Homesickness swept over him as they crossed the causeway that straddled the first oval-shaped moat. A pale crescent moon beginning its ascent into the darkening sky shimmered in the black depths of the water within it.
Powwydd was a royal court, but was more like a manor than a castle. It was protected by a sturdy wall and two moats, but most of it wasn’t made of stone. Many of the buildings, which Ronan surmised were chambers and storage barns, were made of earth and straw, their roofs thatched.
Rhodri led his guests into the hall. The neuadd was a timbered structure, though the footings appeared to be of dry stonework.
Ronan hobbled along on his crutches, aided by Conall. A sharp-toothed creature gnawed his leg.
Rhodri opened his arms wide. “My Lady Rhoni, my home isn’t as comfortable as I’m sure Ellesmere is, but we’re improving things gradually, learning from you Normans, ironically enough. And you can be assured there’s always a roaring fire in the hearth to warm your bones! And, we have ty bach.”
She looked at him curiously. He winked. “I believe you Normans call it the garderobe.”
Rhoni’s face reddened, but she took the teasing with good humor.
Ronan was captivated by her smile. It lit up the darkening hall.
Carys and Rhonwen took Rhoni off to her chamber. Only Rhodri, Ronan and Conall remained in the neuadd. Rhodri braced his legs and folded his arms. Ronan couldn’t remain upright on the crutches much longer, but the time had come to reveal the truth. He cleared his throat. “My lord Prince, there’s something I must tell you.”
Conall didn’t understand English, but it was the only language Ronan and Rhodri had in common. He’d have to hope the quick-witted lad would get the gist of what he was saying.
Rhodri remained silent.
He has already guessed.
Ronan swayed on the crutches and Conall hastened to his side. He looked into the lad’s eyes, hoping he understood the silent message. “As you’ve rightly surmised, I’m not a farmer. My name is Ronan MacLachlainn. I am the nephew of Muirchertach Ó Briain, King of Munster. My estate in Sord Colmcille was usurped by two brothers by the name of MacFintain.”
Rhodri’s face showed no expression. “And Conall?”
Ronan put a hand on Conall’s shoulder. “He’s the son of my steward who was murdered by the MacFintains. The boy rescued me from the cells.”
Conall clenched his jaw.
Ronan swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “They also murdered my wife and unborn child.”
Rhodri drove a hand through his hair. “I understand more than you know the burning desire for revenge. Even before the Normans came, my family fought to end the oppression of my people by the Saxons. I’ve spent a lifetime righting wrongs.
“But don’t let vengeance consume you, Lord Ronan. It makes for a lonely life. My darling Rhonwen has brought light to my darkness, and my children, well, you’ve seen how blessed I am. Don’t let hatred rule your life.”
Ronan hobbled away from his host. “Perhaps my anger and grief are too new. I cannot let go. I’ve sworn to help Conall avenge his father, and I won’t allow Mary’s murderers to go unpunished.”
He touched a hand to his bandaged eye and hoped his voice would remain steady. “And I have reasons of my own for wanting them dead.”
Rhodri unfastened the scabbard of his dagger and laid it on a trestle table. “I understand. Only remember this. I am a sworn enemy of Normans and do everything I can to interfere with them, yet I have the daughter of a Norman earl as a guest in my home. My eldest daughter is named for her mother. The two of them travelled a goodly distance at significant risk to attend Myfanwy’s installation.”
Ronan said nothing.
Rhodri paced, then came to stand directly in front of him. “Rhoni preferred to come here rather than return home with her mother. While I would like to believe she’s consumed with a burning desire to see the place of her birth at Cadair Berwyn, I believe there’s another reason she chose the dangers of a journey into Wales. She may not understand her actions, but anyone can see you’re attracted to each other.”
Ronan looked quickly at Conall. He had to get the lad out of the hall before he caught on. “The boy is exhausted. Best I get him to the stables. We can bed down there.”
Rhodri shook his head. “I’ll not have a fellow nobleman sleeping in my stables, especially one still in need of care from my wife. There’s a chamber for you and the lad can share it if you wish.”
Ronan bowed. “I thank you.”
“Before I summon a servant to escort you there, I’ll say one last thing. Rhoni has taken a big risk coming here, and her mother has taken a bigger one in allowing her to.”
Ronan bristled. “I’m not in a mood to be sympathetic to Normans. The MacFintains have held sway only with the help of Norman allies.”
Rhodri frowned. “Who are these allies?”
Ronan shook his head. “I wish I knew.”
Rhodri put a hand on his arm. “I can assure you they are not Rhoni’s family. Ram de Montbryce and I are enemies, but he’s an honorable man who has the interests of his people at heart. He’s neither a murderer, nor a thief. He’d be a good ally. Who better to help you in your quest for vengeance than another Norman?”
Ronan gritted his teeth. He had to get off his feet. The journey had been long and the going difficult. An insistent trembling shook his limbs. “My lord Prince, I fear I must retire or I am likely to fall over.”
Rhodri immediately summoned a servant. “I apologise. Sometimes I talk too much. It’s a failing we Welsh have! If there’s aught you need you have only to ask Ewan for it. I bid you goodnight.”
Ronan smiled weakly. “No need for apologies. Irishmen have been known to blather on as well. Goodnight.”
Rhoni lay in the comfortable bed in the toasty warm chamber behind the kiln oven of the foodhouse. It was Carys’s chamber, but the girl had insisted she would find a bed elsewhere.
The journey had been exhausting, but Rhoni was too upset to sleep. She repeated Ronan’s words over and over in her head. Grief for him and what he’d suffered welled up in her throat and she sobbed into the fragrant linens.
His wife had been murdered. Had he loved her? Most noblemen didn’t love their wives, though her own family were exceptions to that rule. Her parents were deeply in love.
But her father wouldn’t be happy with her mother once he discovered she’d allowed this journey to Powwydd. Why had her mother acquiesced, and relatively quickly? She had expected more opposition.
She didn’t understand why she’d wanted desperately to follow Ronan. He’d been terribly disfigured by the abomination of his eye. He might be lame if his leg didn’t heal properly. He would bear forever the ignominious mark of the lash.
Yet, she had only to put her hand on his and rivers of fire flooded through her veins. Her breasts tightened at the thought of him. But he was a man filled with the need for vengeance, a man who spat at the mere mention of Normans.
Rhoni wasn’t so naive that she didn’t know hatred for Normans existed, but how insulated she’d been from it, safe in the bosom of her family.
She suddenly felt alone, in enemy territory, though Rhodri would defend her to the death if necessary.
Coming here had been foolhardy, another example of her impulsiveness. Grief and pain had ground love out of Ronan. It was hopeless.
He Will Come
Mabelle de Montbryce wasn’t looking forward to explaining why Rhoni hadn’t come home. Ram greeted her in the bailey. He usually enfolded her in his cloak, but he stopped short and frowned when he noted Rhoni’s absence.
Best to get it over with.
“Rhoni stayed in Wales.”
Confused anger flickered in his blue eyes. Would he trust her judgment? Even she wasn’t sure she’d made the right decision. Relief stole over her when he wrapped his cloak around her and drew her close. She felt the evidence of his love pressed to her body.
“I suppose you’ll
explain it to me. You must be tired after your journey. Come inside.”
She acknowledged Steward Bonhomme as he took her cloak. Her husband escorted her to their solar. Feeling the tension in his arm, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’ll need patience for the telling of the tale.”
He led her to a chair and she sank into it wearily. He stood with his back to the hearth, his legs braced. “Tell me.”
What she wanted to do was peel off his clothes and run her hands over his body, still hard and well muscled despite his age. The sight of him never failed to arouse her. She clenched her hands together in her lap.
Ram folded his arms across his chest. “Get on with it, Mabelle. Then I can take you to bed. I’ve missed you.” He glanced at his groin. “You can plainly see the evidence of what I say.”
She swallowed hard, hoping he’d still want to bed her after hearing the story. “The tale begins with the rescue of a man from the sea.”
Ram frowned. “A man?”
“An Irishman.”
Her husband rolled his eyes.
This was not going well.
“He had been tortured.”
Ram unfolded his arms and clenched his jaw. “Go on.”
She took a deep breath. “Let me start at the beginning.”
She recounted the story of their arrival at Llansanfraid, the ceremony to install Myfanwy Mabelle, the rescue of Ronan and Conall as far as it had been told to her, and Rhonwen’s nursing of them.
Ram paced back and forth, his hands locked behind his back, grunting whenever she mentioned Rhodri’s name.
She paused.
He stopped pacing. “You’ve said little of Rhoni in this.”
Much as she loved Ram, she suddenly felt like a worm wriggling on the end of a fishing hook. There would be no escape. “When we were ready to leave Llansanfraid, Rhoni asked if she might stay with Rhodri’s family and accompany them to Powwydd.”
Ram towered over her, raking his hands through his hair. “You allowed my daughter to go to Powwydd? With Rhodri ap Owain?”
Mabelle came to her feet and took his hands. “Please don’t be angry with me. I felt it was her destiny.”
He gripped her hands. “You’ve spent too much time with Celts.”
She shook her head. “That isn’t fair. You recognized thirty years ago it was your destiny to serve Duke William of Normandie, to help him invade this country and become the great Conqueror. Just as I knew you were my destiny when I first set eyes on you by the lake, but was too afraid to admit it.”
Ram inhaled deeply, easing her gently back into the chair. He sat in the one beside it, rubbing his knees. “Pacing is playing havoc with my rheumatism. I don’t fully understand. What exactly is Rhoni’s destiny?”
“The Irishman.”
Ram stared at her as if she’d spoken in Greek. It seemed he might erupt like the mighty Mount Vesuvius he’d described to her after his journey through Italia on the way back from Constantinople. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of his chair. He came slowly to his feet, his shoulders drooped. She’d never seen him so despondent. She preferred his anger. “There’s more to learn about Ronan MacLachlainn.”
He leaned his hands on the mantel of the hearth. “What is it?”
“He claims to be a farmer from an estate in Ireland that was overrun by brigands, but no one believed he was a farmer. Rhodri suspects he was the lord of the estate that was usurped and is burning for vengeance.”
Ram gazed into the flames. “Life is often brutal, as we can attest. While I’m sorry he may have undergone such a trial, I cannot see this bodes well for Rhoni. You’re telling me that after the numerous handsome, wealthy, titled Norman noblemen I’ve paraded before her, Rhoni has fallen in love with an exiled, impoverished, mutilated Irishman?”
Mabelle sniffled as a tear rolled unbidden down her cheek. “I doubt she’s aware she has fallen in love, but his effect on her was obvious. He’s a fine man, Ram, a noble and honorable man.”
She rose and went to him. She stretched her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his back. His spine was rigid. She felt his struggle for control. He unwound her arms from his body and turned to face her. “I had high hopes for my little girl.”
This angered her. “You condemn the man before you’ve met him.”
Ram arched one eyebrow, surprised at her vehement reply. He had a sinking feeling there was more to come. “It’s hardly likely I’ll ever meet him, is it?”
His wife hesitated, which worried him more. He and Mabelle had endured many trials together, and he was eternally grateful that she loved him passionately despite his failings. When they’d first met, he’d deemed her unsuitable for the role of countess, yet she’d turned out to be his biggest asset. Life without her at his side was inconceivable. He didn’t understand why she’d allowed Rhoni to remain with the Irishman, but he had to trust her.
“She will bring him here.”
He hadn’t been prepared for that. “She told you this?”
“Non. She didn’t know it at the time, but they will come. You will meet him.”
For a moment, Ram worried his wife’s advancing age was playing tricks with her wits, but he quickly dismissed the notion. “What can he offer her if his lands have been usurped?”
Now Mabelle didn’t hesitate. “Nothing, but we can offer Alensonne.”
While it was true Mabelle’s birthplace in Normandie remained a castle without a master, he balked at the idea of handing it over to a complete stranger. There were memories attached to Alensonne he’d sooner forget. “You jest?”
She fixed her gaze on him. “Robert will inherit Montbryce, Baudoin will be lord of this castle. What would be more fitting than to give my father’s castle to Rhoni as her dowry?”
Ram felt the urge to resume pacing in spite of his painful knees. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves, Mabelle. Let’s go to bed. I cannot think clearly when you look at me like that. Perhaps after I bury myself deep inside you again—”
She grinned. Thoughts of Rhoni fled as he took her hand and led her to their bedchamber.
Later, as they lay sated, entangled in the bed linens, Ram voiced the fear that had crept into his awareness as he awoke from a pleasant doze after their lovemaking. “He’ll come seeking my help.”
Mabelle sighed, her head nuzzled into his chest. “Oui.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I am dimwitted. You already foresaw that.”
She traced a finger along his shoulder. “I’ve had more time to ponder the matter and the advantage of having met Ronan.”
“I cannot aid him. Indeed why should I? If he’s the man for Rhoni, why not set them up in Alensonne? Why risk his life in a quest to regain what he has lost?”
He knew the answer as the words left his mouth. Mabelle propped herself up on her elbows, her still glorious breasts pouting at him. “I told you he’s a man of honor. His pride would never allow him to accept such an offer. If Ellesmere Castle were taken from you, you would move heaven and earth to regain it.”
Ram put a finger to her lips. “Don’t speak of such a thing. You’re right. I would be a man consumed by hatred and the need for vengeance, as I was when Rhodri kidnapped you with my child in your belly.”
She nestled back into his side. “Their fate is in their own hands. I may be wrong and he won’t come. In some ways I hope he doesn’t.”
Keeping Vigil
In Powwydd Ronan’s health took a turn for the worse. Rhonwen fussed and spluttered, annoyed that the progress he’d made had been undone by the long journey. A fever had taken hold and again he had to be nursed day and night.
Rhoni suspected the Irishman wouldn’t welcome her attentions, but she felt compelled to approach Rhonwen with an offer of aid. “You’re spending long hours nursing Ronan. You have many other responsibilities here. Let me help. Tell me what to do. I want to learn healing skills.”
Rhonwen hesitated. “I have time during the day, bu
t I admit it’s difficult to stay awake at night watching him. I don’t want Carys to sit up with him either.”
“I can do that. Just keep watch.”
“Come this night then, after supper.”
It was impossible for Ronan to get comfortable. The scars on his back were healing, but were still too tender to lie on. If he lay on the side of his good eye, he saw nothing; on his blind side, his nose hurt. Either side his leg pained him.
Rhonwen had fretted and soothed all day, trying to get his fever down, urging him to keep covered each time he threw off the linens. He’d done nothing, yet he was exhausted. He was dozing off, hoping this night he might get some sleep when he heard the chamber door open.
Carys, no doubt, come to relieve her mother.
He licked his lips and turned over slowly onto his belly. His back had to remain uncovered, but he gathered the linens to cover his arse and legs. Carys was a young girl who in his opinion shouldn’t see a man naked in his bed, apprentice healer or no.
Rhonwen tucked the linens at his waist, put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, wished him goodnight, gave muffled instructions, then left.
Ronan drifted in and out of sleep, the faint trace of Rhoni’s perfume in his nostrils making him think her chamber must be close by. What was it her scent reminded him of?
Her back pressed against the door, Rhoni stared transfixed at the livid scars on Ronan’s back. They had healed to a degree, but were still visible in the dim candlelight. She gagged, barely managing to keep the bile down. What must they have been like when first inflicted?
Conall lay curled up on a pallet in the far corner, asleep. Coming here was a mistake. She was trapped in the small chamber with a man and a boy who had naught but disdain for her. She turned, intending to call Rhonwen back.
Ronan snored lightly, bringing her attention back to him. She was relieved that he slept. She crept cautiously to the chair by his bedside and sat, leaning forward, clutching the arms.
Vengeance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 4) Page 6
