He held out his hand. “Surely you’re not still afraid of me?”
Rhoni was conflicted. She’d followed Ronan to this deserted place each day and watched him from a distance without his knowledge. But the mellow sweetness of his deep voice singing a plaintive song in his own language had overtaken her senses. She’d inadvertently revealed her presence. His breath, visible in the cool morning air, had carried the haunting words of his song into the stoic mountains around them.
But he thought she feared him?
Mayhap she did. She certainly feared the emotions he stirred and the sensations he caused in private parts of her body she’d never paid much attention to before.
She lifted the hem of her skirt slightly and took a hesitant step towards him. “I chanced upon you as you sang. You have a melodious voice. Can you tell me the meaning of the words?”
He took hold of her hand. “Sit with me and I’ll share with you the lament I was singing. We Irish are a strange breed. Even our love songs are laments.”
She sat beside him on the rock, feeling its chill through the fabric of her skirts. “It was a love song?”
“Aye, it’s called An Cailín Álainn, The Beautiful Girl.”
His heated gaze warmed her and she felt her face redden. He still held her hand. “There is a beautiful girl to whom I’ve given my love.”
Oh God.
“She’s lovelier and more beautiful than the bloom of the rose.”
Rhoni longed to press her breasts against his arm. She fixed her gaze on his long fingers entwined with hers, remembering the press of his thumb on her palm.
His voice deepened. “Without her in my arms, I am desolate.”
Her heart stopped. It was a lament for his dead wife.
As he spoke the last line his voice was so low she barely heard it. “Oh beautiful girl, you’re the cause of my sorrow.”
She hoped her own voice wouldn’t betray her emotions. “You must have loved your wife very much.”
Ronan glanced up at her sharply. Guilt swept over him. He’d forgotten Mary, his thoughts on Rhoni as he sang. He let go of her hand and came to his feet, his back to her. If he claimed to have been passionately in love with Mary, it would keep her away. But it would be a lie, and he sensed she would know it. “My marriage to Mary was arranged by our fathers. She didn’t want to marry. She had a true vocation to be a nun, but her father forbade it. Mary was the kindest, sweetest woman. She was a good wife, and we got along.”
“Was she beautiful?”
He turned to face her, stunned as always by the golden hair, the wide brown eyes, the proud nose, the utter perfection of the woman before him who seemed to have no idea of her allure. “She had a beautiful smile.”
“Why not refuse to marry her?”
“Nay, that would have shamed her, and driven her father to find a lesser man. It was my duty to protect her.”
And in that he had failed completely. Even now his thoughts dwelled more on this Norman woman than on the mission ahead. He braced his legs and frowned. “I’ve tried to compose what I’ll say to your father to convince him to help me, but I doubt my pleas will impress him. I cannot see any reason why he might agree.”
Rhoni gazed beyond Ronan to the distant peaks. “Neither can I,” she whispered sadly.
Unless I beg him on your behalf.
She kept her eyes fixed on the scenery, but didn’t see it. The powerful legs of the giant who stood before her on the edge of the precipice captured all her attention. Till now, her father and Rhodri were the tallest men she’d known, but she was sure Ronan was taller.
If she pleaded his case to her father, her infatuation would be apparent. Ronan would be embarrassed, championed by a mere girl he cared naught for.
She wished he’d stop staring at her. It was unsettling. The cold damp of the rock had seeped through her skirts. Her derrière was numb, her feet tingling with pins and needles. She tried to rise. He strode forward and offered his hand, pulling her to her feet. They failed her and she lost her balance, falling against him. He caught her easily and steadied her, his hands on her waist.
Mortified at her clumsiness, she arched her back to look up at his face. His lips were parted, his nostrils flared. Panic seized her. His grip tightened. He bent his knees and lifted her to his warm body. For the first time in her life, she felt a man’s hard desire pressed to her most intimate place.
Her breasts tightened, the nipples screaming to be caressed. To her consternation, her hips thrust forward to press more closely to him. Her feet dangled. She wanted to wrap her legs around him. She’d lost control of her own body.
He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. The savage growl that came from deep in his throat echoed in her breasts as he crushed his hard chest into her softness. One hand wandered up her spine and into her hair. He held his breath, his lips poised to kiss her again.
It suddenly seemed natural to open her mouth and flick her tongue over his lips. He groaned as he captured her tongue in his mouth, sucking hard. She tasted the tart apple he’d eaten to break his fast, then his tongue was in her mouth, tasting her, thrusting in and out in a rhythmic movement echoed by their hips. His male scent mingled with the woodland aroma of the soap their Welsh hosts milled with fragrant herbs.
She could scarcely breathe. A maelstrom of confused thoughts swirled in her head, but she recognized clearly her own overwhelming desire for this man, and there was no doubt he wanted her.
He broke off their kiss, and set her feet back on the ground, panting hard. “Críost, I want you.”
She should have been elated, but the deep regret in his voice stunned her. What had happened had been caused by male lust, plain and simple. How often she’d been reminded by her mother that men lusted for women they didn’t necessarily love. Her own father had fallen victim to that weakness and her half brother Caedmon was the result of it.
She pulled away from him, trembling. There were a thousand things she wanted to say, but could articulate none of them.
He raked his hands through his hair. “I apologize, Lady Rhoni. I shouldn’t have done that. I am not currying your favor to intercede on my behalf.”
Only ask me and I will. Tell me you love me and I will walk to the ends of the earth for you.
He proffered his arm. “I’ll accompany you back to the fortress.”
She hoped he couldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes, nor feel the trembling in her hand as she placed it on his arm. It was like holding on to a solid iron bar. How she longed to feel that strength wrapped around her again.
They returned to the safety of the fortress in silence.
Spying
At the midday meal, Rhodri received an assurance from Ronan that the Irishman would indeed be taking part in the training sessions that afternoon. “Last chance to learn from experts,” he jested.
He sensed something had happened between Ronan and Rhoni. They seemed more uncomfortable with each other than usual. He was beginning to have doubts they would ever admit their feelings for each other.
He’d done his best, it was up to them now. He wondered if Rhoni would spy on the activities in the training field today as she had for several days.
“And what do you have planned for your afternoon, Rhoni?” he asked pointedly.
She averted her eyes and murmured, “Packing.”
Rhoni eyed the iron trunk with dismay. Packing and repacking it in preparation for the descent down the mountain on the morrow had consumed a mere half hour.
She decided to wile away an hour in the kitchens of Cadair Berwyn, coaxing some of the delicious recipes out of the Welsh cook. She left the wooden fortress to walk across the meadow that separated it from the stone kitchens. To her chagrin, only the cook’s helpers were there, young lads who chopped vegetables and cleaned up. There was nothing to be learned from them.
She set off back across the field, bound for the neuadd, intending to breathe in the smell of the wooden beams and watch the banners wafting in the raf
ters. No one would be there at this time of day.
She hadn’t counted on the bevy of maidservants supervising the laying of fresh rushes on the floors by an army of young men.
Exasperated, she toyed with the idea of walking out to Ronan’s outcropping for a last look at the valley. She touched her fingers to her lips, remembering the passion of his kiss. Better not to go there.
It came to her that she hadn’t yet seen the chamber where her mother and brothers had stayed during their captivity. She recalled what her mother had told her of it, its location, how far it was from the neuadd, and in which direction. Surely no one would mind if she explored alone?
Leaving the Great Hall, she retraced the path Mabelle de Montbryce had taken so many times and soon stood before a closed door in an isolated hallway. She knocked, but there was no response. Perhaps this chamber had been abandoned since the kidnapping, though she doubted it. With five children, Rhodri and Rhonwen would probably have use for every chamber available.
She edged open the door and peered inside, recognizing many of Rhun and Rhydderch’s possessions. But there were four pallets. Her heart lurched as the truth dawned on her. This was where Ronan and Conall slept.
With a trembling hand she picked up a shirt from atop one of the pallets. It was the borrowed shirt Ronan wore. He’d stripped it off before going out to the training fields. She held it to her nose and inhaled deeply, savoring the musky male scent that was pure Ronan. If she hurried she might catch a glimpse of him naked to the waist. She hastened off, vowing she’d watch him for only a few moments.
It was relatively simple to remain concealed in one of the watchtowers atop the palisades. Rhodri rarely posted guards during the day, confident in the impregnability of his fortress. The afternoon sun had turned the confined space into an oven, but that wasn’t the reason for the sweat that soon trickled down Rhoni’s spine and between her breasts.
Below her, in the meadow, men practiced swordplay, dagger throwing, wrestling, archery. They grunted, swore, sweated, and laughed. Rhun was teaching Conall how to shoot an arrow at a target.
She watched Ronan wield a sword in a mock fight with Rhodri. The Welshman bested him, but Ronan fought well and it cheered her that he was learning to cope with one eye.
But most of her attention had been fixed on the play of his muscles as he fought, the sinews of his corded arms standing out like ropes. For a big man he was graceful, lithe. Once he honed his skills, he would be a deadly opponent. It was hard to believe he’d been at death’s door scant sennights ago.
She shivered, despite the heat, a vision of Ronan lying naked with her, entangled together, her legs wrapped around his body, his manhood hard and ready. Her mother had told her what happened between a man and woman, but she’d never given it much thought before, never felt the overwhelming urge to join her body to a man’s that consumed her now.
Ronan and Rhodri stood together, encouraging Conall’s progress with the bow. Servants brought linens to cleanse the sweat from their bodies before they entered the bathhouse.
Rhoni chewed her nails, wishing for the magic to shift shape into the drying cloth that had rubbed Ronan’s powerful body and now lay carelessly draped around his neck. She snorted at her foolishness, wiping with the back of her hand the drool that had trickled from her mouth, sure she must be losing her wits. The Irish giant was driving her mad.
Mad with want!
Suddenly, Ronan looked up, directly at the tower. Surely he was too far away to have heard her snort? She slid her back down the rough wood of the wall and stopped breathing. How ridiculous that she, the daughter of a powerful earl, had been reduced to a quivering mess of trembling desire, hiding in a watchtower. Her parents would be appalled.
If this was what love did to a person, she was better off without it.
The men’s voices tapered off as they made their way into the bathhouse. Soon, however, ribald noises of horseplay and male laughter assailed her ears. She made her escape down the wooden ladder, holding tightly to the sides, fearing her knees might buckle at any moment.
Rhodri's Gift
Ronan dressed hastily, feeling refreshed after bathing. Rhodri had asked him to wait with Conall in the chamber he shared with Rhun and Rhydderch. The twins had softened their attitude towards Conall, especially when the boy proved to be an apt pupil of Rhun’s. He was grateful for the clothes the redheads had given his servant.
Rhodri had also been generous with clothing for Ronan. The roomy shirts fit well, though the sleeves were too short. The doublets and breeches were a mite snug. It was rare to find a man who came close to matching him in height. Appearing before the Earl of Ellesmere in borrowed clothing wouldn’t create a good first impression.
He’d taken for granted the fine raiment he’d worn as Tiarna of Túr MacLachlainn. And what kind of warrior carried no weapon? Still, he should be thankful he was alive and healed thanks to the care lavished on him by these generous Welsh people.
Rhodri strode in, followed by several young boys laden down with shirts, doublets, breeches, boots, and cloaks.
Ronan frowned. “My lord?”
Rhodri chuckled. “I feared your new wardrobe might not arrive from Powwydd in time. Rhonwen has had the tailors and seamstresses working night and day. Don’t stand there gawking, man! Off with your shirt. You too, Conall. Let’s make sure everything fits. My darling Rhonwen even sewed an eye patch to match each doublet.”
Ronan couldn’t express his gratitude as he and Conall stripped off and tried on one finely made piece of clothing after another. Tears welled when he looked at Conall. “Your da would be proud of you, lad. Now you look like a steward’s son.”
Conall sketched a mock bow. “And you, my lord, look more like the Tiarna of Túr MacLachlainn than you have for a while.”
Ronan turned to his host. “How can I thank you, Prince Rhodri. I’m humbled by your generosity. I have no means to repay you.”
Rhodri waved a dismissive hand. “It’s naught. I wish I could be of more help in your quest to right the wrongs done to you. But at least you’ll look like the nobleman you are when you meet Ram de Montbryce.”
Ronan felt guiltily relieved that he would now stand proudly beside Rhoni when he met her father.
Rhodri slapped him on the back. “Let’s away to the neuadd. They are waiting to serve the evening meal. You can make a grand entrance in your new finery.”
Rhoni hadn’t brought a great deal of clothing with her, planning originally to be away from home only a short time. She’d fussed over what to wear for the evening meal. Rhodri had indicated it would be a more sumptuous occasion since it was to be their farewell banquet. She wanted to honor her host, but didn’t want to embarrass Ronan.
His lack of fine clothes didn’t concern Rhoni, except when she thought of her father’s reaction. Ronan would look like a pauper next to the Earl of Ellesmere and his son.
Lost in her thoughts as she awaited Rhodri’s arrival in the hall, she fidgeted with the lace cuffs of the gown she’d chosen and didn’t at first notice that a hush had fallen over the assembly. When she looked to the entryway, her mouth fell open.
Ronan’s noble bearing had been obvious from the beginning, even in the ragged clothes in which he’d been rescued. Now he strode into the neuadd of Cadair Berwyn every inch the Lord of MacLachlainn Tower.
Her desire for him shook her to the core. Craven cowards had tried to destroy him, this man of steel. She stared at him. He didn’t smile, but his gaze was for her as he made his way to the dais with Rhodri.
He wants to be sure I approve.
The Prince bowed to her. “My lady Rhoni, you look magnificent.”
She blushed, aware only of how well Ronan’s new doublet fit his broad shoulders. She suspected Rhonwen’s fine hand behind this transformation.
Rhodri took his place and gestured for Ronan to do the same. The lord of MacLachlainn Tower took hold of Rhoni’s hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Prince Rhodri is right.
You’re the brightest star in the firmament this evening.”
Rhoni the empty-headed ninny would have gushed about his new clothes, but the new Rhoni wanted to appear more mature. She smiled at him. “You look dashing yourself, milord.”
He laughed as he sat beside her. Laughed! Her heart leapt into her throat.
He lifted his tankard in salute to Rhodri. “I’m indebted to the generous spirit of my Welsh hosts who have provided me and Conall with this fine new raiment.”
Rhoni wanted to throw her arms round Rhodri’s neck in gratitude, but she only nodded in silent thanks.
Rhodri bent close to her ear. “You’re welcome.”
As the evening progressed Ronan found he was more at ease than he’d been for many sennights. The rich flavor of the roasted venison with its thick gravy reminded him of the feasts his family had enjoyed at home, in happier days. The ale flowed freely and soon he was singing along with the Welsh troubadours who entertained them, though he didn’t understand a word.
Rhodri put a hand on his shoulder. “The lord of MacLachlainn Tower has a fine voice.”
Rhoni grinned her agreement. “He does indeed. I wonder if he would favor us with a song or two from his homeland?”
Ronan loved to sing, had often been called upon to do so in Ireland. A short while ago he’d have refused, but that would seem ungrateful. He came to his feet, greeted by encouraging applause and cheers. “Perhaps just one,” he conceded.
He chose the love song. Rhoni would recognize it.
She wiped away a tear as she listened. No matter his determination to give nothing of his heart to a woman, he sang only for her.
His audience sat enthralled by the melodious lilt of his voice, erupting in wild applause and demanding another and another, until he was finally allowed to return to his place.
Rhoni smiled. “You’re blushing, my lord.”
He shrugged.
Rhodri came to his feet and a hush fell immediately. “I thank you, Lord Ronan, for the gift of your songs. On the morrow you’ll leave this place for an uncertain future. But, though you look more like a lord now—”
Vengeance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 4) Page 10
