"Love, you know we have to be there." Joanna sighed, with real regret.

"Otherwise, I'd like nothing better than . . . conversing with you. You're such a deep, penetrating conversationalist, after all," she sajd, all but choked in trying not to laugh at her own weak pun.

She'd never yet bested him at wordplay, and she waited expectantly to see how he would improve upon her effort. Instead he said, "Do come in, John."

"You'll have to do better than that," Joanna scoffed. "You played that trick upon me once before, remember? Looking up and saying, 'Yes, Morgan?' at a moment when we most definitely had no need of witnesses!" The memory made her laugh; Llewelyn did, too. But then he sat up.

"I was not jesting, Joanna," he said, and Joanna turned her head, saw her father standing in the doorway of the bedchamber.

John's face was impassive, showed absolutely nothing of what he was thinking.

"I trust I'm not interrupting anything of urgency?"

Llewelyn grinned, but he could see the embarrassed blush rising in Joanna's face and throat; taking pity on her, he held his tongue, showed his amusement only in the exaggerated gallantry with which he helped her to her feet.

Privacy was an unknown luxury, and Joanna had long since become accustomed to people intruding into their bedchamber at inopportune moments, surprising her on Llewelyn's lap, in his arms, once in the midst of a soapily erotic shared bath. But never before had she felt as she did now, flustered and thoroughly discomfited.

"The last of the Welsh Princes have arrived, and they are awaiting us now in the hall." For the first time John looked directly at Joanna, his eyes opaque, utterly unreadable. "I thought we would enter together."

'We would be honored, Papa." Joanna hastily snatched up her veil, crossed to her father. Laying a hand upon his arm, she looked search- lng'y into his face. She still thought him to be a handsome man, but she ought, too, that time was not treating him kindly. She knew he would be forty-two until December, yet the ink-black hair was liberally Jacked with grey; his eyes were bloodshot, shadowed by suspicions ynd satisfying, the mouth thinned, inflexible, not as open to laugher as Joanna remembered.302 What could she say, that she ached for him, grieved that he had s much and so little? "I love you, Papa," she said, saw his mouth soften and put her arms around his neck.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," John said gently, for a moment held her in a close, comforting embrace. But he was not looking at his daughter, was gazing over her shoulder at the man she'd married.

JOANNA watched as Llewelyn knelt before her father, did homage to John as his King and liege lord. The hall was quiet; Llewelyn's voice carried clearly to all, his matter-of-fact tones revealing none of the distaste Joanna knew he must feel.

John was now making the obligatory response, promising to do all in his power to guarantee Llewelyn's peaceful possession of Gwynedd, raising his son-in-law up to give him the ritual kiss of peace. Llewelyn then declared, "In the name of the Holy Trinity and in reverence of these sacred relics, I swear that I will truly keep the oath which I have given, and will always remain faithful to you, my King and seigneur," and then it was over, and Joanna took more comfort from the ceremony than she knew it warranted, tried to convince herself that there could indeed be a true and abiding harmony between the two men she loved.

Gwenwynwyn alone was absent, a prisoner of the crown for the past twelvemonth.

But Madog ap Gruffydd was there, Prince of Upper Powys, Llewelyn's first cousin and ally. So, too, were the Princes of Deheubarth, of South Wales, Maelgwn and his brother, Rhys Gryg, and one by one they followed Llewelyn to the dais, knelt to do homage to the English King. After them came the younger Welsh lords, Llewelyn's cousin Hywel and Maelgwn's estranged nephews, Owain and Rhys leunac; all three were in their mid-twenties, and all three were Llewelyn's sworn men. It was Hywel who was to give a deliberate and dramatic demonstration of where his loyalties lay. No sooner had he done homage to John than he crossed the hall, knelt before Llewelyn, and swore oaths of homage and fidelity for the lordship of Meirionydd.

The Welsh system of inheritance did not promote family unity; all too often it fostered fratricide, set brother against brother in a bitter battle for supremacy. So it had been with Llewelyn's father and uncles. So, too, it had been in the South, where Maelgwn and Rhys Gryg were the survivors of a long and bloody war of succession. Owain and Rhys leunac were a rarity, therefore, brothers who were not rivals, who acted as one. In the silence that settled over the hall after Hywel's acknowledgment of allegiance, Owain and Rhys exchanged wordless looks ot perfect understanding. Then they, too, crossed the hall, did homage to Llewelyn for Ceredigion.r 303.

A rnan could, and very, often did, owe allegiance to two or more lords In choosing to do homage to Llewelyn, the Welshmen were 11 within their legal rights But Joanna wished fervently that they had done so, had not acted to tarnish her father's moment of triumph mi elewn was standing just to her right, close enough to touch He was sinking-looking man in his early forties, no taller than John, with a thick head of tawny hair and the blue eyes of the true Celt, those eyes ,ere the coldest Joanna had ever seen She watched his face as his nephews did homage to Llewelyn for lands once his, and shivered, suddenly and uncontrollably "Did Llewelyn plan that7" a voice murmured at her ear When she shook her head, Richard swore under his breath "Papa will not ever believe he did not, Joanna," he said somberly RICHARD took a seat as inconspicuously as possible, not entirely comfortable to be in the company of these men, the most powerful lords of his father's realm As he glanced about the table, it was with a distinct shock that he realized how few of them bore his father no grievances, how few were not in some sort of disfavor Chester seemed to have weathered John's earlier suspicions And his Uncle Will, of course, still stood high in John's favor So, too, did John's mercenary captains, Falkes de Breaute and Robert de Vieuxpont Richard thought them to be men without honor, men who whored for the lord who'd pay the most, but their very practicality would keep them loyal, none could pay better than the King Peter des Roches had proved his loyalty even to John's exacting satisfaction, remaining in England despite the Pope's Interdict The same could not be said, though, for the others William de Ferrers, Earl of Derby, had the bad luck to be a nephew to William de Braose The northern baron Eustace de Vesci was suspect because of his links to the Scottish crown, he was wed to a bastard daughter of King William The Earl of Huntingdon's predicament was even more acute, he was the Scots King's brother Richard de Clare, Earl f Hertford, was twice damned in John's judgment, he had welcomed John's accession to the throne with less than wholehearted enthusiasm, ar>d his daughter was wife to William de Braose's eldest son William de Braose was casting a long shadow indeed, Richard '"ought bleakly Even the faithful, upright Earl of Pembroke had stum- ed over it, had foolishly taken pity on the fugitive de Braose family, briefly given them shelter on his Irish estates, for which John had a6 to forgive him The truth his father did not want to face was unpleas- v dear to Richard, that there was a growing groundswell of sympa-304 r 305.

thy for de Braose among his fellow barons, not because he'd been liked but because he'd been so powerful, so apparently invulnerable. There was not a man in this chamber, Richard knew, who had not thought to himself: The same thing could happen to me, to mine, should the King ever turn against me as he did de Braose.

This was the first council meeting since they'd departed Woodstock for John's hunting lodge at Silverston. Richard knew what his father wanted to discuss: his coming campaign in Ireland, with its dual purpose of capturing the de Braoses and punishing those lords who'd dared to harbor them, an expedition he meant to finance with the fifteen thousand marks he'd extorted from the King of Scotland.

The council meeting began on an entirely different and discordant note, however. Eustace de Vesci leaned across the table, said with poorly concealed relish, "I've news Your Grace should know. The Pope has given the order for your excommunication."

Suddenly the chamber was very quiet. The Interdict was causing no small degree of suffering for John's subjects, but so far it had not had the effect the Pope desired, had not undermined the allegiance of the English. A large majority still supported John's position, that it was the King's right to choose an Archbishop of Canterbury, and not for the Pope to force his own man upon them. It was only to be expected, therefore, that the Pope would resort to excommunication, which made of John an outcast among all men of faith. No Christian was to break bread with an excommunicate; he was to be shunned as a moral leper, as a man doomed to eternal damnation.

John looked at de Vesci for a long moment, then smiled coldly "'When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child, but when I became a man, I put away childish things.'"

Richard heard more than one indrawn breath, and looking around, he saw that his father had profoundly shocked most of the men. Even the cynical de Vesci seemed taken aback.

How much bravado was there in John's blasphemy? Richard did not know. The sentence of excommunication had come as no surprise to John; he'd been privately warned days ago by Peter des Roches that the decree was imminent, had time enough to come to terms with it. Rich' ard knew, of course, that his father was not the most pious of men, but what man could contemplate damnation forever and aye without recoil/ without an inner shudder of the soul?

It was the pragmatic Chester who at last ended an acutely uncom fortable silence, saying calmly, "Have you thought, my liege, of tn problems this will pose for you ... for us? How the common people wi' react?"

"The common people are not likely even to know. Let the Pope proclaim it from now till Judgment Dayin France, Brittany, Normandy. But who's to proclaim it for him in England? My lord Bishop of Winchester is the only prelate still on English soil."

Peter des Roches smiled imperturbably, confirming what all already j^iew, that he'd chosen his King over his Pope, ambition over obedience- "Your Grace is, as ever, quite right," he said blandly. "Shall we speak now of Your Grace's Irish expedition?"

"Not yet." John signaled for wine, said, "I've had word from Shrewsbury.

Gwenwynwyn is offering no less than twenty hostages for his freedom, as a pledge of future loyalties."

That was of little interest to de Vesci and the Earl of Derby; theirs were not Marcher lands. It was of enormous interest, though, to border lords like Chester and de Clare. And to Richard, for altogether different reasons.

"Do you intend to release him, Your Grace?"

"I expect so ... sooner or later."

"You do know that will mean war?" Chester's eyes were suddenly speculative.

"Once Gwenwynwyn is free, he'll seek to regain what was his.""You think he can?" John asked, and Chester considered, shook his head.

"Against Llewelyn? No, Your Grace, probably not. Not unless he does get help."

"I agree with you," John said, no more than that, but Chester was sensitive to nuance, to the unspoken.

"You would aid Gwenwynwyn, my liege?" he asked, and John acknowledged his percipience with a faint smile.

But it was Will who answered him, saying with some indignation, "No, he would not! Llewelyn is his daughter's husband, my lord Chester. Moreover, he has proven his loyalty in answering my brother's summons for war against the Scots. I grant you he erred in disobeying John, in attacking Powys, but what's past is past, forgiven and forgotten, and he"

"Whatever makes you think I've forgiven him, Will?"

Why, because . . . because you made him welcome at court, John, showed no sign that you bore him any ill will"

I do not ever forget a wrong done me, Will. Not ever," John re- Peated softly, and again Richard heard someone catch his breath. Only e men whose swords were sold to the highest bidder, Falkes de ^reaute and Robert de Vieuxpont, appeared unaffected by the threat.

,ery other man in the room seemed to have taken John's ominous m'ssion to heart. Will looked troubled, Chester inscrutable, de Vesci306 r 307.

grim, expressions of unease flickering from face to face, the awareries that John's warning was meant as much for them as for his Welsh son in-law.

"You were all at Woodstock, saw what happened, saw what h dared to do." John's color had deepened; there was in the low, precise voice echoes of remembered rage. "For those of you who are not that well acquainted with Llewelyn ab lorwerth's predatory past, he seized power from his uncle at twenty-one, and in the intervening fifteen yea^ has steadily increased his holdingsalways at someone else's expense He'll eventually swallow up all of Wales ... if left to his own devices "

Richard bit his lip, much disquieted. He knew Joanna had spoken privately to their father, had left for Wales confident she had convinced John that Llewelyn had not known what his young allies meant to do. It bothered Richard that John had not been honest with Joanna, bothered him that John had been nursing a grudge for more than a year, bothered him that the other men were so quick to nod agreement. He knew he owed it to Joanna to object, to defend her husband. But he knew, too, that he was there only on John's sufferance, that there was no voice in council for the King's twenty-year-old bastard son, and that silenced him, that and an instinctive reluctance to move from the sidelines to center stage, to abandon the protective coloring developed during a solitary, introspective childhood, the unquestioning, fatalistic acceptance that had enabled him to look upon his father's darker side and neither approve nor condemn.

It was Chester who unexpectedly did what Richard felt he could notoffer a measured, unimpassioned protest. "You understand the Welsh quite well, my liege, better than your brother ever did. And making use of one Welsh prince to checkmate another is indeed a shrewd and proven strategy for dealing with Wales."

John, too, was responsive to insinuation. He frowned, said challengingly, "But not this time?"

"Llewelyn ab lowerth is an unusual man, Your Grace. He is exceedingly ambitious, just as you say, but he is intelligent, too. I think he understands the limitations of power ... of Welsh power. And because he does, I would prefer to keep him as an ally, even if it means giving him a free hand in Wales. I fear that if we do not, we risk pushing him into open rebellion."

"And what if we do? Are you saying a Welsh rebel could prevail against the English crown?" John's voice was scornful, but Chester refused the bait.

"No, Your Grace, of course I am not. He could not hope to defea you. But I am not sure you fully realize what victory might cost. It is t late, you see, to use a Gwenwynwyn or a Maelgwn to rein him in; t"1 balance of power has already shifted too far in his favor. If you do n .jje to terms with him, it would not be enough to defeat him. You'd jjave to destroy him."

Chester paused, waiting. But John made no response.

"As I said, Your Grace, I do not doubt the eventual outcome. But it ould be a drawn-out, bloody, and brutal war. Wars with the Welsh [ways are. They disappear into inaccessible mountain retreats, phantorn foes we cannot find.

But they have no trouble finding us, my liege; they excel at ambush, at surprise attack and counterattack upon the morrow. There is no glory in wars against the Welsh, only bloodspattered rocks and shallow graves, and once you win, you find precious little for the plundering. I would not undertake such a war merely to rid myself of a man I could more easily befriend, Your Grace."

"Would you not? And if I were to order you to do just that, order you to lead an army into Gwynedd, what then? Would you balk, beg off from a duty you find so distasteful?"

The sarcasm was savage, utterly undeserved, and Richard winced. Chester had gone rigid in his chair; Richard was close enough to see how the muscles clenched along his jawline, how the tendons tightened in his throat. "I servethe King's pleasure," he said, quite tonelessly. "When Your Grace commands, I obey."

"How very reassuring," John said dryly. His gaze shifted from Chester, moved slowly from face to face. The other men averted their eyes, guarded their thoughts. All save Will, who leaned across the table, put his hand upon John's sleeve, and asked what Richard so needed to know.

"John, Llewelyn is wed to your daughter. What of her? What of Joanna? I cannot believe you'd want to see her hurt."

John exhaled a deep, drawn-out breath, stared down at his clenched fist, at the imprints his nails had left in the palm of his hand. "No, I would never want that," he said. "Never." He looked up then, raised troubled hazel eyes to his brother's face. "But I fear that marriage was a mistake, Will, a great mistake."26 CRICIETH CASTLE, NORTH WALES.

August 1210 W,.

V YILLIAM de Braose turned from the window, from the shimmering blue expanse of the bay. "It is good of you, my lord, to make my grandson and me welcome at your castle of Cricieth."

"To the Welsh, hospitality is a binding obligation. We never turn away a man in need of shelter, offer him food and a bed, guarantee his safety as long as he remains a guest at our hearth. I understand the Normans do have different customs," Llewelyn said, very dryly, saw the older man's face mottle with color, saw his barb bury itself in the scar tissue of an old shame. He was not surprised when de Braose made no effort to defend himself; to de Braose, the Abergavenny massacre required neither explanation nor expiation. Nor was he surprised when de Braose forbore to take offense, for he knew how much the Norman lord needed his help.

"I hear John has been laying waste to half of Ireland. Have you no fears for your wife, your family?"

"There is no need. As soon as John moved into Ulster, my wife and sons took ship for Scotland."

"A wise decision," Llewelyn conceded. "John makes a bad enemy."

"You should know."

"Should I?"

De Braose closed the space between them, stopped before Llewelyn's chair. "Can you not feel the noose tightening about your neck John had to delay his Irish expedition to deal with the Scots King, and he now delays your destruction whilst he settles a grudge against me an mine. But your turn is coming, my lord. Can you, in truth, doubt 1 After John did take Ellesmere Castle from you?" , Llewelyn tensed. It was months since John had abruptly recla'111309 the castle he'd yielded to Llewelyn as Joanna's marriage portion, but the ere mention of Ellesmere was enough to ignite a still-smoldering anel anger that gave the he to his affectation of indifference De Braose saw, and smiled "I have friends still in Wales, in England, am km by blood or marnage to Derby, de Clare, Mortimer To a man, they hate John, and with cause They'd heed a call to rebellion So, too, would Maelgwn and Rhys Gryg/ especially if you came in with us, my lord With John occupied in Ireland, this is a God-given opportunity, we'd be fools not to take advantage of it At the least, we could then treat with him from strength, pressure him into buying peace on our terms And with luck, we might be able to do more than maim, we might even be able to bring him down You do not fear him as most men do, so you do not realize the extent of their hatred Let them scent blood, and they'll react like a pack of hounds with a live hare in their midst Think what it would mean, my lord With John shackled, one way or the other, Wales would be yours for the taking And of course you'd have my full support, that of my kindred "

"Of course," Llewelyn echoed cynically But the thrust of de Braose's argument could not be dismissed as easily as his self-serving promises Llewelyn was quiet for some moments, at last shook his head Til not deny there is truth in what you say And if I truly thought we had a chance to succeed But the nsk is too great I've never been so hungry that I was willing to lick honey off thorns "

"If rashness is a flaw, so, too, is an excess of caution Sooner or later a day of reckoning is coming between you and John Better that you should be the one to pick when and where Think on what I've said, that is all I ask Think on it ".

THE sun was sliding into the sea by the time Joanna returned to the rastle So great was her sense of outrage that she'd been unable to remain under the same roof with William de Braose, and had gathered up her children and taken them down to the beach for a day in the sun, out f sight and sound of the man who was her father's avowed enemy Davydd and Elen had been thrilled with this break in their daily rutine, splashed in the shallows and dug in the sand But Joanna was terly miserable How could Llewelyn do it, how could he make wel- me a man outlawed, a traitor to the crown7 Did he not realizeor rewhat her father would make of that7 Alys, Davydd's wet nurse, Packed a basket full of food, but Joanna could swallow no more than h l^uthful of cheese In the months since Woodstock, she'd watched P'essly as her life careened out of control, as her father and husband310 r moved closer and closer to an irrevocable break. She'd been deeply hurt by her father's seizure of Ellesmere, saw the revoking of her marriage portion as a denial of her marriage, felt that her father had somehow betrayed her. That Llewelyn would receive William de Braose was, in 9 different way, no less a betrayal.

Once they were within sight of the castle, Joanna felt free to dismiss Alys and the three men she'd taken along as an escort, knowing Llewelyn would have been furious with her if she'd gone off without them She was in no hurry to climb the slope up to the castle, not when William de Braose might still be within, and she loitered for a time by the water's edge, watching gulls squabble over the last of her bread. When Elen came running up, brandishing a dead crab, Joanna made the obligatory response, delighted her daughter by shrinking back in mock horror, not confiscating the crab until Elen tried to stuff it down the front of Davydd's tunic.

Elen burst into thwarted tears, sobbing pitifully and resisting with all the strength in her small body as Joanna pulled her away from the water, in the direction of the castle. Just when Joanna's frayed patience was about to give way, Elen wriggled loose, sprinted forward with a glad cry of "Gruffydd!"

A short distance away, three boys were sitting upon a log, throwing knives at a small piece of driftwood. Joanna was now close enough to make a grudging recognition of her stepson and Ednyved's son Tudur. The third youngster had sun-streaked blond hair and a deep tan; she only belatedly recognized him as William de Braose's grandson and namesake.

He rose politely, if briefly, to his feet at sight of her; so did Tudur. But Gruffydd did not move, managed to make of his slouching pose a deliberate provocation. In the five months since he'd attained his fourteenth birthday and his legal majority, Gruffydd's relationship with Joanna had deteriorated rapidly. No longer sullenly mute, he was becoming openly antagonistic, almost as if defying Joanna to fall back upon her weapon of last resort, to complain of his rudeness to Llewelyn. Joanna did not know whether he was testing his newfound manhood or testing her, knew only that they were racing headlong toward a confrontation, and she watched grimly as Elen flung herself onto her brother's lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and entreated, "Make me fly, Gruffydd!"

Coming to his feet, Gruffydd obligingly swung the little girl up ti" the air, high over his head, making her shriek with laughter, as Davyo watched wistfully. But while envying his sister's swooping fligh'' stayed where he was, for he was somewhat afraid of Gruffydd. r*1 every overture had been rebuffed so brutally that he now avoid 322.

Gruffydd whenever possible; although his awareness was still only on n Unconscious level, he'd begun to sense that when his brother Gruffydd looked at him, it was with loathing.

Setting Elen down upon the sand, Gruffydd sprawled back upon the log. "I hope you have an explanation for your disappearance. My father is less than pleased with you for running off as you did."

"That is hardly your concern."

As always, their conversation sounded discordant, somehow offkey, for Gruffydd refused to address Joanna in Welsh, and she just as stubbornly renounced French. Will was beginning to look amused, and it was to him that Gruffydd said, "A Welsh-born wife would rise even from a sickbed to make welcome a guest in her husband's house. There was a time, in fact, when women did not come and go just as they pleased. In the reign of Hywel the Good, a prince's wife shunned the great hall in his absence, kept to the women's quarters until her lord returned. But then you Normans invaded England, brought queer and outlandish customs with you like some noxious foreign pox."

"I find it passing strange that you would choose to boast of the more backward aspects of your heritage," Joanna snapped, and Will laughed aloud."Check and mate," he pronounced, with a mocking grin that endeared him neither to Joanna nor to Gruffydd.

"Sugar!" Joanna whistled for her dog. With Davydd holding onto her skirt and Elen dawdling behind, she started toward the castle. She'd taken only a few steps, was still within earshot when Will laughed again.

"So that is your father's wife."

"That," Gruffydd said, quite clearly and distinctly, "is my father's whore."

Joanna froze, disbelieving, and then spun around. "I want an apology from you, and I want it now. If not, I shall go to Llewelyn, tell him the way you dare to speak about his wife." Gruffydd's eyes narrowed. "Go ahead. I'd deny it."

"Do you truly think he'd believe you over me?" Joanna said, and he rse, took a sudden step toward her. He was taller than she, as tall ready as Llewelyn, and for the first time she was aware of a physical Menace, aware that a boy's raw, raging passion was now contained wi*in a man's body.

Will moved to Joanna's side. "'My father's whore,'" he drawled. Dld you forget, Gruffydd, that I heard you, too?"

Gruffydd was taken aback, but not for long. "You keep out of this!" Will smiled. "Make me," he said. Stop it," Joanna said sharply. Will had shifted his weight, bracing332 himself; a hand had dropped to the dagger at his belt. Gruffydd, too wore a dagger, and he was, Joanna, knew, utterly fearless. They were' the both of them, too old for boyhood squabbles that left only scratches and bruises, but not old enough to judge what was worth fighting or dying for, and Joanna was suddenly frightened. "Stop this foolishness," she repeated, knowing even as she spoke that they were not likely to heed her.

It was Elen who stopped it, Elen who was tired of being ignored and sought to call attention back to herself by quoting parrotlike, " 'Father's whore.' Is that you, Mama?"

Gruffydd drew a quick breath, looked down at the little girl, and Joanna saw in his eyes a sudden shame. His hand unclenched from his dagger hilt; he flexed his fingers, rubbed his palm against his tunic. He obviously did not know what to say to Elen, at last mumbled, "You must forget that, lass, must not say it for others to hear"

Joanna interrupted hastily, knowing nothing would be more likely to brand the word into Elen's brain. "It is just another word for ... for Norman, Elen."

As Elen wandered away, satisfied, Gruffydd looked at Joanna. "I was wrong to say that," he said, very low. "I never meant for my sister to hear. It will not happen again." The apology cost him dearly, but in making it, he unexpectedly achieved a certain bleak dignity, which not even Joanna could deny.

Gruffydd's eyes flicked briefly to Will, back to Joanna. "I owe my lord father better than that," he said, turned and walked away.

JOANNA paused on the wooden stairs leading up to her chamber in the Great Tower, looked thoughtfully down at Will. "Thank you for escorting us back to the castle. But tell me, why did you take my side against Gruffydd?"

"I'm naturally gallant," he said, and laughed, then shrugged. "Mayhap because you're Norman, a woman. Or mayhap because I was not much taken with your stepson."

"I was surprised, in truth, to see the two of you together. I'd have thought Gruffydd would sooner befriend a caeth, a bond servant, than one of Norman blood."

"Well, I expect it helped that I speak so much better Welsh than you! And we did discover a common bond, a shared loathing for tne King of England."

"I see," Joanna said slowly. She knew his candor was a delibera challenge, but how could the boy not blame her father for the dovvnw313 f his House7 "You know, of course, that I am King John's daughter I ^e it you do not believe, then, in blood guilt7"

"Now you are mocking me," he said composedly "But yes, I do believe in blood guilt for men, for sons Not for a woman, though, at least not a woman who looks like you do1" There was in his grin both jnpudence and a certain cocky charm, and Joanna had to laugh "For your sake, Will de Braose, I hope you do learn to curb your tongue, you cannot trade upon being fourteen forever1" She turned to g0, paused again "You remind me of someone, and I've just realized who I think my husband must have been much like you at fourteen "

Will looked pleased "If I can win as much with my sword as Llewelyn ab lorwerth has won with his, I'd be well content " He backed away from the stairs, stood looking up at Joanna "I shall remember you, my lady And to prove I am generous as well as gallant, I do have some free advice for you Talk to your lord husband about his son "