Conquering Passion (33 page)

“Rhonwen, don’t go.”

“I must,” she cried, putting her hands to her face to hide her tears. “I can’t endure the thought of living with you as a warrior, spending my days amid blood and violence, worrying if you’re coming back from the latest skirmish, tending ghastly wounds. But I want some memory to warm the cold, lonely nights without you. I don’t know if I’m brave enough to ask, or if you’ll consent—Rhodri, I—want to take part of you with me.”

“You’re taking my heart.”

“Rhodri, I’m leaving my heart here with you, but I want—I need to leave you with something else. You’ve given me love and pleasure, without concern for your own needs. I want to satisfy those needs for you tonight, my love, and I want to leave this place as a woman. I want to leave you with the knowledge you’re the only man who’ll ever possess my body and my soul.”

She was gifting him with her maidenhood. It was folly, but he picked her up in his arms and strode over to his bed.

At least I’ll have this memory
.

His physical need for her was so great he couldn’t stop if he wanted to, but he vowed to make it a night they would both remember for the rest of their lives apart.

Perhaps if I make her mine, she’ll stay.

Slowly he peeled the garments from her body, kissing her face and neck, feeling her quiver as she stood by his bed. When she was naked, he gazed at her.

“You’re lovely, so pure and innocent,” he whispered. He quickly removed his own clothing and stood at her side. Her eyes grew wider and she gasped when she saw his arousal for the first time.

“I’m a healer, Rhodri,” she murmured, “And I’ve seen naked men before. But I’ve never seen a man as big and as proudly erect. Looking at you heats my body.”

She smiled at him and his heart raced. He’d never felt so admired as a man. She was nervous but not afraid. He didn’t want fear to dampen the great passion he sensed she was capable of. It had taken all his considerable control to not let her touch him when she’d wanted to. He stroked her hair. “Rhonwen, you have the pure honest soul of an angel.”

He picked her up and laid her down on the bed, then lay beside her and took her into his arms, kissing and licking her face, her throat, her shoulders. He kissed her lips, coaxing her with his tongue. She opened for him and he drew her tongue into his mouth, feeling her groan reverberate through his body. She reached up and pulled off the leather thong that bound his hair, then raked her fingers through it as it fell to his shoulders, sending ripples of pleasure from his scalp, down his spine to his toes.

He kissed her dark nipples, flicking his tongue over the sensitive flesh, marvelling at how hard they were already. She arched her body when he suckled. He knelt between her legs and trailed his fingers slowly between her maiden’s breasts and down across her stomach. She opened her legs wider. “I ache for you, Rhodri,” she whimpered shyly.

Where his hand had led, his lips now followed and he traced kisses down her stomach until he reached the black curls at the top of her thighs, curls as black as his own. He could see the diamond of her desire and he edged his broad shoulders between her legs, grasped her hips, lifted her slightly and licked the jewel in that most private place. She cried out and her eyes flew open as his tongue brought her intense pleasure, but also a blush of embarrassment.

“Rhodri—”

“Nothing we do here is wrong or shameful, Rhonwen. It’s a precious gift you’re giving me this night and I want to taste you,” he rasped.

She closed her eyes and keened as he covered her with his mouth, the taste of her sending new blood rushing to his groin. He slowly inserted his fingers, felt her wet heat. He could wait no longer. He guided the tip of his manhood into her folds. She opened her eyes and placed her hands over his, urging him to enter her.

“I’ll try not to hurt you,” he whispered. “I’m big, and you’re—”

She smiled. “I’m not afraid.”

He knew it was the truth.

He entered slowly, sensed the barrier and pushed through. She sucked in a breath and cried out, clutching his shoulders. He clenched his jaw at the effort of holding still.

“Don’t stop, Rhodri, please don’t stop.”

His wild Celtic blood took over on hearing her words. He groaned, withdrew almost completely then plunged in again and again. She screamed his name with wild delight when his seed burst forth into her quivering body.

Still inside her, he lifted her with ease and rolled over so she was atop him. The black hair entwined where their bodies were joined, making them look like one body. He felt her sheathe pulse against him as he softened. It wouldn’t be long before he could bring her to ecstasy again.

He’d never known such fulfillment. His soul had left his body and met hers in some ethereal place. He rose from the bed and went to fetch a cloth and water. He cleansed the blood from her thighs.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Rhonwen,” he whispered with a smile.

“I’m not,” she said truthfully. “I’m humbled my mighty warrior is tending to my needs this way. You brought me to rapture with your tender lovemaking before, but this—this was—different. This was fulfillment. The sensations coursing through me as we joined brought me to a mystical release. I’ve entered a wonderful new world.”

She fell asleep hours later, after they’d made love again. He carried her carefully to the chamber where the other hostages slept, and laid her on her pallet. He spread her long hair on the pillow and covered her lovingly with the furs. He gazed down at her and whispered, “You’re my destiny, Rhonwen.”

She didn’t wake, and he left silently.

The only person awake in the room was Mabelle, who saw him place Rhonwen on the pallet, and heard his words. She wept for their heartbreak, and for the unbearable longing for her own husband.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Rhonwen awoke early, disoriented to find she was back on her own pallet. Glancing around, she saw Giselle and her mistress preparing for the journey. She rose and helped herself to bread and honey. The others greeted her normally, and she sensed no embarrassment from them. Rhodri must have carried her into the chamber, but no one gave any indication they’d seen or heard anything.

Robert and Baudoin were excited to be going home and looking forward to riding the ponies down into the valley. Rhodri told Robert he could ride his own pony because he’d learned quickly in the practice fields. The child was ecstatic.

“I wonder if Papa will come to meet us,” Baudoin asked.

“Of course he will,” Robert answered, “And he’ll bring a huge army and slay the Welsh barbarians.”

Mabelle groaned. “Old habits and beliefs die hard I suppose,” she sighed to Giselle. “Let’s pray there won’t be violence at the exchange.”

The previous night Mabelle had written a letter to Ram. If anything went wrong, she wanted him to know she loved him. Now she tucked the missive into the folds between her dress and chemise.

The healer wrapped the infant in as many swaddling cloths as she could find. She suggested to her mistress that she carry the child in a sling she’d fashioned, and Mabelle agreed, confident Rhonwen would be better able to manage the burden on the slippery trails than she.

Outside, Rhodri was already mounted on his pony. “Give the child to me, Rhonwen.”

She carefully lifted the sling. Rhodri leaned down and she placed the precious bundle around his neck. Mabelle saw their eyes lock for a fleeting moment, then Rhonwen averted her eyes, wiping away tears. Rhodri cradled the baby to his huge body. Mabelle was reassured his body heat would keep her child warm.

“I
Lloegr!
” he shouted to his men, and the warriors and their hostages began their long journey down the mountain to England, as he’d commanded.

Few words were spoken, despite the captivating beauty of the valleys and glades they traversed, painted gold by carpets of daffodils. Mabelle sensed Rhodri and Rhonwen were wrestling with their own emotions, and she was full of fear something would go wrong. Would Ram accept her in his bed when she returned? Would the children remember him? Would they make it safely down these treacherous mountain trails? Her hand went to the letter concealed at her breast.

They stayed overnight in the same cottage where they’d found shelter on the outward journey and were surprised to see their own horses tethered to a post. Lying on the palette, Mabelle thought about the things that had changed in their lives since she was last in this isolated foreign place. She was the mother of a daughter she’d named after her mother. The monk had baptised the child. However, Mabelle felt there was something lacking and had decided to wait for the reunion with Ram to decide what other names the child should bear.

Her sons had grown. For boys they’d demonstrated courage and forbearance during the long ordeal, and she hoped as they grew to adulthood, they would remember some of the good things about the Welsh people they’d spent time with. Giselle had changed too, and Mabelle sensed she had a different perspective about her captors. As for herself, she recognised she loved Ram unconditionally. She hoped desperately he would still want her once they returned.

Rhonwen had undergone the biggest change. Mabelle suspected the healer and the chieftain had been intimate on their last night, yet Rhonwen seemed intent on returning with them to England. She knew the girl loved this wild Celt who now carried her own child down the mountain. Rhodri obviously cared for the child he carried cuddled tightly to his broad chest. Was he thinking of his own children, of what he might have had with Rhonwen?

***

“I don’t like this mist,” Gervais muttered. “We can barely see the bridge itself, let alone the other end of it. The archers will be hard pressed to find their target, if we need them.”

Ram shifted nervously in his saddle as he and his men waited. “We’ve already been waiting over an hour,” he replied. “If the wait goes on, the mist may clear.”

He struggled to stay positive. He’d been in many tense situations in his life, but they paled in comparison to the stress he felt now with the lives of his wife and family in the balance. He felt as though the mist had seeped into his head. He dismounted to walk around and stretch his legs, trying to overcome the fear and nervousness he felt. As he strolled into the trees near the glade where they waited, his heart raced when he saw a swath of bluebells.

He could feel Mabelle’s presence near him again, and his mind went back to the day they’d met. What if he discovered she’d been raped during her captivity? They’d often jested together about the
Fairies of the Blue Thimbles
and he prayed to them now that nothing would go wrong. The Welsh bowmen were legendary and it was said they could hit a target with their eyes closed. He suspected Rhodri had men hidden ready to strike if necessary, as he did.

“I wonder if there will ever be trust between our two peoples?” he mused aloud. “Peace can only come with trust.”

He was weary of the constant conflict that plagued the Welsh Marches. He was a warrior first and foremost, but he was a diplomat too, a good one, and he resolved to try to use those skills to a greater degree than he had before. He’d been picking bluebells while lost in thought. He carried them to his horse and fastened them to the pommel of his saddle.

A faint whinny off in the distance, beyond the narrow humpback bridge, brought him out of his reverie abruptly. His gut tightened.

They are here.

“Earl of Ellesmere,” a loud assertive voice came from the mist. “Rambaud,
Comte
de Montbryce.”

“I am here,” he shouted back, trying to peer through the impenetrable mist, to see any sign of his family. “To whom am I speaking?”

“I am Rhodri ap Owain, Prince of Powwydd. We’ve met before, you and I. Did you bring the ransom we agreed upon?”

Straight down to business then.

“Yes. I’ve brought it. How do I know my family is safe?”

There was a pause, then he heard Mabelle’s strong, calm voice. “Rambaud? Ram?”

He wanted to charge recklessly onto the bridge. Tears threatened as he tightened his hold on the reins, gritting his teeth and squaring his jaw.

“Ram?” she called again. “We’re all safe. Robert and Baudoin are with me, as are Giselle and Rhonwen. And your daughter. Lord Rhodri has taken good care of us. We’re looking forward to coming home.”

A daughter!
Ram’s throat constricted. “Robert, Baudoin, you and your mother are well?”

“
Oui
, Papa,” yelled Robert. “I’ve taken good care of Baudoin—and my baby sister.”

Ram coughed, hoping to conceal his momentary inability to find words. He could feel the expectant eyes of his men on him. Much depended on what happened next.

“My men will place the chests in the middle of the bridge as agreed. They’ll leave them open,” he shouted to Rhodri. “If you have the hostages mounted, I want their horses sent across the bridge first.”

He didn’t want to run the risk the Welsh would turn and flee with the hostages, once they had the ransom. It would make it more difficult if the hostages were on foot.

“Agreed,” came the gruff reply a few minutes later. “Then we’ll send your family across on foot with four of my men, who will retrieve the chests.”