Defiant Passion

by Anna Markland

  He put his hands on Rhonwen’s shoulders, trying to keep his voice steady. “I want you to stay in Wales, with me. I’ll free the others on payment of the ransom, but you are mine.”

  “I’ve dreaded this moment,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze. “I cannot stay, Rhodri. My duty is to my lady who has trusted me and given me a place of honour in her household. She’s been like a mother to me since my own mother was murdered.”

  He lifted her chin. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

  Rhonwen shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’re a powerful warrior, a man who must fight for Wales, for what you believe is right. I’m a healer. I fight to heal men, not to wound them. Our lives and our priorities are different. I’ll love you forever and treasure what we’ve shared, but I don’t want to be involved in war and bloodshed. I want peace.”

  Rhodri let go of her shoulders, afraid he might be tempted to force her to stay. “I too want to live in peace, Rhonwen. I seek only peace and justice for my people. Sometimes it’s necessary to fight to achieve it.”

  ***

  The Earl summoned his Second. “Send out scouting parties to reconnoiter the area around the border village where the exchange is to take place. We’ve agreed to the idea of safe passage, but we must position bowmen in strategic locations, as I’m sure Rhodri will do the same. The Welsh archers are famous for their skill and deadly accuracy.”

  He had already gathered the sizable ransom from his estates in Sussex, and it lay in his chamber in two iron chests. “Post a two man guard outside my door, and double the guard on the walls and gates of the castle. We don’t need a surprise attack on the castle to rob us of the ransom money.”

  Gervais smiled. “Oui, milord. It’s good to be doing something productive.”

  The Earl was aware some questioned paying the ransom. The other Marcher Lords had been vehemently against the idea, suggesting pursuit and revenge instead. One Earl had intimated their King felt the same way. “His Majesty is not happy with the idea of financing rebels.”

  But Montbryce feared pursuit and vengeance would result in his wife’s death. He decided with dread in his heart that if his King commanded him directly not to ransom his family, he would defy the order.

  He had also learned something from an unlikely source. True to her word, the healer, Caryl Penarth, had come to Ellesmere a sennight after the Fayre. She had agreed to stay when told of Rhonwen’s disappearance with his wife. He had questioned her about the Fayre and her possible knowledge of rebels in the area of Whittington. He had sensed there was something she wanted to say, but did not. After receiving the ransom demand, he had gone to her again.

  “There are many who say I shouldn’t pay the ransom, Caryl,” he told her.

  Caryl hesitated a moment before she replied. “Then many will starve, my lord.”

  He arched his brows. “Starve? The harvests have been good.”

  “Not in Wales. It’s a blighted land,” she whispered sadly.

  He knew much of the blight had been caused by Norman brutality.

  “How do you know what Rhodri intends to do with the coin?” he asked.

  “I’ve heard the whispers of hope on the lips of desperate villagers.”

  ***

  On the eve of departure from Cadair Berwyn, Rhodri summoned the hostages to the neuadd. He had developed an admiration for the proud Norman Countess, who seemed to have taken her ordeal in stride and maintained her bearing and fortitude throughout.

  “My lady Countess,” he began, bowing slightly. Had she noticed it was the first time he had used the word ‘my’ in front of her title? “On the morrow we begin our journey down the mountain to the border, where you’ll be reunited with your husband. I trust you have all in readiness? My men and I will accompany you and see you safely delivered.”

  Mabelle de Montbryce returned the bow with a curtsey. She looked surprised he would accompany them, but said nothing. She was aware of his love for her healer. Did she suspect he wanted to go with them to be with Rhonwen as long as possible? Did she know he had asked Rhonwen to stay?

  Rhodri tried to keep his eyes off Rhonwen and his mind on the matter at hand. “It was never my intention to have you killed. I wasn’t aware of the reasons for Giroux’s involvement in our plans, and Morwenna has paid with her life for her treachery against you, and me. It has been my honour to have you and your sons and servants as guests in my fortress home. You’ll never forget your daughter was born in Wales, and I hope one day she’ll come to love the country of her birth.”

  The Countess bowed slightly and smiled. “I too have come to have respect for you, and your people, Lord Rhodri ap Owain, ap Dafydd, ap Gwilym, Prince of Powwydd. I assure you my daughter will be told of the land of her birth, and I’m sure my sons will carry with them stories of how a Welsh chieftain slew the monster who wished them dead. I thank you for the respect with which you’ve treated us—all of us.”

  He knew she was referring in particular to Rhonwen. He nodded his understanding of her words and intent. Did she sense how he burned for Rhonwen, how hard it had been to not claim her body and soul, to make her stay?

  The Countess cleared her throat. “I would like to return to our chambers now to make final preparations for the morrow. I’m worried how the little one will cope with the journey.”

  Rhodri wanted to reassure her. “The weather is good, and we should have an easy journey. I myself will see to your infant daughter as we descend.”

  He coughed nervously. “Perhaps you could spare Rhonwen for a few moments? I would like to speak with her alone.”

  She turned to Rhonwen. “Of course, if you’re in agreement, Rhonwen. We’ll go finish our packing.”

  Rhonwen blushed and nodded.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Come.”

  Rhodri led Rhonwen to his chamber and invited her to sit in the chair by the hearth. They faced each other, as they had done at their first meeting alone. After long minutes of silence her eyes filled with tears. He longed to hold her, to wipe away the tears, to tell her he was sorry he had hurt her, that he loved her, that she was his destiny. His thoughts were confused and she was conflicted too. He wanted to beg her to stay with him. His dream had convinced him they were meant to be together.

  “Rhonwen, don’t leave.”

  She put her hands to her face. “I must. How can I endure living with a warrior, spending my days amid blood and violence, worrying if you’re coming back from the latest skirmish, tending ghastly wounds?”

  She hesitated, stealing a glance at him through her fingers. She lowered her hands. “But I want some memory to warm the lonely nights without you. I don’t know if I’m brave enough to ask, or if you’ll consent—Rhodri, I—want to take part of you with me.”

  “You’re taking my heart.”

  “Rhodri, I’m leaving my heart here with you, but I want—I need to leave you with something else. You’ve given me love and pleasure, without concern for your own needs. I want to satisfy those needs for you tonight, my love, and I want to leave this place as a woman. I want you to know you’re the only man who’ll ever possess my body and my soul.”

  She was gifting him with her maidenhood. It was folly, but the ache for this woman had become unbearable. He drew her up to stand before him.

  At least I’ll have this memory.

  His physical need for her was so great he couldn’t stop if he wanted to, but he vowed to make it a night they would both remember for the rest of their lives apart.

  Perhaps if I make her mine, she’ll stay.

  Slowly he peeled the garments from her body, kissing her face and neck, feeling her quiver as she stood by his bed. When she was naked, he gazed at her.

  “You’re lovely, so pure and innocent,” he whispered. He quickly removed his own clothing and stood before her. Her eyes grew wider and she gasped when she saw his manhood for the first time.

  “I’m a healer, Rhodri,” she murmured, “And
I’ve seen naked men before. But I’ve never seen a man as well-gifted and as proudly erect. Looking at you heats my body.”

  Her smile set his heart racing. He had never felt as admired as a man. She was nervous but not afraid. He did not want fear to dampen the great passion he sensed she was capable of. It had taken considerable control to not let her touch him when she had wanted to. He stroked her hair. “Rhonwen, you have the pure, honest soul of an angel.”

  He picked her up and carried her to the bed, then lay beside her and took her into his arms, kissing and licking her face, her throat, her shoulders. He kissed her lips, coaxing her with his tongue. She opened for him and he drew her tongue into his mouth, feeling her groan reverberate through his body. She reached up and pulled off the leather thong that bound his hair, then raked her fingers through it as it fell to his shoulders, sending ripples of pleasure from his scalp, down his spine to his toes.

  He kissed her dark nipples, flicking his tongue over the sensitive flesh, sucking the lengthening tips into his mouth. She arched her body as he suckled. He knelt between her legs and trailed his fingers slowly between her maiden’s breasts and down across her stomach. She opened her legs wider. “I ache for you, Rhodri,” she whimpered shyly.

  Where his hand had led, his lips now followed and he traced kisses down her stomach until he reached the curls at her mons, curls as black as his own. He could see the diamond of her desire and he edged his broad shoulders between her legs, grasped her hips, lifted her slightly and licked the jewel in that most private place. She cried out and her eyes flew open.

  “Rhodri—”

  “Nothing we do here is wrong or shameful, Rhonwen. It’s a precious gift you’re giving me this night and I want to taste you,” he rasped.

  She closed her eyes and keened as he covered her with his mouth, the taste of her sending new blood rushing to his groin. He carefully inserted his fingers, felt her wet heat. He could wait no longer. Trying to steady his breathing, he guided his swollen shaft into her folds. She opened her eyes and placed her hands over his, urging him to enter.

  “I’ll try not to hurt you,” he rasped. “I’m big, and you’re—”

  She put her fingers to his lips and smiled. “I’m not afraid.”

  He knew it was the truth. He entered slowly, sensed the barrier and pushed through. She sucked in a breath and cried out, clutching his shoulders. He clenched his jaw at the effort of holding still.

  “Don’t stop, Rhodri, please don’t stop.”

  His Celtic blood took over. He groaned, withdrew then plunged in again and again. She called out his name with wild delight when his seed burst forth into her quivering body.

  Afraid to crush her, he lifted her with ease, still inside her, and rolled over so she was atop him. Black hair entwined where their bodies were joined as one. He felt her sheathe pulse against him as he softened. It would not be long before he could bring her to ecstasy again. He had never known such fulfillment. His soul had left his body and met hers in some ethereal place.

  After a while he rose to fetch a cloth and water. He cleansed the blood from her thighs. “Don’t be embarrassed, Rhonwen,” he whispered with a smile.

  “I’m not. I’m humbled my warrior is tending to my needs. You brought me to rapture with your tender lovemaking before, but this—this was—different. This was fulfillment. The sensations coursing through me as we joined brought me to a wonderful new world.”

  She fell asleep hours later, after they had made love again. He cradled her as he carried her to the chamber where the other hostages slept, and laid her on her pallet. He spread her hair on the pillow and covered her lovingly with the furs. Gazing down at her, he whispered, “You’re my destiny, Rhonwen.”

  She did not wake, and he withdrew without a sound.

  ***

  Rhonwen awoke early, disoriented to find she was back on her own pallet. Glancing around, she saw Giselle and her mistress preparing for the journey. She rose and helped herself to bread and honey. The others greeted her normally, and she sensed no embarrassment from them. Rhodri must have carried her into the chamber, but no one gave any indication they had seen or heard anything.

  Robert and Baudoin were looking forward to riding ponies down into the valley. Rhodri had told Robert he could ride his own pony because he had learned quickly in the practice fields. The child was ecstatic.

  “I wonder if Papa will come to meet us,” Baudoin asked.

  “Of course he will,” Robert answered, “And he’ll bring a huge army and slay the Welsh barbarians.”

  The Countess groaned. “Old habits and beliefs die hard I suppose. Let’s pray there won’t be violence at the exchange.”

  She wrapped the infant in swaddling cloths and carefully placed her into a sling around Rhonwen’s neck. They made their way out of the fortress.

  Rhodri was already mounted on his pony. “Give the child to me, Rhonwen.”

  She carefully lifted the sling. Rhodri leaned down and she placed the precious bundle around his neck. Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment, then Rhonwen averted hers, wiping away the stinging tears. She couldn’t look at him.

  He cradled the baby to his huge body. “I Lloegr!” he shouted to his men, and the warriors and their hostages began their long journey down the mountain to England, as he had commanded.

  Few words were spoken, despite the captivating beauty of the valleys and glades they traversed, painted gold by carpets of daffodils. Rhonwen wrestled with her emotions. By the time they arrived at the cottage where they had stayed overnight, her head and her heart ached. She loved this wild Celt who now carried someone else’s babe down the mountain. Was he thinking of his own children, of what he might have had with her?

  ***

  “I don’t like this mist,” Gervais muttered. “We can barely see the bridge, let alone the other end of it. The archers will be hard pressed to find their target, if we need them.”

  Montbryce shifted nervously in his saddle as he and his men waited. “We’ve already been waiting over an hour,” he replied. “If the wait goes on, the mist may clear.”

  He struggled to stay positive. He had been in many tense situations in his life, but they paled in comparison to the stress he felt now with the lives of his wife and family in the balance. Even amid the horror of Hastings, it had been only his life at risk. The mist had seeped into his head. He dismounted to walk around and stretch his legs, trying to overcome the fear and nervousness he felt.

  He prayed nothing would go wrong. The Welsh bowmen were legendary and it was said they could hit a target with their eyes closed. He suspected Rhodri had men hidden ready to strike if necessary, as he did.

  “I wonder if there will ever be trust between our two peoples?” he mused aloud. “Peace can only come with trust.”

  He was weary of the constant conflict plaguing the Welsh Marches. He was a warrior first and foremost, but he was a diplomat too, a good one, and he resolved to use those skills to a greater degree than he had before.

  A faint whinny off in the distance, beyond the narrow humpback bridge, brought him out of his reverie abruptly. His gut tightened.

  They are here.

  “Earl of Ellesmere,” a loud assertive voice came from the mist. “Rambaud, Comte de Montbryce.”

  “I am here,” he shouted back, trying to peer through the impenetrable mist, to see any sign of his family. “To whom am I speaking?”

  “I am Rhodri ap Owain, Prince of Powwydd. We’ve met before, you and I. Did you bring the ransom we agreed upon?”

  Straight down to business then.

  “Oui, I’ve brought it. How do I know my family is safe?”

  There was a pause, then he heard Mabelle’s strong, calm voice. “Rambaud? Ram?”

  He wanted to charge recklessly onto the bridge. Tears threatened as he tightened his hold on the reins, gritting his teeth and squaring his jaw.

  “Ram?” she called again. “We’re all safe. Robert and Baudoin are with me, as are Gi
selle and Rhonwen. And your daughter. Lord Rhodri has taken good care of us. We’re looking forward to coming home.”

  A daughter! Ram’s throat constricted. “Robert, Baudoin, you and your mother are well?”

  “Oui, Papa,” yelled Robert. “I’ve taken good care of Baudoin—and my baby sister.”

  He coughed, hoping to conceal his momentary inability to find words. He could feel the expectant eyes of his men on him. Much depended on what happened next.

  “My men will place the chests in the middle of the bridge as agreed. They’ll leave them open,” he shouted. “If you have the hostages mounted, I want their horses sent across the bridge first.”

  He did not want to run the risk the Welsh would turn and flee with the hostages, once they had the ransom. It would make it more difficult if the hostages were on foot.

  “Agreed,” came the gruff reply a few minutes later. “Then we’ll send your family across on foot with four of my men. They will retrieve the chests.”

  Montbryce didn’t like it, but could think of nothing else he could do to lessen the dangers. The Welshman held the upper hand and could disappear into Wales without honouring the bargain, if he wished. He had to trust him. His wife had confirmed they had been well treated, and Rhodri had left him alive at Ruyton, when he could easily have killed him.

  He heard the slow rhythm of hooves approaching. A Welshman appeared out of the mist, leading the horses he recognized as belonging to his family and servants. As the man reached the centre of the bridge, he slapped the beasts on the rump and they trotted over to the English side, where his men retrieved them.

  Montbryce took a deep breath. “Gervais, send the men with the chests.”

  Four of his men-at-arms lifted the heavy iron chests and tramped to the centre of the stone bridge. They put their burden down heavily and lifted the lids. The metallic sounds echoed off the walls and rough cobblestones of the narrow bridge, intensified by the mist and the rushing water of the river below.