After the formalities were completed, Morgan suddenly announced his intention to leave Llys Powwydd. Rhodri was taken aback. “I’d hoped to have a chance to get to know Morwenna. Will you not stay longer?”
Morgan slapped him on the back and laughed nervously. “I’m leaving her here with you, Rhodri. She doesn’t want to return with me.”
Rhodri considered the implications for her reputation. “She shouldn’t stay here with me—”
“Nonsense,” Morgan replied. “In a llys this size you can provide her with a chaperone. It is your royal residence after all.”
Why did he have the feeling the man was relieved to be rid of his daughter?
***
After only a few days with Morwenna, he understood her father’s wish to be gone. Morwenna’s refusal to behave like a noblewoman had the chaperone up in arms. She often sought Rhodri out, sitting in his lap by the open hearth, grinding against him. He was torn between arousal and disgust. Festivities and dancing carried on around them in the neuadd and large numbers of people ate their meals in the timbered hall. She seemed oblivious to his embarrassment at the disapproving looks from his people. She flirted with other men, who shied away, no doubt wondering why Rhodri did nothing to restrain her. He was at a loss—a feeling foreign to him.
Before long she chafed at the limitations of the llys. When he told her he and his men would soon be travelling to Cadair Berwyn, she flew into a rage until he agreed she could accompany them.
“I could be of use to you, Rhodri,” she crooned, batting her eyelashes. “I could go to the castle of the Earl and spy for you. I’ve been there many times. No one notices me.”
Rhodri could not imagine how any man could fail to notice her, but he considered her offer. It might be useful to have a spy within Ellesmere.
***
Myfanwy’s healing skills came to the attention of the Countess of Ellesmere, Mabelle de Montbryce. She was summoned and offered a place at the castle. “I lived through a pestilence in Normandie which took the life of my husband’s father, despite my best efforts to save him,” the Countess told Myfanwy. “I felt powerless. We need a healer. The midwife recommends you. We can offer you a chamber of your own within the castle.”
Myfanwy debated. A position at the castle would ensure not only her future, but more importantly that of her daughter. However, she feared the Countess might not approve of a woman with a bastard child being the healer. She decided to say nothing of Rhonwen.
“I am amenable,” she told the Countess. “It will be my honour to serve you and Arglwydd Montbryce.”
The Countess called Steward Bonhomme who led Myfanwy to a small chamber in a remote part of the castle. If they were careful, Rhonwen could come with her, and be hidden away. But what would the girl do? She was already becoming known in her own right for her healing skills. Better she stay in the village.
***
Myfanwy loved life at the castle. She passed on to the Countess her recipes for herbal remedies and salves, and the two women got to know each other. They developed a fondness, and Myfanwy was happy the Countess trusted her. Her healing powers, which some whispered were magical, depended a great deal on the trust of the patient.
She went often to the village to see Rhonwen. She confided how worried she was the Countess seemed to be having difficulty conceiving. “She and the Earl have been married for years, without issue. Should I broach the subject? I have many herbal concoctions to offer.”
Rhonwen shrugged. “Perhaps it’s the Earl who is the problem?”
Myfanwy laughed. “Pshaw, child! Where do you get these notions? He’s a virile man if ever I saw one. Can’t keep his hands off his wife.”
It was a relief when, not long after, the Countess came to ask Myfanwy’s help and within a month was pregnant. It brought tears to the healer’s eyes to see the elation of the Earl and his wife.
When time came for the child to be delivered, Myfanwy assisted the midwives. The Countess laboured on the birthing stool for fifteen hours, bathed in sweat and screaming loudly. “I’m dying,” she lamented.
Myfanwy reassured her there was no reason to be anxious. “It’s a good idea to scream. It will make you feel better.”
The midwife used simple and natural procedures, relying on pepper to provoke sneezing, which would in turn cause birth. She used various soothing herbal remedies and oils.
The Countess sought solace during her labours in praying to Saint Margaret, the patron saint of pregnant women. As her child came into the world and her last cry of relief rent the air, her husband rode into the bailey.
“Mabelle!” He gasped her name as he threw open the door of their chamber. His wild eyes fell upon his wife as she lay back, spent and dishevelled, Myfanwy supporting her shoulders—and then their child made his presence known with a lusty wail.
“You’re beautiful,” the Earl called to his wife as she smiled at him weakly.
“Yr Arglwydd Montbryce,” Myfanwy cried, ushering him out, “you shouldn’t be here. Don’t worry. You have a fine healthy son, but your wife needs to rest now. I’ll bring the child to you when we’ve cleaned him up. He too has had a long journey.”
As the Earl was shooed out, the midwife said to Myfanwy, “Trust the father to turn up as soon as it’s over.”
The four women laughed, though the Countess seemed to have barely enough strength to do so. Myfanwy handed her a steaming bowl of chamomile tea, elated she had helped bring Robert de Montbryce into the world.
The following year, she again assisted at the birth of the second Montbryce son, Baudoin. Life at Ellesmere was good. The only fly in the ointment was not being able to have her daughter at the castle with her. How to accomplish it without the Countess knowing she had a base born child?
CHAPTER TWO
Rhonwen loved to listen to her mother’s accounts of happenings at the castle and longed to assist with the healing there. Though she lived with the family of the village smith, and enjoyed his protection, they were not her kin. However, she was never bored, being called upon often to use her skills as her own reputation grew. She had inherited not only her mother’s skill but also her mystical aura.
One evening, Myfanwy’s exhaustion was evident as she staggered into the village. Rhonwen bade her sit and handed her a bowl of herbal tisane. Myfanwy took a long draught of the liquid and her spirits revived. “Thank you, daughter. I feel better now. What a day we’ve had at the castle. Arglwydd Montbryce was thrown from his horse.”
Rhonwen sat down facing her mother, her eyes wide. “Was he hurt?”
Myfanwy nodded, inhaling the aroma of the tisane. “Yes. Badly. Broken ribs. I’ve bound them, and I’ve ordered him to soak in knitbone every second day for a fortnight.”
Rhonwen made a face. “Ugh! That will not be pleasant!”
Myfanwy chuckled. “No, and he’s a proud man. He won’t like it. At the moment he’s compliant because I gave him a potion, but once he’s alert—”
“How did it happen?”
Her mother did not answer right away. She seemed uneasy. “It was strange. The Earl has ridden that horse for years. It’s his favourite mount. Yet the beast was apparently frenzied. The Earl’s Second, Gervais, had to pull his lordship out from under the flailing hooves, and a new soldier, Phillippe Giroux, managed to grab the reins and calm the animal.”
Rhonwen shivered. “Giroux loiters around the village. I don’t like him. He looks at me strangely.”
Myfanwy put down her bowl and took hold of Rhonwen’s hands. “I don’t know the man, but my Countess doesn’t trust him. I don’t know why, but she doesn’t. Stay away from him.”
***
Morwenna sat alone in the cottage her father owned near the village of Ellesmere. Her sire had given in to her insistent demands she be rescued from the boredom of Rhodri’s fortress. He had delivered her safely and then left her to her own devices, as usual. She smirked. He was afraid of her, believing she had inherited what he called “the dark art
s” from her long dead mother.
Villagers who had faith in her potions, hexes and spells, sought her out and paid her well. The location provided her with a place from which she could spy on the nearby castle. No-one paid attention to a plainly clad maiden wandering around with a basket. Some acknowledged her with a wave and a smile if they had seen her before. The stables were a particularly useful place to linger. Stable boys gossiped.
And it was in the stables of Ellesmere Castle where she had this day stumbled upon what she had been looking for—a Norman accomplice.
The soldier did not know it yet, but she had seen him tamper with the saddle of the horse that had become frenzied and thrown the Earl. He had rushed forward in a show of calming the horse after the incident, unaware she still watched from her hiding place.
Why would a Norman soldier, one of the Earl’s own men, want to harm him? She didn’t know, but she would find out and use it to her advantage. It amused her that the man was handsome—tall and well-muscled. Perhaps there would be other benefits to an alliance with him.
She waited until he had lifted the saddle from the still nervous black stallion before she crept from her hiding place and came up behind him. “He’s calmer now.”
The Norman whirled around, his arms full of the saddle, his jaw clenched. His eyes darted to the horse, then back to her. She took a step toward him, unafraid.
“Get out of here, wench,” he said angrily, heaving the saddle onto the half-wall of the stall.
She held her ground, cocking her head to one side, her finger pressed to her cheek. “What do you suppose would make a horse so frenzied one minute, then calm the next?”
The Norman eyed her suspiciously, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. He gripped her elbow. “It’s no concern of yours. Be gone!”
She batted her eyelashes at him. “Are you sure you want to shoo me away, Norman? Your interests may be the same as mine.”
He grabbed her roughly by the waist with one hand and pulled her to his body. She felt his arousal. “Is this what you’re after?” he asked sarcastically, rubbing his hard male length against her.
She ground her hips into him and looked into his eyes. “Oh, that and much more. Find me in the village when you visit there next. Ask for the cottage where you’ve heard you can buy a hex.”
He sneered, but held her more tightly. “You don’t look like a witch.”
She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “You might say I am someone as interested as you in seeing the Earl fall.”
He tensed and watched her leave, his face red with anger.
She smiled as she made her way home. When she next saw Rhodri, she would hopefully have a plan to offer for ridding the Marches of the Earl and his spawn.
***
Ellesmere Castle and its environs grew as buildings and defences were completed. With prosperity and expansion came more people, and with them the need for more healing skills. Myfanwy saw an opportunity to at once acquire more assistance and provide a means for Rhonwen to come to the castle. Rhonwen was growing into womanhood. Myfanwy wanted her nearer, under her protection.
She judged it wiser to suggest two girls as apprentices. She had heard Morwenna verch Morgan dabbled in healing and she asked Rhonwen about the girl.
Her daughter shrugged. “I don’t know her. She lives on the other side of the village. People claim to have been healed by her potions.”
Myfanwy visited the girl in her cottage and was impressed with her beauty and her friendly smile. Morwenna told her she would be interested in living in the castle as an apprentice healer, but would have to ask permission of her father.
Myfanwy went to the Earl. “I need more help, Arglwydd Montbryce. Your wife and her maidservant do what they can to help me. I want to bring two girls under my wing, apprentices from nearby villages. I’m not getting any younger. If something happens to me, you’ll need others to tend the wounds of your men, and nurse the illnesses of your people.”
She hoped her wrinkled skin would convince him.
The Earl looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Who are these young women?”
“Rhonwen from Ellesmere and Morwenna, a girl from a noble family, known for her healing skills.”
The Earl nodded. “Very well.”
***
As Phillippe de Giroux suckled hard on her nipples, grazing them with his teeth, Morwenna gloated. “It’s falling into place, my Norman stallion. That foolish old woman was so impressed with my skills, she couldn’t wait to rush off to recommend me to the Earl.”
She ran her hands over his close cropped hair. “I love to feel the prickly stubble. Why do you Normans shave your heads?”
Phillippe took a breath and leered up at her. “It’s cooler under a helmet. But I have another head you should be more interested in.”
She looked down at his swollen manhood and smiled slyly. “Mmmm! I see what you mean.”
She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down on the bed. “Tell me again of your castle in Normandie while I pleasure you.”
She gripped his shaft and took him into her mouth, moving up and down on him roughly, sucking hard. He groaned and put his hands on her head, twisting his fingers in her hair.
Remembering his homeland brought back the horrendous memories of his childhood at the mercy of his father. The man had gone mad after being blinded and mutilated long ago by the cruel father of the Countess of Ellesmere. His madness had turned him into a monster. Phillippe prayed for the day when his father would die and he would become the Comte de Giroux. He wept inwardly for his brothers, François and Georges, still subject to the depravities of their sire.
But if convincing this Welsh bitch to help him destroy the Montbryces in revenge meant recalling his home in Normandie, he would do it. She had told him she had ties to the Welsh rebels. His liaison with her would not be without its compensations. She had a talented mouth. The ache in his groin was unbearable now. He clawed the bed linens.
“Giroux Castle is—Dieu!”
She twirled her tongue over the end of his phallus. “Tell me,” she commanded. “If I’m to be your Countess, I want to know about my castle.”
He rose up quickly and shoved her back, pushing her legs wide open. He gripped his shaft and positioned it at her entry. “If you’re to be my Comtesse, Morwenna, you’ll need to provide me with Montbryce’s head, and a hot, welcoming place for me to impale my lance.”
She smiled up at him and licked her lips. “You can count on me for both.”
***
Rhonwen was pleased with her chamber in the castle, but would have preferred to share with her mother, rather than the other apprentice.
She did not know what opinion to form of Morwenna. The girl was certainly beautiful, but there was something dark about her. She treated Rhonwen with disdain and they never sat together for meals in the Hall. Morwenna spent most of her time when not required in the castle off on what she called ‘adventures’. Judging by the company she kept in the Hall, Rhonwen had the feeling these adventures involved persons of the male sort. She doubted if Morwenna was a maid.
She was torn as to whether she should mention her suspicions to her mother, but didn’t want to worry her. Perhaps it was jealousy making her feel the way she did? She feared the Montbryces liked Morwenna better than they liked her. Her high cheekbones and big eyes suggested a state of constant surprise, whereas Morwenna had a look of openness and honesty. Rhonwen was suspicious of what lay behind that beaming smile.
Morwenna’s blonde hair was always tightly braided, whereas Rhonwen preferred to let her black locks hang loose. Morwenna was more attractive to men. Was that why the Earl seemed to favour her? Rhonwen cursed her own shyness. Whenever the Countess spoke to her, she seemed incapable of response without stammering. Morwenna was full of confidence. Rhonwen resolved to prove to the Montbryces she was a more than capable healer, for her mother’s sake.
CHAPTER THREE
One warm spring day, Myfan
wy and the Countess were gathering herbs in the castle garden. Myfanwy sensed the Countess was again with child. She made an observation that they must be sure to replenish certain herbs. The Countess would recognize them as herbs used in child birthing. When Mabelle de Montbryce blushed, Myfanwy knew she had been right and the noblewoman laughed and admitted it.
“I believe you may be right, Myfanwy. I’m with child again. I haven’t had my courses for two months, and I’m nauseous every morning.”
“Does Arglwydd Montbryce know?”
“Not yet, but he’ll be pleased. I plan to tell him on the morrow, when he returns from Wales.”
“I can prepare something for the nausea, my lady, if you wish.”
“Merci, Myfanwy.”
***
Morwenna stole quietly into the still room where salves and potions were prepared. Myfanwy looked up from her work and smiled. “You’re here late, Morwenna.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I saw the light. I wondered who was here at this hour.”
Myfanwy stirred the potion. “It’s a draught for the Countess.”
There was a sparkle in the old woman’s eyes. What was it? Why would the Countess need a draught at night? She was not known as a woman who needed help sleeping. Could it be the draught wasn’t for sleeping, but for—?
The Countess is with child.
She took a step closer to the old woman. “I can take it to her.”
Myfanwy shook her head. “No, I promised the Countess I would bring it.”
Morwenna came closer. “But it’s late, and the master’s chamber on the other side of the castle.”
Myfanwy clutched the goblet to her breast, shaking her head more vigorously as Morwenna held out her hand for it.
“Give it to me, old woman,” Morwenna spat.
Myfanwy’s eyes filled with alarm, but she held on to the goblet. Morwenna took out her dagger. Myfanwy’s mouth fell open and she backed away, edging towards the door. Morwenna sensed she had not seen Phillippe de Giroux lurking there, dagger drawn. Without a sound, he stole up behind Myfanwy, grabbed her by the hair, jerked her head back and stroked his dagger across her throat. Her scream died on her lips. Morwenna caught hold of the goblet as it slipped from the old woman’s grasp. Phillippe shoved the body to the floor, inspecting his tunic for blood.
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