Defiant Passion (Sons of Rhodri Medieval Romance Series) (8 page)

A sennight later, Mabelle de Montbryce had recovered sufficiently to come to the hall for a meal. She brought the newborn for all to see. Rhonwen carried the babe around proudly as people commented on the fairness of the blonde child, who was already thriving. After a while, people drifted away, off to their beds. Only Rhodri and the captives remained.

Suddenly, Morwenna rushed in, brandishing a dagger, her distorted face reddened with rage. “You’re mad,” she screamed at Rhodri. “This is the spawn of a Norman invader, a man you hate.”

Rhonwen’s blood ran cold. She clutched the babe more tightly, knowing the infant would be the first target. She was prepared when the lunge came and evaded Morwenna’s thrust. Rhodri jumped to his feet and ran to disarm the madwoman, twisting her wrist. The dagger clattered to the floor. Morwenna sprawled at his feet sobbing and screeching, pounding the planking with her fists.

In the noise and confusion, no one noticed Phillippe de Giroux enter the room. He crept stealthily in the shadows towards the Countess and her sons, sword drawn. She screamed when she finally saw him. “
Mes fils!
Robert, Baudoin!”

Phillippe grabbed her by the hair and forced her to her knees. “
Tais-toi
, Valtesse bitch. You’ll watch in silence while I dispatch your wretched spawn to Hades, and then I’ll kill you. Your cursed father turned my father into a raving lunatic who made life a living hell for his children.”

He raised his sword. Rhonwen clasped the babe more tightly and gasped in horror at the sight of the sharp blade poised to behead Robert. The boy stood rooted to the spot.

“
Non!
” the Countess shrieked.

Suddenly, Phillippe’s rabid eyes lost their focus. His death grip slackened. His disbelieving gaze fell to the dagger Rhodri had thrown, embedded deep in his chest. He dropped his sword and slumped lifeless to the floor. The Countess lunged for Robert, clutching her son tightly, sobbing.

“Phillippe!” Morwenna sprang to her feet and picked up the weapon forced from her hand. She ran towards Rhodri who had crouched to retrieve his dagger from Philippe’s body. He cursed as she thrust the blade, but was able to deflect the blow as he lost his balance. The steel sliced into his bicep.

Giselle gathered up the wide-eyed Baudoin. Rhonwen rushed to place the new born infant into the safety of her sobbing mother’s arms, and ran to aid Rhodri, struggling with the frenzied Morwenna. Rhonwen grabbed the hair of the woman who had murdered her mother, determined not to let her slay Rhodri. She yanked hard, infuriated Rhodri had been wounded.

Morwenna turned her attention and her wrath onto Rhonwen, who bolted and ran out, down the passageway and through the gate to the outside. She stopped abruptly, confronted by a blanket of thick fog. Morwenna was in pursuit. She had to keep going, though she had no idea where she was running, having been outside rarely during her captivity.

She felt her way along the wooden palisades, happy she had drawn Morwenna away from the man she loved. She could hear the demonic woman screaming and cursing not far behind. The mist cleared for a moment. She was standing on a narrow precipice with only the palisades behind her. Before her yawned the chasm of the ravine.

I’m standing on the edge of the world
.

She spread-eagled her body against the palisades, clutching at the rough bark, and raised her face, trusting her fate to the spirits of the mountains. Power surged through her.

A manic Morwenna appeared out of the smothering fog and attacked. Rhonwen looked into the other woman’s eyes. Death lurked there. They struggled briefly, but Rhonwen felt no fear. Suddenly Morwenna slipped, fell and was gone, swallowed silently by the stoic mountains.

“I didn’t hear her scream,” Rhonwen thought numbly. “Surely, she must have screamed?”

She braced her back against the palisades, digging her nails into the bark of the wooden pilings, panting hard and now afraid to move. She might freeze or faint if she did not get inside. She was not sure which way to go when she heard Rhodri calling her name. Reciting incantations whose meaning she did not understand, she edged her way along the precipice towards the sound of his voice, until she stumbled into him. He grabbed her away from danger and crushed her to his body. “You’re safe now, my Rhonwen, you’re safe. I have you.”

A sob racked her. “Morwenna is dead.” She reached out her frozen hand to touch the blood oozing from his arm. “You’re bleeding, Rhodri. She’s cut you. I must see to your wound.”

But dizziness overwhelmed her and she fainted.

Rhodri took her to his chamber, removed her clothes and massaged her body with rosemary oil to warm her. Gradually her teeth stopped chattering and she regained her wits. He covered her with furs and blankets and sat by her bedside until she stopped shaking.

Later, Rhonwen stitched his wound and applied a healing salve of lady’s mantle.

He kissed her cheek. “Your stitches are so delicate, I’ll bear but the faintest scar.”

The small gap it would cause in the Celtic knot designs etched into his biceps would be hardly visible and unnoticed by most. She couldn’t believe he barely flinched as she plied the needle through his flesh.

Three sennights later, a sudden thaw made it possible for Aneurin ap Norweg and his men to make their way from the village of Llansilin, where they had spent the intervening months, to Cadair Berwyn. He delivered the reply from the Earl of Ellesmere to the ransom note sent by Rhodri.

To the Prince of Powwydd

Be informed the Earl of Ellesmere agrees to pay in full the ransom demanded for his family and servants but proposes an exchange at the border village of Rhydycroesau.

Safe passage is to be guaranteed by both parties.

The chests of coins will be carried to the middle of the bridge and left there.

The hostages will walk to the chests with an unarmed escort who will verify the contents and carry the ransom into Wales.

The Earl gives his word for his part of the bargain and trusts Rhodri ap Owain to do the same.

As he read again the ransom reply, signed by the Earl and bearing his seal, Rhodri sent for Rhonwen. He had already dispatched a message back to Ellesmere, agreeing to the exchange, and detailing the date and time.

He put his hands on Rhonwen’s shoulders, trying to keep his voice steady. “I want you to stay in Wales, with me. I’ll free the others on payment of the ransom, but you are mine.”

“I’ve dreaded this moment,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze. “I cannot stay, Rhodri. My duty is to my lady who has trusted me and given me a place of honour in her household. She’s been like a mother to me since my own mother was murdered.”

He lifted her chin. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Rhonwen shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’re a powerful warrior, a man who must fight for Wales, for what you believe is right. I’m a healer. I fight to heal men, not to wound them. Our lives and our priorities are different. I’ll love you forever and treasure what we’ve shared, but I don’t want to be involved in war and bloodshed. I want peace.”

Rhodri let go of her shoulders, afraid he might be tempted to force her to stay. “I too want to live in peace, Rhonwen. I seek only peace and justice for my people. Sometimes it’s necessary to fight to achieve it.”

***

The Earl summoned his Second. “Send out scouting parties to reconnoiter the area around the border village where the exchange is to take place. We’ve agreed to the idea of safe passage, but we must position bowmen in strategic locations, as I’m sure Rhodri will do the same. The Welsh archers are famous for their skill and deadly accuracy.”

He had already gathered the sizable ransom from his estates in Sussex, and it lay in his chamber in two iron chests. “Post a two man guard outside my door, and double the guard on the walls and gates of the castle. We don’t need a surprise attack on the castle to rob us of the ransom money.”

Gervais smiled. “
Oui, milord
. It’s good to be doing something productive.”

The Earl was aware some questioned paying the ransom. The other Marcher Lords had been vehemently against the idea, suggesting pursuit and revenge instead. One Earl had intimated their King felt the same way. “His Majesty is not happy with the idea of financing rebels.”

But Montbryce feared pursuit and vengeance would result in his wife’s death. He decided with dread in his heart that if his King commanded him directly not to ransom his family, he would defy the order.

He had also learned something from an unlikely source. True to her word, the healer, Caryl Penarth, had come to Ellesmere a sennight after the Fayre. She had agreed to stay when told of Rhonwen’s disappearance with his wife. He had questioned her about the Fayre and her possible knowledge of rebels in the area of Whittington. He had sensed there was something she wanted to say, but did not. After receiving the ransom demand, he had gone to her again.

“There are many who say I shouldn’t pay the ransom, Caryl,” he told her.

Caryl hesitated a moment before she replied. “Then many will starve, my lord.”

He arched his brows. “Starve? The harvests have been good.”

“Not in Wales. It’s a blighted land,” she whispered sadly.

He knew much of the
blight
had been caused by Norman brutality.

“How do you know what Rhodri intends to do with the coin?” he asked.

“I’ve heard the whispers of hope on the lips of desperate villagers.”

***

On the eve of departure from Cadair Berwyn, Rhodri summoned the hostages to the
neuadd
. He had developed an admiration for the proud Norman Countess, who seemed to have taken her ordeal in stride and maintained her bearing and fortitude throughout.

“My lady Countess,” he began, bowing slightly. Had she noticed it was the first time he had used the word ‘
my’
in front of her title? “On the morrow we begin our journey down the mountain to the border, where you’ll be reunited with your husband. I trust you have all in readiness? My men and I will accompany you and see you safely delivered.”

Mabelle de Montbryce returned the bow with a curtsey. She looked surprised he would accompany them, but said nothing. She was aware of his love for her healer. Did she suspect he wanted to go with them to be with Rhonwen as long as possible? Did she know he had asked Rhonwen to stay?

Rhodri tried to keep his eyes off Rhonwen and his mind on the matter at hand. “It was never my intention to have you killed. I wasn’t aware of the reasons for Giroux’s involvement in our plans, and Morwenna has paid with her life for her treachery against you, and me. It has been my honour to have you and your sons and servants as guests in my fortress home. You’ll never forget your daughter was born in Wales, and I hope one day she’ll come to love the country of her birth.”

The Countess bowed slightly and smiled. “I too have come to have respect for you, and your people, Lord Rhodri ap Owain, ap Dafydd, ap Gwilym, Prince of Powwydd. I assure you my daughter will be told of the land of her birth, and I’m sure my sons will carry with them stories of how a Welsh chieftain slew the monster who wished them dead. I thank you for the respect with which you’ve treated us—all of us.”

He knew she was referring in particular to Rhonwen. He nodded his understanding of her words and intent. Did she sense how he burned for Rhonwen, how hard it had been to not claim her body and soul, to make her stay?

The Countess cleared her throat. “I would like to return to our chambers now to make final preparations for the morrow. I’m worried how the little one will cope with the journey.”

Rhodri wanted to reassure her. “The weather is good, and we should have an easy journey. I myself will see to your infant daughter as we descend.”

He coughed nervously. “Perhaps you could spare Rhonwen for a few moments? I would like to speak with her alone.”

She turned to Rhonwen. “Of course, if you’re in agreement, Rhonwen. We’ll go finish our packing.”

Rhonwen blushed and nodded.

“Come.”

Rhodri led Rhonwen to his chamber and invited her to sit in the chair by the hearth. They faced each other, as they had done at their first meeting alone. After long minutes of silence her eyes filled with tears. He longed to hold her, to wipe away the tears, to tell her he was sorry he had hurt her, that he loved her, that she was his destiny. His thoughts were confused and she was conflicted too. He wanted to beg her to stay with him. His dream had convinced him they were meant to be together.

“Rhonwen, don’t leave.”

She put her hands to her face. “I must. How can I endure living with a warrior, spending my days amid blood and violence, worrying if you’re coming back from the latest skirmish, tending ghastly wounds?”

She hesitated, stealing a glance at him through her fingers. She lowered her hands. “But I want some memory to warm the lonely nights without you. I don’t know if I’m brave enough to ask, or if you’ll consent—Rhodri, I—want to take part of you with me.”

“You’re taking my heart.”

“Rhodri, I’m leaving my heart here with you, but I want—I need to leave you with something else. You’ve given me love and pleasure, without concern for your own needs. I want to satisfy those needs for you tonight, my love, and I want to leave this place as a woman. I want you to know you’re the only man who’ll ever possess my body and my soul.”

She was gifting him with her maidenhood. It was folly, but the ache for this woman had become unbearable. He drew her up to stand before him.

At least I’ll have this memory
.

His physical need for her was so great he couldn’t stop if he wanted to, but he vowed to make it a night they would both remember for the rest of their lives apart.

Perhaps if I make her mine, she’ll stay.

Slowly he peeled the garments from her body, kissing her face and neck, feeling her quiver as she stood by his bed. When she was naked, he gazed at her.

“You’re lovely, so pure and innocent,” he whispered. He quickly removed his own clothing and stood before her. Her eyes grew wider and she gasped when she saw his manhood for the first time.

“I’m a healer, Rhodri,” she murmured, “And I’ve seen naked men before. But I’ve never seen a man as well-gifted and as proudly erect. Looking at you heats my body.”

Her smile set his heart racing. He had never felt as admired as a man. She was nervous but not afraid. He did not want fear to dampen the great passion he sensed she was capable of. It had taken considerable control to not let her touch him when she had wanted to. He stroked her hair. “Rhonwen, you have the pure, honest soul of an angel.”

He picked her up and carried her to the bed, then lay beside her and took her into his arms, kissing and licking her face, her throat, her shoulders. He kissed her lips, coaxing her with his tongue. She opened for him and he drew her tongue into his mouth, feeling her groan reverberate through his body. She reached up and pulled off the leather thong that bound his hair, then raked her fingers through it as it fell to his shoulders, sending ripples of pleasure from his scalp, down his spine to his toes.

He kissed her dark nipples, flicking his tongue over the sensitive flesh, sucking the lengthening tips into his mouth. She arched her body as he suckled. He knelt between her legs and trailed his fingers slowly between her maiden’s breasts and down across her stomach. She opened her legs wider. “I ache for you, Rhodri,” she whimpered shyly.

Where his hand had led, his lips now followed and he traced kisses down her stomach until he reached the curls at her mons, curls as black as his own. He could see the diamond of her desire and he edged his broad shoulders between her legs, grasped her hips, lifted her slightly and licked the jewel in that most private place. She cried out and her eyes flew open.

“Rhodri—”

“Nothing we do here is wrong or shameful, Rhonwen. It’s a precious gift you’re giving me this night and I want to taste you,” he rasped.

She closed her eyes and keened as he covered her with his mouth, the taste of her sending new blood rushing to his groin. He carefully inserted his fingers, felt her wet heat. He could wait no longer. Trying to steady his breathing, he guided his swollen shaft into her folds. She opened her eyes and placed her hands over his, urging him to enter.

“I’ll try not to hurt you,” he rasped. “I’m big, and you’re—”

She put her fingers to his lips and smiled. “I’m not afraid.”

He knew it was the truth. He entered slowly, sensed the barrier and pushed through. She sucked in a breath and cried out, clutching his shoulders. He clenched his jaw at the effort of holding still.

“Don’t stop, Rhodri, please don’t stop.”

His Celtic blood took over. He groaned, withdrew then plunged in again and again. She called out his name with wild delight when his seed burst forth into her quivering body.

Afraid to crush her, he lifted her with ease, still inside her, and rolled over so she was atop him. Black hair entwined where their bodies were joined as one. He felt her sheathe pulse against him as he softened. It would not be long before he could bring her to ecstasy again. He had never known such fulfillment. His soul had left his body and met hers in some ethereal place.

After a while he rose to fetch a cloth and water. He cleansed the blood from her thighs. “Don’t be embarrassed, Rhonwen,” he whispered with a smile.

“I’m not. I’m humbled my warrior is tending to my needs. You brought me to rapture with your tender lovemaking before, but this—this was—different. This was fulfillment. The sensations coursing through me as we joined brought me to a wonderful new world.”

She fell asleep hours later, after they had made love again. He cradled her as he carried her to the chamber where the other hostages slept, and laid her on her pallet. He spread her hair on the pillow and covered her lovingly with the furs. Gazing down at her, he whispered, “You’re my destiny, Rhonwen.”

She did not wake, and he withdrew without a sound.

***

Rhonwen awoke early, disoriented to find she was back on her own pallet. Glancing around, she saw Giselle and her mistress preparing for the journey. She rose and helped herself to bread and honey. The others greeted her normally, and she sensed no embarrassment from them. Rhodri must have carried her into the chamber, but no one gave any indication they had seen or heard anything.

Robert and Baudoin were looking forward to riding ponies down into the valley. Rhodri had told Robert he could ride his own pony because he had learned quickly in the practice fields. The child was ecstatic.

“I wonder if Papa will come to meet us,” Baudoin asked.

“Of course he will,” Robert answered, “And he’ll bring a huge army and slay the Welsh barbarians.”

The Countess groaned. “Old habits and beliefs die hard I suppose. Let’s pray there won’t be violence at the exchange.”

She wrapped the infant in swaddling cloths and carefully placed her into a sling around Rhonwen’s neck. They made their way out of the fortress.

Rhodri was already mounted on his pony. “Give the child to me, Rhonwen.”

She carefully lifted the sling. Rhodri leaned down and she placed the precious bundle around his neck. Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment, then Rhonwen averted hers, wiping away the stinging tears. She couldn’t look at him.

He cradled the baby to his huge body.
“I
Lloegr!
” he shouted to his men, and the warriors and their hostages began their long journey down the mountain to England, as he had commanded.

Few words were spoken, despite the captivating beauty of the valleys and glades they traversed, painted gold by carpets of daffodils. Rhonwen wrestled with her emotions. By the time they arrived at the cottage where they had stayed overnight, her head and her heart ached. She loved this wild Celt who now carried someone else’s babe down the mountain. Was he thinking of his own children, of what he might have had with her?

***

“I don’t like this mist,” Gervais muttered. “We can barely see the bridge, let alone the other end of it. The archers will be hard pressed to find their target, if we need them.”

Montbryce shifted nervously in his saddle as he and his men waited. “We’ve already been waiting over an hour,” he replied. “If the wait goes on, the mist may clear.”

He struggled to stay positive. He had been in many tense situations in his life, but they paled in comparison to the stress he felt now with the lives of his wife and family in the balance. Even amid the horror of Hastings, it had been only his life at risk. The mist had seeped into his head. He dismounted to walk around and stretch his legs, trying to overcome the fear and nervousness he felt.

He prayed nothing would go wrong. The Welsh bowmen were legendary and it was said they could hit a target with their eyes closed. He suspected Rhodri had men hidden ready to strike if necessary, as he did.

“I wonder if there will ever be trust between our two peoples?” he mused aloud. “Peace can only come with trust.”

He was weary of the constant conflict plaguing the Welsh Marches. He was a warrior first and foremost, but he was a diplomat too, a good one, and he resolved to use those skills to a greater degree than he had before.

A faint whinny off in the distance, beyond the narrow humpback bridge, brought him out of his reverie abruptly. His gut tightened.

They are here.

“Earl of Ellesmere,” a loud assertive voice came from the mist. “Rambaud,
Comte
de Montbryce.”

“I am here,” he shouted back, trying to peer through the impenetrable mist, to see any sign of his family. “To whom am I speaking?”

“I am Rhodri ap Owain, Prince of Powwydd. We’ve met before, you and I. Did you bring the ransom we agreed upon?”

Straight down to business then.

“
Oui
, I’ve brought it. How do I know my family is safe?”

There was a pause, then he heard Mabelle’s strong, calm voice. “Rambaud? Ram?”

He wanted to charge recklessly onto the bridge. Tears threatened as he tightened his hold on the reins, gritting his teeth and squaring his jaw.

“Ram?” she called again. “We’re all safe. Robert and Baudoin are with me, as are Giselle and Rhonwen. And your daughter. Lord Rhodri has taken good care of us. We’re looking forward to coming home.”

A daughter!
Ram’s throat constricted. “Robert, Baudoin, you and your mother are well?”

“
Oui
, Papa,” yelled Robert. “I’ve taken good care of Baudoin—and my baby sister.”

He coughed, hoping to conceal his momentary inability to find words. He could feel the expectant eyes of his men on him. Much depended on what happened next.

“My men will place the chests in the middle of the bridge as agreed. They’ll leave them open,” he shouted. “If you have the hostages mounted, I want their horses sent across the bridge first.”

He did not want to run the risk the Welsh would turn and flee with the hostages, once they had the ransom. It would make it more difficult if the hostages were on foot.

“Agreed,” came the gruff reply a few minutes later. “Then we’ll send your family across on foot with four of my men. They will retrieve the chests.”

Montbryce 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. He had to trust him. His wife had confirmed they had been well treated, and Rhodri had left him alive at Ruyton, when he could easily have killed him.

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

Montbryce 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. They put their burden down heavily and lifted the lids. The metallic sounds echoed off the walls and rough cobblestones of the narrow bridge, intensified by the mist and the rushing water of the river below.

The Earl could see the coins from where he stood, so assumed the Welsh could also see them. His men turned and strode back towards him. A surge of pride made him straighten his spine. These Norman soldiers were aware of Welsh arrows aimed at their backs, 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.

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

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