Defiant Passion (Sons of Rhodri Medieval Romance Series) (9 page)

He hugged them, noticing each carried a wooden sword and dagger tucked into the belts of their sheepskin jerkins and leather breeches. They looked like miniature Welsh rebels. He found it amusing, but resolved in that moment never to follow the growing trend of fostering sons out to some other noble lord for their training.

“We rode ponies, Papa. Can we can have ponies when we return home?” Robert asked.

Ram did not want his children to feel he didn’t care about the ponies, but was desperate to see his wife. As calmly as he could, he replied, “I suppose we could see to that. Now, I want you to wait with Gervais here, while I greet your mother. She’s coming next is she?”

“
Oui,
Papa, she and Rhonwen are saying goodbye to Rhodri, and then they’ll bring
ma soeur
. Rhodri carried her down the mountain in a sling across his chest.”

Ram felt a pang of jealousy at the familiar way his family spoke of this Welsh barbarian. “What’s your sister’s name?” Something had lodged in his throat.

Baudoin answered. “
Maman
named her for our
Grandmaman.
”

***

After watching her sons walk across the bridge and disappear into the mist with Giselle, the Countess turned to face Rhodri. He carefully placed the sling around her neck. “It’s unfortunate, Rhodri, Prince of Powwydd, our people can’t find some common ground and seem to be constantly at each other’s throats. I’ve learned a great deal about you and your country during our stay in your beautiful mountains, and I’ll share much of what I’ve learned with my husband. He’s a lover of peace and prosperity and would wish that for both our peoples.”

Rhodri bowed, took her outstretched hand and kissed it lightly. “Peace can only come with trust and respect my lady. I pray one day we shall find that.
Siwrne
dda
. Good journey.”

She stepped away to look towards the bridge. Rhodri turned to Rhonwen and took her in his arms. He could smell the dampness in her hair, taste the salt of the tears on her face as he kissed her. He couldn’t speak, afraid his voice would betray his anguish. The experience of their union had enthralled him, but she intended to leave. He understood why, but could not accept it. If she left, he would never again experience the mystical passion their joining had brought him. Loneliness would be his companion again—but now it would be a loneliness filled with longing.

“Rhonwen,” he faltered. “I can’t change what I am. I’ll not beg you to stay. Only you know your heart. But you’re my destiny, and I am yours.”

She was breathing heavily and would not return his embrace. She turned from him, and walked towards the centre of the bridge with her mistress and the infant. Her tears blinded her and she had to grasp her lady’s hand. They were accompanied by four Welshmen, longbows over their shoulders, daggers at their belts.

The Countess walked slowly and proudly, head held high. They paused in the centre of the bridge. The armed men stooped to pick up the heavy chests and walked back into Wales. Rhonwen took a step towards England, but her mistress pulled her back. Rhonwen looked at her in confusion.

The Countess took hold of Rhonwen’s shoulders. “You must return to him. He’s right. You’re his destiny and he’s yours.”

Rhonwen swayed. This was too overwhelming. It was what she wanted to hear, but wasn’t loyalty important? “But my lady—my duty to you. I’m a healer—how can I live with a warrior, a man of blood and war?”

Her mistress increased her grip and shook her. “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 will not be easy living with a Welsh rebel, but to live without love is unbearable and creates only bitterness. I 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 could scarcely believe the Countess would speak such words to her, a mere servant. Her mistress was deeply in love with her own husband. She 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, her lady asked, “Why did Myfanwy not tell me you were her daughter?”

“She was afraid you’d suspect 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 suddenly the Countess’s eyes widened and she smiled. “My daughter will bear your name as well as my mother’s, in honour of your love and courage and as a token of hope for the future. She’ll be Hylda Rhonwen.”

Rhonwen was astonished her mistress would bestow such an honour on her. The Countess kissed her on each cheek, made her turn around, and gave her a gentle push. “Now go. And don’t look back.”

***

Rhonwen turned and walked back towards Wales. She stopped before the end of the bridge and took a deep breath to clear her head. She heard the horses leaving on the English side. With them went her family, her security, who though not blood kin, had come to mean much to her. But she obeyed the Countess and did not look back. Ahead of her waited the man she loved with a force that threatened to consume her.

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 had 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. “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—my father—well—he was a Saxon. He was not 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. You bring light to the darkness of my life. Being a champion for my people isn’t an easy burden.”

There was 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 did not matter.

He lifted her and carried her into the land of her birth.

***

“
Dros Cymru!
” Rhodri’s guttural cry echoed to the bone. He tightened his hold on Rhonwen as they rode away from the bridge. He glanced across the valley. The spring sunshine had burned off the mist. The Normans were clearly visible on the other side of the valley. They reined in their mounts when they heard his cry.

He thrust his fist in salute as he yelled his war cry again. “For Wales!”

Rhonwen waved then too, and laughed when the Countess, Giselle, Robert and Baudoin waved back. Rhodri’s mouth fell open when the Earl raised his fist in a return salute. He smiled at Rhonwen, turned his horse and rode away, his wild shouts of joy echoing across the valley.

Rhodri’s heart was full as he fidgeted with the sleeves of the doublet he was not used to wearing. However, a Chieftain Prince could not marry in a sheepskin jerkin.

He conceded to Aneurin he had a problem. “How can I go on attacking the lands of the Earl of Ellesmere now? Rhonwen considers the Countess a second mother. She has a difficult enough time with the fact I’m a warrior. If I raid there she’ll be mortified. She wants to be allowed to visit Ellesmere from time to time! I am like a godfather to the Montbryces’ daughter, born in my own fortress, named for my bride!”

“Well, my friend, there are other Norman earls to raid and harass,” his comrade replied with a smile.

“I suppose you are right. Rambaud de Montbryce is not such a bad earl. Compared to Montgomerie and the others, he’s a saint.”

“Enough of this, we need to get you to your bride. You actually look like a Prince today in your red woollen doublet.”

Rhodri laughed, brushing off his shoulders. “It’s my favourite colour, you know.”

Aneurin slapped him on the back and the two friends strode purposefully to the chapel.

Because Rhonwen had no family present, Andras escorted her to Rhodri’s side. She smiled at her groom, and he felt the heat rise in his body. He was anxious to get started on creating those five beautiful children he had dreamt of.

Mayhap my seed has taken root already!

It seemed the whole
commote
of Powwydd had heard the story of how he had fallen in love with the Welsh healer he had kidnapped. The tale was repeated often and only added to his considerable stature in the eyes of his people. It was a Welsh tradition that the groom
‘kidnap’
the bride before the wedding and they felt Rhodri had more than satisfied the requirement!

He regretted their relationship had begun with his abduction of her, but she had seen the gratitude on many a careworn face as he distributed the ransom coin in the villages. She told him it had given her an understanding of what had driven him to commit the crime.

Morwenna’s father was at first belligerent when told of his daughter’s death, but withdrew sadly to his lands, admitting the truth. Rhodri felt immense sorrow for him. The man had rambled on about his daughter inheriting the black arts from her mother. He prayed fervently his own children would be offspring of whom he and Rhonwen would be proud.

True to her nature, Rhonwen wore a simple lavender dress, and its simplicity heightened her loveliness. She carried a spray of ivy, symbol of fidelity, with a sprig of heather for good luck. As Rhodri took her hand he was overwhelmed by how tiny it seemed compared to his, and he swore to spend his life protecting this fragile woman. Her hair was adorned with fresh flowers, picked that morning. Her grey eyes danced as she repeated her vows. Warrior Rhodri could hardly speak his vows he was so overcome with emotion.

Dancing and feasting followed the ceremony and then a group of women spirited Rhonwen away into hiding. Rhodri accepted this as part of the tradition, but hoped it would not take him long to find his bride. He ached for her.

She giggled when he discovered her hiding place and his shaft swelled. He too laughed and lifted her, intending to carry her to their chamber. A boisterous crowd of well-wishers followed. She was giddy with excitement and kissed him joyfully, fingering his braids in her small fingers. He thanked the gods for bringing this shining light into his otherwise dark life.

He gazed into her eyes. “You own my heart, my Rhonwen, my bride.” In those grey depths resided the love and courage of a woman who would stand by him in his fight. As a healer she fought death every day of her life. She was brave. She had challenged him when she believed he was a threat to the Montbryce boys.

“I am filled with love for you, Rhodri. You sweep me off my feet! I still find it hard to believe such a magnificent man could have fallen in love with Rhonwen Dda.”

He put her down on the big bed, turned to the expectant crowd, folded his arms across his chest, and glared at them. One by one they abandoned their loud insistence on seeing the newlyweds disrobe, and left the chamber. Rhonwen burst out laughing when they had gone. “You intimidate them so.”

“I had no intention of letting them see you, or me, naked. A man has to have something for himself.”

She twirled her fingers in his hair. “You have me to yourself now.”

They had made love in the cottage in the hills after Rhonwen had decided to stay with him, but they agreed to observe the proprieties of the
llys
once they arrived there, and it had been several sennights since they had lain together.

They craved each other now, not only for the physical fulfillment their lovemaking would bring them. Each revered the other’s body as a finely wrought creation and their union brought them a mystical, even spiritual, release.

Despite his urgency, they made love slowly and savoured each other’s intense pleasure as they touched, licked and kissed, sucked and played. Later, lying in a stupor of pleasurable languor, a sleeping Rhonwen cradled to his chest, Rhodri did not think he could aspire to greater happiness.

EPILOGUE

The Earl of Ellesmere had been away in Westminster, summoned there by William the Conqueror for discussions with the other Marcher Lords. His wife was anticipating his return and went to meet him as he and his entourage rode in. As was his custom, he enfolded her in his cloak and kissed her deeply.

“What of the talks with the Marcher Lords?”

The Earl shrugged and shook his head. “Let’s get inside while I tell you. As I expected, it was the usual sort of discussion, me defending the benefits of diplomacy and positive action, and the others recommending tactics such as harrying, murder and mayhem. They cannot grasp we are making progress here. I did not risk my life at Hastings to bring fear and butchery to a foreign people. We Normans have so much to offer the world, fine architecture, arts, trade, and so on. Civil disobedience has to be punished, but they thirst for blood.”

Mabelle de Montbryce could tell her husband was getting more and more disillusioned—had known it for years. “Well, at least here in Ellesmere we have been spared the raiding of Rhodri since he and Rhonwen married,” she said with a smile. “Speaking of Rhodri and Rhonwen, a messenger arrived a sennight ago with news of them.”

The Earl accepted the tankard of ale a serving woman offered once his squire had removed his chain mail, and took a long drink. “
Oui
, we are spared, but the other Earls are complaining loudly of his harassment of them.”

She became impatient. “But you are not listening—Rhonwen has given birth to a baby girl—and, oh Ram, I am so delighted to tell you they have named the child Myfanwy Mabelle.”

The Earl arched his brows. “You must certainly have made an impression on the Welshman during your captivity for him to allow that honour.”

She giggled. “I suppose I must have. Rhonwen mentions in her message she would like to bring the child to Ellesmere once she is old enough to travel.”

Montbryce snorted and almost choked on his ale. “I can’t see Rhodri agreeing to that, but if Rhonwen maintains her relationship with you it can only benefit Ellesmere. She’s thought of you as her mother since Myfanwy was cruelly murdered. I hope for all our sakes Rhodri doesn’t come near Ellesmere. If he’s captured I will have no choice but to hang him.”

***

Rhodri ap Owain was never captured. His legend grew as the years passed.

William the Conqueror ruled with an iron fist for another ten years, during which time Rhonwen and Rhodri had four more children, three sons, Rhys, red headed twins Rhun and Rhydderch and lastly a daughter, Carys.

Would Mabelle de Montbryce’s words come to fruition? Would the children of the House of Montbryce and the Sons of Rhodri one day live together in peace in the mountains and valleys of the Welsh Marches?