Star-Crossed

by Markland, Anna

  Robert adjusted his leggings, and finished fastening his shirt and doublet. “She’s getting better. I’m helping make sure of it.”

  Baudoin snorted. “No doubt! Listen, Robert, I need to speak with you. You’re probably the only person who will understand a predicament I find myself in.”

  “It’s Carys, isn’t it?”

  Baudoin chuckled, and ran his hand over his forehead. “Is it so obvious? I thought we’d been careful. But I love her, Robert. I’ve been drawn to her from the moment I first met her years ago when she was thirteen. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Her smile was dazzling. She had a dark Celtic mystery that intrigued me.”

  Robert laughed. “What you mean is your lance saluted as soon as you saw her.”

  Baudoin looked sheepish. “Well, oui, but she was attracted to me, too. I could tell.”

  “But she was thirteen, Baudoin, too young to understand what happens between men and women.”

  Baudoin shook his head. “Maybe, but don’t forget she’s the daughter of a healer who’s very open on such topics. Anyway, she’s not thirteen now. If you can marry a Giroux, why can’t I marry Rhodri’s daughter? Her father is the Prince of Powwydd, even if he’s our father’s sworn enemy.”

  Robert nodded. “But Papa is aware, as we all are, that Rhodri has not attacked any of our lands since he married Rhonwen, out of respect for our mother.”

  Baudoin snickered. “Rhonwen would have something to say if he did attack Ellesmere. She’s visited here frequently over the years. We’re the closest thing she has to family.”

  “And Papa is the one who has tacitly allowed safe passage for the Welshmen who’ve accompanied her and her children.”

  They walked along the corridor as Baudoin continued. “Rhodri held the two of us for ransom, but I hold no rancor towards him, nor do you. Let’s admit it—we liked him.”

  They paused when they reached Baudoin’s chamber. Robert turned to his brother. “You managed to manipulate our mother into asking Papa to let Carys stay at the castle permanently as one of the resident healers.”

  Baudoin smiled. “Rhonwen has passed on many of her skills to her daughter, and I convinced them that surely the castle folk would benefit. She’s inherited her mother’s mystical abilities to heal. Eventually Papa conceded. I’m sure Maman had her suspicions about my motivation. I don’t know if our parents are aware of it, but Carys and I often meet each other secretly here at Ellesmere.”

  Robert arched his brows and frowned. “Oh, they probably do know. Carys has grown from a lovely girl into a beautiful young woman.”

  Baudoin became wistful. “Maybe I’ve found the one thing I believed I never would, something our parents have.”

  Robert shook his head. “The challenges facing you will be enormous.” Then he laughed and slapped his brother on the back. “What a strange family we are, don’t you think? We’re the sons of two people who flout the norm and actually love each other. Caedmon is besotted with his Agneta, and you and I have had the unusual great fortune to fall in love with women we want to marry—though it seems we have chosen the most difficult path possible. It’s the Montbryce family curse! Look at Rhoni. Could there have been a more unlikely choice than Ronan?”

  Baudoin put his arm around his brother’s shoulder and laughed with him. “And what about our uncles—Hugh with his Devona and Antoine with Sybilla. You’ll have no objection then to my speaking to our parents? It’s not too soon after the shock you’ve given them?”

  Robert’s facial expression changed and he became serious. “We’ll soon be embroiled in the conflict between Henry and Curthose. Take this opportunity and seize your happiness.”

  Possession

  Ram was angry. “Baudoin, this is too much. First your brother comes with the notion of marrying a Giroux and now you want to marry the daughter of my sworn enemy. Rhodri will fight this to the bitter end. He’ll never agree to your marriage, and if he does, his hot-headed sons won’t. Your pursuit of Carys could resurrect the hostilities we’ve had the good fortune to live without for many years.”

  Baudoin clenched his jaw. They rarely argued, but now his son responded angrily. “Am I then the only Montbryce not to be allowed to wed for love? You’re quick to boast how fortunate you are to be a man who loves his wife, and yet you would deny me the possibility?”

  Ram felt his rheumatic knees would not support him much longer. “But are you sure you love her? And does she feel the same? Has she considered the ramifications?” he asked, wondering if he had ever seen his youngest son so animated.

  “Mon père,” Baudoin replied indignantly, “I’m not a child. I’m a man. I was man enough to accompany you to Constantinople on your perilous search for Caedmon, I’m man enough to be the heir apparent to Ellesmere, a castle I’m more or less running already, yet you don’t judge me man enough to recognize love when it stabs me in the heart?”

  Ram watched Mabelle struggle to sort out her mixed feelings. But Baudoin was right, and he sensed Mabelle knew it.

  “Baudoin,” his mother said softly, “your father and I are happy for your love of Carys. We’re not as young and resilient as we used to be, and sudden shocks are more difficult to accept. I believe it would be rather wonderful if we had a double wedding. Seeing both my sons happily married would be a bright spot in an otherwise rather desperate time.”

  “Thank you, maman,” Baudoin replied, embracing her. “So, Papa, do I have your blessing also?”

  Ram shrugged and said, “Evidently I’m not the head of my own household.” But he smiled as he said, “Oui, but you must now seek out Rhodri.”

  * * *

  The first person Baudoin sought out was Carys. “You know how much I want you. It takes all my control not to rip the clothes off your body and make love to you. But I’ve held back, fearing we could never be together and I didn’t want to keep you as my mistress. My parents have at long last given us their blessing. Will you come now to my chamber?”

  Carys gasped. “I’ve longed to make you mine, Baudoin. I’ve dreamt of it often and the intensity of my dreams has been—”

  Baudoin understood Carys’s deep Celtic belief in the power of her dreams. He kissed her, elated at how readily she became aroused. She parted her lips for him and he savored the warmth of her mouth, the tempting taste of peppermint. They broke apart and walked arm in arm to his chamber. He unwound the wimple from her hair and inhaled deeply as he ran his fingers through it. “What is the scent in your hair?”

  She smiled. “It’s elder flowers, and burdock root.”

  “Soft,” he murmured, nuzzling her nape.

  He put his hands on her hips and removed the tabard she wore when she worked. “Take off your gown, Carys. I want to look upon you.”

  She stooped to grasp the hem of her frock and raised her arms to lift the garment over her head. His mouth went dry as the fabric whispered against her skin. Though her chemise was ample, he could see the outline of her breasts. The hard pebbles of her nipples were clearly discernible. He had fondled them before in stolen moments and pressed his lips to them, but had never seen her naked. He was afraid if he spoke now, his voice would fail him.

  Without him asking, never taking her eyes from his, and without shame or shyness, she quickly removed the chemise and stood proudly before him.

  He swallowed hard. “You are magnificent, Carys. So natural and so free. Will you undress me now?”

  She smiled and flared her nostrils.

  His heart thudded in his ears. He had removed his doublet and now wore only his shirt, leggings and braies. She tugged the linen shirt over his head, and ran her healing hands over the muscles of his chest. When she glanced up at him, he sensed she was hesitant to remove the rest of his clothing. He took her hands in his and placed them on his waist, helping her pull the leggings down over his hips. As he stepped out of his leggings, she blushed and placed her hands on his chest.

  He put his hands on her hips. “Untie my braies, Carys�
�please,” he coaxed, looking into her eyes.

  She peeled the braies from his body. Her breath caught when his shaft sprang free of the confines of the linen, fully erect. For a moment, she looked afraid.

  He gathered her into his embrace her, pulling their bodies together, his manhood pressed against her belly. The warmth of her skin penetrated to his core. “Don’t worry, my love. It will be all right. I want to worship you with my body. I’ve burned for you.”

  His words seemed to have a soothing effect on her and she swayed against him. He leaned away, took hold of his shaft and slid it between her legs. His Celtic beauty was warm and wet for him, and it was all he could do not to thrust into her. He was breathing too fast, his heart racing.

  She moaned when he rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger.

  “Carys,” he whispered, brushing his lips over hers. He wanted this woman more than he had ever wanted anything, but he would not shame her. He wanted her to bear his children, but as his rightful heirs, not his bastards.

  He took her hand. “Carys, I’m going to make you mine, only mine. But I don’t intend to plant my seed within you yet. I’ll only do that when we’re married.”

  He was sure she understood what he meant, but likely didn’t realize what such an action would cost him. He scooped her up and laid her on his bed where she stretched innocently, her eyes bright, like a cat begging to be stroked and petted. He lay down beside her and suckled, letting his fingers roam over her stomach, down her thighs, around her navel, up her neck, down her spine. He suckled harder and harder as his need grew, his teeth grazing the rock-hard nipple.

  She growled, raking her fingers along his scalp. When he stroked her intimate place, it took only seconds for her lush body to arch and she convulsed with the strength of her release.

  He held her tightly until her breathing slowed, his head on her breast.

  “I’ve ached for you to touch me there,” she whispered.

  He looked up.

  Her passion-glazed eyes held only trust and desire. She nodded and opened her legs wider.

  He dipped his fingers carefully in her hot wetness, then raised his body over her and slowly entered, pushing past the barrier.

  She cried out, her eyes filling with tears.

  He stopped, and waited, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait long. “Tell me when I can move again. I need to move,” he rasped.

  “You can move, my love,” she whispered.

  He began slowly, but as he felt the heat build inside her tight passage, he thrust harder and harder, deeper and deeper.

  She matched his rhythm. Her muscles clenched on him when her second release overwhelmed her. Her guttural cries made his heart soar as she reveled in his possession. Her eyes held a look of triumph.

  He wanted to stay inside this woman, to possess her completely, but he could not. He wrenched from her and spilled on her belly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He buried his head in the pillow not wanting her to see him grit his teeth in frustration. His body had found release, but his heart was unsatisfied.

  As if she sensed his unease, she drew his head to rest again on her breasts, stroking his hair, holding him close, crooning a Welsh lullaby. He had died and gone to heaven. When he touched the sheen on her belly, she put her hand on his and lazily traced her finger through the glistening wetness. “Sticky,” she murmured.

  Renewed interest stirred in his groin.

  “I’m yours now, Baudoin,” she whispered.

  “You’ve always been mine, Carys. When we’re married, I’ll pump my seed as far inside you as I can, not spill on your belly.”

  He kissed her forehead, rose from the bed and went to get water and a linen cloth.

  “I want to send a message to your father,” he said as he cleansed her, then wiped the faint traces of her maiden’s blood from his shaft. “It’s time.”

  She rose up on her knees and clung to him. “Oh Baudoin,” she cried. “What if he doesn’t agree?”

  He held her tightly, inhaling the clean scent of her hair, stroking her back. There were difficulties ahead, but they had to be faced. Carys would never marry him if her father objected. “On the morrow, I’ll write a letter, requesting a meeting. We’ll find a messenger who can take it to him. Do you know where he is?”

  “Yes, he’s in the border village of Rhydycroesau,” she replied.

  He laughed. “That’s auspicious. It’s the last place I saw him, after we were ransomed.”

  * * *

  Baudoin’s heartbeat thrummed through Carys. She wanted to believe they would marry, but had she been so caught up in her deep need to mate with him that she had allowed him to take her maidenhead prematurely? Her heart’s reasoning had obscured the truth of the matter. Rhodri ap Owain would probably rather die than see his daughter wed to a Norman. He had spent his life fighting them.

  Her heart had also reasoned that because Baudoin’s parents had given their blessing—something she had despaired of—then perhaps her parents too would agree. She was the daughter of a Welsh prince. In the Norman world she might be a lowly healer, but in Wales she was a princess.

  She believed Baudoin was her destiny. Her dreams had led her to this, and she knew her father trusted in the power of dreams. He, too, believed in destiny. He had often described to his children his dream of the goddess Arianrhod that had convinced him Rhonwen would be his wife, despite the difficulties they faced. Her father was a warrior, her mother a woman of peace. Royal blood flowed through Rhodri’s veins. Rhonwen was the illegitimate daughter of a Welshwoman and a Saxon nobleman. Yet their passion and love for each other had overruled.

  What would her brothers say? Rhys, the diplomat, would see the benefit of such a marriage in political terms. Twins Rhun and Rhydderch would be furious. Her elder sister, Myfanwy Mabelle, the prioress—Carys did not know her well enough to predict what her opinion would be.

  She had no guilt feelings. She had wanted to possess Baudoin, but she worried what he would do if Rhodri refused permission. It would break her heart, but what would it do to the gentle man she loved?

  Goodbye Carys

  When Rhodri received Baudoin’s missive, he knew exactly what was afoot. After dropping many hints, Rhonwen had finally told him of Carys’s confession of her love for Baudoin.

  It rankled that his daughter would want to wed a Norman, and he hoped she had not already been shamed. However, he was a believer in the power of destiny, and if this was Carys’s destiny, he could not stand in its way. He was reading the letter over when his eldest son entered the room.

  “What have you got there?” Rhys asked.

  Rhodri showed him the letter. “Baudoin wants to wed Carys.”

  Rhys thought for a while before he spoke. “We already have fairly good relations with the Earl of Ellesmere because of you and Mother—well, because of Mother anyway. An alliance can’t hurt us. But it will mean she’ll have to remain in England, and the political situation between Normandie and England is unstable at best. The Anglo-Normans try to serve two masters. Some day they’ll need to choose between the King of the English and the Duke of the Normans and reports are that war is in the air. We may be putting her into the lion’s den.”

  Rhun and Rhydderch had entered the room while he was speaking. Both men folded their arms across their chests as they listened to Rhys, but it was Rhun who spoke first. “Aren’t we gathered here to plan strategy for the next round of raids into England, and against footholds the Normans have gained in Wales? Why are we discussing Carys?”

  “What are we talking about?” Rhydderch asked. “Putting Carys in what lion’s den?”

  These red-headed twins were volatile and Rhodri anticipated a strong reaction. He explained the situation to them, seeing their tempers rising.

  “You must be mad to consider this, Father. A Norman,” Rhydderch spat.

  Rhodri held up his hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “What if she loves him, my boys, what then? If your mother hadn’t fo
llowed her destiny, her love for me, none of you would be here today. And I know Baudoin. He was my pupil.”

  Rhun shook his head vehemently. “I can’t condone it.”

  “It’s not your decision,” his father reminded him. “It’s mine.”

  The redheads glowered, their tattooed arms still folded in defiance. But they respected his word as law. He would decide Carys’s fate. They might not like his decision, but they would not challenge it.

  * * *

  There was no mist as Rhodri and his three sons watched Baudoin and Carys ride across the uneven cobblestones of the bridge at Rhydycroesau.

  Baudoin reined his horse to a halt in front of his former captor. “I haven’t crossed this particular bridge into Wales since the kidnapping. How many years is it now?” He smiled at Carys and dismounted. “I remember waving goodbye to your father. I was clutching the wooden shield he had given me in one hand and holding Giselle’s hand with the other.”

  Rhodri dismounted. “More than twenty, give or take,” he replied.

  Baudoin helped Carys down from her mare. The others remained on their horses. Carys walked to her father and embraced him. “Thank you for coming,” she said in Welsh.

  He kissed her forehead. He was proud of his beautiful daughter. She looked well, if nervous. He did not offer his hand to Baudoin, but asked in Welsh, “How is my little Norman warrior?”

  “I’m hale, my teacher,” the Norman responded in Welsh. “I’ve come to ask for Carys’s hand in marriage.”

  Rhodri shifted his stance—straight to business then. He remained silent for several minutes, staring at Baudoin. When he spoke there was no teasing in his expression. “If you harm my daughter, Norman, I will kill you. I’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth and I’ll kill you slowly and painfully.”

  Baudoin looked directly at him. “I love her. I’ve always loved her, you know that. I won’t harm her.”