Conquering Passion (31 page)

“I’ll not marry you, Morwenna.”

She sprang away from him and spat in his face. “My father will kill you. You have no right.”

He wiped the spittle from his cheek. “I have every right. A bridegroom expects his bride to come to his bed chaste. What will your father have to say about your rutting with a Norman soldier, a spy at that?”

She seemed taken aback for a moment, and then sneered, “And what of your precious Rhonwen, will she come to your bed chaste? I think not.”

Rhodri grasped her wrists and forced her to her knees. His voice was quietly menacing. “Nothing about Rhonwen should concern you. She is light where you are darkness, joy where you are hatred, innocence where you are corruption. Beware what you say and do while you remain here.”

He released her hands. “Go to your chamber.”

Morwenna went as she was ordered, but she glared at him defiantly, intense hatred in her eyes.

She’ll seek revenge for my turning to Rhonwen.

“She must be watched at all times,” he told Andras. “And the Norman.”

“It will be done, my lord.”

That evening, Rhodri told Rhonwen, as she sat on his broad lap, that he’d banished Morwenna from his life and that the evil woman would be leaving as soon as the weather broke.

“It’s still many sennights away,” she murmured, returning his gentle kisses.

“I’m having both her and the Norman watched.”

Rhonwen imparted this news to the other hostages when she returned to their chamber but didn’t tell them how Rhodri had lovingly caressed her breasts, or how he’d made her nipples harden with the strokes of his calloused hands. She mentioned nothing of the wanton feelings these actions had produced in her, but she did share that Rhodri had again proclaimed his love for her.

Mabelle sensed the healer was deeply in love with the rebel chieftain. She felt sorrow for the hopelessness of the situation, and thought longingly of her husband, whom she’d not seen for months. She was consumed with mixed feelings about Rhodri’s declaration of love for Rhonwen. Her husband Ram had never told her he loved her, though she believed in her heart that he did. But she’d been slow to recognize she loved him. Now was probably too late. If they ever saw each other again, he would never believe she hadn’t been raped while a captive. He would no longer want her, even if she declared her love for him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“The Norman sleeps in Morwenna’s chamber every night, Lord Rhodri,” Andras reported.

“I don’t care, my friend. So long as the two of them stay away from the hostages, they can rut to their heart’s content.”

He wished he could go to Rhonwen’s chamber, but the other hostages were there. Rhonwen would never accept a chamber of her own, when her noble mistress had to sleep with her maid.

“Bring the healer to my chamber.”

Andras nodded and left.

Rhonwen entered a while later. Would his body always react as strongly to her presence? This time he didn’t wait for her to come to him at the chair but strode to her side, lifted her into his arms and returned to the chair. She giggled and put her arms around his neck.

His lovemaking began with gentle kisses and progressed slowly to stroking and then suckling her breasts. He knew she could feel his erection against her bottom, and that she wanted to touch him, but he held her firmly, and slowly caressed the inside of her thigh beneath the woollen tunic. He’d never cared much in the past about a woman’s pleasure, but now he derived great satisfaction out of Rhonwen’s delight in the new found awareness of her body.

“I want to bring you pleasure, Rhonwen. Let me touch you.”

“Your touch brings me more pleasure than I’ve ever known,” she whispered, but he could tell she didn’t know what he intended to do.

Throaty murmurs escaped her as he stroked further and further up her thighs, until his fingers found the tight black curls of her mons. Still suckling her breast, he opened her legs and stroked the swelling bud with his thumb. Her eyes flew open and she almost fell off his lap, but he held her firmly and continued to stroke.

“Hush, my sweet Rhonwen. I won’t hurt you.”

She soon gasped his name, lost in the ecstasy of her first release. For long moments he cradled her, rocking gently, his heart full.

She recovered from her euphoria and became embarrassed when she saw she was sprawled on his lap with her tunic up around her hips, her legs open.

“Nothing we do here is wrong my love. You’re my woman, and I want only to give you pleasure. When you’re mine completely, I’ll show you ways to paradise that will make tonight pale in comparison.”

He felt her body heat at his words. He brought her to release after release that night, slowly sliding his fingers inside her. She cried out with intoxication and surrendered completely to the passion he was patiently teaching her to enjoy.

***

At the Winter Solstice, Rhodri’s people held a ceremony to honour the sun and he explained to Robert and Baudoin this was to encourage the sun to come back someday. Despite the remoteness of the fortress, it was well supplied. It had its own large communal kitchens made of stone which were separate from the wooden structure. There were two huge fireplaces for cooking. Most of the meals were surprisingly good and food was plentiful, but at Yuletide they enjoyed a special banquet, which began with mulled cider, followed by venison and fenberry pie. When Giselle asked where they’d found fenberries, she was told they grew readily in the bogs of Wales.

Both Mabelle and Giselle almost fell off their bench when a roasted boar’s head was carried in. “At least this one isn’t green and yellow,” they exclaimed together.

Giselle reddened. “Everyone is looking at us strangely, wondering what we’re laughing at.”

An
oak log was burned for twelve hours using the remnants of the previous year’s log to light it.
Rhonwen explained that o
nce it had been burnt the people would keep the remnants for next year, but the ashes would be saved to spread on the fields in the valleys below at the time of planting. This would encourage a good harvest.

The doors had been decorated with holly. The Welsh believed the evergreen with its blood red berries was a sign of fertility, and its spikes would capture evil spirits before they entered.

As the New Year neared, Rhodri was the one to go outside before midnight and be the first to enter the Hall after midnight, because it was good luck for a tall, dark and handsome man, bearing food and fuel, to be the first inside the door.

That first night of the year, after watching Rhodri stride in confidently when the massive door opened to his insistent pounding, Rhonwen also had a dream. She and Rhodri were making love. It was so vivid, she was afraid she’d cried out her passion. She awoke to find she’d touched herself, just as Rhodri had touched her. But she felt no shame. He’d taught her things about her own body she’d never known and unleashed passions she’d been unaware of.

If only it could be.

Only Mabelle heard Rhonwen cry out and recognised the sounds of anguish and longing. She’d lain awake many nights, aching with need for her husband, remembering the touch of his hands on her breasts and the fulfillment of his hard manhood deep within her. Had she cried out in her sleep, as Rhonwen did now?

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Robert and Baudoin were growing boys who often became restless with their captivity. With Mabelle’s permission, Rhonwen was teaching them Welsh, and they were proving to be good at it. Mabelle and Giselle learned a few words as they listened to the lessons. They passed the time sewing and weaving with the Welsh women in the camp, or spinning wool with a drop spindle.

Mabelle blamed herself more and more for the kidnapping. She’d been the one who’d insisted on all of them going to Whittington. Ram had been right to be wary. Her carelessness might yet cost them their lives. Her husband would likely never forgive her.

Another worry nagged at her. Perhaps Ram had pursued her captors and been killed or injured in Wales. Perhaps he lay at the bottom of some deep crevice.

The weather was foul most of the time and they were unable to spend much time outdoors. Rhodri and his men seemed impervious to the bitter cold, and spent hours honing their fighting skills in the frigid mountain meadow, keeping in good physical condition. The Norman women were amazed by the cleanliness and grooming of the Welshmen when they came to the hall, despite the fact they spent many hours in physical activity. The hostages were provided with hot water whenever they asked for it.

The young Welsh boys were included in the training and were equipped with small wooden swords, daggers and shields with which to learn the rudiments of self defence and attack. One day, Rhodri asked Mabelle’s permission to include Robert and Baudoin in the boys’ training sessions. He brought with him a sword, dagger and shield for each of them. She noted he had waited until the boys were with her. Their eyes lit up when they caught sight of the miniature wooden weapons.

“
Maman
,” Robert pleaded, “Please say we can go.”

They often grew bored, and would benefit from the outdoor exercise, not to mention the awesome skills they would learn, but thought it incongruous Rhodri should want to train the sons of his enemy, and she told him as much.

“There’s no glory and no honour in defeating an unworthy enemy. The Earl is a worthy opponent, as his sons will be.”

She consented, and her sons became Rhodri’s pupils in the arts of raiding warfare. They loved it and were full of tales of their prowess when they returned.

Mabelle worried about her unborn child. She was constantly nagged by the worry of Giroux’s presence in the fortress, and yet the child seemed to thrive and grow. Morwenna and the Norman spent most of their time in her chamber and were seen rarely.

Mabelle had entered her ninth month when she experienced sudden hard labour in the hall. She collapsed to the floor with a strident shriek as the pain hit her. This hadn’t happened with her other deliveries and she panicked. Giselle and Rhonwen rushed to help her, but it was Rhodri who reached her first, lifting her effortlessly despite her bulk and carrying her to his own chamber.

“Fetch the midwife,” he yelled to no one in particular.

“You’ll have privacy here, lady Countess.” He laid her on his own bed. She expressed her thanks that her children wouldn’t have to witness her labours, then the pain hit again. It was so severe, she vomited.

“I’ll send clean linens. Warrior I may be, but I’ve no intention of involving myself in this battle for life.”

The hours crawled by as Mabelle’s screams echoed around the fortress. She called her husband’s name over and over, not in recrimination, as Rhodri had heard people say women did in the midst of childbirth, but with longing and regret. He shut out the image of his beloved Rhonwen undergoing the same agony for him, but knew in his heart she would call his name with love when the time came.

Suddenly silence reigned. His heart plummeted. He would be truly sorry if the courageous Norman noblewoman had died in childbirth. The Earl of Ellesmere must love this remarkable woman very much and would seek revenge. Then a thin wail pierced the still night air, and Rhodri smiled at the immense relief he felt that at least the child lived.

An hour later, he was enjoying a tankard of ale with Andras in the Hall when Rhonwen appeared, carrying a bundle. It was a tiny baby girl, wrapped in swaddling cloths and a
brychan
. She moved the coverings away from the babe’s face.

“She can only stay a few minutes. She’s come into the world early, and needs to be with her mother, but I knew you’d want to see her.”

Rhodri stood and took the child, looking up at Rhonwen. He was awed at the love on her face for this child that wasn’t hers. “The babe is fair, like her mother. The lady lives then? She has survived her ordeal?”

“Yes, she’s strong. She’s lost a lot of blood and will need to rest, but I’m confident she and the child will flourish.”

“She had a good healer to assist her,” he said lovingly.

“No, the skill of the midwife saved them both,” Rhonwen replied modestly. “And her own stubborn determination.”

***

A sennight later, Mabelle had recovered sufficiently to join the others in the hall for a meal. She brought the newborn for everyone to see. Rhonwen carried the babe around proudly as people commented on the fairness of the blonde child, who was already thriving. After a while, people drifted away, off to their beds. Only Rhodri and the captives remained. Morwenna suddenly burst into the hall, brandishing a dagger, her distorted face reddened with rage.

“You’re mad,” she screamed at Rhodri. “This is the spawn of a Norman invader, a man you hate.” She lunged at Rhonwen and the child, but the healer bolted out of her way. Rhodri jumped to his feet and ran to disarm the madwoman, twisting her wrist. The dagger clattered to the floor. She sprawled at his feet sobbing and screeching, pounding the planking with her fists.

In the noise and confusion, no one noticed Phillippe de Giroux enter the room. He crept stealthily in the shadows towards Mabelle and her sons, sword drawn. Mabelle screamed when she saw him. “
Mes fils!
Robert, Baudoin!”