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 will be slaughtered. He did not even say goodbye.”
Her father carried on. “There is more you do not 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 I have reason to believe the Norman mercenaries who assisted in the capture of his estate will be withdrawn.”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 had 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. “Do not despair, Rhoni. 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 did not 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 Was he aware the Normans had been withdrawn?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.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
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 had 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 the Earl of 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 would not 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 honourable 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 did not 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 would not understand why he had left without saying goodbye. The certainty he had hurt her pressed on him like a leaden weight.
In different circumstances he would not have hesitated to take her as his wife. No woman had stirred his passion 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 am 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 will require only a handful of men. I can spare that.”
Ronan was humbled. “I cannot ask this of you. You have 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 is 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 had 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 are 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 is in your blood, as you are in hers.”
Ronan was not 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, seemingly impervious to the wretched conditions, hummed a lilting tune.
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 had not heard them approach.
“They are preparing to set sail,” one of them explained, catching his breath. “There are two mounted soldiers. They have boarded their horses. Other than that there are eight crewmen.”
Rhodri chuckled. “How thoughtful of them! When they sail by 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 would not hinder him once they waded into the water. “Is it deep here?”
Rhodri smiled. “Deep enough, and it’s cold, and runs swiftly as the tide goes out.”
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 level with 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 had landed on one of the soldiers, an arrow protruding from his forehead.
He 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 had seen with Conall must have been Rhydderch. He and Conall had calmed the horses. Rhodri had 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. It’s for you now to use this message to your advantage. It must be delivered. Go! Do you need men to help manage the crew?”
Conall stood at the tiller, ready to leave. Ronan could keep the crew at the oars. Once they hit the open sea, the wind would fill the sail. “I salute you, Lord Rhodri, my friend. Goodbye! I will repay you some day. For now, enjoy the black stallion. His name is Gabriel.”
Rhodri gripped his hand. “Come back for Rhoni. That will settle the score.”
Ronan hurried to the boat. As he climbed aboard he drew his sword. The Welshmen jumped to shore. The Norman rowers averted their eyes from Ronan’s enormous weapon and took up their oars. He noticed his Welsh allies had safely stowed the iron chest with the clothing made by Rhonwen and her seamstresses. He had forgotten it on the bank in the excitement.
Conall grinned triumphantly as the boat picked up speed. He glanced at the chest, then at Ronan. He turned his face to the sea. “Go hÉirinn!” he shouted, thrusting his fist in the air.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Rhoni almost stormed into her parents’ bedchamber, but sanity returned and she knocked impatiently at the door.
When there was no reply, she rapped again. “Papa! Maman! C’est moi, Rhoni.”
The door opened abruptly. She lifted her candle, swallowing hard at the sight of her father, dressed only in his bed robe. The shadows cast by the candle demonised the fury on his face. “This had better be important, young lady,” he growled.
Her mother emerged from the darkness, her hair dishevelled, adjusting her bed robe to cover one naked shoulder. “Of course it must be important, Ram. Why else would our daughter come knocking at our door in the middle of the night? Come in, Rhoni.”
Rhoni hesitated, suddenly feeling foolish. She and her siblings were aware their parents were ardent lovers, but none of them had ever entered the parental bedchamber at night. Her mother seemed to sense her hesitancy and put her arm around Rhoni’s waist. Her papa took the candle and used its flame to light a larger one sitting atop the cold hearth.
Rhoni sat in the chair her father indicated. The plan had come to mind clearly in her own chamber, but now it seemed muddled as she tried to explain it to her impatient father.
“The mercenaries—”
Her eyes flitted from one parent to the other.
Ram de Montbryce raked a hand through his hair. “Oui, go on.”
“The Earl of Chester—”
Her papa arched one brow. “Careful now, girl. You meddle in things that do not concern you.”
Rhoni clenched her fists in her lap, glaring at him. “How can it not concern me? Ronan’s fate hangs in the balance. I will do everything I can to aid him.”
Her father took a deep breath. “Rhoni, Chester is a monster. I had to carefully tiptoe around to get him to see it would be in his interests to withdraw his mercenaries from Ronan’s estate. I believe that is what he has done, but I cannot be certain.”
“Then we must make sure. And we must convince the Earl to put his mercenaries at Ronan’s disposal. He will have no chance if he stands alone.”
Her father stared at her open-mouthed. “Rhoni—”
He looked up into the rafters, digging his fingertips into his scalp, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. “You ask a great deal, child.”
Mabelle put a hand on her husband’s arm. “She does not ask for herself.”
Rhoni leapt to her feet. “Of course I do, maman. I love Ronan. I see now he refused to marry me under your conditions because he loves me. He may not admit it yet, but I intend to let him see at every opportunity how much I love him. The two of you have told us repeatedly you wish you had not wasted many years denying that you loved each other. I don’t intend to make that mistake. If it means grovelling to the Earl of Chester to save the man I love, I am willing to do that.”
Her father glared at her. “No Montbryce will ever grovel before the likes of Hugh d’Avranches. The secret in dealing with him is to convince him your plan is to his advantage.”
Rhoni threw her arms around her father’s neck. “We will go to him, convince him to help Ronan.”
Her papa untangled her arms. “Not we. Baudoin and I will go.”
Rhoni pouted. “Why
are women excluded from these matters?”
Her maman put an arm around her shoulder. “If you go, the Earl will see immediately the importance of success to us. Your face will betray your emotions.”
Rhoni looked at her father intently. “Then I will stay out of his sight. You can claim I wanted to see his magnificent castle again.”
Ram de Montbryce heaved a heavy sigh. “Very well. We will leave on the morrow.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Four Montbryces rode into the bailey of Chester Castle with their escort. Mabelle had succeeded in convincing Ram that Rhoni’s presence would be more believable if both Montbryce women went. Rhoni suspected her mother’s true motive was to keep an eye on her.
They had sent riders ahead so the Earl was prepared for their arrival. Protocol demanded they not arrive unannounced, though nobility would have obliged the Earl to extend his hospitality if they did.
Ram de Montbryce deemed it best to observe protocol. “Let him stew for a while on why we are coming.”
While Rhoni had not eschewed comfortable riding attire completely, her outfit was more modest, consisting of a long split skirt which still allowed her to ride astride. “Ever your daughter,” her father had remarked to her mother.
Strips of leather had been artfully sewn into the inside of each leg for protection of her thighs and derrière.
She remembered the last time she and her mother had ridden into Chester. Little had she known her life was about to change forever. She had embarked on that journey a frivolous girl. Meeting Ronan had changed her into a woman, one willing to court danger for the man she loved.
While her father appeared calm as he acknowledged Chester’s greeting, she knew every word was carefully thought out beforehand. Her heart fluttered in her breast. It was imperative that she too not give away anything through a careless word or gesture. Let Chester believe her still the ninny-head. It was as well her mother had accompanied them. She too was politically savvy.
Montbryce Next Generation 01 - Dark Irish Knight Page 15
