Defiant Passion Page 7

  She seemed taken aback for a moment, and then sneered, “And what of your precious Rhonwen, will she come to your bed chaste? I think not.”

  Rhodri grasped her wrists and forced her to her knees. His voice was quietly menacing. “Nothing about Rhonwen should concern you. She is light where you are darkness, joy where you are hatred, innocence where you are corruption. Beware what you say and do while you remain here.”

  He released her hands. “Go to your chamber.”

  Morwenna went as she was ordered, but glared at him defiantly, intense hatred in her eyes.

  She’ll seek revenge for my turning to Rhonwen.

  “She must be watched at all times,” he told Andras. “And the Norman.”

  “It will be done,” his friend replied. “I never trusted either of them.”

  ***

  That evening, as she sat on his broad lap, Rhodri told Rhonwen that he had banished Morwenna from his life. The evil woman would be leaving as soon as the weather broke.

  “It’s still many sennights away,” she murmured, returning his gentle kisses.

  “I’m having both her and the Norman watched.”

  Rhonwen imparted this news to the other hostages when she returned to their chamber but did not tell them how Rhodri had lovingly caressed her breasts, or how he had made her nipples harden with the strokes of his calloused hands. She mentioned nothing of the wanton feelings these actions had wrought in her, but she did share that Rhodri had again proclaimed his love.

  ***

  “The Norman sleeps in Morwenna’s chamber nightly,” Andras reported.

  Rhodri shrugged. “I don’t care, my friend. So long as the two of them stay away from the hostages, they can rut to their heart’s content.”

  He wished he could go to Rhonwen’s chamber, but the other hostages were there. Rhonwen would never accept a chamber of her own when her noble mistress had to sleep with her maid. “Bring the healer to my chamber.”

  Andras hesitated. “What is this woman to you, Rhodri?”

  Rhodri chuckled. Andras was one of the few who had the temerity to use his given name. They had grown up together. “She’s to be my wife, Andras.”

  His friend’s eyes widened, but he smiled, nodded and left.

  Rhonwen entered a while later. Would his body always react as strongly to her presence? This time he did not wait for her to come to him at the chair. He strode to her side, lifted her into his arms and returned to the chair. She giggled and put her arms around his neck.

  His lovemaking began with gentle kisses and progressed slowly to stroking and then suckling her breasts. He knew she could feel his erection against her bottom and sensed she wanted to touch him, but was too shy. Slowly he caressed the inside of her thigh beneath the woollen tunic. He had never been overly concerned in the past about a woman’s pleasure, but now he derived great satisfaction out of Rhonwen’s delight in the new found awareness of her body.

  “I want to bring you pleasure, Rhonwen. Let me touch you.”

  “Your touch brings me more pleasure than I’ve ever known,” she whispered. He could tell she didn’t know what he intended to do.

  Throaty murmurs escaped her as he stroked further and further up her thighs, until his fingers found the tight black curls of her mons. Still suckling her breast, he parted her thighs and stroked the swelling bud with his thumb. Her eyes flew open and she almost fell off his lap, but he held her firmly and continued to stroke.

  “Hush, my sweet Rhonwen. I won’t hurt you. Come for me.”

  She soon gasped his name, lost in the ecstasy of her release. For long moments he cradled her, rocking gently, his heart full.

  She recovered from her euphoria and her face reddened when she saw she was sprawled on his lap with her tunic up around her hips, her legs open.

  “Nothing we do here is wrong, my love. You’re my woman, and I want only to give you pleasure. When you’re mine completely, I’ll show you ways to paradise that will make tonight pale in comparison.”

  He felt her body heat at his words. He brought her to release after release that night, slowly sliding his fingers inside her. She cried out with intoxication and surrendered completely to the passion he was patiently teaching her to enjoy.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  At the Winter Solstice, Rhodri’s people held a ceremony to honour the sun. Rhonwen explained to Robert and Baudoin this was to encourage the sun god to come back someday.

  Despite the remoteness of the fortress, it was well supplied. It had its own large communal kitchens made of stone which were separate from the wooden structure. There were two huge fireplaces for cooking. Most of the meals were surprisingly good and food was plentiful, but at Yuletide they enjoyed a special banquet, which began with mulled cider, followed by venison and fenberry pie. Giselle wondered aloud where they would have gathered fenberries. Rhonwen explained they grew readily in the bogs of Wales.

  Both the Countess and her maid almost fell off their bench when a roasted boar’s head was carried in. “At least this one isn’t green and yellow,” they exclaimed together.

  Giselle reddened. “Everyone is looking at us strangely, wondering what we’re laughing at.”

  Rhonwen too smiled inwardly, recalling similar feasts at Ellesmere Castle.

  An oak log was burned for twelve hours using the remains of the previous year’s log to light it. Rhonwen explained that the people would keep the remnants for next year, but the ashes would be saved to spread on the fields in the valleys below at the time of planting. This would encourage a good harvest.

  Robert gazed around, his eyes wide. “What’s the branch with spiky green leaves on the doors?”

  Rhonwen smiled. “It’s holly. The Welsh believe the evergreen with its blood red berries is a sign of fertility, and its spikes will capture evil spirits before they enter.”

  Robert frowned. “What’s fertility?”

  Rhonwen blushed and glanced at the Countess. She and the maid were suppressing giggles. Rhonwen cleared her throat. “Fertility—it means life.”

  She was relieved Robert seemed satisfied as he returned his attention to his food.

  As the New Year neared, Rhodri was the one to go outside before midnight and be the first to enter the neuadd after midnight.

  Baudoin had dozed off in Giselle’s arms. Robert yawned, half asleep. “Why is he carrying bread and a log?”

  Rhonwen replied, “Because it’s good luck for a tall, dark and handsome man, bearing food and fuel, to be the first inside the door.” Her heart raced as she spoke the words. This tall, dark and handsome man could be hers.

  That first night of the year, after watching Rhodri stride in confidently when the massive door opened to his insistent pounding, Rhonwen also had a dream. She and Rhodri were making love. It was so vivid, she was afraid she had cried out her passion. She awoke to find her hands pressed to her most intimate place. But she felt no shame. Rhodri had taught her things about her own body she had never known and unleashed feelings she had been unaware of.

  If only it could be.

  ***

  Robert and Baudoin were growing boys who often became restless with their captivity. With her lady’s permission, Rhonwen was teaching them Welsh, and they were proving to be good at it. The women also learned a few words as they listened to the lessons. They passed the time sewing and weaving with the Welsh women in the camp, or spinning wool with a drop spindle.

  The weather was usually foul and they were unable to spend much time outdoors. Rhodri and his men seemed impervious to the bitter cold, and spent hours honing their fighting skills in the frigid mountain meadow, keeping in good physical condition. The Norman women were amazed by the cleanliness and grooming of the Welshmen when they came to the hall, despite the fact they spent many hours in physical activity. The hostages were provided with hot water whenever they asked for it.

  The Welsh boys were included in the training and were equipped with small wooden swords, daggers and shields with which t
o learn the rudiments of self defence and attack. One day, Rhodri asked the Countess’s permission to include Robert and Baudoin in the boys’ training sessions. He brought with him a sword, dagger and shield for each of them. Rhonwen noted he had waited until the boys were with their mother. Their eyes lit up when they caught sight of the miniature wooden weapons.

  “Maman,” Robert pleaded, “please say we can go.”

  The Countess looked puzzled. “They do grow bored, and they would benefit from the activity, but isn’t it strange for you to want to train the sons of your enemy?”

  Rhodri shook his head. “There’s no honour in defeating an unworthy enemy. The Earl is a worthy opponent, as his sons will be.”

  The Countess consented, and her sons became Rhodri’s pupils in the arts of swordplay and raiding warfare. They loved it and were full of tales of their prowess when they returned.

  The women worried about the unborn child. Rhonwen did what she could for her lady. Rhodri had told her she had only to ask for herbs and the like and they would be supplied. He was true to his word. She thanked God the child seemed to thrive and grow, despite the constant worry of Giroux’s presence and the terrible uncertainty. Morwenna and the Norman were seen rarely, but he was still there.

  The Countess had entered her ninth month when she experienced sudden hard labour in the hall. She collapsed to the floor with a strident shriek as the pain hit her.

  Rhonwen could see the panic in her eyes. “This didn’t happen before,” the Countess gasped.

  Rhonwen and Giselle rushed to help her, but it was Rhodri who reached her first, lifting her effortlessly despite her bulk and carrying her to his own chamber.

  “Fetch the midwife,” he yelled to no one in particular.

  “You’ll have privacy here, Countess.” He laid her on his own bed. She expressed her thanks that her children would not have to witness her labours, then the pain hit again. She vomited.

  “I’ll send clean linens. Warrior I may be, but I’ve no intention of involving myself in this battle for life.”

  ***

  The hours crawled by as screams echoed around the fortress. Mabelle de Montbryce called her husband’s name over and over, not in recrimination, as Rhodri had heard people say women did in the midst of childbirth, but with longing and regret. He shut out the image of his beloved Rhonwen undergoing the same agony for him, but trusted in his heart she would call his name with love when the time came.

  Suddenly silence reigned. His heart plummeted. He would be truly sorry if the courageous Norman noblewoman had died bearing her child. The Earl of Ellesmere must love this remarkable woman and would seek revenge. A simple plan had become too complicated. He cared for these people he should hate.

  Then a thin wail pierced the still night air. Rhodri smiled at the immense relief he felt that at least the child lived.

  An hour later, he was enjoying a tankard of ale with Andras in the neuadd when Rhonwen appeared, carrying a bundle. It was a tiny baby girl, wrapped in swaddling cloths and a brychan. She moved the coverings away from the babe’s face.

  “She can only stay a few minutes. She’s come into the world early, and needs to be with her mother, but I thought you’d want to see her.”

  Rhodri came to his feet and took the bundle, looking down at Rhonwen. He was in awe of the love on her face for this child of another woman. “The babe is fair, like her mother. The lady lives then? She has survived her ordeal?”

  “Yes, she’s strong. She’s lost a lot of blood and will need to rest, but I’m confident she and the child will flourish.”

  “She had a good healer to assist her,” he said lovingly.

  “No, the skill of the midwife saved them both,” Rhonwen replied modestly. “And her own stubborn determination.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A sennight later, Mabelle de Montbryce had recovered sufficiently to come to the hall for a meal. She brought the newborn for all to see. Rhonwen carried the babe around proudly as people commented on the fairness of the blonde child, who was already thriving. After a while, people drifted away, off to their beds. Only Rhodri and the captives remained.

  Suddenly, Morwenna rushed in, brandishing a dagger, her distorted face reddened with rage. “You’re mad,” she screamed at Rhodri. “This is the spawn of a Norman invader, a man you hate.”

  Rhonwen’s blood ran cold. She clutched the babe more tightly, knowing the infant would be the first target. She was prepared when the lunge came and evaded Morwenna’s thrust. Rhodri jumped to his feet and ran to disarm the madwoman, twisting her wrist. The dagger clattered to the floor. Morwenna sprawled at his feet sobbing and screeching, pounding the planking with her fists.

  In the noise and confusion, no one noticed Phillippe de Giroux enter the room. He crept stealthily in the shadows towards the Countess and her sons, sword drawn. She screamed when she finally saw him. “Mes fils! Robert, Baudoin!”

  Phillippe grabbed her by the hair and forced her to her knees. “Tais-toi, Valtesse bitch. You’ll watch in silence while I dispatch your wretched spawn to Hades, and then I’ll kill you. Your cursed father turned my father into a raving lunatic who made life a living hell for his children.”

  He raised his sword. Rhonwen clasped the babe more tightly and gasped in horror at the sight of the sharp blade poised to behead Robert. The boy stood rooted to the spot.

  “Non!” the Countess shrieked.

  Suddenly, Phillippe’s rabid eyes lost their focus. His death grip slackened. His disbelieving gaze fell to the dagger Rhodri had thrown, embedded deep in his chest. He dropped his sword and slumped lifeless to the floor. The Countess lunged for Robert, clutching her son tightly, sobbing.

  “Phillippe!” Morwenna sprang to her feet and picked up the weapon forced from her hand. She ran towards Rhodri who had crouched to retrieve his dagger from Philippe’s body. He cursed as she thrust the blade, but was able to deflect the blow as he lost his balance. The steel sliced into his bicep.

  Giselle gathered up the wide-eyed Baudoin. Rhonwen rushed to place the new born infant into the safety of her sobbing mother’s arms, and ran to aid Rhodri, struggling with the frenzied Morwenna. Rhonwen grabbed the hair of the woman who had murdered her mother, determined not to let her slay Rhodri. She yanked hard, infuriated Rhodri had been wounded.

  Morwenna turned her attention and her wrath onto Rhonwen, who bolted and ran out, down the passageway and through the gate to the outside. She stopped abruptly, confronted by a blanket of thick fog. Morwenna was in pursuit. She had to keep going, though she had no idea where she was running, having been outside rarely during her captivity.

  She felt her way along the wooden palisades, happy she had drawn Morwenna away from the man she loved. She could hear the demonic woman screaming and cursing not far behind. The mist cleared for a moment. She was standing on a narrow precipice with only the palisades behind her. Before her yawned the chasm of the ravine.

  I’m standing on the edge of the world.

  She spread-eagled her body against the palisades, clutching at the rough bark, and raised her face, trusting her fate to the spirits of the mountains. Power surged through her.

  A manic Morwenna appeared out of the smothering fog and attacked. Rhonwen looked into the other woman’s eyes. Death lurked there. They struggled briefly, but Rhonwen felt no fear. Suddenly Morwenna slipped, fell and was gone, swallowed silently by the stoic mountains.

  “I didn’t hear her scream,” Rhonwen thought numbly. “Surely, she must have screamed?”

  She braced her back against the palisades, digging her nails into the bark of the wooden pilings, panting hard and now afraid to move. She might freeze or faint if she did not get inside. She was not sure which way to go when she heard Rhodri calling her name. Reciting incantations whose meaning she did not understand, she edged her way along the precipice towards the sound of his voice, until she stumbled into him. He grabbed her away from danger and crushed her to his body. “You’re safe now, my Rhonwen,
you’re safe. I have you.”

  A sob racked her. “Morwenna is dead.” She reached out her frozen hand to touch the blood oozing from his arm. “You’re bleeding, Rhodri. She’s cut you. I must see to your wound.”

  But dizziness overwhelmed her and she fainted.

  Rhodri took her to his chamber, removed her clothes and massaged her body with rosemary oil to warm her. Gradually her teeth stopped chattering and she regained her wits. He covered her with furs and blankets and sat by her bedside until she stopped shaking.

  Later, Rhonwen stitched his wound and applied a healing salve of lady’s mantle.

  He kissed her cheek. “Your stitches are so delicate, I’ll bear but the faintest scar.”

  The small gap it would cause in the Celtic knot designs etched into his biceps would be hardly visible and unnoticed by most. She couldn’t believe he barely flinched as she plied the needle through his flesh.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Three sennights later, a sudden thaw made it possible for Aneurin ap Norweg and his men to make their way from the village of Llansilin, where they had spent the intervening months, to Cadair Berwyn. He delivered the reply from the Earl of Ellesmere to the ransom note sent by Rhodri.

  To the Prince of Powwydd

  Be informed the Earl of Ellesmere agrees to pay in full the ransom demanded for his family and servants but proposes an exchange at the border village of Rhydycroesau.

  Safe passage is to be guaranteed by both parties.

  The chests of coins will be carried to the middle of the bridge and left there.

  The hostages will walk to the chests with an unarmed escort who will verify the contents and carry the ransom into Wales.

  The Earl gives his word for his part of the bargain and trusts Rhodri ap Owain to do the same.

  As he read again the ransom reply, signed by the Earl and bearing his seal, Rhodri sent for Rhonwen. He had already dispatched a message back to Ellesmere, agreeing to the exchange, and detailing the date and time.