Here Be Dragons - 1 by Sharon Penman (best inspirational books txt) 📕

of letdown7 Why was there such a flat, empty feeling7 It was not at all uncommon for a man to wed a very young girl, not laying with her until she was of age But she was not a child She was fourteen, fully two years older than Isabelle when Papa had bedded her No man would ever have abstained from Isabelle's bed, that she knew for certes How little to Llewelyn's liking she must beWithout warning, tears filled her eyes She blinked them back angrily, wiped her face on the corner of the sheet She'd not give in to selfpity She had no cause to feel sorry for herself Llewelyn could have been so different, could have been arrogant, crude, even cruel But he was none of those things Had he not been Welsh, had he only been a Norman lord, she would have been thankingGod for her good fortune And the worst was now over, their first meeting, the wedding, the bedding revels, the"Oh, Jesus God'"Sitting upright in the bed, she reached over, shook Llewelyn's shoulder "Llewelyn, Llewelyn, wake up please1" He awakened at her touch, but looked at her so blankly that she realized he did not at once remember who she was "The sheets' Come morning, the weddingParty will enter our chamber, will examine the sheets to see if they be oodied, to see if I came to my marnage bed a virgin But the sheets will i dean' They'll be clean, and I I'll be shamed, shamed before dll "Llewelyn swore under his breath, the words were Welsh, but his e needed no translation Joanna shrank back For a long moment,

196his eyes rested upon her face; even in the firelight, her pallor show all too clearly. And then he threw the covers back, rose from the b H Joanna heard him bump into the table, curse again, and she pulled th sheet up under her chin, having no idea what he was searching fOr the dark.There was a sudden flare of light; Llewelyn had at last found flj and tinder.He lingered by the table long enough to drink what re mained in his wine cup.Now that he was fully awake, his sense of humor was beginning to reassert itself, and he was laughing quietly to himself by the time he returned to the bed; this was, after all, hardly the way he'd expected to pass his wedding night."Hold this," he said, thrusting a candle toward Joanna. Her eyes widened at sight of the slender dagger blade, and he could not help laughing again. What in God's name did she think he meant to do with it? "I hope you do not mind, love, if you lose your maidenhead with only modest bleeding? I've been fighting for nigh on twenty years, and have had my share of hurts, but I can say for certes that never will I get a stranger scar!"Joanna said nothing, watched as he drew the blade against the underside of his forearm, stanched the bleeding with the sheets. She was very close at that moment to hating him; what was to him such a source of obvious amusement was to her an acute humiliation. How could he laugh at her like this, be so cruel?Did he not realize how it shamed her, that she must fake the loss of her virginity, when other wives, no matter how plain, were wanted, bedded, even cherished?Llewelyn was leaning over, concealing the knife under the bed, and she breathed upon the candle. When he would have kissed her cheek, she averted her face, and he gave her a sudden thoughtful look, but he said only, "You'd best sleep now, Siwan. We do depart for Wales on the morrow.""You did call me that before . . . She-one. What does it mean?""Siwan?" Llewelyn yawned. "It is Welsh for Joan or Joanna.""I am Joanna! Not Siwan, Joanna! I'll not lose my name, too!" No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Joanna froze, appalled by what she'd done. Awife had no right to speak so to her husband. Women were beaten for much less.Llewelyn had raised himself up on his elbow, was staring at her, his face unreadable in the shadowy lightShe swallowed, whispered, "I am sorry, my lord, so sorry""No, Joanna, you owe me no apology," he interrupted, and then added something utterly incomprehensible to her. "You see," he said softly, "my mother's name was Marared . . . not Margaret." There was a pause, and then he rolled over, reached for his pillow. "Joanna it shall be. But I ought to warn you; I do not know what my people will make 01

397. t of them speak no French . . . and there is no letter / in the WelshThe chamber was quiet. Feeling somehow as if she'd won the battle lost the war, Joanna slid over, until the width of the bed was been them. It was only then that the full impact of his words registered 'th her. On the morrow, he'd said, they would depart for Wales. She'd wrong, so very wrong. The worst was not over.16ABER, NORTH WALESMa|j 1206WuV VALES, Llewelyn explained to Joanna, was divided into cantrefs and commotes, similar in nature to the English shires. His favorite palace was at Aber, the royal seat of the commote of Arllechwedd Uchaf, fifty-three miles west ofChester. It was a journey of two days; they rode into Aber at dusk onSaturday."We're home, Joanna." Reining in beside her, Llewelyn smiled. "AberGwyngregynMouth of the White Shell River.""A beautiful name," Joanna said faintly. Only now were her breathing and heartbeat getting back to normal. She'd never been so frightened as in the past few hours, clinging dizzily to her mare's saddle pommel as the horse picked its way along an alpine trail of truly treacherous dimensions. So narrow that two horses could not ride abreast, so dose to the cliff thatJoanna could hear the pounding of