Conquest (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 1)

by Anna Markland

  Waiting in the gallery, Comte Bernard greeted Mabelle’s maid when she arrived punctually for their appointment. The woman had worked for his family for most of her life and he trusted her implicitly. He shook his head when she curtseyed. “Please be seated, Giselle. How fares your lady?”

  She made herself comfortable in the upholstered chair, feet swinging free of the floor. “Just as she has for the last fortnight. She’s frustrated with milord Rambaud’s insistence on obedience.”

  He shook his head. “And my son is still complaining about her wilfulness.”

  “Milady has agreed to be less confrontational, to try to get him to understand she can be a support to him and not a threat.”

  Bernard chuckled. “And Ram has agreed to be more indulgent. He said nothing about his former mistress, of course, but I’ve heard she has another patron.”

  Giselle wrinkled her nose. “Ah, oui. I don’t think he ever had feelings for Joleyne.”

  “Nor she for him.”

  There was a silence between them, and Comte Bernard sensed her hesitation, but he knew this diminutive woman well. Sooner or later she would say what had to be said.

  “I hope my advice to her is correct. I’m only a maidservant but I love milord Rambaud like my own sons and don’t want to see him destroy his prospects of marriage to this intelligent young woman.”

  Bernard nodded. “I’m glad she has you as a confidante. My dear wife relied on your good sense, as do I. You’re much more than a maidservant.”

  Giselle inclined her head. “Merci, milord.”

  Satisfied to hear of some progress, he stood and offered his hand to help her out of the chair. “I hope my son will soon understand that love and respect will bind Mabelle to him, not indulgence. She’s the kind of woman whose support Ram will need in the turbulent times ahead. You and I won’t always be here to guide them.”

  Giselle indicated her agreement. “Perhaps they’ll one day see how fortunate they are to have each other.”

  He chuckled. “We can but hope, and perhaps continue our discreet meddling?”

  The maidservant was about to take her leave, but turned back to face him. “Do you ever get a sense there’s something else between them?”

  He frowned. “Such as?”

  “I’m not sure. I have the feeling something happened on the morning they were to wed. Perhaps I’m imagining it.”

  She Knows Her Worth

  On the morrow, as golden streaks of dawn lit the sky, Mabelle stole down to the stables, saddled her mare quickly, a skill born of necessity and learned early in life, and rode out into the fields.

  “Sibell,” she exclaimed gleefully as the mare tossed her head. Urging the horse to a canter across the meadow, she headed for the apple orchards. The wind caught her hair and ballooned in her cloak. Exhilarated, she tossed her head and laughed with joy. “I’ve missed you, little horse. Let’s gallop until we get to the trees. We can’t allow an overbearing nobleman to come between us and our fun, no matter how preoccupied we are with him.”

  Once in the orchards, she dismounted and led the horse by the reins, inhaling the scents of late spring, remembering ruefully the last time she had been in the woods beyond the orchards. “I’m confused, Sibell. I can’t get my thoughts off Ram de Montbryce but I’m afraid to trust him with my feelings. I’m nervous whenever I’m with him, I can’t think properly.”

  Sibell whinnied and pricked up her ears. Mabelle looked around nervously. Had the horse sensed someone? Seeing no-one, she calmed. “It’s good to be out of the castle for a while. I feel Ram’s presence everywhere there. He’s a complicated man. Will I ever understand him? Will he ever understand me?”

  Ram had spent most of the night tossing and turning, the restful sleep he usually enjoyed in his own chamber eluding him yet again. Thoughts of Mabelle’s generous breasts and beautiful hair kept intruding on his thoughts. If he had gone ahead with the marriage, he would now be suckling her nipples, wrapping golden tresses around his body, held tight in the grip of those impossibly long legs, as he plunged deep—

  Abandoning any hope of sleep, he rose in the predawn darkness, donned a linen shirt, tied his hair back with a leather thong, and pulled on breeches and boots. He climbed to the battlements as the sun rose, hoping the fresh air would clear his head. Looking out over his family’s demesne gave him a sense of peace. But he tensed as an unknown rider trotted out of the bailey, waving to the guard.

  It can’t be!

  He watched in disbelief as the mare cantered and then broke into a full gallop, heading for the orchards. Mabelle’s cloak ballooned behind her and the wind whipped her wheaten hair like a blazing banner, liberating her long legs from her skirts. He remembered the last time he had seen her hair streaming behind her, down to her derrière as she fled him at the lake. She looked back over her shoulder for a moment, revealing the naughty grin on her sunlit face. Then she turned back and bent low, one with the horse.

  She looks magnificent.

  In less than five minutes he was mounted bareback on Fortis, pursuing her. Once in the orchards, he proceeded more slowly, following her trail. It led him into the woods and he suspected she had gone to the lake. He dismounted and edged forward stealthily, confident the horse would remain where he was.

  She was perched on an outcropping, close to where he had first found her, feeding something to the horse, crooning soft words.

  He froze.

  She looked peaceful and happy, her tangled tresses covering her cloaked shoulders.

  He longed to bury his face in her hair, inhale the intoxicating scent that was peculiarly Mabelle.

  She tucked a stray lock behind her ear and he imagined running his fingertips along the edge of that dainty ear, taking her head in his hands and drawing her lips to his. He stilled, afraid her horse would sense him. She pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders and glanced around, peering into the trees. Had she felt his presence? Did she know his scent as he knew hers?

  Is she plotting how to be free of me?

  Why was he intent on denying her this simple pleasure? Why did he feel such need for control?

  She sat for a good while, laughing as the horse nudged her, begging another morsel. Ram wished he could make her laugh. He became rapt in his gazing and when she stood abruptly, it took him off guard. She saw him. He hated the flicker of fear that flashed across her face as she stopped, looking for an avenue of escape.

  “Don’t be afraid, Mabelle,” he said softly as he stood, holding out his hands to her. “I’ll never hurt you.”

  “Milord.” She bowed her head briefly and then looked directly at him. “You have a habit of watching me in the woods.” Her eyes raked over his linen shirt and tight breeches and her mouth fell open. He was being devoured and it excited him. Slowly, he rolled the loose sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, braced his legs, pulled the thong from his hair, and put his hands on his hips.

  “I asked you not to ride, Mabelle.”

  She looked at the ground. “You did.”

  “Yet here you are, wilfully disobeying me.”

  She shrugged then looked right at him. “I am wilful, as you’ve often said. I’m not suited to be a comtesse. You should free me from our betrothal so I can seek another husband who will think my dowry is suitable.”

  My father was right. She’s wily and knows her worth.

  He strode toward her. The proud jut of her chin indicated a determination not to show nervousness. She tucked the errant strand behind her ear, never averting her eyes from his. Her courage excited him. He wanted to touch her, to gather her up in his arms, but she shuddered when he put his hands on her shoulders. Her lashes fluttered and she closed her eyes but didn’t pull away as he had feared.

  “Mabelle, you infuriate me, yet I find myself longing for your company, for the touch of your hand in mine. I want to know how your lips will feel as they open to me.”

  Her face reddened and the heat rolled through his body. He felt her trembling.


  “Please don’t make fun of me, milord.”

  “My name is Ram,” he breathed, pulling her body to his. Her spine went rigid. Her sensuous mouth enticed him. Would her lips be warm or cold? How would she taste?

  “You rouse me, Mabelle. You are my betrothed, yet we’ve never kissed.”

  He brushed his lips over hers. Their moist warmth made his skin tingle. She moved her mouth away from his lips, but he held her against him, his arms now around her shoulders.

  “Please don’t tease me—Ram.”

  She seemed more afraid now than when she thought he was angry. He held her away from his body and rasped, “Are you wishing it was Antoine and not me kissing you?”

  “Non,” she murmured, shaking her head, tears welling. “Why do you torment me with this?”

  He kissed her again, more deeply, his tongue coaxing her to open to him. He sucked her lower lip, bit it gently, then darted his tongue once more over her lips, whispering, “Open your sweet mouth for me.”

  The fight seemed to go out of her. She opened her mouth and twirled her tongue around his. Her deep groan reverberated through his body. His hand went to the back of her head and he raked his fingers along her scalp. She groaned again and then sucked his tongue into her mouth.

  “Mabelle,” he rasped when he could breathe again, “You certainly know how to kiss a man.”

  He immediately regretted the words.

  She stiffened. “Of course I do. Have you forgotten? I’m a whore.”

  His grip on her shoulders tightened. “Don’t utter that word. You’re not a whore. I didn’t mean—aagh—by the saints, Mabelle, why is it that when I’m with you—?”

  He shook his head, and moved away. He paced, running a hand through his hair, unsuccessfully willing his arousal to abate. “I’m a decorated cavalry commander, a counselor to the duke. One day I’ll be the Comte de Montbryce. I’ve faced many dangers, and yet I can’t say or do the right thing when I’m with you.”

  She swayed and leaned against Sibell, her eyes closed. “It’s the same for me. I’ve survived all manner of trials and tribulations but you—make me—quiver. I’ve—never—I’ve never kissed a man before.”

  His mind struggled to reconcile the idea he was the first to kiss her with what he suspected to be true—that she was no longer a maid. But the taste of her had excited him. She looked vulnerable, leaning dejectedly against her horse. What had happened to the spirited woman he had seen ride out from the castle? He preferred the idea of the feisty Mabelle. He wanted to reignite that flame.

  He strode towards her, captured her mouth again and kissed her deeply, his hand at her throat, his thumb caressing her neck. He swirled his tongue around the inside of her mouth, feeling the warmth, the textures. She drew his tongue into her body, welcoming him. Her chest rose and fell as her breathing became more rapid. His hand moved down slowly until he cupped her breast, lifting it, feeling the weight of it.

  “I’ve wanted to hold your lovely breasts from the moment I first saw you,” he whispered. “You fill my hand.”

  “Ram—” she breathed, as his thumb and forefinger fondled her nipple through the fabric and he felt it harden. Were her nipples pale or dark, their haloes large or small? He shook his head and gently pushed her body away, afraid he would soon lose control of his arousal.

  “I want to possess you, but not here, not like this. I’m an honorable man. When our bodies join, it will be in our marriage bed. The wait will be purgatory, but it’ll be worth it.”

  It’s a purgatory I’ve brought on myself. We could have been married by now.

  “If Harold hadn’t stolen the English throne, things would have been much simpler. Duke William will be here within a sennight to discuss the coming invasion of England. I must stop touching you, or my proud words will be for nothing, and I’ll take you right here. I’m close to the point of no return. You inflame me.”

  She gasped and swayed slightly, her mouth, swollen with his kisses, still open. She looked dazed.

  Sibell ambled over and nudged Ram.

  “She likes you,” Mabelle whispered.

  “I like her too,” he said with a smile, “and I know you love her.”

  It would be a simple thing to grant her this happiness.

  “I’ll allow you to ride her, provided you never ride alone.”

  At first she seemed upset, but then murmured, “Astride?”

  He hesitated. “If you wish.”

  She kissed his palm, held it to her face. “Merci, Ram. That means so much to me.”

  Waves of heat radiated up and down his spine. “Perhaps sometimes you and I can ride together.”

  Have I ever ridden with a woman?

  “I would enjoy that, Ram. Sibell will love it. She likes Fortis.”

  For the first time since their meeting, Mabelle’s face blossomed into a smile. She was stunningly beautiful. He wanted that smile bestowed on him every day of his life. Something tightened in his chest and he coughed to conceal the tumult that had coursed from his heart, down through his belly and into his groin. “This talk of riding is—stimulating, Mabelle. We should go back.”

  They rode in silence as far as the meadow, where Ram reined in his horse. “I lost my temper concerning Alensonne. I wasn’t thinking about how important it is to you, to your childhood. This castle, my home, means everything to me. I should have understood.”

  “Merci, Ram. I’m sometimes impatient. I didn’t mean to question your decisions.”

  “I want us to be friends.” He reached over and tucked the curl, his finger lightly touching the edge of her ear. It sent another jolt of desire through him.

  “We can be friends—if there’s trust,” she replied, then urged Sibell to a gallop.

  He sat atop Fortis, watching her disappear into the bailey, shaking his head, wishing it was him she rode.

  Mabelle trembled from head to foot when she arrived in the bailey. She could barely dismount and had to lean her head against Sibell while she regained her equilibrium. The feelings Ram’s touch had aroused in her were so intense she was afraid she might swoon.

  If he had not been honorable, if he had wanted to take her in the woods, would she have surrendered herself? She was inexplicably drawn to him, but what made her giddy was the notion he wanted her.

  As she’d grown to womanhood, she had seen men lust for her. She knew the signals and had learned to be wary of them. Ram’s every gesture had spoken of desire and when his thick, glossy hair sprang free from the thong and fell to his shoulders, she was lost.

  The heat of his hands on her had travelled down to her toes. She had never been kissed, and the intimacy of Ram’s tongue shocked her. But she had suddenly understood what kissing was all about as the ache grew between her thighs, and her own tongue became a thing beyond control. She wanted to suck him right into her mouth, to join their bodies in some way. He tasted of apple brandy, the unique scent of his maleness on the stubble of his morning beard, excitingly rough against her face.

  What came over me?

  When he withdrew and forced her body away from his, she felt bereft, cold. It wasn’t lost on her that this proud man had been willing to concede to her wishes concerning her horse and her childhood home. But William was to arrive soon, and above all, Ram was a warrior, sworn to his duke.

  She looked up and watched him ride in. Sweat beaded her upper lip and she breathed heavily as chills chased down her spine. He had looked at her as if he wanted to eat her. The touch of his hand cupping her breast, the playful squeeze of her nipple—when our bodies join—dizziness overwhelmed her again at the persistent memory, still tugging deep in her belly.

  He desires me. Me, the unsuitable Comtesse.

  Duke William's Visit

  Everyone in this castle is in a state of nervous apprehension,” Ram exclaimed to his brothers with exasperation, watching the flurry of activity in the Great Hall. “Just because Duke William is coming. He’s been here before.”

  “Bu
t never on an official visit and never at such a turbulent time in Normandie’s history,” Hugh retorted.

  Antoine put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Worry not, Ram. La Cuisinière is in full command, bellowing orders to the scullery maids and serving wenches, making sure everything is in preparation for the finest meals ever concocted in her kitchen.

  “Madame Bonhomme has an army of maids and houseboys cleaning every last nook and cranny. Chambers are being swept, rugs and tapestries beaten, draperies and bedding aired, cobblestones scoured.

  “Fernand is making sure the stables are spotless, the horses immaculately groomed, the men-at-arms properly uniformed and equipped, new enseignes run up the flagpoles and overseeing everything else about the preparations. He even has boys up in the oak beams of this hall, sweeping out the cobwebs.”

  He took a deep breath, pointing to the urchins perched precariously above them.

  Antoine was right and Ram was pleasantly surprised to see Mabelle assisting in any way she could. She seemed to enjoy the work and was friendly to everyone, unlike when he spoke to him.

  He dragged his thoughts back to the business at hand. “William is coming to speak to us specifically about the future. He’ll no doubt be commanding us to accompany him to England for the invasion to oust Harold. Father has pledged all of us to his service.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Hugh replied, helping himself to a tankard of ale from the servery. “But I expect it’s you he wants as his right hand man during the invasion. Your rewards could be rich.”

  “Whatever honor and rewards we earn are for the advancement and glory of the Montbryce name,” Ram replied, aware Hugh’s observations were probably correct.

  I must get Mabelle off my mind and concentrate on what’s important.

  The sun was high in the sky when William, proud descendant of the Viking Rollo, first ruler of the Normans, rode to within sight of Montbryce Castle at the head of an impressive force of one thousand well-armed men. Sixth Duke of the Normans, he had held that title since the age of seven. Green and gold gonfanons emblazoned with the Papal cross snapped in the steady breeze, creating music to his ears. He furrowed his brow and squared his jaw as befitted a man on a mission.