Montbryce Next Generation 01 - Dark Irish Knight (6 page)

Ronan’s health took a turn for the worse. Rhonwen fussed and spluttered, annoyed that the progress he had made seemed to have been undone by the long journey to Powwydd.

A fever had taken hold and again he had to be nursed day and night. Rhoni suspected Ronan would not welcome her attentions, but she felt compelled to approach Rhonwen with an offer of aid. “You are spending long hours nursing Ronan. You have many other responsibilities here. Let me help. Tell me what to do. I want to learn healing skills.”

Rhonwen hesitated. “I have time during the day, but I admit it is difficult to stay awake at night watching him. I don’t want Carys to sit up with him either.”

“I can do that. Just keep watch.”

“Come this night then, after supper.”

It was impossible for Ronan to get comfortable. The scars on his back were healing, but were still too tender to lie on. If he lay on the side of his good eye, he saw nothing; on his blind side, his nose hurt. Either side his leg pained him.

Rhonwen had fussed and soothed all day, trying to get his fever down, urging him to keep covered each time he threw off the linens. He had done nothing, yet he was exhausted. He was dozing off, hoping this night he might get some sleep, when he heard the chamber door open.

Carys, no doubt, come to relieve her mother.

He licked his lips and turned over slowly onto his belly, gathering the linens to cover his arse and legs. His back had to remain uncovered. Carys was a young girl who in his opinion should not see a man naked in his bed, apprentice healer or no.

Rhonwen tucked the linens at his waist, put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, wished him goodnight, gave muffled instructions, then left.

Ronan drifted in and out of sleep, the faint trace of Rhoni’s perfume in his nostrils making him think her chamber must be close by. What was it her scent reminded him of?

Her back pressed against the door, Rhoni stared transfixed at the livid scars on Ronan’s back. They had healed to a degree, but were still visible in the dim candlelight. She gagged, barely managing to keep the bile down. What must they have been like when first inflicted?

Conall lay curled up on a pallet in the far corner, asleep. Coming here was a mistake. She was trapped in the small chamber with a man and a boy who had naught but disdain for her. She turned, intending to call Rhonwen back.

Ronan snored lightly, bringing her attention back to him. She was relieved for him that he slept. She crept cautiously to the chair by his bedside and sat, leaning forward, clutching the arms.

She studied him. His shoulders were broad, his beleaguered back well muscled. His dark hair, tied in a queue with a leather thong, lay curled along the top of his backbone.

His blinded eye was hidden in the straw mattress, one corded arm crooked at the side of his head, the other at his side, palm up, fingers curled. The welts on his wrists had lost some of their anger, the blisters on his palms were healing well. The linens covered his lower body, but one leg was bent, the outline of the cast plain to see. It was evident he was naked beneath the coverings. Even lying helpless he had the power to hold her in his thrall.

Barely visible, his tapered waist fascinated her the most. She itched to put her thumbs on the small of his back and knead her fingers into his firm flesh. The candlelight flickered on the sheen of sweat glowing on his body.

Her gaze shifted back to his hand. It was so masculine, so different from hers. Yet his long tapering fingers lent it grace. She traced lazy circles on her own palm with her thumb, since she dared not touch him. It reminded her of the first day they had met when he had pressed his thumb into the flesh of her hand.

His body jerked, startling her. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a squeak. Conall stirred, but did not wake. Ronan reached for his back, as if to soothe renewed discomfort. She came to her feet quickly, unsure what to do. He might not be pleased to discover it was she who kept vigil. Flight again seemed the best option.

Catching sight of an alabaster jar of salve, she picked it up carefully and sniffed. Unable to identify the aroma, she scooped enough to coat one fingertip. Still holding the jar in one hand she hovered the anointed finger over one scar, summoning the courage to touch him.

His shoulder twitched again and he grunted. She held her breath, curled her tongue to her upper lip, and lightly traced her finger the length of the scar, smearing the salve.

He groaned, deep in his throat. A lead weight pressed on Rhoni’s chest. She held her breath. Sweat trickled between her breasts. Fear and elation battled in her heart and deep in her belly. She finally managed a ragged, shuddering breath, dipped two fingers into the jar, and salved another scar.

By the time she had tended all the wounds, Ronan purred like a sleeping cat. Rhoni was an exhausted, trembling wreck.

Carefully, she put down the jar, slumped into the chair, wiped her tear streaked face with the hem of her gown, and fell asleep.

Conall woke before dawn and stretched. The candle had burned down. He squinted into the grey darkness. There was no movement from the bed where his master lay. Praise be to the saints the tormented soul had slept. He must be on the mend.

Someone was in the chair by the bed. A woman. Rhonwen and Carys usually watched over
Tiarna
MacLachlainn, but they had dark hair.

Críost, ‘tis the Norman woman!

Conall worried about Lady Rhoni de Montbryce, who had obviously set her sights on Lord Ronan. He saw through her excuses for wanting to travel to Powwydd and resolved to be wary. His master must not be distracted.

Conall had not previously been overly concerned, since Ronan had not shown any interest in her. In fact the opposite had been true. Perhaps there was no reason to worry. Lord Ronan would not be tempted to abandon his quest for vengeance.

But Conall had not expected her to be the one to keep vigil. He suspected his master would be none too pleased.

He remained on his pallet, feigning sleep.

Ronan was not sure what woke him. Perhaps it was the absence of pain in his back. He had slept soundly—the first time in a long while—and dreamt of gathering shells with his mother. He raised his head slightly. Conall seemed to be asleep, though the grey streaks of dawn were creeping beneath the door.

He yawned, thinking he might roll over onto his back and risk a stretch. He wiggled the toes of his mangled leg. So far, so good.

Slowly, he pressed his hand into the mattress and turned his hips, bending his arm to support his head. He had kept his body fit, ready for battle, and this weakness irked him. He managed to grasp the linens with his free hand, cursing as they threatened to slip from his body. He narrowed his good eye, making sure Carys still slept and had not seen his momentary nakedness.

His heart hammered in his chest. Rhoni de Montbryce slept in the chair by his bed, her head thrown back, her long neck exposed to his view. Her full lips were slightly open. He pressed the errant linens to his rock hard arousal. Her long eyelashes fluttered at the sound of his groan. She came awake slowly, licking her lips, stretching her arms above her head, arching her back.

Ronan’s gaze fixed on her glorious breasts, the rigid nipples straining at the fabric of her rumpled gown. His mouth fell open. He had forgotten how to breathe. He wanted to lave his tongue over the taut buds and suck them into his mouth until she screamed out her pleasure. Were they pink? How would she taste?

He had suckled Mary, but knew she tolerated it for his sake. Would Rhoni enjoy having her tits sucked?
Dia
, he thirsted to find out.

She opened her eyes and instantly grabbed the arms of the chair, swallowing hard, her face red.

Conall coughed.

Ronan swivelled his head. He had not noticed the lad standing on his blind side. Rhoni looked up sharply at the naked boy, leapt to her feet and ran out of the chamber, her hands clasped to her mouth.

Conall snickered. “Good riddance, I’d say.”

“Aye,” Ronan whispered, inhaling the faint vestiges of Rhoni’s perfume. “Good riddance.”

Conall strutted back to his pallet. “As
da
used to say, ‘Never trust a Norman’.”

Ronan clenched his jaw, doubting Conall’s father had ever said any such thing. “You do not need to be reminding me of my first duty.”

Conall chuckled faintly, pointing to his manpart. “That one’s never seen a man’s cock afore this.”

Ronan scowled at him. “She hasn’t seen one yet. Better remember your place, boy, and watch your mouth.”

Conall hunched his shoulders, and slunk off to retrieve his clothes. Ronan sat up and folded one arm around his bent knees, poking a finger into the top of his cast in a futile attempt to assuage the infernal itching. He was thankful that the sudden appearance of his servant had put paid to his erection. But he had hurt the boy to whom he owed his life in defense of a woman who meant nothing to him.

Gingerly he sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress with both hands, his legs dangling. When the light headedness left him, he summoned Conall. “I’ve a plan in mind, Conall, which I’ll share with you. Prince Rhodri has told me of Lady Rhoni’s father. He is a powerful Norman Earl—”

Conall spat.

Ronan took hold of the boy’s shoulders. “You must learn to hide your emotions, Conall. An alliance with a Norman Earl may be to our advantage. I sense Lady Rhoni is drawn to me for some reason—”

Conall snorted.

Ronan dug his fingers into the boy’s flesh and shook him. “Again, you betray yourself. Be more circumspect. Let us hide our disdain for Normans and see if there is aught to be gained from courting the lady.”

Conall looked at him. “You would woo her? To court her father?”

“Aye,” Ronan replied, hoping the lie was not written on his face. “What other reason would I have for pursuing her?”

Conall grinned.

Ronan punched him in the shoulder. “Now, find me some clothing and help me dress. Fetch those cursed crutches. I must seek out Prince Rhodri.”

Rhoni sobbed into the bolster of her bed, striking it over and over with her fist, cursing her stupidity. She had made a complete fool of herself over Ronan. She had seen it in Conall’s eyes and the arrogant stance of his naked body. How dare he? She was the daughter of an Earl. He had no respect, and Ronan had allowed it, mocked her equally.

Perhaps he was indeed an ignorant farmer.

It was time to leave Powwydd, time to return to her normal life in Ellesmere, far away from Ronan. Her preoccupation with him would bring nothing but heartbreak. Filled with regret, she set off in search of Rhodri.

Rhodri and his wife were taking their ease in the small chamber off the
neuadd
. He cradled her in his lap, something he had enjoyed doing for twenty years. It never failed to remind him of the first days of their meeting in Cadair Berwyn.

If it was possible, he loved her more now than he did then. The goddess Arianrhod had predicted true when she had appeared to him long ago in his dream—Rhonwen was his destiny.

He kissed the top of her head. “Do you still believe in destiny, Rhonwen?”

She snuggled closer to his chest. “Of course I do. Why?”

He rubbed his chin against her grey hair. “You and I knew we were meant for each other, but not everyone acknowledges what their heart knows to be true.”

Rhonwen hesitated before she replied. “You speak of Rhoni?”

He tucked her hair behind her ear. “She is drawn to Ronan, but hasn’t yet admitted she loves him.”

Rhonwen sat up and looked at him. “But she is the daughter of a Norman Earl. Ronan is a dispossessed Irishman full of hatred and the thirst for vengeance for the evils that have been visited on him. I hope I did the right thing allowing her to keep vigil over him last night.”

He pulled her back to his chest. “Is it ever easy? I think he burns for her as much as she craves him, but he is a nobleman who will put his duty first. I don’t envy them their dilemma, but if they are like us, they will each find an excuse to be with the other.”

Rhonwen cradled his face in her hands. “If it is their destiny to be together, let’s pray it comes to pass. Miracles can happen, you know.”

He kissed his wife deeply, filled with happiness that such a great love had been his to enjoy and savour. Ronan surely deserved to experience such a love after what he had suffered.

A tapping at the door broke them apart.

“
Dewch yn
!” Rhodri called.

Ronan hobbled into the chamber, Conall at his elbow. “Forgive the intrusion, Prince Rhodri. May I speak with you?”

Rhonwen hastened to Ronan’s side, taking hold of his arm. “My lord, what are you doing out of bed? Come, be seated.”

Ronan accepted her aid and sat heavily in the chair Rhodri had vacated, handing his crutches to Conall. “I thank you, Lady Rhonwen, but I am much recovered, thanks to your excellent care—and that of your assistants.”

Conall made a snorting noise as he propped the crutches against the wall in a corner and slouched, arms folded. Ronan looked at him with displeasure.

Rhownen frowned and glanced at her perplexed husband. He too had sensed Conall’s evident scorn of Lady Rhoni’s presence in Lord Ronan’s chamber.

Ronan cleared his throat, poking his finger into the top of his cast. “My leg is mending well, I think, but for this infernal itching!”

Rhonwen smiled. “I have a salve to ease some of that discomfort. Another sennight and the bindings should be ready to come off.”

“Good, good, I thank you.”

The uncomfortable silence stretched for several long minutes. Rhodri stood with his back to the hearth, his hands clasped behind him. Ronan evidently had something to say. “You wished to speak with me?”

Ronan gripped his knees then rubbed his palms along his thighs. “It concerns the Earl of Ellesmere.”

Conall shifted his weight. The corners of Rhonwen’s mouth edged up. Rhodri raised an eyebrow. “Ram de Montbryce?”

Ronan nodded. “Aye. Lady Rhoni’s father.”

Rhodri waited.

“If I am to regain my lands, I will need allies. My uncle in Ireland will aid me, but his kingdom is far away, and he has problems of his own to deal with. My estate was stolen by two brothers named MacFintain, but they have been aided in their crimes by a Norman Earl.

“You have assured me Montbryce cannot be the guilty one. Perhaps allying with an honourable Norman would be to my advantage. Would he be open to such a proposal?”

Rhodri raked a hand through his hair. “I may have spoken too hastily before. Ram de Montbryce is an honourable man, but he is a Norman nonetheless. They have an innate sense of form and order. He will want to understand the benefit to him and his earldom. On top of the power he wields in the Welsh Marches, he and his family control vast estates in Sussex as well as half of Normandie.”

Ronan grimaced. “In other words why would he come to the aid of a dispossessed Irish nobleman?”

Rhonwen frowned. Rhodri was not sure he liked the way the conversation was going either.

There was another prolonged silence before Ronan spoke again. “When does Lady Rhoni intend to leave for Ellesmere?”

Rhonwen opened her mouth but Rhodri dissuaded her with a slight shake of his head. “I am not sure. We have not discussed it. She has expressed a desire to visit her birthplace in my mountain fortress at Cadair Berwyn before returning home.”

“How far is that?”

“Three hours, in good weather. If we are to make the journey, it should be soon.”

Ronan beckoned to Conall to fetch his crutches. The lad helped him rise. “Thank you for your insights, Lord Rhodri. I appreciate your counsel. I must think on my next course of action.”

He bowed to Rhonwen and was about to take his leave. Rhodri put a hand on his arm. “As I told you before, despite our enmity, some members of the Montbryce family are dear to me, and to Rhonwen. We would not want to see them hurt.”

Ronan nodded grimly and Conall opened the door.

Lady Rhoni de Montbryce stood on the threshold, her hand raised to knock.

Rhoni’s knees failed her. She grasped the doorframe with one hand. She did not attempt to speak, knowing no sound would emerge from her suddenly dry lips and constricted throat. Conall stood behind his master. Ronan seemed as surprised as she at their chance encounter. Suddenly he leaned forward on his crutches, reaching for the hand that clutched her waist. His heat poured into her body.

“My lady Rhoni,” Ronan rasped. “I apologise for the unseemly behaviour of my servant earlier.”

Rhoni’s eyes darted to the scowling Conall. She had to get hold of her emotions, had to remember who she was. “I see no sign of remorse on his face. A servant who acted thusly in my father’s household would be cast out immediately,” she replied, embarrassed to have to rely on his hand for support.

Ronan turned to Conall and spoke in his language. “And I expect high standards of behaviour from my servants. You will apologise.”

The boy’s expression turned sheepish. His face reddened as he bowed to Rhoni. “I beg your forgiveness, Lady de Montbryce.”

Ronan explained the boy’s apology. She suddenly became aware of his thumb brushing over her knuckles. Her breasts tingled as desire and anger mingled in her veins. Did he think to distract her from her ire with Conall? She pulled her hand away but he held firm, bending to brush a kiss on her knuckles. Moisture flooded at the crux of her thighs.

It mortified her that a servant watched. Was it obvious she was aroused? “My lord?” she stammered, flummoxed by this sudden courtly behaviour from Ronan.

He looked up, his one dark eye piercing her. “I thank you for your care last evening. My back feels better today. I am a new man.”

It was the first time she had seen him smile. It stunned her. He was beautiful. His deep voice made her fingertips tingle with the memory of salving his back.

He bowed and took his leave. She exhaled a long breath and entered the chamber to face the lord and lady of Powwydd.

Rhonwen took Rhoni’s hand. “Come and sit, child.”

Rhoni gazed distractedly at the back of her hand, her eyes full of unshed tears. Rhonwen was worried. If Ronan and Rhoni were destined to be together, she foresaw problems if the Norman girl came to believe he courted her for political gain.

Rhodri remained by the hearth, but his expression betrayed his concern.

Rhonwen stood behind Rhoni and placed her hands on the girl’s nape, pressing her thumbs lightly into the flesh. “What is it? You look bereft.”

Rhoni let her head fall forward. “That feels good. I suppose I am tired after a long night with Lord Ronan.”

She looked up at Rhodri abruptly, her face red. “I mean—that’s not what I meant. The words did not come out right.”

Rhonwen smiled at her husband, then moved her hands to knead Rhoni’s shoulders. “We did not misunderstand. That happens when a person is tired. But he appreciated your care.”

Rhoni fisted her hands in her lap. “I suppose he did. That’s the first time I have seen him smile.”

Rhodri coughed into his fist. “Lord Ronan has suffered much, Rhoni. Torture does strange things to a man. His back will heal, his leg will mend, he will become accustomed to having one eye, but the inner scars—the hatred and the thirst for vengeance—they will take longer to exorcise.”

Rhoni chewed on her bottom lip. “I would help him heal, but he does not like me.”

Rhonwen barely heard her words, but felt the cold shiver that shook the young Norman’s body. She looked to her husband, hoping to say the right words. They both knew the healing power of love. Should they set her and Lord Ronan on a path that might lead either to a great love or to devastating heartbreak? Would it be wiser to send her home to Ellesmere?

Rhodri broke the silence. “Do you still want to journey to Cadair Berwyn?”

Rhonwen stilled her hands on Rhoni’s shoulders and felt some of the tension ebb away.

Rhoni smiled. “I would like that.”