Free Montbryce Next Generation 01 - Dark Irish Knight by Anna Markland Page B

murmured.
    Ronan cocked his head. “Your pardon, Lady Rhoni? Seal did you say?”
    Did he not know? Had no one told him? If she shared her belief that the seal had saved him he would deem her a lunatic.
    To her relief, Carys told the tale.
    The blood drained from Ronan’s face. He stared at Carys, the two pieces of broken bread still in his hands, as if she had warned him of a poisonous adder coiled around his neck. An icy chill raced up Rhoni’s spine. There was no mockery in his voice when he finally spoke. He frowned and raised his tankard of ale. “Amen to the seal, then.”
    His dark eye had darkened even further, drowning her. Was it black?
    His deep voice jolted her. “Are you unwell, Lady Rhoni?”
    She swallowed hard, unable to speak, and shook her head.
    “Good! I have heard the journey to Cadair Berwyn is not for the faint of heart. You will need to have your wits about you.”
    She was doomed. Ronan had stolen her wits.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    Rhodri shook his head at the foolhardiness of his twin sons. The weather was dry, but the track to Cadair Berwyn was a difficult one. Yet Rhun and Rhydderch rode their mountain ponies with reckless abandon. He had been in two minds whether to bring them. They still treated Lord Ronan and Lady Rhoni with contemptuous disdain, but they loved Cadair Berwyn.
    Rhun was a fine archer capable of nocking an arrow to his bow in the blink of an eye. He rarely missed his target. Rhydderch had a special knack with horses and ponies.
    Carys had sulked at remaining at home in Powwydd. She had mithered her father without success into allowing her to travel on to Ellesmere with Rhoni. Rhodri suspected Baudoin de Montbryce was the reason behind that idea.
    Rhys too had declined to accompany them.
    “This journey promises to be strained, to say the least,” Rhodri had confided to Rhonwen as the party set off. “Ronan is not the most talkative of fellows, and Rhoni is as skittish as a frightened doe.”
    “She’s smitten with the man,” his wife replied with a smile. “Is that what you thought of me when we first met? That I looked like a frightened doe? I felt like one!”
    Rhodri chuckled and held her tightly for one last hug. He kissed the top of her head, smiled at the memory, then took the reins of his pony from his long time compatriot. “Lead on, Andras.”
     
    The narrow track did not provide many opportunities for the travellers to ride side by side. When it widened, Ronan took advantage to ride alongside Rhoni. He had scant time available to convince her in the campaign to solicit her father’s aid. As well, he found he enjoyed her company.
    Rhodri had voiced his concern about Rhoni riding her horse rather than a mountain pony, but she would not hear of leaving Fortissima behind, preferring to handle an animal she was used to.
    She had hardly spoken a word to anyone since they left Powwydd, no doubt preoccupied with the imminent visit to her birthplace.
    Ronan had lived his whole life in Túr MacLachlainn, slept with his wife in the chamber where he had been born. They had conceived a child in that same bed. It was a bittersweet memory. His belly roiled when he thought of Lorcan MacFintain defiling Mary in that chamber.
    He had failed his wife, gone off to aid in the construction of a new rampart at his cousin’s estate. Lorcan and Fothud had taken advantage of his carelessness. He ought to have known they would covet his estate, the richest prize of all. He had arrogantly believed they would never dare try for it. On his return he had walked into their trap. He’d been taken prisoner and his men slaughtered.
    Rhoni startled him. “Where do your thoughts take you, Lord Ronan?”
    Her voice was different from Mary’s. Mary spoke only her native tongue, but his recollection was that his wife had whispered shyly. Rhoni spoke clearly, though the slight catch in her voice betrayed the nervousness she often showed in his presence. He supposed he must be a fearsome