Serpent by Kathryn Le Veque Page B

not?”
                  He was thoughtful as he stood up, heading for the earthenware pitcher and wooden cups that were down towards the middle of the table. He spoke as he collected them.
                  “Because my father was a good deal older than my mother,” he said, setting the cups down in front of them and beginning to pour the dark red wine. “My father was married before, you see, many years before he met my mother, but his wife bore him only a daughter before she died. My father was friends with my mother’s father, my grandfather, and with the promise of the Coventry earldom, he was able to marry my mother, who was very young. I was born a short time later. Then my younger sister came along when I was almost twenty years of age, killing my mother in childbirth. My father passed away of sheer old age shortly thereafter, so there was no opportunity for more siblings.”
                  Penelope listened with some interest, taking the cup he put before her. “Then who raised your sister? It sounds as if she was an infant when both of your parents passed away.”
                  He nodded as he reclaimed his seat and collected his cup. “She was,” he said. “I was fostering at the time and, of course, in no position to raise my sister, so she was raised by my mother’s father. When she grew older, she went to Coventry to foster and returned to Rhydilian last year to marry.”
                  Penelope pondered the younger sister’s situation as she sipped at the tart red wine. “If she was born when you were nearly twenty, then she must be very young indeed.”
                  “She turned thirteen years of age in January,” he said. “Her husband was an illegitimate son of Dafydd ap Gruffydd, cousins to the ap Gaerwens and the last Welsh prince, but the lad was killed last November at the battle of Moel-y-don when Edward tried to storm Anglesey. My sister is almost eight months pregnant with their child.”
                  Penelope tried not to show her dismay over a very young pregnant widow; it wasn’t a new story in this world of battle and conquest, but thirteen years of age was still very young to have suffered such trauma. She wasn’t very good at expressing sympathy, afraid she would say the wrong thing, so she stumbled to find something more to say to all of that.
                  “Does she live here with you, then?” she asked.
                  Bhrodi nodded. “She does,” he replied. “The child she carries is full blooded Welsh royalty, so she will remain here in my charge. I am sure Edward would love to get his hands on the child so I must keep it under my protection. Mayhap it will be the last child ever born of pure Welsh royalty, because I, too, have attempted to carry on my royal blood but my attempt has failed so far.”
                  Penelope was drawn in by the curious statement. “What do you mean?”
                  Bhrodi found his thoughts turning to Sian, his dead love, and the child that had died with her. It was the forbidden subject, now raised fairly early in the conversation. He would not speak her name, or clean her chamber, but somehow as he gazed at Penelope, he found the carefully-held control leaving him. Something about the woman softened him and before he could stop himself, the forbidden subject was upon his lips.
                  “Because I was married but my wife died in childbirth,” he said quietly. “I lost my wife and child two years ago.”
                  Penelope was in the uncomfortable waters of death and pity. She didn’t know this man but he had thus far disclosed some very personal details to her and she was unsure how to react. Was he trying to gain her sympathy? Was he trying to soften her towards him? She didn’t know him at all and, not knowing, she couldn’t be at all sure that