Conquering Passion (27 page)

They’d travelled only a short distance and were entering a copse. Rhonwen commented on the beauty of the autumn leaves. Without warning, masked men, clad in sheepskins and leather breeches, dropped like stones from the trees. The Norman soldiers were rendered harmless before they knew what had happened. Mabelle could do nothing. The furtive attackers seized the reins of their horses and led them deeper into the copse.

Mabelle lost sight of Robert. “
Maman, Maman
,” her son shouted

“I’m safe,
mon fils
, don’t worry. I’m here. Look to your brother,” she shouted in reply, trying to sound braver than she felt.

None of the men made any move to harm them, and she considered that a good sign. It didn’t seem they would be murdered immediately at least.

Other brigands were concealed deep in the copse, with horses at the ready. The attackers mounted. One took Robert on his lap and another took Baudoin. Stealthily, the caravan made its way deeper into the woods. The men spoke to each other in a language foreign to her, but the terrified Rhonwen could understand them and she surmised it was Welsh.

Neither of her sons had cried since they were taken, but she constantly called words of reassurance to them, hoping her voice didn’t betray her fear. “Don’t be afraid,
mes enfants
, I’m here, as are Giselle and Rhonwen. We’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

It broke her heart to remember her children’s joy at riding on their father’s lap.

They rode at a steady pace for about an hour. Mabelle was relieved they hadn’t travelled at a gallop. Perhaps the child she carried might survive this ordeal—if she did. She had a sense they were travelling west, probably into Wales. When she saw the village of Oswestry in the distance to her left, her suspicions were confirmed. Trying to occupy her mind and divert it from the sheer terror threatening to engulf her, she wondered how the bandits had known the Montbryce family would be at Whittington. This hadn’t been a random act. She and her family had been targeted. The traitor within was still at work.

Other than comforting words spoken to the children, the three women said nothing, exchanging only glances whenever the roadway caused their horses to be close to each other. A bandit led each of their horses and they had no chance to control their own mounts. There was no possibility of escape.

Though there was no marker, Mabelle could tell an hour later that they’d crossed into Wales when they reached the village of Rhydycroesau. Their captors became more relaxed and the tension eased. The scowling faces of the villagers told Mabelle all hope was lost. No one had pursued them. There would be no rescue. Ram would never see his family again. She prayed her husband would discover the identity of the traitor and cut out his heart.

After another hour in the saddle, Mabelle’s body ached. She asked their captors several times if they might be allowed to dismount for a few moments for the sake of the children, but was ignored. Did the men speak her language? They came to a village and on the western edge reined in the horses at a cottage.

“You’ll sleep here tonight,” one of the bearded men said gruffly in Norman French, holding out his burly arms to help her dismount.

She didn’t want to accept his aid, but would have fallen flat on her face if she didn’t. When her numbed feet hit the ground her legs wouldn’t sustain her, and she had to lean on the horse. The man didn’t take his hand from her elbow as she waited for the feeling to return to her legs.

When he grew impatient, Rhonwen spoke to him in Welsh. She assumed the girl had told him Mabelle was pregnant. He seemed surprised and allowed her more time to regain her equilibrium.

Once they were inside, the man bolted the door of the cottage, imprisoning his captives, and her sons ran quickly to their mother. Neither boy had cried throughout the ordeal and she told them how proud she was of their courage.

Baudoin struggled to control his fear. “Will Papa come to rescue us,
Maman
?”

“I’m sure Papa will do everything he can to rescue us,
mon petit
.” From the looks in the eyes of Giselle and Rhonwen, they didn’t share her optimism.

Bread and cheese and ale had been provided for them. The cottage was cramped but clean. It afforded them a chance to sleep indoors and take care of their personal needs. Giselle did her best, with the limited means at her disposal, to tend her lady. Rhonwen massaged Mabelle’s back and applied to her feet a salve Caryl had given her, which she’d packed in her saddle bags. Mabelle hadn’t started to bleed and prayed the child within her still lived.

Mabelle slept fitfully on a pallet, which, to her surprise, was furnished with clean linens, and her sons cuddled into her. Giselle and Rhonwen clung to each other on the second pallet.

At dawn the following day, a loud banging on the door of the cottage signalled departure. Andras, the leader of the captors, opened the door and brought in bread and honey for them to break their fast. Fear made her choke on the food, but she was determined to eat, to keep up her strength. She encouraged the children to eat.

“Rhonwen, do you know where we are?”

“My lady, I think this village is Llansilin. I believe they’re taking us to the mountains.”

Fear crept up Mabelle’s spine. Their suspicions were confirmed when they left the cottage. Their horses had been replaced by sure-footed Welsh mountain ponies. She smiled when Robert seemed to forget the terrible trouble they were in and exclaimed with excitement, “Look,
Maman
. Ponies.”

***

“Trussed up?” Ram shouted. “Ten of my finest men-at-arms? Knocked out and trussed up like piglets for the spit? How can this be?”

He raked his fingers through his hair, scratching his head, completely distraught over the desperate news from Whittington.

“My lord Earl, it appears they were ambushed,” Gervais replied.

Ram snorted. “Of course they were ambushed. They’re Norman soldiers, supposedly prepared for ambush.”

Gervais hesitated. “Perhaps they’d enjoyed the delights of the fayre a little too much,
milord
—the ale—”

Ram stared coldly at his Second. His voice dripped ice as he replied, “Then I’ll execute them myself. I entrusted my family to them and they failed me.”

Gervais remained silent.

“You believe they’re already dead, don’t you?”

Again Gervais kept silent. The minutes dragged as Ram paced.

“Summon my commanders to the map room. We’ll pursue them.”

Gervais threw up his hands. “But
, milord
, we don’t know where they’ve gone.”

“They’ve gone into Wales!” Ram continued to shout, knowing only too well who’d taken his family.

“But,
milord
, winter comes early to the mountains of Wales. We could easily lose our way and become trapped. The local people won’t help us—”

“I told you to summon my commanders. We’ll follow them into Wales.”

Gervais’ shoulders sagged. “
Oui
, milord.”

***

At least with the ponies the women were able to ride astride and hold the reins themselves. However, the track had become a narrow twisting path. They rode single file, with some of the men in the lead and the others behind them. Flight was impossible.

Robert and Baudoin were now on a first name basis with the ponies they shared with their captors, and Mabelle was grateful they were distracted from their fear.

The path rose steadily for the next three hours. The scenery became wilder, the terrain more rugged. When they entered a remote village and the men began calling out to each other, confirming the direction to take, Mabelle looked to Rhonwen who told her they were in Llanrhaeadr-ym-Mochnant. She didn’t know why she asked. She would never remember these tortuous names, and what did it matter anyway? Who could she tell?

***

“In your best estimate, Gervais, where do you think they’ve been taken?” Ram asked impatiently as he and his commanders pored over the latest charts they had of the area, not knowing if they were accurate or not.

“They may have taken the route through Oswestry, and crossed the border at Rhydycroesau. After that, it’s more difficult to say. If Rhodri is behind this, we don’t know where his camp is. They may have gone north west to Llanarmon, or south west to Llansilin. Or he may have taken them to Powwydd Castle.”

Ram followed his Second’s finger as he traced the routes on the charts. “Rhodri is behind this. Of that I have no doubt. But what does he plan next?”

Phillippe de Giroux stepped forward. “
Milord
, if he planned to murder them, why have we found no bodies? Why take them into Wales? Perhaps he has ransom in mind?”.

Gervais spoke again, looking directly at Ram. “
Milord
, I’m as anxious as you are to rescue my Countess and your family, but you must see it’s futile to ride into Wales. We could search for sennights and not find them. You know yourself how difficult the terrain is, not to mention the weather that will soon turn against us, if it hasn’t already.”

Ram understood Gervais was right, but his heart was broken. He dismissed the other men with a curt, “Leave us.”

He slumped into a chair. “You’re correct, Gervais, but I can’t sit and do nothing.”

“You have no choice,
milord
. But it may not be long before they send a message. I think Giroux is right and they’ll demand ransom. However, they too know winter is setting in and won’t want to wait until spring.”

***

It was getting colder. They’d left Llanrhaeadr far behind at least an hour before, and were still climbing. The Normans had dressed for the warm autumn weather in Whittington and the children were shivering. The brigands had provided blankets at the cottage, but Mabelle’s fingers and toes were freezing, and she could tell Giselle and Rhonwen were suffering the same problem as they blew on their hands and rubbed them together, trying all the while to keep the ponies on the narrow track.

She became aware of the sound of rushing water. Judging by the roar, it must be a high waterfall. Suddenly they came upon a cascade which fell two hundred and fifty feet through a stunning arched rock formation. The raging torrent was thunderous. Some of the water had already started to form into ice crystals at the edges. The men called a halt as everyone gazed at this natural wonder. One of them took the opportunity to give each captive another hand woven
brychan
.

“Pistyll-Rhaeadr,” Rhonwen yelled to her fellow captives. “I’ve heard of it many times. It’s the most beautiful waterfall in all Wales.”

They headed into the woods. This path led into a wide valley. After a few hundred feet they were down in the valley floor, and then they turned onto a track going in the opposite direction up the hill on the other side.

They made their way up the opposite side, then onto a trail which wound up from the valley floor. Once the tortuous path reached the head of the valley, the men turned in their saddles to view the incredible scenery behind them. Mabelle followed their gaze and it took her breath away.

Even barbarians appreciate a beautiful view. I’m beginning to understand why the Welsh are passionate for their wild land.

The path then crossed and followed a stream, and soon they came across a sight which made the first stunning vista they’d seen pale in comparison. There was a lake far below them in a deep crater, backed by craggy mountains and ridges. Mabelle hoped the faraway vista wasn’t where they were going. She’d never seen a lake of the same colour as the one below them, as blue as the
bleu de France
favoured by the heralds of the French king.

The leader signalled another halt, and the captives were allowed to dismount. They sat together on rocks in a clearing. One of the men gave them bread and cheese to eat and ale to drink.

“Ask them where they’re taking us, Rhonwen,” Mabelle urged, though she was hesitant to put the girl in danger.

Rhonwen got only a grunt and a disdainful look in reply.

The climb for the next two hours was strenuous. They came to the top of a crag and had to hug the side of the mountain. It was the strong hind legs of the ponies that saw them through. The path was wet and slippery. If they fell, they would fall to their deaths.

Once they’d crested the crag, they headed along a wide ridge path. They reached a rocky knoll and Mabelle was astounded to see a wooden fortress loom out of the mist, built into the side of the mountain. Some of the roofs of the buildings seemed to be covered with turf, others with what looked like slate. Though she couldn’t see the rear of the fortification, she was sure it was perched on the edge of a deep ravine. Any army wanting to attack would have to send its soldiers in one at a time. It was impregnable. This was probably the reason for the evident lack of armed men on the high balustrades. They’d reached their destination and her heart plummeted. She surveyed the magnificent scenery of high mountains on every side.

It’s a beautiful place to die.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Darkness fell as the captives were led through the gates of the forbidding fortress. The towering palisades, made of stout trees lashed together, were as tall as two men. Once inside, they were led to a chamber. Andras quickly lit several candles, and Mabelle could gradually see the room was clean but spartan.