He noticed Rhonwen was having difficulty and wondered what ailed the healer. She walked with her head bowed. Was she crying? Her shoulders shook. Perhaps she was ill? The two women paused in the centre of the bridge. The armed men stooped to pick up the heavy chests and walked back into Wales in the same slow and dignified manner his own soldiers had walked. They could nock an arrow to their bow and let it fly before his men had time to blink.
But why were Mabelle and Rhonwen not continuing to walk towards him? Something had gone wrong. His gut tightened.
CHAPTER FORTY
Mabelle turned to face Rhonwen and took hold of her shoulders. “Rhonwen, you must return to him. He’s right. You’re his destiny and he’s yours.”
“But my lady—my duty to you. I’m a healer—how can I live with a warrior, a man of blood and war?”
Mabelle increased her grip and shook Rhonwen. “Because you love him, Rhonwen, and he loves you. You can’t turn your back on a great love. It will destroy you both. It won’t be easy living with a Welsh rebel, but to live without love is unbearable and creates only bitterness. I’ve wasted too much of my life trying to deny the existence of love. You must embrace it. You and Rhodri will bear many fine children, and perhaps one day our sons and daughters will live together in peace in these mountains and valleys.”
Rhonwen looked back to Wales. “I can’t see him, but he’s still there. May I embrace you my lady? You’ve been like a mother to me since my own was murdered.”
As the two women embraced, Mabelle asked, “Why did Myfanwy not tell me you were her daughter?”
“She was afraid you’d think she had chosen me because I was her daughter and not because of my skills as a healer. And—she was ashamed I was a base born child, the daughter of a Saxon knight. I said nothing when it was believed my mother had poisoned you, because I was afraid you’d suspect I was involved.”
They both looked down at the sleeping child tucked between them, and Mabelle suddenly knew her daughter’s name. “My daughter will bear your name, Rhonwen, in honour of your love and courage and as a token of hope for the future.”
She kissed Rhonwen on each cheek, made her turn around, and gave her a gentle push. “Now go. And don’t look back.”
She watched the girl walk slowly towards Wales, then turned and walked towards her husband. As she reached the end of the bridge Ram emerged from the mist and strode towards her. She noticed flecks of silver in his beautiful black hair. “Ram,” she breathed, tears rolling down her cheeks.
She felt the warmth of his arms as he encircled her waist and his eyes fell to the baby, sleeping peacefully in her sling. “I want to hold you to myself tightly, but I’m afraid I’ll crush the child,” he rasped.
Mabelle lifted the baby from the sling and gave her to Ram. “My lord husband, I present your daughter, Hylda Rhonwen de Montbryce.”
He looked at the infant who opened her eyes and smiled. “She has your golden hair,” he murmured. Then his eyes widened. “Rhonwen? Why have you named her Rhonwen?”
“I’ll explain,” she rasped. “You’ll understand. I cannot speak of it now.”
Swallowing hard, he took his wife’s hand and, holding the baby firmly in the other arm, walked to where Giselle stood, supported by her sons, having recovered from her momentary dizziness of relief. He kissed the babe’s forehead, handed the child to the maidservant, and turned back to look at his wife.
How amazing that the simple touch of his hand can reignite my passion so quickly.
He’d brought Mabelle’s warmest cloak with him. He retrieved it and draped it lovingly around her, never taking his eyes from hers. She held her breath. He pressed her tightly to his body, enfolded her in his own cloak and whispered into her ear, “Mabelle, I’m consumed with love for you. Thank you for this beautiful gift. I’m whole again now you’re back safe with me. My life has had no meaning with you gone. Can you forgive me and return my love?”
Her legs trembled with the happiness and relief flooding over her. He’d not asked her if she’d been raped, had uttered no words of blame. He’d declared his love for her without any conditions. She returned his embrace and felt the familiar longings she’d striven to suppress during her captivity. Suddenly she caught sight over his shoulder of the posy of bluebells attached to the pommel of his saddle. The memories engulfed her. She could hardly wait to get her handsome husband into bed. She felt his arousal as she pressed against him.
“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 swept her up into 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.”
“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, who though not blood kin, had come to mean much to her. Ahead of her waited the man she loved with a force that threatened to consume her. Something made her stop before the end of the bridge and she took a deep breath to clear her head. Her hand went to her neck where she still wore the fine amber necklace Rhodri had given her on their first night together, when he’d avowed 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’d 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 put his hands on his hips. “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.
“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 isn’t 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 behind them.
“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 black 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.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
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 too.”
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. He nodded 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’d written to him on her last night in Cadair Berwyn fell from the folds. When she’d written it she was unsure of his love. In the excitement and relief of their rescue she’d forgotten it. He’d seen the parchment, intent as he was on watching her suckle their daughter.
“It’s a letter,” she murmured, blushing. “A letter to you.”
“From whom?”
“From me.”
He held out his hand. “I would read it.”
She handed it to him. He unfurled 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 rolled up 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.”
“Open your mouth, Mabelle.” She tilted her head back. He held the wineskin and poured the dark 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 Mabelle’s 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, pressed 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 rejoiced in seeing 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.
###
Thank you for reading Conquering Passion. If you enjoyed this book, I would appreciate it if you would help others enjoy it too.
Recommend it. Please help other readers find this book by recommending it to friends, readers’ groups and discussion boards.
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Review it. Please tell other readers why you liked this book by reviewing it at the following websites: Amazon and Goodreads. If you do publish a review, send an email to anna at annamarkland dot com, so I can thank you personally.
Anxious to know what happens to Caedmon Woolgar, Ram’s illegitimate son?
A Man of Value, Book Two of the Montbryce Legacy, is his story.
Or perhaps you’re more interested in Ram’s brothers, Antoine and Hugh? If so, you can skip straight to Book Three of the Legacy, If Love Dares Enough.
If you’re curious to relive this story through the eyes of the Welsh rebel chieftain, Rhodri, you’ll enjoy Book One of the Sons of Rhodri Series, Defiant Passion.
Happy Reading!
About the Author
Anna Markland is a Canadian author with a keen interest in genealogy. She writes medieval romance about family honour, ancestry and roots. Her novels are intimate love stories filled with passion and adventure. Following a fruitful career in teaching, Anna transformed her love of writing and history into engaging works of fiction. Prior to becoming a fiction author, she published numerous family histories. One of the things she enjoys most about writing historical romance is the in-depth research required to provide the reader with an authentic medieval experience.
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GLOSSARY
A complete glossary for Ms. Markland’s novels.
CP=Conquering Passion (Montbryce Legacy, Book I) © Anna Markland 2011
AMOV=A Man of Value (Montbryce Legacy, Book II) © Anna Markland 2011
ILDE=If Love Dares Enough (Montbryce Legacy, Book III) © Anna Markland 2012
PIB=Passion in the Blood (Montbryce Legacy, Book IV) © Anna Markland 2012
DP=Defiant Passion (Sons of Rhodri, Book I) © Anna Markland 2012
DB=Dark and Bright (Sons of Rhodri, Book II) © Anna Markland 2012
WTH=The Winds of the Heavens (Sons of Rhodri, Book III) © Anna Markland 2012
CA=Carried Away (FitzRam Family, Book I) © Anna Markland 2012
Abbaye aux Dames—An abbey for women built in Caen by William the Conqueror ILDE, PIB
Abbaye aux Hommes—An abbey for men built in Caen by William the Conqueror ILDE, PIB
Abbey—Agneta’s mare in AMOV
Abbot—Caedmon’s roan stallion in AMOV
Adam de Montbryce—Son of Antoine and Sybilla PIB
Adelaide—Daughter of King Henry I; married Holy Roman Emperor, Henry V CA
Aediva Melton—Sister of the Saxon heroine in ILDE
Agnes—Norman scullery maid at Domfort Castle in ILDE
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Agneta Kirkthwaite—English Heroine of Danish and Saxon descent in AMOV
Aidan Branton FitzRam—Son of Caedmon and Agneta, twin of Blythe; named for Agneta’s brothers who were slain at Bolton. AMOV, CA
Alexandre de Montbryce—Eldest son of Robert and Dorianne. Heir to the title Comte de Montbryce. Born in Caen during his father’s incarceration PIB
Alnwick—Located in Northumbria. Site of a battle in 1093 between Roger de Mowbray, Earl of Northumbria, and Malcolm, King of Scotland. Malcolm and his son were killed. Agneta rescues Caedmon from the battlefield and tends his injuries. AMOV
Andras ap Rhys—Welshman—Friend and comrade of Rhodri ap Owain in CP and DP
Aneurin ap Norweg—Welshman—Friend and comrade of Rhodri ap Owain in CP and DP
Angeline Hugo—Norman peasant, rape victim of Arnulf de Valtesse CP
Anjou—Geographic area of France south of Normandy. Its people are called Angevins. Normans and Angevins were traditional enemies. ILDE
Anna—Dieter’s housekeeper, CA
Annalise de Vymont—Heroine of DB. Niece of the Earl of Chester.
Antoine de Montbryce—Norman hero of ILDE; brother of Rambaud and Hugh
ap Owain—Welsh patronymic—son of Owain
Arnulf de Valtesse—Norman half brother of Mabelle de Montbryce, heroine of CP. Bastard son of Guillaume de Valtesse. Murdered in CP by Simon Hugo
Ascha (Bronson) Woolgar—Saxon mother of Caedmon; in CP and AMOV
Barat Cormant—Norman steward brought to England by the Montbryces for Sussex properties; ILDE; son of Michel, brother of Théo.
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