Her eyes watered and the trembling began anew. “I’m sorry. I must have eaten spoiled food.”
The Countess shrugged. “No need to apologise. I am a healer. How long have you been feeling sick?”
Peri lay back against the bolster. “A few days, but only first thing in the morning.”
The Countess looked at her curiously. “Gallien said nothing?”
Peri felt her face redden. “He is an early riser. Usually he is gone before I awake.”
“When were your last courses?”
Peri had to think back. “November.”
The Countess grinned. “My dear, you are with child.”
Peri gasped. Of course! Fermentine’s courses had stopped. Peri had thought she was late because of the Yuletide festivities and the long journey. She gaped at her mother-by-marriage, a lead weight settling in her gut. Gallien had gone off to war leaving her with a child in her belly. But it was obvious he cared naught for her, nor for any offspring she might bring forth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Whoa! Gallien. I am not your enemy,” Étienne shouted as the broad side of his brother’s sword whacked his bicep. “We are training, not trying to kill each other.”
Gallien wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his shirt sleeve and threw his sword to the ground. “I’m sorry, Étienne, my thoughts were elsewhere.”
Dangling his battered arm at his side, Étienne used one hand to rub his wet hair with a linen. Despite the January chill, both men had perspired with the exercise. “Your thoughts have been elsewhere since we left Westminster. What ails you?”
Gallien picked up his muddied sword. “I am tired of waiting here in Pevensey for the ships that are supposed to take us to Boulogne-sur-Mer. It’s been three days of watching knights arrive from far-flung parts of England.” He picked up an oiled cloth and wiped his sword, examining the edge. “A man can only sharpen his weapons so many times.”
Étienne shook his head, his black hair a tangled mess. “Non, brother, you were a bear with a sore paw before that. It was hard to leave your wife—”
Gallien held up his hand. “Enough! I don’t wish to talk about Peri.”
As he and his brother had traded blows, he could not forget the bitter memory of Peri in Devlin de Villiers’ arms.
Étienne braced his legs. “You know what your problem is, brother?”
Gallien bit his bottom lip, glaring at his sibling. “Non, but I am sure you are going to tell me.”
Étienne backed up a pace or two. “You are the luckiest man alive to have a wife like Peri, but you refuse to see it. You’re determined to believe she is Felicité, when no two people could be more different.”
Gallien scowled. Hearing his wife’s pet nickname on his brother’s lips intensified his pain. Would he choke on the words if he told of his discovery? “I caught her.”
Étienne snorted. “Doing what?”
“With de Villiers. In the corridor below the west gallery. History repeats itself.”
Étienne gaped at him. “And what did she say when you questioned her?”
Gallien studied his boots. “I did not speak to her of it.”
Étienne poked Gallien’s chest. “Now I understand why she did not come to bid us farewell. You stayed away from your bedchamber. She did not know we were leaving, did she?”
Feigning nonchalance, Gallien shoved Étienne’s hand away, swiping the air with his sword. “I am sure of what I saw.”
“You are a fool, brother. You know Peri. By all the saints, anyone can see you love the woman. She would never betray you with anyone, especially de Villiers.”
“She knows nothing about him, nor Felicité.”
Étienne threw his hands in the air. “You’ve never told her? Christ, Gallien, did Felicité destroy your honor?”
Gallien bristled. “My honor is intact. It’s my wife who—”
“Arrête! Listen to yourself. She loves you, can’t you see that?”
Gallien sat down on a nearby fallen log before his knees gave out. His heart was in knots. It was true he had not given Peri the chance to explain her presence in the corridor. “She planned to visit her friend Tandine.”
“Tandine Grisjaune?”
Gallien shrugged. “I suppose. She was a lady-in-waiting with Peri, but has recently become betrothed.”
“Aye! To Devlin de Villiers.”
Gallien jumped to his feet. “He’s already married.”
“His wife died—in childbirth.”
Gallien narrowed his eyes. “How do you come to know so much?”
“I have made it my business. One day, when he least expects it, I will take the opportunity to kill him for what he did to you and our family.”
For the first time it came home to Gallien how deeply his catastrophic marriage had hurt the other members of his family. He had never appreciated the depth of his brother’s love. He shook his head as he embraced Étienne. “Non, that is something I will do.”
Boisterous shouts caught their attention. They looked to the sea. Six ships were sailing into the bay, to the cheers of the waiting knights. Men scrambled to gather their equipment.
Étienne gripped his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Promise me you will give Peri the benefit of the doubt. Your happiness lies with that woman.”
Gallien let out a long slow breath. “First, we must endeavor to survive this folly of Henry’s.”
Étienne grinned. “You watch my back, and I’ll watch yours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The crossing from Pevensey to Boulogne-sur-Mer was rough. Roiling waves tossed the big boats around like corks. Squires tried frantically to calm frenzied horses. Gallien was seasick for the first time in his life. He attributed it to the constant tightening in his gut when he thought of his wife, which was every waking minute. Dieu! He missed her. He longed to run his hands through her long, long hair and bury himself in her warm sheath.
He saw the rightness of what Étienne had said. He had jumped to conclusions. Peri was not the kind of woman to betray her husband, though God knew he had given her reason enough to be unhappy.
He had deemed it sentimental foolishness at the time, but he was glad now he had filched a sachet of Peri’s potpourri before his departure. He had it tucked into his gambeson, taking it out to inhale the perfume whenever he felt low.
In Boulogne, they camped on the cliffs overlooking the Narrow Sea. A gale blew up during the night, and Gallien and Étienne had difficulty keeping their tent pegged to the ground. It didn’t help that they dissolved into hysterical laughter, hanging on to the inside of the tent to prevent it flying off into the sea.
“It was good to see you laugh, brother,” Etienne remarked the next day as they broke camp. “It’s been too long.”
Gallien shrugged, but had to admit the laughing fit had eased some of his agitation.
Under the banner of Thierry d’Alsace, Henry’s nominee as Comte of Flandres, the knights made their way first to Saint-Omer. Thierry was the cousin of the murdered Comte Charles, and thus a credible candidate.
At Saint-Omer, Alexandre, Laurent and Romain de Montbryce joined the army of knights. Gallien and Étienne gave their Norman cousins a warm welcome. Laurent and Romain returned their greetings with laughter and hearty bear hugs. Alexandre merely nodded in his usual shy way.
~~~
They sat for three rain-soaked weeks, camped in muddy fields outside the town while Thierry negotiated. Gallien paced, fearing he might lose his wits or his fingers to frostbite.
With nothing much to do but converse about this and that, Alexandre became more talkative.
He and Gallien had never been close, or even friends. Gallien wondered how much his cousins knew of his disastrous marriage. Baudoin de Montbryce would have been obliged to tell his brother, Robert, since he was head of the family, but had Robert told his sons?
Gallien and Alexandre did have one thing in common—each was destined to inherit lands and titles
when their father died. Upon Ram de Montbryce’s death, the older, more prestigious title of Comte de Montbryce had gone to Robert as the eldest. Baudoin inherited the lesser title of Earl of Ellesmere, earned after the Conquest.
As Robert’s oldest son, Alexandre was sole heir to the lands and titles in Normandie. He would become the acknowledged head of the Montbryce family. Baudoin, the Earl of Ellesmere, and Robert, Comte de Montbryce, were brothers. They were close friends and allies, working together for the good of the family.
Gallien and Alexandre would have to do the same. The likelihood of conflict over Henry’s succession loomed large. It was past time to build relationships. “How do you feel about inheriting the mantle of Comte de Montbryce?” he asked Alexandre one night as they gazed into the flames of the campfire. Their brothers had gone off to visit with other friends.
Alexandre glanced up at him sharply, evidently surprised by the personal nature of the question. “It’s a daunting prospect, and an awesome responsibility. You must feel the same about the earldom.”
Here was an opportunity to find out where his cousin stood as far as Stephen of Blois was concerned. “I feel the weight of my inheritance, especially since King Henry betrothed his daughter to Geoffrey of Anjou.”
Alexandre grimaced. “That diplomatic revolution has led to mistrust and unease in Normandie. Areas near the border with France were already reeling from vicious raids by the French. Now here we are attempting to disrupt Louis the Fat’s intrigues to gain control of Normandie through Clito.”
Gallien wanted to push him further, but Étienne and the others returned, stumbling into camp, giddy with drink. When they were successfully settled on their camp stools after several failed attempts, he switched to a safer topic. “How fare your parents? I have not seen oncle Robert and tante Dorianne for a long while.”
Romain and Laurent sobered immediately.
Alexandre narrowed his eyes. “Maman is ill.”
His brothers rose and left abruptly.
“Something serious?” Étienne asked as he watched them go.
Alexandre swallowed hard, staring into the fire. “She may be gone by the time we return from this campaign.”
Gallien would be devastated when his own mother died, but Alexandre had always been closer to his mother than his father. He reached out to lay a hand on his cousin’s arm. “I’m sorry. You will miss her.”
Alexandre’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “I will. More than I will miss my father, truth be told. You’re aware I was born during my father’s long incarceration at the hands of Robert Curthose.”
Gallien glanced at Étienne, obviously as surprised as he at this unusual confidence from their cousin. “It was a cruel torment.”
Alexandre peered over his shoulder into the darkness, as if to make sure no one overheard before he continued. “It took an enormous toll on my father. He eventually regained his health and strength, but he and I never seemed to make up for time we lost.”
Gallien was at a loss as to what to say in response. He and his father did not always agree, but—
Alexandre frowned. “I sometimes grow tired of my father’s admonitions and ramblings about Norman politics. My mother assures me it is only because he loves me and wants me to be prepared.”
“I’m certain she is right,” Étienne offered.
Alexandre looked back into the night again, then hunched his shoulders. “But he cares more for Romain and Laurent.”
Gallien winced. He had been stupidly jealous of his own brother, but never as far as his parents’ affections were concerned. He recalled an observation his mother had made concerning Alexandre. “Perhaps it is only that he was there when they were born. Can it be he feels guilt that he failed you?”
Alexandre snorted. “It was not his fault Curthose imprisoned him. Besides, he dotes more on my sisters than on me. Maman says that during his imprisonment he had long hours to do naught but ponder. It came to him he had never paid his daughters much attention, intent on having a son. He has tried to make amends for it ever since. Marguerite and Catherine are spoiled.”
Gallien smirked, as did his brother. Both had experienced firsthand how domineering Marguerite and Catherine were.
Alexandre smiled. “You know how they are. They have opinions on everything I do. Papa should not allow that. They are married now. Let them worry about their own families.”
Gallien laughed. “They are bossy with everyone. It’s their nature. Don’t you agree, Étienne?”
His brother yawned broadly as he came to his feet. “I’m for bed. Too much ale.”
Gallien and Alexandre bade him bonsoir. Gallien was tired, but sensed Alexandre wanted to talk. It was the first time they had ever had such an opportunity to share their true feelings.
After a long silence, Alexandre murmured, “I sometimes wish the mantle of Comte would pass to another.”
Gallien shivered, despite the heat of the flames on his face. “I uttered the exact same words to my father not long ago.”
Alexandre shook his head. “What a fine pair we are! I suppose we are fortunate our fathers still live. We have the benefit of their advice. They learned from our grandsire.”
Gallien recognised the truth of that. “And our family has the advantage of holding power and sway in Normandie, and in England, where my father is a powerful and respected Earl.”
Alexandre tore his gaze away from the fire and looked directly at Gallien. He smiled. “I have no memory of the event, of course, but it was oncles Baudoin and Caedmon who rescued me and my mother from the Abbaye aux Dames after my clandestine birth there. They returned us safely to Montbryce.” The smile left his face. “It was they who found my father in the forgotten cell in Caen Castle and brought him home, a broken man no one recognised.”
They both knew the tale. Gallien had often listened proudly to his father’s emotional narrative of those long ago events. “My father also slew your mother’s treacherous brother, Pierre de Giroux, the root cause of your family’s ills.”
Alexandre rubbed his chin. “I wish my father would talk to me of those terrible months in captivity, but he has steadfastly avoided it. No one would suspect he underwent such a torment, but I often see the guarded sadness in his eyes.”
He came to his feet. “I fear I must seek my bed.” He turned to leave, then came back, a frown on his face. “For some reason, cats are the other legacy of his cruel imprisonment. They abound at Montbryce Castle. I sometimes feel the cats are more important to him than I am. I know it sounds ridiculous.”
Gallien chuckled, trying to lighten Alexandre’s humor. “I know the story. My father and oncle Caedmon credited a cat’s mewling with their finding oncle Robert in his cell. Robert told them the tale of Espérance, the mangy cat who had kept him company in prison.”
Surely oncle Robert had shared that much with his son? Montbryce Castle had hounds aplenty, but Alexandre was right, it was the cats who ruled.
His cousin gaped at him. “I did not know of this. I hate cats.”
~~~
When Saint-Omer finally declared for Thierry, his knights and foot soldiers celebrated for a day and a night with wine and ale given them by the grateful citizens of the town.
They moved on to Ghent. Hardly a word was spoken on the two day march, every man suffering the lingering after effects of too much drink.
Ghent declared for Thierry within a week. The celebrations recommenced. Gallien’s hopes lifted. “Perhaps we’ll soon return to England,” he told Étienne. The wistful look his brother gave him betrayed his longing to be home in Ellesmere. Fighting was what they trained for; sitting on their arses looking menacing while trying to stay warm was demeaning.
A day’s march took them next to Bruges. Gervaise of Praet, the castellan appointed by King Louis, refused to surrender the town. Gallien was dismayed—it seemed they would be laying siege to the place for sennights. He was weary of sleeping on camp cots, eating poor food, and bathing in ice cold rivers. More th
an anything he wanted to lie with his wife.
He and Étienne found themselves with time on their hands. He confessed to his brother. “You were right about Peri. I have been a blind fool. She has treated me with nothing but love and respect, and I have spurned her. I pray she can forgive me when we return—if we ever get out of Flandres.”
Étienne slapped his brother on the shoulder. “You won’t regret it. I hope to wed a woman with as much love in her heart as Peri. Too bad about Tandine Grisjaune. I liked her. Mind you, at this rate we won’t see England again for many a month.”
~~~
On the twenty-sixth day of March in the year of Our Lord Eleven Hundred and Twenty-Eight, Gervaise, the castellan, surrendered Bruges. Standing at the gates, Thierry explained to his jubilant supporters, “Gervaise is unwilling to renounce his allegiance to Clito. He prefers to leave and I have granted safe passage.”
Four days later, the citizens of Bruges declared Thierry as their Comte. He entered the town amid great fanfare two days after that, and exchanged the traditional reciprocal oaths with the burghers of Bruges and Ghent.
A sennight later, Gervaise returned to Bruges to swear allegiance to Thierry, citing the citizens’ denouncing Clito as lawless and faithless. The Montbryces listened in cynical disbelief as Gervaise declared, “If God had granted us the favour of your presence right after the murder of our lord and your cousin Charles, we would have acknowledged no one but you as Comte.”
“Utter nonsense,” Alexandre muttered. “Thierry staked his claim to be Comte mere days after the assassination of his cousin.”
Laurent was of the same mind. “The truth is the burghers failed to act because of Louis’ haste in installing Clito.”
On the eleventh day of April, Thierry was accepted as Comte and welcomed by the citizens of Rijsel.
“We’ll soon be sleeping in our own beds,” Étienne crowed, rubbing his hands together when they heard the news. “Thierry hardly needs us now.”
The Ultimate Romance Box (6 Bestselling Romance Novels) Page 82
