Montbryce Next Generation 01 - Dark Irish Knight (14 page)

Her heart soared.

Oh God!

“I care for Rhoni and I am grateful to her for my life, and for bringing me to you.”

He loves me!

“But there is nothing more between us.”

A worm crawled into her belly.

Rhoni pressed her back against the cold stone wall, biting on the knuckles of her clenched fist. Her mother gasped. Her father coughed loudly.

Ronan continued. “I have sworn an oath of vengeance, and I grieve still for my dead wife and child. My life can have no other purpose. I do not intend to force your aid by seducing your daughter.”

She did not hear what her father said in response, suddenly aware that Ronan was striding from the Hall. He must not discover her here, simpering like a child. She fled back to her chamber on slippered feet.

“You would have no life if not for me, Lord Ronan,” she muttered. “Me and the seal.”

Ram had ever been wary of the Earl of Chester. As the man had aged, his enormous capacity for ruthlessness had expanded with his girth. He and Mabelle treated him with the utmost courtesy, but did not trust him.

For thirty years the Marcher Lords had held meetings from time to time at each other’s castles to discuss matters of mutual concern. Ram invariably came away from the discussions exasperated. The others seemed disinclined to follow his example of firm but fair government, despite the fact Ellesmere was a prosperous community with little dissent. They preferred brutality and oppression.

Now was his turn to be the host. He had not looked forward to it. Now he dreaded it.

Mabelle shared his belief that life would never be the same after these meetings. If, as he suspected, Chester was behind the attack on Ronan MacLachlainn’s estate, things might get ugly. He prayed Rhoni would not be hurt by whatever happened.

At Ram’s request, Ronan made himself scarce as the Earls arrived one by one. They were invited to take their ease after their journeys and to attend an evening banquet of welcome being prepared by Trésor and her kitchen workers.

The seating on the dais had been rearranged to accommodate the Earls. Since their ladies did not attend, Mabelle, Rhoni, and Baudoin were to be seated at a slightly lower table. Ronan would sit with them.

When Ronan entered the Hall with Rhoni on his arm, she was aloof. What had he done to anger her? They caused a stir among the assembled knights and ladies. It was the first time many of them had seen Ronan. Their interest seemed to soften her anger and she fell into the role of the noble daughter of the household, smiling graciously at her escort.

Protocol demanded everyone be standing at their place before the Earls entered in procession, Ram de Montbryce at the head. No one coming into the Great Hall could fail to notice the dark giant with the eye patch.

As Ronan expected, the three Earls saw him immediately. Mabelle de Montbryce had described them beforehand. Only the obese Earl of Chester looked away quickly. Shrewsbury and Warwick studied him with a faint trace of amused curiosity on their faces.

Rhoni gasped, sliding her hand into Ronan’s. “It’s Chester,” she whispered.

The Earls sat. Everyone followed suit, except Ronan. A desire to wring the Norman Earl’s neck seized him. Here was the man responsible for his troubles. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Montbryce glared at him. Rhoni pulled him to his seat, her hand caught in his manic grip. “You’re hurting me, Ronan.”

He took his seat, instantly contrite, brought to his senses by her plea. He loosened his grip, bringing her hand to his lips. “Forgive me, Rhoni. I never want to hurt you.”

She put her free hand on his thigh and smiled at him. “You have a right to be angry. But you must not betray your feelings. You are drawing too much attention to yourself.”

She spoke the truth. Conflicting emotions warred within him. He took a deep breath, willing his heart to slow its thunderous beating. Rhoni’s hand on his thigh was both a balm and a torment. Rhoni’s mother and brother had both noticed it. Baudoin’s disapproval was written plainly on his face. Ronan was not sure what to make of the Countess’s expression. She looked—pleased?

The fare served by servants in Ellesmere livery was sumptuous, but Ronan scarcely tasted any of it. He forced his gaze away from the fat Norman, trying to control the tremor in his right leg.

Rhoni’s voice broke into his thoughts. She held out a chunk of bread topped with a piece of fish. “You haven’t touched the trout, Ronan. You should try it. You will not believe how good it is. It’s a recipe handed down from a famous cook long ago at Montbryce Castle.
La Cuisinière
passed it on to Trésor when she came to England to be our cook at Ellesmere. It’s traditionally served at important banquets.”

How to resist her smile? He took hold of her wrist, biting into the morsel, savouring the intriguing flavours as he chewed. It was tempting to lick her fingers as his lips brushed against them, but he did not want to provoke the scowling Baudoin any further. “You’re right. Delicious. Trout are bountiful in Ireland. You should try to obtain the recipe.”

Where had that thought come from?

Her mouth fell open. She did not look away from his gaze as she licked her fingers. “I hope to visit there someday.”

“Aye,” he conceded as his arousal tightened anew. “I would be proud to show you my homeland.”

Hurt by Ronan’s rejection overheard earlier, Rhoni had been determined to remain aloof. But as soon as she set eyes on him, her heart admitted she would always love him. She simply had to be patient and he would come to see that he loved her. They would face his demons together.

Patience was not a virtue she possessed, but entering the Hall on Ronan’s arm had convinced her of the importance of it. It was a glimpse into her future. She was Lady Rhoni MacLachlainn, proud to walk beside her noble husband.

How often had her mother voiced her regret that she had waited years to tell Ram de Montbryce of her love for him? Rhoni’s ordeal at the hands of Daegal and his cronies had brought home to her the fragile nature of life and the importance of seizing what she wanted, and she wanted Ronan.

She had never liked the Earl of Chester, sensing her parents did not like him either. Now Ronan’s palpable hatred for the man seethed through her. She had no doubt he was the Norman responsible for the mercenaries who soldiered for the MacFintains. Did the fat fool realize how lucky he was his head was still atop his shoulders?

She had trembled with dread, sure Ronan would yell his war cry and fall upon Chester. The Earl had known who Ronan was, that much was evident. How had he learned of the escape from MacLachlainn Tower?

She watched Ronan savour the fish she fed him, wishing he would lick her fingers. Why was he determined to fight his obvious feelings for her?

She knew the answer as she licked the taste of him from her fingers. He had sworn an oath. There would be no future for them until his vengeance was complete. If she wanted him, she would have to do everything in her power to help him regain his lands. She was not sure what power a woman might wield. Robert and Baudoin had always been part of their father’s discussions and decisions. She had been the ornamental daughter. But she was a Montbryce. She would find a way.

“We will find a way,” she whispered to Ronan.

Warwick turned to his host, sucking the food out of his teeth as the servants cleared the tables. “Who’s the fellow with the eye patch?”

Ram arched his brows, scanning the Hall as if surprised by the question. “The giant? He’s a nobleman, visiting from Ireland.”

Shrewsbury, seated on the other side of Warwick, had leaned over to hear the answer. “Ireland? What brings him here?”

Chester, seated on Ram’s right, feigned a lack of interest in the conversation, but Ram felt him tense. “It’s a long story. Mayhap he’ll tell it to you.”

Chester coughed, seemingly choking. Ram offered him ale. “Something stuck in your throat, Chester?”

The Earl guzzled the ale, grunting as he wiped his sleeve across his mouth.

Warwick persisted. “He seems taken with your daughter, Montbryce.”

Now Ram tensed. Rhoni was feeding the Irishman, her face aglow. Mabelle was right. The alchemy was evident. This situation was becoming too complicated. He was happy his little girl had fallen in love, but—

He chose his words carefully. “Lord Ronan protected her when their party was set upon by brigands who had apparently come north from your territory, Warwick. Had you captured and executed them, my daughter would not have been terrorized.”

Shrewsbury slapped Warwick on the back. “Now there’s an admonition if ever I heard one. We’ll discuss that on the morrow at our meeting. I’ve been told there are other Saxon bands at large. Thought we had annihilated them years ago.”

Chester came to his feet. “We must indeed resolve on the morrow how to deal with these new threats. But now I beg your indulgence, my dear Earl of Ellesmere. I fear I tire easily these days. I’m off to my chamber.”

Ram watched as Chester waddled out of the Hall leaning heavily on his pageboy. He was surprised the fire in Ronan’s eye did not burn a hole in the Earl’s doublet.

The Earl of Chester had survived and prospered for thirty years by relying on his instincts. They had never failed him. Warwick droned on and on about Saxon brigands, but Chester’s thoughts were full of the one-eyed Irishman.

It was too much of a coincidence. And then his fears had been confirmed when Montbryce had uttered the fellow’s name.

The idiot MacFintain had said the man likely drowned, too maimed and mutilated to survive. The Irish giant he had seen yesterday appeared to be in the best of health, and not the kind of man inclined to forget a wrong. What’s more, something was going on between the Irishman and Montbryce’s empty-headed daughter. If the Earl of Ellesmere became involved in the whole mess—that was quicksand he did not want to become mired in. Montbryce had an uncanny knack of coming out on the winning side.

What had begun as a cunning and secretive way to reap wealth from Ireland had suddenly become more complicated and fraught with consequences. Why King William Rufus did not simply invade and conquer Ireland was beyond him. Too busy squabbling with his older brother, the Duke of Normandie. If only the Conqueror still lived! He had laid out plans to seize Ireland years ago.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, unable to remain silent any longer. “By all the saints, Warwick. Scorched earth—harrying—that’s how you get rid of problems. Get rid of everybody.”

Montbryce groaned. “You cannot be serious. After thirty years you still believe the only way we can rule is through brutality?”

Warwick huffed and puffed. Shrewsbury looked on, apparently mildly amused. Now there was a man who recognized the effectiveness of harrying. But time was passing and Chester wanted to learn more of the Irishman. As if reading his thoughts, Montbryce suggested they adjourn to the Hall for the midday meal.

Their host followed Warwick and Shrewsbury. Chester put a hand on his shoulder. “A moment, Montbryce, if you please.”

“I am curious about your Irish guest.”

Ram had sensed Chester’s preoccupation throughout the morning and suspected he would ask him about Ronan. He shrugged. “He is the Lord of some Tower that was seized by brigands. They tortured him, but he escaped. Incredibly, he survived a harrowing journey across the Irish Sea. My wife and daughter met him while on a pilgrimage to Saint Winefride’s Well. For some reason, my wife thought he and I should meet.”

Chester scratched his head. “
Oui
, they stayed at Chester en route there. So your wife was with them when they were attacked?”

Ram recognized his mistake. “
Non
, Mabelle left a day earlier.”

“Your daughter was travelling with only a partial escort?”

“
Oui
, but she had
Capitaine
Duquesne with her, and Lord Ronan. And the Saxons had reportedly been captured by Warwick.”

Chester eyed him curiously. “She is fortunate. Who knows what might have happened had the miscreants got their hands on her.”

Ram’s heart stopped. It was imperative no one learn Rhoni had actually been captured. “Indeed. I owe Lord Ronan a debt of gratitude.”

Let that sink into your skull, old friend
.

Chester grunted. “
Bien
, I am ravenous, though how that can be after last night’s feast, I know not. You outdid yourself.”

Ram laughed. “We have been fortunate that Trésor has lived a long life. She has trained her successors, but I doubt they will ever match her skills.”

Chester patted his belly. “
Oui
, we are all getting older, though you manage to keep looking fit. What is your secret?”

Ram was tempted to point out that he didn’t eat like a pig and still practised daily in the training yards. “My wife keeps me young,” he replied.

Chester chuckled. “Ah
oui
, the beautiful Mabelle. I envy you, Montbryce.”

They set off for the Hall. Ram walked slowly, but Chester had trouble keeping the same pace.

“Do you have interests in Ireland, Hugh?” Ram asked.

Chester bristled. “
Non, non
. Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason. Mabelle got the feeling you knew Lord Ronan previously.”

The Earl scoffed. “I am sure I would have remembered him if I had met him before. He’s not a man you would forget easily.”

Ram maintained his silence.

Breathing heavily, Chester put a restraining hand on Ram’s arm. “Slow down, old friend. What are his plans once he leaves here?”

Ram stopped and looked his fellow Earl in the eye. “Irishmen seem to be a lot like us Normans. He has vengeance in mind.”

The colour drained from Chester’s face. “And will you aid him in his quest for vengeance?”

They resumed their walk. Ram did not reply until they had reached the Hall. “I do owe him a debt.”

Hugh d’Avranches, Earl of Chester, was conspicuously absent from the opening sessions after the midday meal. The others delayed their discussions for a while and were about to start without him when he waddled in, mumbling an unintelligible excuse.

Ram’s suspicion that he had dispatched riders to his castle with a message were confirmed by Baudoin later in the afternoon once the discussions were over.

Ram clenched his jaw. “Their message is probably intended to reach Ireland, but that will take at least a week. What will he do,
mon fils
? What instructions will he give his mercenaries?”

Baudoin leaned his backside against the chart table in his father’s Map Room, his legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded. “If he has any sense, he will tell them to withdraw.”

Ram put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Never underestimate Hugh d’Avranches. He’s a hard man to predict.”

Baudoin frowned. “What do you plan to do about Ronan, Papa?”

Ram leaned heavily with both hands on the table, his shoulders hunched. “I truly don’t know the best course of action. What is your advice?” He smiled wryly at his son, spreading his arms wide. “One day soon these problems will be yours when you become the second Earl.”

Baudoin shrugged, winking at his father. “When that time comes, I will ask myself what you would have done.”

They shared the humour of the jest, then Baudoin furrowed his brow. “We owe him Rhoni’s life. That is no small debt. Duquesne would not have survived without his aid.”

Ram paced. “
Oui
, but sending men on an expedition to Ireland? I haven’t the stomach for it, and I certainly don’t want to go myself. I have to admit the journey to Constantinople and back exhausted me. Your mother will have my hide if I go off again on some adventure.”

Baudoin unfolded his arms and pressed his palms into the table. “Rhoni will balk if we do nothing. She’s in love with him.”

Ram smiled. “You noticed, eh?”

Baudoin laughed. “It’s hard not to.”

“What’s your feeling about him? Does he care for her?”

Baudoin hesitated for a few minutes. “You didn’t see the two of them make their grand entrance into the Great Hall. Heads turned, I can tell you. They looked like they were made for each other.”

Ram shook his head sadly. “But he is bent on vengeance.”

“That is why we must help him. He will never turn his attention to wooing Rhoni until he has regained his lands.”

“What do you suggest then?”

“Money—to hire mercenaries.”

Ram had already decided that was the right decision, but he was proud his son had arrived at the same conclusion. Ellesmere would be in good hands in the future. His only worry was his son’s continuing preoccupation with Rhodri’s daughter, Carys.

Ronan’s mouth fell open. Summoned to meet with the Earl and his son in the Map Room, he had bowed politely then braced his legs and stiffened his backbone, ready for the denial of his request for aid.

Montbryce had indeed denied him soldiers, but the amount of money the Earl was prepared to advance him for the hiring of mercenaries had momentarily taken his breath away. Hope blossomed in his heart. He gripped the hilt of his sword and bowed again. “Your offer is more than generous,
milord
Earl.
Merci
. I will repay every last penny of the three thousand pounds once I regain my lands.”

Montbryce looked at him squarely. “I am confident you will. But there are two conditions.”

Ronan’s gut clenched. The Earl had a right to impose conditions. He hoped he could meet them. “I am listening,
milord
.”

Baudoin de Montbryce had been silent, watching the proceedings. Now he spoke to Ronan. “Firstly, you cannot use the money to hire Norman mercenaries. We will not pay for Normans to fight Normans.”

Ronan would have little trouble finding Irish warriors to fight for him if well paid. His uncle would assist with recruiting them. Confidence grew in his heart. “I agree.”

Seemingly satisfied, Baudoin retreated to the shadows and looked at his father. The Earl stared at Ronan, reminding him of the way the Countess had measured him with her gaze in the Priory garden. The Norman was trying to decide if he should proceed with the second condition. Ronan had met Montbryce scant days before, but knew he was not a hesitant man. What was so troubling? Unless—
“If you are successful in regaining your lands, you will return to Ellesmere and wed my daughter.”

It was his heart’s desire and the thing he dreaded most. Anger warred with elation. Icy heat crawled up his spine. He wanted Rhoni more than he had ever wanted any woman. But his grief for Mary held him fast. Responsibility for her death weighed heavily on his heart. Trust an arrogant Norman to strong-arm a man into matrimony. And how would Rhoni feel if she found out a marriage had been forced on him?

He furrowed his brow. “What has Rhoni to say on the subject?”

“I have not spoken to my daughter, and I would ask for your word that you will not tell her of our discussions.”

“I will not wed an unwilling wife.”

Baudoin snorted then tried to conceal his reaction by coughing into his hand. Ronan glared at him, anger churning in his belly. “I will not be mocked.”

Montbryce intervened. “My son does not mean to mock you, Lord Ronan. Rhoni will not be unwilling.”

If he did not accept Montbryce’s conditions, where else to turn for aid? Three thousand pounds would not be sufficient to hire a large army, but it might be enough to defeat the MacFintains and their Norman allies. He shuddered at the irony of his grandfather’s insistence on the defences that made Túr MacLachlainn impregnable. Without Ellesmere money, how to contemplate an attack?

But to accept the condition that he wed Rhoni? If he were to marry again, she would be the woman he would want. But he would not be forced into marriage. He gritted his teeth. “I thank you for your offer, but I must decline.”

The Montbryces stared at him open-mouthed as he strode out of the Map Room, his hopes in tatters.

“Must have Norman blood in his veins,” Ram de Montbryce muttered. “Too proud by far.”

Baudoin shrugged, scratching his head. “Did you expect less of him? Would you have been happy if he had accepted your proposal? Rhoni will be livid when she finds out. I have never questioned your judgment before, but what were you thinking?”

Ram slumped into a chair. “I was thinking that if he accepted my condition he is not the man for Rhoni.”

“But how can you give him the coin now he has refused your demand?”

“I will let his temper cool, then reassure him of our financial support.”

The first person Ronan sought out was Conall. He was in the laundry, helping Jacquelle freshen some of her mistress’s gowns. The lad looked up in surprise when his master stormed in and beckoned him outside with a cock of his head. “Ready our belongings for departure.”

Conall frowned, his eyes darting to the laundry. “We’re departing? But where are we going?”

Ronan was already walking away. “Back to Wales. I will ask Prince Rhodri for safe passage to Holy Island and from there we will seek out a boat for Ireland.”

“Ireland! But—”

Ronan turned to his servant, grasping him by the front of his tunic. “Yes, Ireland. You were burning for revenge as much as I. Has something changed?”

The lad averted his gaze. “No, my lord, nothing has changed. I will pack our things. But we have no horse.”

He pushed Conall on his way. “I have the matter in hand.”

Ronan regretted his outburst. The lad was young, and Jacquelle a tempting morsel. Mayhap they should both forget their vengeance and marry in England. But he would never wed again until Mary was avenged. Perhaps someday he might return for Rhoni.

It was a forlorn hope. Rhoni would become another man’s wife. Regret gnawed at his gut.

Conall lingered. “Can I say goodbye to Jacquelle?”

Ronan drove a hand through his hair. “Aye. Be quick.”

Should he bid Rhoni farewell? Fearing his resolve to quit Ellesmere would desert him, he went instead to the stables, then to see Gabriel Duquesne. The Earl of Ellesmere had made his decision for him, and it felt good to be taking action. He had known the moment the Earl imposed his condition that Ireland was where he must seek his allies. He was ready to return home, having regained his health in England and Wales.