Conquering Passion (24 page)

One of the nursemaids asked, “My lady, why is it being sent to Bayeux?”

“Bishop Eude is building a cathedral there.”

While they were talking, her husband entered with some of his commanders. She glanced over to watch him. Even among this group of physically fit elite fighting men he stood out. She fought the urge to rush over and knead his powerful iron-hard thighs. The soft black hair hidden beneath the fine linen of his shirt called to her, and she smiled at how shocked they would be if she tore the shirt off his muscled body, right there, right then—

Heat rose in her as he shifted his stance, and her eyes went unbidden to his sex, just there, hidden under the long doublet, nestled, ready to spring to life if he looked up and saw her hungry gaze. She averted her eyes, aware her face had flushed, that she’d been almost drooling.

Pray no one noticed!

The men’s voices drifted into her returning awareness. They were discussing a new Norman noble, who was to arrive soon to take over command of one of the divisions.

“Seems he asked to be assigned to Ellesmere,
milord
,” Gervais, Ram’s Second in Command remarked.

“Interesting. I wonder why?” Ram replied.

He glanced over to see if Giselle was within hearing. He obviously didn’t want to get into that hornet’s nest again.

“I expect he knows where the power is,
milord
.” The other men chuckled their agreement with this assessment. “He probably knows you have sons. Your heirs will inherit your lands, and they won’t revert to the King. That kind of stability leads to opportunity.”

“What’s his name?”

“Giroux. I’ve good reports on him. He arrived recently from Normandie. Good family. Capable soldier.”

“Sounds familiar—but I can’t place it.”

Mabelle’s heart thudded and she suddenly felt cold. Had she heard correctly? Could this be the son of the man her father had blinded and mutilated years ago? It wasn’t a common name, and why had he asked specifically to come to Ellesmere? She’d heard nothing of the Giroux family since coming to England but they were partly responsible for the years of wandering exile she’d endured. She resolved to speak to Ram about it.

Later that night he reassured her. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

He’d remembered where he’d heard the name before but was in the process of seductively undressing his wife. “After your brother’s death, I heard no rumour of any ongoing threat from that family.”

“But why would he ask to come here?”

“News of our power and reputation has spread throughout Normandie. He’s probably an ambitious young man seeking opportunity for advancement with a powerful Marcher Lord. Don’t worry,” he cajoled, playfully rolling her hardening nipple between his finger and thumb, grinning at her, “I can assign him where you’ll never have to meet him.”

She lost coherent thought, as the passion that always took hold of her the moment Ram touched her, did just that.

***

The moon had waxed and waned since Giroux’s arrival. Ram mounted Fortis, intending to ride out to inspect the Saturday market. He’d always been an accomplished horseman, and was puzzled as to why his favourite mount seemed frenzied. It was a spirited horse, but that was the sort of steed he liked to ride. He’d been relieved the stallion had adapted well to his new life in England, after the rigours of Hastings.

Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to calm the snorting animal, which reared so suddenly Ram was thrown heavily to the hard ground. Giroux rushed from nearby to calm the distraught horse. Gervais ran to his earl’s side, pulling him away from the flailing hooves. Ram was having difficulty rising, only managing it with the help of his Second. He knew immediately he’d at least cracked a rib or two.

“What the devil is wrong with that horse?” he shouted, as pain snaked through his chest, bending him double.

“I’ll look him over,
milord
,” Giroux answered. “He seems calmer now. I’ll see to him.”

“Gervais, help me to my chamber. I fear my wife will need to assist me. I believe I’ve broken something.”

Mabelle had heard the commotion and hurried to his side. Gervais, almost carrying his Earl, told her what had happened. She began issuing commands to the servants as she helped her husband climb the steps. They assisted Ram to their chamber, where he sat on the edge of the bed. He was shaking.

Giselle and Myfanwy, the Welsh healer, arrived with armfuls of linen cloths. Myfanwy prepared a potion for pain, and Ram downed it in one, knowing firsthand how effective her potions were. The women tore the cloth into strips and bound him, after Myfanwy’s gentle examination confirmed the likelihood of broken ribs. “
Yr
Arglwydd
Montbryce,” Myfanwy said with authority, “You must rest for at least a fortnight. The only time you may get out of bed is when I come to bathe you in knitbone. Only thus will the bones start to heal.”

He started to protest, but his argument became less forceful when the draught she’d given him took effect.

“Thank goodness you’ve at least stopped shaking, Ram,” Mabelle murmured with relief, helping Myfanwy tuck warm linens around him.

He wasn’t an easy patient, protesting loudly at the indignity of being forced, every second day, to soak in a tub of hot water, darkened by the green of the knitbone. It necessitated the removal of his bindings, and their reapplication afterwards. He was such a big man, the women couldn’t manage getting him into the tub, and his squire, Vaillon, had to enlist the aid of another male servant.

“That cursed Welsh woman will kill me.”

Mabelle stood with her hands on her hips. “Ram, much as I adore your magnificent body, it’s not a pleasant task for me to dry you after you’ve been soaking in the wretched comfrey. But it will help take down the swelling.”

Ram squirmed, aware he’d imposed the duty on her. “I’m sorry. I don’t want any of the servants doing it. It’s humiliating.”

Mabelle seemed to be enjoying baiting him, as she carried on, “And you’re ruining every pair of braies you have, with your insistence on keeping them on in the tub. The laundress is less than pleased.”

“I don’t feel very magnificent,” he whined, secretly wishing he had the energy to display his magnificence for her. “And I’ll not expose myself to all and sundry.”

An active, virile man, he couldn’t abide spending time in bed, particularly since he wasn’t able to make love to his wife. It was torture. Her nearness in the bed at night, or when she came to sit with him during the day, never failed to arouse him.

“It’s difficult for you too. We’ve never been able to temper our passion for one another.”

After close to a fortnight in bed, he was stroking her breasts and bemoaning his plight yet again when she rose and knelt between his legs. “Lay still, Earl of Ellesmere.”

She feathered light kisses up the inside of one thigh, and down the other. Bending his legs slightly, she tenderly stroked the backs of his knees. His erection had sprung to life before she’d started the kisses, and now she grasped the base of his manhood, and leaning forward, ran her tongue up the length of him.

“Mabelle,” he gasped, trying to keep as still as he could, flattening his palms against the bed to brace himself.

She moved her mouth rhythmically on his rigid manhood, as she cupped his sack with one hand and echoed the movement of her mouth with the other on his shaft. He groaned with every tug. Reaching for her breasts, he rasped, “I can’t wait. Straddle me.”

Mabelle lowered her slick womanhood onto his throbbing phallus, the sensation of deep penetration sending a wave of well-being coursing through him, from his toes to the top of his head.

“You’re already wet, my lovely. But—I can’t thrust. You’ll have to do the work.”

He grasped her hips. “
Oui,
that’s it
.
I can feel you gripping me. Ah!—
Dieu
—Ride me hard,
ma belle
.”

Her nostrils flared, her strong thighs braced tightly against his hips as she rode, back arched, hands threaded into her golden hair, breasts thrust forward proudly. She looked like a wild woman. Glancing to where their bodies were joined seemed to inflame her more—the golden and black curls intertwined. She stared into his eyes and he stared back. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. They crested and peaked together, never turning their gaze as fulfillment clouded their vision.

Mabelle was careful not to collapse on top of him. Rising from the bed, she went to the ewer and poured water on a linen cloth. “Now I’ll cleanse you in the loving way you’ve always cleansed me.”

Loving? Of course I love her but could I bear the pain if she doesn’t love me in return?

She dried him with her hair, and kissed his sated manhood.

“Cursed horse,” he moaned, touching his bound ribs gingerly.

“Didn’t you enjoy that, my darling?” she teased.

“
Oui
, of course, but these ribs are not healing fast enough. I can’t wait to be riding again.”

“And I can’t wait to see that broad chest of yours again.”

They laughed together. He remained on his back, and she curled into him as sleep claimed them.

***

Ram was a healthy, robust and active man, and it didn’t take him long to heal. He was happy to play with his sons when they were brought from the nursery.

“I want to get back on a horse, but if Fortis is still acting wildly, I’ll have to find another mount,” he told Mabelle sadly. “Much as I appreciate a steed with spirit, I also need a horse I can rely on when I ride against the Welsh. It will be hard to replace Fortis.”

He was pleasantly surprised, however, when the horse was demonstrably glad to see him, and he mounted easily, only a twinge pricking his abdomen. He rode out to the town market with his men-at-arms.

“So, you’ve recovered from whatever upset you that day,
mon vieux
?” he said lovingly, patting the horse’s neck, still puzzled by its uncharacteristic behaviour.

On his return, he mentioned it to Gervais, who told Ram that some days after the accident, he’d discovered a deep wound on the horse’s flank, under the saddle, as if something sharp had been pressed into its flesh.

“See. There. I didn’t think it important at the time, but it was odd.”

“Perhaps there was something stuck to the underside of the saddle?”

“Not that I could see, but I wasn’t the first to handle Fortis after the accident.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The castle, and its environs grew as buildings and defenses were completed. With prosperity and expansion came more people, and with them the need for more healing skills. Myfanwy did what she could, aided by Mabelle and Giselle, but the old woman complained she needed more help. She asked Ram if she could take two girls from nearby villages under her wing, and pass on her skills to them.

“I’m not getting any younger,” she cackled. “If something happens to me, you’ll need others to tend the wounds of your men, and nurse the illnesses of your people.”

Ram looked at her skin, wrinkled like old parchment, and knew she was right. He gave permission for two young women, Morwenna and Rhonwen, to come to the castle to be the healer’s apprentices.

They’d been there a fortnight when Ram remarked to Mabelle, “The two apprentices are complete opposites. Where Morwenna is fair of hair and face, Rhonwen is dark, moody, and, I must confess, hard to read.” They were dining in the Hall, and could see both girls sitting several benches away, though not together.

“
Oui
, Morwenna braids her long hair, whereas Rhonwen’s hangs around her shoulders like a black cape. Morwenna smiles a lot, and Rhonwen doesn’t.”

Ram took hold of Mabelle’s hand. “Don’t be angry, but I’ve noticed Morwenna has beautiful blue eyes with long blonde lashes, and Rhonwen’s are huge round pools of grey.”

Mabelle made a pretence of rebuking him, wagging her finger and shaking her head, but then she smiled. “Have you noticed how Rhonwen’s high cheek bones accentuate her look of constant surprise?”

Ram chuckled. “
Oui
, and Rhonwen is small and delicate, whereas Morwenna—well, a man notices these things. You know—breasts—and hips that promise fertility.”

Now I might be in trouble.

He supposed Mabelle had decided not to rise to the bait when she only smiled again and remarked, “Both girls are quick studies, and Myfanwy is delighted with her pupils. I confess I like Morwenna, but I find Rhonwen uncommunicative and shy. However, I can’t fault the way the girl works when faced with a wound to cleanse, or a fever to tend. It sometimes seems people heal faster when Rhonwen takes care of them. She has a special healing touch.”

Ram replied, “I’m pleased the castle will have three expert healers.”

“
Oui
and the four of us are spending many hours replenishing the stock of herbs, and mixing fresh potions and salves.”

“Speaking of salves, I’m leaving for the border on the morrow. Would you like to come and soothe my ache?”

***

One warm spring day, not long after her conversation with Ram, Mabelle and Myfanwy were gathering herbs together in the garden, when the Welshwoman made an observation that they must be sure to replenish certain ones. Mabelle recognised them as herbs used in child birthing. She blushed, wondering if Myfanwy had guessed what she suspected. It would be useless to deny it to this perceptive Welshwoman, whom she’d grown to love and trust.