They looked at Sir Guy, then each other. One, older than the rest, stepped forward. “With pleasure,” he said scornfully.
“I need something to bind them.”
The lad said a few quick words and some of the boys scattered, to return in a few short moments with stout ropes. The rest joined Dafydd picking up the discarded weapons.
When Sir Guy, Farold and the others were tied, Madeline hurried to the door. “Come, David, let us leave this place at once.”
“What about them?” He gestured at the squires.
She smiled at the youths and spoke to the one who seemed to be their leader. “Run away,” she said kindly. “Take what you can from this vile man’s manor and get as far away as you can. A year and a day from now, you will be free.”
As David joined her, she gave Sir Guy a scornful smile and drew herself up proudly. “I am Lady Madeline de Montmorency, Sir Guy, and rest assured, I will tell my brother all about you and your men. I suggest you contemplate begging forgiveness for your sins, although I doubt even God himself will look kindly on you.”
With that, she turned and left the hall—to encounter a strange sight. Pouring in through the gate of the courtyard was a horde of poorly dressed peasants, shouting and waving swords, axes, even pitchforks, their faces filled with anger and hate. As Madeline hesitated on the threshold, an arrow thudded into the door beside her.
“Run!” Dafydd shouted in her ear, grabbing her hand and pulling her forward. They sprinted across the courtyard to the stables.
“What is it? Who are they?” she panted.
“His tenants, probably.” Dafydd hurried to the nearest horse and led it from the stall. “One of the boys must have told them what was happening. We’d best get away as fast as we can.”
“But we have done nothing—” she began.
He grabbed her around the waist and set her on the horse. The shouting grew louder. “They won’t care. We are strangers—you’re a Norman. That’s all that will matter to them!”
Without waiting for her to respond, he sheathed his sword and swung himself up behind her. He maneuvered the horse through the surging mob, beating off the one man who tried to stop them. When they were successfully through the gate, he kicked the horse into a gallop and rode as fast as he could from the accursed place.
Chapter Six
With Madeline safe in his arms, Dafydd would have ridden all night to get away from Sir Guy’s manor. He was sickened, both in heart and mind, disturbed beyond anything he had ever imagined, desperate to escape Sir Guy and his men.
The horse he had taken had proven itself a superb animal, running hard and fast for a long time. Only after some time had passed did Dafydd realize he must have taken Sir Guy’s stallion. It was lathered and panting, and the time well past midnight when he finally pulled the beast to a halt. Although he didn’t know how far they had come, a quick glance at the sky told him they had ridden north and he knew they had gone past the place where the outlaws had attacked Madeline’s party and even beyond the small village.
His first concern was Madeline. Without speaking, he reached up and grasped her waist, helping her dismount. She clutched his arms tightly and leaned against him when her feet touched the ground. “David, David!” she murmured.
“Dafydd,” he whispered, wanting her to know his true name. Needing her to know. “My name is Dafydd.”
“Those men, those terrible men! I am so sorry! I should have remembered sooner...I should have refused to go with them....”
“Hush,” Dafydd whispered. “It is over. We are far away from them.” He rocked her gently, listening as she wept softly, happy that she would let him hold her so. “We should get off the road. I don’t think they will follow us, but we had best take no chances.”
She raised her tearstained face. “What do you think happened after we got away?”
“I don’t have any notion,” he replied grimly. “I hope those lads are safe. We should be grateful for the attack. Sir Guy will be too busy to follow us, if he is still alive. Come, we should rest.”
“Yes, you’re right,” she said, pulling away. She tried to walk, but she stumbled and he caught her. Deftly grabbing the horse’s rein in one hand, he lifted her up and carried her toward a nearby stream in the woods, a wonderful feeling of tender protectiveness stealing over him as he did so. For years and years he had felt completely alone in the world. Until now. Together they had faced danger, and together they had escaped. It was almost worth the disastrous encounter to have this incredible feeling.
He set her gently to the ground and looped the rein on a nearby bush. “Staying here, we are. Until the dawn, anyway.”
She nodded, looking up at him with misery. “Oh, Dafydd, if they had come upon me alone!”
“Or me,” he said. He sat beside her on the damp ground. “You saved me, Madeline.”
“I didn’t like the way they looked at you.” She smiled tentatively, and he was glad to see even that small sign of a return to normality.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Thank you for saving me. I confess I didn’t think you guessed...about them.”
“There was something not right about them, I saw that at once. And then I remembered where I had heard of Sir Guy before.” Briefly she recounted the long-ago incident. “I decided the best thing to do was act ignorant until I could be sure. And then I saw how that fellow looked at you, Dafydd.” She shivered with remembrance. “Those poor, unfortunate boys! I hope they will be all right.”
“They will be better off free, at any rate. Surprised I am you would know about such things.”
“I confess I never truly believed the rumors of men like that. And he was so greedy and cruel. He had so much, while his tenants starved. I can understand why they would attack him.”
“Or why a Welshman would rebel?” he asked, looking intently into her eyes.
She nodded slowly, and with true understanding. “Or why a Welshman would rebel.”
As she continued to gaze at him, her expression open and honest and companionable, his heart reminded him that she could never be his, not in any way. She was Norman, noble and betrothed, even if she did intrigue him more than any other woman ever had, or perhaps ever could. “That was a good ruse,” he said lightly, moving away. “Did you learn to act that way at the convent?”
“In a manner of speaking. I was imitating Sister Elizabeth.”
“Ah. A talent you have, then.”
“I used to make the other sisters laugh, especially when I spoke like Mother Bertrilde.”
“Was she like Sister Elizabeth?”
“Oh, no. She was very serious and very strict and spoke only to correct faults or issue orders.”
Dafydd could tell from the tone of her voice that Madeline had not enjoyed her time under the tender ministrations of such a woman. Here was something new to consider. He had always supposed the women who lived in Norman convents were leading lives of great luxury, beholden to no man. It seemed, however, that Mother Bertrilde was as strict as any father, brother...or husband. “You will be glad to be wed, then, and away from the place.”
She drew off her wimple with a heavy sigh, and he tried to ignore her as she shook out her hair. “I will be honest with you, Dafydd, because now we are equal.”
“Equal?”
“You saved me, and I saved you. You could have left me when we heard Sir Guy and his men approaching.”
His heart seemed to miss a beat. Yes, equal. He felt that way, too, and had never expected to feel that way about a woman. Yet she was so different, so special—and she apparently realized that something was happening between them. Something wonderful that should not, must not happen. “I wouldn’t have left my worst enemy there,” he answered, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
“I hope I am not your worst enemy,” she said with a small smile.
“You are not my enemy at all.”
“I know that, too, and that is why I trust you. So I will confess to you that now tha
t I know Roger is not dead and is in good hands, I have no wish to return to him. He is trying to force me to marry against my will.”
Again, this was something Dafydd had not considered, that she would be reluctant to be returned to her family. This something struck him as welcome news, and he told himself it should not. “Can he make you marry?”
She gave him a determined look he was beginning to know well. “He will try.”
“Your betrothed, does he know of your feelings?”
“No. He knows absolutely nothing of me, as I know nothing of him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Chilcott.”
Dafydd shook his head. He had never heard it before. “Why don’t you want to marry him?”
“I have never even met the man!”
“Isn’t that the Norman way?”
“For some—but I thought better of Roger than that, although I have not been in the same household since we were children. I thought he cared for me, but it seems his ambitions are more important.” She felt betrayed, from the sound of her voice.
He knew that feeling well, for he, too, had been betrayed. Not by family, but by a man he had admired, who had turned out not to be filled with patriotic plans for a return to native rule by the Welsh, but with a selfish desire to see his family—and only his family—restored to greatness in any way he could, at any cost.
“Would you force your sister to marry?” Madeline asked.
“My sister is dead,” he answered flatly. Yes, he needed to say it. To remember Gwennyth and how she died, at the hands of the Normans.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
“And my parents, too. Killed by Normans after they were forced to watch while they took my sister. I only escaped because I hid from them.”
“I am very glad you did.”
He stood abruptly. “I am going to swim in the river. I need to wash.”
He didn’t wait for her to reply, but strode off toward the glistening water. Rushes grew along the bank, their whispering in the slight breeze like ghosts chastising him for betraying his people. He yanked off the dalmatica, stripped off his chausses and boots, and waded into the cold, cleansing water.
He rose and took in a deep, shuddering breath before he became aware of a figure standing on the bank. “I am not your enemy, Dafydd,” Madeline said softly. “I am sorry for what the Normans did to your family, and I wish with all my heart I could restore them to you.”
“I know you are not responsible,” he replied, wishing she would go so that he could dress.
“Is the water very cold?”
“Yes.”
To his astonishment, she began to remove her clothing.
“What...what are you doing?” he demanded huskily.
“I am going to wash, too.”
When her garments fell onto the ground and she stepped forth naked, he could only stare as she took a deep breath and walked into the river.
Ever since her parents had died and Madeline had been separated from Roger, she had felt completely alone in the world. Until today. Until here and now. She wanted him, needed him, desired him. He had reminded her of her fate, a marriage to a man she did not want. True, she might be able to refuse Roger’s first choice, and perhaps a second, but he was a strong-willed man. Eventually he would see that she married someone to further his own ends. He was a man; he would never understand what she wanted in a husband.
So here, now, she would choose a man for herself. This man, this warrior, protector and comforting companion whose family had suffered so much at the hands of her countrymen. She stood upon the smooth, uneven rocks and watched him make his way through the water, droplets glistening on his chest in the moonlight, and when he took her in his arms, she leaned into him gladly.
Filled with powerful desire, she pulled him close and kissed him, not trying to rein in her passion, but letting it loose. She wanted to feel his arms around her, wanted to feel his lips upon hers, wanted him to take her in his strong arms and carry her to the grassy banks where he laid her down.
She welcomed the warmth and weight of his body upon hers. Her hands explored him, marveling at the tautness of the muscles beneath his damp flesh, her fingertips lightly touching the mottled skin of his scars. His hands, too, ventured over her, followed by his soft lips. She arched her back, giving herself to him and giving in to the myriad wonderful sensations he aroused.
He whispered soft words in her ear as he took hold of her hand and guided it below his waist. She touched him, for an instant pulling back. He let go of her hand. Then, half shy, half eager, she grasped him unaided. His gasp and the look of desire smoldering in his brown eyes as he looked at her was her reward as she parted her legs more from instinct than knowledge.
“Annwyl,” he whispered as he caressed her and gently pushed inside. “Annwyl...” Beloved.
A fleeting, momentary pain was soon forgotten as he began to thrust. With cries of almost anguished delight, she responded eagerly with her mouth, her hands, her body. Flames of passion licked along every limb. She was like metal in the heat of a furnace, molten, pliable, ready to be made new in his care. Everything he did increased her fervor. Intensified it, until the moment of exquisite, intense release. He buried his hands in her hair and groaned as he stiffened, then relaxed against her.
They lay thus, entwined in each other’s arms, panting and sated, for a long time.
For that long time, Madeline was happy. Delightfully happy, until she thought of something that she had not before.
What if she got with child?
What if she bore this Welsh rebel’s child? She would be shamed, cast out, denigrated. She shoved Dafydd away and scrambled to her feet.
“What is it?” he muttered, standing, too. Naked in the moonlight. Still magnificent. She could not speak, for the shame was hers alone. She had been the one to go naked into the river with deliberate design. He would have stopped at any time, she knew without doubt, as he had when she pulled away for that brief moment. No, the blame, and the shame, were hers alone to bear, and alone she would bear them. “I...I’m cold.”
He picked up her gown and approached her, a smile of such warmth on his handsome face that she was reminded of why she had done what she had. Nevertheless, she took the garment and turned away to put it on. “We should hide. There may be other outlaws.”
“Yes.” He pulled on his chausses and boots, picked up his sword, then paused and looked at her intently.
She could not bear his scrutiny. “Perhaps in those bushes.”
Dafydd watched her crawl under the shelter of the broad-leafed undergrowth, there to lie down as calmly and silently as if nothing at all of import had happened between them. He led the horse into the underbrush and tied its reins to a branch, then he joined her, moving close to her, but she shifted away and turned her back to him.
What was the matter with her? Was it him? Or regret for what they had done together? He felt anything but regret, and he knew he had not been wrong about the willing desire in her eyes. “Tomorrow I will take you back to the convent,” he said at last. It would be dangerous for him to go south again, back toward the monastery, but he would not risk her safety.
“No.” She did not even bother to face him.
“Then to the monastery. The holy brothers will help you.”
“Roger has many powerful friends, but my parents did, too. I know of one who will surely listen to me, and assist me to convince Roger that I will not marry Chilcott. He lives not too far off.”
What was wrong? She was suddenly so cold, so distant...but she had been the eager one! She had followed him into the river, compelled him to continue.... His heart suddenly plummeted to the pit of his stomach, to be replaced by the burning heat of shame at the discovery that he could have been so stupid. “Why the urgency, my lady?” he said coldly. “Since you are no longer a virgin, Chilcott will surely refuse to marry you.”
Finally she turned and looked at him. “There is no need for anyo
ne to know what we’ve done.”
“But then what good has your sacrifice been, this giving of your virginity to an uncouth peasant of a Welshman?”
“You do not understand!”
“Oh, yes, I do!” Oh, God, that he had been so stupid, so blind, so desperate for her love! “If your brother tries to force your hand, then you will be only too quick to tell him, or the potential groom, that you are no longer a virgin. It is a lovely plan, my lady. Wedding called off, high-handed brother outmaneuvered. Or perhaps you intend to wait until the wedding night and let the poor fool of a bridegroom find out for himself how he has been duped. Surely then he and your brother will be happy with a quiet annulment, so no one will know how you tricked them. Except for the uncouth Welshman, of course, but he is of no consequence.”
“You are wrong!”
“You were not a virgin?” he said with mock admiration. “You are indeed a clever mimic, although there are some ways you could improve the performance. A few tears to show the pain of penetration, perhaps. A touch of fear to show your innocence.”
“That was not a performance!”
“No matter. You got what you wanted, and so did I.”
“You have no idea what I want,” she said. “You have no understanding of my life at all, and I doubt you ever will.”
“As long as I risk my own to save it?”
“For which I am grateful, as I have—”
“Shown? Demonstrated in a particularly pleasant manner? Delighted I am that you chose such a manner to thank me.”
She frowned darkly.
“Intending to `reward’ me again, are you?”
“I will see that you are well rewarded, with money or a horse.”
He smiled sardonically at her haughty words. “Not a servant, my lady, and not a whore, either.”
“Neither am I,” she said forcefully. “Nor will I beg for your assistance. If you will not help me, I will find someone in the nearest village who will.”
“That is too dangerous. Are you already forgetting Sir Guy? There may be others like him about who will consider a lone woman fine prey.”
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