Magic in His Kiss Read Online Free

well and sends his love and greetings. He also instructs me to invite you to seek refuge at Glenvair.”
    Shocked at the bittersweet invitation, Nicole wished Connor had tendered the offer immediately after her father’s death, when she might have been able to accept. How much nicer to have been allowed to spend the past eight years at Glenvair instead of being banished to Bledloe Abbey! Sweet yearnings battered at her common sense, bringing her close to tears.
    Useless tears.
    Nicole sat on the bench beside where Rhodri had tossed his hooded brown cloak. Atop the cloak lay an oddly shaped sack made of soft, deep green wool. She touched the sack and felt the curve of his harp’s wood frame beneath the wool.
    “Your harp,” she said, giving the instrument due reverence. “I remember you playing at supper at Glenvair.”
    “Do you?”
    “Quite well. I always thought the music enhanced the magical feel of my uncle’s holding. Gwendolyn told me you finished your training and are now
bardd teulu
of Glenvair.”
    He nodded, his rugged chin dipping in a manner worthy of a court poet as well as a warrior. “I am. Connor kindly allows me a place at his manor until I am able to compete for my chair.”
    “I wish you good fortune in your ambition, Rhodri ap Dafydd. Not all bards are skilled enough to become a
pencerdd.
”
    “My thanks, but I did not come to talk about my future, but yours. Connor’s invitation is not an idle one, nor a whim. He is in earnest.”
    Nicole withdrew her hand from the harp, still a bit incredulous at the offer. “You truly came all this way to invite me to Glenvair?”
    “Aye.”
    The men had surely lost their wits!
    Not sure if she was more annoyed with Rhodri or Connor, Nicole rose from the bench, her ire growing at her uncle’s desire for her to accept the impossible offer.
    “Then you have come far for naught. King Stephen has twice denied my sisters’ petitions for me to return home to Camelen, even for a short visit. If the king will not allow me to go home, he will certainly not permit me to visit Wales! I thank my uncle for his kindness but must refuse.”
    “I fail to see why King Stephen’s wishes should affect your decision.”
    Nicole tossed a frustrated hand in the air. “I am the king’s ward! I have no choice but to do his bidding!”
    “I hear the Norman in you speaking. What says the Welsh?” His amber-flecked eyes narrowed. “Or have you abandoned the better half of your heritage? You are of
Pendragon,
Nicole, and yet you bow to the wishes of an English king. I should think your lineage sets you far above his whims.”
    How dare Rhodri reproach her for disregarding a lineage that had not earned her or her sisters a dram of sympathy or regard?
    “When my father was killed, the king gave Camelen to Alberic of Chester, who forced Gwendolyn to marry him. Also on the king’s order, Emma was sent to court and forced to marry Darian of Bruges. I was sent here to await my fate, which will also be decided by the English king! What good is the Pendragon blood if no one gives it reverence?”
    “I do,” he said softly, sincerely, bursting her bubble of anger over how heartlessly she and her sisters had been treated after her father’s death.
    In Rhodri’s expression she saw respect for her Pendragon lineage, a thing she’d never witnessed from any other person save one—Rhys, also a Welsh bard, who resided at Camelen.
    ’Twas Rhys the bard who’d honored Nicole’s mother’s wishes by singing the ancient tales, telling stories of valiant kings and honorable knights, of King Arthur, keeping their Welsh heritage alive for all the de Leon children.
    Naturally, Rhodri had heard those same tales from his father, then learned to relate them to others from a revered
pencerdd.
    Still, his respect for her lineage did her no good.
    “I cannot leave Bledloe Abbey. Were I to take refuge in Wales, my sisters’ families might suffer for my audacity. I will not bring the mallet