Vengeance
Anna Markland
VENGEANCE
The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition
Book IV
by
Anna Markland
©Anna Markland 2013, 2018
Contents
Dedication
Copyright
More Anna Markland
Ronan
Rhoni
Torture
Spoiled
The Oath
Chester
Son Of A Selkie
The Priory
The Seal
Who Is Ronan?
You Speak English
A Long Ride
Powwydd
He Will Come
Keeping Vigil
You Would Woo Her?
Destiny
Amen To The Seal
Birthplace
Precipice
Fat Wolf
Beautiful Girl
Spying
Rhodri's Gift
The Bridge
Almost Home
Cat And Mouse
The Rill
By The Fire
Heroes Meet
Tale Of Horror
We'll Find A Way
An Offer Of Aid
Gone
That Was Easy
Rhoni's Plan
What's In It For Me?
Voyage To Ireland
The Seals Will Save Us
I Couldn't Kill Him
Wish Me Luck
Don't Ask This Of Me
Epilogue
An Excerpt from Birthright, Book V
About Anna
Dedication
“When the eyes are blind,
Look with the heart”
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Dedicated to my great, great grandmother, Susannah Moore,
who left Ireland in 1840, never to return.
Copyright
Vengeance by Anna Markland
Book IV, The Montbryce Legacy, Anniversary Edition
© 2013, 2018 Anna Markland
www.annamarkland.com
All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
For permissions contact: anna@annamarkland.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Portions of this story were previously published under the title Dark Irish Knight.
More Anna Markland
The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition (2018)
I Conquest—Ram & Mabelle, Rhodri & Rhonwen
II Defiance—Hugh & Devona, Antoine & Sybilla
III Redemption—Caedmon & Agneta
IV Vengeance—Ronan & Rhoni
The Montbryce Legacy First Edition (2011-2014)
Conquering Passion—Ram & Mabelle, Rhodri & Rhonwen (audiobook available)
If Love Dares Enough—Hugh & Devona, Antoine & Sybilla
Defiant Passion-Rhodri & Rhonwen
A Man of Value—Caedmon & Agneta
Dark Irish Knight—Ronan & Rhoni
Haunted Knights—Adam & Rosamunda, Denis & Paulina
Passion in the Blood—Robert & Dorianne, Baudoin & Carys
Dark and Bright—Rhys & Annalise
The Winds of the Heavens—Rhun & Glain, Rhydderch & Isolda
Dance of Love—Izzy & Farah
Carried Away—Blythe & Dieter
Sweet Taste of Love—Aidan & Nolana
Wild Viking Princess—Ragna & Reider
Hearts and Crowns—Gallien & Peridotte
Fatal Truths—Alex & Elayne
Sinful Passions—Bronson & Grace; Rodrick & Swan
Series featuring the Viking ancestors of my Norman families
The Rover Bold—Bryk & Cathryn
The Rover Defiant—Torstein & Sonja
The Rover Betrayed—Magnus & Judith
Novellas
Maknab’s Revenge—Ingram & Ruby
Passion’s Fire—Matthew & Brigandine
Banished—Sigmar & Audra
Hungry Like De Wolfe—Blaise & Anne—Kindle Worlds
Unkissable Knight—Dervenn & Victorine
Caledonia Chronicles (Scotland)
Book I Pride of the Clan—Rheade & Margaret
Book II Highland Tides—Braden & Charlotte
Book 2.5 Highland Dawn—Keith & Aurora—Kindle Worlds
Book III Roses Among the Heather—Blair & Susanna, Craig & Timothea
The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty (medieval Europe)
Book 1 Loyal Heart—Sophia & Brandt
Book 2 Courageous Heart—Luther & Francesca
Book 3 Faithful Heart—Kon & Zara
Myth and Mystery
The Taking of Ireland —Sibràn & Aislinn
The Pendray Papers
Highland Betrayal—Morgan & Hannah (audiobook available)
Clash of the Tartans
Kilty Secrets—Ewan & Shona
Kilted at the Altar—Darroch & Isabel
Kilty Pleasures—Broderick & Kyla
Link to Amazon page
Ronan
Sord Colmcille, Ireland, Spring 1097AD
As dawn was breaking, Ronan woke and rolled over in the bed he’d been born in. He hadn’t slept well, preoccupied with the journey he was about to undertake.
His wife flinched when he put his hand on her hip. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, inhaling the clean scent that always clung to her hair. “I’m not going to bother you.”
She relaxed a little, but soon the whimpering began, as he’d expected.
Tamping down his exasperation and resisting with difficulty the urge to press his morning erection against her bottom, he moved his hand to her shaking shoulder. “I know you prefer not to join with me now you’re with child,” he rasped. “Don’t cry.”
“But you’re leaving today,” she whispered. “You’ll want to…”
Ronan lay on his back and looked up at the rafters. Aye, he needed to make love to his wife, but Mary was a sweet and gentle soul who’d wanted to become a nun. Her father had put a stop to what she saw as her destiny—to be a bride of Christ; she believed sexual congress placed her soul in jeopardy.
Her grief was compounded because she also recognized she had a duty to bear Ronan’s heirs. She silently complied on the increasingly infrequent occasions he exercised his marital rights. He was more relieved than jubilant when she told him she was with child. Their joining satisfied his male needs for a while, but often brought on prolonged weeping on her part.
He’d considered taking a mistress but had no respect for other barons of his acquaintance who were unfaithful to their wives, and he’d sworn to love and protect Mary. Fornicating with another would be a betrayal.
He ought to be content with his situation. Mary was a good wife in many other ways. Had he not agreed to the marriage, her father would have betrothed her to the likes of Lorcan MacFintain. She was grateful to Ronan th
at he’d saved her from that fate.
He hadn’t at first believed her father would marry her off to such a brute. He must have been aware of the reputation of both MacFintain brothers. They treated serfs and servants like slaves, drank to excess, raped women, fathered bastards hither and yon, and let their holdings fall into disrepair and decay. They’d ousted the rightful owners of several small estates, intimidating them into surrender with their band of armed thugs. It was rumored Fothud was simple, and that he and Lorcan shared women. They were a disgrace to the community and unworthy of the title of noblemen.
Ronan refused to allow them entry to Túr MacLachlainn, and it was common knowledge they chafed at the ban. His grandfather would turn over in his tomb if two such ne’er-do-wells set foot in the impressive castle he’d built—the richest and most respected estate in the province. The MacFintains tainted everything they touched and he wished he hadn’t filled his head with thoughts of them this morn.
Relieved Mary seemed to have calmed, he left his bed, opened the door and called for his valet to help him dress.
Conall came down the hallway at a run, shrugging on his doublet, a half-eaten pastry in his mouth.
Ronan held on to his already fraying patience, wondering if the promotion of his steward’s son had been premature. “I realize you’re new at this, boy, but…”
“Sorry, my lord,” Conall mumbled. “I forgot you were leaving early today.”
Ronan pressed a finger to his lips. “Hush. Lady Mary is still abed.”
He was surprised when his wife sat up. “I’ll leave you to your preparations,” she murmured.
Conall averted his eyes as she drew on a bed-robe and headed for the door, but Ronan was certain the lad must have noticed the red-rimmed eyes.
He likely thinks I abuse her.
“Women weep when they are with child,” he offered lamely after her departure.
Conall nodded, swallowing the last of the pastry. “Aye, Da says Ma wept all the time she was carrying me.”
While Ronan washed at the ewer, the lad laid out his riding clothes and boots, then handed his master a drying linen. “Wish I was coming with you,” he said. “Will you not need a valet?”
Ronan looked up to the rafters. They’d been over this ground more than once. “Laborers and knights are what my cousin needs. We’re helping him build a rampart. If you want to dig ditches…”
Conall shrugged as he held out Ronan’s shirt. “I just thought it might be a chance to meet new people.”
“New girls is what you mean.”
To his credit, the youth blushed, but said no more until Ronan was dressed and ready. “So I can’t go with you?” he asked, eyes wide.
For a brief moment, Ronan was tempted to give in. Conall MacCathail was a resourceful bright spark. There’d be few dull moments if he came on the inconvenient expedition. However…
“With half the garrison and so many laborers away, your father needs your help here.”
As he expected, the youth pouted, trailing behind him all the way to the Great Hall where Steward MacCathail greeted them. “Ham, bread and cheese to break your fast, my lord,” his faithful servant said, gesturing to a trestle table. “And Cook has prepared victuals for the journey.”
Ronan rubbed his hands together then piled food onto a trencher. “This will stand me in good stead. I thank you.”
The MacLachlainns had been fortunate in their stewards. Conall would be the third generation of his family to serve in the post when he took over from his father. But that wouldn’t be for a long while.
“Is all in readiness for my departure?” he asked.
“Aye. The knights and men are gathered in the courtyard, and your horse is saddled.”
His thoughts once again went to the wretched MacFintains. “Precautions are in place for defense of the Tower, just in case?”
His steward smiled indulgently. They both knew the castle was impregnable. Ronan’s grandfather had made sure of it.
“And who would dare attack the mighty Lord MacLachlainn, nephew to the King of Munster?” MacCathail jested with a wink.
“Aye,” Ronan agreed with a sigh, “the same king who has requested my help constructing a rampart for his son’s castle.”
He was reluctant to leave Mary, but when a king calls…
Confident his steward had everything well in hand, he washed down the last of the bread with a tankard of watered ale and made for the stables. As he mounted his gelding, it occurred to him he should bid Mary farewell, but she’d probably gone back to bed, and it would just set her to weeping again.
“I’ll return in a fortnight,” he told Conall when the lad handed him his sword. “Get Moyra to see to Lady Mary.”
“Nothing to worry about, my lord.”
He rode out of the courtyard and through the gate, accompanied by a hundred men, the majority laborers on foot. He looked back over his shoulder several times as they made their way across the flat landscape. It was a long while before Túr MacLachlainn disappeared from view altogether.
Conall was right that there was nothing to worry about, yet Ronan couldn’t rid himself of a dreadful feeling he would never see Mary again.
He shook off the premonition. Her constant weeping was making him maudlin.
Lorcan MacFintain rubbed his hands together as he and his brother watched a brigade of Norman soldiers disembark from the galley moored in an isolated cove. “Did I not tell you the earl would be true to his word?”
Fothud shrugged. “Aye, but I don’t see how having more men is going to help us seize Túr MacLachlainn.”
Lorcan often thought he’d be better off without his dimwitted brother, though it was a boon to have a willing lackey always ready to do his bidding. “Take a good look,” he explained through gritted teeth. “These are Norman soldiers who’ve brought their own weaponry. The Saxons’ shield wall was reputed to be unbeatable, yet the Normans broke it and triumphed at Hastings. Same thing will happen here and we’ll be the lords of Túr MacLachlainn.”
Fothud giggled. “Then we’ll show the high and mighty Lord Ronan.”
Lorcan licked his lips. “Aye, starting with his wife. She was supposed to be mine anyway. ’Tis convenient he’s been called away.”
“Can we torture him when he returns?” Fothud asked. “Teach him not to keep us out of his castle.”
Lorcan narrowed his eyes as one of the newly-arrived Normans strode confidently across the beach toward them, an officer by the look of it. “Aye, but we’ll keep our plans to ourselves. These mercenaries are loyal to their earl, not to us. They don’t need to know everything we do.”
“MacFintain?” the soldier asked when he reached them.
Lorcan didn’t much care for the man’s arrogance, nor for the disdain in his steely eyes. The uniform of someone who’d just sailed across the Irish Sea shouldn’t look so immaculate.
“Aye,” he replied, offering his hand. “I’m Lor—”
“Bossuet, Capitaine,” the newcomer declared, looking down his long nose and ignoring the gesture of welcome. “We saw an imposing tower a few miles away as we neared the shore. Is that the estate we’re to capture?”
“Aye. We thought—”
“It’s my job to do the thinking, and to make sure the earl receives his due, once we’ve taken the castle.”
A chill settled on Lorcan’s nape. He wished Fothud would shut his gaping mouth, lest Bossuet think he was dealing with a pair of imbeciles. “That’s all very well,” he began.
But Bossuet had already turned away to bark clipped orders. His men didn’t give the MacFintains a second glance as they filed past and began pitching tents in the sheltered meadow behind the dunes.
Irritation gnawed at Lorcan. He didn’t like being ignored. The Norman had evidently got the wrong impression of his stature. “We’ll hav
e to scour the castle wardrobes for better raiment once we gain control,” he told Fothud.
His brother scratched his head. “Ronan’s clothes will be too big for us,” he said sadly.
Lorcan rolled his eyes. “Give me strength,” he muttered under his breath.
Ronan had never been overly fond of his cousin. As the days went by without much progress on the rampart, he began to realize the extent of the man’s incompetence. Dylan’s father might be King of Munster, but it was a blessing for the people of Munster that he wasn’t the eldest son.
It was evident to Ronan, and to the increasingly disgruntled laborers he’d brought, where and how the rampart should be constructed. However, Dylan remained unconvinced and changed his mind about the plans seemingly every time the wind changed.
As Ronan’s impatience grew, the knot of dread in his gut tightened. He couldn’t get the image of the MacFintains’ grinning faces out of his head. He told himself over and over that the pair didn’t have the manpower, or for that matter the intelligence, to carry out a successful siege of Túr MacLachlainn.
One afternoon, at the end of his patience, he rode down to the shore. The ebb and flow of the sea usually calmed him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat atop his horse, gazing out at the horizon, when he became aware of a seal watching him from a nearby dune.