Here Be Dragons - 1 by Sharon Kay Penman

little relationship to reality. Doubtless, too, she'd been seeking to scare
Llewelyn with horror stories of the hardships he'd be facing, the dangers and deprivations, the hand-tomouth existence of a rebel on the run. And what could be better calculated to appeal to a foolhardy fourteen-year-old?
"Is this true, Llewelyn?"
Llewelyn nodded, but his eyes were wary and Hugh hesitated, recognizing the need to tread lightly, not wanting to trample the boy's pride into the dust.
"That is a rather ambitious undertaking, lad, too much so. In saying that, I
do not mean to belittle your courage in any way. But courage alone is not enough, not when we are talking of rebellion."
"I know." Llewelyn slanted a sudden glance toward Morgan. "Courage without common sense is the least of God's gifts."
"It's glad I am to hear you say that, Llewelyn. For should you go up against your uncles nowon your ownI fear the only ground in Gwynedd you'd claim would be enough to fill a grave."
"I know," Llewelyn said again, and when Hugh smiled, so did he. Before adding, "That is why I did appeal to my Uncle Gruffydd for advice and assistance. He thinks I'm of an age to lay claim to what is mine, has promised to help me do just that."
Hugh's jaw dropped. "He what?" Jerking around to stare at his
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wife. "Your brother has agreed to this, to aid him in this madness?" he demanded, incredulous, and she nodded grimly.
Christ, no wonder Margaret was so wroth! "Of all the damned fool. . . ! I am sorry, Llewelyn," he said curtly, "but you must put this scheme from your mind. There is no way on God's earth that I'd ever give my consent."
"I'm sorry, too," Llewelyn said softly. "I should've liked to have your approval."
He'd spoken so politely that it was a moment or so before Hugh realized he'd just been defied.
"You're not being offered a choice, Llewelyn! I'm telling you that you're to forget this lunacy, you're to return to Shropshire with your mother and me, and that will be the end of it. As for your uncle, I'd not speak ill of a man in his own house, but he had no right to encourage you in this, to go against our wishes. You are not his son, after all."
"I am not your son, either."
Hugh stiffened. The boy's matter-of-fact reminder hurt more than he'd have expected or Llewelyn had intended. It was a hurt that camouflaged itself in rage, and he clenched his fist, his face darkening with a sudden surge of blood. But while Llewelyn felt that his mother had a perfect right to hit him if she chose, he did not accord Hugh the same privilege, and he'd prudently put distance between them.
"No, you are not my flesh and blood. But when I wed your mother, your wardship passed into my hands. That means, Llewelyn, that you are answerable to me, and will be until you do come of legal age. Once you reach your majority, you may do what you damned well please, may sell your life as cheaply as you like. But for the next seven years you'll do what I say. Is that clear?"
"Very."
It was Llewelyn's composure that struck the first false note. The boy was too calm, was arguing more like an adult than a youngster with a head full of fanciful dreams, and Hugh said warningly, "If you think to run away once we're back in Shropshire, Llewelyn ..."
Llewelyn was shaking his head. "I've heard you out, Hugh. Now I'd have you do as much for me. I'd not have you think me ungrateful . . . and I do not deny your right of wardship over me until I come of legal age. As we both know, in
England that is twenty-one. But what you plainly do not know is that in Wales it is fourteen . . . and I did turn fourteen in February."
Hugh stared at his stepson. Llewelyn's dark eyes were shining with triumph; a smile he could not quite repress quirked one corner of his mouth. Hugh caught his breath, swore softly. Little wonder the lad had
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been so cocky; he'd known from the first that he was playing with loaded dice.
Hugh was swallowing bile, spat into the floor rushes. Rob was right; there was no reasoning