They watched Geoffrey squirm, but Alex’s heart sank when the Angevin announced. “The question is moot. They’re already on their way to Anjou.”
Stephen turned to Alex, but at that moment their attention was drawn to a disturbance near the perimeter of the camp. A soldier was attempting to drag two protesting women back into the camp.
One of the women was kicking the soldier furiously, screaming in some foreign tongue as she slashed at him with a knife. The other woman pushed him. As he watched the soldier struggle for balance on the edge of a ditch it occurred to him there was something familiar about the second woman. The covering slipped from her head as the soldier grabbed at her hair—flaming red tresses he recognised immediately.
“He’s lying, Sire,” he shouted. “That’s Elayne.”
Heedless of the danger, he urged his horse towards the enemy camp as his beloved screamed, then shoved the teetering soldier into the ditch.
~~~
THE SOLDIER MUST HAVE PULLED OUT THE ROOTS OF ELAYNE’S HAIR. Tears blurred her vision. Breathless, she rubbed her tender scalp, blinking rapidly. Bianca had scrambled to her feet and was running back to the encampment, screaming at her. “Hurry, he’ll be angry.”
The thud of hooves thundered in her ears. She turned to see Alex galloping to her rescue. But he was shouting something, waving frantically.
The furious barking of a dog made her swivel her head back in the direction of the tents. The breath left her lungs. Henry had a firm grip on his sister’s hand as they ran towards her. Faol sprang back and forth behind them, lunging and snapping at a handful of pursuing soldiers.
She didn’t know what to do, which way to go. Safety lay with Alex, but she couldn’t abandon her children.
Alex’s shouts reached her ears as he galloped past her. “Run!”
He was risking his life by riding into the enemy camp to save her children. But if he succeeded, there’d be no room on the horse for her. She picked up her playd, lifted her skirts and set off running towards King Stephen and the silver haired knight, who had turned his horse and now kept Geoffrey and his companions at bay with his sword.
She urged her leaden feet to go faster, but the distant horsemen didn’t seem to get any closer.
She daren’t look behind her. If Alex failed she might lose him and her children.
~~~
ALEX NEVER TOOK HIS EYES OFF THE CHILDREN. They’d seen him and continued to run. For the moment Faol was holding off the pursuers, but a well-placed arrow would quickly dispatch the dog. He drew his sword, hoping one hand would be enough to get the children on his horse.
As he reined to a halt in a cloud of dust, Henry went down on one knee and meshed his fingers together. Claricia put her foot in his hands and he shoved her up towards Alex. He got the distinct impression this wasn’t the first time they done this manoeuver. He grasped her hand and lifted her into the saddle. “Face me,” he shouted. “Hold on tight.”
He reached down to grasp Henry’s hand and hoisted him up behind him. “Brave lad,” Alex shouted.
Henry clung to his doublet, then turned to look back. “Faol, come.”
The wolfhound responded immediately and ran to them as Alex wheeled his horse, catching a glimpse of bowmen running out of the encampment, taking aim. He sheathed his sword and urged his horse back to safety, praying the faithful dog would evade the arrows.
Despite the confusion and the thunderous beating of his heart, everything seemed to be taking place in complete silence, except for the thwack of bowstrings. He glanced skyward, surprised to see a volley of arrows arcing above him. Surely they weren’t aiming at the King? He was too far away. Elayne had almost reached him.
He gritted his teeth, concentrating on saving the children he loved. His heart exploded in his chest when only yards in front of him Elayne fell to her knees, then slumped forward, an arrow in her back.
~~~
PAIN CASCADED FROM ELAYNE’S SHOULDER into her aching legs, forcing her to her knees as the breath wooshed out of her lungs. She slumped forward on all fours. King Stephen had seemed so near. She heard the hoofbeats of Alex’s horse behind her. Yet somehow she couldn’t move, couldn’t go on.
She dug her fingers into the earth as everything tilted around her. She fretted about what had happened to her playd.
Pain blazed through her body like a river of fire.
Alex called her name.
She slowly lifted her head. Visions swam before her blurry eyes. King Stephen kicked Geoffrey. The Angevin fell from his horse. The silver haired knight transformed into an angel who took Henry and Claricia under his wings and rode off towards the hills.
Goodbye, my darlings. Don’t forget your Maman.
The sky was suddenly where the earth should have been. She was choking on dust, a metallic taste in her mouth. A wet tongue rasped along her cheek, she smelled dog breath, then Alex drifted into view. She thanked God for one last look at his beloved face. He was crying, murmuring something about removing an arrow. Had he been shot?
Don’t be sad. I love you.
She reached up to cup his face, screaming when a loud crack severed her arm from her body, pushing her into blessed blackness. She was lifted to heaven in Alex’s strong arms.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ALEX MUSED THAT IT HAD BEEN GOD’S PLAN ALL ALONG to bring him to the Abbaye aux Dames. After hours on his knees in the silent chapel, he eased back to sit on the hard wooden bench, careful not to wake Henry and Claricia who’d eventually dozed off in the early morning hours.
The nuns had been solicitous, providing warm blankets and cushions for the twins stretched out either side of him, sleeping soundly.
He closed his weary eyes, praying for the hundredth time he wouldn’t have to tell them their mother had died.
The Abbess had welcomed him like a long lost son when they’d brought Elayne to the Infirmary where he’d been born. She’d been a young postulant when his mother had sought sanctuary at the time of his birth and remembered the event vividly. “Your mother was a brave woman,” she declared, eyeing him up and down. “And what a fine young man you’ve turned out to be.”
The entire community was agog that they’d arrived in the company of a King who admonished them to do everything they could to save Elayne’s life. It had become the collective mission of every nun in the place, including several who still prayed alongside him.
That the babe born there long ago had returned seemed to be heralded as some kind of sign.
Elayne hadn’t woken since he’d broken off the back of the arrow and shoved the shaft through the wound. He’d used her beloved playd to stem the blood. He doubted it would ever be wearable again, but had insisted the nuns not dispose of it.
He planned to have another woven for her when she was well again. He recalled that Dugald’s playd had been slightly different. She’d be able to instruct the weavers at Montbryce as to the proper pattern.
Despite his exhaustion he chuckled, remembering the look of utter shock on Geoffrey’s face when Stephen kicked him off his horse. His minions had scrambled to help him, a task rendered more difficult because one booted foot had caught in the stirrup. Stephen would make sure the whole of Normandie knew of the Angevin’s humiliation. That the avaricious man had been hoodwinked by a pair of eight year olds would rub salt into the wound.
He hadn’t had a chance to properly thank Gallien for carrying the children to safety after he’d had more or less thrown them at his cousin, his mind on helping Elayne.
Even in the throes of agony, she’d told him she loved him. It was ironic. He was a man who’d sworn off marriage, yet now his most fervent and desperate hope was that the woman he loved would survive her ordeal and agree to marry him by the rites of the Church and in the presence of his family.
Romain and Laurent had stayed with him at the Abbaye for several hours, but he’d insisted on their returning to the castle with Gallien to make sure their knights and soldiers were taken care of.
> Fixing his gaze on the flickering sanctuary candle in an effort to stay awake, he thanked God for the light Elayne had brought to his lonely and misguided life. She’d helped him face and overcome demons that had haunted him since birth. He was a whole man now, capable of being a worthy Comte, a true Montbryce, and a loving husband and father.
She’d brought him back into the bosom of his family and given him a new appreciation for his noble heritage.
Henry turned over in his sleep, throwing off the blanket. Alex leaned over to retrieve it from atop the kneeler and moved to cover the boy, startled by the vision of an elderly nun standing silently at the end of the bench. He crushed the blanket in his fists, apprehension catapulting into his gut.
Her facial expression gave nothing away. That she wasn’t smiling was equally meaningless. These women were trained to be detached from worldly things. Earning a place in heaven was the end goal. Death didn’t sadden them.
“You’re summoned to the Infirmary,” she whispered.
He frowned, looking at the children, his heart thudding in his ears.
“I’ll pray with them,” she said, smiling for the first time.
Dare he allow the flicker of hope to grow in his breast?
He reached into his doublet for Elayne’s braided token, handed to him by a nun outside the Infirmary. She thought he’d want to have it. The sight of it had almost brought him to his knees.
He kissed the braid before tucking it back against his heart, rose from the bench, and forced his feet to carry him to the Infirmary.
He hesitated on the threshold. The candle flickering by Elayne’s pallet cast an eerie light on the white linens, illuminating the Infirmarian seated in a chair watching over his beloved.
The nun rose when she saw him. He wondered briefly if this was the same pallet where his mother had brought him into the world, and if the elderly woman who came to greet him had been there then.
She had probably kept vigil for several hours, yet didn’t appear to be tired. “Good news, milord,” she whispered. “She’s awake. I’ve reassured her about the children. You can speak to her for a few minutes if you like. She’s very strong, but we don’t want to tire her.”
He wanted to shout hallelujahs to the heavens, to fall on his knees and praise God, to run to the chapel and fetch Henry and Claricia. He nodded to the smiling nun, waited until the brief dizziness left him, then approached Elayne’s pallet.
She was pale, but her reassuring smile sent pangs of longing shooting through his body. He cupped her face in his hands. “I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured hoarsely.
To his immense relief, she was warm, but not feverish. The thick wad of padding around her shoulder showed no sign of blood seeping.
“I’m alive thanks only to you,” she whispered. “The Infirmarian told me that removing the arrow quickly and stopping the bleeding saved my life.”
He didn’t want to think what might have happened if he hadn’t been there. He took hold of her warm hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “That you live brings meaning to my existence.”
She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.
“Did I hurt you?”
She opened her eyes. “No, my love. You could never hurt me. Where are Henry and Claricia?”
“Asleep in the chapel, after being on their knees for hours. I’ve never known braver children. They take after their mother. You didn’t see how Henry boosted his sister onto my horse.”
Elayne smiled weakly. “Their father taught them that.”
She closed her eyes. After a while he thought she’d fallen asleep, but then she peeled them open. “Faol?” she asked hoarsely.
“Annoyed he’s been made to stay outside the convent walls.”
She laughed, but it turned into a cough that had her wincing at the pain. The Infirmarian bustled over. “Enough for tonight. She must rest.”
He kissed her forehead. “Get well quickly,” he whispered. “We have a wedding to plan.”
She pursed her lips, so he kissed her mouth, tasting parsnips, but it was probably the hemlock in the dwale the nuns had administered to dull the pain.
As her eyelids closed she whispered, “I think the drug is making me conjure nonsensical visions. I dreamt King Stephen kicked Geoffrey of Anjou off his horse, and a silver haired angel carried my children to safety.”
Alex chuckled. “When you’re feeling better, I’ll introduce you to that silver haired angel.”
She nodded but he could tell she was already asleep. He tiptoed out of the Infirmary, elated he could wake his children with the news their mother had survived her ordeal.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
DESIRE CURLED ITS WARM WAY up the backs of Elayne’s thighs and nestled into her most intimate place when Alex kissed her after the priest had given him leave.
Their guests, gathered in the chapel of Montbryce Castle, cheered and clapped loudly. He deepened the kiss, slowly teasing her tongue with his, but she gently broke away, resting her forehead against his. “We must remember a king is watching,” she whispered.
Alex shrugged. “He’s cheering louder than anybody.”
Looking very pretty in a gown of blue velvet trimmed with white ermine that matched her mother’s outfit exactly, Claricia giggled, her little hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes dancing.
Henry rolled his eyes at his sister as if she was the silliest girl in the world, then patted Faol’s head.
The dog hadn’t moved a muscle nor made a sound throughout the ceremony, despite being obliged to wear a heavily jewelled collar in honor of the occasion.
King Stephen came forward to greet them. “Let me be the first to congratulate you both on a fine match.”
Alex bowed. “Majesté, we’re honored you came to our wedding. You’ve been back and forth across the Narrow Sea many times since we last met, and Normandie is not the safest place to travel these days.”
Stephen took Elayne’s hand as she curtseyed, brushing his lips across her knuckles. While it was exciting to be so honored by a king, and Stephen was a handsome man, his touch didn’t move her in the slightest.
“Such are the burdens of a king, but I was determined to come. If not for your bravery, Caen would have been in serious peril. How could I not attend after your husband’s generous gift to the Crown of so many excellent war tents? Besides, you’ve made a remarkable recovery in only three short months, my dear.
“Now, greet your guests and then we’ll enjoy the famous Montbryce cuisine, hopefully followed by a tumbler or two of apple brandy.”
Romain and Laurent came to congratulate them as the king wandered off. It amused her that Alex couldn’t conceal his impatience when both brothers-by-marriage lingered over the kisses and hugs of congratulations. Neither brother hid his amusement, and she enjoyed their deliberate needling. It reminded her of the tit for tat she and Beathan had indulged in as children. It was heartwarming that Romain and Laurent had welcomed her as a sister.
Gradually the celebrations moved into the Great Hall where she and Alex took their places on the dais.
She leaned over to whisper in her husband’s ear, tempted to nibble on his earlobe. “I hope this feast doesn’t deplete your stocks of apple brandy.”
He looked at her as if she’d spoken in Greek. “You’ve never been in the cellars, have you?”
She shook her head, wondering what he meant.
He gently pressed her fingertips to his mouth. “On the morrow I’ll show you. This night I have more pressing things to take care of,” he teased.
The Hall suddenly seemed stiflingly hot. During the long weeks of her convalescence, they’d kissed and held hands. After her recovery, they’d made a pledge to refrain from joining their bodies as penance for their unintentional adultery. It had been torture to spend every day with the man she loved and not touch him.
Henry and Claricia had easily fallen into calling Alex Papa, and it gladdened her heart to see the love he lavished on his stepchildren.<
br />
The feasting went on for hours as the cooks produced one mouth watering dish after another. It had been decided to begin with miniature pastries filled with beef marrow, followed by the famous truite à la Montbryce.
“You will love this trout,” Alex assured her, offering a chunk on the end of his eating dagger. “It’s cooked in a manner handed down from La Cuisinière, a legendary cook at the castle in my grandfather’s time. Even I am ignorant of the special ingredient that makes it unique. It’s a closely guarded secret.”
It melted in her mouth. “I will have to learn it if I’m to be the Comtesse. Perhaps one of your sisters knows?”
Alex chuckled, looking across the Hall to where Marguerite and Catherine sat with their husbands and children. “You can ask—”
He was interrupted when the entire assembly of several hundred guests came to their feet as King Stephen rose unexpectedly to offer a toast to the long dead La Cuisinière. Shouts of agreement followed his brief speech. Elayne wondered if perhaps His Majesty had already sampled a few tumblers of apple brandy.
A small bowl of broth with bacon was followed by roasted larks, chosen because they were a favorite of Alex’s. He teased Elayne by feeding her the dainty bits of succulent meat by hand from their shared trencher. His blue eyes darkened when she licked the grease off his fingers.
Roast lamb with leeks and onions came next. Elayne exacted her revenge by feeding the meat to Alex. They both laughed out loud when they caught sight of Claricia trying to feed her brother by hand. He brushed the food away, his patience obviously near its end.
“I suppose siblings are the same everywhere,” Alex said.
“Aye,” she agreed, arching her brows. “If he thinks she’s annoying now, wait until she grows up a little and learns feminine wiles.”
Her husband took her hand beneath the table and placed it on his arousal. “I can’t wait to sample your feminine wiles again.”
It was the first time she’d touched him intimately in weeks. The fire of longing in his eyes and the hard proof of his need blazed a path of wanting that burned in every part of her body. She was dizzy with desire, but before she could respond, Romain and Laurent stood, goblets in hand.
Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance) Page 19
