“Hold on to the chair while I dry you,” she said. “Danyel has laid out your robe. I’ll help you dress.”
He gripped the chair, feeling nauseous. “You’re not my servant.”
Dorianne dabbed carefully at the livid scars on his back. “Robert, I love you. I’ll serve you all my life. I’ll be the one to nurse you back to health.”
She dried his body, kissing him tenderly as she applied salve to his back. The painful pleasure was more than he could bear, but he didn’t have the strength to fight her.
“Now get back into bed and I’ll fetch your son. Your mother is anxious to see you.”
He sat on the bed with her help. “How can you love what I’ve become? Even my mother won’t recognize me. I can barely walk.”
Dorianne cupped his face in her hands. “Robert, because the Duke wanted to destroy you doesn’t make you less of a man. That dubious honour falls to him and my mad brother.”
She went to the door where her mother-by-marriage waited with the babe. She took her son so Mabelle could untie Robert’s blindfold. He squinted to look at his mother for the first time in months. The long ordeal had taken its toll. She’d aged. She would have missed his father’s support and guidance during the abduction. She embraced him, her eyes filled with tears, her voice breaking. “Welcome home, my son. I know you’re anxious to meet my grandson.”
He’d avoided looking at Dorianne, afraid he would see how repulsive she found him. Now he dragged his eyes to her face. She too hadn’t escaped unscathed. She’d gained weight, which was to be expected, but fear, not revulsion haunted her. He wanted to cover the face he’d longed to see with a thousand kisses—anything to remove the fear from her eyes.
Dorianne took the child and placed him in his father’s arms, opening the swaddling cloths to let him see his son’s maleness. Robert gazed into eyes as blue as his own then cradled his son against his body, rocking back and forth. “What’s your name, mon fils? I’m your father, Robert de Montbryce.”
A sob escaped Dorianne’s throat. “I named him Alexandre, for the warrior king Alexander of Macedonia. I wanted him to have a strong name.”
“Alexandre de Montbryce,” Robert murmured.
The baby fussed. Robert trembled “Your Papa is afraid to drop you. You need your maman.”
He handed the child back to Dorianne. She adjusted her dress and chemise, settled on the edge of Robert’s bed and put the baby to her breast. Robert became aroused at the sight of the boy suckling, but his arousal brought home to him sharply the shame ingrained in him during his captivity when he’d been unable to control his burning need. He lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes, fatigue and guilt sweeping over him. “Leave me now. I’m tired,” he said coldly.
Mabelle eyed him curiously and suggested they wait until the baby had finished.
He became more agitated. “Non, maman, leave me now—please.”
“It’s all right, Robert. We’ll go. I’ll bring Alexandre back when you’ve rested,” Dorianne said softly.
After they left the chamber, Robert put his head in his hands. He’d sent away the very people he’d longed to see when he was a captive. He couldn’t understand his own actions. He ran his hand over his head and felt the light stubble. “Poor Alexandre. What a sight for his first glimpse of his father. No wonder my mother looked at me strangely.”
Exhaustion weighed heavily and he slept.
***
Alexandre was still fussing as Mabelle and Dorianne left Robert’s chamber. Mabelle held out her hands. “Let me take him to the wet nurse, Dorianne. You need to rest.”
Could her mother-by-marriage see the agony in her eyes? She had expected it to be bad, but it was much worse than her worst nightmare.
She nodded woodenly and handed the squirming infant over. Mabelle hurried off with him, and Dorianne turned to go to her own chamber. She controlled her need to scream until her head was buried in her pillow. The sobs racked her body until she thought she might choke. She still loved Robert, but this was going to take much more than love to heal. Something in her husband had died. She could see it in his eyes. Would she be equal to the task of bringing him back to life?
He would never love her again after what she’d allowed her brother to do to him. She vowed to atone for her brother’s sin by accepting that Robert would be repulsed by her. She would love him anyway.
***
Robert woke to find Baudoin and Caedmon standing beside his bed.
Baudoin smiled. “You look better already. Better than you did in Caen at any rate.”
Robert shrugged, then regretted the movement.
Baudoin sat on the edge of the bed. “Caedmon and I are leaving today. We’ll catch up to the King and return to England with him. I’m sorry we can’t stay longer, but you’re well armed and guarded here, and Curthose will keep out of harm’s way for the moment.”
“Baudoin, Caedmon, I owe you my life,” Robert said humbly.
Baudoin grinned at him, but Robert could see his brother didn’t want to let his emotions show. “Make the best of that life then, brother.”
Robert rose slowly from the bed and the three clasped hands.
Caedmon too was emotional. “Take care of your little lad, Robert. He needs a strong father, and Dorianne needs you. She suffered. It was her courage carried them both through.”
“I know,” Robert whispered. “Godspeed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Mabelle was worried. In the two months since his release Robert had regained some weight, and looked physically better, but his recovery wasn’t easy for him, or for Dorianne. She suspected they hadn’t lain together since her son’s return. Dorianne had lost her buoyant nature.
Mabelle commented on Robert’s improved appearance to her daughter-by-marriage as they sat together in the gallery, embroidering a new banner for the Hall.
Dorianne smiled. “Oui, he trains with the men, rebuilding his muscles.”
Mabelle looked at her thoughtfully and continued sewing for several minutes before she spoke again. “Are the lacerations on his back healed?”
Dorianne hesitated. “Oui, but he’ll bear the scars.”
Both women knew it was an ignominious mark no Norman of noble birth should have to bear.
The pop of the sharp needles puncturing the heavy fabric and the whisper of the embroidery silk as they pulled the threads were the only sounds in the still air. Mabelle didn’t know if she should interfere or if Dorianne would resent her for it.
“Does he sleep well?”
Dorianne looked up quickly and tensed her shoulders. Then she looked away, but not before Mabelle had seen the desolation in her eyes.
Mabelle lay down her needle and put her hand on Dorianne’s. “Sometimes a burden shared—”
Dorianne drew in a long breath and a tear trickled down her cheek. “We no longer share a chamber, but I know he has nightmares. Hellish nightmares.”
Mabelle put her arm around Dorianne’s shoulders and hugged her. “It’s to be expected, I suppose, but it can’t be easy for you.”
Dorianne sniffled. “He dreams of the horrors he endured, of the flogging, of the moment he thought all was lost and he would die alone. I know it’s because of the nightmares he’s afraid to share my bed. He curls up every night with the cat he procured from the rat-catcher. He dotes on the creature.”
“Baudoin told me Robert murmured your name when they found him, but it was a cat’s cry that first alerted them.”
A wail escaped Dorianne’s lips. “I love him, but sometimes he flies into violent rages at the slightest provocation. It’s hard to gentle him back to calmness. He complains of strange noises no one else can hear. Sometimes I’m afraid. How can he not blame me for trusting my brother?”
Mabelle had seen some of the terrifying rages Dorianne spoke of. “I too have seen insignificant things send him into a panic.”
Dorianne wiped away tears. “One day when Alexandre spat up his food, Robert broke do
wn and cried.”
Mabelle was bereft she didn’t know how to resolve these problems. How she longed for Ram’s comfort. He’d have known how to help Robert in his recovery. She and Dorianne stayed in the gallery, holding hands, until darkness fell.
***
Though his body was stronger, Robert was painfully aware he wasn’t recovering from his ordeal. He often woke in the night panting, terrified of suffocating. He wanted to lie with his wife, but was still overwhelmed with guilt. He was an unworthy sinner.
Alexandre’s insistent cries for nourishment threatened to send him over the edge and he became verbally abusive. “Silence your whining child, Dorianne. By the saints, feed the boy.”
He avoided his daughters, afraid of his impatience with their shrieks of laughter. He raged inwardly, knowing how hurtful his words were to his wife. He longed to hold her, caress her and make love to her, but he was afraid and full of shame. He wasn’t worthy of her.
The desire for vengeance never left him. Sometimes it threatened to engulf him. He dreamt of the different ways he would torture and kill Curthose. His black humours were short lived and he was always contrite. It was difficult for everyone and he could tell his behaviour was taking a toll on his mother especially. She spent most of her days in the crypt and he suspected she went there to “talk” to his father.
One day his mother didn’t appear for the evening meal. Robert went down into the crypt knowing he’d find her there. On Ram’s tomb she’d placed a posy of bluebells picked earlier in the day with the help of one of the maidservants. Her head rested on her husband’s tomb, her arms around the neck of the stone effigy on its surface. He called his mother’s name, but she didn’t respond, and before he touched her he knew she was dead.
“Maman,” he whispered tearfully. “You are at last reunited with your beloved Ram.” With all the strength he could muster, he carried her up to her chamber.
Mabelle de Montbryce’s remains were entombed beside her husband’s. They lay side by side in death as they did in life, watched over by the Montbryce crest and motto, “Fide et Virtute! Faith and Valour.”
Dorianne keened at his side. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, feeling her tremble.
“I will miss her,” she whimpered.
He recognised with pangs of guilt that his mother had been his wife’s only comfort while he dealt with his demons. He looked up at the crest as the bishop completed the funerary rites. He’d kept faith and survived his torment. He swore to his dead mother and father he would bring only honour to the family name, and he silently thanked them for their gifts of courage and love. He couldn’t have survived his ordeal without them. He promised to fill his own life and those of his wife and children with love. He would recover from his captivity because of the overwhelming love Dorianne had for him. She was nursing him back to health, helping him slay his demons. One day he would be whole again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
With his problems in England resolved, King Henry returned to Normandie in the summer of the year of Our Lord One Thousand One Hundred and Six. Robert de Montbryce wanted desperately to fight with Henry against Curthose and deemed he was sufficiently recovered. He had to be part of the destruction of Curthose. He needed the closure.
After taking the fortified abbey of Saint-Pierre-sur-Dives, Henry’s army turned south and besieged the castle of Tinchebray, on a hill above the town, not far from Caen. Tinchebray, on the border of the county of Mortain, in the southwest of Normandie, was held by the Comte, who was one of the few important Norman barons still loyal to Curthose. The Duke brought up his forces to break the siege. After unsuccessful negotiations, battle was inevitable.
On the Twenty-eighth day of September the Battle of Tinchebray was fought between Henry and Curthose.
Henry's army was organized into three groups. These were commanded by Ranulf of Bayeux, Robert de Beaumont, and William de Warenne. Also on Henry's side were Alain, Duke of Brittany, William, Count of Évreux, Ralph of Tosny, Robert and Baudoin de Montbryce, their half-brother Caedmon FitzRambaud, and Robert of Grandmesil. In addition Henry had a reserve force, commanded by Elias of Maine, out of sight on the flank. Hugh’s sons Melton and Izzy, and Antoine’s boys, Adam and Mathieu, were part of that force.
On Curthose's side were William, Count of Mortain, François de Giroux and Robert of Bellême.
The battle itself lasted a brief hour. Henry dismounted and ordered most of his knights to do the same. Mortain charged the front line. The intervention of Henry's reserve force proved decisive. Most of Curthose’s army was captured or killed.
François de Giroux was among the captured Curthose supporters, but was subsequently released by the King. He pledged his allegiance to Henry and was allowed to return to his castle with what remained of the body of his son, Pierre. Robert dreaded imparting the news to Dorianne.
Baudoin and Caedmon saw action in what essentially became a running battle over several miles, and Robert was proud his brothers and cousins had come to join him in this crucial fight.
He requested and received a boon from his king—he wanted to be in the party of knights seeking to apprehend the Duke. When the fugitive was trapped at a farm two miles north of Tinchebray and forced into surrender, Robert itched to run him through with his sword. The dark memories washed over him, but he didn’t want the blood of the King’s brother on his hands.
He handed Curthose over to the King, but not before goading him in a proud and steady voice and with a mock bow. “Your Grace, I am Robert de Montbryce, of late your guest in Caen. I hope for your sake the prison your brother the King has in mind for you is better than the one you inflicted on me. You will be in prison much longer than I was.”
***
When they arrived back at Montbryce, there was a message for Baudoin. Dorianne herself delivered it to him. Her daughters clung to her skirts and she held Alexandre in her arms. She thrust the missive into Baudoin’s hand as he dismounted. Her expression told them it wasn’t good news.
Before he read the message, Baudoin looked at Dorianne. “Robert will find it hard to tell you this, sister, so I will. Pierre was killed at Tinchebray. Robert was not the one who slew him. I did.”
She swayed and clutched Alexandre. “My father?” she whispered.
“He was captured, but swore his allegiance to Henry and was released. He took Pierre’s body home.”
Dorianne only nodded.
Baudoin opened the message. Caedmon watched his brother’s face draw into tight lines as he read it.
“What is it?” he asked.
Baudoin exhaled loudly. “I suppose I should have expected this. Rhun and Rhydderch have been arrested by the Earl of Chester and sentenced to hang in a fortnight. Carys is distraught for her brothers. I must return at once to see what I can do.”
“I’ll journey with you,” Caedmon said.
Robert put his arm around Baudoin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about Carys’s brothers. Rhodri must be devastated. The Earl of Chester has already done much for me and our family. Will we never know peace?”
Caedmon braced his legs, determined not to let his younger brothers lose heart. “Listen, we’ve achieved our father’s goal. Normandie and England are again subject to one ruler, King Henry, son of the Conqueror, the only one of his children born in England. The political strife had been put to rest. But the battles aren’t over. Now Baudoin, you and I will ride to help Carys’s brothers. We must be our father’s sons and protect this family. We’re his legacy.”
The three men embraced, too overcome with emotion to speak. Baudoin and Caedmon hugged Dorianne and her children. Dorianne sniffled back her tears as they kissed Alexandre, and then Catherine and Marguerite begged to be picked up. The two men crouched. Baudoin lifted Catherine and Caedmon hoisted Marguerite onto his shoulders. They clung to their uncles, giggling. “Goodbye, beautiful nieces,” Caedmon said.
“Au revoir, oncle Caedmon, oncle Baudoin,” they replied.
&nbs
p; Baudoin lowered Catherine to the ground and mounted his stallion.
Caedmon put one arm around Robert’s shoulder and drew him aside. In a low voice he said, “When we leave, Robert, turn around and take a good look at your family. You’ve wreaked your revenge on Curthose, now you must defeat whatever demons are destroying your wife and children. Look into the eyes of this child on my shoulders. She needs you.”
Robert nodded slowly, and reached up to take Marguerite. For a moment Caedmon feared she would make strange with the father she barely knew. But then she put out her arms and clasped Robert tightly around the neck.
“Godspeed, my brother,” Robert rasped, holding his daughter tightly.
***
Dorianne gasped when she saw how fiercely Robert held on to his little girl. Was there hope now that he could learn to love them again? She had resigned herself that she would never again be the object of his love, but his children—she knew what it was to grow up without a father’s love.
He walked over to her and put his arm around her waist. It was the first time for months he had willingly touched her, and her knees buckled. He held her up, as if sensing her distress. “Let’s get inside. I must get this armour off.”
He crouched and beckoned Catherine, who had again taken refuge in her mother’s skirts. She looked at Marguerite then held out her arms. He lifted her and carried both of them into the keep. “My father was good with children,” he said to Dorianne.
She could barely speak. “Oui, he was,” she rasped.
Alexandre seemed suddenly to become aware his sisters were being carried by their father. He squirmed in Dorianne’s arms and reached out to Robert. “Papa,” he begged.
Robert turned. His eyes had filled with tears. “That’s the first time I’ve heard him say my name.”
Dorianne tried to soothe Alexandre. She stroked his hair off his face. “Papa will pick you up when he’s got his armour off,” she cajoled. He was not to be placated. Robert laughed and crouched to put the girls down. He smiled at them. “Can I put you down for a few moments, while I kiss your brother?”
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