Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance)

by Markland, Anna

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” He held out his hand. “Do you have courage to face him?”

  She accepted his hand. “With you at my side, aye.”

  ~~~

  THEY WAITED.

  Alex had sent a servant with a message to Romain to escort the Scot to the Chart Room, willing or no.

  Elayne fretted. “I’m worried about Henry.”

  Alex was concerned as well, but wanted to keep Elayne as calm as possible. “Faol is with him, he’ll be fine.”

  The Scot blustered in through the open door, accompanied by Romain and two Montbryce soldiers. He tucked his thumbs into his leather belt. “Where’s my son?”

  Elayne wrinkled her nose.

  Alex wondered again how she had endured years of living with this barbarian. The real possibility that she would now have to return to the same life of degradation gnawed at him. “I remind you that you are a guest in this castle. I will ask the questions. You needn’t worry about Henry. He is safe.”

  He was thankful Romain understood the brief nod sent his way. His brother left quickly.

  Alex motioned Dugald to a chair.

  The Scot rubbed his beard. “I’ll stand.”

  Though his stance remained belligerent, Alex noted his voice had softened.

  “As you wish. I am curious as to how you come to be in Normandie, when by all accounts you were killed in Northumbria some time ago.” He gestured towards Elayne. “Your wife was told you were dead.”

  She glared at Dugald from where she stood, her hand on the mantel, and he was relieved to see no fear in her gaze.

  “Aye, well, as you see I’m not dead. So, I’ll be taking my wife and children off your hands.”

  Elayne glanced quickly at Alex, but gave no other sign of reaction to the threat.

  Alex paced for long moments, hands behind his back, deafened by the pulse drumming in his ears, struggling for control of his racing heart. “You have been here for hours, yet you’ve never enquired once about your wife, and your son seems less than glad to see you. I believe you owe your wife an explanation.”

  Elayne lifted her chin, but kept her gaze fixed on her husband. Alex admired her courage and determination to show no fear. Even in his own castle, surrounded by hundreds of soldiers loyal to him, he felt a little intimidated by the burly Scot.

  Dugald looked at her and snorted. “I owe her nothing. She’s a mere woman. Never was much of a wife.”

  Alex wished for the fiery breath of a dragon so he could incinerate this dunghill of a man who’d been fortunate enough to call himself Elayne’s husband, to lie with her, touch her body in intimate places.

  Poison roiled in his belly as an adder bit into his bowels. “Nevertheless, you will offer an account of your resurrection, or you will languish in the cells.”

  His own words appalled him. He had sworn never to incarcerate anyone unjustly. Was he allowing his feelings for Elayne to dictate how he treated this man?

  Dugald eyed him with suspicion, then chuckled as he took a step closer to Alex. “You want her for yourself.”

  The Montbryce guards drew their swords and pushed him back.

  Elayne had let go of the mantel, but remained before the hearth, hands clasped together. She didn’t flinch when Dugald approached her.

  “An adulteress now, are you?” he accused, wagging his finger at her.

  “Take him,” Alex commanded the guards, unable to stomach another minute in the man’s presence and fearful Elayne was close to breaking.

  Dugald held up his hands in surrender. “No need for that,” he said. “I’ll tell the tale. Why not? ‘Tis an interesting one of bravery and boldness. And I love to talk about myself.”

  “That’s true enough. You always were a braggart.”

  Dugald’s brooding gaze swiveled to Elayne. Alex suspected he was thinking of ways to punish her later for the insolent remark.

  Unexpectedly, the swarthy giant slumped into the chair Alex had indicated earlier. “I heard Norman barons are famous for their hospitality, yet I’ve not been offered even a tankard of ale.”

  Alex ignored the insult but nodded to one of the guards who left quickly. He came to stand next to Elayne, arms folded across his chest, hoping she could feel his support though he couldn’t touch her.

  “’Tis true I suffered terrible wounds during the raid,” Dugald began, tracing his forefinger down the scar on his face, “wounds that would have dispatched a lesser man to his Maker.”

  Elayne rolled her eyes.

  Dugald scowled, shifting his broad hips further back in the chair, flicking at his playd with his dirty fingernails as if that could remove the grime of years. “Some of my comrades died at the hands of those mangy Lowlanders. All who survived were badly wounded.”

  “Your father warned you not to go.”

  Alex breathed again when a maidservant entered with tankards of ale, distracting Dugald from Elayne’s outburst.

  He grabbed a tankard, swigged several long gulps, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, belched then continued. “Malcolm Murtagh and another man whose name I forget more or less carried me as far as Berwick, then the bastards left me to die.”

  Elayne gasped. “It was Malcolm told me you had died.”

  “Mayhap he thought I had. The bugger was half dead himself. I’m surprised to hear he made it back.”

  He took another hefty swig.

  Alex and Elayne remained silent. He felt her agitation though they stood inches apart.

  Dugald belched loudly, thumping his chest with his fist.

  Elayne turned slightly to Alex. “As you see, belching is a proud Scottish tradition,” she whispered between pursed lips.

  Her capacity to see humor in a dire situation made his impending loss all the more acute.

  “What yer whisperin’ there, girlie?”

  Alex waved his hand. “Get on with it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “’TWAS INDEED MY LUCK that Malcolm left me in the tender care of an old crone who knew a thing or two about healing. Surprisin’ ‘cos he paid her to bury me.”

  “Unbelievable,” Elayne whispered through gritted teeth without turning to face Alex.

  He grunted his agreement.

  She was grateful for his nearness, for the warmth emanating from him that was the only thing keeping her heart from freezing completely.

  Dugald held out his tankard. The maidservant refilled it. He drained half of it in one long gulp then hiccupped. “Thirsty work this story-tellin’.”

  “With any luck he’ll drink himself to death,” Alex whispered under his breath.

  “Don’t count on it,” she murmured back. Dugald didn’t hold his liquor well, but he could hold lots of it.

  Dugald winked. “By the bones of our blessed Saint Margaret, the crone had a bee-you-tee-full granddaughter. The mere sight of that dainty morsel and the delicate touch of her hand on my fevered brow helped me get well.”

  Elayne’s foot started tapping of its own volition. Knowing Dugald, this didn’t bode well for the crone and her granddaughter.

  “Aye! Hid me from my enemies they did. Fed me.” He wiggled his bushy eyebrows, grinning broadly. “Even bathed me.”

  “He was clean once in his misbegotten life,” Alex whispered, rocking on his heels. “Hard to believe.”

  She loved that about him, that he could bring humor to the worst situation.

  “So, they nursed you back to health, but you didn’t come home,” Elayne said flatly.

  Dugald looked sheepish for the first time. “Aye, well, er, there was a bit of a misunderstanding.”

  She knew before he explained it.

  “I was showing my appreciation to the young lass in the best way a man can, especially if he has no money to give, when the crone came upon us unexpectedly in the piggery.”

  Dear Lord, he’d raped the girl in a pig sty.

  Alex’s fingertips touched hers atop the mantel, otherwise she’d have launched herself at her
husband and torn his eyes out.

  “Nothing could persuade the owd coot I meant no harm, so what choice did I have but to take her donkey and leave?”

  She sucked in a breath, suddenly giving credence to the cruel whispers she’d sometimes overheard that Dugald couldn’t possibly be the father of her children. Mayhap it was a fallacy that babes were conceived in the marriage bed. Perhaps some kind-hearted fairy had sprinkled her with magic dust so she could bear two perfect children.

  If she closed her eyes and wished hard enough would the same fairy remove this odious man from her life altogether?

  “In other words, you thanked the old woman for saving your hide by raping her granddaughter and stealing her donkey?”

  Dugald shrugged. “I had to get away, so I rode south to seek sanctuary with the good monks of Holy Island.”

  And Fate being what it was, no doubt the men of God sheltered this rapist and thief.

  “You rode south, instead of north towards us, your family and your home.”

  “Well, I couldn’t ride all that way on a donkey, and you wouldn’t believe it, but monks know a lot, for all they’re cooped up in cells and whatnot.”

  Alex coughed.

  “There was talk of a squabble between Stephen and Henry’s daughter, Maud. They reckoned if Maud invaded England, my father would attack Northumbria again to distract Stephen. Thinks the world of Henry, my father does, you know. I’d no wish to go home to face the old bugger’s wrath only to ride back to Northumbria to fight.”

  How had she not murdered this nincompoop before now?

  “They said Maud was raising an army in Normandie to invade England, looking for mercenaries, paying well. I decided to sail there and offer my services, then my da would be proud of me when he found out I’d helped Maud invade England.”

  “How did you secure a boat to Normandie?” Alex asked, his voice heavy with misgiving.

  “The monks take their mead to sell in the market at Beal. What do monks need money for? I needed it more.”

  “You stole from monks?” Elayne asked incredulously.

  “Had to buy passage on a boat going to Normandie. Not cheap, I can tell you, but well worth it once I found Maud and that crafty husband of hers. They recognized right off what a prize they had when I revealed I was Scottish royalty.”

  Elayne was certain Dugald had committed other crimes and offences during his trek across Normandie, but she covered her ears, unwilling to listen to another word. The Dugald she’d known before had been bad enough. This man was a mercenary in every sense of the word.

  Alex stepped forward. “Maud and Geoffrey assumed correctly that you could identify the royal hostages. But now you know they are your children, what are you going to do about it?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  DUGALD’S EYES DARTED from Alex to Elayne and back again. “’Tis fortunate Maud and Geoffrey are not with the army sitting outside your gates. Off on some misbegotten mission to drum up support. Maud would know as soon as she set eyes on Henry and Claricia they weren’t who they’re supposed to be. She was beginning to get suspicious anyway.”

  Alex breathed a little easier. It was unlikely Geoffrey would allow an underling to lead an attack against a castle such as Montbryce, but what did the Scot have in mind?

  The color had drained from Elayne’s face.

  Dugald lumbered to his feet. “It’s only a matter of time before she uncovers the subterfuge. What was my father thinking?”

  “He was angry Maud asked for hostages, seemingly not satisfied with his sworn oath to support her,” Elayne explained wearily.

  The despair in her voice kicked Alex in the gut.

  “So, here’s my plan. My family will accompany me to our encampment. Everyone will congratulate me on a fine job of extracting the hostages safely, and in less than a day. When they’re all well into their cups and I see the time is right, I’ll spirit them away.”

  “How can you be sure the mercenaries will drink themselves into a stupor?”

  “Because you will provide the ale, and mayhap a cask or two of your famous apple brandy.”

  Alex bristled. Was it not enough they’d destroyed the orchards? But he saw the wisdom of Dugald’s plan. “Very well. Bonhomme will see to it. Where will you take them?”

  “To Caen.”

  Some winged creature with sharp talons flapped around inside Alex. Caen was where his father had been incarcerated, where he’d been born. He’d sworn never to set foot in the town. “Caen?” he exclaimed.

  “Aye,” Dugald replied as if speaking to an imbecile. “The town is loyal to Stephen. They won’t be safe anywhere that Maud can get her hands on them. You’ve declared for Stephen. Can you get a message to Caen? Arrange our passage back to Scotland?”

  Alex would never see Elayne or her children again. The light that had penetrated the darkness of his lonely existence would be snuffed out.

  But what choice was there? He had to let them go. It was Dugald’s right to take them.

  “I’ll not go with you.”

  All eyes turned to the door where Henry stood, glaring at his father, his dog at his side.

  Elayne gasped.

  Scowling, Dugald made a move to approach his son, but Alex held up a hand to stop him. He hunkered down in front of the boy and took his hand. “I know you want to stay here, Henry.” He swallowed hard, stricken by the despair in the boy’s eyes. “I would like nothing better. But it’s not to be. It’s your duty to accompany your mother, to protect her and your sister.” He hoped the boy understood the hidden message behind his words.

  Henry stared at Alex’s hand. “Can I take Faol?” he whispered.

  Alex rubbed the dog’s head. “Of course,” he rasped, straightening. “Go with your mother now. Claricia is feeling much better and will be glad to see you. I’ll speak further with your father.”

  The lad took hold of his mother’s hand and led her out of the Chart Room. She walked as if she’d fallen under an evil spell. Alex watched them go, wondering how he remained on his feet when Elayne was leaving with his heart.

  ~~~

  BY LATE AFTERNOON, all was in readiness. Elayne was relieved Alex had made no attempt to see her alone. It would be hard enough saying goodbye in the bailey. She’d packed only the belongings they’d brought with them, not wanting any reminders of what might have been.

  Claricia had made a miraculous recovery and was agog at the prospect of accompanying her Dadaidh. She rode atop his shoulders as they gathered in the courtyard to begin their journey.

  Henry sulked.

  Faol looked as mournful as a wolfhound can.

  She was afraid of what lay ahead in the Anjou camp, not for herself, but for her children, though she had no doubt Dugald would defend them to the death.

  She bade goodbye to a stone-faced Bonhomme, and a weeping Micheline. Romain only nodded. He’d said his farewell earlier, his eyes filled with tears. She’d never seen him so bereft. “Alex loves you, you know,” he’d rasped. “My brother—”

  “I love him too, but it’s not to be.”

  Alex entered the courtyard just as a dark cloud stole the warmth from the afternoon sun. How to part from this vulnerable, cautious man who’d captured her heart and allowed her into his? Her throat constricted and she feared her knees might buckle.

  Though Dugald was somewhat dimwitted, she suspected he was aware of the feelings Elayne and Alex shared. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. He would taunt her with it later.

  Alex held his hands up to Claricia. She leaned down from her father’s shoulders and fell happily into his arms. He hugged her. “Farewell, little one. Stay well. I’ll miss you.”

  “I love you, Lix,” she murmured, hugging his neck.

  Elayne swayed, wishing she had something to hold onto.

  He handed her back to Dugald, his face betraying none of his emotions. But she recognized the firm set of his jaw, his determination to get through this ordeal.


  He bent to whisper something in Henry’s ear. The boy nodded, then threw his arms around Alex’s neck. Alex picked him up, hugging him to his chest. Faol whimpered. Elayne’s agony threatened to choke her.

  Slowly, Alex peeled Henry’s arms from around his neck and set him back on his feet.

  Dugald suddenly took the reins of his horse from the stable lad and mounted, sitting Claricia on his lap. He held out his hand to Henry. “Mount behind me, boy.”

  Henry looked at Alex, nodded, then accepted his father’s hand and was pulled onto the horse.

  “Get your goodbyes over with, woman, and get in the cart. Time’s going by,” Dugald growled, setting his steed in motion. Riding with two children, their small iron chest strapped to the side of his saddle he looked more like a wandering pedlar than a prince of royal blood.

  She eyed the cart. She would not leave Montbryce wedged amid barrels of ale and casks of brandy. “I will walk.”

  Dugald rolled his eyes.

  She eased the strap of the travelling bag over her shoulder and across her body and somehow put one foot in front of the other. Alex caught her hand, as she’d hoped. “I want to kiss you goodbye, Elayne, like a man kisses the woman he loves, but I suspect he’d make you pay for it later.”

  He brushed his lips across her knuckles, stealing the last breath from her beleaguered lungs. “I’ll not say adieu, only au revoir,” he said softly, his blue eyes hooded, his mouth a tight line. “If there is ever a way to make you mine, I’ll find it and come for you—and your children.”

  She nodded woodenly, knowing what his promise had cost this man who she suspected had never bared his heart to anyone.

  Unable to speak, she pressed the token she’d made for him into his warm palm, relieved when his hand closed on it.

  Determined not to look back, she walked out of Montbryce Castle behind her husband’s horse. Faol loped at her side. She raised her eyes to her son’s rigid shoulders, then beyond to the blackened and gnarled remains of the smoldering apple orchards. They were headed straight for hell.