Phillippe grabbed her by the hair and forced her to her knees. “Tais-toi, Valtesse bitch. You’ll watch in silence while I despatch your wretched spawn to hell, and then I’ll kill you. Your cursed father turned my father into a raving lunatic.”
He raised his sword. Rhonwen gasped in horror when she saw the sharp blade poised to behead Robert. The boy stood rooted to the spot.
“Non,” Mabelle wailed.
Suddenly, Phillippe’s rabid eyes lost their focus. His death grip on Mabelle’s hair slackened. His disbelieving gaze fell to the dagger embedded deep in his chest. He dropped his sword and slumped lifeless to the floor, a spurt of blood from his gaping mouth spraying across the front of Mabelle’s gown. She lunged for Robert, clutching her son tightly, sobbing.
“Phillippe,” Morwenna yelled. She had seen Rhodri throw the dagger that had ended her lover’s life. She 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, deflecting the blow intend for his heart. The steel sliced into his bicep.
Giselle gathered up the wide-eyed Baudoin.
Rhonwen rushed to place the new born into the safety of her sobbing mother’s arms. Then she ran to aid Rhodri who was struggling with the frenzied Morwenna. She grabbed the hair of the woman who had murdered her mother, determined not to let her slay Rhodri. That she’d managed to wound him was alarming enough.
When Morwenna turned her attention and her wrath onto Rhonwen, she bolted and ran out of the door, down the passageway and through the gate to the outside, where she found herself lost in a blanket of thick fog.
Morwenna was in pursuit. She had to keep going, though she had no notion where she was running, having been outside rarely during her captivity.
She felt her way along the wooden palisades, glad she could draw Morwenna away from the man she loved. She could hear the demonic woman screaming curses not far behind. The mist cleared for a moment. She was on a narrow precipice. 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 as a feeling of power surged through her.
A manic Morwenna appeared out of the smothering fog and lunged. Rhonwen looked into her eyes and saw death. They struggled briefly, but she felt no fear. Suddenly, her mother’s murderer slipped, fell and was gone, swallowed silently by the stoic mountains.
I didn’t hear her scream. Surely, she must have screamed?
She braced her back against the palisades, digging her nails into the wood, panting hard and now afraid to move. Fearing she might freeze or faint if she didn’t get inside, she wasn’t sure which way to go when she heard Rhodri calling to her. Reciting incantations whose meaning she didn’t 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 held her to his body.
“You’re safe now, my Rhonwen, you’re safe. I have you.”
“Morwenna is dead,” she sobbed, reaching 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, she stitched his wound and applied a healing salve of lady’s mantle.
“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.
Negotiations
Three sennights later, a sudden thaw made it possible for Aneurin ap Norweg and his men to make their way 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 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. My duty is to my lady who has trusted me and given me a place of honor 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 always love you, 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. I seek only justice for my people. Sometimes it’s necessary to fight to achieve it.”
Ram had endured many agonized months of not knowing how his family fared, but had a deep inner sense they still lived. Mabelle had become an essential part of his life, part of him. His body would have felt the loss. There remained no doubt in his mind that, despite his refusal to admit it, he loved her deeply.
Why had he never been able to utter those simple words to her? Why had his stubborn pride and ambition deprived her of the assurance he truly loved her? He prayed fervently he would have the chance to admit his love. He sensed she loved him too, though she had never confessed that to him. But he didn’t care. He resolved to tell her anyway.
And what of his children? He had been a loving father. Unlike his wife, he had never spoken the words to them either. Why was it so difficult? He swore an oath to tell his sons how much he loved them every day of their lives if they were returned to him safely. And the child his wife was carrying when she was abducted? Did the babe live? Did he have another son, or perhaps a daughter? Could Mabelle have survived bearing a child in the remote mountains of Wales?
He worried the Welsh rebels would not agree to his proposals for an exchange. “I hope my caution hasn’t cost my family their lives,” he confided to Gervais. “Can we trust Rhodri?”
Relief flooded him when a messenger arrived with word from Rhodri agreeing to the exchange, and outlining the day and time, only a sennight hence. “Send out scouting parties to reconnoitre 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 rans
om money.”
Gervais smiled. “Oui, milord. It’s good to be doing something productive.”
Ram 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 Ram feared pursuit and vengeance would result in Mabelle’s death. He knew with dread certainty 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, Caryl Penarth had come to Ellesmere a sennight after the fayre. She had agreed to stay when told of Rhonwen’s disappearance with Mabelle. Ram had questioned her about her knowledge of rebels in the area of Whittington. He had sensed there was something she wanted to say, but didn’t. After receiving the ransom demand, he had gone to her again.
“There are those who say I shouldn’t pay the ransom,” he told her.
Caryl hesitated a moment before she replied. “Then many will starve, my lord.”
Ram arched his brows. “Starve? The harvests have been good.”
“Not in Wales. It’s a blighted land,” she whispered sadly.
Ram 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 Mabelle and her family to the hall. He had developed a great admiration for this proud Norman woman, who seemed to have taken her ordeal in stride and maintained her bearing and fortitude throughout.
“My 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 back 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 as your escort, and see you safely delivered.”
Mabelle returned the bow with a curtsey. She looked surprised that he would accompany them, but said nothing. She was aware of his love for her healer, but did she know he had asked Rhonwen to stay?
Rhodri continued, trying to keep his eyes off the woman he loved, 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 honor 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.”
Mabelle 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 know how he burned for Rhonwen, how hard it had been to not claim her body and soul, to make her stay?
Mabelle cleared her throat. “I would like to return to our chambers now to make final preparations for the morrow. I’m worried about 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 carry your infant daughter as we descend.”
Mabelle seemed about to take her leave but turned back. “One last favor, Lord Rhodri, could I trouble you for writing materials? Parchment—ink. I wish to compose a letter.”
Rhodri was curious but replied, “Of course. The monk can serve as scrivener.”
“Non, merci. I can write it myself.”
Now it was Rhodri who coughed nervously. “Perhaps you could spare Rhonwen for a few moments? I would like to speak with her alone.”
Mabelle turned to her healer. “Of course, if you’re in agreement. We’ll go finish our packing.”
Rhonwen blushed and nodded.
Don't Go
Come.”
Rhodri led Rhonwen to his chamber and motioned for her to sit by the hearth in her chair. 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 for her pain, 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 go.”
“I must,” she cried, putting her hands to her face to hide the tears. “I can’t endure the thought of living with you as a warrior, spending my days amid blood and violence, worrying if you’re coming back from the latest skirmish, tending ghastly wounds. But I want some memory to warm the cold, 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.”
“I’m leaving my heart here with you, but I want—I need to give you something else. You’ve brought 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 go from this place as a woman. I want you to be assured 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 he picked her up in his arms and strode over to his bed.
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 at her side.
Her eyes widened and she gasped when she saw his arousal for the first time. “I’m a healer, Rhodri, and I’ve seen naked men before. But I’ve never seen a man as big and as proudly erect. Looking at you heats my body.”
She smiled at him and his heart raced. He had never felt as admired as a man. She was nervous but not afraid. He didn’t want fear to dampen the great passion he sensed she was capable of. It had taken all his 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 laid her down on 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, as her groan reverberated through his body. She 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 already rigid peaks. She arched her body when he suckled. He knelt between her legs and trailed his fingers slowly between her maiden’s breasts and down across her belly.
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 the length of her quivering body until he reached the black curls at the top of her thighs, curls as black as his own. Glimpsing the diamond of her desire, 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 as his tongue brought her pleasure, but also a blush of embarrassment. “Rhodri—”
“Nothing we do here is wrong or shameful. 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 sweet taste sending new blood rushing to his groin. Wet heat eased the way for his fingers as he slowly inserted them. He could wait no longer. He guided the swollen tip of his manhood 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 whispered. “I’m big, and you’re—”
She smiled. “I’m not afraid.”
Her truthfulness humbled him.
He entered slowly, felt 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 on hearing her words. He groaned, withdrew almost completely, then plunged in again and again. She screamed his name with wild delight when his seed burst forth into her quivering body.
Still inside her, he lifted her with ease and rolled over so she was atop him. Black hair entwined where their bodies were joined, making them one body. 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. He rose from the bed and went to fetch a cloth and water then cleansed the blood from her thighs.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Rhonwen,” he whispered with a smile.
“I’m not,” she said truthfully. “I’m humbled my warrior is tending to my needs this way. You brought me to rapture with your tender lovemaking before, but this was different. This was fulfillment. The sensations coursing through me as we joined brought me to a mystical release. I’ve entered a wonderful new world.”
Conquest (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 1) Page 26
