Star-Crossed

by Anna Markland

  When he regained his wits, he was back in the cell, his mangled back on fire. He remembered his indignation when he had first learned Dorianne had been whipped. He heard loud voices above. It disoriented him. Did he hear his name? Was the angelic host calling him to heaven? Searing pain overwhelmed him. He blinked hard, trying to stay awake. The voices receded, leaving, leaving him to the black meaningless existence he had endured for too long. He would die alone in this awful place.

  “Dorianne,” he murmured with his last breath.

  Papa Is Home

  Baudoin and Caedmon were devastated not to find their brother. They were on the point of leaving the cells, their hearts heavy, when Baudoin stopped. “Listen,” he rasped.

  Caedmon cocked his head. “What is it?” He waited, frowning. “All I hear is a cat’s mewling cry.”

  “He’s here,” Baudoin replied. “I feel my brother’s presence. There must be more cells somewhere.”

  They turned back, creeping carefully along narrow dark corridors. After many long minutes Baudoin heard Caedmon’s shout. “Here! A stairway.”

  They descended the slippery, winding steps, their torches held high to illuminate the narrow walls. The meagre light fell onto an oubliette. They peered inside.

  “There’s a man in there,” Caedmon cried.

  Baudoin strained to see, his eyes watering. A wretched man lay on a bed of straw. “He’s dead, I think.”

  Caedmon smashed the crude lock with his sword and they entered. The mangled creature prostrate before them did not move. A cat scurried by and was swallowed up by the blackness. Then they heard a faint whisper. “Dorianne.”

  Bile rose in Baudoin’s throat, his heart thudding in his ears. “By the saints, it’s Robert! Hold the light here.”

  His fury intensified when he saw Robert’s bloody back. “He’s been flogged—and recently. A parting gift. Call for more help.”

  Robert groped the straw. “Espérance?”

  Tears streamed down Baudoin’s face. He grasped his brother’s hands firmly. “Oui, you have hope now, Robert.”

  With Caedmon’s help, he lifted Robert over his shoulder.

  The Montbryce men-at-arms came at the call and they and Caedmon helped guide Baudoin up the steps to the courtyard.

  Robert cried out when the light assailed his eyes.

  Baudoin quickly tore a strip from the crude shirt and tied it over his brother’s eyes.

  “Robert,” Baudoin rasped. “It’s Baudoin. You’re safe now. Caedmon is here. We’re here for you.”

  “Dorianne?” Robert rasped.

  Baudoin wiped away tears. He could barely speak. “She’s safe, my brother. You have a son.”

  “A son? I have a son. But where is Espérance? Don’t leave her behind.”

  Caedmon and Baudoin looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “He’s delirious,” Caedmon said as Robert fainted.

  The men-at-arms carried their broken lord on a litter to the Abbaye aux Hommes where the monks shaved the lice-ridden hair from his face and body. They bathed his lacerations and applied salve, washed him and tended the sores on his body, then rebandaged his eyes against the light. He remained in a stupor and was unaware the king came to visit him briefly, appalled by what he saw.

  “How bad is it?” Caedmon asked as Baudoin emerged from the infirmary.

  “It’s bad,” Baudoin replied angrily. “He’s been beaten, starved, humiliated, deprived of light. It will be a long road back to good health. He’s emaciated. I can barely recognize him. It’s hard to believe a Norman nobleman would treat another this way. So much for honor.”

  Caedmon put his arm around Baudoin’s shoulders. “Dorianne will help nurse him back to health.”

  Baudoin shook his head. “I doubt if she’ll want to touch him the way he looks.”

  “Never underestimate the power of a woman’s love,” Caedmon replied.

  Baudoin was lost in his thoughts for a long while as they stood in the silent cloister of the abbey. “I’ve sent messengers to Saint Germain. But he’ll be unable to travel for a few days.”

  A monk appeared with news Robert had awakened.

  They entered the infirmary.

  Robert lay on his side on a palette.

  Baudoin choked back tears as he clasped his brother’s hand. “Robert…Robert…we thought you were lost.”

  Robert coughed to clear his throat. “Baudoin? Where…am I? It’s been…so…long…since I talked…with anyone…I—”

  “Don’t worry about talking,” said Caedmon. “We’re relieved to have found you.”

  “Caedmon? You’re…both here?” Robert had difficulty making his voice work. “Take me home. I want to go home. To Montbryce. I want to die there—not here.”

  “You’re not going to die,” his brother retorted. “We’ve gone to too much trouble to save you. Dorianne would never forgive us.”

  “She will…not want me now. I’m not the man…she married,” Robert whispered.

  “You’re doing what I did,” Caedmon said. “I was afraid Agneta would never speak to me again when I returned from the Crusade, and yet she welcomed me back with open arms.”

  “But Caedmon…you didn’t look like this,” Robert said sadly, running a gaunt hand over the ribs protruding from his once broad chest. He coughed deeply. “I don’t want her to see me. She will…be disgusted.”

  Baudoin snorted. “I won’t be the one to try to keep her away from you when we return home.”

  “Nor I,” Caedmon added. “King Henry plans to leave Normandie tomorrow. He’s been called back to England to deal with the Investiture problem, but he’ll return as soon as he’s able.”

  Baudoin wanted to hearten Robert. “Curthose has avoided capture this time, and Henry won’t stop the fight until he has his brother soundly defeated. He’ll leave Caen and Bayeux garrisoned until his return. We should leave with him on the morrow to take advantage of the escort to Montbryce. Will you be able to travel?”

  “Oui,” Robert replied weakly. “I’ll be ready. I want…to be as far away from Caen as possible…and I want to see my son. Did you find Espérance yet?”

  Baudoin shook his head. “I don’t understand. Who is Espérance?”

  “My cat.”

  Caedmon and Baudoin looked at each other. “We saw a cat but she fled.”

  Robert gripped his brother’s arm, surprising Baudoin with his strength. “You must find her.”

  Baudoin put his hand on Robert’s. “I’ll try.”

  Robert eased his grip. “Merci,” he rasped.

  Baudoin turned to Caedmon and whispered, “I’ll send a messenger on ahead.”

  * * *

  Robert wasn’t able to stay atop his horse on the long journey to Montbryce. Caedmon helped him remount behind Baudoin and tied his hands loosely around his brother’s waist. Robert lay heavily against Baudoin’s back as they rode.

  From time to time they had to stop when the pain of his lashes became too much. They took him down and applied a salve the monks had given them. The last two hours of the journey were completed in the rain. By the time they rode into the courtyard of the castle, Robert had passed out and had to be carried to a chamber.

  Mabelle and Dorianne clung to each other in the downpour, the rain mingling with tears as the bald, broken and blindfolded man was carried into the castle. They followed the sad procession to the chamber, but Baudoin barred their way at the door.

  “Why have you not brought him to our chamber, Baudoin?” Dorianne asked.

  “Dorianne…maman,” he began, “Robert will need a few hours to regain his strength before you see him.”

  Dorianne’s mouth fell open. “But Baudoin,” she stuttered, “I long to see him, to hold him.”

  Baudoin clenched his jaw. “He doesn’t want you to see him this way. You must respect his wishes.”

  “Come, Dorianne,” Mabelle coaxed. “Robert will sleep now. We have our darling boy home. Baudoin is right. We’ll see him
later. We’ll nurse him back to health.”

  She led her daughter-by-marriage back to her own chamber where Dorianne took her son from his nursemaid. “Papa is home, Alexandre, everything will be fine now. Papa is home,” she whispered to the gurgling infant, her face streaked with tears.

  Worse Than Expected

  Danyel Bonhomme was more than relieved his master had returned safely. The valet tiptoed into the chamber to see if the comte was awake, barely recognizing the skeletal figure prostrate on the bed.

  Lying on his stomach, Robert struggled for a moment with the blindfold, but then covered his eyes with it again. “Who’s there?” he asked nervously.

  “It’s Danyel, milord, I’m elated you’re home. Shall I prepare a bath for you?”

  “Oui. I would like to bathe. That’s one of the pleasures I missed the most. Hot water will be a delight. But not too hot—the wounds on my back.”

  “Oui, milord, I understand. I’ll make everything ready, and I’ll lay out clothing for you. Perhaps a bed-robe for now?”

  His master did not answer right away, and Danyel wondered if he had fallen asleep. Then he heard a whisper. “Probably the best. I don’t intend to do anything today.”

  He made the wooden bathtub ready and scullery lads filled it with hot water from the kitchens. He was taken aback when the Comte snapped at the boys. “Hurry, you’re making too much noise.”

  Danyel laid a thick drying cloth against the back of the tub and helped his master rise. He swallowed hard when the bed-robe slipped to the floor, revealing the ravages wrought on a once well-muscled body.

  The comte leaned heavily on him as he stepped into the water. Suddenly, he swayed and grasped Danyel’s arm more tightly, his fingers digging into flesh. “You won’t let me fall? I can’t…see.”

  “Non, milord,” Danyel replied, worried at the look of abject fear on his lord’s face. “I won’t let you fall.”

  Carefully, he helped his master settle into the hot water, placing a cloth and soap in his hands. “Madame la Comtesse asked me if you’re awake yet, milord. Shall I tell her to enter?”

  “Non,” Robert said quickly. “I’ll bathe first.”

  “As you wish, milord. I’ll inform my mistress.”

  * * *

  Robert tried half-heartedly to wash his body, but didn’t have the energy. The soothing warmth of the water relaxed him and he dozed until he became aware of the slide of the soaped cloth on his skin. “Merci, Danyel, I’m as weak as a babe.”

  When there was no reply, he became alarmed, fearful as to who was in the chamber with him. Roughly, he grasped the hand and stilled it. It was a woman’s hand. The panicked realization it was his wife took hold. “Non!” he rasped.

  Dorianne whispered, “Robert, be calm, my love. I want to wash you.”

  He shook his head and forced her hand away from his body. “You’ll never wash the stink from me, Dorianne. I don’t want you to see what I’ve become. I’m not the man I was.”

  His wife pulled against his grip. “Robert, you insult me if you believe I married you only for your body,” she said softly. “Let me help you. Please don’t shut me out. I was also abducted. I need your comfort.”

  Her words gnawed his heart. He laid her hand against his cheek. “Dorianne, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I failed you.”

  She cupped his face in both hands and kissed his parched lips. “Non, Robert. I failed you. I trusted Pierre.”

  Robert shuddered. “Wash me, Dorianne. Help me cleanse my soul of this torment.”

  She took the cloth and washed his ravaged body, then helped him stand and step out of the tub. He leaned on her, shaking with the effort.

  “Hold on to the chair while I dry you,” she said. “Danyel has laid out your robe. I’ll help you dress.”

  He gripped the chair, feeling nauseous. “You’re not my servant.”

  Dorianne dabbed carefully at the livid scars on his back. “Robert, I love you. I’ll serve you all my life. I’ll be the one to nurse you back to health.”

  She dried his body, kissing him tenderly as she applied salve to his back. The painful pleasure was more than he could bear, but he did not have the strength to fight her.

  “Now, get back into bed and I’ll fetch our son. Your mother is anxious to see you.”

  He sat on the bed with her help. “How can you love what I’ve become? My mother won’t recognize me. I can barely walk.”

  Dorianne cupped his face in her hands. “Robert, because the duke wanted to destroy you doesn’t make you less of a man. That dubious honor falls to him and my mad brother.”

  She went to the door where her mother-by-marriage waited with the babe. She took her son and Mabelle untied Robert’s blindfold. He squinted to look at his mother for the first time in months. The long ordeal had taken its toll. She had aged. She would have missed his father’s support and guidance during the abduction. She embraced him, her eyes filled with tears, her voice breaking. “Welcome home. I know you’re anxious to meet your son.”

  He had avoided looking at Dorianne, afraid he would see how repulsive she found him. He dragged his eyes to her face. She too had not escaped unscathed. She had gained weight, which was to be expected, but fear, not revulsion haunted her. He wanted to cover the face he had longed to see with a thousand kisses—anything to remove the haunted look from her eyes.

  Dorianne placed the child in his father’s arms, opening the swaddling cloths to let him see his son’s maleness.

  Choked with emotion, Robert gazed into eyes as blue as his own then cradled his son against his body, rocking back and forth. “I’m your father, little one. What’s your name, mon fils?”

  A sob escaped Dorianne’s throat. “I named him Alexandre, for the warrior king Alexander of Macedonia. I wanted him to have a strong name.”

  “Alexandre de Montbryce,” Robert murmured.

  He trembled when the baby fussed and handed the child back to his wife. “Your Papa is afraid to drop you. You need your maman.”

  She adjusted her dress and chemise, settled on the edge of Robert’s bed and put the baby to her breast.

  Robert became aroused at the sight of the boy suckling, but his arousal brought home to him sharply the shame ingrained in him during his captivity when he had been unable to control his need. He lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes, fatigue and guilt sweeping over him. “Leave me now. I’m tired,” he said coldly.

  Mabelle eyed him curiously and suggested they wait until the baby had finished.

  He became more agitated. “Non, maman, leave me now—please.”

  “It’s all right, Robert. We’ll go. I’ll bring Alexandre back when you’ve rested,” Dorianne said softly.

  After they left the chamber, Robert put his head in his hands. He had sent away the very people he had longed to see when he was a captive. He could not understand his own actions. He ran his hand over his head and felt the light stubble. “Poor Alexandre. What a sight for his first glimpse of his father. No wonder my mother looked at me strangely.”

  Exhaustion weighed heavily and he slept.

  * * *

  Alexandre was still fussing as Mabelle and Dorianne left Robert’s chamber. Mabelle held out her hands. “Let me take him to the wet nurse, Dorianne. You need rest.”

  Could her mother-by-marriage see the agony in her eyes? She had expected Robert’s physical and emotional state to be bad, but it was much worse than her worst nightmare.

  She nodded woodenly and handed the squirming infant over.

  Mabelle hurried off with him, and Dorianne turned to go to her own chamber. She controlled the urge to scream until her head was buried in her pillow. The sobs racked her body until she thought she might choke. She still loved Robert, but this was going to take much more than love to heal. Something in her husband had died. She could see it in his eyes. Would she be equal to the task of bringing him back to life?

  He would never love her again after what she had allowed her brother to do to him.
She vowed to atone for her brother’s sin by accepting that Robert would be repulsed by her. She would love him anyway.

  * * *

  Robert woke to find Baudoin and Caedmon standing beside his bed. Baudoin smiled. “You look better already. Better than you did in Caen, at any rate.”

  Robert shrugged, then regretted the movement.

  Baudoin sat on the edge of the bed. “Caedmon and I are leaving today. We’ll catch up to the king and return to England with him. I’m sorry we can’t stay longer, but you’re well armed and guarded here, and Curthose will keep out of harm’s way for the moment.”

  “I owe you my life,” Robert said humbly.

  Baudoin grinned at him, but Robert could see his brother did not want to let his emotions show. “Make the best of that life then, brother.”

  Robert rose slowly from the bed and the three clasped hands.

  Caedmon too was emotional. “Take care of your little lad, Robert. He needs a strong father, and Dorianne needs you. She suffered. It was her courage carried them both through.”

  “I know,” Robert whispered. “Godspeed.”

  Loss Upon Loss

  Mabelle worried. In the two months since his rescue, Robert had regained some weight, and looked physically better, but his recovery was not easy for him, or for Dorianne. She suspected they had not lain together since her son’s return. Dorianne had lost the buoyant nature that even her kidnapping ordeal hadn’t managed to destroy.

  Mabelle commented on Robert’s improved appearance to her daughter-by-marriage as they sat together in the gallery, embroidering a new banner for the hall.

  Dorianne smiled. “Oui, he trains with the men, rebuilding his muscles.”

  Mabelle looked at her thoughtfully and continued sewing for several minutes before she spoke again. “Are the lacerations on his back healed?”