“Your daughter was travelling 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 is 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 am ravenous, though how that can be after last night’s feast, I know not. You outdid yourself.”
Ram laughed. “We have 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 are 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 practised 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 am sure I would have remembered him if I had met him before. He’s not a man you would forget easily.”
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 like us Normans. He has vengeance in mind.”
The colour drained from Chester’s face. “And will you aid him in his quest for vengeance?”
They resumed their walk. Ram did not reply until they had 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 had 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 his father’s Map Room, his legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded. “If he has any sense, he will 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 heavily with 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 become the second Earl.”
Baudoin shrugged, winking at his father. “When that time comes, I will ask myself what you would have done.”
They shared the humour of the jest, then Baudoin furrowed his brow. “We owe him Rhoni’s life. That is no small debt. Duquesne would not 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 is bent on vengeance.”
“That is why we must help him. He will 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 had bowed politely then braced his legs and stiffened his backbone, ready for the denial of his request for aid.
Montbryce had indeed denied him soldiers, but the amount of money the Earl was prepared to advance him 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 Earl. Merci. I will repay every last penny of the three thousand pounds once I regain my lands.”
Montbryce looked at him squarely. “I am confident you will. But there are two conditions.”
Ronan’s gut clenched. The Earl had a right to impose conditions. He hoped he could meet them. “I am listening, milord.”
Baudoin de Montbryce had been silent, watching the proceedings. Now he spoke to Ronan. “Firstly, you cannot use the money to hire Norman mercenaries. We will not pay for Normans to fight Normans.”
Ronan would have little trouble finding Irish warriors to fight for him if well paid. His uncle would assist with recruiting them. 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 was not a hesitant man. What was so troubling? Unless— “If you are 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 had 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 have not spoken to my daughter, and I would ask for your word that you will not 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 will not be mocked.”
Montbryce intervened. “My son does not mean to mock you, Lord Ronan. Rhoni will not be unwilling.”
If he did not accept Montbryce’s conditions, where else to turn for aid? Three thousand pounds would not 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 defences 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 would be the woman he would want. But he would not be forced into marriage. He gritted his teeth. “I t
hank 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 de Montbryce muttered. “Too proud by far.”
Baudoin shrugged, scratching his head. “Did you expect less of him? Would you have been happy if he had accepted your proposal? Rhoni will be livid when she finds out. I have 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 is not the man for Rhoni.”
“But how can you give him the coin now he has refused your demand?”
“I will let his temper cool, then reassure him of our financial support.”
The first person Ronan sought out was Conall. He was 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 departing? But where are we going?”
Ronan was already walking away. “Back to Wales. I will ask Prince Rhodri for safe passage to Holy Island and from there we will seek out 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 will 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.
It was a forlorn hope. Rhoni would become another man’s wife. Regret gnawed at his gut.
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 had known the moment the Earl imposed his condition that Ireland was where he must seek his allies. He was ready to return home, having regained his health in England and Wales.
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 have not 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 is my business. You will not likely 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 honour and his love for his horse. Ronan was confident honour would win.
Sweat beaded on the Captain’s brow. “Have you parchment? I will write the order.”
Ronan unfolded his arms. “No need. I have 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 will take good care of your horse. I thank you. I hope the Earl does not punish you too severely for the attack. You are 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.”
Ronan saluted him and left the Infirmary.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Clad only in her chemise, Rhoni paced. “Where the devil is that girl? I will be late for the evening meal if she doesn’t come soon to dress me.”
She had not seen Ronan all day. The time had dragged interminably. He was a drug her spirit thirsted for. Jacquelle finally entered her chamber so quietly, Rhoni did not hear her. She was ready to unleash a scolding, but the maid’s dishevelled hair, and red-rimmed, puffy eyes stopped her. The girl’s nose was a beacon.
Rhoni’s heart fell. “What has that lout Conall done to you?” she demanded, grabbing her maidservant by the wrists.
Jacquelle wailed, hiccupping in between loud sobs.
Rhoni shook her by the shoulders. “What has happened? Tell me.”
“He’s—”
The maid hiccupped again.
Whatever Conall had done, Rhoni was confident Ronan would make him apologise. If he had bedded the girl—
A bolt of jealousy surged through her. “Tell me!” she shouted.
Jacquelle sniffled, then took a deep breath. “He’s gone.”
Foreboding washed over Rhoni. Conall would not leave of his own volition. “Gone? Where?”
“To Ireland.”
Rhoni clung to the maid as the room spun around her. “Ireland?”
“He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay with me, wed me, but his Master made him go.”
He has left me?
Rhoni stared at her maidservant, sure her trembling legs would fail her if she let go of the girl. Jacquelle ceased her sobbing and looked at her mistress. “Did you not know they had gone, milady. I assumed—”
“When did they go?”
Rhoni thought it must be her voice she heard, but it sounded muffled, slurred.
“Lord Ronan came for Conall after he spoke with your father in the Map—”
Bees buzzed in Rhoni’s head. She feared she might swoon. “My father?”
What had her father said to make Ronan leave in such a hurry? There had been no word of farewell. She suddenly felt chilled, despite the hearty fire in the grate. “Fetch my gown and my shoes, Jacquelle. I must speak with the Earl.”
“But he’s—”
“Now, Jacquelle, vite.”
Mabelle de Montbryce was taken aback when a furiously angry young woman burst into her solar, slamming the door behind her. It took a moment to realize it was her daughter who had intruded unannounced. She dropped her sewing and came to her feet, her hand over her heart. “Rhoni, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Rhoni clenched her fists at her sides. “Papa has sent him away.”
Mabelle put her arm around Rhoni’s shoulders, alarmed by the trembling shudder that racked the girl’s body. This was obviously something to do with Ronan. “I don’t think—”
Rhoni broke away from her mother’s embrace. Mabelle had never known her easy going daughter to show the least trace of anger, yet now she was livid. “Ronan has set out for Ireland. What did Papa say to him?”
Mabelle swallowed hard, dread churning her innards. Surely Ram would not have sent the man away? “I don’t know.”
“Of course you know,” Rhoni retorted, her eyes ablaze. “Papa never makes any decision without consulting you. Did you both decide he was not good enough for me? I love him.”
Mabelle’s heart wrenched as Rhoni collapsed into a chair, sobbing uncontrollably. Ram chose that moment to enter the solar. He took in the scene, his eyes questioning Mabelle. She explained. “Lord Ronan has left the castle.”
“Left? To go where?”
Rhoni leapt to her feet and confronted her father. “To Ireland. You sent him away. How could you do that?”
Ram bristled, raking a hand through his hair. “I did not send him away. We had a discussion. I may have said—”
Rhoni glared at him. “What?”
Mabelle decided to intervene. “We have never solved family problems by screeching at each other. I suggest both of you sit down, and we will
speak of this reasonably.”
Rhoni pouted for a few moments, then sat on the edge of a chair, her spine rigid, fingers clasped tightly in her lap.
Ram stood by the hearth and told his wife and daughter of his proposal to give Ronan three thousand pounds.
Rhoni gasped. “But I don’t understand. If you offered him money—”
“I imposed a condition.”
Rhoni heard her father’s voice through a fog, her thoughts wholly on Ronan. Where was he? How did he intend to get to Ireland? Should she go after him?
She felt like a kitten trussed in a sack destined for the bottom of the lake, sensing disaster looming but unable to do anything to avoid it. “Condition?” she asked woodenly.
“I made it a condition that if he regained his lands, he was to return here to wed you.”
Her mother squealed. “Ram!”
The drawstring had been pulled tight and the sack dropped. Ronan had fled rather than agree to wed her. She squeezed her eyes tight shut, but the tears flowed. He did not want her. What a fool she had been.
Her parents were squabbling, but she barely heard them. She gripped the arm of the chair and came slowly to her feet.
Her mother rushed over. “Sit down, Rhoni. Hear your father out.”
“It’s no use, maman. He’s gone.”
Her father strode over and took her hands. “Listen, Rhoni. I imposed the condition as a test. I sensed he would not agree to it. He is too honourable a man to be forced into a marriage, no matter the prize.”
“He evidently does not view me as a prize.”
“I am speaking of the money I offered. Do you not see that he also cares too much for you to subject you to a forced marriage?”
She stared at her father. “I don’t understand.”
“Look at me and hear me well. Ronan MacLachlainn loves you. Any fool can see it. But he will not declare for you until his oath of vengeance is fulfilled.”
“But he’s gone.”
The Earl let out a long breath. “That is where I made my mistake. I intended to let him cool his heels then tell him I would give him the coin anyway. I did not anticipate his anger would cause him to leave.”
Montbryce Next Generation 01 - Dark Irish Knight Page 14