“You guessed.”
Gwydion shrugged. He was used to that. His mind turned instead to the important question on how best to handle Rhiannon. Perhaps he could appeal to her sense of duty. Except that she didn’t appear to have any. Yet something Myrrdin had said could help. “Myrrdin says that Rhiannon and I are a great deal alike,” he repeated absently.
“Myrrdin is a wise old man. But I am wiser still. I won’t even bother to ask you when you talked to him last.”
Swiftly, Gwydion raised his keen gray eyes to Dudod’s glittering green ones. “Why bother to ask what you already know?”
“Why indeed?”
Meirgdydd, Disglair Wythnos—early morning
DUDOD ROUSED GWYDION early the next morning. After a hasty breakfast they rode into the forest of closely packed trees and lush undergrowth. After a few leagues they reached a large clearing. The forest floor was dotted with wildflowers of glistening white, bright red, deep blue, and lemony yellow. A small waterfall played lightly over a rocky slope and fed into a blue, jewel-like pond. The sunlight turned the drops into tiny diamonds. The water bubbled exuberantly in the bright, clear, summer morning.
“Let me go first,” Dudod said in a low tone. He dismounted and, walking up near the waterfall, gave a shout. For a moment nothing happened. Then Rhiannon, dressed in a plain black gown, appeared suddenly from behind the waterfall. With a cry, she hurled herself into Dudod’s arms.
As Gwydion worked his way closer, leaving his horse behind the trees, he saw that her long, wavy black hair was unbound, falling below her waist. She was slender and her feet were bare. Her back was to Gwydion as she clung to Dudod and he could not see her face, buried as it was in Dudod’s shoulder.
Tears were running down Dudod’s face as he gently held Rhiannon to him. “Child,” he whispered. “Niece. I missed you so.”
“Uncle Dudod, I can’t believe you’re here. How did you find me?” she wept.
“I knew you’d come back here.”
“And you never told anyone,” Rhiannon marveled.
“Oh, well, not until very recently.”
Rhiannon stepped back from Dudod’s arms. “What do you mean?” she asked sharply. “Who have you told?”
“Ah,” he replied, trying to sound casual. “Just one person.”
“Who?”
Behind her, Gwydion cleared his throat. As she whipped around, he bowed low. “Gwydion ap Awst, Dreamer of Kymru. And I know how to keep secrets, too, never fear.”
She stared at him, the tears of joy drying on her face. Her green eyes were enormous. She had a snub nose, a pointed chin, and, at the moment, a most forbidding expression.
“Why have you done this to me, Uncle?”
“That will take some time to explain. Perhaps we may go up to the cave and sit and talk for a while.”
“Yes,” Rhiannon said shortly. “Let’s do that. By all means, please share the hospitality of one you have betrayed.”
“Rhiannon,” Dudod pleaded, “just calm down.”
“Calm down?” she asked, her voice rising. “You bring that—that schemer to my home, and you tell me to calm down?”
“Yes I do,” Dudod replied with some heat. “We have come a long way to speak to you, and with very good reasons. Do you think I would have done this unless I judged it to be of the greatest importance?”
Rhiannon studied Dudod, ignoring Gwydion completely. “I’ll be the judge of what’s important.” She turned back to the waterfall without another word.
They followed her over the rocks and slipped behind the gentle waterfall. Parting a woolen curtain, she led them into her cave. A fire crackled atop the hearth, over which a pot of water steeped in herbs was boiling.
To the left of the entrance were books and a small harp resting upon wooden shelves. “That’s Hefeydd’s harp,” Dudod said in surprise.
“Yes,” Rhiannon said shortly.
“Don’t play it much, do you?” Gwydion said, taking in the dust that covered the beautiful instrument.
“No.” She gestured for them to sit at the table and made her way to the back of the cave that was hidden in shadow. “Gwenhwyfar,” she called. “You can come out now.”
Slowly, a young girl with long, blond hair came out of the shadows. She had widely spaced blue eyes and wore a plain gown of brown cloth. She, too, was barefoot. Shyly she smiled at Dudod. “Great-uncle Dudod?”
Dudod nodded, smiled, and held out his arms. Without hesitation, Gwen launched herself into Dudod’s embrace. “Mam talks about you sometimes. I have always wanted to meet you. Did you bring your harp?”