"Love Eternal" by Lisa Forget - Chapters 5 & 6

Chapter Five

Dwynwen was enjoying the company of her dear friend Enide when the stranger arrived. Dressed in a crimson tunic and black cloak embroidered in gold flowing from his shoulders to the floor,  his regal and self-assured manner commanded her attention as he entered the great hall.  No one would dare challenge his lineage, the mark of his heraldry sat bejewelled and fastened on his right shoulder. 

The eyes of everyone present focused on the stranger, yet intent on paying his respects to his host, the young man did not acknowledge them.

Dwynwen stood with her gaze fixed on the fair-haired young man, and like the rest of the women in the room, she had fallen under his spell. He crossed the hall in tempo with the beating of her heart.

No sky could compare with the colour of the prince’s eyes, of this Dwynwen was certain. His strong facial features were framed by soft wisps of his hair, the colour of sunlight. An imposing figure, he stood a hand taller than her father and his shoulders spanned two hands broader.

He came alone with no accompanying entourage, a fact which left Dwynwen puzzled.

“Who is he?” Enide whispered as the stranger approached.

“I…I do not know.” Dwynwen stammered.

As he passed by the place where she stood, the young man turned, his lips curved into a smile as his gaze met hers.

Dwynwen gasped. Had he truly given her his attention?  She lowered her eyes to the floor and swallowed. Enide reached out and squeezed her hand.

 “I am Prince Maelon, son of King Dafodril.” She heard him say. “My father sends his deepest regrets. He is unwell at present and unable to make the journey. I have the honour of representing him this evening.” His voice held the power to mesmerize and seduce.

“You are most welcome here at Talgarth.” King Brychan motioned to an empty seat by the hearth. “Join us.”

Prince Maelon, smiled, pleased at the invitation. A servant offered a cup of wine to the young prince. Lifting the vessel to his lips, he emptied the contents in one swallow and sat down with the group gathered at the King’s side.

“Is he not the most handsome man here?” asked Dwynwen’s youngest sister, swooning behind her.

“Yes.” Dwynwen replied in a hushed and breathless tone as she studied the contours of the prince’s face. “He is.”

Glanced back at the prince, she saw him engaged in conversation with her uncle. The older man seemed taken with him, laughing and patting the young man on the shoulder, as though they were old friends.

Throughout the evening the Prince demonstrated his easy manner, from the humble servant, to the king. A cup of wine in hand, a witty tale on his lips and a gleam of mischief in his eye, in the short time since he had arrived, the prince had charmed all in attendance.

She hoped his popularity would not oblige him to sit with her father and his councilmen for the duration of the evening.

            “I dare say Prince Maelon is one of the most intriguing men I have ever seen,” Enide whispered as they bowed to their dance partners.

“Indeed.” Dwynwen replied as she was led once more in the dance.

#                                  #                                  #

The Prince observed the young women celebrating in the great hall. The one whom had stood out from the moment he’d arrived was, at present, standing much too far away for his liking.

She’d been observing him as he had made his introduction to the king. The manner of concern and admiration she displayed toward the older man with whom he spoke, was befitting of a close relation. She surely must be one, of the reputed many, of his children.

He felt her gaze upon him, as she studied him as well. They acknowledged each other with a nod, and the experienced prince knew the blush that rose on her cheek confirmed a mutual attraction. No doubt it would lead to an evening of stolen glances. Prince Maelon would ensure, over the next days of celebration, it would also lead to much more.

* * * *

As the festivities continued, Dwynwen felt the prince’s presence, as she danced with cousin Ifor, and as she mingled among the guests. Moving about the great hall she felt his eyes upon her, as he watched from the shadows.

Later in the evening, while with a group of her sisters, Dwynwen shivered as the prince’s hand slid up her hip and rested on her lower back. He stood close to her, while he distracted her sister.

She caught his eye and the look she saw there made Dwynwen’s heart race. She let out a burst of nervous laughter.

 “Are you all right, sister?” her sister Ceinwen asked,  

 “Please excuse me,” Prince Maelon said before kissing Dwynwen’s hand. He turned, bowed to Ceinwen and then he left.

Dwynwen watched as the prince exiting through the doorway across the room

“Yes. I am… well,”  Dwynwen replied, avoiding her sister’s observant gaze for she would surely know she did not speak the truth.

For she was not well at all. She was in complete danger.

Of  falling in love.

The moment the thought crossed her mind, a group of men by the hearth began to sing, Dwynwen heard her father’s deep bass voice booming over the others. He motioned for Ceinwen to join him. She had a lovely voice, pure and true. The tone of her light descant joined her father’s, dancing above the ever-rousing chorus.

Dwynwen stood back and glanced across the room. The Prince stepped out of the doorway, motioning to her to follow him.

She quietly stole away from the great hall.

* * * *

Leaving the guests and the festivities behind, they rushed out into the garden.

Dwynwen slowed her step a few paces away from where the prince waited under the majestic oak.

“I should not be here alone with you,” she said, breathless.

“Oh no.” The Prince took Dwynwen’s hand, pulling her closer to him. He stared into her eyes. “You certainly should not.”

The heat in Dwynwen’s cheeks rose when the prince traced her lips with his finger.  Her heart beat a frantic tattoo. She closed her eyes as she tried to steady herself.

“Let me see you, my beautiful princess.” He lifted her chin. You have taken my breath away.” Nervous, Dwynwen pulled away.

“Are you frightened of me?” he asked, breathing the words into her ear.

“No.” She avoided his gaze.

“Then why do you look away?”  He cupped her face.

“I feel strange.” Her eyes focused on his chest. “My heart beats fast, I cannot breathe.”

“Your words fill me with… joy,” he said as his fingers traveled across her brow, her cheek. “I cannot think of my life without your beauty in it.” His hand rested on her slender neck. Dwynwen swayed into his embrace. The prince swung her around, pressing her back against the oak tree.

“I am yours,” he said.

Dwynwen gasped as the bark cut into her delicate skin forcing the air from her lungs. She stared into Maelon’s striking blue eyes. She had never been this close to a man. His breath was ragged, and coming fast, his gaze unfocused and his hard body aroused. Surprised by her reaction of desire, and the unexpected feeling of anticipation making her light-headed, Dywnwen did not struggle to pull away from Maelon, she was captivated.

Hidden from view by the large tree, the Prince brushed his lips against hers. Dwynwen arched into him. He savoured her lips gently, but quickly his kiss grew deep and passionate, allowing the prince to taste her innocence.

Time stood still for Dwynwen as the prince held her in his arms, aware only was she, of the fire burning in her heart.

Chapter Six

After leaving the parsonage, Gwen strolled toward McNally and Son, the local grocery store on Main Road.  A bell sounded her arrival. The portly proprietor turned with a smile. 

“Well good morning to ya. Gwen.”  Mr. McNally’s Irish brogue rang thick. He put down the box of supplies he was shelving. “How can we help you today?” 

“I’ll take a pint of milk.” Gwen stepped over to a small pile of baskets placed near the entrance,“and I’ll look around for the rest.”

“All right. Here you go.” He placed the milk on the counter and his expression softened. “She was a good soul yer ma. If we can help ya in any way, be sure to let us know.”

“Thank you.” Gwen replied.

Mr. McNally returned to stocking the shelves. Gwen wended her way through the shop filling her basket.

Mrs. McNally appeared from the storeroom in time to ring up Gwen’s purchases. A boisterous and charming woman in her mid-fifties, Gwen always thought that she resembled the Campbell’s soup girl from magazine advertisements. They exchanged pleasantries and Mrs. McNally echoed her husband’s sentiments while adding a loaf of soda bread into the paper bag, free of charge. After paying for her purchases, Gwen headed for the door, promising she would stop in the following week.

The scent of spring wafted on the warm breeze greeting her as she stepped onto the sidewalk, her face warmed by the sunshine, she walked straight into Mr. Pryce’s broad chest.

“Let me help you,” he said, saving the grocery bag from tumbling out of her arms.

“You disappear, and now you’re following me?”  Her tone accusatory.

“No, of course not.” he replied, but the glint of sun shone so bright Gwen couldn’t tell if he was smiling. “I had upset you and thought it best to leave.”

“Do you always barge into people’s homes, upsetting their lives?”

“I did not barge into your home. You invited me in.” He turned, gripping the bag, and began to walk away.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll help you home with these.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Yes, you do.”

 “Who do you think you are?” She followed after him. 

“I told you my name,” he replied, looking straight ahead.

“Yes, but who are you?” she asked again, trying to keep up with his long strides.

 “If you hadn’t fainted earlier,” he said, abruptly turning to face her. “I would have told you.”

“Well tell me now.”

“I am a descendant of Liam ap Rhys, who was a great friend of Dwynwen of Brycheiniog.”

“How nice for you. And you think that’s supposed to explain everything? I won’t apologize for what happened earlier, now tell me how any of that has anything to do with me?”

“Did you hear anything I said?” He shook his head as though she was daft and then pivoted, making his way down the street. “It has everything to do with you.”

 “I don’t understand. I don’t even know Dwynwen of Bri..Bri…” she stuttered, struggling to pronounce the Welsh name while keeping up with his long strides.

“Brycheiniog. Don’t insult me by claiming you’ve never heard of your ancestor.” He gave her an accusing glance.

She realized they had an audience. Mrs. Lindsay and her eldest daughter Jean were watching them from across the road. Gwen waved. The women returned the gesture and hurried into the bakery. Jean took one last glance over her shoulder before she followed after her mother.

Gwen’s eyes darted back to Mr. Pryce, her voiced lowered. “Yes, I am telling you I’ve never heard of those people. You seem to know more about my family than I do.”

“That is ridiculous. I can’t believe that a per—”

“The family I know are dead, Mr. Pryce.”

Her words silenced him. After a thoughtful moment he said, “A person should know their family’s history. They have a right to this knowledge.”

“Well, I wish I did, but I unfortunately don’t have the luxury,” she said affronted. “I’ll be frank with you Mr. Pryce, your arrogance is irritating.”

“My arrogance?”  He cocked his head. His eyes glittered.

“I’m sorry that I don’t know anything about what you’re saying, however ridiculous that may sound.” She ripped the grocery bag from his arms. “What I do know is your request to go to Wales is ridiculous!”

Flustered, she spun on her heel, leaving him to stare after her.

He watched her set off down the road, her gait determined and furious. Her long wavy tresses bounced with each step. She didn’t look back to give him another fiery glare or she would have seen him gaping at her, with his hand running through his hair, and a ghost of a smile on his lips.

* * * *

Gwen marched down the long road, mumbling to herself, as the thick paper of the grocery bag crackled under the force of her grip.

“What an arrogant ass.”

When she reached her house, she ran up the porch steps and fumbled with her keys, nearly dropping the groceries as she opened the door. She looked over her shoulder at the empty street. A part of her, she was ashamed to admit, had hoped he’d follow her.

Why couldn’t she have controlled her temper? Then again, how dare he come and put all these ideas in her head, making her think about him? 

She closed the door with her hip and stomped to the kitchen. Placing the bag on the table she paced around the kitchen mumbling as she vented her frustration at being an emotional mess. What kind of person acted like this, after having buried her mother only a week ago? It was a time for grieving and healing not a time to be selfishly thinking about Liam Pryce.

Handsome, irritating…Welshman who intrigued her since the day in the cemetery, which was utterly, and unforgivably, crazy. Was her grief to blame for making her imagine how wonderful it might feel to have his arms around her while standing at the top of the Snowdonia mountains, even thought she had no idea what they looked like? 

“Arghhh… madness!” Gwen growled, fisting her hands.

Wait a minute.

Was she truly entertaining the thought of going to Wales with Liam Pryce, of exploring the family connection he claimed they shared? Did men like Liam make vulnerable women confused and illogical?

Gwen had no idea. She was no expert on men. The only one she was remotely interested in was the man Liam had mentioned earlier, John Allen. An old friend from school and nurse Nancy Allen’s younger brother. They’d gone out on a few casual dates last fall and planned to go to the Spring Social in a few weeks. John had never sparked anything other than friendship, a far cry from the feelings racing through her blood for Mr. Pryce.

She breathed a heavy sigh, regretting having stormed off this afternoon. Wasn’t finding out more about him one of her goals when she’d set out today. What did he think of her?  She wondered if she’d ever see Liam Pryce again.

Drifting into the parlour, she returned to where her life had taken a strange turn this morning and she looked up at her grandmother’s portrait.

“What am I supposed to do, Nan?” she asked aloud.

Shaking her head at the realization that she was talking to herself, she got up and moved over to the window where the bouquet of roses drooped. They were wilted and forlorn.
            The tip of a white envelope poked out from the baby’s breath. Gwen slipped it from its hiding place, pulled out the card and her breath caught in her throat.

 “Dear Miss Evans, my deepest sympathy on the loss of your beloved mother.” Signed, “Sincerely, Mr. Liam Pryce.”

She had assumed they were from her mother’s friends. Never did she think otherwise.

The sentiments were written on a note card from The Traveller’s Inn, in Placentia, one town over. She should have guessed.

Rereading the card several times and absently touching where the ink met the paper, Gwen stared at Mr. Pryce’s elegant handwriting. The card clearly indicated where he was staying. Gwen looked back at her grandmother’s portrait and smiled.

“I guess I’ve got my answer.”

Mr. Pryce would be receiving a visitor, bright and early tomorrow morning.