Passion in the Blood Read online

  His words seemed to have a hypnotic effect on her and she swayed against him. He leaned away from her, took hold of his shaft and slid it between her legs. His Celtic beauty was warm and wet for him, and it was all he could do not to thrust into her. He was breathing too fast, his heart racing. She moaned when he rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger.

  “Hush, Carys,” he said, brushing his lips over hers. He wanted this woman more than he’d ever wanted anything, but he didn’t want to shame her. He wanted her to bear his children, but he wanted them to be his rightful heirs, not his bastards.

  He took her hand. “Carys, I’m going to make you mine, only mine. But I don’t intend to plant my seed within you yet. I’ll only do that when we’re married.”

  He wasn’t sure she understood what he meant, what such an action would cost him. He picked her up and laid her on his bed where she stretched innocently, her eyes bright, like a cat begging to be stroked and petted. He lay down beside her and suckled, letting his fingers roam softly over her stomach, down her thighs, around her navel, up her neck, down her spine. He suckled harder and harder as his need grew, his teeth grazing the rock-hard nipple. She growled, raking her fingers along his scalp. When he stroked her intimate place it was but seconds before her body arched and she convulsed with the strength of her release.

  He held her tightly until her breathing slowed, his head on her breast.

  “I’ve ached for you to touch me there,” she whispered.

  He looked up at her. Her passion-glazed eyes held only trust and desire. She nodded and opened her legs wider. He dipped his fingers carefully in her hot wetness. He raised his body over her and slowly entered, pushing past the barrier. She cried out and her eyes filled with tears. She bit her lip. He stopped, and waited. He couldn’t wait long.

  “Tell me when I can move again. I need to move,” he rasped.

  “You can move, my love,” she whispered.

  He began slowly, but as he felt the heat build inside her tight passage, he thrust harder and harder, deeper and deeper. She matched his rhythm. Her muscles clenched on him when her second release overwhelmed her. Her guttural cries made his heart soar. She revelled in his possession of her. Her eyes held a look of triumph.

  He wanted to stay inside this woman, to possess her completely, but he couldn’t. He wrenched from her and spilled on her belly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He buried his head in the pillow not wanting her to see him grit his teeth in frustration. His body had found release, but his heart was unsatisfied.

  As if she sensed his unease, she drew his head to rest again on her breasts, stroking his hair, making soothing sounds, holding him close. She crooned a Welsh lullaby. He’d died and gone to heaven. He touched the sheen on her belly. She put her hand on his and lazily traced her finger through the glistening wetness.

  “Sticky,” she murmured.

  He felt renewed interest in his groin.

  “I’m yours now, Baudoin,” she whispered.

  “You’ve always been mine, Carys. When we’re married, I’ll pump my seed as far inside you as I can, not spill on your belly.”

  He kissed her on the forehead, rose from the bed and went to get water and a linen cloth, returning to cleanse her.

  “I want to send a message to your father,” he said as he wiped her thighs and belly, then cleansed the blood from his shaft. “It’s time.”

  She rose up on her knees and clung to him. “Oh God,” she cried. “What if he doesn’t agree?”

  He held her tightly, inhaling the clean scent of her hair, stroking her back. There were difficulties ahead, but they had to be faced. Carys would never marry him if her father objected. “On the morrow, I’ll write a letter to him, requesting a meeting. We’ll find a messenger who can take it to him. Do you know where he is?”

  “Yes, he’s in the border village of Rhydycroesau,” she replied.

  He laughed. “That’s auspicious. It’s the last place I saw him, after we were ransomed.”

  ***

  As Baudoin held her, Carys felt his heart beating. She wanted to believe they would marry, but had she been so caught up in her deep need to mate with him that she’d allowed him to take her maidenhead prematurely? Her heart’s reasoning had obscured the truth of the matter. Rhodri ap Owain would probably rather die than see his daughter wed to a Norman. He’d spent his life fighting them.

  Her heart had also reasoned that because Baudoin’s parents had given their blessing—something she’d never believed would happen—then perhaps her parents too would agree. She was the daughter of a Welsh prince. While in the Norman world she might be a lowly healer, in her world she was a princess.

  She believed Baudoin was her destiny. Her dreams had led her to this, and she knew her father trusted in the power of dreams. He too believed in destiny. He’d often described to his children his dream vision of the goddess Arianrhod that had convinced him Rhonwen would be his wife, despite the difficulties they faced. Her father was a warrior, her mother a healer, a woman of peace. Royal blood flowed through Rhodri’s veins. Rhonwen was the illegitimate daughter of a Welsh healer and a Saxon nobleman. Yet their passion and love for each other had overruled.

  What would her brothers say? Rhys, the diplomat, would see the benefit of such a marriage in political terms. Twins Rhun and Rhydderch would be furious. Her elder sister, Myfanwy Mabelle, the prioress—Carys didn’t know her well enough to predict what her opinion would be.

  She had no guilt feelings. She’d wanted to possess Baudoin, but she worried what he’d do if Rhodri refused permission. It would break her heart, but what would it do to the normally gentle Baudoin?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When Rhodri received Baudoin’s letter he knew exactly what was afoot. Rhonwen had been dropping hints and had finally told him of Carys’s confession of her love for Baudoin.

  It rankled that his daughter would want to wed a Norman, and he hoped she hadn’t already been shamed. However, he was a believer in the power of destiny, and if this was Carys’s destiny, he couldn’t stand in its way. He was reading the letter over when his eldest son entered the room.

  “What’s that you’re reading intently?” Rhys asked.

  Rhodri showed the letter to his son. “Baudoin wants to wed Carys.”

  Rhys thought for a while before he spoke. “We already have fairly good relations with the Earl of Ellesmere because of you and Mother—well, because of Mother anyway. An alliance can’t hurt us. But it will mean she’ll have to remain in England, and the political situation between Normandie and England is unstable at best. The Anglo-Normans try to serve two masters. Some day they’ll need to choose between the King of the English and the Duke of the Normans. We may be putting her into the lion’s den.”

  Rhun and Rhydderch had entered the room. Both men tensed as they listened to Rhys, but it was Rhun who spoke first. “Aren’t we gathered here to plan strategy for the next round of raids into England, and against footholds the Normans have gained in Wales? Why are we discussing Carys?”

  “What are we talking about?” Rhydderch asked. “Putting Carys in what lion’s den?”

  These red headed twins were volatile and Rhodri anticipated a strong reaction. He explained the situation to them, seeing their tempers rising.

  “You must be mad to consider this Father. A Norman,” Rhydderch spat.

  Rhodri held up his hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “What if she loves him, my boys, what then? If your mother hadn’t followed her destiny, her love for me, none of you would be here today. And I know Baudoin. He was my pupil!”

  Rhun shook his head vehemently. “I can’t condone it, Father.”

  “It’s not your decision, Rhun,” his father reminded him. “It’s mine.”

  The redheads glowered at him, their tattooed arms folded in defiance across their chests. But they recognized his word as law. He would decide Carys’s fate. They might not like his decision, but they wouldn’t challenge it.

/>   ***

  There was no mist as Rhodri and his three sons watched Baudoin and Carys ride across the uneven cobblestones of the bridge. Baudoin reined his horse to a halt and called to his former captor. “I haven’t crossed this particular bridge into Wales since the kidnapping. What is it now, twenty-five years ago?”

  He smiled across at Carys, mounted on her mare beside him and dismounted. “I remember waving goodbye to your father. I was clutching the wooden shield he’d given me in one hand and holding Giselle’s hand with the other.”

  Rhodri dismounted. “Five and twenty? Give or take,” he agreed.

  Baudoin helped Carys down from her mare. The others remained on their horses. Carys walked to her father and embraced him. “Thank you for coming, Father,” she said in Welsh.

  He kissed her forehead. He was proud of his beautiful daughter. She looked well, if nervous. He didn’t offer his hand to Baudoin, but asked in Welsh, “Baudoin, how is my little Norman warrior?”

  “I’m hale, my teacher,” the Norman responded in Welsh. “I’ve come to ask for Carys’s hand in marriage.”

  Rhodri shifted his stance—straight to business then. He remained silent for several minutes, staring at Baudoin. When he spoke there was no teasing in his expression. “If you harm my daughter, Norman, I will kill you. I’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth and I’ll kill you slowly and painfully.”

  Baudoin looked directly at him. “I love her. I won’t harm her.”

  Rhodri shook his head and insisted. “There’ll be others where you take her who may wish to harm her.”

  Still Baudoin didn’t look away, his eyes locked on Rhodri’s. “On my honour, I’ll protect her with my life.”

  There was a time when the word of honour of a Norman would have meant nothing to Rhodri, but Baudoin was the son of an honourable man, whose life he’d spared many years ago. Baudoin’s sister, Rhoni, had been born in his own fortress of Cadair Berwyn and named for his wife, Rhonwen. It wasn’t long ago he and his men had saved Baudoin’s half-brother from drowning in the River Dee. No, he was not a man to stand in the way of destiny. He turned to his daughter, looked into her eyes and said, “Carys, you’re aware I don’t want you to go with this man. But as you know, I’m a great believer in the power of love.” He winked.

  He could tell from his daughter’s expression she found his words amusing when she looked at her fierce father with his wild black hair, his braids, his tattoos, his intimidating body, his dagger tucked at his waist. She tried hard to control a grin. But she knew he did believe in the power of love. He’d wooed a shy healer to share his difficult life. “I’ve never loved you more than I do at this moment,” she rasped. “Father, you know he’s my destiny.”

  Rhodri’s eyes filled with tears as he embraced his little girl, remembering how he’d told Rhonwen the same thing many years before. Here too was a woman who’d known the intimate touch of a man she loved. “Then you must follow your destiny, daughter. Go with him. You have my blessing.”

  Rhun urged his horse forward. “But father,” he shouted.

  Rhodri raised his hand to silence his son. Rhun gritted his teeth.

  Carys strode towards her brothers, smiling. Rhys dismounted and embraced her. “Goodbye, little one,” he said. “Be happy.”

  Rhun and Rhydderch both shook their heads and wouldn’t dismount. She pushed her way between their horses and laid her right hand on Rhun’s thigh, and her left on Rhydderch’s. “Goodbye, handsome brothers. You will be in my heart. Be safe. I love you.”

  “Goodbye, Carys,” Rhun croaked.

  Rhydderch couldn’t speak.

  Baudoin helped her to mount her mare, remounted his own stallion, then raised his fist in salute to the four warriors who watched him go, taking with him their precious jewel back over the ancient bridge.

  Rhys turned to his fuming brothers and said pointedly, “You’ve failed to consider your sister will one day be the Countess of Ellesmere.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Three sennights later the Montbryce brothers were married to the women they loved in the church their father had commissioned. Baudoin felt his mother had outdone herself in her efforts to make it a memorable occasion, both for her sons and the local gentry.

  “Some people believe you and Robert are twins,” she told him. “You look so alike with your dark hair and blue eyes.”

  Baudoin laughed. “Oui, and Caedmon’s presence as the third replica of our father has only added to the delight of those in attendance.”

  Mabelle chuckled. Baudoin admired the way his mother had accepted her husband’s illegitimate son and welcomed him into the bosom of their family. He never thought of Caedmon as anything other than his brother.

  His mother was still gushing. “Both brides are stunning in their wedding finery. It’s good Carys and Dorianne have become friends.”

  He smiled too. “Oui, as soon as they met. Now instead of healer and patient, they will be sisters-by-marriage.”

  Mabelle sighed. “It’s unfortunate for both women their fathers aren’t present to see them wed. Rhonwen’s here with Rhys, but it doesn’t bode well that no members of the Giroux family are in attendance, though your father reached out to them by sending messengers. They were refused admittance to the Giroux castle.”

  Baudoin grasped his mother’s hand in reassurance. “Agneta made the journey from Ruyton with Caedmon and everyone has been delighted to see how their twins, Aidan and Blythe have grown. Now they’re five years old they obviously see themselves as the protectors of their younger siblings, Edwin and baby Ragna.”

  Mabelle kissed her son’s hand. “Did you see Caedmon’s face when he and Agneta saw Rhys?”

  Baudoin laughed, having heard the tale of Rhodri and Rhys saving Caedmon from drowning when Rhys was a mere lad. “Of course, now everyone is teasing me and Robert that it’s now our turn to provide you and Papa with heirs.”

  Ram had joined them. He slapped Baudoin on the back when he overheard. “Judging by the lustful looks in yours and Robert’s eyes when you look at your brides, I doubt it will take long.”

  Ram became serious. “Does Caedmon resent that his children can never be Montbryce heirs?”

  Baudoin shook his head. “Be assured, Papa, he doesn’t. He’s more than happy with what you have provided for him and his family.”

  The guests took their places at table. Trésor and her helpers in the kitchens provided a memorable feast to celebrate the event. They dined on roasted goose stuffed with figs, pheasant with boiled leeks, rabbit stew, black bread and of course the trout à la Cuisinière. Those who were able to eat dessert had gooseberry tarts and cheese. The wine and ale flowed freely and Ram gave orders for two of the kegs of the Montbryce apple brandy brought from Normandie and kept in the cellars for special occasions to be opened.

  “I can’t think of a more special occasion than this,” he quipped as he offered a toast to his sons and their new wives.

  “I wish to propose a toast to my sons, Robert and Baudoin, and to their beautiful wives, Dorianne and Carys. Mabelle and I’ve been blessed to have two such proud Normans as our sons. The future of the Montbryce name is in good hands.”

  Cheering broke out as everyone raised their goblets to the newlyweds.

  Robert stood to respond to the toast. “Milord Earl and Countess of Ellesmere, Comte and Comtesse de Montbryce, I know I speak for my brother as well as myself when I say it was our great good fortune to be born your sons. It’s our awesome responsibility to ensure the continuance of the great name of Montbryce, and again I know I speak for both of us when I say we’ll do our very best in that task.”

  He winked at Baudoin. Guffaws echoed through the appreciative crowd.

  “But I want to finish by saying it’s been my great honour to share this important day of my life with Baudoin. He’s a man to emulate and I’m proud to have him as my brother.”

  Baudoin was humbled his older brother would pay him such homage. Mabelle could contain her
tears no longer and cried on Ram’s shoulder. Rhys comforted his mother as she too wept.

  ***

  Dorianne leaned over and whispered in her husband’s ear. “Carys and I are nervous about what will happen when it comes time for the two of you to take us to bed.”

  Robert looked at her strangely. Surely she knew?

  Dorianne blushed. “Non, I mean, we’ve heard tales of bawdy revellers forcing newlyweds to perform intercourse in public, and we dread the possibility.”

  Robert took her hand, and smiled across at Carys, who was nervously biting her lip. “I can assure both of you no such thing will be allowed to happen. Neither of us wants anybody else ogling our wife’s body. We’ll be escorted to our chambers, undressed by our servants, in private, and tucked up in bed together. Then the bishop will give his blessing, and the revellers will leave.”

  Baudoin had overheard. “Then we’ll get down to business, in private,” he laughed, rubbing his hands together.

  As the festivities drew to a close, Robert and Dorianne were the first to be escorted to their chamber, since he was the eldest son. It was the first time Dorianne had been in Robert’s chamber. A cheerful fire warmed the room. A carved wooden screen had been placed at one end, and she and Margene stepped behind it. The maidservant helped her remove her gown, veil, chemise, shoes and hose. She gasped at the flimsy nightgown Margene carefully fastened around her. But then the maid produced a voluminous bed gown and wrapped Dorianne in it, pulling the belt tight.

  “Only for milord’s eyes, in my opinion. Not those who want to ogle,” Margene whispered.

  Robert’s friends and brothers were divesting him of his clothing, tossing it here and there, and he eased into a red silk bed robe, cinching it lightly around his waist. Smiling and waving to the cheering and jeering crowd, he strode proudly across the room and joined a blushing Dorianne. She was propped up against a large bolster, having been tucked in by Margene.