Jeopardy (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 10)

by Anna Markland

Alex peered into a cell. It was similar to the ones at Montbryce, a small, cramped space for the three filthy men lying chained to the floor, one of whom made an obscene gesture at him. He wondered how long they’d been held there.

  “This way, mes seigneurs,” the jailer rasped, handing them bits of dirty rags. “You’ll need these. Though there’s been no prisoners down there for years, the stench clings. Can’t get rid of it.”

  The moldy smell of the rag alone was enough to bring bile up Alex’s throat, but he held it over his nose as the guard led them along narrow, dark, sloping corridors. After many long minutes of walking on slick stone with shoulders hunched as the ceiling got lower and lower, their escort declared, “Here’s the stairway.”

  Alex hadn’t thought they could descend any deeper into the earth but ahead he saw a narrow black opening barely wide enough for a man. Without a guide, he’d probably never have noticed it. They descended the steep slippery steps, the jailer holding the torch high to illuminate the narrow walls.

  At the bottom he lit two more flares fixed to the wall, then pointed. Alex narrowed his eyes, and peered into the darkness, gradually making out a small barred door with an open grate at the bottom. He gripped the bars with trembling hands, swung open the door and stepped inside.

  He entered the hell their father had endured for months. Romain and Laurent followed, though there was barely room for one man, let alone three.

  The stench turned his stomach. They were in a tiny, windowless cell. One man could lie down, two could not. There was a hole in the corner which he surmised went straight to the drains. This was the source of the foul odor. He could barely stand upright before his head touched the ceiling. Damp straw covered the stone floor.

  “The first thing oncle Robert did was retch into the drain hole.”

  Alex scowled at Gallien, still standing at the open door. It seemed wrong to speak. He didn’t want words. He wanted to be his father, to feel what he had felt, the despair, the fear, the anguish, the uncertainty, the blackness. It all swept over him, and for the first time he truly understood the strength of will it had taken to survive in this stinking tomb for months.

  Robert de Montbryce had not only survived, he’d prospered and become a great leader. He’d also fathered two more children, the brothers who clung to Alex now in the dark silence.

  Without a word they put their arms around each other’s shoulders and wept unashamedly.

  A Changed Man

  ALEX STEPPED OUT OF THE OUBLIETTE a changed man, sure in his heart that it was no coincidence this chance at redemption had come just as Elayne had filled his life with purpose.

  Epiphany indeed!

  His relationship with his brothers had been irrevocably altered as well. No matter the future, they would never forget the long minutes they had spent together reliving their father’s torment.

  He offered a hand to his cousin as he exited. “I thank you for forcing us to come.”

  Gallien accepted the handshake and drew Alex into his embrace. “I hoped it was the right thing to do. I’ve heard the story many times, but I’ve never seen it for myself either. Your father was an incredible man.”

  “And I am ready to hear the story now.”

  “Here?”

  Alex looked around. “If my father bore this for as long as he did, we can spend a little more time here. Tell me.”

  Gallien laid a hand on the barred door. “Oncle Caedmon smashed the lock with the hilt of his sword.”

  Alex closed his eyes, hearing the clang of metal on metal, sensing the desperation of his oncles Caedmon and Baudoin as they searched for Robert.

  “They could see a man lying on the straw, but they didn’t know it was Robert until they heard him whisper your mother’s name.”

  Dorianne, Dorianne.

  “A cat scurried by and was swallowed up by the blackness. My father’s fury intensified when he saw his brother had been recently flogged. They’d whipped him when they realized the castle was about to fall to King Henry.”

  Laurent sobbed quietly.

  Alex put his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “It was then my father asked about the cat—Espérance—and they misunderstood, not knowing about the creature and how it kept his hopes alive?”

  “Oui,” Gallien murmured. “They lifted oncle Robert onto my father’s shoulder. You can imagine how difficult it was for them to carry him up those steps. He cried out when they got him outdoors. The light blinded him. Papa tore a strip from the tattered prison shirt and tied it around his head.”

  Gallien paused, rubbing his forehead. “He asked right away about tante Dorianne. Caedmon told him he had a son.”

  A son who’d been safely delivered only a mile away thanks to the immense bravery of his mother. A son who’d grown up to be the man he was because of the care, pride and attention lavished on him by his father.

  Alex entered the oubliette again. “Merci, Papa,” he whispered hoarsely, “for everything.”

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Romain and Laurent, along with Gallien’s brother, Étienne, took charge of assembling the Montbryce and Ellesmere knights and soldiers while Alex and Gallien were closeted with the king in the Map Room, planning their strategy. All three wore full armor.

  “I want to avoid a pitched battle,” Stephen reminded them after they’d settled on a course of action. “Maud is my cousin, and I don’t want to make her a martyr in the eyes of her supporters.”

  Gallien agreed. “A show of strength is what’s warranted. They can have no idea that we’re aware of their proximity to Caen. We must let them know an attack would be foolhardy.”

  Alex related the story of the tents and the ruse Geoffrey had concocted at Montbryce. “I don’t believe he has the manpower he boasts of, and they don’t seem very bright. They almost burned down their own camp when they set fire to the orchards.”

  Gallien jumped to his feet, his face contorted in a grimace. “They burned the orchards?”

  Alex nodded. “Oui, but we’ll replant.”

  “I hope you still have a good reserve of apple brandy,” Stephen said. “A taste I’ll never forget.”

  Alex bowed. “Majesté, I vow the first cask of the next harvest will go to you, but you may have to wait awhile.”

  “Excellent,” Stephen exclaimed, pulling on his leather gauntlets. “Now, our army should be assembled.”

  Alex and Gallien followed their king into the bailey where they mounted their horses. Stephen led them out into the fields about a mile from the castle.

  “Have I not said all along Stephen is the right choice?” Gallien said as they followed in the monarch’s wake.

  Alex’s heart was at peace. He was comfortable with Stephen. The man was intelligent, jovial and not above exposing himself to the dangers of military action. “You were right. I’m just stubborn.”

  “Like your father,” Gallien quipped.

  Alex was about to respond, but was so astonished by what he saw before him, he completely forgot the comeback he’d had in mind.

  He’d expected a decent army of three, perhaps four hundred. More than a thousand men, cavalry, bowmen and infantry, had mustered in the fields of Caen.

  “Wait till Geoffrey sees this,” Stephen called over his shoulder, grinning like an imbecile.

  “How on earth—”

  “Every Norman baron loyal to Stephen has garrisoned men here for months. It was obvious Geoffrey would try to take the town sooner or later,” Gallien explained.

  Alex noticed his brothers with the men from Montbryce. “But why are my soldiers in the vanguard?”

  “Stephen wants to reward you for your allegiance. Also, you’re the only one who knows where we are going.”

  THE CONVICTION THAT ALEX LOVED HER sustained Elayne through the long hours of uncertainty and fear. She’d heard nothing and seen no one since her children had been taken to Maud.

  Faol was her only company, though the dog hadn’t moved from his sentry post by the tent flap. Henry would be f
eeling very alone without his constant companion.

  Was Alex still watching from somewhere in the hills, or had he gone for help? What help was there for the situation in which they found themselves?

  Though their brief relationship had been adulterous, she didn’t regret a moment of it. If she died this very day, at least she’d known true love. But the fear that her children might be sacrificed filled her with indignation.

  She fingered the braid she’d made for Alex then tucked it between her breasts. It was her only connection to him.

  Faol growled. His body tensed as his long tail beat a slow tattoo on the ground. Elayne came to her feet when she heard footsteps—soldiers. If the news was dire, she would accept it with dignity.

  “You’re to come with me to Her Majesty’s pavilion,” her soldier friend said, without a hint of warmth in his voice. “Dog stays.”

  She whispered into Faol’s ear, draped the playd over her hair and followed the men-at-arms to her fate.

  Queen Of The Mud Mound

  THE SOLDIER EASED ELAYNE to the side of the entryway, just inside the royal pavilion. “We are to wait here.”

  Trembling, she raised her eyes to a narrow path that led from where she cowered to a dais at the opposite end of the square pavilion. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t a crowd of people who definitely were not soldiers. They occupied every inch of the space, except for the aisle.

  Who were these men, dressed in fine clothes, fawning over the thin-faced woman who sat gripping the carved arms of the only piece of furniture? She wore layers of fine quality clothing, rendering it difficult to tell if she was fat or lean. Her scowling frown didn’t augur well.

  Her large wooden chair perched uncertainly on an uneven dais. Elayne suspected it had been formed of clods of earth. A muddied carpet lay atop the heap.

  She shrank back into the protection of the tent flap, surmising this was Maud holding court in the Normandie countryside, perhaps with important personages of nearby towns and villages.

  Behind her paced a scowling Geoffrey who evidently had not been afforded the privilege of a chair atop the precarious dais.

  She stood on tiptoe, hoping to catch a glimpse of her children. Or perhaps they’d been carted off in irons. Then why had Maud summoned her?

  The crowd silenced quickly when a pale skeletal hand emerged from beneath the would-be queen’s red cloak. She cleared her throat, peering down her long nose. “My cousin Stephen has put it about that I’m not fit to rule because I don’t know how to show mercy. Yet, I’ve recently discovered the children you see here—”

  Elayne craned her neck, deafened by the beating of her heart. Maud could only be referring to—

  “—are not who they purport to be.”

  Oh God.

  The crowd inhaled a collective breath of shocked outrage.

  Finally, through a space between two broad shoulders, Elayne caught sight of her children standing beneath the outstretched wings of a falsely smiling Geoffrey. Henry was doing his best to appear confident. Claricia looked like she was in a trance.

  Maud lowered her voice. Predictably, the audience strained to hear. “Many of you will recall that I was sent to Germany as a child of eleven to marry the Holy Roman Emperor, a man of eight and twenty. Do you think I knew fear then?”

  Nods and murmurs of agreement and sympathy followed, but quieted when she raised her hand again.

  “I am now a mother myself. Do you judge me capable of punishing these children for the transgressions of my ally, King David?”

  This question was greeted by shouts of “Non,” but it was evident from the puzzlement on many faces that most had no idea what she was talking about.

  Maud gestured as if shooing away pesky flies. “What care I if David of Scotland has sent his eldest grandchildren or his youngest? Not a whit.”

  At that precise moment, Elayne locked eyes with her son. He smiled imperceptibly.

  He has convinced Maud of their value. She hasn’t realized they are illegitimate.

  She feared her heart might burst with pride.

  “Has their nanny been summoned?”

  Geoffrey’s voice brought her back to reality. Her trembling legs were thankful for the strength of the soldier who escorted her forward. As she knelt, her knees sank into the soft earth of the edge of the mud mound. The cold damp seeped through her skirts, and she hoped she wouldn’t be expected to produce words from the desert of her throat.

  Maud peered at her. “Gather these children up and go. On the morrow, we’ll decide where they’ll be sent.”

  She rose from her knees and for the briefest of moments her eyes met Maud’s. It was impossible to discern what lay behind that cold gaze. She looked away quickly.

  Geoffrey raised his arms, releasing Henry and Claricia. They flew to her. She longed to embrace them, but it would be deemed highly inappropriate. Instead, she took hold of their hands and led them from the pavilion.

  Faol’s delight at Henry’s return to their tent almost eclipsed her own relief. The dog lunged at her son, knocking him flat, then licked the boy’s laughing face. Eventually, after much tugging, she was able to pull the hound off him, and they lay on their backs, breathless and exhausted by subdued laughter. Faol sat on his haunches, head cocked to one side, clearly confused by the sudden silence.

  It reminded her of the nursery when they’d laughed with Alex. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she helped the children to their feet. “Ye seem to have convinced Maud of yer validity,” she told her son.

  “I was afraid,” Claricia admitted, “but Henry was brave.”

  Henry gaped at this rare praise from his sister.

  She ruffled her son’s hair. “How did ye charm her Majesty?”

  Henry shrugged. “I asked about her children.”

  Again, Elayne thanked the saints her son had not inherited his father’s lack of wit. “Very clever. Every mother wants to talk about her children.”

  Claricia laughed and hugged her. “She talked and talked. Her husband got impatient. Her son is called Henry too. She was more interested in telling us about him than about Grandpapa.”

  How wonderful it was to hear her daughter’s giggling laugh again. She only hoped it augured well for the future as they huddled together for warmth in the chilly air.

  As she fell into a doze, it occurred to her that Maud and Geoffrey had never once looked each other in the eye. Though they’d shown mercy, she shuddered at the thought of two people who obviously had no love for each other on the throne of England. Alex had made the right decision in withdrawing support from the Queen of the Mud Mound.

  Early the next morning, the order came for Elayne to ensure the children were ready to travel by midday. The friendly soldier lingered as the others marched off. He was a few years younger than her and she hoped he wasn’t starting to think she cared for him. She hesitated to start a conversation, but finally plucked up courage. “Do you know where they are taking us?”

  He frowned, glancing around. “Anjou.”

  Her legs turned to ice. Not only would they face a long, grueling journey, but once inside Geoffrey’s territory, there would never be any hope of a reunion with Alex.

  “Her Majesté thinks the Scottish children will be good companions for her sons.”

  Good grief. The Plantagenet boys were still babes. Claricia might enjoy playing with them, but Henry?

  She was about to voice her opinion when the soldier became distracted by a commotion near the royal pavilion and he hurried off. She strained to see what was happening, but was too far away.

  “What’s going on, Maman?” Henry asked.

  “I dinna ken, but I’m going to find out. Stay here. Faol will protect ye. Look after yer sister until I return.”

  The dog took up his position at the tent flap as she scurried out in the direction of the excitement.

  She walked quickly from one tent to another, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, until she could see
the red and white striped royal pavilion. Maud stood in the entryway, back rigid, hands clasped, the heavy red cloak pushed back on her shoulders. Geoffrey had mounted and was heading out of the camp with two knights, shouting orders to his men-at-arms. There was so much noise and confusion, she couldn’t hear what he said. The mud had dried up and dust swirled in the air as soldiers hurried here and there.

  “What’s going on?” she asked out loud, almost jumping out of her skin when she received an answer.

  “A meeting.”

  She turned abruptly. Bianca sat on an upturned cauldron in the shade of the tent. Hunched forward, forearms resting on widely spread thighs, she was skinning a rabbit.

  “Meeting?” Elayne asked warily, her eyes fixed on the rabbit’s dead gaze.

  The cook scratched her scalp with the point of her dagger then indicated the direction Geoffrey had ridden. “Seems King Stephen’s come calling.”

  Elayne glanced back quickly to the royal pavilion, but Maud had disappeared. No wonder she looked nervous and angry, having believed Stephen ignorant of her location and the army she was amassing near Caen. There was only one way the king could have known—Alex.

  Perhaps he was with the king. She had to get closer, but there weren’t very many women in the camp, and a woman walking alone would draw attention. She held out her hand to the Genovese. “I’ve never seen a king, have you?”

  Her new companion snorted. “The Angevin fancies himself a king, but—”

  She grinned, revealing mostly toothless gums, though she couldn’t be much older than Elayne.

  “Shall we see how close we can come?”

  The woman’s eyes sparkled as she came to her feet. She threw the rabbit aside, wiped her hands and the knife on her skirts, then linked her arm with Elayne’s. “I know the best place. Come with me.”

  Careful not to let her own hair touch Bianca’s, Elayne allowed the Italian, still gripping her knife, to lead her past several tents to the outer perimeter of the camp. In the event, the soldiers rushing here and there paid them no heed.