Allegiance

by Markland, Anna

  The intensity of his feelings left him as confused as she seemed to be. His response to Glain had been somehow different from when they’d first arrived, different even from when he had come across Rhun and Glain in the herb garden. Now, jealousy consumed him and his blood boiled. Yesterday had been about the needs of his weary body and, admittedly, the usual brotherly rivalry. He was obsessed. Was it because he had been alone with her at the well—until his brother had shown up?

  He scowled at Rhun, noticing Glain’s flushed cheeks. “What do you want? Did you come to tell me something?”

  Rhun coughed and tore his gaze away from Glain, a bemused expression on his face. “What? Oh, yes, we’re examining the horses. We need your expertise, to make sure they’re fit for the return journey.”

  Some of Rhydderch’s anger left him. His twin bowed to his superior knowledge of horseflesh, just as he never envied Rhun his skills as a bowman. He linked arms with his brother and they strode off together.

  * * *

  Isolda bent to pick up the bucket and swayed on her feet. She grasped the rough stones of the well for support, unsure of what had just happened. The sheer size of the first twin to greet her could set a maiden’s heart beating wildly. Glain spoke true. They were not hard to recognize. Was the rich color of his hair the reason she had reached up and run her fingers through it?

  When Rhydderch came upon her at the well and offered his help, his deep voice penetrated to her belly, and lower. Perhaps his unexpected arrival had sent heat spiraling into her womb. She had not known which twin approached her at first. This wasn’t good. The man’s beauty and stature had her acting like a silly young girl. Yet, when his brother happened upon them—nothing. No clenching in the gut, no tightened nipples.

  By the saints! She was hot and bothered. She and Glain planned to have fun, not get caught up in the charms of either man. In a few days, they would be gone. At least she seemed to have fooled them into believing she was Glain.

  * * *

  Rhun watched his brother carefully examine the horses and ponies, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The encounter at the well perplexed him. True, jealousy had stabbed him when he had seen Rhydderch drop the pail and draw Glain to his body, but it was not the overwhelming anger of yesterday, or of this midday when Rhydderch had interrupted them in the herb garden.

  His emotions warred within him. Perhaps the stress of the rescue and his worries for Rhys had him confused.

  Journey Home

  They stayed in the village with a smaller contingent of their bodyguards. Baudoin made good progress. After he had spent three days on a more comfortable pallet brought from a neighboring cottage, Glain gave permission for him to get out of bed. He went first to the pallet where Rhys lay in the grip of a fever.

  “Rhys, I’m sorry I dragged you with me when I fell. It appears you cushioned my fall and took the worst of it. Carys will help you heal when we get to Ellesmere.”

  His eyes glazed, Rhys replied, “I’m simply thankful we’re both alive. Imagine…two men such as us…falling off a horse into a gorge. We’re surrounded by…danger wherever we go…but we had to create our own…I’ll be well again. You’re right…Carys will help us heal…and Annalise…if I survive this cursed fever.”

  “Glain is an accomplished healer. She won’t let us travel until you’re sufficiently recovered. I have a feeling that the longer we stay here the happier the terrible twosome will be.”

  Rhys frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the lady is going to have to choose between them. They’re both smitten with her.”

  * * *

  By the sixth day Glain declared Baudoin fit to travel and Rhys was making progress. She sensed the twins wanted to kill each other. She and Isolda had played a masterful game with the pair who acted like two jousting knights ready to square off over a fair damsel.

  But she had not taken into account they were twins, and she should have known better. She had believed they could play this intriguing and daring game with the obviously enamored redheads, but the more time she spent with Rhun, the more attracted she was to him.

  Trapped in his gaze, her breasts tightened and tingled. The slightest touch of his fingers sent a heated ache spiraling into her belly. Though Rhun’s hands were healing well, she made any excuse to examine them. On the rare occasions when they had a chance to meet, her sister confided that the more she toyed with Rhydderch the more she liked him. They shared confidences about the unfamiliar wanton urges assailing their bodies.

  They had begun the game in the belief the brothers would never have any interest in a village girl. Now, they were not sure it had been a good idea. The men thought they pursued one person and seemed too serious by far.

  The day the visitors left, each twin swore his intention to return.

  Isolda and Glain would wait and see, hoping it was true, but nervous it might be.

  * * *

  Rhys improved steadily, and he too soon noticed the interplay of suggestive looks, smiles, and discreet touches going on between the three. He was not sure what to make of it. His twin brothers had shared women before, but in a devil-may-care kind of way, like they shared everything. This was different. There was a smoldering passion about the way they looked at Glain, and she seemed to relish the attention of both men, but in a cool, reserved manner, never indicating a preference, or a definite acknowledgement of the subtle intent of their suggestive looks.

  She was the consummate sophisticated flirt, and the twins thirsted after her and obeyed her every whim like dogs. Rhys found it amusing to see the rebellious and defiant twins brought to heel. He and Baudoin jested about it privately and they wagered secretly on which twin would win out in the end. But Rhys worried that if that happened, one of them would be hurt.

  When Glain gave approval for her patients to travel, Rhys saw how difficult it was for his brothers to bid farewell to the healer. It was obvious both men wanted her. She too seemed bereft at their leaving. They promised to return, and Rhys again worried about the damage this relationship could do. They shared everything, but a woman? They looked back several times after the village was well out of sight, and then looked at each other. He knew they too were worried. Envy of each other was foreign to them.

  Rhys was able to sit astride his horse, but the cavalcade moved slowly due to his injuries. His ribs were much improved, but he did not want to undo Glain’s good work. She told him sternly he was not to walk on his leg, and he had to be helped to hobble to a seat each time he dismounted. His ankle wasn’t as swollen, but still tender. He was frustrated to be the reason for their lack of progress. Baudoin rode at the head of the party and the twins brought up the rear.

  It took several days to reach Powwydd. Baudoin rested there only one day, anxious to get to Ellesmere for the birth of his third child.

  Rhys was too exhausted to continue right away and worried his leg wasn’t healing. “I wish I could accompany you,” he said. “Annalise will be concerned. Please assure her I’m recovering. Tell her I’ll be there in a few days.”

  * * *

  Accompanied by his men-at-arms and the cartographers, Baudoin made it to Ellesmere in a day and a half.

  Annalise hurried to meet him in the courtyard, distraught when she realized Rhys was not with him.

  Frowning, Baudoin questioned her before she had a chance to speak. “Why has my wife not come to greet me?”

  “Milord Baudoin,” she replied. “Milady Carys is abed. She hasn’t been well for several days. She has worried about you, and Rhys. Where is my husband? He’s not with you?”

  She doubted he was listening, intent as he was on finding Carys. “He can’t travel yet,” he replied, walking away. “But his leg is improving. He’ll be here in a few days. Don’t worry.”

  He hurried off.

  “Don’t worry?” Annalise shrieked to the empty courtyard. The stone walls threw back her anguish, echoing her despair. “How can I not worry?” she whispered. “My beautiful Rhys is
suffering and I’m powerless to help him.” She gathered her skirts and walked quickly to her chamber, where she collapsed onto the bed, weeping.

  Healing Touch

  Baudoin entered his chamber quietly and tiptoes to the bed where his wife lay, her eyes closed. She looked pale. He had never seen her in anything but the best of health. A lump rose in his throat. “Carys, my love,” he whispered, taking hold of her hand.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. “Baudoin, hold me. I’ve missed you. I was worried. I knew you and Rhys were hurt. It has drained me. I have no energy. Poor Annalise. She has been obliged to take care of me, and she’s concerned for Rhys.”

  “I’m here now,” he whispered hoarsely, hugging his wife’s limp body. Never before had she failed to respond to his embrace. Her obvious exhaustion tore at his heart. “I’ll take care of you. Rhys is still at Powwydd. He’ll come in a few days. His leg was badly broken and pains him. I feel terrible remorse that I dragged him into the gorge. It was an incredibly stupid accident.”

  “Tell me what happened,” she said, lazily patting the bed.

  He sat beside her and recounted the details of the incident and the rescue. He touched her hand to the back of his head. “I still have a small bump. Had it not been for the strength and courage of your twin brothers we would have died in that crevice. But, enough of that, what’s happening with my third son?” He ran his hands over her swollen belly and kissed her there.

  “Not ready to come yet, but soon,” she replied. “And I think your son is going to be a daughter. Will you mind?”

  “Mind?” he exclaimed, smiling. “My heart is so full of the idea of a little girl, I can hardly speak.”

  He kissed her lovingly, and she entwined her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you,” he breathed, cupping her heavy breasts in his hands, brushing a light kiss over each nipple barely visible through the fabric of her nightgown. “You look pale.”

  “I’ll be well now you’ve returned,” she whispered.

  He held her as she drifted off to sleep, terrified he might lose his Carys. Life would mean nothing without her at his side.

  * * *

  Two days later, Baudoin covered his ears to block out the pitiful moans that had hung in the air for a day and a night as Carys struggled to deliver his child. He could not look at the worried faces of the two midwives and Carys’s apprentice healer as they scurried in and out of the chamber. He was convinced he would be facing the rest of his life without her. This was nothing like the first two birthings and he knew it.

  If it came to a choice between his wife and his child, he wanted his wife to survive. These thoughts brought on a bout of guilt, and he wept at his sin.

  “Dieu,” he prayed on his knees in the chapel built by his father. “I beg they both be delivered whole from this torment. I need Carys, just as my father needed his beloved Mabelle.”

  He’d been enormously selfish, assuming his wife would never have difficulties in childbirth. “I thought only of myself and my desire for many children.”

  Annalise was immersed in her worry for Rhys and fled the birthing chamber in tears several times.

  Baudoin was drowning in despair. He worried for his sons. Gallien and Etienne would miss their loving mother. He went to the nursery. His maman had been a loving presence in his life. He wanted that for his own children. He forced himself to keep smiling while he played with them.

  “What’s wrong, Papa?” the always perceptive Gallien asked, taking his father’s hand. “You’re sad. Where is Maman?”

  “She is in bed, little one.” He choked on the words. “She’s not feeling well.”

  He thanked the saints the nursery was far enough removed from his chamber they could not hear their mother’s torment. “I’m going to see how she fares,” he told them, his heart heavy with dread that, when he returned, it would be to tell them their mother had died.

  He made his way to the chamber where Carys’s life was ebbing away and hesitated at the door. Had he heard a baby’s cry? Oui, there it was again, more insistent this time. A child had been born. Would it live? Carys? Fear held him in its thrall.

  He stepped back when the door opened abruptly. The apprentice healer backed out furtively and closed the door quickly. Her eyes widened when she turned and saw him. “My lord,” she murmured, seemingly out of breath, “you have a daughter. She’s very small and frail, but the midwife believes she’ll survive.”

  Baudoin’s gut tightened. The girl wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “My wife? My countess?”

  The girl burst into tears. “My lady is dying. Pray for her, my lord.”

  She rushed back into the chamber.

  A wave of nausea washed over him. He ran, fighting to keep from retching until he was in the stables. An anxious groom approached him, but he shook his head and motioned him away. He sank to his hands and knees in the straw and vomited until his eyes watered and he could retch no more.

  The nervous boy ran to the courtyard at the sound of horses. He took the reins of the lead horse that bore the Prince of Powwydd, his broken leg still encased in Glain’s stiffened binding. The boy steadied the horse and steward Tristan Bonhomme rushed forward to help Rhys dismount.

  * * *

  Rhys was suddenly smothered in his sobbing wife’s arms, her head pressed against his chest. He enfolded her in his cloak. She was speaking in such rapid French he could barely understand a word. Warmth spread through his veins. He held a woman who was distraught for him. Could it be his Annalise loved him?

  His attention wandered to the door of the stable, where a disheveled man stood, swaying. He didn’t at first recognise Baudoin. He was alarmingly pale as he staggered towards them, mumbling, “You’re a Montbryce. You’ll survive this.”

  Rhys was taken aback. He kept an arm around Annalise and hobbled to Baudoin. “What ails you?” he asked.

  Baudoin’s despair was evident as he explained to Rhys that his sister had given birth to a girl and now lay dying in her chamber.

  Annalise keened for Rhys and his impending loss. “I couldn’t sit with Carys any longer. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Rhys’s heart thudded in his ears. Carys must not die. He enfolded his pregnant wife in his arms, recognizing the fear in her eyes, and spoke to Baudoin. “Have you seen her? The child? How does she fare?”

  “Non,” he whimpered, looking sheepish. “I thought only of my wife.”

  Rhys shook Baudoin’s shoulder. “We must go to Carys. She needs you, and perhaps she needs me. Remember, I’m the son of Rhonwen Dda. I may not be a great healer like my mother and sisters, but I know a thing or two. Help me to your chambers. Annalise, go ahead and tell the midwives we’re coming. Time may be of the essence.”

  His wife sped off to do his bidding.

  Baudoin seemed to rally. “It may not be conventional for a man to help save my wife’s life, but you’re her brother.”

  He helped Rhys limp to their chambers. When they entered the room, the apprentice brought the newborn to Baudoin. He took the sleeping child in his arms and held her to his chest, brushing a kiss across her tiny forehead. “She’s a fragile flower,” he sniffled. “We’ll baptize her Fleurie.”

  Annalise assisted Rhys to Carys’s bedside. His sister’s tangled hair was plastered to her ashen face. The bloodstained linens heightened her pallor. He raised his eyes in question to the midwives. They shook their heads. He would need God’s help and every bit of lore his mother had passed on. He hoped he’d paid close enough attention.

  The midwife wrung her hands. “We can’t stop the bleeding, my lord. We’ve given her a tea of lady’s mantle. When that didn’t work we followed it with a sage tea.”

  “Teas won’t help her.” He bent over to whisper his thoughts in Welsh to Carys. She seemed barely awake, but nodded her agreement.

  He took a deep breath. “Ladies, we’ll try one more tea. Prepare it with dried shepherd’s purse steeped in hot water.”

  They looked at him i
nquiringly, as though dumbfounded, but he waved them out. They scurried off to find the herb in the still room, evidently relieved to be doing something productive.

  He had to explain to Baudoin what he and Carys believed was the only way to save her. Never had he been more keenly aware of the difference in their cultures. “Brother, my sister agrees with me that what we need to do is massage her.”

  Baudoin, still holding the sleeping Fleurie, looked at his brother-by-marriage, incomprehension evident on his frowning face. “Massage? I don’t understand.”

  Rhys wished he could get the weight off his leg. Feeling light-headed, he took a deep breath. “I’ll explain what my mother passed on to us. To stop the bleeding, Carys’s womb needs to be forced to go back to its normal size. That can only be achieved by massage if the womb fails to contract of its own accord. Carys doesn’t have the strength to do it. May I speak to the apprentice and attempt it?”

  Baudoin gaped and Rhys suspected he still did not understand. “Anything. If it will save Carys.”

  Rhys nodded grimly. “It may not work, but it’s our last hope.”

  He calmly explained to the apprentice what must be done. “You’re the only person here who can help her now until the midwives return. This may take some time. Are you willing to try, Bronwynn?”

  “Yes,” she stammered, but her quivering lip betrayed her trepidation.

  He took her trembling hand and cupped it in his own, then pressed her fingers into her lady’s belly. Slowly, he moved her hand in deep, penetrating circles, squeezing repetitively. “This will help strengthen the womb. Don’t be afraid to press hard even though it may pain her.”