As the somewhat strained murmurs of the guests and glances at the couple continued, Roger muttered under his breath to the faithful Albert sitting beside him, “By God’s holy rood, what’s the matter with these people? We could be at a funeral mass. I’ll be damned if I’ve spent all this money for such poor sport.”
“I fear, my lord,” Albert said somewhat warily, since he was also voicing his own opinion, “that they think you do not really approve of the match...?”
“Of course I approve, or they wouldn’t be married.”
“I know that, and you know that, and I’m sure Madeline knows that, but the guests are less sure, perhaps.”
“Then, by God, I’ll give them proof.” Roger stood up abruptly and the few murmurings grew silent. “Dafydd ap Iolo!”
His new brother-in-law looked at him, for once taking his eyes from his bride. “Yes, Sir Roger?”
“Stand up.”
“Roger, what...?” Madeline began. Roger held up his hand to silence her and waited while Dafydd got to his feet.
“Kneel,” he commanded.
The Welshman’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms defiantly. “Why?”
“God’s blood, you look as stubborn as my sister. So I can knight you, you bloody fool.”
Madeline’s smile was delightful to behold, and there was a buzz of excitement among the guests. Hu Morgan’s approval was quite obvious, not that his opinion mattered, and the other guests’ expressions ranged from outrage to surprise to amusement. The gossips would have a fine time spreading this, Roger thought sardonically, and Baron DeGuerre might take his next action amiss. Then he looked at Madeline’s shining eyes, and no longer cared very much about what anybody thought, even the baron.
Dafydd ap Iolo, however, was not smiling. “Why are going to knight me?”
“What do you mean, why? It’s an honor!”
“I do not want to be a knight.”
“Are you mad?”
“No. Would I not have to swear fealty to you?”
“Yes. For the estate I will give you.”
“I do not want to swear fealty to any Norman, nor do I wish to be beholden to any Norman. Not even you, Sir Roger.”
Roger raised his eyebrow speculatively. “Well, Madeline, he seems as proud as any Norman, I will say that for him.”
“He has a right to be,” Madeline replied evenly.
“Where do you plan to live, then?” he asked next, well aware that they were making a fine show, but determined to have an answer after this rude refusal.
“Wales.”
“Roger, I hardly think this is the time—” Madeline protested.
“I do,” Roger snapped at her. Then his gaze returned to Dafydd. “I won’t have Madeline living in squalor.”
His brother-in-law barely flickered an eyelid. “Do you think I would let my wife live in squalor? I have relatives who are every bit as fine and noble as you. I will find a home with them.”
“Who?”
“Have you heard of the DeLanyeas?”
“You are related to Emryss DeLanyea?” Roger asked, taken aback to learn his new relation was so well connected. Emryss DeLanyea, half Welsh, half Norman, was famous in the border lands for being a just and capable lord. Even Baron DeGuerre spoke of him with admiration.
“Yes. Our grandmothers were sisters.”
“Seems a tenuous connection,” Roger noted.
“Not to the Welsh.”
Roger reached out to take Madeline’s hand and drew her up to stand beside her husband. “Then take her there. But I must have your promise that you will let me know how you fare, and perhaps even visit from time to time.”
Both Madeline and Dafydd nodded their agreement. How happy they were, Roger realized. He had been wrong to try to come between then, although he might never see his younger sister again. Without stopping to think, and to everyone’s surprise—including his own—Roger suddenly reached out and embraced his sister. “I wish you every happiness,” he whispered in her ear.
When he drew back, he saw that her eyes were moist with tears, and her husband’s eyes were also glistening. “Yes, well,” Roger announced gruffly, “it’s time to get on with the feast.”
The guests cheered and then the celebration truly began.
* * *
“Why did you refuse Roger’s offer of knighthood? Are you still angry with him?” Madeline inquired later that night as she brushed her hair.
“You seem to have forgiven all the trouble he caused rather quickly.” Dafydd leaned against the sill of the window, watching her. How her luxurious hair seemed to glow in the candlelight! “He was going to marry you off, remember? You were quite upset about it at the time.” His gaze strayed toward the bed and he noticed that the coverings had been drawn back invitingly.
“I can afford to be magnanimous,” Madeline replied airily, setting down her brush and going toward him with a smile that was at once gentle and enticing. “Since I have the husband I want.”
“He’s not completely wicked,” Dafydd conceded. “Just stubborn. Seems to be a family trait.”
“Your family, too. I’ve never noticed that little mole beside your ear before,” she said, rising on her toes to kiss it. “Won’t you have to give an oath of loyalty to this DeLanyea?”
“That’s different. I’ve never noticed how perfect the curve of your neck is.” He kissed her there, sending shivers down her spine.
“Why is it different?” she whispered, playing with a strand of his hair.
“Because DeLanyea’s more Welsh than Norman.” Dafydd ran his hands through her dark locks. “Enough talk of such things,” he murmured, lifting her in his strong arms. “It’s our wedding night.”
“And we’re finally going to sleep on a proper feather bed,” Madeline observed with a throaty, sultry laugh.
“Sleep is not what I had in mind.”
* * *
The next morning, an exhausted but blissfully happy Dafydd ap Iolo was busy making the final preparations for departure in the courtyard of Montmorency Castle. As a wedding gift, Roger was providing them with two very fine saddle horses, as well as another horse to carry their belongings. The other Welshmen were in the stables, saddling their mounts and obviously relieved at no longer having to pretend to be Sicilian Normans. There had been some grumbles about the early hour of their departure, for they had been celebrating as only the Welsh do, and many looked ill and barely awake. A few of the hardier souls, who had never gone to sleep, were singing verse after verse of the same ballad, tears of laughter streaming down their cheeks.
Most of the Normans were still slumbering in the hall, having slept where they fell the night before. Only Dudley, ever responsible, was going about his business as usual, although, since he had already said his farewell to the newly wedded couple, his nose and eyes were as red as if he had downed as much wine as any man at the feast.
Despite Roger’s generous request for them to stay with him longer, Madeline and Dafydd had been adamant about leaving. For Dafydd’s part, he had spent quite enough time in Norman territory.
Dafydd made a final check to see that Owain had tied the pack onto the beast properly. There seemed to be quite a bit of baggage, considering, and there was one particularly large bundle....
“Going now?” said a cheerful voice in Welsh.
Dafydd glanced over his shoulder to behold Hu Morgan strolling toward him. “As soon as Madeline is ready, aye,” he answered.
“Envious I would be, man, you going to Craig Fawr, if I didn’t have a lovely wife and child to go home to.”
“You know Emryss DeLanyea’s castle?”
“Know it? Did Sir Roger not tell you? Emryss was my foster father.”
“Ah—lucky you were, Morgan. Still, I can’t help but wonder...”
“What I’m doing living in Norman territory? With a Norman wife? And fighting off outlaw Welshmen?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the Norman wife you of all men shoul
d understand. I fell in love. As for fighting Welshmen, if they attack me, I fight back. As for the rest, as I told you once long ago, the Welsh have got to learn to live with the Normans. They’re here to stay, man. And they’re not all fiends, I think you’ll have to agree.”
“No, not all. I am tired of the fighting, too.”
“After all, I think we’ve hit the best way to conquer the Normans. Marry them!”
They shared a companionable chuckle, and looked so self-satisfied that Madeline frowned a little as she joined them. “What is so amusing this morning?” she asked.
“Just a Welsh joke, my lady,” Morgan said with a straight face. “I came to bid you a good journey. May God go with you!” An infectious grin lit his face.
Dafydd and Madeline said their farewells and Morgan walked jauntily toward the hall.
“What was he really doing?” Madeline asked as soon as Morgan was out of earshot.
“Congratulating us.”
“Oh. That’s all you’re going to tell me, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, you...you...”
“Villain? Outlaw? Scoundrel?” He pulled her into his arms. “Welshman.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Husband.” He kissed her again, more leisurely. “Lover.” This kiss was passionate.
“I hate to interrupt...”
They pulled apart and turned to see Roger standing a short distance away.
Roger de Montmorency, who Dafydd now knew had a heart after all, came closer. “You’re certain you won’t let me knight you?” he asked casually.
“Absolutely.”
“Well, you are a proud, stubborn fellow. You two are going to have some battles, I foresee.”
Madeline gave Dafydd a grin. “We’ve already had some. We find the peacemaking afterward makes up for the fight.”
“I suppose I have just witnessed such an event? If so, I’m tempted to agree. When will you let poor Chilcott and the angry abbot go, you and your `Sicilians’?”
“As soon as we get back to the others. You have my word.”
“I confess I am not looking forward to putting up with either of them. Especially the abbot. I think I’ll suggest to the baron that Father Gabriel would make a better leader for the monastery.”
Dafydd grinned his approval, happy to think that the kindhearted Father Gabriel would be in charge.
“Roger, I’m truly sorry to be leaving you to deal with them. What are you going to tell the baron about the wedding and everything?” Madeline asked.
“Well, since your husband took it upon himself to make his revelations in such a public place, I can hardly keep it a secret. The baron will have to be mollified, but I believe I know a way.”
“You do?”
“Baron DeGuerre wanted our family united to Chilcott’s. That might still be possible.”
“How?” Dafydd asked.
“I understand Chilcott has an unmarried half sister.”
Madeline understood him at once. “You mean you will marry for the sake of this alliance?” she demanded.
“Some of us are not so particular about our future mates,” Roger replied coolly.
“But Roger—!”
“Dafydd ap Iolo—really, that’s an outrageous name, Iolo. I trust you won’t give it to your son, Madeline.”
“Roger, we are speaking of your marriage.”
“No, we’re not.”
“But—”
“Will you kindly control this wife of yours? I have no wish to discuss my future matrimonial prospects. I came to say goodbye.”
“And me going to ask you for advice on controlling your sister,” Dafydd said mournfully.
Madeline glared at both of them. “You’re going to let this matter be ignored?”
“Yes,” her husband and her brother answered together.
“Listen to me, Madeline, for once,” Roger said, his tone soft and unmistakably sincere. “It doesn’t matter a whit to me who I marry, and my idea of marriage has never been based on any notion of love. If it wasn’t Mina Chilcott, it would be someone else I don’t particularly know or care about, and that’s fine with me.” His voice returned to its more usual cynical tone. “Dear sister, look at all the trouble this love of yours has caused.”
“Dafydd, make him understand.”
“No, Madeline,” Dafydd said slowly. “He’s got to make his own decisions.”
Madeline realized that although she was dismayed by Roger’s seemingly callous attitude, Dafydd was right. She had fought for a long time to make her own choices, and if she did not agree with Roger, she could not force him to change his mind. “Oh, very well,” she conceded at last. “But I hope you’ll be as happy as we are.”
“I doubt that,” Roger replied. “You two are so delighted with each other, it’s embarrassing. I think you should get out of here at once, before you give my men ideas and they start traipsing over the countryside seeking wives.”
Despite his cavalier tone, Madeline wasn’t fooled for a moment. “We’ll send you word when we arrive at Craig Fawr,” she said softly after Dafydd helped her mount her horse.
“Good.”
“Farewell, Roger.” Dafydd swung up into his saddle. The other Welshmen came out of the stables, mounted and ready to leave. Dafydd signaled Owain to lead the way through the gates.
“Take good care of my sister, Welshman,” Roger warned.
“I will. You have my word on that.”
“And don’t let her have her way all the time. She’s spoiled enough as it is.”
“Roger!”
“I think she’s perfect,” Dafydd said.
“This love must be a powerful thing, if you think Madeline’s perfect.”
Madeline nodded. “It is, Roger. It’s a wonderful, astounding feeling. I hope you discover that for yourself someday. Goodbye, brother.”
“God go with you, sister.”
Madeline and Dafydd rode out of the gate, pausing to wave once more at Roger, who stood alone in the courtyard. “Sorry to be leaving him?” Dafydd asked when Roger marched out of view.
Madeline turned to her husband with tears in her eyes and a lovely smile on her lips. “I would be, if I were going with anyone else but you, Dafydd.”
His gaze faltered. “You’re giving up so much, Madeline.”
“I have everything I ever wanted,” she replied seriously, then she gave him a comically lascivious look. “And Roger gave us a feather bed, too,” she added, nodding at the large, mysterious bundle tied to the packhorse.
Dafydd ap Iolo threw back his head and laughed. Madeline joined him, and soon the sounds of their happiness echoed along the road leading north into Wales.
* * * * *
Author Note
Sometimes, when I’m very lucky, a character pops into my head who is so complete and so exciting that I have to stop, take a deep breath and wonder what the devil is going on. That happened when I was writing The Welshman’s Way. The moment Madeline collided with her brother, Sir Roger de Montmorency, I knew I had a character who was going to be something special.
However, The Welshman’s Way was not Roger de Montmorency’s story. He had to wait until I had finished his sister’s book. He’s not the most patient of men, and so, to be honest with you, that’s really why he got knocked over the head. It was my way of preventing him from taking control of Madeline’s book the same way he wanted to control her life.
The one major worry I had about Roger’s story was his heroine. Roger is rather overwhelming, to say the least. What kind of woman could not only deal with him, but ultimately match him in strength, bravery and, yes, arrogance?
Then in rode the soaking wet, bedraggled but unbowed Mina Chilcott, and my dread dissipated.
I hope you enjoyed The Welshman’s Way, and look for The Norman’s Heart in the spring of 1996.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-8353-4
The Welshman’s Way
Copyright © 1995 by Margaret Wilkins
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