Dark and Bright (5 page)

She clung to him as he thrust through the gate. He expected her to scream, but she didn’t. Had she fainted? Was the pain too much? He bit his lip, holding his breath, waiting, feeling her wet warmth. She groaned faintly and her hips ground into him. His heart soared and his shaft throbbed. An involuntary groan of pleasure escaped him. He withdrew, then plunged in to the hilt, rejoicing in the wild abandon with which she now matched his thrusts, until he felt the white heat of his seed pump into her. He lost coherent thought as he tumbled into rapture. He vaguely heard her scream as he collapsed on top of her.

When he recovered his wits, she was lazily threading her fingers through his hair. It felt good. He raised up on one elbow and smiled. “I hope it wasn’t too painful for you?”

She shook her head, and smiled back at him.

“You’re a woman now, Annalise, and what a woman you are! That was magnificent. Thank you.”

“I thank you
mi
—Rhys,” she stammered. “I hope it wasn’t painful for you?”

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “That kind of pain I would willingly suffer every day of my life.”

“I didn’t know—I never had—” she was lost, and completely exhausted by the stress of the day and the passion she’d experienced. Now, her husband had risen from the bed and was carefully cleansing her body, kissing her thighs as he removed the proof of her lost virginity. She watched in amazement as he strode back to the basin and washed his body. He seemed perfectly at ease with his nakedness—and what a magnificent creature he was, all muscle, a powerful yet gentle man.

They were going to live in Wales, and if she had no friend there, how would she survive? Better to be friends with her husband rather than his enemy. This gentle man was going to be her life, and she already knew she couldn’t hate him as she should. Perhaps she could survive Wales with such a man.

He was certainly passionate and had brought experiences and pleasures to her body she hadn’t known existed. Since she’d first met him she’d suffered an ache deep within her that she’d never felt in the wildest imaginings of her chivalrous knight. When Rhys had asked if he could undo the bows she’d experienced a strange wetness between her legs. No one but her maid had ever seen her naked before, and she found his gaze unsettling. When he’d put her hand on his manhood, she’d averted her eyes and it was then for the first time she’d noticed the Celtic knots tattooed like armbands into his biceps. It was a sharp reminder of the differences in their cultures.

She would be his friend, but would guard her heart. He claimed to be a trustworthy man, and she sensed that was true. But, she must never forget why he married her. Her treacherous body had responded to his for some reason beyond her understanding. To fall in love with him and not to have that love reciprocated would be more than she could bear.

“You look serious. What are you thinking?” he teased as he came back to bed.

“I was thinking I enjoyed that very much,” she said, her blush deepening.

“I would never have guessed!” he laughed, tousling her hair. He wanted to feel those tresses wrapped around every part of his body, but an insistent worry warned him not to care for this young woman too much. Suddenly, he felt the weight of the beads around his neck. He’d forgotten them. Should he give the necklace to her? He hesitated. If he fell in love with her and she didn’t love him it would break his heart. Better to wait.

“We should sleep for a while now and then perhaps later—”

“How often do people—do this?” she asked innocently.

“As often as they like,” he replied, drawing her back against his chest, cupping her breasts in his hands.

“Your breasts are beautiful, wife. I’m a fortunate man.” He fell asleep immediately, utterly content.

On the morrow they joined the throng breaking their fast in the Great Hall. His sisters, Myfanwy Mabelle and Carys came to give a kiss of welcome.

“You’re up early,” the Prioress teased. “We assumed you would be much later to rise.”

Rhys smirked. “Carys, your sister, the Prioress, shows altogether too much knowledge about a man and his bride and what they do in the marriage chamber.”

Myfanwy laughed—a warm laugh he remembered from their childhood. “I may be a Prioress, little brother, but I’m not dead.”

Smiling, Carys took Annalise off to greet others, and Myfanwy turned to Rhys. “You look happy, Rhys.”

“I am happy,” he replied truthfully.

His sister’s face took on a stern expression, made all the more severe by her coif and veil. “Remember what our parents have always told us, there is more to happiness than passion. You must make room in your heart for love. But here am I lecturing you and I’m just a lonely nun!”

Before he could reply, she went on, “Speaking of parents, Father isn’t well.”

He pursed his lips and scratched his head. “Yes, I know. I hope he improves before we get to Powwydd. I want him to meet Annalise.”

***

The distance from Chester to the
llys
where Rhys and his siblings had spent most of their childhood wasn’t great, but the terrain was difficult. They rode through muddy fields and over treacherous rocky paths. The journey, and the apprehension she felt at the unknown fate that awaited her, exhausted Annalise. Rhys was considerate of her needs as they travelled and sensitive to her fears. He told her stories of his parents and siblings. Never having known such a loving family circumstance, she felt comforted by his tales. However, she sensed he was nervous about something. They rode in silence for quite a way until he said, “Annalise, I love my home at Llys Powwydd, but it’s not—well, it’s not really a castle.”

Her heart fluttered. “You said it was a royal court.”

“It is,” he replied immediately. “But you Normans have been building castles in your homeland for many years, whereas here, my
llys
is more like a manor.”

“I don’t understand, Rhys.”

“The Welsh royal courts, we call them
llysoed
, are comfortable, and Powwydd is protected by a sturdy wall and two moats, but most of it isn’t made of stone.”

She was plucking up courage to ask what they were made of when he carried on. “The hall, the
neuadd
, is made of timbers, though the footings are dry stonework. But many of the other buildings, where we have our chambers and storage barns are made of earth and straw. It sounds—”

She shook her head and reached to put a hand on his arm. “Rhys, my father has spent many years ruining our family castle at Vymont. I am used to not having every comfort.”

Rhys smiled at her. “But I want you to have every comfort. We are improving things gradually, learning from you Normans, ironically enough. And you can be assured there is always a roaring fire in the hearth to warm your bones! As well we have
ty bach
.”

She wondered why his face had reddened and looked at him curiously. He winked. “I believe you Normans call it the
garderobe
.”

Now it was her turn to blush. “I suppose I should learn that word first. Just in case.”

He laughed and nodded. By now they had reached the causeway that straddled the first moat. It seemed to be oval shaped and black as night. She shuddered at its depth and was relieved when they reached the flat-topped bank that separated it from the inner moat, also oval, but not as menacing. She could see that most of the roof of—what had Rhys called it?—the
llys—
was thatched.

By the time she entered his home, she had warmed to him considerably, but was afraid to admit her feelings. How could she hope that a successful man of the world such as Rhys might love her? Important men sought his opinion. He was a leader among his people, the son of a Welsh legend. She was the daughter of an impoverished, drunken Norman noble.

When they arrived, stable boys came out to take their horses. She could tell Rhys was content to be home, but concerned for his father. He took her straightaway to meet his sire. They found him sitting by the hearth in the
neuadd
, wrapped in a blanket, Rhonwen hovering at his side. His breathing was laboured, and despite the blanket and the warmth of the flames, he looked cold. But he was still a very powerful presence. Annalise recognized instantly from whom her husband had inherited his features and his character.

Rhys embraced his father. The elderly man reached up and fingered Rhys’s beads, then smiled at him. Rhys clasped his hand over his father’s, then spoke proudly in English. She was grateful he recognised she would be completely lost in Welsh. “Father, please greet my wife, Annalise de Vymont.”

He placed her hand in his father’s. Rhodri took it and she felt the warmth emanating from her father-by-marriage.

“Annalise,” he rasped, breathing heavily. “You’ve come a great distance to make my son happy.”

“
Milord
Rhodri,” she replied in her halting English, her eyes filling with tears as she saw a glimpse of her future. “I am wife to your son. I will serve him, and be the mother of his children.”

Rhodri shook his head, drew her closer to him and whispered, “But will you love him, daughter? Rhys needs to be loved.”

She turned her head, gripped his still powerful hand and whispered, “I am learning to love him,
milord
.”

Rhodri relaxed visibly. She stole a glance at Rhys, who looked puzzled.

His father turned to Annalise and whispered, “But you haven’t told him that, have you?”

She gazed into the jade green eyes of the aged warrior and reluctantly shook her head. “It’s too complicated,” she whispered, amazed she could share such confidences with an elderly man she’d just met. He’d spent his life fighting Normans, yet he’d said not one word of recrimination that she was a Norman.

“It’s never too complicated,” he said. “You’ll take care of my beloved son.”

His head fell forward. Had he fallen asleep? She extracted her hand from his grip, awed by the power of this dying man’s aura.

Rhys took her hand, kissed it and led her from the room. “What did you tell him that made him happy?” he asked.

She felt the flush redden her face. “Er—nothing. I gave him—how do you say?
Un petit baiser
.”

Rhys looked at her strangely. “A little kiss?”

She smiled. “
Oui
. I thought it only polite.”

***

Rhonwen moved from the shadows to take care of the warrior she’d loved passionately. He lifted his head slowly and turned to her. Barely able to draw breath, he rasped, “Rhonwen, you’ve shared my life with me—despite the hardships—and have given me more pleasure and fulfillment than any man has a right to. I’m sorry to leave you—but I’m content that Myfanywy has found her calling as a Prioress—Carys is happily married to Baudoin de Montbryce—who would have thought of that possibility? Our daughter, a Countess! And Rhun and Rydderch—well, who can predict with two such flamboyant redheads? But I’ve worried—about Rhys. He’s very much your son, Rhonwen—now I’m confident he has found a woman who loves him—I can die content.”

Rhonwen wiped away her tears. “Rhodri, you’ve been the reason for my existence since we first met many years ago in Cadair Berwyn. I came there as your captive, and I’ve remained captivated by your love since then. If you leave me now, I won’t be far behind.”

“Kiss me, my lovely Rhonwen,” were his last words.

Rhodri ap Owain ap Dafydd ap Gwilym was a warrior until the day he died at the age of three score years. His passion for Wales never abated and neither did his selfless love for Rhonwen, who died a few short days after him, to be mourned by all Rhodri’s people in Powwydd. They loved her for the faithful and loving healer she’d been to them. Many owed their lives to her considerable skills and talents. They were both interred in the burial chamber near the fortress of Cadair Berwyn as they’d requested. It was where they’d met.

Annalise stood in awe of the mountain fortress of Cadair Berwyn, buffeted by the wind, cloaked in furs and blankets, with Rhys and his grieving family. The majestic scenery took her breath away. She listened to her husband and his brother-by-marriage tell the tales of Rhonwen’s life-and-death struggle with Morwenna, of Rhodri’s slaying of the would-be assassin Phillippe de Giroux, of the courage of Mabelle de Montbryce as she birthed Baudoin’s sister, Rhoni, in the remote mountain hideaway. She remembered being told at her wedding of Baudoin’s kidnapping with his mother and Rhys’s mother and the twists and turns fate had taken to intertwine the two families since then. She had a new understanding of Carys, Countess of Ellesmere, and her husband.

Rhys felt the loss of his parents keenly and Annalise held him close as he grieved. She’d been relieved when her own father had died. She and her brother cared little for each other. She pondered in her heart how to generate such love and loyalty among the children she would bear to Rhys. It was foreign to her family experience and she was married to a man who didn’t love her. Now that he was Prince of Powwydd, she would be the chatelaine of his castle, his
llys
. She could barely speak their language and doubted the people would welcome a Norman with open arms.

***