Conquering Passion

by Anna Markland

  She was gifting him with her maidenhood. It was folly, but he picked her up in his arms and strode over to his bed.

  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 at her side. Her eyes grew wider and she gasped when she saw his arousal 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 big and as proudly erect. Looking at you heats my body.”

  She smiled at him and his heart raced. He’d never felt so admired as a man. She was nervous but not afraid. He didn’t want fear to dampen the great passion he sensed she was capable of. It had taken all his considerable control to not let her touch him when she’d wanted to. He stroked her hair. “Rhonwen, you have the pure honest soul of an angel.”

  He picked her up and laid her down on 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, marvelling at how hard they were already. She arched her body when 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 black curls at the top of her thighs, 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 as his tongue brought her intense pleasure, but also a blush of embarrassment.

  “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 slowly inserted his fingers, felt her wet heat. He could wait no longer. He guided the tip of his manhood into her folds. She opened her eyes and placed her hands over his, urging him to enter her.

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

  She 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 wild Celtic blood took over on hearing her words. He groaned, withdrew almost completely then plunged in again and again. She screamed his name with wild delight when his seed burst forth into her quivering body.

  Still inside her, he lifted her with ease and rolled over so she was atop him. The black hair entwined where their bodies were joined, making them look like one body. He felt her sheathe pulse against him as he softened. It wouldn’t be long before he could bring her to ecstasy again.

  He’d never known such fulfillment. His soul had left his body and met hers in some ethereal place. He rose from the bed and went 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,” she said truthfully. “I’m humbled my mighty warrior is tending to my needs this way. 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 mystical release. I’ve entered a wonderful new world.”

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

  She didn’t wake, and he left silently.

  The only person awake in the room was Mabelle, who saw him place Rhonwen on the pallet, and heard his words. She wept for their heartbreak, and for the unbearable longing for her own husband.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  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’d seen or heard anything.

  Robert and Baudoin were excited to be going home and looking forward to riding the ponies down into the valley. Rhodri told Robert he could ride his own pony because he’d 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.”

  Mabelle groaned. “Old habits and beliefs die hard I suppose,” she sighed to Giselle. “Let’s pray there won’t be violence at the exchange.”

  The previous night Mabelle had written a letter to Ram. If anything went wrong, she wanted him to know she loved him. Now she tucked the missive into the folds between her dress and chemise.

  The healer wrapped the infant in as many swaddling cloths as she could find. She suggested to her mistress that she carry the child in a sling she’d fashioned, and Mabelle agreed, confident Rhonwen would be better able to manage the burden on the slippery trails than she.

  Outside, 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. Mabelle saw their eyes lock for a fleeting moment, then Rhonwen averted her eyes, wiping away tears. Rhodri cradled the baby to his huge body. Mabelle was reassured his body heat would keep her child warm.

  “I Lloegr! ” he shouted to his men, and the warriors and their hostages began their long journey down the mountain to England, as he’d commanded.

  Few words were spoken, despite the captivating beauty of the valleys and glades they traversed, painted gold by carpets of daffodils. Mabelle sensed Rhodri and Rhonwen were wrestling with their own emotions, and she was full of fear something would go wrong. Would Ram accept her in his bed when she returned? Would the children remember him? Would they make it safely down these treacherous mountain trails? Her hand went to the letter concealed at her breast.

  They stayed overnight in the same cottage where they’d found shelter on the outward journey and were surprised to see their own horses tethered to a post. Lying on the palette, Mabelle thought about the things that had changed in their lives since she was last in this isolated foreign place. She was the mother of a daughter she’d named after her mother. The monk had baptised the child. However, Mabelle felt there was something lacking and had decided to wait for the reunion with Ram to decide what other names the child should bear.

  Her sons had grown. For boys they’d demonstrated courage and forbearance during the long ordeal, and she hoped as they grew to adulthood, they would remember some of th
e good things about the Welsh people they’d spent time with. Giselle had changed too, and Mabelle sensed she had a different perspective about her captors. As for herself, she recognised she loved Ram unconditionally. She hoped desperately he would still want her once they returned.

  Rhonwen had undergone the biggest change. Mabelle suspected the healer and the chieftain had been intimate on their last night, yet Rhonwen seemed intent on returning with them to England. She knew the girl loved this wild Celt who now carried her own child down the mountain. Rhodri obviously cared for the child he carried cuddled tightly to his broad chest. Was he thinking of his own children, of what he might have had with Rhonwen?

  ***

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

  Ram 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’d 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. He felt as though 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. As he strolled into the trees near the glade where they waited, his heart raced when he saw a swath of bluebells.

  He could feel Mabelle’s presence near him again, and his mind went back to the day they’d met. What if he discovered she’d been raped during her captivity? They’d often jested together about the Fairies of the Blue Thimbles and he prayed to them now that 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 that plagued the Welsh Marches. He was a warrior first and foremost, but he was a diplomat too, a good one, and he resolved to try to use those skills to a greater degree than he had before. He’d been picking bluebells while lost in thought. He carried them to his horse and fastened them to the pommel of his saddle.

  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.

  “Yes. 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 Giselle 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.”

  Ram 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 to Rhodri. “If you have the hostages mounted, I want their horses sent across the bridge first.”

  He didn’t 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, who will retrieve the chests.”

  Ram 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. Ram had to trust him. Mabelle had confirmed they’d been well treated, and Rhodri had left him alive at Ruyton, when he could easily have killed him.

  Ruyton brought thoughts of Ascha Woolgar to his mind. Had Mabelle ever suspected what had happened there? He sensed she knew, yet didn’t judge him. Did it mean she didn’t care, or did she love him so much she could forgive him?

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

  Ram 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, where they put them down heavily, and lifted the lids. The metallic sounds echoed off the walls and rough cobblestones of the narrow bridge, amplified by the mist and the rushing water of the river below.

  Since Ram could see the coins from where he stood, he assumed the Welsh could also see them. His men turned and strode back towards him. He felt a surge of pride in these Norman soldiers who must be aware of Welsh arrows aimed at their backs, and yet they walked slowly, never looking over their shoulders.

  Out of the mist came Giselle, leading Robert and Baudoin by the hand. Baudoin waved goodbye to someone. Giselle walked nervously but resolutely to the humpback centre of the bridge, passed the chests, and continued on to the English side. Ram dismounted quickly and ran to take his sons up in his arms. Two Norman soldiers hurried to aid Giselle as her knees buckled and she swooned. She looked at them gratefully, then gasped when she saw these were her two warrior sons, whom she’d not seen for years. She wept as they embraced her. She smiled her tearful thanks to the Earl.

  “Papa, papa, did you miss us?” Robert asked.

  Ram choked. He was amazed to see how much his sons had grown, but was angry he’d missed that. At least they hadn’t been starved. “Of course I missed you. I love you. I love you both.”

  That wasn’t hard after all.

  He hugged them, noticing each carried a wooden sword and dagger tucked into the belts of their sheepskin jerkins and leather breeches. They looked like miniature Welsh rebels. He found it amusing, but resolved in that moment never to follow the growing trend of fostering sons out to some other noble lord for their training.

  “We rode ponies, Papa. Can we can have ponies when we return home?” Robert asked.

  Ram didn’t want his children to feel he didn’t care about the ponies, but he was desperate now to see Mabelle. As calmly as he could, he replied, “I suppose we could see to that. Now, I want you to wait with Gervais here, while I greet your mother. She’s coming next is she?”

  “Oui, Papa, she and Rhonwen are saying goodbye to Rhodri, and then they’ll bring ma soeur. Rhodri carried her down the mountain in a sling across his chest.”

  Ram felt a pang of jealousy at the familiar way his family spoke of this Welsh barbarian. “What’s your sister’s name?” He felt like he had something lodged in his throat.

  “Maman named her for our Grandmaman,” Baudoin answered.

  ***

  After watching her sons walk across the bridge and disappear into the mist with Giselle, Mabelle turned to face Rhodri and thanked him as he carefully placed the sling around her neck. “It’s unfortunate, Rhodri, Prince of Powwydd, that our people c
an’t find some common ground, and instead seem to be constantly at each other’s throats. I’ve learned a great deal about you and your country during our stay in your beautiful mountains, and I’ll share much of what I’ve learned with my husband. He’s a lover of peace and prosperity, and would wish that for both our peoples.”

  Rhodri bowed, took her outstretched hand and kissed it lightly. “Peace can only come with trust and respect my lady. I pray one day we shall find that. Siwrne dda. Good journey.”

  She stepped away to look towards the bridge. Rhodri turned to Rhonwen and took her in his arms. He could smell the dampness in her hair, taste the salt of the tears on her face as he kissed her. He couldn’t speak. If he did his voice would betray his anguish. The experience of their union had enthralled him, but she intended to leave. He understood why, but couldn’t accept it. If she left, he would never again experience the mystical passion their joining had brought him.

  “Rhonwen,” he faltered. “I can’t change what I am. I’ll not beg you to stay. Only you know your heart. But you’re my destiny, and I am yours.”

  She was breathing heavily and wouldn’t return his embrace. She turned from him, and began the walk towards the centre of the bridge with Mabelle and the infant. Her tears blinded her and she had to grasp her lady’s hand.

  ***

  New footsteps on the old bridge caught Ram’s attention. He peered into the mist, thicker now, and saw his wife emerge, with Rhonwen at her side, clutching Mabelle’s hand tightly. They were accompanied by four Welshmen, longbows over their shoulders, daggers at their belts.

  Mabelle walked slowly and proudly, head held high, and Ram had never loved her more. Her steadfast Norman courage had seen her through an ordeal that would have broken many women. She walked across the bridge as if she was out for a stroll, a woven sling across her body that he knew held his daughter. He had a momentary vision of her throwing his sword into the lake. He’d known that day he loved her. Why had he never told her?