Page 93 of The Refuge

“And who might you be, good sir?” asked Malcolm, seemingly amused by the intrusion.

“I am Cillyn ap Cynfyn,” he declared, “brother to Bleddyn ap Cynfyn, the King of Gwynedd and Powys in Wales.” He repeated the message in the Saxon tongue while looking at the queen. Then the Welshman took from his cloak a parchment and handed it to Malcolm. “A letter from my brother, the king.”

Catrìona darted a look at her cousin who stared straight ahead.

“You are welcome in my court,” said Malcolm, setting the letter aside. “The Welsh are our friends. What has brought you to Dunfermline?”

“I come for my nephew, Iorwerth ap Bleddyn.”

The king retuned him a puzzled look. “We have no man here by that name.”

“Most respectfully, I disagree, My Lord, though I expect you know him by another name.” Shooting the king’s bard a glance, the Welsh nobleman said, “I am told he took the name Rhodri when he decided to defy his noble father and go off adventuring with his harp some years ago.”

All eyes turned on Rhodri, whose gaze never wavered from the Welshman who claimed to be his uncle.

At Catrìona’s side, Fia gasped.

“You did not know?” she whispered to her cousin.

Fia shook her head. “Nay, but I always knew he must be more than a bard.”

“Rhodri,” said the king. “Does this man speak the truth? Are you his nephew, son of the Welsh king?”

Rhodri said, “He is, indeed, my uncle and he speaks the truth, My Lord. I was young and impulsive. My father and I had a disagreement over my interest in poetry and the harp.”

“Hmm,” muttered the king, rubbing a hand over his beard. “And what is your purpose, Cillyn ap Cynfyn, save to see your nephew?”

Cillyn drew himself up, his head raised in noble fashion. “My older brother, the king, summons his son home. His words to me were, ‘’Tis time my son takes his rightful place; one day he will share the crown with his brothers’.”

The king stepped down from the dais and offered the Welshman his hand. “I would have your friendship, Cillyn ap Cynfyn. In truth, I would have more. Your country and mine both loathe the Norman invader. I would have an alliance. Would your brother, the king, agree to such?”

The Welshman appeared to consider Malcolm’s question and then said, “He might be so inclined if I were to return with my nephew. We have long sheltered the Norman’s enemies, including the English rebel, Eadric the Wild, who allied himself to my brother when he was the Prince of Gwynedd. As you say, our countries are friends and we have a common enemy.”

Catrìona squeezed her cousin’s hand, knowing Fia was in love and it would break her heart if Rhodri left Scotland.

Malcolm turned to the bard. “I do not like to think of you leaving my court, Rhodri or Iorwerth, however you are called. By which name should we henceforth address you?”

“Rhodri, My Lord. ’Tis a name of great renoun in Wales and my own ancestor. I have become used to the sound of it.”

“As you wish. So, Rhodri, do you agree to return with your uncle to Wales and seek this alliance with Scotland?”

The hall was so quiet not even the hounds in the corner stirred as all waited for Rhodri’s answer. Only the hearth fire, which burned low, made any sound at all.

Rhodri’s reply, when it came, echoed through the hall. “I agree… on one condition.”

Malcolm and Cillyn turned their gazes on the Welshman once considered a bard and a bowman but now recognized as the son of the Welsh king.

“And what is that?” asked Malcolm. “Come, do not keep us in suspense.”

Rhodri shifted his gaze to the dais where Fia’s father sat. “I would ask the Mormaer of Atholl for the hand of his daughter, Fia, for I will have no other as my wife.”

Catrìona turned to her cousin. Fia’s cheeks were streaked with tears, but it was not sadness she saw in her blue eyes; it was joy. “Oh, Fia.”

“Fia of Atholl, come forward!” shouted the king. Then turning to the Welsh lord, Malcolm said, “A troublesome thing this tendency of my men to demand the bride of their choice.”

Catrìona saw the queen roll her eyes to the roof above and remembered that Malcolm had once demanded his choice of a bride.

Addressing the Mormaer of Atholl, who frowned from the dais, the king said, “You’d best join us as well, Matad. It seems the whole kingdom is to witness this conversation.”