“He didn’t succumb to the potion?” he asked Gerwint, pointing to Torod.
Gerwint was wiping the dagger on Torod’s tunic. “Nay, he was absent when we administered it. But it worked like a charm with the others.”
Hugh tightened his arms around the shivering Devona. “He pursued you and you slew him?”
Gerwint shook his head. “Nay again, Lord Hugh—it was Lady Wilona dealt the blow that ended his life.”
Hugh peered through the murk at Lady Wilona, who now looked as if she was about to faint. Devona was still clinging to him, shaking, evidently in shock.
“Devona, you must get hold of yourself. Take Aediva and Bemia to the rowboat. Your grandfather and I will bring your mother and the dog.”
He kissed her on the forehead and she seemed to gather her wits. He helped her rise.
“Hugh—forgive me—I—”
“Go—mon amour—I’ll follow. The boat is waiting,” he commanded.
The three sisters fled down the passage, their slippered feet making hardly a sound. Gerwint assisted Wilona and Hugh heaved up the dog. Brigantia never left his side as he struggled to keep his balance on the slippery slope, the huge mastiff in his arms.
When the breathless assembly spilled out into the cave the men from St. Valery helped the three sisters into the rowboat.
“We’ll come back for the rest of you milord, else the boat capsize.”
“No!” Gerwint exclaimed. “I’m not going to Normandie. We know that’s impossible—and Devona knows it too. I intend to hide in the South Downs and keep an eye on Renouf.”
Hugh glanced at Devona and she nodded sadly, tears streaming down her face as the boat bobbed in the waves. Gerwint looked with sadness upon his granddaughters, smiled and said, “I give you my blessing. You are Meltons. Never forget that.” Turning to Hugh he said, “My Lord Hugh de Montbryce, I thank you and your brother. Take care of my ladies. I’ll dispose of the toad’s body.” He touched his hand to his heart, bowed and left.
“That still leaves two of you—and the dogs,” the oarsman said.
Devona was climbing out of the boat. “Take my mother and Boden. Brigantia’s a good swimmer. I’ll stay here with Lord Hugh and await your return.”
“Non! Devona!” Hugh objected.
“Hugh, I won’t leave without you—please,” she pleaded, shoving her mother into the rowboat.
The oarsman held up his hand. “Not the dog, milord. Too much draught on the swell out there.”
Hugh trusted the man’s intuition. “Allez! Return for us as quickly as you can.”
“Milord.”
***
Devona had tried desperately to maintain her courageous front, but five years of bravely bearing Renouf’s brutality had taken their toll, and she had to pass the burden to someone else, had to seek some comfort, some succour. The moment she’d seen Torod strike down Boden and raise his sword to her mother, her courage had failed her. She had nothing left to give and was close to swooning. Heedless it might be to grovel at the feet of a Norman nobleman, but touching him had given her strength.
She lay in Hugh’s comforting arms on the cold wet slab of stone at the foot of the passageway, her head against his chest, Boden’s head cradled in her lap as the waves slap-slapped below them. She’d never felt more secure in her life, locked in the warm embrace of this brave man who had come to her rescue. She tucked the words mon amour away in her heart.
Leaning forward, she tore off the bottom of her chemise and handed it to Hugh, who padded it around the dog’s wound. It was as if everything was happening in a fog. She hoped it would still be reality when she wakened, if this were a dream.
“Hugh,” she murmured.
“Devona?” he whispered back.
“Thank you. We are in your debt.”
“Thank me when we’re safe in Normandie.”
“Normandie,” she breathed. “I tremble at the thought.”
“You need fear nothing with me at your side, Devona,” he replied, nuzzling his lips against her neck. “What happened with your mother?”
Devona bit her lip. “She suddenly came to life. But I fear for her. There’s a cast about her eyes I don’t like, especially now she has—oh God, Hugh—she plunged her dagger into Torod without any hesitation, five years of hatred in the thrust. I didn’t know she had a dagger. It seems my grandfather gave it to her years ago.”
She sobbed against his chest. “It was horrible, but she saved us. Poor Boden succumbed to Torod’s sword.”
“This faithful dog isn’t dead yet,” Hugh reassured her, rubbing Boden’s ear. “He’ll live a long life, and so will you.”
She sighed. “Renouf will be so angry.”
Hugh sneered. “Isn’t he always angry?”
Devona laughed cynically. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve never known him not to be angry, no matter our attempts to please him.”
Hugh tightened his arms around her. “My beautiful Devona, I will never let him hurt you again.”
She lay back in his arms and allowed the sound of the sea to lull her. “I wonder what it would be like,” she murmured as she drifted into sleep, “To make love to the sound of the ocean?”
Hugh’s emotions were all at sea. He held a desirable woman in his arms—a woman he’d dreamt of making love to. He was certainly aroused by her beauty, by her words, which he suspected she’d uttered without knowing what she said as exhaustion took hold. Perhaps she too felt the strange excitement of being in a cave. Yet he felt no compunction to hurt her, only to hold her, to protect her, to keep her safe. He dozed as well, utterly content, despite the dampness penetrating his nether regions from the cold stone slab on which he sat.
A voice broke into his reverie. “Ahoy, milord Hugh, pass the wounded dog to me, then I’ll take milady. The others are safe aboard the longboat, although the other hound almost swamped the boat climbing in! We’ll see you delivered there. The tide and winds are right to take us to Normandie. The saints are with us this day.”
Hugh roused Devona, lifted Boden and gave him over to the oarsman, then helped Devona scramble into the boat, jumping in behind her.
“My faithful oarsman here always has the presence of mind to bring blankets,” he laughed, enfolding her in one and then draping another over his shoulders.
“My heart is beating like a drum,” she whispered.
“Mine too,” he confided.
Once abreast of the longboat, the oarsman braced his legs and lifted the dog to the waiting arms of another of Hugh’s men. Hugh and Devona were pulled aboard.
“We’re going by way of Kingston Gorse, to return the rowboat and load our horses,” Antoine explained to Devona as she clung to him for balance after boarding.
“Thank you, my Lord Antoine. I can’t tell you what’s in my heart yet. This is all so overwhelming,” she replied.
“Rest now, all of you. We’ll get you safely to Normandie,” Antoine ordered, indicating to Hugh he should make Devona comfortable with the other females crouched in the canvas shelter pitched for them. Aediva and Bemia were snuggled into their mother’s side.
“How fares Boden?” Hugh asked the crewman who was looking the dog over, examining its wound.
“It’s a deep wound, but the bone isn’t chipped or broken, so the dog should recover. He’s a brave lad—I’ll bind it.”
Hugh could see the relief on Devona’s face. He gathered the blanket tighter under her chin. “Go sit with your mother. You need to get reacquainted.”
***
Devona slept so soundly in the longboat she was oblivious to the noise of the horses being loaded at Kingston Gorse. She didn’t reawaken until she felt the warmth of a hand on her forehead. For a moment she couldn’t think where she was as she gazed into blue eyes she’d dreamed about so often.
“Hugh?” she whispered, struggling to sit up.
“We’re nearing Normandie, Devona,” he replied gently.
She realized then that she was lying in his a
rms under the flapping canvas. Aediva and Bemia and Lady Wilona were all awake, smiling, but looking apprehensive.
Tears welled as she whispered, “I miss my grandfather already.”
“I understand. But at least you know he lives. He wouldn’t have been happy in Normandie. In truth, life would have been difficult for him there. He’ll feel more useful spying on Renouf.”
She nodded. “How is Boden?”
Hugh smiled. “See for yourself.”
She looked to the prow of the boat where both mastiffs were looking out, tails wagging, sensing the approaching shore, Boden looking wobbly but determined to stand on three legs.
“I’m afraid, Hugh. We’re Saxons.”
He grasped her hand tightly and pressed it against his heart. “I swear to you, Devona, I’ll protect you with my life. No harm shall come to you or your family in my homeland. After we disembark we’ll ride to Montbryce to spend a few days there. I want you to see where I was born. It’s our family castle, seat of my brother, the Comte de Montbryce. I must also visit my parents’ tombs in the crypt.”
“I can’t believe I slept through the voyage,” she blushed.
“Well at least you didn’t have to listen to Antoine being seasick. He’s a poor sailor.”
“But a good brother,” she rejoined.
“You’re right, and I must go assist him now with the landing. Stay here until I come for you.” He kissed her lightly on her forehead and a wave of heat swept through her body, followed by a chill now she wasn’t warmed by his strong arms.
The women watched as the brothers and their men ably disembarked the horses and other goods the ship had carried, including two crates of live pigeons from East Preston. Boden and Brigantia presided over the whole operation, giving an occasional ‘woof’ of approval.
When the horses had been saddled, Hugh came to fetch the women. “Mesdames, we don’t have enough horses for everyone. Lady Wilona, you’ll ride with my brother, two of my men-at-arms will take Aediva and Bemia, another will carry the dog—don’t worry he’s a burly fellow—and Devona you’ll ride with me. Brigantia will keep up. We won’t be riding too fast.”
Wilona nodded her approval and, once everyone was mounted, the party set off for Saint Germain de Montbryce. Seated behind Hugh, Devona clung to his hard broad back, her arms around his waist, the warmth from his body seeping into her, praying none of this was a dream.
Everything had happened so fast, Hugh wondered if he was dreaming as he felt Devona’s arms tighten around him and relished the sensation of her breasts pressed firmly against his back. He tried not to become aroused, but it was hopeless. He decided to worry instead about the possible ramifications of what had happened.
He’d kidnapped the wife of a Norman nobleman and spirited her away to his own land. If he made love to her, which he desperately wanted to do, she would be guilty of adultery. If his bloodlust surfaced during the mating he might commit some unspeakable savagery against the woman he loved with all his heart. If it didn’t, he was a virgin, by the saints, and she a woman married for five years. What would she think of his lack of—experience—would she be able to tell?
On top of that, he was harbouring a Saxon woman who had killed the capitaine of the same nobleman. Though she’d acted in defense of herself and her children, Hugh knew only too well what the sentence of a Norman court would be. He wondered what Renouf would do once he returned home and found the prize gone? And where did Renouf go so frequently in Normandie?
Hugh was heartily glad to see the imposing Castle Montbryce come into view on its promontory. Contentment swept over him, as it always did at the sight. He glanced over to Antoine and they exchanged a smile and a nod. He was home, the woman of his dreams with him. He just hoped it wouldn’t all turn into a nightmare.
***
Steward Fernand Bonhomme had all in readiness for milords Hugh and Antoine and their guests when they arrived. His Comte’s brothers would sleep in their own chambers, which had been aired out for them, and two chambers had been readied for the ladies. He was somewhat taken aback by the huge dogs, which he didn’t expect, especially since one was injured, but he soon had the stable boys dealing with the matter of food for them. In any case they were to sleep in the ladies’ chambers.
“Bonhomme, where would Montbryce be without you?” Antoine exclaimed, after the women had been taken to their chambers by a maidservant. “The entirety would crumble around our ears!”
“It’s my honour to serve you, you know that, milord. Not as easy with Mathieu gone off to serve milord Rambaud in England, but I still have my younger son Honoré here as my right hand. He’ll be ready to take over from me when the time comes.”
He didn’t mention how much more difficult his wife’s death six years earlier had made things. No use dwelling on that painful subject.
“Bonhomme, just one reminder, for the other servants,” Hugh said. “Our guests are all Saxons, as you know. They must feel no discomfort here. They have endured much, and all at the hands of Normans.”
“Don’t worry, milord Hugh. I’ve already spoken to everyone. They won’t encounter those kinds of Normans here.”
Hugh slapped the faithful seneschal on the back. “Good man!”
“La Cuisinière has all in readiness when you want the evening meal to begin in the Great Hall.”
Hugh rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. “My mouth waters already at the mention of her name!”
CHAPTER NINE
On the one hand, Renouf hadn’t looked forward to returning to England. Though his visits to his family were fraught with arguments and confrontations, he nevertheless felt more at home in Malbadon. His roots were there. It was where he belonged.
On the other hand, he longed to return to Melton, to run his hands over Devona’s lush breasts, to feel her mouth on his shaft, to see the fear in her eyes. The mere thought of it roused him. At Melton he could drink fine wine to his heart’s content, eat as much rich food as he wished, issue orders and have them obeyed, all without censure. In Melton he was lord of the demesne, whereas in Malbadon—
He’d thought of leaving early, but that would have precipitated another row, so he’d departed on schedule. Now as his longboat neared the English shore, he could hardly wait. He hoped Torod had kept careful watch over his manor in his absence. Things might get tricky with a new overlord snooping around.
Not to worry. The ugly toad is terrified of me. He knows the consequences of failure.
Renouf knew as soon as he saw one of his mercenaries waiting at the landing that something was wrong.
“What is it, Pascal?” he asked as he jumped off the longboat. “Where’s Torod?”
“Gone, milord,” the man answered nervously.
“Speak more plainly. Where has he gone?”
“We don’t know. None have seen him since two mornings since. He went off to collect rents—and—”
“And what? I’m getting impatient.”
“We—the men—we all fell asleep—after the meal—midday—”
“Fell asleep?”
“We think we were poisoned. We flogged the cook and the servants, but none will confess.”
A feeling of foreboding was insinuating itself into Renouf’s breast. “Poisoned? By whom? Who else is missing?”
The man was plainly nervous to be the bearer of the next piece of information. He’d obviously drawn the short straw.
“The—Saxons,” Pascal stammered.
“Which Saxons,” Renouf asked, his voice dripping ice.
“Your lady wife, milord—and her—family—and those cursed dogs.”
“I don’t care about the bloody hounds,” Renouf spat with fury. By now he’d retrieved his horse and mounted. “And Torod’s is the hand behind this escape? I think not. The man has the brains of a flea.”
“I don’t know, milord, but we can’t find him anywhere.”
Renouf snorted. “Likely dead, killed by the Montbryce brothers. Who else would hav
e the temerity to invade my home and kidnap my wife?”
Pascal had remounted and now rode alongside his master. “Their steward did come to speak with Torod.”
Renouf was startled. “From where?”
“I think their manor at East Preston.”
“The derelict?”
“They’re reopening it.”
Renouf picked up the pace. “What of the madwoman, and the old man?”
The youth swallowed hard. “All gone, milord.”
“And no one saw them go? How could they have fled? Did they take horses?”
“Only one mount is missing. Torod’s.”
“So whoever killed him took his horse. But how did the others escape? And where did they go? Our first stop will be East Preston.” He urged his horse to a gallop
***
Théobald Cormant was feeling pleased with himself. He’d so far managed to trap two dozen pigeons which had been sent off to Normandie with Lord Antoine, and the rat poison he and his brother Barat had set under the careful supervision of the rat catcher, Jubert, was paying off handsomely, rigid rodent bodies turning up everywhere.
“But here comes a rat of a different order,” he mused as he watched a Norman he assumed to be Renouf de Maubadon riding into view. Milord Antoine had warned them to expect this despicable brute.
“Milord?” he oozed in his best steward voice as Renouf reined in his horse. “May I be of assistance? I’m Théobald Cormant, steward of East Preston.”
“Where are Antoine and Hugh de Montbryce?” Renouf demanded.
“May I enquire who you are, mon seigneur?”
Renouf’s ire was evident on his red face. “I am Sir Renouf de Maubadon, of Melton Manor.”
Théo kept his voice even. “Mes seigneurs are probably in Normandie. They left several days ago. With large castles to administer there they have appointed my brother and me as seneschals here, to oversee the manors granted by King William, including yours.”
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