Gwen meandered through the castle gardens. Roses and violets perfumed the air while bees and butterflies flitted between them.

She stroked her middle lovingly. The action made Richard seem not so far away. Part of him was here, inside her, and she cherished it.

Though he’d been gone over a fortnight, the memory of their last evening together was as real as if it had happened only yesterday. She caught a rose in her hand and bent to bury her nose in its scent. Her cheeks heated. Lord, she would never look at a rose the same again!

“Milady!”

“Over here, Owain,” she called. Her heart skipped a beat at the look on his face. She straightened and took a halting step forward. “What is it? ’Tis not Richard? He is not—?”

“Nay!” Owain hurried to her side and wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders. “Nay, milady! Jesú, I am sorry for frightening you.”

She clutched his arm, weak with relief. “’Tis all right, Owain. Mayhap I worry too much.”

He led her to a bench and helped her sit. “Richard would have my hide for scaring you.”

“Nay, I am well.” She flashed him a bright smile to prove it. She truly was well as long as Richard was alive somewhere. “What is it you wanted of me?”

His face hardened. He spat at his feet. “That whore, Anne Ashford, begs admittance. Says she fears for her household’s safety with the Welsh ravaging the countryside. She desires our protection.”

Gwen laughed. “Oh Owain, you are a treasure! Let the woman in. She is one of Richard’s tenants, after all. Probably ’tis safer inside Claiborne.”

Owain gaped. “But-but, she is a-a…”

“You may say it, Owain. She was Richard’s mistress.” Gwen shrugged. “It no longer matters to me.”

He swallowed, his eyes wide. “As you say, milady. I will tell the guards to let them in.”

Gwen watched him go. It truly didn’t matter that Anne was once Richard’s lover. Anne may have known the pleasure of his body, for which Gwen seriously disliked her, but she could have never known the depth of feeling Gwen experienced with him.

As much as Gwen would have liked to have been his first and only lover, she would settle for being his first and only love.

It didn’t take Anne long to seek her out, as Gwen knew it would not. She waited patiently on the bench, arranging the folds of her gown. She was still small enough that she could hide her pregnancy when seated.

“Lady de Claiborne, how lovely to see you again,” Anne said, sashaying toward her. “’Tis most kind of you to allow my household refuge.”

“’Tis the duty of the Countess of Dunsmore to see to her husband’s tenants’ welfare in his absence. You are well come to Claiborne castle, Lady Ashford.”

Anne smiled lamely, her gaze flickering over Gwen’s body. “Oh ’tis such a pity! I would have surely thought you would be pregnant by now. But perhaps you are your father’s daughter in more ways than one. Mayhap Richard will not mind too much. He can always get a bastard on one of his mistresses, I suppose. You will learn to live with it.”

Gwen rose slowly. “I do not think that will be necessary, Lady Ashford.”

Anne’s eyes widened briefly as the fabric settled over Gwen’s belly, then hardened to icy blue specks. “I see I was mistaken. You must be delighted,” she said smoothly.

Gwen smiled. “Aye, we both are.”

She brushed past Anne and headed for the castle. She waited until she was almost to the door before her laughter rang through the garden.

---

The days of spring were quickly turning to summer. Gwen tried to keep busy so she wouldn’t worry about Richard too much. She was in the hall, overseeing the task of replacing the rushes, when Sir Edgar approached. A man dressed in peasant’s rags trailed behind him, stooping, his limp so pronounced it was almost too painful to watch.

“Milady, this man begs an audience. I would have turned him away, but he claims he has news of Lord de Claiborne and will give it to no one but you.” The knight shot the man a scathing glance, his look clearly begging Gwen to allow him to toss the peasant out.

Gwen stared at the stranger, her heart quickening. “You have news of my husband?”

The man raised his head and winked.

She stifled a gasp. “Thank you, Sir Edgar, I will hear what this man has to say. You have done well in bringing him to me.”

Edgar bowed. “Aye, milady,” he mumbled, his gaze raking over the peasant doubtfully.

The man limped into the solar behind her and shut the door. He straightened and threw back his hood. “Hello, Lady de Claiborne,” he said, grinning.

“Rhys ap Gawain, are you mad?”

Rhys’s eyes traveled the length of her body, pausing over her middle, before returning to her face. “Jesú, Gwen, you look lovely.”

“What are you doing here? You do not really have news of Richard, do you?”

His expression fell a little. “Nay, I do not. Are you truly so eager to hear of him?”

“What do you want, Rhys?” Gwen asked, her hand settling over her stomach protectively.

Rhys sighed. “You are mad at me and I do not blame you. I am sorry for the things I said before. It was not your fault you had to marry him.”

Gwen shook her head. “But, Rhys, I still lo—”

“Nay,” he said, coming to her and putting his fingers over her lips. “Do not say it. I cannot bear to hear it.”

Gwen dropped her eyes to his chest. He pulled her against him suddenly and rested his cheek on top of her head.

She stiffened and started to push away. But his embrace was nothing more than friendly, nothing more than the simple affection that still existed between childhood companions. She relaxed and let him hold her, slipping her arms loosely around his waist.

“I have come to tell you your father is going to war.”

She didn’t have to ask which side of the war. “I dreamed it,” she whispered. “Last night, I dreamed it.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw…” She swallowed. “I saw his face. His eyes were closed and he wore a crown of ivy. But then I realized it was only his head—on a pike, Rhys!—and it was displayed over the Tower of London’s walls. People came to stare and to laugh. They pointed and said, there is Llywelyn, ruler of all of Britain.”

“St. Dafydd’s bones,” he breathed.

“Don’t you see, Rhys? He must not fight! You must tell him not to fight!”

Rhys let her go and sank heavily into a chair. “’Tis too late. The chieftains gather at Dolwyddelan. I just returned from the north, where Dafydd is fighting. Soon, we will strike in the south. ’Tis too late to turn back.”

“Nay!” Gwen cried. “I am going with you! I will tell him. He will listen to me!”

Rhys shot to his feet. “You are pregnant!”

“I must warn him, Rhys. You cannot deny me that,” Gwen said, glaring at him. If she didn’t try her best to dissuade her father, then she truly was a traitor. Deep down, she did not expect he would really listen. But there were things as yet unsaid between them, truths she needed to know. If he went to war and something happened to him, she might never know.

Richard would understand. She would return soon and when he came home for the babe, she would tell him what she had done. He would understand it was something she’d had to do.

Rhys scowled.

“Please, Rhys,” she said. “’Tis important to me.”

He heaved a sigh. “Very well, I will take you with me, though I do not like it a bit.”

---

It wasn’t hard getting out of the castle, though it should have been. Despite Richard’s orders to the contrary, Gwen still ventured from the protective walls on occasion.

This day, she left Alys behind and took her escort for a ride in the open. She wandered aimlessly through the meadows until the knights relaxed their guard.

“Sir Edgar?”

“Aye, milady?”

“I find I must relieve myself,” she said, blushing enough to make it believable. “Would you and the men wait here while I slip into the woods for a moment?”

His eyes darted over the valley. “Mayhap we should return to the castle, milady.”

“Oh nay, I cannot wait that long! ’Twill only take a moment.” She flashed him a smile.

He cleared his throat. “As you wish, milady.”

Once beneath the protective cover of the forest, she urged Saffron into a trot. A pang of guilt stabbed through her, but she ignored it. She’d left a note where Alys could find it.

When she reached Rhys and his men, they were mounted and waiting. Twenty men garbed in traditional Welsh scarlet-wool, with bare legs and leather jerkins, carrying spears and longbows. It was a vastly different picture than chainmail and shields and steam-blowing chargers.

“We must hurry,” she said. “We only have a few minutes until they know I’ve gone.”

But Welshmen were more at home in the woods than armored knights. They lost their pursuers easily, slipping higher and higher into the waiting mountains.

By the time they arrived at Dolwyddelan a few days later, the gathering of chieftains and warriors had swelled to numbers unheard of in all Llywelyn’s years of leading the Welsh. For once, the entire country seemed united in the quest against England.

When Gwen finally got in to see him, his jaw dropped. “What are you doing here?”

“You look well, Father,” she said.

“Lass, what are you doing here?” he demanded, his amber eyes flashing as they flickered over her middle.

She laid her hand on his arm. “I had a dream.”

“You should not be on your feet,” he said softly. He ushered her to a chair, then took the one across from it. “Now tell me of this dream.”

When she finished, he smiled sadly. “Ah, Gwenllian, it matters not. Sometimes I think ’twould be easier to leave this life altogether. I will see this through to the end this time. If that is indeed the end, so be it.”

“’Tis the curse.”

He shook his head. “There is no curse. ’Tis a bard’s tale. Your mother was a sweet, beautiful lass who would hurt no one. No matter how much they hurt her,” he added almost absently.

“Are you my father?” she blurted, unable to hold the question back any longer.

His eyes widened, then he passed a hand over his face. “Yes,” he said after a long moment. Gwen didn’t say anything and he raised his head to look at her. “Were you expecting a different answer?”

“Aye. ’Twould explain so much if you’d said no.”

“I’ve never had much luck at siring children. I was a fool to believe the things suggested to me of your mother. Since Elinor died, I’ve thought of many things I would have changed if I could. I’ve lost two women I loved in my life. I’ve let duty come before things I never knew were important until they were gone.

“I should have never doubted Eurwen. I’ve paid for it for years. If I pushed you away, lass, ’twas my own guilt that caused it and no fault of your own.”

Gwen brushed aside the tears trickling down her cheeks. She clenched her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “I wanted to hate you for giving me as a hostage. I wanted to hate you for giving me to Black Hawk de Claiborne. But I never could.” She laughed bitterly. “Christ, I wanted you to tell me I was not your daughter so I could finally hate you for all you did to me!”

“You have every right to feel that way, though I do not wish you to.”

Gwen dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. “’Tis funny, but I never even realized it until this moment. I wanted to hate you, but you have taken that from me too.”

“I am sorry, Gwen,” he said softly.

“Did you even know the things I did for you? How much I wanted your attention?”

“Nay,” he whispered, his expression both pained and distant.

“The first time you ever took me anywhere with you, I was so proud. And then, then—do you remember what happened then?” she asked, her anger building. She didn’t give him a chance to reply. “You gave me as a hostage, then sent Einion to tell me why! I was devastated, and when I saw you again, you didn’t even apologize.

“And then you gave me to Gwalchddu. But when you defied the king and applied to the pope to stop the marriage, I was certain you cared for me. But it was not for me, was it? It was nothing more than a power play!”

He rubbed his forehead absently. “I have wronged you, lass, and I’m sorry. I wish I could recall all the years I lost with you, but I cannot.”

Gwen gazed at him, and felt her anger fading. He looked like an old man. It surprised her, though it should not. He was fifty-four, the years beginning to weigh heavily on him. He looked more tired, mayhap thinner, than when she had seen him last.

The fight leached out of her. “Well, Father, you managed to do one thing right, though I did not believe it at the time.”

“Dunsmore?”

“Aye. I love him. He has more than filled the empty space in my life and my heart.”

“You cannot know how much that pleases me. ’Tis true I tried to keep you from marrying him for selfish reasons—the alliance with Scotland, Arwystli—but I did worry for your safety with him.” A sudden smile creased his weatherworn face. “I should have known you’d charm the savage beast. ’Tis what your mother did to me.”

Gwen’s tone became earnest. “You should not fight, Father. Sit it out on Snowdon. Let the English subdue Dafydd.”

Llywelyn shook his head. “Nay, lass. ’Tis gone far beyond that now. Edward strangles us with his laws, starves us with his empty promises.” He steepled his fingers. “I was hunting recently. We shot a stag, then chased it through the woods, following the trail of blood. It crossed the Teifi tributary and we pursued. ’Twas a Welsh stag, shot on Welsh land after all. Do you know that Edward’s officials heard the cry of the hunting horn and came after us since we’d crossed into English territory? They seized the stag as their own, took the hounds, and imprisoned half my retinue. I had to pay handsomely to get my men back, though I never got the stag or the hounds.”

“’Tis unfair!”

“Aye. And that is the way Edward deals with us, Gwen. Unfairly. We will allow it no longer.”

He stood and helped her up, then hugged her to him in a surprisingly strong embrace. It took her a full minute to respond. As she’d wanted to do all her life, she wrapped her arms around him, and felt the answering pressure of his around her.

“You are my true daughter, Gwenllian. Never doubt it.” He kissed her on the forehead. “You must return to your husband before this war gets ugly.”

Gwen searched his face. This could well be the last battle of his life, the last of Wales’ life. In that instant, she made her decision. “I am not leaving.”

“You must, Gwen. I am at war with England. Dunsmore will not understand your presence here.”

Gwen pushed away from him. “Nevertheless, I am staying.”

Her heart thudded painfully, despite her brave words. Richard might not understand. He might never forgive her. She was risking everything.

But she was Welsh above all else. She could not abandon her father, her countrymen, on the eve of a war that meant life or death for Wales.

Richard had his duty. She had hers. God help them both.