ELAYNE GATHERED her playd tightly around her, curling her knees to her chest. She supposed she should be grateful that the stone floor of Marguerite’s hall was covered with bundles of fresh, sweet smelling rushes, but she’d had no opportunity to bid her children goodnight. She was sure they were safe and warm and happy, but it was the first time in their lives she hadn’t tucked them in.
She felt Faol’s shaggy warmth pressed against her back. The hall wasn’t large, but she had ample space to herself. Some of the servants who’d travelled to Montbryce were evidently glad to see others who’d remained. She covered her ears to block out the whispered endearments and sounds of rutting.
Judging by the loud snores of others, they were oblivious to the amorous noises, but it conjured images of Alexandre in her mind. He was close, alone in a warm chamber with a big, comfortable bed.
She sniffled back the useless tears. It was a cruel fate that she’d been married to a man for whom she felt only fear and dislike, yet her body heated at the mere thought of a man she couldn’t have.
Was he thinking of her?
“Psst.”
She blinked open her eyes. The woman facing her whispered, “Go now. Everyone’s asleep.”
Was she not allowed to sleep in the hall? Where then? The stables? “Go where?”
Elayne couldn’t see the woman’s face clearly in the darkness, but she sensed puzzlement.
“To your master’s bed.”
The heat left Elayne’s body as ice crept through her veins. Even the servants assumed she was Alexandre’s mistress. Her honor lay in tatters on the cold stone floor of a hall in a foreign land. To her shame, she wished with all her heart she was lying naked with him.
Bayeux
SOMEONE KISSED ELAYNE’S CHEEK.
She stretched, wondering absent-mindedly how she had come to be abed with Alexandre after all. But a familiar smell wafted into her nostrils—the wonderful scent of her children.
“Wake up, lazy maman,” Claricia whispered in Gaelic.
She sat up quickly, as Henry and Claricia launched themselves at her, giggling and full of excitement about the excursion to Bayeux. Faol pranced around barking.
She hugged them fiercely. “But we aren’t going to Bayeux until the morrow.”
“Lix has decided we’re going today,” her daughter exclaimed. “Everyone is ready but ye.”
She looked around the hall. Dawn’s light revealed that most of the servants had indeed already risen, many of them lining up for food at the trestle tables along the far wall. She had slept so soundly, rapt in dreams of Alexandre, she hadn’t heard a cock crow. She scrambled to her feet, clutching the playd around her shoulders to ward off the early morning chill. She longed for a bath, but where did servants bathe in this household?
In Scotland, male servants occasionally bathed in the river, though never in winter. A wooden tub tucked behind the kitchen chimney served the women.
Alexandre strode into the hall, looking refreshed. Heat rushed into her face. Her instinct was to flee, yet she basked in the warmth of the smile he bestowed on her. “Good, the children have roused you. They’ve told you that we are off to Bayeux today?”
She studied her feet, embarrassed by her disheveled state. She wanted to tell him how glad she was they were leaving, that she looked forward to spending the day with him, listening to the story of his ancestors. But all she could think to say was, “They have, milord.”
They stood in awkward silence for long moments, until the children espied their friends entering the hall and scampered off.
Alexandre raised his hand, impatience evident in his features. Instinctively, she cowered. When Dugald raised his hand—
But this was Alexandre de Montbryce. Sleeping on a stone floor had dulled her wits.
He looked puzzled, but reached out again, pulling a sliver of one of the rushes from her hair. “I would never hurt you, Elayne. I have given you leave to call me by my given name. I am mortified you had to sleep in the hall. I know it is wrong, that you have a husband, but I spent most of the night trying to think of a way to get you to my chamber.”
It was what her heart wanted to hear, but she felt exposed standing in the middle of the hall, being eyed by curious servants, feeling dirty in more ways than one. He felt guilt about his desire for her because she had lied. She edged away.
He took a step back, straightening his tunic. “I apologize. I’ve embarrassed you with my rudeness. It won’t happen again. We leave in an hour, enough time for you to break your fast.”
He walked away to the dais, where the Venestres and the children were noisily taking their places at the head table.
She made her way to the trestle table, her feet like lead. She was hungry, but the food would have a bitter taste.
ALEX RODE INTO BAYEUX beside one of the open carriages full of women and children. His nieces and nephews had been to the town before, but he enjoyed the predictable reactions of the Scots when they saw the sluggish waters of the Aure for the first time. Elayne wrinkled her nose. “The water is brown.”
Henry and Claricia chimed in at the same time. “Ugh!”
Alex chuckled. “But look beyond the river.”
When she espied the cathedral in the distance, Elayne’s face lit with awe, sending a thrill up his spine. “Magnificent, isn’t it. There’s been a place of worship here since Roman times, but our Conqueror’s brother built this as his cathedral, and William himself was at the consecration almost three score years ago.”
“Is the tapestry inside?” Henry asked.
“Oui,” Marguerite replied. “They say the Conqueror’s wife herself crafted it.”
Alex knew this was not the case, but he cringed when Elayne said with great authority, “I understood it was made by Saxon needle workers in England. They are reputed to have been the acknowledged experts at the craft.”
Marguerite screwed her lips into a tight moue as she straightened her shoulders. Every child’s eyes swiveled to see her reaction. Elayne’s face reddened. She had spoken in a way no servant ever would, contradicting a noblewoman. She glanced nervously at Alex.
Marguerite opened her mouth, then closed it.
It was ironic. His sister would refrain from scolding Elayne because she mistakenly believed she was Alex’s mistress. He coughed into his fist. “It’s generally thought to be true that Saxon women sewed the tapestry,” he said, hoping to smooth his sister’s ruffled feathers and calm Elayne’s fears. “But whoever made it, the work is a wonderful depiction of the events of the invasion.”
Rosetta came to the rescue. “I’ll show you my grandpère in the panels,” she said proudly to Claricia.
“She means her great grandpère,” Marguerite corrected. “Rambaud de Montbryce was my grandfather, and oncle Alex’s.”
Rosetta frowned, evidently trying to grasp her mother’s explanation as the carriage rolled to a halt before the cathedral. The children piled out, followed by their mother and Elayne. Alex dismounted, handing the reins to a man-at-arms.
As the children hurried excitedly to the door of the cathedral, Marguerite halted them, her hand raised as if marshaling an advancing army. She pressed the forefinger of her other hand to her lips. “Silence,” she bellowed. “We must enter quietly. No talking. And the dog stays with the guards.”
Without a sound, the children filed into the cathedral, craning their necks to gaze open-mouthed at the high, vaulted ceiling.
Alex too felt like a child, unable to comprehend the skill and planning that went into such a building, yet proud beyond measure that this was one of the advances Normans had bestowed on the world. Wherever his people ruled, magnificent architecture prevailed. His grandfather had even built an impressive church at Ellesmere in England.
His greatest pleasure came from the awe evident on Elayne’s face.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she whispered. “We have grand buildings in Scotland, but this—”
He nodded. “And Bayeux is i
nsignificant compared to other churches the Conqueror built. The Abbaye Aux Dames in Caen, for example, where I was—”
Why had he mentioned that?
She looked at him curiously. “Where you were what? Born?”
“Oui”, he replied, glad he’d shared something with her that he normally avoided mentioning.
They followed the crowd to the chapel where the work was exhibited. Marguerite ushered everyone to the first panel, shooing aside peasants lined up to view the historic tapestry.
She had brought her children here before; it was part of their family lore. “Edward Rex,” she began, reading the Latin commentary stitched into the panels, “that means this is the part of the story that took place while Edward the Confessor was still king. Harold, Duke of the English rode to Bosham with his retinue.”
As his sister moved to the next panel, it occurred to Alex that he hadn’t visited Bayeux since his father had brought them as children. He swallowed the lump in his throat recalling how Robert de Montbryce had told the story of Hastings in a voice filled with emotion, embellishing it with first hand details his own father had told him.
He hung back, motioning Elayne to gather Henry and Claricia and join him. It was important that he guide these three who’d become part of his life. He took the children by the hand and led them to one of the center panels. His father’s words came back to him. “The tapestry is more than a work of art to the Montbryces. It’s part of the fabric of our history as a family. As well as my grandfather, Ram, his brothers, Antoine and Hugh fought at Hastings, and all survived. Many families lost every son.”
He pointed to the figures in the panel. “This is Harold, Duke of the English giving his oath of fealty to William of Normandie, here in Bayeux. The panels before this simply lead up to this fact, that Harold promised to support William’s claim to the throne of England when Edward died.”
Henry pulled on his hand. “Why did Edward’s son not become king?”
Alex hunkered down next to him. “Edward had no sons. He never married. He lived like a monk.”
His heart sank, the words ringing too close to the truth of his own solitary life.
Claricia yawned. Elayne smoothed the child’s hair off her face. “She’s exhausted after the journey yesterday, and the excitement.”
Alex hoisted Claricia onto his shoulders. “Better?”
She giggled. “Oui.”
Henry walked forward to the next panel. “I’m not tired,” he assured them. “I know what this is about. Harold returned to England.”
Alex’s heart warmed at the smile of amusement Elayne bestowed on him. If she was his woman he would strive every day to keep that smile on her face. “Very good, Henry. Your Latin is improving.”
“I knew it too,” Claricia said sulkily.
Alex lowered his voice to underscore the seriousness of what came next. “But here you see Harold broke his oath and became King of the English, crowned by Archbishop Stigand.”
“What are the people on the end looking at?” Claricia asked.
“See the Latin text? Isti mirant stellam. They are looking at a star,” Elayne replied. “It was a comet, thought to be an omen.”
Alex moved them on. “Now here is where the Montbryces come in. William ordered the building of a fleet. My grandfather was in charge of that endeavor.”
“Is that him there?” Claricia asked, pointing to one of the figures.
Alex chuckled. “Could be. He had to make sure everything was in readiness. Provisions, weapons, horses.
“Here is Duke William sailing across the Narrow Sea. One of the men in the boat with him was my grandfather. He didn’t know if he would ever return to Normandie, and he had left my grandmother behind.”
“Why?” Claricia asked.
“War is not for women,” Henry exclaimed.
“Not only that,” Alex said softly. “It was before they married. They were betrothed, but my grandfather wasn’t sure if she was the right one for him, so she reneged on the arrangement. It was a difficult time.”
“Did they get married later?” Claricia asked.
“Of course,” Henry said with exasperation. “How else could she be Alex’s grandmother?”
Alex looked at Elayne whose face had reddened. “Oui. My grandfather eventually realized Mabelle de Valtesse was the perfect woman for him. He came to love her very much.”
He stared at the embroidered boat for long minutes, recognizing for the first time how difficult it must have been for his grandfather to leave his beloved Normandie, and how bleak his own life would be without the woman he was falling in love with.
The Vanestres caught up. Marguerite’s voice jolted him back to the present. “Here we see them unloading the ships at Pevensey and going in search of food.”
Elayne stared at him, as if she understood what he’d been thinking. “It’s hard to leave one’s country,” she whispered, “and people you love.”
Alex felt the warmth of the child he carried on his shoulders, a child torn from her homeland along with her mother and brother. Not only had they been forced to leave Scotland, they were imposters playing a perilous role in a dangerous game. He resolved in that moment to do all in his power to protect them.
They moved on to the panels depicting the Norman cavalry. “My grandpère and his brothers, Antoine and Hugh, were all cavalry men. Here you see the Saxon shield wall that gave the Normans so much trouble. They couldn’t penetrate it. We were in danger of losing the battle. My grandpère narrowly escaped being decapitated by a Saxon wielding a battle axe. Oncle Hugh received a sword slash to the arm.”
Henry’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
“Duke William decided to feign a retreat. Grandpère Ram played an important and courageous role in the deception that led to the Saxons being lured into a trap and defeated.”
“Harold Rex interfectus est,” Marguerite declared loudly with a flourish towards the panel showing Harold with an arrow in his eye. “King Harold is killed.”
“Without their leader, the Saxons fled, except for Harold’s elite guard who fought to the death,” Alex explained.
“Hurrah for the Normans,” Henry shouted, thrusting his fist in the air.
Epiphany
ELAYNE CRINGED, grasping Henry’s hand. “I understand you’re excited,” she whispered, “but remember that the Conqueror’s invasion of England wasn’t a good thing for the Scots.”
Henry looked crestfallen. “Sorry, maman,” he murmured in Norman French.
Elayne glanced quickly at Marguerite, hoping she hadn’t heard the slip, but she was eyeing them suspiciously. Perhaps it was only her criticism of the Conqueror that had elicited the scowl.
Alex saved the day. “The boy is fond of his nursemaid,” he said to his sister, “and has known no other mother since his birth. It’s natural he should call her maman. Elayne speaks true. King Malcolm Canmore and his eldest son were killed by Normans at the Battle of Alnwick almost forty years ago. My half-uncle, Caedmon FitzRam was wounded in that battle. He fought with the Scots.”
Elayne was surprised. The Norman patronymic Fitz implied illegitimacy. “FitzRam?”
Alex winked. “Oui, my grandpère was a great man, but he was no saint. Caedmon was his illegitimate son, my father’s half-brother. It was he and oncle Baudoin who rescued my father from captivity.”
“But Caedmon is a Saxon name.”
“His mother, Ascha, was a Saxon. Caedmon and his wife drowned in the sinking of La Blanche Nef sixteen years ago.”
Elayne found these new revelations perplexing. The Montbryce family had a more complicated and interesting history than just being involved in the conquest of England. She wanted to know more.
She sidled closer to Alex, relieved Marguerite had gone off to shepherd her charges, taking Henry and Claricia. “You don’t speak much of your father,” she whispered, hoping she wasn’t treading on dangerous ground.
Surprise lit his eyes. “You’re right. We weren’t clo
se. His absence at my birth always seemed to stand between us. It took him two years to recover, and even then—”
“Did you fear him?”
Alex stared blindly at the panels. “I was nervous with him until I was about three years old.”
“Did he try to make up for the lost time?”
He frowned. “Oui,” he replied hoarsely. “But I made it difficult for him.”
She sensed from the look of shock on his face that this truth had only just now occurred to him. She wanted to ease his pain, but touching him in this public place was impossible. “You cannot blame yourself. You were a boy deprived of the first years of your father’s love.”
ALEX’S KNEES THREATENED TO GIVE WAY. He trembled from head to toe. All these years he had laid the blame at his father’s door. Small wonder Robert de Montbryce had felt guilty. Alex had made sure of it.
Acutely aware of the perceptive woman at his side, he clenched his fists, fighting the urge to bury his face in her breasts and weep.
“You’ll feel better now you’ve had an epiphany,” she whispered.
It was astonishing. No sooner had she uttered the words than Alex felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He took her hand, staring into green eyes. “What is it about you, Elayne, that you see and sense things about people they don’t see themselves?”
Did she know he was falling in love with her?
She blushed. “I listen and observe. Sometimes we are too close to perceive things an outsider can see quickly.”
He brushed his lips on her knuckles, cursing Fate that he had at last found a woman he loved, but who could never be his, a woman who knew him better than he knew himself. She had freed him from his long torment, but he would still be alone.
ELAYNE WAS AWARE she was treading a dangerous path, but the compulsion to see Alex freed from his guilt overrode her common sense.
Jeopardy (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 10) Page 8
