Emrys looked at his new mistress and grinned. “Why didn’t she say so?”
Rhys again resisted the urge to smile. “Your lady is still learning our language. Be patient. You are grieving for my parents, but they welcomed my wife with love and affection before they died.”
Emrys bowed. “I will indeed make sure my lady is provided with all she needs if she will but show me what she requires.”
Rhys turned to his wife. “Cook says he is always willing to try new ideas. You have but to show him.”
Annalise smiled at him, then at Emrys.
The scullery maids exhaled.
Rhys left the kitchen holding his wife’s hand firmly, sure it would not be the last time he would have to intervene in domestic squabbles.
* * *
Annalise left the foodhouse with a heavy heart. She suspected Rhys had used his skills to calm the argument she had somehow started with the cook. She didn’t know how to communicate with his people. She felt isolated and alone. Rhys would not always be there to help. Welsh was proving nigh on impossible to learn and Rhonwen hard to live up to. It was obvious everyone grieved for their mistress.
Rhys put his arm around her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
She stopped abruptly and buried her face in her hands, not wanting him to see her tears. “They will never come to respect me. They hate me. I wish I’d never left Normandie.”
Rhys drew her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. The aroma of venison from the kitchen clung to him. It mingled with his usual masculine scent that filled her senses. “They don’t hate you,” he soothed. “They are grieving for my parents. Change is hard. They will come to love you.”
But will you, Rhys?
Glad Tidings
Travel within Wales was difficult, given the rugged terrain, the lack of roads and the remoteness of many villages. For Carys to travel back and forth from Ellesmere to the family llys in Wales was an arduous journey, though not a great distance. Rhys wanted to lessen his new bride’s feeling of isolation, and Baudoin was concerned for Carys when she travelled. Gradually, over many months of discussion, the two men formulated a plan to improve travel in the Marches, both firm in the belief that better roads would lead to increased prosperity.
They had little information available and discussed areas which they believed might need the most improvement. They planned to undertake a fact-finding expedition to verify their assumptions. To facilitate their meetings, Rhys and Annalise came to stay at Ellesmere Castle, and Rhys was grateful to his sister and brother-by-marriage for giving his wife the opportunity to get to know them, and for the respite from the isolation of Wales.
He and Annalise were abed one evening, shortly after their arrival, and Rhys sensed his wife’s nervousness. She had been unwell on the journey and looked pale. He cupped her breasts in his hands and grazed his thumbs over the pebbled nipples. She moaned, but tears welled in her eyes. He sat up and pulled her to his chest. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She took a deep breath. “I spoke with Carys today. I haven’t been feeling well.”
His heart lurched. He had known his wife only a short time, yet she had become an essential part of his life. “What did she say?”
Annalise hesitated, clutching the linens. “She says I am with child.”
Something hit him squarely in the gut and spread its heat all the way to his toes and back up his spine, settling in his heart. He was to be a father. His seed had taken root inside this beautiful woman he was married to. He could not speak. His breath caught in his throat.
His wife tensed beside him, staring at the linens. “You are not pleased?”
He put his hands on her shoulders and held her away. “Not pleased? I am euphoric.”
He rose from the bed and pulled her to her feet. They stood skin to skin, breast to chest. Then he knelt, smoothed his hands over her belly and kissed her there. “Thank you, Annalise. Thank you for this precious gift.”
“You’re welcome, Rhys.”
He loved the way she pronounced his name, the R deep in the back of her throat, the long drawn out eee, the soft sss and the indefinable little emphasis at the end, as if his name had another letter. He put his cheek to her belly and his arms around her waist. She rested her warm hands on his shoulders. They swayed together for a long while before he looked up at her and said, “There is only one problem.”
Her eyes widened and he regretted the worry on her face. He smiled and explained, “This means I will have to share the suckling.”
The reappearance of her smile spread warmth through him again as she tousled his hair. “Méchant,” she scolded.
He frowned. “Can I still be naughty now you’re with child?”
“Carys says it is permitted.”
He rose from his knees, took her hand and led her back to bed.
* * *
Carys too was with child, her third, and the two women were good and supportive company for each other. Annalise told Rhys she was reassured by Carys’s calm explanations about the birth of her two children. Gallien Rambaud de Montbryce had been born in the year of our Lord One Thousand One Hundred and Two. When he was two years old, Carys and Baudoin welcomed their second son, Etienne Rhodri.
Carys had assisted as a healer at many births. Having inherited Rhonwen’s mystical aura in her abilities to heal, she brought no fear to her experience of giving birth. She confided to Rhys she was secretly hoping for a girl, having more than fulfilled the obligation to provide Baudoin with an heir.
Rhys had always been proud of his moderation with women, often going many months without bedding anyone. Now, he craved his beautiful wife constantly. “It’s amazing the effect a magnificent pair of breasts can have on a man’s urges,” he confided to Baudoin one day. His brother-by-marriage nodded and laughed good-naturedly.
Rhys hardened whenever he conjured the image of his wife’s swollen breasts. It occasionally occurred to him his attraction to Annalise might be something more than simple lust, but he pushed the idea away. He was glad they were friends. He enjoyed their conversations, sharing with her the plans for the road improvements, and for their home at Powwydd. In friendship lay contentment and comfort.
Annalise struggled with Welsh, but her English improved rapidly and that was the language they used most often. Rhys relished the occasions when she responded to his patient teaching and was able to speak a few words in his language. He particularly liked doing this when they were abed together and he taught her words of intimacy in Welsh.
He wanted her to understand him when he told her in his own language how lovely she was, how enthralled he was by her bountiful breasts and how fulfilled he felt when he was inside her. It warmed his heart when she smiled in understanding as he whispered these words to her. She asked him to teach her how to tell him that she loved to feel his manhood inside her. When she repeated his words in her halting Welsh it inflamed his already rampant need. He was strangely disappointed she did not ask how to say, “I love you”.
Into The Abyss
It was suggested Rhun and Rhydderch might accompany Baudoin and Rhys on their journey to plan the road improvements they had in mind. This would allay the fears of Welsh villages they planned to pass through. The twins were now as well known for their patriotic fervor as their father had been. They expressed concerns about the involvement of a Norman earl in the plans, and possibly Norman money from King Henry.
Rhys shrugged off their hesitation. “It was Baudoin’s idea in the first place,” he retorted. “He is your brother-by-marriage. If his king wishes to spend money helping the Welsh, isn’t that what we want?”
Rhun still bristled. “But he talks of building wide roads. You know why, don’t you?”
Rhydderch answered before Rhys had a chance to reply. “He wants it wide enough for soldiers to march abreast when they invade Wales again.”
Rhys snorted. “Baudoin isn’t going to invade Wales. Carys would never forgive him.”
The well-equipped and provisioned group set off as soon as fair spring weather allowed. It consisted of five Normans skilled in cartography, fifty of Baudoin’s men-at-arms and a band of Rhun’s bowmen.
Rhun was deadly with a bow. He could nock an arrow and strike a target before his enemy had time to blink. He and his twin were amicably competitive and well-matched in most things, but Rhydderch readily admitted his brother’s superiority with a bow, and was not jealous of it.
They planned to travel from Ellesmere to Powwydd and thence west across Wales, searching out the best route, noting where trees and undergrowth might have to be cleared. They would estimate how deep to dig trenches for the roads, and how much in the way of stones would be required to fill the bottom, and where they would procure such stone. In addition, they would search for sources of gravel or cobblestones for the surface which they planned to build with a camber so that rain would run off into ditches at the sides.
“We must calculate the number of men required for the completion of the plan over a number of years,” Rhys pointed out.
Baudoin agreed. “And they’ll have to be provisioned and sheltered. It’s an ambitious undertaking we’re embarking on, my friends.”
There was talk of making it all the way to the west coast, but they recognised it might not be feasible to complete such a journey in one try, and Baudoin and Rhys both wanted to be present when their children were born. Baudoin told Rhys he hoped for a girl, though he had said nothing to Carys.
Rhys hoped for a son and had no hesitation in telling everyone.
Both women wished their husbands a tearful goodbye as they departed Ellesmere on their bold adventure. Rhys hesitated as he prepared to mount. He came back to his wife, took the amber beads from around his neck and fastened them around hers.
She shook her head and tried to stop him. “Non, they belonged to your mother. It is not fitting that I wear them.”
He insisted. “It’s more than fitting. You’re a mother now. They will remind you of me, until I return.”
She fingered them. “Thank you.”
* * *
Despite the comparatively luxurious amenities of Ellesmere, Annalise missed Powwydd. It was puzzling that she already felt at home there, though it lacked some of the comforts she had grown up with. She could not understand it. There were still problems of communication to resolve with the Welsh servants, yet she did not feel at home in Ellesmere. Perhaps if Rhys was there, it might be different. It disturbed her that she missed him as much as she did.
Was it only that she missed his lovemaking, his well-muscled body, the feel of his maleness deep within her? No, she missed the warmth of his laugh, his sense of humor, his patience. The people of Powwydd loved and respected him. Why could she not accept that she loved him too? Was it Norman pride that made her nurse her resentment at the dowry Rhys had asked? Or was it fear that, though the heat in his eyes told her he burned for her, men were driven by lust and not love? He would never be in love with her. Never be the chivalrous knight of her dreams.
She fell asleep clutching the amber beads each night, looking forward to the birth of her child. Then she would have someone who would return her love.
* * *
The fair weather at the outset of the expedition soon deteriorated into heavy spring rains. The ground underfoot was boggy. As abruptly as the rain came, it stopped, to be replaced by unusually hot, sunny days. A cloying mist rose off the saturated terrain. The cartographers were kept busy recording the observations and calculations they and the nobles made. They rested a few days at Powwydd, then struck out for the coast, leaving much of the material they had recorded at the llys.
After three sennights spent forging through bogs and forests, fording rivers swollen with spring rains rushing to hurl themselves over impossibly high waterfalls, and eating and sleeping in damp conditions, morale among the men-at-arms was at a low ebb and everyone’s patience and enthusiasm were wearing thin.
They had lost twelve horses. Five had to be destroyed when they went lame. Another broke its leg in a pothole. Four soldiers and their horses drowned in the River Tryweryn, near Frongoch. It had been a close call. They’d misjudged the depth of the ford. The rushing waters threatened to submerge many of the men, including Rhys and Baudoin. It was the heroic efforts of Rhun and Rhydderch that saved two other bowmen whose mounts panicked in the middle of the swollen river. Two packhorses were also swept away, along with the equipment they carried. It was a serious blow to the expedition. Another man plunged to his death off a cliff. There were whispers of a curse on the venture.
They had all but decided to turn back. Rhys was despondent. If only they could go a bit further. He approached Baudoin. “I propose the two of us ride ahead to scout the lay of the land. According to the information we have from locals, the next part of the journey should be relatively easy and we could actually make headway.”
Baudoin balked. “I’d rather turn back now. We aren’t making progress and the men have lost interest. I want to be with Carys.”
They argued until Rhys got his way and Baudoin agreed reluctantly. The two set off at dawn the next day. Rhun wanted to accompany them, but they did not intend to go far and Rhys judged his brother’s time would be better spent preparing the group for the return journey to Powwydd.
The first few miles did prove to be easy going, and Rhys felt the tension leave his body as they rode across the open moorlands glowing with daffodils as far as the eye could see. It was thus that they were not paying full attention when they unexpectedly found themselves on the very edge of a deep, steeply sided, wooded gorge.
The ground was soft and Rhys cautioned Baudoin. “Careful, rein in your horse, its hooves are sinking in the crumbling dirt.”
Baudoin urged his horse away from the edge. Without warning, a rabbit darted out from a bush in front of Baudoin’s gelding. Startled, the horse reared up on its hind legs. Despite struggling to calm the beast and hold on, Baudoin slid from its back.
Rhys feared his brother-by-marriage was about to fall into the gorge and sprang from his own horse to grab him away from the flailing hooves. His actions further alarmed Baudoin’s frenzied mount which bumped the two men heavily in its attempts to save itself.
Rhys and Baudoin tumbled into the abyss.
Caught In A Web
Darkness fell in the main camp. Rhydderch and Rhun paced, scanning the horizon for any sign the two scouts were returning.
“This isn’t good,” they said simultaneously.
Baudoin and Rhys should have returned well before this. The plan had never been to stay out overnight and it was dangerous to venture out in the darkness. They would have to wait until the morrow.
Rhun wanted to sound positive. “Perhaps one of the horses has gone lame and this has slowed them down.”
“We should never have let them go off alone,” Rhydderch replied. “Rhys is no warrior; he doesn’t know the terrain like you and I do. And while Baudoin is a warrior, he doesn’t know Wales.”
Neither man slept.
At first light, they gathered a small party and set off in search of their overdue brothers.
“They may be hurt. We need to take rope and bindings. What else can you think of?” Rhun asked his more practical twin.
* * *
Rhys slowly regained his wits, but his eyes were full of grit when he slowly opened them. It was dark, though dawn might not be far off. Pain racked his body. Where was he?
Gradually, the memory of the terrifying fall came back to him. “Baudoin?” he rasped, bringing on a fit of coughing. He gritted his teeth against the spasm that arrowed through his chest.
He turned his head. As dawn’s first weak rays filtered onto the rocky ledge on which he lay, he caught sight of Baudoin lying a few feet away, one leg dangling over the edg
e.
Rhys looked up at the thickly-wooded, steep slopes of the gorge above him, and uttered a prayer of grateful thanks they had not fallen to the very bottom. However, they had fallen far enough.
He couldn’t fathom how he was going to get the two of them out—if Baudoin still lived. Rhun and Rhydderch would mount a search. He had to hang on, but it was difficult to remain alert. He was certain he had broken his ribs, and there was definitely something wrong with both legs.
He reached for his amber beads, but they were gone. He panicked, fearing they had broken in the fall. Then he remembered. He blinked away tears as his thoughts turned to Annalise and their unborn child. “I may not get to see my son,” he wailed aloud, then clenched his fists.
Courage! You’ll survive this ordeal.
“I don’t intend to make my wife a widow yet,” he determined. “Stay awake, Rhys, help is on the way. Pray for us, Annalise.”
Baudoin had not awakened, though his chest seemed to be rising and falling. Rhys drifted in and out of sleep but time meant nothing. He was dying of thirst. He licked his parched lips as he watched a tiny spider repairing its dew-laden web in a nearby root. He and Baudoin were caught as surely as the spider’s prey.
Then, he heard a faint sound. Someone was calling his name. “Listen,” he croaked. “Rhun and Rhydderch are searching for us.”
He tried calling back, but his voice didn’t seem to be working and he was afraid the strangled “Rhun” he ground out would not be heard.
The voices were louder now, coming closer. “Rhys! Rhys! Baudoin! Rhys!”
“They have found our horses and must realize we’re down here,” he said, hoping his brother-by-marriage could hear.
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