Forbidden (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 11)

by Anna Markland

Bronson evidently intended to sit on the other side of Suannoch, but William appeared from nowhere and elbowed him away with a wink. “Mind if I sit with Suannoch?” he asked innocently.

  Bronson frowned but moved to another seat.

  Rodrick was grateful for his brother’s quick thinking. Two Montbryces flanking a beautiful woman would seem normal. But woe-betide William if he thought to court the lady. This insane spurt of jealousy convinced him he was losing his mind. Conversation normally came easily. Now not a single word emerged from his parched throat.

  He took a swig of wine from the goblet a servant had filled, then felt badly; he should have offered it first to Swan. “My apologies,” he stammered, wiping the lip of the goblet with his napkin then holding it out to her.

  Instead of taking the goblet, she leaned forward with a smile and sipped, turning her amber orbs on him as she drank. The pleasurable ache at his groin intensified. The slow movement of her throat as she swallowed drew his rapt attention back to her neck. He was doomed.

  William coughed.

  Swan seemed to become aware of what she was doing and her face reddened.

  “Thank you, Rodrick,” she whispered, her voice thick with wine.

  Was she flirting with him, deliberately trying to make him look foolish in retaliation for his earlier behavior?

  He shifted his weight on the bench to ease his discomfort, but she moved restlessly at the same moment. His thigh grazed hers. She looked away quickly as her blush deepened, seemingly as confused at what was happening between them as he was.

  “You are very beautiful, Suannoch. I apologize for my rudeness yesterday.”

  She kept her eyes fixed on the table. “I understand. Sometimes I forget women are not supposed to express opinions to men. You were preoccupied with what might transpire at the meeting.”

  He suspected her forgetfulness was deliberate but, for some reason he didn’t fully comprehend, he acknowledged with regret the truth of her words. Men resented women who spoke their mind. Yet, Grace had proven on many occasions to have been the one in the right when they’d argued. He was a twin, born minutes after his sister, but he would be the one to inherit the earldom because he was a male, whereas she’d been obliged to marry a man twice her age.

  In hindsight, if Maud had been crowned queen eighteen years ago, it was improbable she would have made a worse job of it than Stephen.

  “You were right, of course. It’s more than likely Henry Plantagenet will be our next king.”

  She finally looked up, her eyes full of concern. “We cannot overlook Eustace, however. King Stephen has groomed his son to succeed him.”

  Rodrick leaned back to allow a servant to place a platter of roasted chicken on the table, then sliced off a piece of breast and offered it to Swan. “Saints preserve us if the murderous prince becomes king. He has grown up knowing nothing but division and war. His appetite for blood does not bode well for England. The argument between Stephen and the Pope has resulted in Eustace not yet being anointed heir apparent, which is a good omen.”

  She bit into the meat while it was still in his hand, smiling self consciously as the juices trickled down her chin. He handed her a napkin, his errant tongue slipping between his lips, ready to lick her face clean.

  “Grace told me he is pillaging towns and villages near Bury St. Edmunds,” she said.

  “Yes. He claims he’s acting in retaliation for his father’s rain-drenched and demoralized army refusing to fight Henry at Malmesbury in January, but it’s generally believed he enjoys killing and burning. It’s one of the reasons I’ve leaned towards Henry for a while.”

  Her eyes widened. “And yet you mocked me when I made my remarks concerning him.”

  Rodrick chuckled. “I’m a man. What can you expect?”

  Her mouth fell open. “I know you are a man, Rodrick.”

  The heat of her thigh pressed against his, but he caught William’s slight shake of the head. He looked around. They had again attracted attention. “Swan, I’m drawn to you,” he whispered. “I’ve enjoyed our discussion, but we are causing a stir. I don’t want people to think—”

  A cloud darkened her bright eyes. “We are cousins, Rodrick. Cousins are permitted to be friends, to laugh, to share good times. Nothing can come of our friendship anyway. You are safe. On the morrow I am to be shut away.”

  Suddenly, safe was the last thing he wanted to be. Inexplicable anger rose in his throat. “Do you want to go to a nunnery?”

  “Of course not,” she said through gritted teeth. “I want to live, to ride across the open moor with the wind in my hair, to hug my family, to love a man and bear his children. But such is not my destiny. Hiram sealed my fate when he fell, mortally wounded. This charade tonight was to be my final act of defiance. When the meal is done, I will return to my chamber and don the robes of a novice.”

  A dangerous idea came to him. “Would you like to ride once more before the dawn?”

  One Last Ride

  Grace was disappointed not to sit with Bronson. It would have been a chance to get to know him better. After all, they would be neighbors—practically. She could have teased him about abetting Suannoch’s ploy.

  If William hadn’t butted in and taken their cousin’s place—

  Her little brother might want to impress Suannoch, but he’d have a difficult time getting her attention away from Rodrick.

  The novice-to-be was a beauty. Certainly, her brother hadn’t guessed until tonight.

  Her Northumbrian cousin was destined to be shut away in a nunnery, a worse fate than the one Grace herself had endured at Cullène Hall. Suannoch would never be free. They’d had fun together and it had been amusing watching Bronson and Rodrick fall over their tongues. Her cousin would have made a much needed friend.

  She poked William. “It’s a pity Bronson had to drag his sister away on her last evening of freedom.”

  Her brother eyed her curiously. “I suppose.”

  Something in his tone alerted her. “I would think she’d rather be here than tucked up in bed. She and Rodrick seemed to have taken a liking to each other.”

  William flushed—a sure sign he had a secret to keep.

  “Speaking of Rodrick, where has he got to?”

  Her brother put a finger to his lips. “Hush. They’ve gone for a short ride.”

  Without me?

  She struggled to control the rapid beating of her heart. Why hadn’t they asked her to go too? She and Rodrick used to ride together often. In her absence, had he forgotten the good times they had, what they meant to each other?

  She was being silly. They were no longer children. Rodrick was a man, with a man’s needs—but with Suannoch? Or had he simply taken two cousins riding to show support? Had Bronson gone along as a chaperone, or was it a friendly threesome? Then why not a foursome?

  She came to her feet, then sat down again, unsure how long they’d been gone. It would be dangerous to follow alone, in the darkness.

  As she sat dithering, she noticed a messenger enter the hall. He’d ridden far by the look of him. He made straight for Robert, Earl of Leicester, bowed, and handed him a parchment.

  Robert unfurled it, scanned the contents, then leapt to his feet with a loud “Hah!” that caught everyone’s attention. He brandished the document. “Wait till you hear the news from Scotland.”

  Swan relished the warm summer wind on her face as they cantered across the plains of Salop, headed west towards Oswestry. Her fine gown would be ruined after this, but she didn’t care. Caution tempered her desire to let the horse have its head. Such uncertain terrain was sometimes treacherous in full daylight. She was free, riding by the light of the moon with her dear brother and a man for whom she was beginning to have exciting feelings.

  Bronson’s ready acquiescence in Rodrick’s scheme had come as a surprise, but he had never made any secret of his unhappiness with her fate. William wanted to accompany them, but Rodrick persuaded him to instead distract their parents’ attention. />
  Bronson and Swan left first, Rodrick not far behind. They rendezvoused in the stables. The ostler didn’t blink an eye when his lord’s son picked out three horses to be saddled, hastily rounding up a couple of stable boys to assist.

  If the heir to Ellesmere was shocked when she hitched up her skirts and straddled the palfrey, he gave no indication of it other than a slight smile. Bronson rolled his eyes. “That’s Swan for you.”

  She and the horse knew each other well. They’d grown up together and she intended to enjoy this last ride. “Thank you, Rodrick,” she said, patting her mount’s neck. “You don’t know what this means to me. It’s an unexpected pleasure to ride Cob one last time.”

  He laughed. “Your palfrey’s name is Cob?”

  She loved the way he laughed, tossing his head back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  Bronson joined in the laughter. “What else would a swan name her horse?”

  In their youth, Rodrick and Grace had often ridden together. It was always a competition. He loved his sister, and she would have enjoyed this ride, but the idea of letting her lead the way never occurred to him.

  Now, he was content to watch Swan ride ahead of him and Bronson, her moonlit hair streaming in the wind like a banner, bared legs pressed to the horse’s flanks. “She’s quite something,” he said to himself, blinking when Bronson responded, “Yes, she is.”

  He cast a sideways glance at his companion. The full moon emphasized the clench of Bronson’s jaw. “You’re not happy about the nunnery.”

  “Not happy? I’m furious, livid, resentful. Swan is a woman made for a man. She’ll be buried away. It’s against nature.”

  “There’s no way to avoid it?”

  “Believe me, I have racked my brain for a solution. Cuthbertson has the power to turn King David against my parents in the blink of an eye. It would break my father’s heart to lose Kirkthwaite Hall.”

  Rodrick recognised the implications for all Montbryces of the loss of the FitzRams’ ancestral home. Their great grandfather had arranged for it to be rebuilt for Caedmon and his wife, Agneta. He’d never been there in person, but had heard often enough of its grandeur. “There must be a way to counteract his influence. I’ll speak to my father.”

  Bronson reined in his horse and looked at Rodrick through narrowed eyes. “Why?”

  Rodrick halted his mount, his thoughts confused. “I care for her.”

  Bronson snorted. “You mean you want to take her to your bed. It’s a common failing of men who meet Swan.”

  The pleasant hardening at his groin bore out Bronson’s words, but there was more to it. “I can’t deny I’m attracted to her, cousin, but I want more. I enjoy her company, her intelligence, her spirit.”

  Bronson exhaled resignedly. “You’ve spent exactly four hours in her company. Yesterday, you abhorred her.”

  Rodrick smiled. He appreciated a man who spoke his mind. “Yesterday, she was a shrewish nun. Today, she’s a goddess.”

  Bronson shook his head. “I won’t lie to you. She can sometimes be devilish.”

  His cousin’s warning only intensified his desire.

  Bronson laid a hand on his arm. “If you are serious, I will aid you, but it won’t be easy. You and I and Swan—we’re half second cousins, only linked by our common great grandfather. But many will cry foul and accuse you of consanguinity if you pursue her. She has been hurt enough. You must be sure.”

  A strange calm settled in Rodrick’s heart as he watched Swan ride back towards them, a happy cherub come down from above. He was sure. He’d never been so drawn to a woman. “I will speak to my father before dawn.”

  “What are you two plotting back here?” Swan asked breathlessly as she came abreast of them. “I‘d have ridden all the way to Wales if I hadn’t noticed you weren’t still behind me.”

  The lightheartedness fled when neither of Swan’s companions smiled in response to her jest. “What’s wrong? I’m sorry I rode off. I thought you were right behind me.”

  Cob became nervous when Rodrick suddenly dismounted and came to her side. He put one hand over hers, the other on her bare knee. She glanced at Bronson who had definitely seen their cousin’s unseemly action yet said nothing. Her heart stopped beating as Rodrick’s hand stroked her leg. She managed to squeak, “What’s going on?” out of her dry throat.

  “Look me in the eye, Swan,” Rodrick commanded. “I intend to speak to my father to help me devise a plan to keep you out of the convent.”

  She stared at him, not comprehending his meaning, but unwilling to douse the spark of hope in her breast. “I don’t understand.”

  “Our cousin fancies he’s in love with you,” Bronson explained.

  She looked into Rodrick’s eyes, expecting to see amused denial, but her heart leapt into her throat at the sincerity on his face. It broke her heart. Why now? “This cannot be,” she cried. “We are cousins.”

  Rodrick reached up, put his hands on her waist and lifted her from the horse. The breath whooshed from her lungs when he pulled her body to his. “We are second cousins, Swan, and half second cousins at that. If you tell me you feel for me what burns in my heart for you, I will move heaven and earth to remove any impediments to our union.”

  Her treacherous hips wanted to press against the evidence of his desire. She’d seen her brothers naked when they were children but didn’t recall anything of the size and hardness of the flesh nestled against her mons. Heat flooded her despite the evening chill creeping off the moor. Her knees threatened to buckle. The impulse was to agree, but was it only that Rodrick offered a means of escape, slim though the chances were. Did she yearn for him, or for freedom?

  The brush of his warm lips against hers dispelled any doubts. She melted into him, opening readily when his tongue coaxed entry. She savored his taste and inhaled his breath as their tongues mated.

  Bronson cleared his throat. “I take it that’s a yes.”

  Rodrick cupped her chin. “Good enough for me,” he breathed.

  Bronson’s emotions were confused. A vision of Grace emerged behind his eyes as he watched the smoldering passion erupt between his sister and Rodrick. Why hadn’t he told his cousin he suspected she’d been in his chamber and aided in Swan’s game?

  His companions were oblivious to his presence. They had set out as a threesome, now he was superfluous. If Grace had accompanied them—

  Better not to harbor thoughts that led nowhere. The rapidly developing relationship between Rodrick and Swan would cause enough uproar. Grace was attractive, beautiful, but still she was his cousin. And a widow. Had it even been a year since her husband’s death?

  This was all moot. He had sworn off marriage. God had taken two wives and two children from him. He was destined to be alone, without a mate.

  Besides, he might be drawn to her but it was unlikely she would care for him, an unsophisticated northern cousin.

  The King Is Dead

  Bronson and Swan suggested it would be better for Rodrick to speak to the earl alone.

  He had never visited his parents’ bedchamber at night. It had initially struck him as a good idea. Standing outside the heavy oaken door, fists clenched, knees stiff, he questioned the wisdom of it. However, the morrow would be filled with departing guests and meetings with Leicester. Swan would be gone, lost to him forever.

  He put his ear to the door. Voices. They were awake. Good! Unless…

  His parents were still deeply in love and never made any secret of their physical interest in each other.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow and tapped on the door, trusting he didn’t smell too much of horse—or Swan. What was the scent that clung to her?

  The murmurings within ceased.

  “Who’s there?” his father demanded.

  “Rodrick,” he replied, hoping he didn’t sound like a naughty boy disturbing his parents at night.

  “Your father is tired. Can it not wait until the morrow?” his mother said softly.

  “Non, m
aman. I must speak with you both.”

  The door opened abruptly. His red faced father glared, cinching the belt of a bed-robe. “This had better be important, Rodrick. Your mother and I were—”

  Rodrick struggled to keep his eyes on his father’s face. “I apologize. I wouldn’t have disturbed you if it wasn’t urgent.”

  His sire beckoned him impatiently into the chamber. His mother appeared from the garderobe. He breathed a sigh of relief she wasn’t still abed and had donned a voluminous bed-robe. Her flaming red hair, normally bound up and braided, fell around her shoulders. Its beauty struck him again, despite the steaks of grey. It was odd how Grace had inherited those tresses, and he had not. She motioned him to a chair by the cold hearth.

  “I’ll stand,” he replied. “But you two may want to sit.”

  His father poked at the ashes. “No use. Gone out completely. Tell us what you want before we all freeze to death.”

  How could anyone be chilled on this warm summer’s night? He was on fire. “It’s about our cousins.”

  Why had he started with that?

  His father arched one dark eyebrow. “Cousins?”

  “Bronson and Swan.”

  “Swan?” his mother said, sitting down in one of the chairs.

  This wasn’t how he’d planned to proceed. “It’s a nickname Suannoch was given. Because of her long neck.”

  The memory of it had him sweating again. This was going from bad to worse. His parents exchanged a strange glance.

  “Start at the beginning,” his mother suggested.

  The beginning? How had it begun? Yesterday, he’d been content with his bachelor life, today he was obsessed with a woman he barely knew. Was it because she was being whisked away that he wanted her? He remembered their kiss. There was alchemy between them. He felt the rightness of it in his bones. “I want to marry Swan.”

  He wished the fire still crackled heartily in the grate, if only to alleviate the utter silence that greeted his pronouncement. A nightjar chunnered somewhere in the nearby woods.