Allegiance Page 2

  “Free?” Rhydderch said loudly, extricating himself from his brother’s embrace. “On what conditions? What have you given up for us?”

  Myself.

  “You’re the dowry of my newly betrothed bride.”

  Rhun put his hands on his hips and snarled. “Bride?”

  Rhydderch mimicked his brother’s stance. “Dowry?”

  Rhys opened his arms in an expansive gesture. “Be happy for me. I’m to wed the earl’s niece. And you’re to swear that you’ll never again attack the lands of the Earl of Warwick.”

  His brothers spluttered, shaking their heads.

  Rhys raised his hand in a barely perceptible gesture learned from his father. “I’ve given my word you’ll agree to this. It’s not negotiable. You will swear.” He turned to the earl. “My lord, your sword.”

  The earl beckoned the pageboy to fetch his sword. He shuffled to the edge of his chair and held the weapon before him, point down, one hand on the hilt.

  Rhys knew the twins would never agree to kneel before the Norman. He took Rhun’s right hand and placed it over the earl’s, then did the same with Rhydderch, and the two men made their oath through gritted teeth. He suspected they were wishing all the while they could wipe the smug look off the earl’s fat face, take the sword and cut off his arrogant head.

  True to Norman form, the earl offered the hospitality of his castle to the twins, but they refused. Rhys was disappointed, but not surprised. “Will you not stay for my betrothal on the morrow?”

  “We won’t watch you betrothed to a Norman,” Rhydderch hissed between gritted teeth. “It’s bad enough Carys is married to one.”

  Rhys stood between his brothers and stretched his arms across their shoulders. They walked to the door together. Speaking in Welsh, he said, “It’s the only way to peace for Wales. I pray you’ll come to see that one day. It’s unfortunate you didn’t take the earl up on his offer. You both need a bath.”

  Rhun snorted. “You’d need one too if you’d spent days in the stinking cells of Henry Beaumont.”

  The earl did not speak Welsh, but when he was certain the Norman could no longer see them, Rhys kneed his brothers in the backside, one after the other. “Go now,” he commanded.

  The glint in their eyes indicated they were definitely considering retaliation. Then they shrugged, gave him a mock punch in the arm and strode off, arms around each other’s shoulder.

  Rhys smiled at Rhun’s parting remark. “Imagine, poor Rhys, married.”

  Rhydderch’s howl of laughter echoed through the halls as they made their escape.

  Traded For Brigands

  Summoned to the solar, Annalise was apprehensive. Her uncle was putting off whatever it was he wanted to tell her. He fidgeted with his sleeves and coughed several times. She suspected it concerned a betrothal, fully aware her uncle would be busy arranging one. She was of marriageable age and could not expect to live forever as a burden to her relatives.

  However, she was stunned when he explained her betrothal to the future Prince of Powwydd. A knot tightened in her belly. “A Welshman, oncle?” she sighed in disbelief, her hopes and dreams of marrying a handsome Norman noble slipping away.

  She had grown up with a father who blamed her for his wife’s death and drank enough ale every day to render himself into oblivion. His resentment rubbed off on his son who, as soon as he was old enough, was sent to be fostered with another noble family to learn the art of war. Annalise longed for love, but she was to be given to a man whose tortuous language she couldn’t speak, a barbarian. She had heard it said that people who spoke the Celtic languages were agents of the devil.

  Her father’s excesses and inefficient management had impoverished their small estate in Normandie. Her brother was only too happy to hand over responsibility for her to their uncle. He would be hard pressed to restore the estate to anything close to what it once was. Annalise did not envy Charles that task and hoped he and his shrew of a wife would prove equal to it. He had grown into an embittered man not known for his patience. She had not wanted to stay to help him.

  Tempted to argue with her uncle, to complain and rant, she knew deep down there would be no point. Her fate was sealed. She had no choice but to agree. “What of my dowry, milord oncle?” she murmured, aware that anything he provided for her would be more than she could hope.

  The earl hesitated. He beckoned to his pageboy who helped him rise and walk over to the hearth. It was rare to see him on his feet. He stared into the cold ashes of yestereve’s fire, leaning heavily on the pageboy. She was worried. Her uncle was a decisive man, not known for reticence. He did not turn to look at her when he spoke. “Your dowry doesn’t entail any lands or titles, Annalise, but is something your future betrothed wanted very much.”

  She was puzzled. “I don’t understand. What of value am I bringing to the marriage?”

  The earl coughed, deep in his throat. “He asked only for the freedom of his two brothers.”

  A chill swept across her nape; she doubted she had heard correctly. “Freedom?”

  Her uncle averted his eyes. “They were awaiting execution in my cells.”

  Annalise was stunned. She swallowed a gasp and coughed. Her eyes watered. A dagger had been plunged into her heart. “I was traded for barbarian brigands?” she hissed. “He’s a brother to outlaws?”

  Her uncle beckoned. He put his heavy arm around her shoulders when she obeyed. It should have been comforting, but he stank of sweat and decay. “Annalise, your marriage to the future Prince of Powwydd will bring me strategic advantages. His sister is the wife of the Earl of Ellesmere. I’ve secured a pledge of freedom from attack for my territory. Rhys ap Rhodri is a noble, upright man. I’ve learned over the years that the Welsh are not a barbaric people. Your future husband does you honor in his choice. To be blunt there are not many among the nobility who would wish to wed the daughter of an impoverished and disgraced Norman baron. We’ve agreed the documents will be signed on the morrow.”

  Annalise fought the urge to cry, though tears welled and her throat was dry. The earl had unburdened himself of responsibility for her and feathered his own nest at the same time. She clutched the folds of her dress. “As you say, milord, I have no choice. I’ll obey your command and sign the betrothal documents. May I take my leave?”

  The earl took her hand. “My dear niece, Rhys ap Rhodri is a good man. He’ll treat you well. You need not fear him. I wouldn’t betroth you to him if he wasn’t worthy.”

  “I know,” she said resignedly. “It’s evident love is not his motive, since he’s never met me. I suppose every maid dreams of a loving husband.”

  He patted her hand. “You’ll be safe with him, child.”

  She clenched her fists, the nails digging into her palms. She didn’t want to be safe. She wanted to be treasured, and loved passionately, to be the most important thing in her husband’s life.

  At nineteen she had already felt the stirrings of womanly feelings and needs. She was embarrassed by the size of her breasts and had fallen into the habit of wearing sober gowns. Whenever she disrobed, she ran her hands over her body, arching her back and noting new developments. Curled up in bed with her arms clasped about her, she often dreamt she was in the embrace of a handsome, chivalrous knight. Instead, she would be dragged off to some godforsaken castle in Wales by a man she had never met.

  Betrothal

  Rhys was surprised the next morning by news that his brother-by-marriage had ridden into Warwick Castle with his retinue. He hurried to the courtyard and offered his hand as Baudoin dismounted. “What are you doing here?” he asked, though he had a suspicion Carys had urged her husband to Warwick.

  “I’ve come come on the matter of Rhun and Rhydderch’s incarceration,” Baudoin replied, accepting the handshake.

  “I’m impressed that you would try to use your influence to gain freedom for your wife’s brothers. You and your mount looked tired.”

  Baudoin nodded. “I’ve ridden hard after sail
ing from Normandie. We were fighting in King Henry’s victorious war against Duke Curthose of Normandie.”

  “Beaumont is still abed. Let’s break our fast together and you can tell me about it.”

  In the Great Hall, they helped themselves to the freshly baked bread and wedges of crumbly cheese, a tankard of ale and slices of cold mutton.

  “You and your brothers must be relieved Curthose was captured at Tinchebray,” Rhys began.

  Baudoin nodded, chewing his food. He took a gulp of ale to wash it down then recounted the story. “Oui, Robert can have closure now and hopefully get on with his life. He was one of the cohort that actually captured the duke. I’m sure he wanted to run Curthose through with his sword instead of turning him over to King Henry. My brother’s recovery has been slow since his release from Curthose’s gaol in Caen. The conditions he was kept in were intolerable. It’s a relief for all of us.

  “I had to tell Robert’s wife it was my sword that slew her treacherous brother. To be honest, I’m so fatigued, I would have preferred to stay at home in Ellesmere and rest with Carys. However, it’s for her sake I’ve come, not for your hot tempered brothers.”

  Rhys put a hand on Baudoin’s arm. “I hesitate to tell you this, but I’ve already secured their release. You can return home and take the good news to my sister.”

  Baudoin looked askance at him. “How did you manage that?”

  Rhys explained.

  Baudoin laughed. “I freely admit that’s a relief to me. I wasn’t sure how I was going to persuade the earl to free them. Carys will be overjoyed you’re to be married.”

  They sat in companionable silence, finishing their repast. Rhys stretched out his legs and rested his feet on the trestle support. “Actually, I’m happy to see you here. I would ask that you do me the honor of being my witness at the betrothal ceremony. I have no other family present, and you’re dear to my sister. You won’t have had a wasted journey after all.”

  Baudoin smiled and nodded his assent. “I’ll do so gladly. You certainly are a manipulator. I can see the advantages to you and the earl. I hope you can grow to love this woman you’ve chosen. Believe me, it’s a blessing beyond measure to share love with one’s wife. I speak not only for myself, but Dorianne’s love will help Robert to heal from his ordeal.”

  Rhys smiled and slapped Baudoin on the back. “It gladdens my heart to be assured you still care deeply for Carys. She’s worthy of nothing less. Unlike you, though, I’m not marrying for love. I’ve yet to meet my future bride. Let’s hope she’s at least somewhat attractive. We’ll soon know. Here comes the earl.”

  Beaumont lumbered in, supported by two pageboys. He gave Baudoin, a fellow Norman, a hearty if breathless greeting as he sat heavily. Baudoin wrinkled his nose, but was unfailingly polite to his host. One of the pageboys presented the document for Rhys to peruse before the ceremony. He read it, then handed the parchment to Baudoin, who looked it over before returning it to the earl.

  “I believe all is in order, my lord,” Rhys said after seeing Baudoin’s nod of approval. “The lady is in agreement?”

  The earl grimaced. “I won’t mince words with you. She’s a girl who’s had a difficult life. Being married to a Welshman wasn’t what she envisaged for her future. But she’s compliant.”

  Rhys did not like the look of pity on Baudoin’s face. His gut tightened when the earl announced his niece was to meet them for the ceremony in the Map Room forthwith. He hoped he looked presentable.

  * * *

  On the arm of her uncle, Annalise made her dignified entrance into the Map Room where Rhys and Baudoin waited. The earl walked with the aid of a carved wooden staff, but he leaned heavily on his niece and their progress was slow. This gave Rhys a chance to watch her.

  Two things surprised him. Firstly, he was struck by the beauty of his future betrothed. She was soberly dressed, but he sensed generous breasts hidden beneath the unflattering attire. Incredibly, her surcoat was almost the same shade of red as his own tunic, the slits revealing a dark blue underdress. Her golden hair peeked out from under her linen wimple and he caught a flash of blue eyes before she cast her glance to the floor.

  The second unexpected occurrence was the strength of his arousal. Thanks be to the saints the cut of his tunic was sufficiently long to cover his obvious interest. Baudoin must have noticed his discomfort. His brother-by-marriage looked from Annalise to Rhys, arched his brows and smiled.

  Rhys shifted his weight several times and tried not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. It was natural to be nervous. His father managed never to show his nervousness. Why could he not keep still?

  The earl’s words cut into his thoughts. “My dear niece, may I present to you Rhys ap Rhodri, heir to the principality of Powwydd. He is accompanied by his brother-by-marriage, Baudoin de Montbryce, Earl of Ellesmere.”

  Rhys and Baudoin both bowed to Annalise.

  The earl continued, “Lord of Powwydd, and milord Earl, may I present to you Lady Annalise de Vymont, beloved daughter of my late sister.”

  Annalise handed support of her uncle over to two pageboys and curtseyed deeply, but she remained silent, eyes downcast, mouth tightly drawn. Hoping to ease her obvious struggle for control, Rhys took her hand and said in French, “Please rise, my lady, I’m delighted to meet you.”

  His heart was racing too fast. He felt the warmth of her hand in his and fervently hoped the odor of ale had not lingered on his breath and that he’d brushed all the cheese crumbs off his chin.

  “Milord of Pow—weed,” she murmured, her tongue tripping over the foreign name.

  Her lush voice made his name sound exotic. He felt like an untried boy, his thoughts in a muddle. “We’re to be betrothed, you must call me Rhys.”

  “Oui, milord,” she replied without looking at him.

  “And I shall call you Annalise,” he said, chagrined that this golden-haired beauty had not offered that intimacy. He must give her time to adjust to the unexpected betrothal. They would grow to be friends. At least his body had no trouble responding to her.

  “As you wish, milord,” she replied demurely, still not looking at him.

  The earl waddled over to a chair and sat down heavily, his breathing labored. He cleared his throat, coughing up phlegm which he spat into the rushes at his feet, narrowly missing the pageboy. “Gentlemen, you’ve perused the betrothal document and found it in order, I trust? I therefore request your signatures. As you see, I’ve signed already.”

  Rhys carried the document to the chart table, dipped the quill in the ink, and signed his full name—Rhys ap Rhodri ap Owain ap Dafydd ap Gwilym, Lord of Powwydd. Hopefully, no-one had noticed the tremor in his hand. He straightened and stared at the parchment. Baudoin good-naturedly elbowed him out of the way and witnessed as Baudoin de Montbryce, Second Earl of Ellesmere.

  When Baudoin offered the quill to Annalise, inviting her to sign, she stared blankly at Rhys’s signature.

  Rhys sensed her discomfort and the reason for it. “My lady, you’re wondering about my signature. We Welsh are a strange breed. Instead of listing our lands and titles, we list our forefathers. I am the son of Rhodri, who was the son of Owain, son of Dafydd, son of Gwilym. Our pride is in our heritage.”

  He took her hand and lightly drew her fingers over the names he had written, wanting her to understand. She flushed and nodded. “I understand, milord.”

  She accepted the chair he offered and slowly signed her name, Annalise Gertrude Francine de Vymont. She turned to look up at Rhys and explained, “Gertrude was my mother’s name.”

  Her voice, uttering the first words spoken willingly, swept over him like a warm wave. His heart beat faster and his erection hardened, the ache pleasurably intense. What in the name of all the saints was wrong with Rhys the calm and cool diplomat? He was awash in the blue depths of her eyes. This was no good. Losing control was unfamiliar territory.

  “I trust, my lady, we can conclude our business in one month’s time from this day?”


  She flinched, making him wish he could take back the cold words. Instead, he compounded his stupidity by turning away from her and addressing the earl. “Here at Warwick, perhaps?”

  “Granted,” his host replied. “We’ll have everything in readiness.”

  “As you wish, milord,” Annalise said, bobbing a curtsey before she swept from the room, head high, back straight.

  Rhys couldn’t take his eyes off the sway of her hips.

  * * *

  It was only as she hurried to her chamber, heart hammering, that Annalise realized the entire betrothal process had been conducted in flawless Norman French.

  Her first glimpse of her future husband had been a shock. She had expected a crude barbarian clad in rustic clothing. The masculine confidence emanating from his tall, well-muscled body and the rich cut of his clothing had overwhelmed her. He liked red too. She hoped her mouth had not fallen open. She had been afraid to look into those green eyes. He must think her an idiot, barely able to speak, but her mouth had suddenly gone exceedingly dry. She could think of no words to say. The warmth of his hand had flooded into her body.

  Sensing her confusion over the signature that made no sense to her, Rhys had explained it kindly, and the touch of his hand as he traced her fingertip over his name had made her heart race. She grudgingly admired his obvious pride in his heritage.

  She reached her chamber and slammed the door behind her. Despite being raised in a household devoid of love, she was outgoing and quick to smile. However, she made up her mind to be cool toward this man who had essentially bought her from her uncle. She had been traded for two outlaws so that a remote principality could have heirs. She would acquiesce because she had no choice, but she did have control over how she behaved towards him.

  Careful

  Baudoin left shortly after the documents were signed, but Rhys stayed on at the castle for a few more days. Most of his time was taken up in discussions with the earl regarding border issues. He saw little of Annalise and when they did spend time together she was unfailingly polite, but cool. He tried to impart to her something of his llys at Powwydd, but worried about the apprehension on her face at the mention of being taken there. He told her about his family. Anger blazed in her blue eyes as soon as he mentioned Rhun and Rhydderch. She was clearly aware of the terms of her dowry. He decided not to press the issue.