Patience wasn’t a virtue she possessed, but entering the hall on Ronan’s arm had convinced her of the importance of it. It was a glimpse into her future. She was Lady Rhoni MacLachlainn, proud to walk beside her noble husband.
How often had her mother voiced her regret that she’d waited years to tell Ram de Montbryce of her love for him? Rhoni’s ordeal at the hands of Daegal and his cronies had brought home to her the fragile nature of life and the importance of seizing what she wanted, and she wanted Ronan.
She’d never liked the Earl of Chester, sensing her parents didn’t like him either. Now Ronan’s palpable hatred for the man seethed through her. She had no doubt he was the Norman responsible for the mercenaries who had done the dirty work for the MacFintains. Did the fat fool realize how lucky he was his head was still atop his shoulders?
She’d trembled with dread, sure Ronan would yell his war cry and fall upon Chester who had clearly recognized the unknown giant. How had he learned of the escape from MacLachlainn Tower?
She watched Ronan savor the fish she fed him, wishing he’d lick her fingers. Why was he determined to fight his obvious feelings for her?
The answer came as she licked his taste from her fingers. He’d sworn an oath. There would be no future for them until his vengeance was complete. If she wanted him, she’d have to do everything in her power to help regain his lands. She wasn’t sure what power a woman might wield. Robert and Baudoin had always been part of their father’s discussions and decisions. She’d been the ornamental daughter. But she was a Montbryce. She would find a way.
“We’ll find a way,” she whispered to Ronan.
Warwick turned to his host, sucking the food out of his teeth as the servants cleared the tables. “Who’s the fellow with the eye patch?”
Ram arched his brows, scanning the hall as if surprised by the question. “The giant? He’s a nobleman, visiting from Ireland.”
Shrewsbury, seated on the other side of Warwick, had leaned over to hear the answer. “Ireland? What brings him here?”
Chester, seated on Ram’s right, feigned a lack of interest in the conversation, but Ram felt him tense. “It’s a long story. Mayhap he’ll tell it to you.”
Chester coughed, seemingly choking. Ram offered him ale. “Something stuck in your throat, mon ami?”
The earl guzzled the ale, grunting as he wiped his sleeve across his mouth.
Warwick persisted. “He seems taken with your daughter, Montbryce.”
Now Ram tensed. Rhoni was feeding the Irishman, her face aglow. Mabelle was right. The alchemy was evident. This situation was becoming too complicated. He was happy his little girl had fallen in love, but—
He chose his words carefully. “Lord Ronan protected her when their party was set upon by brigands who had apparently come north from your territory, Warwick. Had you captured and executed them, my daughter wouldn’t have been terrorized.”
Shrewsbury slapped Warwick on the back. “Now there’s an admonition if ever I heard one. We’ll discuss that on the morrow at our meeting. I’ve been told there are other Saxon bands at large. Thought we had annihilated them years ago.”
Chester struggled to his feet. “On the morrow we must indeed resolve how to deal with these new threats. But now I beg your indulgence, my dear Ellesmere. I fear I tire easily these days. I’m off to my chamber.”
Ram watched as Chester waddled out of the hall leaning heavily on his pageboy. He was surprised the fire in Ronan’s eye didn’t burn a hole in the earl’s doublet.
An Offer Of Aid
The Earl of Chester had survived and prospered for thirty years by relying on his instincts. They’d never failed him. Warwick droned on and on about Saxon brigands at the meeting the next day, but Chester’s thoughts were full of the one-eyed Irishman.
It was too much of a coincidence. And then his fears had been confirmed when Montbryce had uttered the fellow’s name.
The idiot MacFintain had said the man likely drowned, too maimed and mutilated to survive. The Irish giant he’d seen yesterday appeared to be in the best of health, and not the kind of man inclined to forget a wrong. What’s more, something was going on between the Irishman and Montbryce’s empty-headed daughter. If Ellesmere became involved in the whole mess—that was quicksand he didn’t want to become mired in. Montbryce had an uncanny knack of coming out on the winning side.
What had begun as a cunning and secretive way to reap wealth from Ireland had suddenly become more complicated and fraught with consequences. Why King William Rufus didn’t simply invade and conquer Ireland was beyond him. Too busy squabbling with his older brother, the Duke of Normandie. If only the Conqueror still lived! He’d laid out plans to seize Ireland years ago.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, unable to remain silent any longer. “By all the saints, Warwick. Scorched earth—harrying—that’s how you get rid of problems. Get rid of everybody.”
Montbryce groaned. “You cannot be serious. After thirty years you still believe the only way we can rule is through brutality?”
Warwick huffed and puffed. Shrewsbury looked on, apparently mildly amused. Now there was a man who recognized the effectiveness of harrying. But time was passing and Chester wanted to learn more of the Irishman. As if reading his thoughts, Montbryce suggested they adjourn to the hall for the midday meal.
Their host followed Warwick and Shrewsbury. Chester put a hand on his shoulder. “A moment, Montbryce, if you please. I’m curious about your Irish guest.”
Ram had sensed Chester’s preoccupation throughout the morning and suspected he would ask about Ronan. He shrugged. “He’s the Lord of some tower that was seized by brigands. They tortured him, but he escaped. Incredibly, he survived a harrowing journey across the Irish Sea. My wife and daughter met him while on a pilgrimage to Saint Winefride’s Well. For some reason, my wife thought he and I should meet.”
Chester scratched his head. “Oui, they stayed at Chester en route there. So your wife was with them when they were attacked?”
Ram recognized his mistake. “Non, Mabelle left a day earlier.”
“Your daughter was traveling with only a partial escort?”
“Oui, but she had Capitaine Duquesne with her, and Lord Ronan. And the Saxons had reportedly been captured by Warwick.”
Chester eyed him curiously. “She’s fortunate. Who knows what might have happened had the miscreants got their hands on her.”
Ram’s heart stopped. It was imperative no one learn Rhoni had actually been captured. “Indeed. I owe Lord Ronan a debt of gratitude.”
Let that sink into your skull, old friend.
Chester grunted. “Bien, I’m ravenous, though how that can be after last night’s feast, I know not. You outdid yourself.”
Ram laughed. “We’ve been fortunate that Trésor has lived a long life. She has trained her successors, but I doubt they will ever match her skills.”
Chester patted his belly. “Oui, we’re all getting older, though you manage to keep looking fit. What is your secret?”
Ram was tempted to point out that he didn’t eat like a pig and still practiced daily in the training yards. “My wife keeps me young,” he replied.
Chester chuckled. “Ah oui, the beautiful Mabelle. I envy you, Montbryce.”
They set off for the hall. Ram walked slowly, but Chester had trouble keeping the same pace.
“Do you have interests in Ireland, Hugh?” Ram asked.
Chester bristled. “Non, non. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason. Mabelle got the feeling you knew Lord Ronan previously.”
The earl scoffed. “I’m sure I would have remembered him if I had met him. He’s not a man you would easily forget.”
Ram maintained his silence.
Breathing heavily, Chester put a restraining hand on Ram’s arm. “Slow down, old friend. What are his plans once he leaves here?”
Ram stopped and looked his fellow earl in the eye. “Irishmen seem to be a lot li
ke us Normans. He has vengeance in mind.”
The color drained from Chester’s face. “And will you aid him in his quest for vengeance?”
They resumed their walk. Ram didn’t reply until they’d reached the hall. “I do owe him a debt.”
Hugh d’Avranches, Earl of Chester, was conspicuously absent from the opening sessions after the midday meal. The others delayed their discussions for a while and were about to start without him when he waddled in, mumbling an unintelligible excuse.
Ram’s suspicion that he’d dispatched riders to his castle with a message were confirmed by Baudoin later in the afternoon once the discussions were over.
Ram clenched his jaw. “Their message is probably intended to reach Ireland, but that will take at least a week. What will he do, mon fils? What instructions will he give his mercenaries?”
Baudoin leaned his backside against the chart table in the Map Room, his legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded. “If he has any sense, he’ll tell them to withdraw.”
Ram put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Never underestimate Hugh d’Avranches. He’s a hard man to predict.”
Baudoin frowned. “What do you plan to do about Ronan, Papa?”
Ram leaned both hands on the table, his shoulders hunched. “I truly don’t know the best course of action. What is your advice?” He smiled wryly at his son, spreading his arms wide. “One day soon these problems will be yours when you inherit the earldom.”
Baudoin shrugged, winking at his father. “When that time comes, I’ll ask myself what you would have done.”
They shared the humor of the jest, then Baudoin furrowed his brow. “We owe him Rhoni’s life. That’s no small debt. Duquesne wouldn’t have survived without his aid.”
Ram paced. “Oui, but sending men on an expedition to Ireland? I haven’t the stomach for it, and I certainly don’t want to go myself. I have to admit the journey to Constantinople and back exhausted me. Your mother will have my hide if I go off again on some adventure.”
Baudoin unfolded his arms and pressed his palms into the table. “Rhoni will balk if we do nothing. She’s in love with him.”
Ram smiled. “You noticed, eh?”
Baudoin laughed. “It’s hard not to.”
“What’s your feeling about him? Does he care for her?”
Baudoin hesitated for a few minutes. “You didn’t see the two of them make their grand entrance into the Great Hall. Heads turned, I can tell you. They looked like they were made for each other.”
Ram shook his head sadly. “But he’s bent on vengeance.”
“That’s why we must help him. He’ll never turn his attention to wooing Rhoni until he has regained his lands.”
“What do you suggest then?”
“Money—to hire mercenaries.”
Ram had already decided that was the right decision, but he was proud his son had arrived at the same conclusion. Ellesmere would be in good hands in the future. His only worry was his son’s continuing preoccupation with Rhodri’s daughter, Carys.
Ronan’s mouth fell open. Summoned to meet with the earl and his son in the Map Room, he’d bowed politely then braced his legs and stiffened his backbone, steeled for the denial of his request for aid.
Montbryce had indeed denied him soldiers, but the amount of money he was prepared to advance for the hiring of mercenaries had momentarily taken his breath away. Hope blossomed in his heart. He gripped the hilt of his sword and bowed again. “Your offer is more than generous, milord. Merci. I’ll repay every last penny of the three thousand pounds once I regain my lands.”
Montbryce looked at him squarely. “I’m confident you will. But there are two conditions.”
Ronan’s gut clenched. The man had a right to impose conditions. He hoped he could meet them. “I’m listening, milord.”
Baudoin de Montbryce had been silent, watching the proceedings. Now he spoke to Ronan. “Firstly, you cannot use the coin to hire Norman mercenaries. We won’t pay for Normans to fight Normans.”
Ronan would have little trouble finding Irish warriors to fight for him if he offered to pay them well. His uncle would assist with recruiting. Confidence grew in his heart. “I agree.”
Seemingly satisfied, Baudoin retreated to the shadows and looked at his father. The earl stared at Ronan, reminding him of the way the countess had measured him with her gaze in the priory garden. The Norman was trying to decide if he should proceed with the second condition. Ronan had met Montbryce scant days before, but knew he wasn’t a hesitant man. What was so troubling? Unless—
“If you’re successful in regaining your lands, you will return to Ellesmere and wed my daughter.”
It was his heart’s desire and the thing he dreaded most. Anger warred with elation. Icy heat crawled up his spine. He wanted Rhoni more than he’d ever wanted any woman. But his grief for Mary held him fast. Responsibility for her death weighed heavily on his heart. Trust an arrogant Norman to strong-arm a man into matrimony. And how would Rhoni feel if she found out a marriage had been forced on him?
He furrowed his brow. “What has Rhoni to say on the subject?”
“I haven’t spoken to my daughter, and I would ask for your word that you won’t tell her of our discussions.”
“I will not wed an unwilling wife.”
Baudoin snorted then tried to conceal his reaction by coughing into his hand.
Ronan glared at him, anger churning in his belly. “I’ll not be mocked.”
Montbryce intervened. “My son doesn’t mean to mock you, Lord Ronan. Rhoni won’t be unwilling.”
If he refused Montbryce’s conditions, where else to turn for aid? Three thousand pounds wouldn’t be sufficient to hire a large army, but it might be enough to defeat the MacFintains and their Norman allies. He shuddered at the irony of his grandfather’s insistence on the defenses that made Túr MacLachlainn impregnable. Without Ellesmere money, how to contemplate an attack?
But to accept the condition that he wed Rhoni? If he were to marry again, she’d be the woman he’d want. But he wouldn’t be forced into marriage. He gritted his teeth. “I thank you for your offer, but I must decline.”
The Montbryces stared at him open-mouthed as he strode out of the Map Room, his hopes in tatters.
“Must have Norman blood in his veins,” Ram muttered. “Too proud by far.”
Baudoin shrugged, scratching his head. “Did you expect less of him? Would you have been happy if he’d accepted your proposal? Rhoni will be livid when she finds out. I’ve never questioned your judgment before, but what were you thinking?”
Ram slumped into a chair. “I was thinking that if he accepted my condition, he’s not the man for Rhoni.”
“But how can you give him the coin now he has refused your demand?”
“I’ll let his temper cool, then reassure him of our financial support.”
Ronan found Conall in the laundry, helping Jacquelle freshen some of her mistress’s gowns. The lad looked up in surprise when his master stormed in and beckoned him outside with a cock of his head. “Ready our belongings for departure.”
Conall frowned, his eyes darting to the laundry. “We’re leaving? But where are we going?”
Ronan was already walking away. “Back to Wales. I’ll ask Prince Rhodri for safe passage to Holy Island and from there we’ll seek a boat for Ireland.”
“Ireland! But—”
Ronan turned to his servant, grasping him by the front of his tunic. “Yes, Ireland. You were burning for revenge as much as I. Has something changed?”
The lad averted his gaze. “No, my lord, nothing has changed. I’ll pack our things. But we have no horse.”
He pushed Conall on his way. “I have the matter in hand.”
Ronan regretted his outburst. The lad was young, and Jacquelle a tempting morsel. Mayhap they should both forget their vengeance and marry in England. But he would never wed again until Mary was avenged. Perhaps someday he might return for Rhoni.
&nbs
p; It was a forlorn hope. Regret gnawed at his gut. Rhoni would become another man’s wife.
Conall lingered. “Can I say goodbye to Jacquelle?”
Ronan drove a hand through his hair. “Aye. Be quick.”
Should he bid Rhoni farewell? Fearing his resolve to quit Ellesmere would desert him, he went instead to the stables, then to see Gabriel Duquesne. The Earl of Ellesmere had made his decision for him, and it felt good to be taking action. He’d known the moment he heard the condition that Ireland was where he must seek his allies. He’d regained his health. It was time to return home.
Duquesne was still in the infirmary, but the danger had passed and he was on the mend. He looked up in surprise when Ronan approached his pallet. “Milord Ronan. I haven’t had a chance to thank you for saving my life. I owe you a debt.”
Ronan folded his arms across his chest. “I have a means for you to repay me.”
Duquesne narrowed his eyes. “Oui?”
“I need a horse. I wish to take your stallion.”
The soldier gritted his teeth. “Take him where?”
“That’s my business. You won’t see the horse again. And I want authorization to take a pack mule from the stables. The animal will not be returned.”
Duquesne’s face betrayed his inner struggle between honor and his love for his horse. Ronan was confident honor would win.
Sweat beaded on the captain’s brow. “Have you parchment? I’ll write the order.”
Ronan unfolded his arms. “No need. I’ve already informed the stable boy of your approval of my request.”
Duquesne struggled to sit up. “Salaud!”
Ronan smirked. “I am a bastard, but I’ll take good care of your horse. I thank you. I hope the earl doesn’t punish you too severely for the attack. You’re a brave man and you care for Lady Rhoni. Keep her safe. Will you shake my hand?”
Duquesne stared at the outstretched hand for long moments, then clasped arms with Ronan. “God be with you, wherever it is you go.”
Vengeance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 4) Page 15