Conquering Passion (34 page)

Ram didn’t like it, but could think of nothing else he could do to lessen the dangers. The Welshman held the upper hand, and could disappear into Wales without honouring the bargain, if he wished. Ram had to trust him. Mabelle had confirmed they’d been well treated, and Rhodri had left him alive at Ruyton, when he could easily have killed him.

Ruyton brought thoughts of Ascha Woolgar to his mind. Had Mabelle ever suspected what had happened there? He sensed she knew, yet didn’t judge him. Did it mean she didn’t care, or did she love him so much she could forgive him?

He heard the slow rhythm of hooves approaching. A Welshman appeared out of the mist, leading the horses Ram recognized as belonging to his family and servants. As the man reached the centre of the bridge, he slapped them on the rump and they trotted over to the English side, where his men retrieved them.

Ram took a deep breath. “Gervais, send the men with the chests.”

Four of his men-at-arms lifted the heavy iron chests and tramped to the centre of the stone bridge, where they put them down heavily, and lifted the lids. The metallic sounds echoed off the walls and rough cobblestones of the narrow bridge, amplified by the mist and the rushing water of the river below.

Since Ram could see the coins from where he stood, he assumed the Welsh could also see them. His men turned and strode back towards him. He felt a surge of pride in these Norman soldiers who must be aware of Welsh arrows aimed at their backs, and yet they walked slowly, never looking over their shoulders.

Out of the mist came Giselle, leading Robert and Baudoin by the hand. Baudoin waved goodbye to someone. Giselle walked nervously but resolutely to the humpback centre of the bridge, passed the chests, and continued on to the English side. Ram dismounted quickly and ran to take his sons up in his arms. Two Norman soldiers hurried to aid Giselle as her knees buckled and she swooned. She looked at them gratefully, then gasped when she saw these were her two warrior sons, whom she’d not seen for years. She wept as they embraced her. She smiled her tearful thanks to the Earl.

“Papa, papa, did you miss us?” Robert asked.

Ram choked. He was amazed to see how much his sons had grown, but was angry he’d missed that. At least they hadn’t been starved. “Of course I missed you. I love you. I love you both.”

That wasn’t hard after all.

He hugged them, noticing each carried a wooden sword and dagger tucked into the belts of their sheepskin jerkins and leather breeches. They looked like miniature Welsh rebels. He found it amusing, but resolved in that moment never to follow the growing trend of fostering sons out to some other noble lord for their training.

“We rode ponies, Papa. Can we can have ponies when we return home?” Robert asked.

Ram didn’t want his children to feel he didn’t care about the ponies, but he was desperate now to see Mabelle. As calmly as he could, he replied, “I suppose we could see to that. Now, I want you to wait with Gervais here, while I greet your mother. She’s coming next is she?”

“
Oui,
Papa, she and Rhonwen are saying goodbye to Rhodri, and then they’ll bring
ma soeur
. Rhodri carried her down the mountain in a sling across his chest.”

Ram felt a pang of jealousy at the familiar way his family spoke of this Welsh barbarian. “What’s your sister’s name?” He felt like he had something lodged in his throat.

“
Maman
named her for our
Grandmaman
,” Baudoin answered.

***

After watching her sons walk across the bridge and disappear into the mist with Giselle, Mabelle turned to face Rhodri and thanked him as he carefully placed the sling around her neck. “It’s unfortunate, Rhodri, Prince of Powwydd, that our people can’t find some common ground, and instead seem to be constantly at each other’s throats. I’ve learned a great deal about you and your country during our stay in your beautiful mountains, and I’ll share much of what I’ve learned with my husband. He’s a lover of peace and prosperity, and would wish that for both our peoples.”

Rhodri bowed, took her outstretched hand and kissed it lightly. “Peace can only come with trust and respect my lady. I pray one day we shall find that.
Siwrne
dda
. Good journey.”

She stepped away to look towards the bridge. Rhodri turned to Rhonwen and took her in his arms. He could smell the dampness in her hair, taste the salt of the tears on her face as he kissed her. He couldn’t speak. If he did his voice would betray his anguish. The experience of their union had enthralled him, but she intended to leave. He understood why, but couldn’t accept it. If she left, he would never again experience the mystical passion their joining had brought him.

“Rhonwen,” he faltered. “I can’t change what I am. I’ll not beg you to stay. Only you know your heart. But you’re my destiny, and I am yours.”

She was breathing heavily and wouldn’t return his embrace. She turned from him, and began the walk towards the centre of the bridge with Mabelle and the infant. Her tears blinded her and she had to grasp her lady’s hand.

***

New footsteps on the old bridge caught Ram’s attention. He peered into the mist, thicker now, and saw his wife emerge, with Rhonwen at her side, clutching Mabelle’s hand tightly. They were accompanied by four Welshmen, longbows over their shoulders, daggers at their belts.

Mabelle walked slowly and proudly, head held high, and Ram had never loved her more. Her steadfast Norman courage had seen her through an ordeal that would have broken many women. She walked across the bridge as if she was out for a stroll, a woven sling across her body that he knew held his daughter. He had a momentary vision of her throwing his sword into the lake. He’d known that day he loved her. Why had he never told her?

He noticed Rhonwen was having difficulty and wondered what ailed the healer. She walked with her head bowed. Was she crying? Her shoulders shook. Perhaps she was ill? The two women paused in the centre of the bridge. The armed men stooped to pick up the heavy chests and walked back into Wales in the same slow and dignified manner his own soldiers had walked. They could nock an arrow to their bow and let it fly before his men had time to blink.

But why were Mabelle and Rhonwen not continuing to walk towards him? Something had gone wrong. His gut tightened.

CHAPTER FORTY

Mabelle turned to face Rhonwen and took hold of her shoulders. “Rhonwen, you must return to him. He’s right. You’re his destiny and he’s yours.”

“But my lady—my duty to you. I’m a healer—how can I live with a warrior, a man of blood and war?”

Mabelle increased her grip and shook Rhonwen. “Because you love him, Rhonwen, and he loves you. You can’t turn your back on a great love. It will destroy you both. It won’t be easy living with a Welsh rebel, but to live without love is unbearable and creates only bitterness. I’ve wasted too much of my life trying to deny the existence of love. You must embrace it. You and Rhodri will bear many fine children, and perhaps one day our sons and daughters will live together in peace in these mountains and valleys.”

Rhonwen looked back to Wales. “I can’t see him, but he’s still there. May I embrace you my lady? You’ve been like a mother to me since my own was murdered.”

As the two women embraced, Mabelle asked, “Why did Myfanwy not tell me you were her daughter?”

“She was afraid you’d think she had chosen me because I was her daughter and not because of my skills as a healer. And—she was ashamed I was a base born child, the daughter of a Saxon knight. I said nothing when it was believed my mother had poisoned you, because I was afraid you’d suspect I was involved.”

They both looked down at the sleeping child tucked between them, and Mabelle suddenly knew her daughter’s name. “My daughter will bear your name, Rhonwen, in honour of your love and courage and as a token of hope for the future.”

She kissed Rhonwen on each cheek, made her turn around, and gave her a gentle push. “Now go. And don’t look back.”

She watched the girl walk slowly towards Wales, then turned and walked towards her husband. As she reached the end of the bridge Ram emerged from the mist and strode towards her. She noticed flecks of silver in his beautiful black hair. “Ram,” she breathed, tears rolling down her cheeks.

She felt the warmth of his arms as he encircled her waist and his eyes fell to the baby, sleeping peacefully in her sling. “I want to hold you to myself tightly, but I’m afraid I’ll crush the child,” he rasped.

Mabelle lifted the baby from the sling and gave her to Ram. “My lord husband, I present your daughter, Hylda Rhonwen de Montbryce.”

He looked at the infant who opened her eyes and smiled. “She has your golden hair,” he murmured. Then his eyes widened. “Rhonwen? Why have you named her Rhonwen?”

“I’ll explain,” she rasped. “You’ll understand. I cannot speak of it now.”

Swallowing hard, he took his wife’s hand and, holding the baby firmly in the other arm, walked to where Giselle stood, supported by her sons, having recovered from her momentary dizziness of relief. He kissed the babe’s forehead, handed the child to the maidservant, and turned back to look at his wife.

How amazing that the simple touch of his hand can reignite my passion so quickly.

He’d brought Mabelle’s warmest cloak with him. He retrieved it and draped it lovingly around her, never taking his eyes from hers. She held her breath. He pressed her tightly to his body, enfolded her in his own cloak and whispered into her ear, “Mabelle, I’m consumed with love for you. Thank you for this beautiful gift. I’m whole again now you’re back safe with me. My life has had no meaning with you gone. Can you forgive me and return my love?”

Her legs trembled with the happiness and relief flooding over her. He’d not asked her if she’d been raped, had uttered no words of blame. He’d declared his love for her without any conditions. She returned his embrace and felt the familiar longings she’d striven to suppress during her captivity. Suddenly she caught sight over his shoulder of the posy of bluebells attached to the pommel of his saddle. The memories engulfed her. She could hardly wait to get her handsome husband into bed. She felt his arousal as she pressed against him.

“Oh Ram, I’ve loved you from the first moment we met, but I was too full of fear and resentment about the past to admit it.”

He swept her up into his arms and mounted his horse with her in front of him. “Giselle, please bring my daughter to me.”

He nestled the infant into the sling her mother still wore.

“It’s good to hold another babe,” he rasped.

Mabelle leaned back against her husband’s chest and the warmth of his body banished the chill.

“What of Rhonwen?” he asked. “Are we to wait for her?”

“She’s gone back to Rhodri. She loves him. They are destined to be together.”

“Rhodri ap Owain and Rhonwen?”

“
Oui
. They too share a conquering passion.”

Ram shook his head. “To Ellesmere then,” he commanded.

***

Rhonwen heard the horses leaving on the English side of the bridge. With them went her family, her security, who though not blood kin, had come to mean much to her. Ahead of her waited the man she loved with a force that threatened to consume her. Something made her stop before the end of the bridge and she took a deep breath to clear her head. Her hand went to her neck where she still wore the fine amber necklace Rhodri had given her on their first night together, when he’d avowed his love. Was she making the right decision? Would he care she was the bastard daughter of a Saxon lord? He was of proud noble descent.

Suddenly Rhodri emerged from the mist. He’d heard the Normans leave. She stood alone in the swirling mist. “Rhonwen? Is it you or a trick of my eyes?

She smiled nervously. “It’s me.”

Rhodri grinned and put his hands on his hips. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me. I had to see for myself you were gone. I trust in the power of my dreams.”

Rhonwen held out her hands, shivering with cold. He took off his sheepskin and wrapped it around her, enfolding her like a tiny doll in his arms.

“Rhodri,” she began nervously, “I must tell you something. You need to know that my father—well—he was a Saxon. He wasn’t married to my mother. You’re a prince—”

He looked into her eyes. “The real reason for your reluctance to stay suddenly becomes clear to me. You thought I’d be ashamed of your origins, your bloodlines.”

Rhonwen nodded, biting her lip.

“Look at me and hear me well. I’ll never mention her name again, but Morwenna’s parents were both Welsh, both of noble blood, and yet she was as corrupt and rotten as a worm-eaten apple. You are purity, gentleness and goodness, and I need you to bring light to the darkness of my life. Being a champion for my people isn’t an easy burden.”

She saw the sincerity and need in his eyes and hers filled with tears.

“Hush, hush, Rhonwen, my Rhonwen,” he whispered. “
Mi wnaf dy garu di am byth.
”

“As I will love you, forever, Rhodri,” she replied, elated he loved her so much her parentage didn’t matter.

He lifted her and carried her into the land of her ancestors.