“Oh Ram, I’ve loved you from the first moment we met, but I was too full of fear and resentment about the past to admit it.”
He grinned, then swept her up in his arms and mounted his horse with her in front of him. “Giselle, please bring my daughter to me.”
He nestled the infant into the sling her mother still wore.
“It’s good to hold another babe,” he rasped.
Mabelle leaned back against her husband’s chest and the warmth of his body banished the chill.
“What of Rhonwen?” he asked. “Are we to wait for her?”
“She’s gone back to Rhodri. She loves him. They are destined to be together.”
His body tensed. “Rhodri ap Owain and Rhonwen?”
“Oui. They too share a conquering passion.”
Ram shook his head. “To Ellesmere then,” he commanded.
Rhonwen heard the horses leaving on the English side of the bridge. With them went her family, her security. Though the Montbryces were not blood kin, they had come to mean much to her. Ahead of her waited the man she loved with a force that threatened to consume her. She stopped before the end of the bridge and took a deep breath to clear her head. Her hand went to the fine amber necklace Rhodri had given her on their first night together, a token of his love. Was she making the right decision? Would he care she was the bastard daughter of a Saxon lord? He was of proud noble descent.
Suddenly Rhodri emerged from the mist. He had heard the Normans leave. She stood alone in the swirling mist. “Rhonwen? Is it you or a trick of my eyes?”
She smiled nervously. “It’s me.”
Rhodri grinned and folded his arms across his chest. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me. I had to see for myself you were gone. I trust in the power of my dreams.”
Rhonwen held out her hands, shivering with cold. He took off his sheepskin and wrapped it around her, enfolding her like a tiny doll in his arms.
“Rhodri,” she began nervously, “I must tell you something. You need to know that my father—well—he was a Saxon. He wasn’t married to my mother. You’re a prince—”
He looked into her eyes. “The real reason for your reluctance to stay suddenly becomes clear to me. You thought I’d be ashamed of your origins, your bloodlines.”
Rhonwen nodded, biting her lip.
He tilted her chin. “Look at me and hear me well. I’ll never mention her name again, but Morwenna’s parents were both Welsh, both of noble blood, and yet she was as corrupt and rotten as a worm-eaten apple. You are purity, gentleness and goodness, and I need you to bring light to the darkness of my life. Being a champion for my people is not an easy burden.”
She saw the sincerity and need in his eyes and hers filled with tears.
“Hush, hush, Rhonwen, my Rhonwen,” he whispered. “Mi wnaf dy garu di am byth.”
“As I will love you, forever, Rhodri,” she replied, elated he loved her so much her parentage didn’t matter.
He lifted her and carried her into the land of her ancestors.
As the Montbryce family rode back towards Ellesmere with their escort, they suddenly heard an ominous ear-splitting battle cry.
“Dros Cymru!”
It was a deep, guttural yell that echoed to the bone, and they reined in their mounts, sensing danger. They looked behind them. The spring sunshine had burned off the mist. On the opposite side of the valley, a tall man, mounted on a stallion, held a black haired girl on his lap. He thrust his fist up in salute to the Normans as he yelled his war cry again. “For Wales!”
Rhonwen waved then too, and Mabelle, Giselle, Robert and Baudoin waved back. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, Ram raised his fist in a return salute. Rhodri ap Owain turned his horse and rode away, his wild shouts of joy echoing across the valley.
A Fortunate Fool
We’ll need to stop for the babe,” Mabelle told Ram as Hylda Rhonwen screamed her hunger. “The boys would benefit from a chance to stretch their legs.”
They were half way home. Ram reined in his horse and halted the men close by a stream. Robert and Baudoin darted off to play by the water. “Take care, my sons,” their father shouted, nodding to Gervais to keep an eye on them.
He lifted Mabelle and her precious burden from the horse and helped settle her on a fallen tree trunk, so she could feed the child. As she lowered her dress and chemise to bare her breast, the letter she had written on her last night in Cadair Berwyn fell from the folds. She’d been unsure of his love then; in the excitement and relief of their rescue she had forgotten it. He had seen the parchment, intent as he was on watching her suckle their daughter.
“It’s a letter,” she murmured, aware she was blushing. “A letter to you.”
“From whom?”
“From me.”
He held out his hand. “I would read it.”
She handed it to him. He unfolded it with trembling hands.
To my husband Ram,
Mindful of the dangers we face on the morrow, which may yet prevent us from ever seeing each other again, I wish to share with you the feelings of my heart. I’ve known for many years I’m deeply in love with you. I’ve always hesitated to tell you of my love. This cruel separation we’ve endured has made me see the sheer folly of that. What was my fear? That you wouldn’t love me in return? If you have longed for me as I’ve longed for you over these many months—
Be assured the children and I have not been harmed during our captivity. You will have already deduced it was Giroux and Morwenna who plotted against us. Both are dead, Giroux at the hands of Rhodri himself. It was Rhonwen who avenged her mother Myfanwy’s death.
If the Fates decide we not be reunited, I cannot go to my grave thinking you didn’t know of my love. I thank you for the deep passion we’ve shared. You have made my life complete. You’re the other half of me. I long to see you again.
Mabelle
Ram refolded the parchment and tucked it carefully into his gambeson, next to his heart. He looked over to his sons, who were throwing rocks into the stream. “You’d think they were returning from a picnic,” he remarked with a smile.
He gazed at his wife and daughter. After a few minutes, he walked over to his horse and took from his saddle bag a loaf of bread and a wineskin. Bending his long legs to crouch down beside Mabelle, he broke off a chunk of bread and held it to her lips. She bit into it. “Mmmm—the bread in Wales was good, but there’s nothing like Trésor’s.”
His blue eyes darkened. “Open your mouth.”
She tilted her head back. He held the wineskin and poured the red liquid. Some spilled down her chin and onto her breasts. She gulped, and laughed. “I’m out of practice.”
He kissed the baby’s head and then licked the trickle of wine from her breast to the corner of her mouth, his tongue barely touching her skin. His eyes were full of longing, his body tense with need.
He patted his chest. “I’ll carry this letter with me till the day of my death. It will be a constant reminder to me of what a fortunate fool I am. Nothing matters to me as much as my beloved family. I’ll spend the rest of my life erasing the memory of the fear you suffered during your captivity.”
He tore off a piece of bread, helped himself to the wine, and they continued to share a silent communion until Hylda Rhonwen was satisfied and sleepy. He took the babe, cuddled her to his chest with her tiny head resting on his shoulder, and sauntered over to the edge of the stream, where Robert and Baudoin were practicing with their miniature wooden swords.
Ram chuckled. “They’re good at it,” he shouted back to Mabelle.
“They had a good teacher.”
That night Rhodri and Ram made love to the passionate women they adored, Rhodri by the hearth in the cozy cottage in the Welsh hills, and Ram in the opulent bed at Ellesmere, the heavy draperies cocooning him and his cherished wife.
Both noble warriors slowly pleasured their women, kissing and arousing them in the sensitive female places where they knew they loved to be touched. They rej
oiced in hearing their women moan and cry out in fulfillment.
For Rhodri and Rhonwen, it was the beginning of their journey to know one another intimately. For Ram and Mabelle, it was a passionate reunion—learning about each other’s bodies all over again.
Both warriors called out huskily in ecstatic euphoria as their essence filled the women they loved.
Love is like salt. It gives a higher taste to pleasure, and then makes it last.
Sequel
Llys Powwydd, Wales, one month later
Rhodri’s heart was full as he fidgeted with the sleeves of the doublet he was not used to wearing. However, a prince could not marry in a sheepskin jerkin.
He conceded to Aneurin he had a problem. “How can I continue attacking the lands of the Earl of Ellesmere now? Rhonwen considers the countess a second mother. She has a difficult enough time with the fact I’m a warrior. If I raid there she’ll be mortified. She wants to be allowed to visit Ellesmere from time to time. I am like a godfather to the Montbryces’ daughter, born in my own fortress, named for my bride.”
“Well, my friend, there are other Norman earls to raid and harass,” his comrade replied with a smile.
“I suppose you are right. Rambaud de Montbryce is not such a bad earl. Compared to Montgomerie and the others, he’s a saint.”
“Enough of this, we need to get you to your bride. You actually look like a prince today in your red woolen doublet.”
Rhodri laughed, brushing off his shoulders. “It’s my favorite color, you know.”
Aneurin slapped him on the back and the two friends strode purposefully to the chapel.
Because Rhonwen had no family present, Andras escorted her to Rhodri’s side. She smiled at her groom, and his skin heated. He was anxious to get started on creating the five beautiful children he had dreamt of.
Mayhap my seed has taken root already.
It seemed the whole commote of Powwydd had heard the story of how he had fallen in love with the Welsh healer he had kidnapped. The tale was repeated often and only added to his considerable stature in the eyes of his people. It was a Welsh tradition that the groom ‘kidnap’ the bride before the wedding and they felt Rhodri had more than satisfied the requirement.
He regretted their relationship had begun with an abduction, but she had seen the gratitude on many a gaunt face as he distributed grain in the villages. She told him it had given her an understanding of what had driven him to commit the crime.
Morwenna’s father was at first belligerent when told of his daughter’s death, but withdrew sadly to his lands, admitting the truth. Rhodri felt immense sorrow for him. The man had rambled on about his daughter inheriting the black arts from her mother. He prayed fervently his own children would be offspring of whom he and Rhonwen would be proud.
True to her nature, Rhonwen wore a lavender dress, and its simplicity heightened her loveliness. She carried a spray of ivy, symbol of fidelity, with a sprig of heather for good luck. As Rhodri took her hand he was overwhelmed by how tiny it seemed compared to his, and he swore to spend his life protecting this fragile woman. Her hair was adorned with fresh flowers, picked that morning.
Her grey eyes danced as she repeated her promises. “I, Rhonwen Dda, in the name of the spirit of God, by the life that courses within my blood, and the love that resides within my heart, take you, Rhodri ap Owain, to my hand, my heart, and my spirit to be my chosen one. To desire and be desired by you, to possess you, and be possessed by you, without sin or shame. I promise to love you wholly and completely, without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. I shall not seek to change you in any way. I shall respect you, your beliefs, your people, and your ways.”
She had committed herself so completely to him, warrior Rhodri feared emotion might hinder his ability to speak his vows. After taking a deep breath, he promised, “I, Rhodri ap Owain, vow to you, Rhonwen Dda, the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine. From this day it shall be your name I cry out in the night and into your eyes that I smile each morning; I shall be a shield for you as you are for me. No grievous word shall be spoken about us, for our marriage is sacred between us and no stranger shall hear my grievance. Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the next.”
Dancing and feasting followed the ceremony and then a group of women spirited Rhonwen away into hiding. Rhodri accepted this as part of the tradition, but hoped it would not take him long to find her.
She giggled when he discovered her hiding place and his shaft swelled. He too laughed and lifted her, intending to carry her to their chamber. A boisterous crowd of well-wishers followed. She was giddy with excitement and kissed him joyfully, fingering his braids in her small fingers. He thanked the gods for bringing this shining light into his otherwise dark life.
He gazed into her eyes. “You own my heart, my Rhonwen, my bride.” In those grey depths resided the love and courage of a woman who would stand by him in his fight. As a healer she fought death every day of her life. She was brave. She had challenged him when she believed he was a threat to the Montbryce boys.
“I am filled with love for you, Rhodri. You sweep me off my feet. I still find it hard to believe such a magnificent man could have fallen in love with Rhonwen Dda.”
He put her down on the big bed, turned to the expectant crowd, folded his arms across his chest, and glared at them. One by one they abandoned their loud insistence on seeing the newlyweds disrobe, and left the chamber. Rhonwen burst out laughing when they had gone. “You intimidate them so.”
“I had no intention of letting them see you, or me, naked. A man has to have something for himself.”
She twirled her fingers in his hair. “You have me to yourself now.”
They had made love in the cottage in the hills after Rhonwen had decided to stay with him, but agreed to observe the proprieties of the llys once they arrived there, and it had been several sennights since they had lain together.
They craved each other now, not only for the physical fulfillment their lovemaking would bring them. Each revered the other’s body as a finely wrought creation and their union brought them a mystical, even spiritual, release.
Despite his urgency, they made love slowly and savored each other’s intense pleasure as they touched, licked and kissed, sucked and played. Later, lying in a stupor of pleasurable languor, a sleeping Rhonwen cradled to his chest, Rhodri did not think he could aspire to greater happiness.
Ellesmere Castle, Ten months later
Ram had been away in Westminster, summoned there by William the Conqueror for discussions with the other Marcher Lords. His wife was anticipating his return and went to meet him as he and his entourage rode in. As was his custom, he enfolded her in his cloak and kissed her deeply.
“What of the talks with the Marcher Lords?”
He shrugged and shook his head. “Let’s get inside while I tell you. As I expected, it was the usual sort of discussion, me defending the benefits of diplomacy and positive action, and the others recommending tactics such as harrying, murder and mayhem. They cannot grasp we are making progress here. I did not risk my life at Hastings to bring fear and butchery to a foreign people. We Normans have so much to offer the world—fine architecture, arts, trade, and so on. Civil disobedience has to be punished, but they thirst for blood.”
Mabelle could tell her husband was getting more and more disillusioned—had known it for years. “Well, at least here in Ellesmere we have been spared the raiding of Rhodri since he and Rhonwen married,” she said with a smile. “Speaking of them, a messenger arrived a sennight ago with news.”
He accepted the tankard of ale a serving woman offered once his squire had removed his chain mail, and took a long drink. “Oui, we are spared, but the other earls are complaining loudly of his harassment.”
She became impatient. “But you are not listening—Rhonwen has given birth to a baby girl. I am d
elighted to tell you they have named the child Myfanwy Mabelle.”
Ram arched his brows. “You must certainly have made an impression on the Welshman during your captivity for him to allow that honor.”
She giggled. “I suppose I must have. Rhonwen mentions in her message she would like to bring the child to Ellesmere once she is old enough to travel.”
He snorted and almost choked on his ale. “I can’t see Rhodri agreeing to that, but if Rhonwen maintains her relationship with you it can only benefit Ellesmere. She’s thought of you as her mother since Myfanwy was cruelly murdered.
“I hope for all our sakes Rhodri doesn’t come near Ellesmere. If he’s captured I will have no choice but to hang him.”
Postscriptum
Rhodri ap Owain was never captured. His legend grew as the years passed.
William the Conqueror ruled with an iron fist for another ten years, during which time Rhonwen bore Rhodri four more children. Arianrhod had spoken true.
But, would Mabelle de Montbryce’s words come to fruition? Would the children of the House of Montbryce and the Sons of Rhodri one day live together in peace in the mountains and valleys of the Welsh Marches?
Defiance ~ Book Ii
Enjoy this excerpt from Hugh and Antoine’s story.
En route to Domfort, Normandie, January 1067
Hugh de Montbryce tightened his grip on Velox’s reins, but it didn’t stop the uncontrollable shaking. He hoped Antoine hadn’t noticed but suspected his brother was aware the hand tremor had plagued him since the eve of the Battle of Hastings.
Conquest (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 1) Page 28