Her shoulders tensed. “Me? He requests?” she whispered.
He nodded.
What could this mean? Dread and excitement churned in her belly. She turned to her mistress. “Rhodri has sent for me, my lady,” she whispered.
“For you?” the Countess asked.
She nodded and left. Andras barred the door. His impassive face betrayed no emotion and she was afraid to ask him why Rhodri had summoned her. She suspected the other women thought she would be harmed, but she felt no fear of the chieftain. Her intense feelings for him were more terrifying.
***
Phillippe did not knock at Morwenna’s door, knowing she would be alone in her chamber, waiting impatiently. They exchanged no greeting. By the time he reached her, she had torn off her shift and bared her body. He devoured the site of her thrusting breasts and the heated promise in her eyes. Their kisses were ravenous. Their mouths remained locked together as they worked frenziedly to remove his clothing. She sucked his tongue into her mouth. He bit her lip, then her earlobe. His hands squeezed her breasts roughly and she arched her mons to meet his erection. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth and she groaned huskily. “Phillippe, Phillippe. Fill me now. I need my Norman stallion.”
He tossed her onto the bed, leapt on top of her and rammed his phallus into her throbbing sheath, already weeping for him. She sank her teeth into his neck and her nails raked his back. She liked him to be rough and that suited him too.
“We’re a perfect match,” he rasped.
After their passion had taken them to the edge and over it, they lay physically spent but still full of anger and plotting.
Morwenna pouted. “The weak-willed Rhodri refuses to kill them.”
“He’ll come to his senses. I’ll make sure of that,” Phillippe replied casually. “Mabelle de Montbryce will pay dearly for her father’s crimes against my family.”
She nibbled his earlobe. “And, my lusty Norman knight, you’ll repay me for my help by taking me as your bride to Normandie, and I’ll be the Comtesse de Giroux.”
He shrugged her away and reached for his clothing. “I must return to my own chamber. We don’t want anyone becoming suspicious.”
He kissed her carelessly, opened the door carefully, made sure no one was in the hallway, and stepped silently from the room.
A perfect match! I wouldn’t trust the Welsh bitch as far as I could throw her.
Phillippe grimaced. He would have to be careful not to let his disdain show. He mustn’t give away that he had no intention of taking this barbaric woman as his wife.
To Normandie? His family and friends would think him as mad as his father. When she had served her purpose, he would be rid of her, or perhaps leave her to make Rhodri’s life wretched.
CHAPTER TEN
Rhonwen trembled as she stepped into Rhodri’s chamber. She was afraid of what this Welsh warrior might do to her but had been drawn by his magnetism each time she had set eyes on his Celtic beauty. She was afraid he would not do the wild things she had imagined him doing to her. She too had Celtic blood in her veins.
He sat in a massive wooden chair by the hearth in the centre of the room, the sleeves of his pale red linen shirt rolled up to his elbows. A string of beads, reflecting the firelight, drew her gaze to his neck. She licked her lips, suddenly aware she was perspiring. His long curly hair was tied back at his nape with a brown leather thong. The tight braids were gone, making him seem less intimidating. Leather breeches clung to his muscular thighs. His feet were bare, and she noticed fleetingly how long his toes were.
His usual weapons were nowhere in evidence. The only light in the room came from the flickering flames. A bluish pall of smoke, wending its way up to the smoke-hole canopy in the roof, hung around him. The chair beside him was empty.
“Don’t be afraid, Rhonwen.” His deep voice was soft and held no threat. “Come, sit by me,” he said in Welsh, holding out his big hand. “Let the fire warm you.”
She shivered and walked towards him slowly. Her breasts tingled and a strange ache throbbed in her nether regions. “I’m not afraid, my lord,” she lied as she sat in the other chair, her hands holding on to the arms tightly, in case she might have to flee suddenly.
He leaned forward to rest his bare forearms on his thighs. He stared at her. She blushed as the fire of his gaze warmed her body. She tried not to look at him but was held by the depths of his green eyes.
“It’s as I suspected,” he pronounced huskily after several minutes.
Rhonwen frowned.
“You’re as drawn to me as I am to you.”
She gripped the chair more tightly and stared at her knees. “You’re betrothed to my enemy, my lord.”
He sat back in the chair, his frustration evident. “Ah yes, the lovely Morwenna.”
He remained silent for several minutes. She couldn’t take her eyes off his face as he seemed to wrestle with his demons.
“I’ll not marry her.”
Icy chills raced up and down her spine. It was what she wanted to hear but made the situation more confused. “My lord?”
He stood and said softly, “Please, call me Rhodri.”
She suspected this powerful man did not use the word please often. She trembled as he moved to stand behind her chair and placed his big hands on her shoulders. As soon as he touched her, she felt the heat of his body flow into hers. She stifled a groan.
“Lord—Rhodri,” she stuttered, “I cannot—we cannot—I’m your captive—I’m a maid.”
He bent his head to whisper in her ear. “My Rhonwen, it’s you who have captured me. I can’t stop myself from wanting you, from making you mine. But I’ll not force you against your will. I’ll resolve the problem of Morwenna and send her back to her father. He will not be pleased I’ve broken the betrothal, but I have no wish to live my life with her blood lust. It’s you I want.”
Her mouth fell open. The room had tilted. “But you’ve known me only a short while.”
Rhodri chuckled. “The same could be said of you, and yet you’ve no doubt as to your feelings for me. Do you?”
She longed to tell him her feelings for him threatened to overwhelm her, but remained silent. He took his hands from her shoulders and a moment later she felt him fasten something around her neck. It made her shiver. Reaching up instinctively, her hands felt the smoothness of his amber beads. She looked down. How beautifully formed they were—an object an artisan had worked on lovingly, an object of great worth. The heat of his body lingered in the cold beads. She wanted to turn, to look up into those piercing eyes, but was afraid of what she might see there.
“Return to your chamber, Rhonwen. The fates have determined we meet. My heart tells me our future paths lie together. Accept this as a token of my pledge to you. You’ll come to my bed when it’s the right time, and you will be my wife.”
He took her by the arm and helped her rise from the chair. Stunned by his words and his gift, she could barely make her legs work as he walked her across the room to the door.
“Take the healer back to her chamber,” he said to Andras.
Andras looked at the beads around her neck and a shiver ran up her spine. He shot a questioning glance at Rhodri, who nodded. She swayed as the floor seemed to move beneath her feet. Andras put his hand under her elbow, barely touching her. He returned Rhodri’s nod and led her away.
***
Rhodri sank back into his chair. His body had betrayed him the moment Rhonwen had entered the room. He had moved to stand behind her so she could not see the physical effect she had. He had already been aroused, but his erection became rock hard when he touched her. He’d had to remove his hands from her. Good thing she had not turned to look at him when he fastened the amber beads around her neck. Looking into those round grey pools would have undone his resolve. He had not intended to give her the beads, yet suddenly it seemed the right thing to do. His mother would have approved.
He had been afraid to kiss her when she left—afraid o
f the emotions such a kiss might unleash. It had taken a great deal of effort to keep his voice steady when he asked Andras to take her back to her chamber.
***
Agitated and conflicted, Rhonwen stumbled along in an effort to keep up with Andras who held the torch lighting their way. Her mind was a jumble of emotions.
A furtive figure emerged unexpectedly from the dark shadows of the corridor where Morwenna’s chamber was located. He paused for a moment, but then continued to walk toward them. Andras did not seem pleased to see him and moved closer to Rhonwen. His grip on her elbow increased. She gasped as they came face to face. She recognized him as a Norman by his shaved head and was sure she had seen him before, in Ellesmere. Who was he and what was he doing here? He gave her a look of pure hatred and she immediately looked away. His eyes terrified her.
When she stepped hastily into their chamber, the other women mistook the cause of her trembling.
“What has that brute done to you, Rhonwen?” the Countess demanded.
“No, my lady. Rhodri did nothing to harm me. He was kind to me.” She felt her face flush. “But I’ve had an encounter in the hallway which has scared my wits out of me. There’s a Norman soldier here, one of your husband’s men. I remember now Myfanwy warned me about him. She said you didn’t trust him.”
“It’s Giroux,” her lady hissed, clenching her fists. “I see clearly the malevolent hand behind the Earl’s riding accident, Myfanwy’s murder, the loss of my child, and my own near death. Now comes this last betrayal, our kidnapping and probable death at the hands of a Welsh rebel.”
“Who is he? Why has he betrayed you?” Rhonwen asked.
Giselle told Rhonwen the story of how the Countess’s father, Guillaume de Valtesse had blinded and mutilated Charles de Giroux. As a result he had endured years of wandering exile with his daughter when the Giroux family retaliated by seizing his castles.
The Countess slumped onto the edge of her bed. “I didn’t know you knew the whole story, Giselle, but I’m relieved I didn’t have to tell it.”
Rhonwen had listened open-mouthed. “But if you and your father were cast out of your home, was that not revenge enough for the Giroux family?”
“Apparently not. When my father died several years ago I inherited Alensonne, Belisle and Domfort. I can’t believe his reckless actions long ago have resulted in this threat to my own life, and those of my children and servants. From the grave he reaches out to hurt me and mine.”
Rhonwen grasped her mistress’s hand. “Forgive me, my lady,” she cried tearfully, “It’s not just that I saw the soldier. He knows I saw him. He came from the direction of Morwenna’s chamber.”
A cold certainty seeped through her. “It was he murdered Myfanwy,” she whispered.
The Countess nodded grimly and murmured, “We must think.”
The three women huddled together on the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping children. “What did Rhodri want of you anyway?” Giselle whispered.
Rhonwen blushed. “He’s drawn to me.”
The maid sneered. “You mean he lusts after you.”
“No. He was kind and gentle. He spoke of—love—of my becoming his wife.”
It sounded ridiculous.
“He gave me this necklace of amber beads.”
It was incomprehensible.
The Countess looked at Rhonwen and whispered, “And you feel the same for him, don’t you?”
Fearing the censure of her lady for her foolish feelings, Rhonwen could barely murmur, “Yes.”
The Countess squeezed her hand. “Rhonwen, a woman never knows when love might come along and knock her off her feet.”
Rhonwen couldn’t believe she had heard these words from the Countess of Ellesmere. She looked wide-eyed at Giselle, who for some reason was silently nodding her agreement. “We must hope Rhodri’s love for you will protect us from Giroux,” the maid whispered.
***
Phillippe burst into Morwenna’s chamber. “They know it was I who betrayed them.”
She looked up at him with a bored expression. “It’s not a good idea to come here during the day, Phillippe.”
He strode towards her. “That’s not important now. The healer has seen me.”
Morwenna rose immediately from her chair. “Does she know who you are?”
He ran his hand back and forth over his shaved head. “Perhaps not by name, but I’m sure she recognized me as a Norman. It’s only a matter of time before she and her accursed mistress deduce who I am. The Earl believes I’m in Normandie, and must never find out who betrayed him. My life would be worth nothing.”
“We’ll wait and watch for a good time to kill them, my lover,” she purred as she pressed her body to his and kissed him. “I suddenly like the idea of bedding you in the afternoon.”
***
Thereafter, Phillippe made no effort to avoid being seen by the hostages. He appeared for meals in the neuadd and scowled at them, his hatred and lust for vengeance plain to see.
Rhodri thought it curious but did not reprimand him. He did notice, however, the heated glances that passed between Giroux and Morwenna. They had conspired in England to trap the Countess. He’d had his suspicions before but now had serious questions about their relationship.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rhodri welcomed Rhonwen every evening. At first they sat and talked as before. Sometimes he ran his fingers through her hair, inhaling its fragrance, feeling the silkiness, telling her how beautiful it was. He gazed at her. He sensed she had resolved to keep a tight rein on her emotions.
She’s drawn to me but can see no future for us.
As she became more at ease, he encouraged her to sit on his lap. The soft weight of her body against him was pleasant torture. He loved the feel of her slender form in his arms. As long as they stayed in the chair, he hoped he would have control of his male urges. His steadfast belief this woman was his soul mate strengthened him, and he did not want to hurt her or drive her away. They talked of many things. Rhonwen told him of her love for healing and the things her mother had taught her. Rhodri shared tales of growing up in the royal court at Powwydd.
One night they were laughing over a story he had told her of a prank he and his brothers had played. Her smile gladdened his heart. It was the first time since their untimely deaths he had been able to speak of his family. He put his fingers on her chin, drew her face to his and kissed her lips. The kiss deepened and she responded, parting her lips as he coaxed with his tongue. She slid her arms around his neck.
She’s not afraid.
They explored each other’s mouths, necks, throats and ears. Rhodri was intoxicated by the innocence of her responses and her eagerness to please and explore him. He loved the feel of her small hands on his face.
He nuzzled her ear and bent his head to kiss her again, but she hesitated. “What of Morwenna? She’s your betrothed. Surely what we’re doing is wrong?”
He tensed. “I’ll send her back to her father in the spring.”
“But she risked a great deal for you. She murdered my mother and helped to deliver my mistress to you.”
“Morwenna didn’t do what she did for me, or for Wales. Murdering your mother wasn’t part of my plans.”
Rhonwen relaxed back into his arms. She took a deep breath. “Do you believe she’s still a maid? I didn’t believe her to be one when we shared a chamber at Ellesmere, and I have stronger suspicions now.”
He smirked. “The Norman, you mean?”
She sat up and he felt her fear. “I saw him coming from her chamber. He knows I saw him. He wishes me dead, and my mistress and her family.”
“Why would he want you dead? There’s no gain for anyone in that.”
“He doesn’t care about gain. It’s revenge he seeks.”
“Revenge for what?”
Rhonwen told him who her mistress suspected he was, and why he was driven with a thirst for her blood as the daughter of the man who had blinded and mutilated his father.
Rhodri did not confirm her suspicions of the man’s name, but resolved to double the watch on the Norman and on his betrothed.
They sat in silence, listening to the beating of each other’s heart. He wanted to reassure her. He squeezed her knee and turned her face to his. “I’ve given my sworn oath nothing will happen to any of you. I’ll defend you with my life if necessary.”
***
Rhonwen ached with the pain of knowing there was no future for her with Rhodri. She still could scarcely believe his interest in her. But when he touched her hair, all she wanted to do was curl her body into him, rest her head on his chest and bask in the warmth and comfort she experienced in his arms. She loved the soft tickle of his silky black chest hair against her nose. He never wore his braids when they were together, and she longed for the courage to untie the leather thong that kept his hair bound at his nape.
His first kiss had rocked her to the core. For the first time in her life, she felt like a desirable woman. There was desire in Rhodri’s kisses, and in his eyes, and in the delicate touch of his big calloused hands.
Was it a mistake to trust him? He could have taken her against her will, but had not. His patient wooing warmed her heart. The bond she had sensed through forces beyond her understanding was becoming stronger and stronger. She wished each day away, longing for the sun to go down, anticipating his summons.
The parting would be unbearable.
***
Rhodri stood unmoved as Morwenna’s fists beat against his chest. “I defy you to send me back to my father. I defy you to break our betrothal.”
“I’ll not marry you, Morwenna.”
She sprang away from him and spat in his face. “My father will kill you. You have no right.”
He wiped the spittle from his cheek. “I have every right. A bridegroom expects his bride to come to his bed chaste. What will your father say about your rutting with a Norman soldier, a spy at that?”
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