Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,76

the outset that being called ‘English’ is a mortal insult to a Welshman.”

She gave him a speculative, sidelong glance. “I do not remember telling you my name. How did you learn it?”

“I was not only smitten, I was resourceful, too,” he said with a grin. “I befriended some of the abbey servants, asking about the lovely lady with amber-colored eyes who was likely a member of the queen’s household. They knew at once whom I meant, told me that my heart had been stolen by King William’s sister.”

She turned her head to look him full in the face. “They told you, then, that my mother was a Saracen?”

He started to joke that they may have mentioned it, but caught himself in time, sensing that his answer mattered. Dropping his teasing tone, he said only, “Yes, they did.”

He saw it was the right answer, saw, too, that she seemed to be wavering. “No,” she said, after a long silence. “You would not understand. You know nothing of dual loyalties, of the whispers of the blood.”

“Did you not hear me say I am Welsh, cariad? Who would know better than a Welshman in the service of an English king?”

Her gaze was searching. “What would you do, then, if your English king led an invasion into Wales?”

“If it were Gwynedd, my loyalty to my family and my homeland would prevail over my loyalty to the king. If he attacked South Wales, it would depend upon the justness of his cause, upon whether I felt that he was in the right.”

“You answered that very quickly,” she observed. “So quickly that I think you must have given it some thought.”

“I have,” he admitted, “for there is no love lost between the Welsh and the English. Not that Richard thinks of himself as English. He enjoys ruling over them, but does not see himself as one of them, being a true son of Aquitaine. So you see, my lady, our loyalties are almost as murky as those of you Sicilians.” Starting to rise, he found that he had to steady himself with a hand on the bench. “Jesu, I think I aged ten years in the streets of Messina. So . . . now that you know how I would deal with a crisis of conscience, shall we discuss yours?”

Mariam’s face was guarded, but her fingers had begun to clench and unclench in her lap. He was willing to wait, and at last she said, “Richard wants Joanna to accompany him to Outremer and she has asked me to come with her.”

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the bench. When she nodded, he sat down beside her, expelling an audible sigh that had more to do with his aching bones than the proximity of this desirable female body. “We are very enlightened in Wales, allow children born out of wedlock to inherit if they are recognized by their fathers. I would guess that Sicily is as backward as England and France in that regard, but since you’re the daughter of a king, I’m guessing, too, that you’ve been provided for. So you are not dependent upon the queen’s bounty and could remain in Palermo if you wish.”

Taking her silence as assent, he shifted gingerly on the bench before continuing. “Those helpful abbey servants told me you’d been with Lady Joanna since her arrival in Sicily, so clearly there is a deep affection between you. Why would you balk, then? I can think of only two reasons. Many women would shrink from the hardships and dangers of such a voyage—but not you, Lady Mariam. That leaves those ‘whispers of the blood.’ You feel a kinship with the Saracens of Sicily, and fear that you may feel kinship, too, with the Saracens of Syria.”

She stared at him in astonishment. “You do not know me. As you said, we are strangers. So however did you guess that?”

“We Welsh have second sight.”

“I think you do. What is your name—Merlin?”

“Ah, so Lady Joanna has introduced you to the legend of King Arthur, who was Welsh, by the way.” Getting stiffly to his feet, he reached for her hand and brushed a kiss across those hennaed fingers. “Ask your queen to tell you about her Welsh cousin. Good night, my lady, and God keep you safe.”

“Wait—I have not solved my ‘crisis of conscience’ yet!”

“Yes, you have. You just were not asking yourself the right question.”

Mariam did not know whether to be annoyed or intrigued, finally deciding she was both. “At least tell