Read Online Falls the Shadow by Sharon Kay Penman - Free Book Online

you—Grandpapa?”
    Llewelyn did not appear to hear. There was on his face a look Llelo would never forget, a look of utter astonishment. He stumbled, and then his left leg buckled and he made a wild grab for the nearest tree. But his body no longer took commands from his brain, and he fell backward into the damp spring grass.
    “Grandpapa!” Llelo dropped to his knees beside his grandfather. “Grandpapa!” Llewelyn’s face was flushed; his eyes were dazed, full of disbelief and fear. The corner of his mouth had begun to sag, and when he spoke, his voice was so blurred that he sounded drunk to Llelo. “Get help,” he gasped, “hurry…”
    Llelo snatched off his mantle, made a pillow for Llewelyn’s head. “I will,” he sobbed, “I will!” He gave one last terrified look over his shoulder, began to run.
     
    On a Saturday morning six days later, Gruffydd, his wife, and eldest son rode into the castle bailey, just as Davydd’s wife, Isabella, emerged from the great hall. Isabella halted, irresolute, yearning to retreat. She’d been a child-bride, wed at ten, and even now, after almost seven years as Davydd’s wife, she did not feel at home in Wales. Although her husband treated her well, his courtesy was impersonal, his kindness disinterested; theirs was a marriage lacking true intimacy, even in the marriage-bed. Isabella was grateful to Davydd, wanted to be a dutiful wife, a satisfactory bedmate, but she knew he did not love her. His mother, Joanna, she had loved, loved dearly. Llewelyn, she had come to respect. But Gruffydd—volatile, impassioned, unpredictable—Gruffydd, she feared. She glanced back toward the hall, but she’d waited too long; they were dismounting.
    Gruffydd spared no time for social amenities. “What ails my father?” he demanded. “Davydd’s message said he’d been taken ill. Papa’s never sick, never. What did—”
    “A seizure,” Isabella said faintly. “He suffered a brain seizure.”
    Gruffydd sucked in his breath. “Apoplexy?” He sounded stunned. “Christ Jesus!”
    “Does he still live?” Senena’s voice was so sharp that Isabella flinched; Senena, too, she feared.
    “Oh, yes! He—” She had been about to assure them that Llewelyn was in no danger, but she checked herself, certain that was not what Senena—and possibly Gruffydd—wanted to hear. She stood alone, watching as Gruffydd hastened toward the castle keep, very thankful that she need not be a witness to the scene to come.
    Llewelyn’s bedchamber was still shuttered, lit only by cresset wall torches and a sputtering hearth fire. The bed hangings were closely drawn. Five people were seated at a table near the door: Davydd, Elen, Gwladys, Ednyved, and another man Gruffydd did not recognize. He never even noticed his younger son, slouched in the shadows of a window-seat. He strode into the room, stopped before Davydd.
    “Your wife claims Papa had an apoplectic seizure. Is that true?”
    Davydd’s mouth thinned. “Think you that Isabella would lie about something like that? Yes, it is true.”
    “Why did you not tell me at once?”
    “When I sent you that message, I did not yet know what ailed him.”
    “My lords, I must ask you to keep your voices down.” The stranger rose, moved around the table toward Gruffydd. “Your lord father has at last fallen asleep, ought not to be disturbed.”
    “Who are you?”
    The man smiled. “I am Einion ap Rhiwallon of Myddfai.” The name was known throughout Wales; his was a family of doctors, celebrated for their healing arts. But Gruffydd did not react as expected.
    “You’re a doctor?” he said brusquely, and Einion’s smile faded.
    “My father was court physician to Prince Rhys Gryg,” he said, somewhat stiffly. “I happened to be at Beddgelert Priory, and Lord Ednyved called me in to consult with Prince Llewelyn’s physician, as I’ve had much experience in treating—”
    Senena could wait no longer. “Do you expect Llewelyn to