Montbryce Next Generation 01 - Dark Irish Knight by Anna Markland

sight.
    Good thing his long tunic hid the hard swelling between his legs. It would likely terrify her!
    “I was musing that you are probably excited about your visit to Cadair Berwyn.”
    Her eyes lit up as she smiled. A small army marched up and down Ronan’s spine.
    “I am.”
    They rode in companionable silence for a while, then she asked, “I suppose you were born in Ireland?”
    Perhaps if he shared something of his life she would see him differently. Mayhap it would ease some of his pain. “I was born in my grandfather’s Tower in Sord Colmcille and lived my whole life there.”
    She frowned. “And now it is lost to you.”
    “Aye.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    He shifted in the saddle. “Sord Colmcille means Saint Columba’s Well. It is north of the Viking town of Dyflin, or Dubh Linn, so named for the dark tidal pool where the River Poitéal meets the Ruirthech, which some call the Liphe. My ancestors were Vikings. Lachlainn means I am a descendant of Norwegians.”
    She seemed interested, so he continued. “Vikings, Norsemen or Ostmen, ruled as Kings of Dubh Linn for three hundred years—until the year of our Lord One Thousand and Ten.”
    “What happened then?”
    Her wide eyes showed genuine interest.
    “They were defeated by the mighty High King of Ireland, Brian Bóruma, at the Battle of Clontarf. Since then they have been more of a trading power in the area.
    “My grandfather decided to move further north to take advantage of the fertile fields. He built Túr MacLachlainn. It is visible for miles. The land is flat.”
    Strangely, telling her the tale of his ancestry filled him with renewed hope and determination that he would regain his lands. Vengeance would be his.
    Rhoni turned sympathetic eyes on him. “My father would understand your yearning to return to your homeland. He has lived of his own volition one score and ten years in England, but his heart has remained in Normandie, at Montbryce Castle. We go as often as we can. My parents are more relaxed there. It is where they first met. My brother, Robert, lives in Normandie, preparing for the day when he will become Comte de Montbryce.”
    It was the first time she had uttered more than a few words to him. Already his experience in Wales had belied everything he had ever heard and believed about Welshmen. Now he was feeling empathy for Normans. This was a slippery slope.
    “You are fortunate your father is still alive. Both my parents are dead.”
    Tears welled in her eyes. “Yes, I will miss my father sorely when he is gone. He is the rock of our family.”
    Ronan remembered the lost soul his father had become after his mother’s disappearance. Orlaith MacLachlainn had left behind a shell of a man. At five years of age, Ronan had assumed the mantle of head of the family.
    “I would like to meet your father. Your mother predicted he and I would meet.”
     
    Rhoni gripped Fortissima’s mane, her heart pounding in her ears. What did he mean, her mother had predicted they would meet? Nothing had been said to her.
    She conjured a vision of the two men together. It filled her with dread. Her perceptive father would see immediately that she was enamored of the Irishman and would deem it some childish infatuation.
    Why would Ronan want to meet her father? Perhaps he did have feelings for her? Or more likely, he sought something else a powerful Norman Earl could give him. Ronan must be deluded if he believed Ram de Montbryce would help him recover his estate.
    Ronan reached over to grasp Fortissima’s reins as she grew skittish without her mistress’s guidance on the unfamiliar narrow trail. “Are you unwell, Lady Rhoni?”
    She longed to tell him of her malady. She was heartsick for him. Her confession would embarrass him. He was a man, she felt like a child. “Simply a momentary dizziness as we climbed higher into the mountains. It seems harder to breathe here.”
    “Would you feel safer riding behind me?”
    Her male attire would have