Defiant Passion

by Anna Markland

  Morwenna hastened to the bench and infused the potion with myrrh and coriander. “The Countess is pregnant,” she explained breathlessly to Phillippe, who was wiping his dagger on Myfanwy’s tabard.

  He snickered. “I suspected. Another Montbryce whelp.”

  She walked over to him with the lethal cup. “Not if I’m successful. I’ll take this potion to her. If she drinks it, we’ll have one less Montbryce to worry about. You’ll have to devise a means to get rid of the body and this pool of blood. Couldn’t you have simply strangled her? We don’t want Rhonwen raising the alarm.”

  Phillippe was already dragging his victim to the door. He scowled at her. “It won’t be a problem.”

  Morwenna retrieved a wooden tray, placed the goblet on it and went off to the Countess’s chamber. The Earl was away, so it was likely only the maidservant, Giselle, would be with the Countess. She tapped on the door and entered, smiling broadly.

  “My lady, Myfanwy has sent this special draught, but says it must be taken at night to be truly effective.”

  The Countess seemed taken aback and Morwenna held her breath. But then she was dismissed. She went back to the chamber she shared with Rhonwen to wait for the inevitable alarum.

  ***

  Morwenna and Rhonwen were roused by a loud banging at their door, and summoned to the Countess’s chamber.

  Morwenna flung open the door. The wide-eyed guard was breathless. “Where is the healer, Myfanwy?” he demanded. “She’s not in her chamber.”

  Rhonwen frowned, barely awake. Where else would her mother be at this time of night?

  Morwenna shrugged her shoulders. Rhonwen averted her eyes and whispered, “I know not.”

  “Go then, quickly,” he commanded. “I’ll continue to search.”

  Rhonwen ran along the corridor, trying to keep up with Morwenna. “Mammie, mammie,” she chanted over and over, hoping the litany would calm her beating heart. They burst into the chamber and rushed to help Giselle get the Countess off the floor, where she writhed in agony. She doubled over in the bed, crying out as debilitating pain wracked her body, and vertigo held her in its thrall.

  Giselle noticed the empty goblet on the tray. She seized it and inhaled. “Myrrh and coriander,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “It’s a potion. Myfanwy sent it,” Morwenna explained calmly.

  Rhonwen’s heart raced, but she said nothing as she bathed her lady’s forehead with cold cloths.

  “The Welsh witch has poisoned my lady!” Giselle cried. “Oh, my lady.”

  “No, it can’t be true,” Rhonwen exclaimed, shaking her head.

  The three anxious women stayed with the Countess through the long dark hours of her awful torment, replacing the spent candles as they burned down, and changing the soiled linens each time she vomited.

  Rhonwen was removing a soiled chemise when she saw the unmistakable red stain and blurted out, “There’s blood.”

  It was the first time she had spoken since her outburst concerning Myfanwy. She looked up at Giselle. “My Countess was with child?”

  “God save us!” Giselle cried. “The witch has given her an abortifacient. She’s losing the baby. Help her.”

  Rhonwen and Morwenna worked feverishly to stop the bleeding. “I’ll give her a draught, to help the pain and stop the bleeding. The child is lost,” Rhonwen acknowledged sadly to Giselle.

  The maid’s face was streaked with tears. “You may give it to her, but you’ll drink of the potion yourself first.”

  Rhonwen prepared the potion and tasted it without hesitation.

  As dawn broke, the Countess settled into a deep sleep. Reassured by Rhonwen the bleeding had stopped, Giselle went in search of Gervais. “He will root out the Welsh healer from her hiding place, and throw her in the dungeon.”

  Rhonwen withdrew into a corner of the chamber and crouched down, sobbing quietly, confused and fearful for her Countess and her mother. She called on the powerful forces of good to come to their aid. She noticed distractedly that Morwenna had curled up nearby and was asleep.

  ***

  When Montbryce arrived home several hours later, Steward Bonhomme told him of the events that had taken place. He raced up the steps to his chamber, breathing heavily when he threw open the door. Rhonwen struggled to her feet. The Earl gasped when he saw his wife.

  “I’ll kill whoever has done this,” he rasped, falling to his knees at her bedside. “She looks like she’s been dragged to hell.”

  As if sensing his presence in the room, the Countess opened her eyes and murmured in a barely audible voice, “Ram, I was at the gates of hell. I wanted to spit in the Devil’s face, but my throat was too dry.”

  Giselle had sent for holy water from the well at Halliwell. Willing her hands not to shake, Rhonwen poured some from the ewer and gave the goblet to the Earl who helped his wife to drink. “The poison and the vomiting have left her throat raw, my lord,” she murmured.

  The Countess could barely speak. “Ram. Our baby. I’ve lost our baby.”

  “Baby?” he murmured.

  Rhonwen watched the fury intensify on his face. He clutched his wife’s hands and brought them to his lips. The only sounds were the Countess’s sobs and his ragged breathing as he struggled to control his emotions. He seemed to gradually become aware of her and Morwenna standing in the far corner of the room. Rhonwen was exhausted and could not stem her tears. Morwenna stood stonily expressionless.

  Giselle entered and the Earl ushered them into the hallway. “I thank you for taking care of her, for saving her life. What happened here? Where is Myfanwy, and why are my men hunting her?”

  Giselle tearfully recounted the story, and Morwenna confirmed it was Myfanwy who had given her the draught and instructed her to take it to the Countess.

  Why would Morwenna try to throw suspicion on her mother? Wiping away tears with her sleeve, Rhonwen told the Earl his wife had miscarried a child, and she cautioned her mistress was still very ill.

  The Earl squared his shoulders. “She might yet die?”

  Rhonwen averted her eyes. She swallowed hard, wondering if she could utter the necessary words. She barely recognized her own raspy voice. “The abortifacient she ingested was powerful, and it will take a long time for the poison to leave her body. We’ll need to watch her carefully. Also, Arglwydd Montbryce—I hope you’ll forgive me if I speak of these things, but sometimes when a woman loses a child—she loses the will to live, and my lady is already weak.”

  The Earl grimaced. He looked tired. “Get some sleep. I’ll watch her.”

  He returned to his sleeping wife’s bedside, dropped to his knees, rested his elbows on the bed and prayed. Rhonwen and Morwenna left them alone with their grief.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Rhonwen searched high and low for her mother, filled with dreadful certainty that something terrible had happened. When Myfanwy’s bloated body floated to the surface of a nearby lake two days later, her throat cut, Rhonwen was devastated, but not surprised. She and Morwenna were tending the Countess and overheard Gervais when he brought the news to his Earl. He had left his wife’s side only to visit with their children in the nursery, and to bring them to see their mother as she slowly grew stronger.

  “Her confederate evidently didn’t trust her to keep quiet,” Gervais suggested.

  Rhonwen clenched her fists and shook her head, praying the tears wouldn’t start. She couldn’t look at Morwenna, a terrible foreboding rising in her throat. She trembled from head to foot.

  The Earl ran his hand through his hair. “But why would she try to poison my wife, and kill our child? Though she was Welsh, she’s lived in England peaceably for years. She had a position of honour and respect here as our healer. She’s saved the lives of hundreds of our people. I had complete trust in her.”

  He dismissed Gervais and returned to his wife’s bedside and told her the news of Myfanwy. She shook her head. “I can’t believe Myfanwy would do this. What would she gain? Who would she conspire wi
th, and why would they kill her?”

  Her husband paced. “Did she know you were with child?”

  The Countess nodded. “Oui, she’d guessed as much and we talked of it in the herb garden. She told me she would prepare something for me, so I didn’t question when Morwenna brought me the potion.”

  The Earl arched his brows. “I do recall now Morwenna brought it to you.”

  He turned. Morwenna had disappeared. Even Rhonwen had not seen her go. Her fears now threatened to choke her.

  “That’s strange,” Montbryce said. “Stranger still—did you notice Morwenna’s hair is unbraided? Perhaps after two long and difficult days, she didn’t have time to braid it this morning.”

  Rhonwen sensed the Earl’s unease. Something did not sit well with him. Normans were known for their ingrained sense of form and order. Was he of the same mind she was?

  “Morwenna doesn’t seem herself,” he remarked.

  His wife nodded her agreement. “You’re right. I hardly recognised her with her hair down. And the poor child has not smiled much today.”

  She held out her hand to Rhonwen. “I have a feeling it’s you, Rhonwen, who’ll prove in time to be the better healer. While I lay in pain, I could feel your compassion as you tended to my needs. It was mystical. I didn’t feel that from Morwenna. In fact, I felt a strange malevolence emanating from her.”

  Rhonwen wanted to weep in her lady’s arms. Her value had been recognised, but she had never felt so alone. She hoped her lady couldn’t feel the trembling in her hand.

  Montbryce bristled. “I’ll tell Gervais to have someone keep an eye on the Welsh girl.”

  ***

  The Earl returned to the chamber a few hours later. “It’s apparent Morwenna has fled the castle. The town’s been thoroughly searched, but she can’t be found. Perhaps she was murdered too, for her part in the plot.”

  The Countess shook her head. “Non, husband. I think Myfanwy was a victim of this crime. I sense it was Morwenna who poisoned me. What do we know of her? Until recently she still lived in Wales. Myfanwy knew only of her family. Perhaps we were blinded by the beautiful smile and braided golden hair.”

  “Ah,” her husband replied with a wink, squeezing her leg. “It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened to me.”

  Rhonwen blushed when they both glanced at her, and she bowed her way out of the room, her emotions warring within her. The Montbryces recognized Myfanwy was innocent, but now she was alone—her mother was dead, and the killer gone, for she had no doubt Morwenna had cut her mother’s throat.

  ***

  Myfanwy’s death was declared to be murder by persons unknown, and she was buried with dignity and solemnity in hallowed ground. Rhonwen was heartened the Countess grieved for her Welsh healer. Should she reveal her relationship to Myfanwy?

  Attending the funeral exhausted the Countess, and Rhonwen helped her back to bed. “I learned much from her, my lady,” Rhonwen’s voice was unsteady. “Who’ll teach me now? Who’ll protect me?”

  The Countess looked at her askance, but replied, “You have great inner abilities to heal people, Rhonwen, a natural touch which will stand you in good stead. Never fear, we’ll seek others to help us learn more. I’ll protect you.”

  ***

  Rhonwen was confident the Montbryces were coming to trust her more and more, and it helped assuage the feelings of intense loneliness she felt without her mother. The Earl and Countess seemed to have no hesitation in talking freely in front of her.

  The Earl suspected the Welsh rebel, Rhodri ap Owain, was involved in the plots against his family. His discussions with Gervais concerning his riding mishap had convinced him it had been no accident. The Earl and his well trained trackers tried many times to pursue the rebels into the mountains but always returned empty handed.

  His voice betrayed his frustration. “I can’t understand these stubborn Welsh folk, with their strange Celtic beliefs, and their incomprehensible language. I grudgingly admit they have difficult geography to deal with, and I have to admire the way they use the impossible terrain to their advantage.”

  His wife’s face was serious. “Some say anyone who speaks the Celtic tongue is an agent of the Devil.”

  The Earl shook his head. “Superstitious nonsense. But, I have a personal desire to see Rhodri captured after the humiliating incident at Ruyton all those years ago. I’m determined to put a stop to his interference in the future prosperity of England, and our King’s plans to expand his control into Wales.”

  The Countess shivered. “Does he have spies in our castle?”

  The Earl nodded. “I’m sure he does. Morwenna was probably one. But I don’t like to think any of the Normans under my command would ally themselves with a barbaric Welshman.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  From time to time, Morwenna came to Cadair Berwyn when the weather permitted, or to Llys Powwydd. She was flirtatious, but Rhodri insisted they wait until their marriage before they lay together. He sometimes wondered what ailed him. Here was a gift being offered freely, yet he could not take it. Something held him back.

  What was she doing when she was not with him? She had told him of a Norman soldier she had stumbled upon—an accomplice who seemed eager to do away with the Montbryces. It should have been good news, so why did he feel so uneasy? Why would a Norman betray a fellow Norman to a Welshwoman and her rebel cohorts?

  The two had already plotted and failed in their attempts to kill Montbryce. His gut tightened when Morwenna casually told him of the slain Welsh healer. She was on his lap in the chair by the hearth, fingering the fine amber beads he always wore. He wished she wouldn’t touch them. They were a gift from his long dead mother who would not have approved of Morwenna.

  She twisted the tight braid at the side of his face. “I’ll braid my hair this way,” she murmured. “I’m tired of one big braid.” As she spoke she flicked the end of her plait provocatively in his face.

  Despite his best efforts, interest stirred in his groin and her smile told him she was aware of it. She squirmed in his lap, licking her lips. “I wish I had an amber necklace,” she pouted.

  His manhood lost interest, and he stood abruptly, his hand under her elbow. She was angry as she struggled to keep her balance. “What’s wrong with you, Rhodri ap Owain? I’m spying for you, taking the risks, but you won’t even give me a necklace.”

  She stormed out.

  Rhodri exhaled and put his hands on his hips, leaning over to ease the tightening in his gut. Murdering women and unborn children. That was not the way he fought.

  ***

  It was because of the Earl’s well tried and proven methods of governance that the towns and villages around Ellesmere grew and prospered. September brought with it the affirmation of another child firmly planted in Mabelle de Montbryce’s belly.

  She took Rhonwen’s hand. “The Earl and I are thankful the abortifacient seems to have done no permanent damage. It’s a year since the poisoning. I’m sure it’s due to your good care, Rhonwen.”

  The long summer had been particularly hot, relieved only by gentle rainfall in the early evenings. Rhonwen was called upon often to tend her mistress who felt uncomfortable in the heat. She was nauseous every morning.

  The weather produced a bumper harvest and there was much celebrating at the Autumn Fayres held in the towns and villages. No one would starve this winter.

  The Countess often discussed with Rhonwen the need for another healer. They agreed the task was too much for one person. Robert and Baudoin took up a great deal of the Countess’s time. She enjoyed being a mother.

  They heard tell of a renowned healer in the village of Whittington, which had not yet held its Fayre. The Earl gave his permission for his wife to take Rhonwen with her to the Whittington Fayre so they could seek out the healer.

  Rhonwen was gleeful at the prospect. “Perhaps we’ll convince her to return with us to Ellesmere, my lady?” she enthused.

  Mabelle de Montbryce smiled. �
��Perhaps we will. But if not, we’ll try, over the course of the few days we remain there, to learn as much from her as we can about the things we don’t yet understand.”

  As planning for the excursion progressed, it occurred to the Countess how wonderful it would be for her sons to accompany them to Whittington. “They enjoyed the fayre at Ellesmere,” she argued, when the Earl was less than enthusiastic. “They have few chances to be little boys. Please let me take them. Giselle can accompany us and keep them busy while we’re with the healer.”

  Montbryce relented, insisting they be protected by a company of ten men-at-arms as their escort, but Rhonwen could see he was uneasy he could not go with his family.

  “Don’t be concerned, Ram,” the Countess soothed. “Your men will take good care of us. We’ll be surrounded by people and it will be perfectly safe. The rebels will not encroach as close as Whittington. In any case, the beginning of October is too late in the season for them to leave their mountains.”

  The Earl put his hands on her waist and leaned his forehead against hers. “You’re right, but I still don’t like the idea of my pregnant wife and my children leaving without me.”

  ***

  Since her flight from Ellesmere, Morwenna had not been able to return there. Phillippe was relieved. He did not want to be seen with her anywhere near the castle. They held their trysts in an abandoned hunting lodge on her father’s lands, not far from Oswestry.

  Their joining was hard and rough and both liked it that way, tearing off their clothes as soon as they arrived. The plotting began the moment the coupling was over.

  Phillippe had thought long and hard on how to take revenge on the Montbryces. It had been a year since the failed poisoning. But now Fortune had smiled on him. He had learned the Countess and her children would be going to the Autumn Fayre in Whittington. What better opportunity for a kidnapping?