Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance)

by Markland, Anna

  “Make it quick,” Alex growled to his brothers, causing general amusement among the guests seated near the dais, except for Marguerite and Catherine who pretended to look shocked.

  Romain winked at Elayne and she feared he would deliberately talk on and on.

  “Majesté,” he began, bowing to the King, “guests, and friends. It is my honor to offer a toast to my brother and his new wife. Laurent and I have always known the right woman would come along to be Alex’s Comtesse, and we were right. Elayne is a person of great courage who we are confident will assist my brother in upholding the proud traditions and standing of this noble family.”

  It touched her heart that the often flippant Romain had to pause to clear his throat, evidently moved by his own words.

  “What my brother is trying to say,” Laurent continued, “is that we love you both and wish you many years of happiness.”

  He raised his goblet. “I ask that everyone stand and raise their goblets to Alexandre and Elayne, the Comte and Comtesse de Montbryce.”

  The toast was echoed around the Hall, followed by the loud banging of empty goblets on wooden tables.

  Faol barked enthusiastically.

  A simple sweet of frumenty was served along with spiced wine. The King cheered the loudest when casks of apple brandy were set up on a trestle table and guests invited by Bonhomme to help themselves.

  Elayne noted the ever vigilant Steward had posted a manservant at each cask to assist those wishing to draw the golden liquid. He’d also placed half a dozen vases with leafy twigs on the trestle tables. She wondered what they were.

  Alex came to his feet. “Before everyone rushes off to get their apple brandy, you will see some greenery next to the casks. This morning, Steward Bonhomme and his men were able to snip new growth from a few of the burned trees in the orchard.”

  His unexpected announcement was met with a moment of stunned silence, followed by wild cheering and more barking from Faol.

  Alex raised his hand and the guests slowly quieted. “I consider this a sign from God that our orchards will rise again from the ashes.”

  Cheers broke out once more. Alex waited patiently for the noise to abate, smiling. “My life used to be barren and bleak until I met Elayne and her children. They have breathed life into me, and I will bear fruit.”

  She felt her face redden as guffaws, goblet banging, clapping and whistling filled the air. Did he suspect what she herself had only recently acknowledged, that she had already conceived?

  Alex regained his seat just as King Stephen rose from his chair again, motioning the guests to remain in their places. Somehow he’d already procured a tumbler of apple brandy, which he held aloft. “I think it’s Elayne who’ll be bearing the fruit, my friend.”

  More laughing and cheering. Elayne wished she had something cool to press to her burning face.

  “Seriously,” he continued, “I offer a salute to this family and to the as yet unborn fifth Comte de Montbryce. He will follow in the footsteps of four great and gallant Normans, Bernard, Rambaud, Robert and Alexandre. To the Montbryces.”

  “To the Montbryces,” echoed around the Hall.

  Swaying noticeably, the King called for silence. “Now, Alex, take your bride to bed so the rest of us can enjoy our brandy in peace.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Alex silently thanked Stephen. After all, he couldn’t disobey a king! He grasped Elayne’s hand. “Quick, upstairs.”

  They dashed towards the staircase that led to his chamber. But he wasn’t fast enough. His brothers had beaten them to it and now blocked their way.

  Romain grinned. “Tsk, tsk, mon frère, trying to escape without a proper escort?”

  He and Laurent hunkered down. Romain pointed to his shoulder. “Up.”

  Shaking his head, Alex reluctantly let go of Elayne’s hand and allowed himself to be hoisted atop his brothers’ shoulders.

  Four burly young men appeared with a chair, inviting Elayne to sit, then they lifted it onto their broad shoulders.

  Alex kept looking behind him as they made their unsteady way up the stone steps, worried Romain’s inebriated friends might accidentally pitch Elayne out of the chair, but she seemed to be holding on tightly to the arms. Her laughter warmed his heart.

  Suddenly Henry, Claricia and Faol appeared, ascending the staircase, Claricia carefully holding up the skirts of her gown.

  “Maman,” she shouted. “Wait for us.”

  Alex wanted to laugh. He’d been so intent on getting Elayne into bed, he’d forgotten all about saying good night to his children. The responsibilities of being a father sometimes slipped his mind. From his perch he looked down on the hopeful threesome. “Your Maman and I are going to sleep together this night in my chamber, and you will sleep in yours.”

  Henry turned to his sister. “Told you.”

  Claricia stamped her foot and scowled, tightening her grip on the folds of her gown. “But you didn’t say goodnight.”

  Elayne had been chewing on her knuckles, he suspected in an effort to stifle her amusement, but now she sobered, and asked her bearers to lower her chair.

  She sat on one of the steps and Henry and Claricia snuggled into her, one on each side. Faol tried to push in but gave up and squeezed his big body onto the step below.

  Contentment flowed over Alex as he watched his new family. Romain and Laurent squeezed his hands. A vivid memory struck him so forcefully he almost fell from their shoulders. He and Romain had sat here as small boys with their father.

  “I remember,” he rasped. “Maman was sick and Papa sat here with us, his arms around our shoulders, comforting us.”

  Romain nodded. “We didn’t know then she was enceinte with Laurent.”

  Alex slipped from his perch and came to sit on the step below Faol. “It was thoughtless of us to leave without wishing you goodnight.”

  Henry nodded soberly.

  Claricia smiled coyly, leaning into her mother.

  Elayne pecked a kiss on their foreheads. “Goodnight, my children.”

  Alex rose, holding out his arms to Henry. The boy came into his embrace willingly. “Goodnight, Papa. Sleep well.”

  Elayne chuckled, her face red.

  He put Henry down, then picked up Claricia. She hugged him fiercely. “Goodnight, Dadaidh Lix,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  Alex couldn’t speak, unable to think what he’d done to deserve this happiness. He put the child down. “I love you too,” he croaked. “Go now to Tante Marguerite. Rosetta must be wondering where you are.”

  Claricia’s eyes widened with glee. She turned to follow Henry and Faol who’d already started down the steps, but seemed to change her mind. “Maman, what did the King mean that you’ll be bearing fruit? You’re not a tree.”

  Alex struggled to keep his demeanour serious as he put a hand on her shoulder. “I think you should go ask Tante Marguerite that question.”

  EPILOGUE

  ELAYNE AND ALEX LAY UNDER THE COVERS still fully clothed, holding hands, exhausted by a fit of giggling that had seized them the moment their escorts left the chamber.

  Remaining clothed had been Romain’s idea so the Bishop could enter and bless their marriage bed. “He’ll never know you’re still clothed, and why would he care? Just take off your doublet, Alex, and pull the linens up to your chins. This way we’ll get rid of him faster.”

  Keeping a serious and respectful expression on their faces had been difficult as the cleric sprinkled holy water and recited the blessing.

  Elayne and Alex had earlier discussed their suspicions that Romain and Laurent, with the help of friends, planned to strip their brother after the Bishop left, and tease him in front of his new wife.

  They too had a plan. As soon as Alex made a show of removing Elayne’s clothing, the boisterous group left, pouting and casting aspersions on Alex’s ability to have fun.

  “Romain’s right,” Alex rasped. “I never did know how to have fun.” He eased over onto his side t
o face her and put a hand on her waist. “Until I met you.”

  She turned her head and smiled at him, content beyond imagining at the love burning in his eyes. She put her hand over his. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love you’ve brought into my life, Alex. I didn’t know what love was until I met you.”

  He leaned over to kiss her. His warm lips tasted of spiced wine. She opened her mouth, craving his tongue, his breath, thirsting for his moisture. Cradling her face in his hands, he nibbled her lower lip, then sucked on it before plunging his tongue in again. When he broke them apart he whispered, “You taste wonderful. I want to see your body. It’s been too long.”

  His deep voice bathed her in a warm, vibrating glow. She felt at once calmed and excited. Though his words were arousing, they were uttered with love. “Undress me,” she whispered into his mouth.

  He helped her sit up. “Move to the edge.”

  He knelt in front of her and ran his fingertips up her skirt, easing down first one, then the other garter, then peeling off her hose. She leaned back on her elbows, watching him as he kissed her toes, one at a time, stoking the fire building in her loins.

  She’d long since lost the veil she’d worn in the chapel. Alex unpinned her hair, licking his lips as it fell around her shoulders.

  “Stand up,” he commanded, reaching for her hand.

  He bent to grasp the hem of her blue gown and in one quick movement pulled it off over her head. Her chemise clung to it and came off at the same time, leaving her suddenly completely naked, her hair standing on end. He tossed the garments away, his eyes raking her from head to toe, but she felt no nervousness. She wanted him to look at her, but she wondered if he could tell she was enceinte.

  “You’re a goddess,” he rasped.

  She held out her arms. “And you are my blue eyed god.”

  He yanked off his linen shirt and threw it onto the pile of discarded clothing. It struck her then that he really was sculpted like a Greek god, an Adonis, lean, muscled, beautiful. Her throat was a desert. All the moisture in her body seemed to have pooled between her legs.

  He took hold of her hands, placing them on the laces of his leggings. “I want you to take them off.”

  Glancing at the bulge at his groin intensified the aching need. She untied the fastenings and quickly eased his leggings and braes from his hips and over his arousal. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said hoarsely.

  He was as big and thick as she’d remembered in her dreams and fantasies. She pressed her body to his, feeling the warmth of his engorged flesh on her belly.

  You have planted a child there, my love.

  He shoved the leggings down over his knees and kicked them off. “Lay down, I want to taste your sweetness.”

  Her body still held the memory of the blissful sensations he’d ignited the last time he’d put his mouth on her. She lay back, opening her legs without hesitation.

  He licked and suckled and drank like a man newly delivered from the desert. She played with his hair, relishing its softness. “I love that,” she murmured, cupping her breasts with her hands, brushing a thumb over each nipple.

  He flicked his tongue back and forth over her happy nub. She squeezed her nipples, arched her back and let herself fall into an abyss of bliss, where there was no necessity to breathe, no need for sounds—only the intense feelings mattered, sensations that flowed into her womb, her spine, her toes, the top of her head, spasms of pleasure that went on and on.

  ~~~

  ALEX HAD NEVER ACQUIRED THE SKILL of playing a musical instrument, but he was a maestro now as Elayne’s body responded to his touch.

  As her breathing steadied he lay on his back and pulled her on top of him, burying his face in the fan of her hair, inhaling the faint traces of the sprig of spring jasmine she’d worn for the ceremony.

  She came to her knees and straddled him. “I need you inside me,” she whispered, her eyes still darkened with desire, her voice sultry.

  His cock saluted as the swollen tip touched the wet heat of her woman’s place. She lowered her body onto his, taking all of him quickly.

  “Don’t move,” he rasped. “I want to feel you pulse on me.”

  She stilled, reaching one hand behind her to fondle his couilles, never unlocking her gaze from his.

  His heart swelled when she began to croon softly.

  Car tant vous aim, sans mentir

  Qu'on poroit avant tarir

  La haute mer

  Et ses ondes retenir

  Que me peusse alentir

  de vous amer.

  Sans fausser; car mi penser,

  Mi souvenir, mi plaisir

  Et mi desir sont sans finer

  En vous que ne puis guerpir n'entroublier

  The words of the haunting love song weren’t in his language, but it was close enough that he recognized it. “Where did you learn to sing in Provençal?”

  She smiled. “At home, in Scotland. More than one troubadour made his way to the court of King Dabíd.”

  She moved up and down on him slowly, only once, still cupping his couilles.

  “Dieu, it doesn’t get much better than this,” he rasped as need built within him. “Do you understand the words?”

  She pouted. “Of course I do.”

  She sang to him again, this time in his own language. “I love you so much, truly, that the deep sea could dry up, its waves held back, before my love for you lessened.”

  She rode him faster as she sang. “’Tis true, for my thoughts, my memories, my pleasures and my desires are perpetually of you, whom I cannot leave or even briefly forget.”

  The lilt of her beautiful voice, the love in her eyes and in her words, the grip of her tight, wet sheath conspired together to carry him to the edge of ecstasy. He turned her onto her back and lifted her hips, pulling her legs to his chest. He curled his arms around her calves as he thrust in and out, in and out, the inexorable rhythm finally releasing him as his seed erupted into her body. He called her name again and again as euphoria washed over him, cleansing his soul.

  Long minutes later, as his breathing steadied, he kissed her legs, tracing his fingertips over her thighs when his sated cock slipped slowly from her body. “God willing, we’ve made a child this night,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “Impossible,” she replied, taking him off guard.

  He gathered her into his arms. “Don’t worry, Elayne. You will bear more children. It may take us a while, but—”

  She giggled. “No, I mean we already made one before.”

  It took a moment or two before he understood. He carefully placed a hand on her belly. “You’re enceinte?”

  She put her hand atop his, her eyes wide with happiness. “Perhaps I’m carrying the next Comte de Montbryce.”

  He came to his knees beside her on the bed and leaned over to bestow a reverent kiss below her ribs. “I thought my joy complete, but you’ve proven me wrong. We’ll name him Bernard Alexandre Rambaud Robert de Montbryce.”

  She laughed heartily, renewing interest in his couilles. “That’s a mouthful. Maybe he’ll be known simply as Barr.”

  He frowned. “Barr?”

  She eased up to support herself with her elbows. Her beautiful breasts were bigger now she was with child, the areolas darker. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed, but then it had been a while.

  Her voice jolted him from his preoccupation. “Don’t you see? B-A-R-R.”

  “Hmm. Barr de Montbryce. It does have a certain appeal.”

  FAMILY TREE

  MORE ANNA MARKLAND

  Hearts and Crowns is Gallien’s story.

  You’ve learned a lot about Alexandre’s grandfather, Ram de Montbryce. His story begins with Conquering Passion, the first book in The Montbryce Legacy Series. Get all four books in the series at significant savings in the Boxed Set.

  If you’d like to know more about Alexandre’s father, Robert, you’ll want to read Passion in the Blood.

  FROM
THE AUTHOR

  Thank you for reading Fatal Truths. Alexandre was one of the most difficult of the Montbryces to write about. He wasn’t eager to tell me his story, but then along came Elayne and her children!

  If you’d like to leave a review where you purchased the book, or on Goodreads, I would appreciate it.

  I’d love you to visit my newly revamped website and my Facebook page, Anna Markland Novels.

  Tweet me @annamarkland.

  I was born and educated in England, but I’ve lived most of my life in Canada. I was an educator for 25 years. It was a rewarding career, financially, spiritually and emotionally.

  After that I worked with my husband in the management of his businesses. He’s a born entrepreneur who likes to boast he’s never had a job!

  My final “career” was as Director of Administration of a global disaster relief organization.

  Anyway, not content to fade away into retirement gracefully, I embarked upon writing a romance, essentially for my own satisfaction. I chose the medieval period mainly because that genre of historical romance is one I enjoy reading.

  I have a keen interest in genealogy. This hobby has had a tremendous influence on my stories. My medieval romances are about family honor, ancestry, and roots. As an amateur genealogist, I cherished a dream (as do many) of tracing my own English roots back to the Norman Conquest—an impossibility since I am not descended from nobility! So I made up a family and my stories follow its members through successive generations.

  One of the things I enjoy most about writing historical romance is the in-depth research necessary to provide readers with an authentic medieval experience. I based the plot of my first novel, Conquering Passion, on an incident that actually happened to a Norman noblewoman.

  Having said that, there is no documented evidence that King Stephen ever kicked Count Geoffrey of Anjou off his horse, but once I had the image in my head, I couldn’t get rid of it! I beg poetic license!