Hearts and Crowns

by Anna Markland

  He carried Peri to their chamber, her head resting on his chest, her arms around his neck. Her anger at his cruel question had been obvious, but it had softened. Did she feel affection for him, in spite of his unkindness? The warmth of her body penetrated his clothing. His legs trembled as the aroma of potpourri intoxicated his wits. He put her down gently on the bed, nuzzling between her breasts. “I missed your perfume,” he admitted.

  Her seductive smile fired his blood and sent rivers of heat flowing from the base of his spine into his loins. He reached into his doublet for the sachet he had carried with him. Her eyes widened. “You took it with you?”

  “Oui, but it has lost its aroma.” He nuzzled her again, inhaling deeply. “I need to refill my senses.”

  He cupped the sides of her breasts. They were fuller, he supposed because she was with child. His shaft ached pleasurably. He thanked the saints that the bodice of her gown fastened at the front. He kissed her earlobe, sucking on it briefly while his hand sought to untie the bow of the criss-crossed laces. She moaned as the bodice eased apart, freeing her breasts. Now only the fine linen chemise she wore stood in his way. Her dark nipples pouted at the confining fabric.

  He trailed kisses down her jaw. She arched her head back. He accepted the invitation and planted kisses down her neck, sucking, licking and nipping.

  “Gallien,” she whispered, digging her fingernails into his scalp.

  He pushed the opening of the bodice wider, then lowered his head to suckle the hardened pebble of her nipple through the linen.

  She writhed. Being with child had evidently not dulled her passion. Her hunger elated him, but he did not want to harm her or the babe. “I know naught of women who are enceinte. Is it safe?”

  She reddened. “Your maman says it is not only safe, but desirable.”

  His body warmed as his arousal intensified. He shifted his attentions to her other nipple. Impatiently, she tugged down the neckline of the chemise. Her breasts popped out of their confinement. “I have ached for the touch of your lips on my breasts,” she breathed, reddening further.

  His innocent Peri had turned into a sensuous woman. Was it being without his touch for many months that had heightened her need, or had some other stoked the fires in his absence?

  He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the insidious image of Devlin de Villiers out of his mind. He had to trust she had remained faithful, or he might go mad.

  He suckled one nipple noisily, rolling the hardened tip of the other between his thumb and forefinger. She groaned his name when he tugged the nipple gently.

  Having coaxed her to her feet, he unlaced her gown completely, easing it off her shoulders then over her hips. It pooled on the floor with a swish. He helped her step out of it, then kicked it away as he peeled the chemise from her body. When she was naked, he pushed her back gently onto the mattress, admiring the swell of her belly while he quickly disrobed. The blush spread across her breasts. Her beauty awed him.

  She motioned him to sit beside her, then took his hands and put them on her belly. She pressed one hand firmly to her flesh. “Can you feel it?”

  His babe moved beneath his touch. He kissed her there. “My child,” he whispered, his heart full of wonder. “When will he be born?”

  She smoothed his hair off his face. “September.”

  He lay back for a moment, calculating on his fingers as he gazed into the rafters. “Yuletide,” he asserted with a grin. He had felt remorseful at not giving her a gift, but evidently he had!

  He raked his gaze over her again. Alarm tugged at him. “You are already swollen. September seems a long way away.”

  She wriggled further onto the bed, opening her legs as her derrière slid over the linens. “Shall we talk all day, or are you going to make love to me?”

  ~~~

  Peri held her breath. Shock registered on Gallien’s face as he stared at her most intimate place. Perhaps she had gone too far, but she was tired of being the mouse. His thick erection betrayed his need for her. She had been without him too long.

  Then he grinned, and her concerns melted away.

  “You have become saucy in my absence, wench.”

  His blue eyes darkened as he took hold of the root of his heavy shaft, guiding it to her opening.

  She licked her lips, arching her body when the mere touch of his swollen tip on her throbbing nub sent her over the edge into a blissful tumble.

  “Come inside, now, now, now,” she urged.

  Supporting his weight on his elbows, he gazed down at her, his eyes full of love as he pushed in, then slowly drew out, in, then out.

  Would she ever understand the enigma that was Gallien de Montbryce?

  She brushed her thumbs over his male nipples. The muscles in his neck tightened. His thrusts became more urgent. Sweat sheened his beautiful bronzed body.

  “Mine,” she thought, as he growled his release. “Not perfect, but mine.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  After the revelations of Felicité’s betrayal, Gallien had banished her to a remote chamber in the castle’s east wing. As her time drew near, he fled, travelling a few miles south to visit his half cousin, Edwin FitzRam at Shelfhoc Hall.

  Edwin, five years Gallien’s senior, was a trusted friend. Edwin’s mother and father had drowned in the sinking of the Blanche Nef. His brother, Aidan was married and living in Northumbria. His sisters, Blythe and Ragna were also married, the former living in Germany and the latter in Denmark. Aidan had turned over Shelfhoc, their grandmother’s ancestral home, to Edwin six years before. He had come often to Ellesmere to spend time with his nearest kin. He and Gallien had become good friends.

  Edwin had never married. His constant companions were his dogs, Cooper and Keefer, a pair of hovawarts, a gift from his German brother-by-marriage Dieter von Wolfenberg. They were not large dogs, but the breed was known for ferocious loyalty to their master. Dieter’s own hovawart, Vormund, had indeed saved his master’s life on one occasion.

  It was Edwin who kept Gallien occupied with male pursuits such as hunting and swordplay while Felicité laboured. When news came of her death, it was Edwin who shared his grief and relief. He had stayed another sennight at Shelfhoc, wanting no part in the removal of Felicité’s treacherous body. Playing fetch with the dogs for long hours had been good for his soul.

  Listening to Peri’s screams, Gallien relived the horror of those days. Even in the family chapel of the church he heard her agony as she laboured to bring forth his child. He knelt, head bowed, on the worn red cushion of the prie-dieu where his father and grandfather had knelt before him, no doubt offering the same supplication. “Please deliver her safely, Lord. I need her.”

  He stiffened his spine as another groan rent the air. They were coming closer together now, lasting longer. He prayed the torment that had gone on for hours would soon be over.

  Dread sat in his belly like a lead ball. What if she died? His mother had been at death’s door after birthing Fleurie. To this day, his father could not repeat the story without his voice cracking. Only the healing knowledge of uncle Rhys had saved Carys de Montbryce.

  He praised the saints that his mother tended Peri now. He reassured himself she couldn’t be in better hands.

  “I long for a child,” he prayed. He hesitated, wondering if he should continue. God might strike him dead for what he was about to ask. He swallowed hard. “But if one must die, I beg you to spare my wife.”

  A shuddering sob escaped unbidden from his throat when Peri screamed again—a long guttural shout.

  He rested his forehead on the front of the prie-dieu. “My Angevin has become important to me. Little by little she has wormed her way into my heart—a heart I thought never to trust to another again.” He looked up at the altar. “I thank you for her love.”

  He remained on his knees in the silence for long minutes, thinking he should also thank the goddess Arianrhod, just in case. It came to him that everything had indeed fallen silent.

 
His legs suddenly trembled. If he stood he was sure his knees would buckle. He would always bear the scars of Felicité’s perfidy, but Peri’s love had restored his confidence, made him a man again. “I cannot lose her now,” he murmured.

  He came to his feet, his hands braced on the prie-dieu. He made the sign of his saviour across his body and turned to leave the church.

  Another throaty scream sent icy shivers racing across his nape. He ran from the church, his dying wife’s name a mantra on his lips.

  ~~~

  Carys de Montbryce patted Peri’s hand. “There now. Didn’t I tell you the second one would be easier?”

  Exhausted, Peri smiled weakly. “Thank you, maman. I would have been more afraid without your reassuring presence.”

  Carys de Montbryce shrugged, keeping an eye on one of the Ellesmere midwives as she cleansed Peri and dressed her in a clean nightrail. “You did well, not even blinking when we realized there were two babes.”

  Peri glanced over to where another midwife was busy swaddling her children. “Now it’s over it seems to have happened quickly, but at the time—”

  The Countess smiled as her new grandchildren were brought to their mother. The boy squirmed and fussed; the girl looked around as if appraising her new surroundings. “Just like you and Gallien,” she remarked with a grin.

  The enormity of what had happened suddenly settled on Peri as the two babies were nestled into her arms. “Gallien is in for a surprise.”

  At that moment, the door was thrust open. Gallien stood on the threshold, his hair in disarray, his tunic dishevelled, fear and uncertainty evident on his face.

  ~~~

  Peri’s hair was plastered to her head, but she was smiling.

  His mother was laughing.

  The midwives glared at him.

  Eyes back to Peri. Why was she holding two babes? He blinked rapidly, fearing his vision had blurred. He opened his mouth, but words failed him. Hesitating on the threshold, he sensed he had intruded at the worst possible moment into a world of women, but his feet refused to move.

  His mother took his elbow, drawing him to the bed. “Just in time. I was coming to get you. Your beautiful wife has given me two healthy grandchildren.”

  Gallien stared at the vision in the bed. “Two,” he parroted. “Healthy grandchildren.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to congratulate his mother, then it hit him in the gut—these were his children, his heirs. His wife had given birth to twins.

  He stared at Peri, amazed that two babes had grown in her slender body.

  “You kept saying I was big,” she teased. “Come and meet your son and daughter.”

  Gallien gazed at the two tiny creatures, afraid to touch them.

  He became dimly aware his father had entered the chamber. Without hesitation, Baudoin de Montbryce took the boy from Peri, cradling him, cooing unintelligible sounds.

  Jealousy surged through Gallien, but he hesitated.

  Suddenly his father thrust the babe into his arms. “A son, Gallien! Well done, Peri! And twins!” he exclaimed, reaching for his baby granddaughter. “The last twins in this family were Caedmon’s children, Blythe and Aidan, more than twenty years ago.”

  Gallien sucked in a breath. What if he dropped the red faced child squirming in his arms? The babe screwed his eyes closed and let out a piercing wail. Gallien’s heart lurched. He swayed back and forth trying to ease whatever pained the child.

  His mother relieved him of his worry. “You cannot ease what ails him. He needs what only his maman can give him.”

  Gallien felt strangely bereft without the tiny warm body in his arms, but his father promptly handed over his bundle, exclaiming proudly, “Look at the red hair!”

  Gallien gaped at a miniature replica of his wife. This must be a dream. Two children, and Peri safely delivered. He wanted to fall on his knees in thanksgiving. His long nightmare was over. He had a loving wife he trusted, and two healthy children.

  He became more of a dumbstruck idiot when his wife bared her breast to suckle their son. The babe grew impatient. Gallien had a momentary notion to demonstrate suckling to the boy, but thought better of it.

  Peri’s face reddened. “I am new at this, little one,” she cooed. “Have patience with me.”

  Gallien watched in awe, his shaft turning to granite, as his son latched on and sucked hungrily. He grinned and pecked a kiss on his daughter’s head.

  It dawned on him he had barely uttered a word since entering the chamber, but his heart was so full, he feared he might sob out loud.

  Peri looked up at him. “We had decided to name a son Rodrick Rambaud, in honor of both his paternal great grandfathers, but we never settled on a girl’s name.”

  Gallien looked at the child in his arms, suddenly confident. “Grace,” he declared, “for that is what God has granted us this day.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “The animosity between Empress Maud and her Angevin husband is apparently the talk of Henry’s court,” Baudoin told Gallien. “Tacit support for Stephen is growing.”

  They were in the gallery. His mother was showing Fleurie and Isabelle how to do a complicated embroidery stitch on a banner they were making for the approaching Yuletide.

  Peri had not arrived back from the nursery where Rodrick and Grace were being put to bed.

  Étienne had gone off to visit Edwin at Shelfhoc.

  Carys shot a worried glance at her husband. “Perhaps it would be better not to discuss such matters when Peri arrives.”

  Gallien reassured her. “Peri is rightly proud of her Angevin roots, but she is content here now. Talk of Geoffrey will not upset her.”

  “Still,” Baudoin mused, “best not to discuss matters of succession in front of her.”

  Gallien bristled. “Peri can be trusted just as much as Fleurie and Isabelle. She knows where her loyalty rests now. We have talked at length about Maud and Stephen, and what might happen when Henry dies. My wife is an intelligent woman. I value her opinion.”

  His mother leaned over and patted his hand. “I am glad you have come to trust her. You seem much happier.”

  Gallien thrust out his chest. “I am the happiest man alive. I have two thriving children and a wife I would trust with my life.”

  ~~~

  Devlin de Villiers grovelled before Geoffrey of Anjou. At least he hoped Geoffrey would believe he was grovelling. He had purposely sought out the Angevin when he was not with Maud, which was not difficult given that they avoided each other. Only Geoffrey’s bodyguards stood ready to cleave Devlin in two if he acted rashly.

  Geoffrey looked down his nose at Devlin’s stump. “Aren’t you the interfering busybody who challenged me once?”

  Devlin kept his head bowed. “I am, Majesté, and I have come to realize the error of my ways. I humbly beg your pardon.”

  Geoffrey’s chest puffed out at the exalted title he had not yet earned. He motioned Devlin to an alcove, his forefinger pressed to his lips. “Speak on.”

  Devlin smirked inwardly. This Angevin boy would make a poor king. “I am recently wed to Tandine Grisjaune, who is a friend of the lady you were speaking with when I interrupted. Forgive me, for I believed she spurned your advances. I have learned from my wife that in fact the opposite is true.”

  Geoffrey’s eyes widened, though he feigned indifference. “Go on.”

  “Peridotte de Montbryce has confided to my wife that she wishes to be free of her husband. He agitates against our Empress in favour of Stephen of Blois.”

  Devlin had no idea where Montbryce’s allegiance lay, but Geoffrey did not know that. “She thinks fondly of a certain Angevin. Perhaps if this knowledge fell into the right ears, Montbryce might be removed and then—”

  Geoffrey’s eyes darted back and forth as he licked his lips. “You are forgiven your previous impertinence. Speak to no one of this matter.”

  Devlin bowed low as Geoffrey strode off.

  ~~~

  Ermintrude de Calumet
te remained as still as possible, given the arthritic pain gnawing her joints. The man speaking to Geoffrey of Anjou in a nearby alcove was out of sight, but she recognized the voice—the despicable de Villiers to whom the gentle Tandine Grisjaune had had the misfortune to be wed. The man made her skin crawl.

  Moreover, she knew exactly which lady they were discussing—the Angevin upstart she thought she had got rid of forever.

  The development would have to be watched.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Pascal Bonhomme rushed into the Map Room without knocking, something Baudoin had never known him do before. Four armed men, bearing a devise he did not immediately recognise, followed close behind.

  Breathless, Bonhomme waved a parchment, glancing from Baudoin to Gallien, then to Étienne. “Forgive me, mes seigneurs.” He bent to recover his breath. “These men are part of a contingent in the courtyard. They have a warrant.”

  Baudoin had faced death many times in his long life, but the fear that settled in his belly was the worst he had ever known. He was indignant that armed men had entered his home without permission. Foreboding washed over him. “A warrant?”

  Bonhomme brandished the document anew. He swallowed hard. “An arrest warrant.”

  Gallien frowned.

  Étienne rushed forward to read over his father’s shoulder. “Dieu, Gallien, they’ve come to arrest you.”

  Gallien snatched the warrant from his father’s grasp. “On whose authority?”

  Baudoin’s blood ran cold. “Geoffrey of Anjou.”

  ~~~

  Gallien stared at the warrant, his gut churning. He had known humiliation before, but no Montbryce had ever faced arrest.

  The charges were clear. He was accused of sedition and disloyalty to the Crown of King Henry. But the warrant bore Geoffrey’s’ seal. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “There is only one person who could have betrayed me in this fashion.”

  His father frowned, hesitant, then shook his head. “Non, Gallien. Peri would never do such a thing. You are the father of her children. She loves you.”