Ronan saluted him and left the infirmary.
Gone
Clad only in her chemise, Rhoni paced. “Where is that girl? I’ll be late for the evening meal if she doesn’t come soon to dress me.”
She hadn’t seen Ronan all day. The time had dragged interminably. He was a drug her spirit thirsted for. Jacquelle finally entered her chamber so quietly, Rhoni didn’t hear her. She was ready to unleash a scolding, but the maid’s disheveled hair, and red-rimmed, puffy eyes stopped her. The girl’s nose was a beacon.
Rhoni’s heart fell. “What has that lout Conall done to you?” she demanded, grabbing her maidservant by the wrists.
Jacquelle wailed, hiccuping between loud sobs.
Rhoni shook her by the shoulders. “What has happened? Tell me.”
“He’s—”
The maid hiccupped again.
Whatever Conall had done, Rhoni was confident Ronan would make him apologise. If he’d bedded the girl—
A bolt of jealousy surged through her. “Tell me!” she shouted.
Jacquelle sniffled, then took a deep breath. “He’s gone.”
Foreboding washed over Rhoni. Conall wouldn’t leave of his own volition. “Gone? Where?”
“To Ireland.”
Rhoni clung to her maid as the room spun around her. “Ireland?”
“He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay with me, wed me, but his master made him go.”
He has left me?
Rhoni stared at her maidservant, sure her trembling legs would fail her if she let go of the girl. Jacquelle ceased her sobbing and looked at her mistress. “Did you not know they’d gone, milady. I assumed—”
“When did they go?”
Rhoni thought it must be her voice she heard, but it sounded muffled, slurred.
“Lord Ronan came for Conall after he spoke with your father in the Map—”
Bees buzzed in Rhoni’s head. She feared she might swoon. “My father?”
What had her father said to make Ronan leave in such a hurry? There had been no word of farewell. She felt a chill, despite the hearty fire in the grate. “Fetch my gown and my shoes, Jacquelle. I must speak with my parents.”
“But he’s—”
“Now, Jacquelle, vite.”
Mabelle de Montbryce was taken aback when a furiously angry young woman burst into her solar, slamming the door behind her. It took a moment to realize it was her daughter who had intruded unannounced. She dropped her sewing and stood, her hand over her heart. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Rhoni clenched her fists at her sides. “Papa has sent him away.”
Mabelle put her arm around Rhoni’s shoulders, alarmed by the trembling shudder that racked the girl’s body. This was obviously something to do with Ronan. “I don’t think—”
Rhoni broke away from her mother’s embrace. Mabelle had never known her easy-going daughter to show the least trace of anger, yet now she was livid. “Ronan has set out for Ireland. What did Papa say to him?”
Mabelle swallowed hard, dread churning her innards. Surely Ram wouldn’t have sent the man away? “I don’t know.”
“Of course you know,” Rhoni retorted, her eyes ablaze. “Papa never makes any decision without consulting you. Did you both decide he wasn’t good enough for me? I love him.”
Mabelle’s heart wrenched as Rhoni collapsed into a chair, sobbing uncontrollably. Ram chose that moment to enter the solar. He took in the scene, his eyes questioning Mabelle. She explained. “Lord Ronan has left the castle.”
“Left? To go where?”
Rhoni leapt to her feet and confronted her father. “To Ireland. You sent him away. How could you do that?”
Ram bristled, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t send him away. We had a discussion. I may have said—”
Rhoni glared at him. “What?”
Mabelle decided to intervene. “We’ve never solved family problems by screeching at each other. I suggest both of you sit down, and we’ll speak of this reasonably.”
Rhoni pouted for a few moments, then sat on the edge of a chair, her spine rigid, fingers clasped tightly in her lap.
Ram stood by the hearth and told his wife and daughter of his proposal to give Ronan three thousand pounds.
Rhoni gasped. “But I don’t understand. If you offered him money—”
“I imposed a condition.”
Rhoni heard her father’s voice through a fog, her thoughts wholly on Ronan. Where was he? How did he intend to get to Ireland? Should she go after him?
She felt like a kitten trussed in a sack destined for the bottom of the lake, sensing disaster looming but unable to do anything to avoid it. “Condition?” she asked woodenly.
“I made it a condition that if he regained his lands, he was to return here to wed you.”
Her mother squealed. “Ram!”
The drawstring had been pulled tight and the sack dropped. Ronan had fled rather than agree to wed her. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears flowed. He didn’t want her. What a fool she’d been.
Her parents were squabbling, but she barely heard them. She gripped the arm of the chair and came slowly to her feet.
Her mother rushed over. “Sit down. Hear your father out.”
“It’s no use, maman. He’s gone.”
Her father strode over and took her hands. “Listen. I imposed the condition as a test. I sensed he wouldn’t agree to it. He’s too honorable a man to be forced into a marriage, no matter the prize.”
“He evidently doesn’t view me as a prize.”
“I’m speaking of the money I offered. Do you not see that he also cares too much for you to subject you to a forced marriage?”
She stared at her father. “I don’t understand.”
“Look at me and hear me well. Ronan MacLachlainn loves you. Any fool can see it. But he won’t declare for you until his oath of vengeance is fulfilled.”
“But he’s gone.”
The earl let out a long breath. “That’s where I made my mistake. I intended to let him cool his heels then tell him I would give him the coin anyway. I didn’t anticipate his anger would cause him to leave.”
Another wave of despair swamped Rhoni. Her head ached and breathing was difficult. “He has gone back to his homeland with no coin and no allies. He’ll be slaughtered. He didn’t even say goodbye.”
Her father carried on. “There’s more you don’t know. I have reason to believe the Norman mercenaries who assisted in the capture of his estate will be withdrawn.”
A glimmer of hope for Ronan flickered in her breast. Her father had been at work behind the scenes, using his considerable influence. Her anger softened. She knew better than to ask how he’d accomplished the withdrawal. At least now there would only be the MacFintains to confront. But it was unlikely she would ever see Ronan again. If he regained his lands, he would marry an Irish wife.
“I must seek my chamber. I feel unwell.”
Her mother put an arm around her waist. “Don’t despair. I sensed from the beginning that Ronan was the man for you. Keep your hope alive.”
Rhoni nodded woodenly as her mother led the way to her chamber.
Rhoni lay on her bed, fully clothed though it was the middle of the night. The wet cloth that her mother had insisted she put on her forehead had lost its cooling properties, but she didn’t have the will to remove it. Jacquelle had kept vigil at her bedside for a while, but the girl’s incessant whimpering had made Rhoni feel worse.
A maelstrom of thoughts whirled in her head. Ronan had rejected her. Or had he? His quest was impossible. Or was it? He had no allies. Or did he? Was there a way to get her father’s coin to him? Was he aware the Normans had been withdrawn? Or was that wishful thinking on her father’s part? Whose mercenaries were they? She suspected Chester. If the Normans were no longer to protect the MacFintains—
She sat bolt upright. The cloth fell to her lap. She leapt off the bed and hastened to her parents’ chamber.
&nb
sp; That Was Easy
The people of Rhydycroesau recognized Ronan as the one-eyed giant who had ridden with Prince Rhodri. Though he spoke only a few words of their language, they understood his request to meet with Rhodri again. They provided an escort to guide him and Conall to Powwydd. It was a relief since he was ignorant of the direct route to Rhodri’s llys and the Welshman was his only ally.
He regretted having to take Duquesne’s horse, but the animal was proving to be a fine beast. Not knowing its name, he’d chosen to call it Gabriel.
Rhodri and Rhonwen greeted him warmly, and even Rhun seemed happy to see Conall again. Ronan told them of the attack by Saxon brigands. Rhonwen wept for the horror Rhoni had endured.
He explained Ellesmere’s offer.
Rhodri narrowed his eyes. “You refused, no doubt?”
Ronan grimaced. “I did. Too much pride, I suppose. I certainly could have used the three thousand pounds.”
Rhodri drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Montbryce’s tactic surprises me. I wouldn’t have expected him to use his daughter as a pawn.”
Ronan too had had time to ponder the matter. “Perhaps he was testing me. Maybe he wanted me to refuse. But then why make the offer in the first place?”
“To assure himself you were an honorable man, worthy of his child.”
Ronan leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped together. “He wanted me to refuse to wed Rhoni under those conditions?”
“It’s possible. Perhaps what he didn’t expect was that you would leave abruptly.”
Ronan leaned back and put his hands on his hips, staring at the wisp of blue smoke from the central hearth wending its way through the hole in the roof. He thought of Rhoni. She wouldn’t understand why he’d left without saying goodbye. The certainty he’d hurt her pressed on him like a leaden weight.
In different circumstances he wouldn’t have hesitated to take her as his wife. No woman had stirred his body and his heart as she had. But there was no going back now. His destiny lay ahead of him. “I must take ship for Ireland.”
Rhodri thought for a while. “That won’t be easy. Probably the best place to head for would be Y Fflint where you might arrange passage on a trading ship. I’m not on the best of terms with Gruffydd of Gwynedd, but if he can be convinced you intend to fight Normans, he may allow us safe passage.”
They sat in silence for a long time, Rhodri deep in thought, tapping his steepled hands against his lips. At length, he offered another suggestion. “The Earl of Chester has several longboats moored on the banks of Afon Dyfrdwy near Cei Newyyd, where the river empties into the sea. It’s territory that used to be ours. He and Shrewsbury plot an invasion of Ynys Môn.” He winked at Ronan. “I’m sure he won’t miss one boat.”
The danger inherent in such a bold plan was obvious, yet the idea stirred Ronan’s blood. “What of a crew? Conall is a capable sailor, but—”
Rhodri leaned forward, his eyes bright with excitement. “If we take something small, you’ll require only a handful of men. I can spare that.”
Ronan was humbled. “I cannot ask this of you. You’ve already done too much.”
Rhonwen rose from her chair and walked over to Rhodri, putting her hands on his shoulders. “My husband is never happier than when he’s thwarting Normans. You might as well try to hold back a river in flood now he has latched on to the idea.”
Rhodri put his hands atop his wife’s. “This good woman has had to live with my passion for defiance for many a year. I thank the gods for it. She knows me too well.”
A yearning for Rhoni swept over Ronan. She would have stood by him, but he’d abandoned her. The image he conjured was so real he thought he smelled her elusive perfume. Would it haunt him forever?
Rhonwen’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You’re thinking of Rhoni.”
He looked up at her sharply. Was his preoccupation that obvious? He touched a hand to his blighted eye. “You read me well, Lady Rhonwen, but I must forget her and look to the future.”
Rhodri and Rhonwen exchanged a glance.
“You will never forget her,” Rhonwen said with a smile. “She’s in your blood, as you are in hers.”
Ronan wasn’t the only one excited by the prospect of the theft of a longboat from the Earl of Chester. Once advised of the plan, Rhodri’s men threw themselves into fevered preparations. Rhun and Rhydderch pouted when their father initially forbade their participation. He finally capitulated.
Three days after Rhodri suggested the idea, Ronan crouched in a ditch near the banks of the River Dee, knee deep in cold, brackish water. Rain pelted down from the night sky. Conall shivered at his side. A few yards away Rhodri hummed a lilting tune, seemingly impervious to the wretched conditions.
Dark clouds obscured the moon. In the near distance, barely visible, a small longboat, tethered to the bank, bobbed on the high tide. Rhodri had sent two men to ascertain how well guarded the boat was, and now awaited their return. It boded well that a brisk wind was blowing in the right direction.
Rhodri’s scouts scurried back into the ditch. Ronan hadn’t heard them approach.
“They are preparing to set sail,” one of them explained, catching his breath. “There are two mounted soldiers. They’ve boarded their horses. Other than that there are eight crewmen.”
Rhodri chuckled. “How thoughtful! When they sail past us, we’ll take them by surprise.”
His amusement was echoed down the line of men crouched in the ditch.
He held up his hand. “We must move swiftly. Get the archers in place. Aim only for the soldiers. Spare the crew, and the horses. Generous of the earl to provide them.”
Ronan hoped the cramp in his numbed legs wouldn’t hinder him once they waded into the water. “Is it deep here?”
Rhodri smiled. “Deep enough, and cold, and the outgoing tide runs swiftly.”
Conall nocked an arrow to his bow, as did the other archers. They flexed their bowstrings and blew on their cold fingers.
A ripple of movement went through the body of hidden men when the shout came on the wind. “À l’Irlande!”
Ronan furrowed his brow and looked at Rhodri. “They are bound for Ireland?”
Rhodri grinned. “Normans are so obliging.”
It seemed that only a moment or two passed and the boat was abreast of their hiding place. Rhodri leapt from the ditch yelling a guttural war cry. “Cymru!”
How the bowmen sighted their targets in the dark was a mystery to Ronan, but he heard grunts of pain as arrows hit home. He surged out of the ditch and into the river, dagger drawn, feeling the blood rush back into his legs. As the cold water gripped his ghiniúna and stole up his spine, he deemed it an appropriate moment for an Irish war cry. “Fág an bealach!”
The silty bottom sucked at his boots, but he strode on, heart pounding, his warrior blood on fire. He reached the side of the longboat, drifting now as the rowers struggled with the Welshmen swarming the vessel. The water was up to his neck. Did Conall know how to swim?
The terrified horses strained at their tethers. The boat rocked alarmingly. Ronan sank his dagger into the wooden planking and hauled his body over the side of the vessel, wrenching the blade free as he toppled backwards onto something soft. He raked his wet hair off his face and discovered he’d landed on one of the soldiers. An arrow protruded from the man’s forehead. Evidently he hadn’t been wearing his helmet.
Ronan scrambled to his feet, intending to join the melee. He glanced over to the crewmen, now cowering beneath the glare of Rhodri and his bowmen.
It was a relief to see Conall come over the side and lope on unsteady legs towards the frenzied horses. As usual the plucky lad recognized instinctively where the true danger lay. One of Rhodri’s twins followed in his wake.
Bracing his legs against the lurching of the boat, Ronan noticed a leather satchel slung across the body of the dead soldier at his feet. He sliced through the strap, grabbed the bag and held it to his chest
.
The redhead he’d seen with Conall must have been Rhydderch. He and Conall calmed the horses. Rhodri ordered the rowers to pull the boat over to shore. He strode over to Ronan, and slapped him on the back, sending water flying. “Well, that was easy.”
The dawn’s early light glinted off the gleam in the Welshman’s eyes. Water dripped from the ends of his war braids. Ronan resolved to braid the hair around his face the next time he went into battle in the rain. He felt guilty. “I did nothing to help. By the time I boarded you had everything in hand.”
Rhodri shrugged, apparently not noticing the water cascading off his clothes, and examined the satchel. “A messenger perhaps? Quickly, open it. You must not miss the tide, but we have a few minutes.”
Ronan withdrew a metal tube from the satchel. Inside was a rolled parchment. He tried to fish it out. Rhodri stayed his hand. “Wait, let’s make for the shelter of yonder tree.”
They jumped into the shallows and waded to shore, panting by the time they huddled beneath the spreading branches of a chestnut tree. Ronan retrieved the parchment and unfurled it. “Críost, it’s written in Norman French.”
Rhodri held out his hand. “Give it to me. If you want to defeat your enemy you must learn his language.”
He scanned the document. “It’s from the Earl of Chester. Addressed to a Captain Bossuet. He instructs the captain to return to England as soon as possible, with his garrison.”
Ronan had wrung the water out of his long hair, but his frozen fingers refused to fashion braids at his temples. Rhoni would have accomplished it in a minute. “Garrison?”
Rhodri perused the document again. “No indication where it is.”
A grim certainty stole into Ronan’s heart. “I’ll wager I know where it is.”
Rhodri understood immediately. He rolled up the parchment, stuffed it back into the tube and handed it to Ronan. “I sense the political maneuvering of Ram de Montbryce behind this. You must deliver the message. Go! Do you need men to help manage the crew?”
Vengeance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 4) Page 16
