The Welshman's Way. Margaret Moore
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perhaps. Yes, that’s it, surely. A lay brother. No priest could wield a sword like that. You must have been a soldier. But why...oh, I understand!” she surmised, calling to mind some stories she had heard in the convent. “You are under a vow of silence. For penance?”
When he made no sign of giving her the courtesy of an answer of some kind, Madeline bristled. “Sir, I do not know who you are, but I know full well that I do not deserve to be ignored in this manner. However, do not answer if it suits your purpose and I will assume I have surmised correctly.” She ran her gaze over the horse and the pack tied onto it. “And I believe you are going on a pilgrimage as part of your penance. Whatever it is you are doing, sir,” she went on with great formality, “I will require your assistance to return to my brother and his men, who I’m certain would have rescued me if you had not.”
Dafydd regarded this astounding woman standing before him. As he had raced to help her, a part of him had been impressed that she had the strength to fight and the will to curse her attacker. Then, when he had won his battle and had time to really look at her, he had been startled by two things. The first was her beauty; the second was that this beauty was encased in the vestments of a novice in a convent.
For a moment, he had feared she had been injured or was going to faint, for her complexion was unnaturally pale. When she did not, he credited her with more inner strength and ability to recover quickly than most noblewomen possessed, until it had become quite apparent that she was not only recovered—if her sharp tongue was any guide—but she was ungrateful, too. Apparently she accepted his rescue as a natural right, and not only that, he should be willing—nay, anxious—to take her back to her brother.
He had to be on his way, out of Norman territory and on to Wales. He had no wish to play nursemaid to some Norman noblewoman, especially not the haughty sister of Sir Roger de Montmorency, a man who was notoriously ruthless with Welsh rebels. Next to Morgan, he was the one man Dafydd knew he should avoid at all costs.
God’s holy rood, who would have guessed that he would find himself in such a predicament? There was no way under God’s heaven that he could go anywhere near Sir Roger de Montmorency. Nor could he leave her alone in the forest, tempting though it was. There were too many dangers for a lone woman.
His shoulder ached fiercely and he was dead tired. He never should have interfered. The poor young fool who lay unconscious on the ground back there surely only wanted some ransom money and wouldn’t have really hurt her. Nevertheless, he supposed he could take this woman somewhere...neutral. Sir Guy’s manor, perhaps. It would be risky, but certainly less dangerous than riding up to Sir Roger de Montmorency.
Lady Madeline began to tap her foot impatiently. “Will you please be so kind as to accompany me back to my brother’s party?” she repeated insistently, glaring at him with enormous blue eyes that betrayed every emotion like a signpost. “I am quite sure he has sent the rest of this rabble packing as easily as you dispatched that miscreant.”
Dafydd frowned, even though he agreed with her. The Welshmen would be long gone, although they were probably not very far away. They would be waiting for the young fool who had taken it into his head to try for ransom. A Norman lady would be worth a great ransom, and so the risk.
Yes, as an object for ransom, she was quite valuable. To him, too. Why, he could get enough silver to live as well as any nobleman. He turned away, in case his eyes were no more inscrutable than hers.
“Roger will pay you for your trouble, or at least see that you have a decent horse.”
Reward money was less risky than a ransom, he realized. Still, any contact at all with Normans was to be avoided. He decided to follow his original plan and see that the lady got to the nearby manor, then he would be on his way.
Without speaking, he grabbed Lady Madeline around the waist and hoisted her onto the beast she spoke of so scornfully.
No doubt she would not be so quick to insult it when she realized the only alternative was to walk. Dafydd mounted behind her and reached around to pick up the reins, his arms encircling her shapely body. He turned his horse in the direction from which he had come and nudged the horse into a walk. At that precise moment, he realized something else.
It had been much too long since he had had a woman. The whole time he had been in the monastery, he had not so much as seen one, let alone touched one.
He was certainly touching one now. Not just any one, either.
Lady Madeline de Montmorency was extremely lovely, with her rose-tinted cheeks, large cornflower blue eyes beneath shapely brown brows, a delicate nose and finely formed chin, the edge of which he could see if he leaned slightly forward. Her lips were lovely, too. He leaned forward again, enjoying the subtle contact that sent a rush of hot blood through his veins.
She even smelled good. Like fruit. What would happen if he tried to take a little taste....
This arrogant Norman creature would surely snap his head off if he so much as touched her cheek, but she was as beautiful as she was proud. Maybe the aftermath would be worth the kiss.
No, he should just ignore her, with her beautiful Norman face, her scornful Norman blue eyes, and her Norman lips.
He wondered about her clothing. She was attired as a nun, but she acted nothing like the nuns he had ever seen or met. Perhaps her clothing was some kind of disguise to ward off unwanted attention. Yes, a brother might think that way, especially if the sister was as lovely as this.
Lady Madeline de Montmorency. Her name seemed slightly familiar. Because of her more famous brother? No...the marriage the abbot was attending...was not de Montmorency one of the parties? Yes, that was it.
So, this woman was due to be married soon. Heaven help the man she wed! He would have a shrew on his hands.
A low rumble of thunder sounded in the sky. He glanced upward. It would soon be night, and the sooner he got Lady Madeline de Montmorency off his hands, the sooner he could be on his way.
* * *
“This is not the right way.” Madeline twisted in the saddle to look into the man’s inscrutable face. “We passed this way some time ago, my brother and I. I recognize that ruined building. You have made a mistake. My brother is the other way,” she said firmly.
The pilgrim frowned and shook his head.
Although she had no wish to return to her brother’s castle or obey his edict about her future, she had no idea where this pilgrim was taking her, if pilgrim he was. Perhaps she had exchanged one abductor for another, the garment only a sham, her mind clouded by the comeliness of the fellow. She could not believe that whoever or whatever this man was, he posed any direct danger, or he would have acted before this. Nevertheless, it could be that in revealing her identity, she had made an incredible blunder. As an object for ransom, she would be worth much. “I am right,” she insisted.
He shook his head again. Suddenly the strong arms around her that had made her feel protected moments before seemed to be a cage.
“Sirrah, I appreciate your willingness to assist me, but I must insist that we go the other way,” she said, trying not to sound as panic-stricken as she felt.
Cursing herself for a stupid fool, she tried to think of a way to escape and return to Roger. Whatever she did, it would have to be soon, before it was dark, when it would be impossible for her to find her own way. To think she had lived not many miles from here for so long, and this was the first time she had been on this road. If only Mother Bertrilde had not been so strict about staying within the walls of the convent.
When they rode beneath the first trees of what seemed a dark, nearly impenetrable wood, she heard the soft babble of a stream and immediately said, “I am thirsty. May we stop and refresh ourselves at that creek?”
The man nodded and pulled the horse to a halt. Trying to appear calm, Madeline slipped from the horse and headed for the stream. She took a drink of the cold, clear water and watched out of the corner of her eye as the man also dismounted and walked toward her.
“I...I