’d been paying closer attention, she would have noticed that—although he was making small, agreeable-sounding grunts and nodding his head as she spoke—Caelym’s eyes were fixed on the bushes behind her in an unfocused gaze, suggesting that his mind was somewhere else.