Dark and Bright

by Anna Markland

  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’d already felt the stirrings of womanly feelings and needs. She was embarrassed about the size of her breasts and had fallen into the habit of wearing gowns which drew attention away from them. When she disrobed she would run her hands over her body, arching her back and noting new developments. Curled up in bed with her arms clasped about her, she dreamt she was in the embrace of a handsome, chivalrous knight. Now she would be dragged off to some godforsaken castle in Wales by a man she’d never met.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Rhys was surprised the next morning when his brother-by-marriage, Baudoin de Montbryce, the Earl of Ellesmere, rode into Chester Castle. He’d come on the matter of Rhun and Rhydderch’s incarceration. Rhys greeted him warmly, impressed that Baudoin would try to use his influence to gain freedom for his wife’s brothers. He and his mount looked tired. He must have ridden hard from Normandie where he’d been fighting in King Henry’s victorious war against Duke Curthose of Normandie. Rhys invited him to share food 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 offered. “Tell me about the battle.”

  Baudoin nodded, chewing his food. He took a gulp of ale to wash it down. He 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, but he turned him over to King Henry. Robert’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 that 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 his hand on Baudoin’s. “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 at him in disbelief. “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 honour 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 have a wife one is in love with, and who returns that love. I speak not only for myself, but Robert will heal from his ordeal because of Dorianne’s love.”

  Rhys smiled and slapped Baudoin on the back. “It gladdens my heart to be assured of your love 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.”

  The Earl lumbered in, supported by two pages. He gave Baudoin, a fellow Norman, a hearty if breathless greeting. Baudoin wrinkled his nose, but was unfailingly polite to his host. One of the pages carried the document for Rhys to peruse before the ceremony. Rhys 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 didn’t 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.

  ***

  Annalise made her dignified entrance on the arm of her uncle into the Map Room where he and Baudoin waited. The Wolf 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. Incredibly, her surcoat dress 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. How did his father manage 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, Lord of Powwydd, son of Rhodri, Prince of Powwydd, and 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 pages and curtseyed deeply, but she remained silent, eyes downcast, mouth tightly drawn. Rhys had the impression she was struggling for control. He took her hand and said in French, “Please rise, my lady, I’m delighted to meet you.”

  Why was his heart racing so rapidly? He felt the warmth of her hand in his and fervently hoped the odour of ale hadn’t lingered on his breath. Had he made sure to brush all the cheese crumbs off his face?

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

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

  She didn’t look at him. “Oui, milord,” she replied.

  “And I shall call you Annalise,” he said, chagrined that this golden-haired beauty hadn’t offered that intimacy. Why did it bother him? Give her time. This betrothal had come as a shock. Would they 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 his chair and sat down heavily, his breathing laboured. He cleared his throat, coughing up phlegm which he spat into the rushes at his feet, narrowly missing the page. “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 took the document to the chart table, leaned over and signed his full name—Rhys ap Rhodri ap Owain ap Dafydd ap Gwilym, Lord of Powwydd. To his consternation there was a tremor in his hand. Hopefully, no-one had noticed. 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 proffered his hand to Annalise, inviting her to sign, she looked with alarm at the
signature Rhys had written and she too stared at the document.

  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’d written, wanting her to understand. She flushed and nodded. “I understand, milord.”

  She took 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 she’d spoken to him willingly, swept over him like a warm wave. His heart beat faster and his erection become harder, the ache intense. What in the name of all the saints was wrong with him? What had happened to Rhys the calm and cool diplomat? He couldn’t drag his eyes away from the blue depths of hers. He was awash in them. This was no good. He would need to be more in control.

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

  She flinched. How to take back his cold words? Instead he compounded his stupidity by turning away from her and addressing the Earl. “Here at Chester, perhaps?”

  “Granted,” the Earl 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, her 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’d 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 hadn’t fallen open. And those green eyes! She’d been afraid to look into them. 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.

  He’d sensed her confusion over his signature. It had 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 couldn’t help but admire his obvious pride in his heritage.

  She reached her chamber and slammed the door behind her. It wouldn’t do. Though she’d been raised in a household devoid of love, Annalise had inherited her mother’s disposition. Normally a girl who was outgoing and quick to smile, she made up her mind to be cool toward this man who’d essentially bought her from her uncle. She’d been traded for two outlaws so that the Lord of Powwydd could have heirs. She would acquiesce because she had no choice, but she did have a choice as to how she behaved towards him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Rhys stayed on at the castle for a few more days, but 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 aware of the terms of her dowry. He decided not to press the issue.

  The thing that perplexed him the most was his state of constant arousal whenever he was near her. “I suppose I should be glad of that,” he thought. “Perhaps it’s the anticipation of bedding a virgin that has me acting like a rutting fool.”

  But it was more than that, though he’d never had a virgin before. He’d been careful with the women he chose to bed.

  Perhaps ‘careful’ should be my middle name.

  His past relationships had been about alleviating his male urges, and nothing more. He’d chosen experienced women, women who’d taught him a great deal about female needs, women who were not looking for a relationship. He was grateful to them, and they appreciated his gentleness and consideration. In deference to his parents he was discreet about his liaisons and avoided whores. He liked clean, sweet smelling women. He’d made sure too that he sired no bastards, never spilling his seed inside his partners. He looked forward with unbridled enthusiasm to taking Annalise completely, filling her with his children. He was satisfied. It would be a good arrangement.

  ***

  Annalise found the few days she spent with Rhys unsettling. She hated what had happened to her and fumed at being used in a political game. She had longed to leave the life her father imposed upon her, but now it seemed she was exchanging one tyranny for another.

  Her belly clenched with dread at the thought of living in the wilds of an unknown, barbaric country. However, to her dismay, she couldn’t find hatred in her heart for the tall, dark nobleman to whom she was betrothed. She liked the sound of his voice, and the melodic way he spoke her language.

  She resolved to hide her heart from him. To Rhys she was a means to an end, a business transaction he’d been obliged to enter into for the sake of his brothers and the need to produce heirs. He must never discover she liked him.

  ***

  It was an important social occasion for the community in Chester, and all the local gentry were there. From further afield, the Earls of Ellesmere, Shrewsbury and Hereford attended with their Countesses. Rhys’s older sister, Myfanwy Mabelle, the Prioress of Llansanraid, was in attendance and she promised to keep Rhun and Rhydderch under her watchful eye. The Earl had given a special dispensation for them to attend, much to Hereford’s annoyance. Rhys was starting to understand the depth of mutual disdain Chester, Shrewsbury and Hereford had for each other. How different they were from Baudoin’s late father, the first Earl of Ellesmere, Ram de Montbryce.

  Rhonwen came. Could his perceptive mother tell how nervous he was? An hour or two after her arrival, she reached up to put her hands on his shoulders and forced him to look at her. He bent his head. “You’re nervous!” she exclaimed. “If I didn’t know you better, Rhys my boy, I would say you’re in love with this girl you’re about to marry.”

  “Mother,” he replied sardonically, shaking his head, “you’re too ready to have people in love. I know you fell in love with my father the moment you cast eyes on him, and he with you, and yes, I know Baudoin loves Carys, but you’re the unusual ones. Most men are not in love with their wives, and to be frank I don’t want to be in love with mine. I don’t need the distraction. Annalise will be a good wife, and we’ll have children together, and hopefully we’ll become friends, but she doesn’t love me and I don’t love her.”

  Rhonwen put her hands to his neck and shook him. “Hmm! I’m insulted by your remarks. Your father has never considered me a ‘distraction’ even though I’m an old woman now. He wanted to come to your wedding, believe it or not, but I’m sorry to say your father isn’t well these days. He sends his love.”

  Rhys was remorseful. He took hold of his mother’s hands and kissed them. “I didn’t mean it that way, mother—and you’re not old,” he said with exasperation, noting sadly his mother’s grey hair and wrinkled brow. She spoke the truth and he feared for his father’s health. He too had noticed a decline in his sire of late. But Rhodri was more than three score years. No one lived forever, and considering the dangerous life his father had led—

  She cupped his face in her hands and stood on tiptoe to kiss his forehead. “I know, my son,” she said tenderly. “I find it difficult to imagine a satisfying marriage bed without the presence of love.”

  She hesitated, then reached to unfasten the amber necklace she wore around her neck. Rhys knew his father had given it to her when they first met. His mother smiled and held out the beads. “Bend down, Rhys. I want you to have th
ese.”

  He protested. “No, I can’t accept them. Father gave them to you. My grandmother made them for him.”

  “Your father would want you to have them now.”

  He bent and she placed the treasured, finely crafted beads around his neck, tying the thong behind his nape. Her hands trembled. She was close to tears. He kissed her cheek.

  “Now, go take your place with Baudoin to await your bride.”

  ***

  Rhys didn’t later recollect much of the ceremony. Normally articulate and confident, he was so nervous he could barely speak his vows. Perhaps the incense had been too strong? The oak beams of the chapel ceiling weren’t high and the air became oppressive. D’Avranches looked like he’d fallen asleep.

  Annalise seemed to suffer the same stuttering affliction. He remembered the sticky warmth of her hand in his. He recalled how stunningly beautiful she looked as she came into his view on her uncle’s arm, the décolletage of her shimmering dress confirming the bounty he’d suspected. His eyes wandered from her breasts to the garland of flowers wound around her head. All he could think of was unwinding them later and seeing her golden hair fall free. There was an intoxicating scent about her—a potpourri perhaps. Brides wore such to their weddings. But where was it concealed?

  Above all, he remembered the kiss they’d shared at the appropriate moment. As he bent to kiss her, she licked her lips and it undid him. Her mouth was warm and moist and his tongue coaxed her lips to open. At first she resisted, but then to his surprise her lips parted. He licked the inside of her mouth, teasing her tongue. They’d both closed their eyes at first, but now each stared wide eyed at the other in confusion.

  He couldn’t resist. He gently pressed his aching need against her and she blushed. He’d aroused her. They broke apart quickly, but he suspected Carys, Baudoin and his mother had all noticed. They shared a knowing smile. They were such optimists where love was concerned. Could they be right?