Defiant Passion (Sons of Rhodri Medieval Romance Series) by Anna Markland

and brought on conflicting feelings. As a healer, she recognised and admired a strong, healthy body when she saw one. The mystical side of her, passed down through generations of Ddas, drew her to him. She sensed an affinity that transcended the physical and it alarmed her.
    She wanted to reach up and touch his dark face, fondle his braids, run her hands over his tattooed biceps, feel the controlled strength emanating from him. His deep, sonorous voice evoked the memory of the rich, melodious Welsh folksongs they had enjoyed at the fayre in Whittington.
    Her thoughts made her blush. How childish to expect a Celtic prince to welcome the attentions of a lowly woman such as her. She determined to quell her feelings, knowing with dire certainty she would avenge her mother’s death by killing Morwenna, his betrothed. It was a harsh knowledge for a woman who had dedicated her life to healing, to saving others.
    ***
    Two things surprised Rhodri when his eyes fell on the healer. One was the strength of his sudden arousal. The other was the feeling of calm that swept over him when he heard the lilting way in which she spoke his language. It was the Welsh of the Marches. The interview with the captives was something he had prepared for, and anticipation had filled him with nervous tension. Yet now, the intrigue, the plot, the ransom, all seemed somehow insignificant. Something in nature had shifted and he knew with certainty the change would affect his life dramatically. Who was this young woman he had barely noticed when the hostages were first led in? When she told him she was the daughter of the murdered healer, he wanted to reach out to console her, to explain it was none of his doing. He was drawn to this diminutive woman much more than to his betrothed who now sat glowering at him. But the healer was his captive and probably terrified of him. He turned away sadly and walked back to the dais, glad he was wearing his long jerkin.
    ***
    Rhodri returned to his chair. Morwenna glared at Rhonwen. She had not failed to notice the brief exchange between Rhodri and the healer. She smiled at him, but her thoughts were black.
    You look at her while you’re betrothed to me. A curse on you! I have another who’ll give me much more than this windblown fortress.
    “I want to kill the healer,” she told Rhodri after the captives had been escorted back to their chamber and food ordered for them.
    He looked into her eyes, his voice cold. “You’ll not kill any of them, Morwenna. I’ve sworn an oath they’ll be protected here. They’re worth nothing to us dead. We need the coin their ransom will bring. It will allow us to buy the things we desperately need to continue our struggle. Our people have to be fed, clothed and armed. Many in the villages of our commote will starve without this ransom money.”
    He turned to Andras. “We don’t have much time. I’ll write the ransom. Prepare four men to ride to Ellesmere. We must act before the weather turns against us. The Countess is expecting a child, which I wasn’t aware of. We don’t want the babe born here, then he’d be a Welshman!”
    Andras snorted in agreement. “When is our loyal friend from Ellesmere expected to arrive?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm.
    The grin left Rhodri’s face. “On the morrow.”
    Morwenna’s eyes widened.
    ***
    Phillippe de Giroux arrived at the isolated fortress of Cadair Berwyn exhausted and frustrated. He had lost his way twice. Despite his peasant disguise, he had been unable to ask for help because he did not speak Welsh and was afraid his manner of speech would jeopardise him. Once he found the right trail, his pony came close to losing its footing on the high path.
    “Curse this wild country, and curse these ignorant Welshmen with their fanatical obsession of ousting us,” he muttered as he stabled the pony and went in search of Rhodri. “They’ll find out to their regret we can’t be defeated, but till then I’ll use them to my