Montbryce Next Generation 01 - Dark Irish Knight (15 page)

Duquesne was still in the Infirmary, but the danger had passed and he was on the mend. He looked up in surprise when Ronan approached his pallet. “
Milord
Ronan. I have not had a chance to thank you for saving my life. I owe you a debt.”

Ronan folded his arms across his chest. “I have a means for you to repay me.”

Duquesne narrowed his eyes. “
Oui
?”

“I need a horse. I wish to take your stallion.”

The soldier gritted his teeth. “Take him where?”

“That is my business. You will not likely see the horse again. And I want authorization to take a pack mule from the stables. The animal will not be returned.”

Duquesne’s face betrayed his inner struggle between honour and his love for his horse. Ronan was confident honour would win.

Sweat beaded on the Captain’s brow. “Have you parchment? I will write the order.”

Ronan unfolded his arms. “No need. I have already informed the stable boy of your approval of my request.”

Duquesne struggled to sit up. “
Salaud
!”

Ronan smirked. “I am a bastard, but I will take good care of your horse. I thank you. I hope the Earl does not punish you too severely for the attack. You are a brave man and you care for Lady Rhoni. Keep her safe. Will you shake my hand?”

Duquesne stared at the outstretched hand for long moments, then clasped arms with Ronan. “God be with you, wherever it is you go.”

Ronan saluted him and left the Infirmary.

Clad only in her chemise, Rhoni paced. “Where the devil is that girl? I will be late for the evening meal if she doesn’t come soon to dress me.”

She had not seen Ronan all day. The time had dragged interminably. He was a drug her spirit thirsted for. Jacquelle finally entered her chamber so quietly, Rhoni did not hear her. She was ready to unleash a scolding, but the maid’s dishevelled hair, and red-rimmed, puffy eyes stopped her. The girl’s nose was a beacon.

Rhoni’s heart fell. “What has that lout Conall done to you?” she demanded, grabbing her maidservant by the wrists.

Jacquelle wailed, hiccupping in between loud sobs.

Rhoni shook her by the shoulders. “What has happened? Tell me.”

“He’s—”

The maid hiccupped again.

Whatever Conall had done, Rhoni was confident Ronan would make him apologise. If he had bedded the girl—

A bolt of jealousy surged through her. “Tell me!” she shouted.

Jacquelle sniffled, then took a deep breath. “He’s gone.”

Foreboding washed over Rhoni. Conall would not leave of his own volition. “Gone? Where?”

“To Ireland.”

Rhoni clung to the maid as the room spun around her. “Ireland?”

“He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay with me, wed me, but his Master made him go.”

He has left me?

Rhoni stared at her maidservant, sure her trembling legs would fail her if she let go of the girl. Jacquelle ceased her sobbing and looked at her mistress. “Did you not know they had gone,
milady
. I assumed—”

“When did they go?”

Rhoni thought it must be her voice she heard, but it sounded muffled, slurred.

“Lord Ronan came for Conall after he spoke with your father in the Map—”

Bees buzzed in Rhoni’s head. She feared she might swoon. “My father?”

What had her father said to make Ronan leave in such a hurry? There had been no word of farewell. She suddenly felt chilled, despite the hearty fire in the grate. “Fetch my gown and my shoes, Jacquelle. I must speak with the Earl.”

“But he’s—”

“Now, Jacquelle,
vite
.”

Mabelle de Montbryce was taken aback when a furiously angry young woman burst into her solar, slamming the door behind her. It took a moment to realize it was her daughter who had intruded unannounced. She dropped her sewing and came to her feet, her hand over her heart. “Rhoni, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Rhoni clenched her fists at her sides. “Papa has sent him away.”

Mabelle put her arm around Rhoni’s shoulders, alarmed by the trembling shudder that racked the girl’s body. This was obviously something to do with Ronan. “I don’t think—”

Rhoni broke away from her mother’s embrace. Mabelle had never known her easy going daughter to show the least trace of anger, yet now she was livid. “Ronan has set out for Ireland. What did Papa say to him?”

Mabelle swallowed hard, dread churning her innards. Surely Ram would not have sent the man away? “I don’t know.”

“Of course you know,” Rhoni retorted, her eyes ablaze. “Papa never makes any decision without consulting you. Did you both decide he was not good enough for me? I love him.”

Mabelle’s heart wrenched as Rhoni collapsed into a chair, sobbing uncontrollably. Ram chose that moment to enter the solar. He took in the scene, his eyes questioning Mabelle. She explained. “Lord Ronan has left the castle.”

“Left? To go where?”

Rhoni leapt to her feet and confronted her father. “To Ireland. You sent him away. How could you do that?”

Ram bristled, raking a hand through his hair. “I did not send him away. We had a discussion. I may have said—”

Rhoni glared at him. “What?”

Mabelle decided to intervene. “We have never solved family problems by screeching at each other. I suggest both of you sit down, and we will speak of this reasonably.”

Rhoni pouted for a few moments, then sat on the edge of a chair, her spine rigid, fingers clasped tightly in her lap.

Ram stood by the hearth and told his wife and daughter of his proposal to give Ronan three thousand pounds.

Rhoni gasped. “But I don’t understand. If you offered him money—”

“I imposed a condition.”

Rhoni heard her father’s voice through a fog, her thoughts wholly on Ronan. Where was he? How did he intend to get to Ireland? Should she go after him?

She felt like a kitten trussed in a sack destined for the bottom of the lake, sensing disaster looming but unable to do anything to avoid it. “Condition?” she asked woodenly.

“I made it a condition that if he regained his lands, he was to return here to wed you.”

Her mother squealed. “Ram!”

The drawstring had been pulled tight and the sack dropped. Ronan had fled rather than agree to wed her. She squeezed her eyes tight shut, but the tears flowed. He did not want her. What a fool she had been.

Her parents were squabbling, but she barely heard them. She gripped the arm of the chair and came slowly to her feet.

Her mother rushed over. “Sit down, Rhoni. Hear your father out.”

“It’s no use,
maman
. He’s gone.”

Her father strode over and took her hands. “Listen, Rhoni. I imposed the condition as a test. I sensed he would not agree to it. He is too honourable a man to be forced into a marriage, no matter the prize.”

“He evidently does not view me as a prize.”

“I am speaking of the money I offered. Do you not see that he also cares too much for you to subject you to a forced marriage?”

She stared at her father. “I don’t understand.”

“Look at me and hear me well. Ronan MacLachlainn loves you. Any fool can see it. But he will not declare for you until his oath of vengeance is fulfilled.”

“But he’s gone.”

The Earl let out a long breath. “That is where I made my mistake. I intended to let him cool his heels then tell him I would give him the coin anyway. I did not anticipate his anger would cause him to leave.”

Another wave of despair swamped Rhoni. Her head ached and breathing was difficult. “He has gone back to his homeland with no coin and no allies. He will be slaughtered. He did not even say goodbye.”

Her father carried on. “There is more you do not know. I have reason to believe the Norman mercenaries who assisted in the capture of his estate will be withdrawn.”

A glimmer of hope for Ronan flickered in her breast. Her father had been at work behind the scenes, using his considerable influence. Her anger softened. She knew better than to ask how he had accomplished the withdrawal. At least now there would only be the MacFintains to confront. But it was unlikely she would ever see Ronan again. If he regained his lands, he would marry an Irish wife.

“I must seek my chamber. I feel unwell.”

Her mother put an arm around her waist. “Do not despair, Rhoni. I sensed from the beginning that Ronan was the man for you. Keep your hope alive.”

Rhoni nodded woodenly as her mother led the way to her chamber.

Rhoni lay on her bed, fully clothed though it was the middle of the night. The wet cloth that her mother had insisted she put on her forehead had lost its cooling properties, but she did not have the will to remove it. Jacquelle had kept vigil at her bedside for a while, but the girl’s incessant whimpering had made Rhoni feel worse.

A maelstrom of thoughts whirled in her head. Ronan had rejected her. Or had he? His quest was impossible. Or was it? He had no allies. Or did he? Was there a way to get her father’s coin to him? Was he aware the Normans had been withdrawn? Or was that wishful thinking on her father’s part? Whose mercenaries were they? She suspected Chester. If the Normans were no longer to protect the MacFintains—

She sat bolt upright. The cloth fell to her lap. She leapt off the bed and hastened to her parents’ chamber.

The people of Rhydycroesau recognized Ronan as the one-eyed giant who had ridden with Prince Rhodri. Though he spoke only a few words of their language, they understood his request to meet with Rhodri again. They provided an escort to guide him and Conall to Powwydd. It was a relief since he was ignorant of the direct route to Rhodri’s
llys
and the Welshman was his only ally.

He regretted having to take Duquesne’s horse, but the animal was proving to be a fine beast. Not knowing its name, he had chosen to call it Gabriel.

Rhodri and Rhonwen greeted him warmly, and even Rhun seemed happy to see Conall again. Ronan told them of the attack by Saxon brigands. Rhonwen wept for the horror Rhoni had endured.

He explained the Earl of Ellesmere’s offer.

Rhodri narrowed his eyes. “You refused, no doubt?”

Ronan grimaced. “I did. Too much pride, I suppose. I certainly could have used the three thousand pounds.”

Rhodri drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Montbryce’s tactic surprises me. I would not have expected him to use his daughter as a pawn.”

Ronan too had had time to ponder the matter. “Perhaps he was testing me. Maybe he wanted me to refuse. But then why make the offer in the first place?”

“To assure himself you were an honourable man, worthy of his child.”

Ronan leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped together. “He wanted me to refuse to wed Rhoni under those conditions?”

“It’s possible. Perhaps what he did not expect was that you would leave abruptly.”

Ronan leaned back and put his hands on his hips, staring at the wisp of blue smoke from the central hearth wending its way through the hole in the roof. He thought of Rhoni. She would not understand why he had left without saying goodbye. The certainty he had hurt her pressed on him like a leaden weight.

In different circumstances he would not have hesitated to take her as his wife. No woman had stirred his passion as she had. But there was no going back now. His destiny lay ahead of him. “I must take ship for Ireland.”

Rhodri thought for a while. “That won’t be easy. Probably the best place to head for would be
Y Fflint
where you might arrange passage on a trading ship. I am not on the best of terms with Gruffydd of Gwynedd, but if he can be convinced you intend to fight Normans, he may allow us safe passage.”

They sat in silence for a long time, Rhodri deep in thought, tapping his steepled hands against his lips. At length, he offered another suggestion. “The Earl of Chester has several longboats moored on the banks of
Afon Dyfrdwy
near Cei Newyyd, where the river empties into the sea. It’s territory that used to be ours. He and Shrewsbury plot an invasion of
Ynys Môn
.”

He winked at Ronan. “I’m sure he won’t miss one boat.”

The danger inherent in such a bold plan was obvious, yet the idea stirred Ronan’s blood. “What of a crew? Conall is a capable sailor, but—”

Rhodri leaned forward, his eyes bright with excitement. “If we take something small, you will require only a handful of men. I can spare that.”

Ronan was humbled. “I cannot ask this of you. You have already done too much.”

Rhonwen rose from her chair and walked over to Rhodri, putting her hands on his shoulders. “My husband is never happier than when he is thwarting Normans. You might as well try to hold back a river in flood now he has latched on to the idea.”

Rhodri put his hands atop his wife’s. “This good woman has had to live with my passion for defiance for many a year. I thank the gods for it. She knows me too well.”

A yearning for Rhoni swept over Ronan. She would have stood by him, but he had abandoned her. The image he conjured was so real he thought he smelled her elusive perfume. Would it haunt him forever?

Rhonwen’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You are thinking of Rhoni.”

He looked up at her sharply. Was his preoccupation that obvious? He touched a hand to his blighted eye. “You read me well, Lady Rhonwen, but I must forget her and look to the future.”

Rhodri and Rhonwen exchanged a glance.

“You will never forget her,” Rhonwen said with a smile. “She is in your blood, as you are in hers.”

Ronan was not the only one excited by the prospect of the theft of a longboat from the Earl of Chester. Once advised of the plan, Rhodri’s men threw themselves into fevered preparations. Rhun and Rhydderch pouted when their father initially forbade their participation. He finally capitulated.

Three days after Rhodri suggested the idea, Ronan crouched in a ditch near the banks of the River Dee, knee deep in cold, brackish water. Rain pelted down from the night sky. Conall shivered at his side. A few yards away, Rhodri, seemingly impervious to the wretched conditions, hummed a lilting tune.

Dark clouds obscured the moon. In the near distance, barely visible, a small longboat, tethered to the bank, bobbed on the high tide. Rhodri had sent two men to ascertain how well guarded the boat was, and now awaited their return. It boded well that a brisk wind was blowing in the right direction.

Rhodri’s scouts scurried back into the ditch. Ronan had not heard them approach.

“They are preparing to set sail,” one of them explained, catching his breath. “There are two mounted soldiers. They have boarded their horses. Other than that there are eight crewmen.”

Rhodri chuckled. “How thoughtful of them! When they sail by us, we’ll take them by surprise.”

His amusement was echoed down the line of men crouched in the ditch.

He held up his hand. “We must move swiftly. Get the archers in place. Aim only for the soldiers. Spare the crew, and the horses. Generous of the Earl to provide them.”

Ronan hoped the cramp in his numbed legs would not hinder him once they waded into the water. “Is it deep here?”

Rhodri smiled. “Deep enough, and it’s cold, and runs swiftly as the tide goes out.”

Conall nocked an arrow to his bow, as did the other archers. They flexed their bowstrings and blew on their cold fingers.

A ripple of movement went through the body of hidden men when the shout came on the wind. “
À l’Irlande!”

Ronan furrowed his brow and looked at Rhodri. “They are bound for Ireland?”

Rhodri grinned. “Normans are so obliging!”

It seemed that only a moment or two passed and the boat was level with their hiding place. Rhodri leapt from the ditch yelling a guttural war cry. “
Cymru
!”

How the bowmen sighted their targets in the dark was a mystery to Ronan, but he heard grunts of pain as arrows hit home. He surged out of the ditch and into the river, dagger drawn, feeling the blood rush back into his legs. As the cold water gripped his
ghiniúna
and stole up his spine, he deemed it an appropriate moment for an Irish war cry. “
Fág an bealach!”

The silty bottom sucked at his boots, but he strode on, heart pounding, his warrior blood on fire. He reached the side of the longboat, drifting now as the rowers struggled with the Welshmen swarming the vessel. The water was up to his neck. Did Conall know how to swim?

The terrified horses strained at their tethers. The boat rocked alarmingly. Ronan sank his dagger into the wooden planking and hauled his body over the side of the vessel, wrenching the blade free as he toppled backwards onto something soft. He raked his wet hair off his face and discovered he had landed on one of the soldiers, an arrow protruding from his forehead.

He scrambled to his feet, intending to join the melee. He glanced over to the crewmen, now cowering beneath the glare of Rhodri and his bowmen.

It was a relief to see Conall come over the side and lope on unsteady legs towards the frenzied horses. As usual the plucky lad recognized instinctively where the true danger lay. One of Rhodri’s twins followed in his wake.

Bracing his legs against the lurching of the boat, Ronan noticed a leather satchel slung across the body of the dead soldier at his feet. He sliced through the strap, grabbed the bag and held it to his chest.

The redhead he had seen with Conall must have been Rhydderch. He and Conall had calmed the horses. Rhodri had ordered the rowers to pull the boat over to shore. He strode over to Ronan, and slapped him on the back, sending water flying. “Well, that was easy.”

The dawn’s early light glinted off the gleam in the Welshman’s eyes. Water dripped from the ends of his war braids. Ronan resolved to braid the hair around his face the next time he went into battle in the rain. He felt guilty. “I did nothing to help. By the time I boarded you had everything in hand.”

Rhodri shrugged, apparently not noticing the water cascading off his clothes, and examined the satchel. “A messenger perhaps? Quickly, open it. You must not miss the tide, but we have a few minutes.”

Ronan withdrew a metal tube from the satchel. Inside was a rolled parchment. He tried to fish it out. Rhodri stayed his hand. “Wait, let’s make for the shelter of yonder tree.”

They jumped into the shallows and waded to shore, panting by the time they huddled beneath the spreading branches of a chestnut tree. Ronan retrieved the parchment and unfurled it. “
Críost
, it’s written in Norman French.”

Rhodri held out his hand. “Give it to me. If you want to defeat your enemy you must learn his language.”

He scanned the document. “It’s from the Earl of Chester. Addressed to a Captain Bossuet. He instructs the captain to return to England as soon as possible, with his garrison.”

Ronan had wrung the water out of his long hair, but his frozen fingers refused to fashion braids at his temples. Rhoni would have accomplished it in a minute. “Garrison?”

Rhodri perused the document again. “No indication where it is.”

A grim certainty stole into Ronan’s heart. “I’ll wager I know where it is.”

Rhodri understood immediately. He rolled up the parchment, stuffed it back into the tube and handed it to Ronan. “I sense the political maneuvering of Ram de Montbryce behind this. It’s for you now to use this message to your advantage. It must be delivered. Go! Do you need men to help manage the crew?”

Conall stood at the tiller, ready to leave. Ronan could keep the crew at the oars. Once they hit the open sea, the wind would fill the sail. “I salute you, Lord Rhodri, my friend. Goodbye! I will repay you some day. For now, enjoy the black stallion. His name is Gabriel.”

Rhodri gripped his hand. “Come back for Rhoni. That will settle the score.”

Ronan hurried to the boat. As he climbed aboard he drew his sword. The Welshmen jumped to shore. The Norman rowers averted their eyes from Ronan’s enormous weapon and took up their oars. He noticed his Welsh allies had safely stowed the iron chest with the clothing made by Rhonwen and her seamstresses. He had forgotten it on the bank in the excitement.

Conall grinned triumphantly as the boat picked up speed. He glanced at the chest, then at Ronan. He turned his face to the sea. “
Go hÉirinn
!” he shouted, thrusting his fist in the air.