Falls the Shadow by Sharon Kay Penman

west slope toward the river, intent upon overtaking Llewelyn, who’d taken his dogs out for a run. From a window in Llewelyn’s private chamber, Elen could track his progress; he vanished into a grove of trees, and she glanced back at Gwladys. “I’m right glad you’ve come. I shall have to return to Cheshire at week’s end, and I’ll feel better about leaving Papa now that you’re here. Papa was not expecting you?”
    “No. But he’s been much on my mind these weeks past, and I’ve news, news that should cheer him.” Gwladys moved to the window, too; it was unshuttered, offering a sweeping view of the valley, the serpentine course of the River Lledr. “Elen, tell me. How is Papa?”
    “Heartsick,” Elen said slowly, turning to face her sister. “His grieving is still raw, shows no signs of healing. He misses my mother so, and I’ve no comfort for him; no one has. I’ve been here a fortnight, but I’ve not had much time with him. He’s ever been a man of remarkable energy, but never have I seen him push himself like this. He rises before dawn, labors till well after dark, seeks to fill every waking moment with activity. And if by chance he has no meeting scheduled with his council or his rhagnalls, he takes that new chestnut stallion of his out for long rides, does not come back till the horse is lathered, till he is utterly exhausted.”
    Gwladys sat down in the window-seat. “That sounds like a man trying to outrun his ghosts,” she said, and Elen nodded bleakly.
    “In truth. And I ache for him so, Gwladys. I doubt that he sleeps much; I know for certes that he is eating poorly. And sometimes at night in the great hall, a silence will fall, and there’ll be on his face a look of such sadness…” Tears filled Elen’s eyes; she blinked them back, mustered up a smile. “Well…what news have you for Papa?”
    “I’m with child again.”
    Elen caught her breath; envy twisted like a blade, drew blood. “I am happy for you, Gwladys, truly I am.”
    Gwladys was quiet for some moments, dark eyes intent, reflective. “We used to be close, Elen. But not for years now—not since Joanna’s infidelity.” She saw the younger woman stiffen, said swiftly, “You need not fear; I shall speak no ill of your mother. In truth, I was fond of her once, thought of her as a friend. But I could not forgive her for causing Papa so much pain. Even after he forgave her, I never could.” She rose, stepped toward her sister. “I should have, Elen. For Papa’s sake, I should have made my peace with her. I see that now, too late. When I realized I was with child, I thought…well, I thought that if I have a girl, I could name her after Joanna. Do you think that would please Papa?”
    “I think Papa would be very pleased.” Elen turned back toward the window; talking about Joanna stirred up too many memories, too much pain. “There’s Llelo,” she said. “He’s reached the river. How do you happen to have him with you, Gwladys?”
    “I asked Gruffydd if he could visit with me for a while.”
    “You see it, too, then.”
    “See what?”
    “His need.”
    Gwladys nodded. “Yes,” she admitted. She leaned forward, pulled the shutters all the way back. In the distance Llelo vaulted over a log, as nimbly as a colt. “I think,” she said, “that it will be good for Papa, too, having the lad here.”
     
    Llewelyn had an old but erratic acquaintanceship with death. It had come into his life very early; he was still in his cradle when it claimed his father. But then it had shown an unexpected and inexplicable sense of mercy. The years passed and there were no further visitations. He lost friends in battle, but those he most loved were spared—until the summer of his twenty-ninth year. In the span of but three months, he lost his mother and Tangwystl, Tangwystl with her flame-bright hair and Gruffydd’s green eyes, Tangwystl who’d given him love and four children. But after that summer of sorrow had come yet