< previous page page_403 next page >

Page 403
passionate avowal that it was lunacy for a woman to love any man.
"So I have always thought," Kicva agreed with a faint smile, "but it seems you are too late to worry about that. It is quite clear that you already love Simon."
"I will cure myself," Rhiannon cried angrily.
Kicva stared at her and then laid down her spindle. "You know it is not my practice to tell people about themselves. It does no good. But I will say this because I am disappointed in you, Rhiannon. You are acting like a fool."
Rhiannon dropped her eyes. "You also think I am being cruel to Simon, and it is better for me to suffer than for him to suffer?"
"Have you lost your sense and reason completely?" Kicva asked. "How could I prefer Simon's well-being to yours? You are my daughter, flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. For you I groaned with the pain of bearing and sighed with the pleasure of suckling. I will not say I am indifferent to Simon. I like him as well as I have ever liked any man, but he is nothing to me compared with you."
"Then why are you disappointed in me?" Rhiannon raised her eyes.
Her mother made a brief, impatient sound. "You have passed twenty-two summers, Rhiannon, and since you were six or seven it has taken no more than one or two questions for you to examine your own heart and find the truth. From the time you met Simon, you have gone back to being a kicking, screaming infant. Why do you lie to yourself, Daughter?"
This, of course, was why Rhiannon had not brought her troubles to her mother in the first place. There was never any sympathy to be had from Kicva, except for injuries like a scraped knee or a bee sting. To complain of misery only brought questions, which delineated the cause so clearly that an obvious solution always

 
< previous page page_403 next page >