“Indeed they have.” Glyn clasped her hands over her bosom, and a mysterious smile toyed with her pink lips. She tossed her hair over her shoulders, inviting Morgana’s questions, but Morgana, sick of her sister’s convenient piety, ignored her.
“Do you not think the baron is handsome?” Glyn asked, flitting to the cupboard where her tunics and hose were stored. She found a belt of silver silk and wound it around her small waist.
“The fierce one?” Morgana shook her head. “He is cruel, not handsome. He brings death to us all. Garrick of Abergwynn is evil.”
“Evil?” Glyn repeated, her pretty brow puckering. “Oh, I think not. He was with the chaplain and Father all morning long, and during breakfast he laughed, though not that often, and he oft sent looks of longing at me.” She smoothed her hair, tucking a straying lock beneath her wimple, obviously pleased with herself, and though Morgana felt a needle of irritation pierce her skin, she ignored the little pang. “I don’t think ’twill be too long before he asks for my hand.” Glyn gave a final tug on the belt.
“You would consider marriage to a man who wants nothing but to destroy Tower Wenlock?”
“He has no such intention!”
“You know not of his intentions,” Morgana said quickly.
“I know that he is the most handsome, most powerful, and most wealthy baron in all of North Wales.”
“So?”
“I know also that he has no wife; so powerful a man needs a wife and children.”
“What makes you think he will have you?”
Glyn smoothed the folds of her tunic. “You did not see the looks he cast me while sharing a trencher when we broke our fast this morning! He was captivated by me. Oh, Morgana, it was so romantic! ’Tis God’s will that we be wed, I know it.”
Morgana could not have been more surprised if Glyn had walked naked into their chamber and begun speaking in a foreign tongue. To be seated next to a baron of Maginnis’s rank was unheard of. “But how—”
“As I said, it seems our father is talking very seriously to Lord Garrick.” Glyn’s eyes slitted, and she seemed very proud of herself, much like the kitchen cat after stealing cream from the cook’s pantry. “It would not surprise me if I were betrothed to the baron by evenfall.”
Morgana’s mouth gaped open, and upon hearing Glyn’s tinkling laughter, she snapped her jaw shut. What did she care if Glyn married Maginnis? If the silly goose chose to marry the first lord to walk into Tower Wenlock, then so be it. Glyn deserved the fate she so obviously wanted. As for Morgana, she intended not to wed anyone, particularly a beast from Abergwynn. “Did God tell you that you were the chosen bride of Maginnis?”
Glyn hurriedly crossed herself. “I do not pretend to talk to our Holy Father. Yet God lets His will be known in quiet ways.”
“Such as lustful looks over greasy trenchers of meat and eggs?”
Glyn lifted her head, and her cheeks flamed scarlet. “You were not there, sister. You did not see the desire in the great lord’s eyes. If you had not been so foolish as to disobey Father, and if you had let the baron come here this morning as he had planned, then mayhap you would have been seated beside him and caught his eye.” Her gaze slid down Morgana’s dirty tunic, and she shook her head slowly from side to side, as if pitying some poor almswoman she’d found in the street. “Though I doubt the lord would want a wretched sinner such as you.”
“Careful, Glyn,” Morgana warned. “I have not yet lost my powers.” She glanced at the window. “Come wind, touch my soul and wrap your cold hands around Sister Glyn’s—”
Glyn screeched and ran to the door. “Nay, heathen! Stop it. I’ll hear no more of your spells!” she cried, pounding on the oaken planks as the sentry swung the door open. Gathering her skirts, she cast one last frightened look over her shoulder. “You will be punished,” she stated, lifting her chin stiffly.
“Thank the Lord that you are here to impart God’s word and save me!” Morgana tossed back smartly.
“Morgana!” Meredydd, overhearing the last of her daughter’s exchanges, scowled as she swept into the room. Glyn lingered in the doorway, but Meredydd motioned for the sentry to close the door. “Now, daughter,” she said, dropping on the edge of the bed and eyeing her firstborn’s dirty face, tangled hair, and flashing eyes. “I’ll not have any disrespect to God or the church. You’ll see the chaplain when we’re through here, and you’ll ask for a penance.
Morgana nearly choked, but she nodded. Oh, what a horrid, horrid day! Things were going from bad to worse.
Meredydd grabbed her eldest by the shoulders and slowly surveyed Morgana. Sighing, she said, “We must work fast. Your father’s ordered a feast in the baron’s honor for this night, and I have much to do. But first you must ready yourself.”
“I’m allowed to partake?” Morgana asked, unbelieving.
Meredydd cast her daughter a knowing look. “If you behave yourself.” She pointed a long finger at Morgana’s nose. “You are not to chant or call the wind or any such nonsense.”
“But is that not what the great baron wants? Is that not why he’s here? Because he thinks I’m a sorceress?”
“You shall not display yourself at all, Morgana. Now, I’ve no time for argument. I’ve called for Nellwyn to bring up bathwater. We shall wash you, comb your hair, and dress you in your finest tunic.” She paused, biting her lower lip as she studied her daughter. “Tell me, last night … did he …?”
Morgana swallowed over a lump of pride in her throat. “No, Mother, I am still a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking! I would slit my own throat rather than lie with such a man.”
Her mother flushed scarlet. “Glyn thinks he’s handsome.”