Antoine took a long drink of his ale. “Oui, all taken care of. Hopefully that bird will be just as keen to get back to East Preston as I am to return to Belisle.”
In companionable silence they ate their meal, leftovers of the smoked jambon prepared by La Cuisinière the previous evening, along with black bread, then Hugh wished his brother good journey and they embraced.
“Thank you for your help with the rescue, Antoine. I couldn’t have pulled it off without you. I’m in your debt.”
“Just be happy, little brother,” Antoine replied with a grin, slapping Hugh on the back. “That’s repayment enough for me.”
***
After three days of barely being able to keep his hands off Devona, Hugh came to a decision. If he took the Meltons to Domfort, where he was lord and master, he would be unable to control his lust, and Devona would fall prey to his passions. He couldn’t bear the thought of the pleasure of his first possession of a woman being destroyed by the pain he might inflict. He would rather die than hurt or shame Devona. He sent a page to fetch the Meltons to the gallery. He noticed Boden was hardly limping.
“On the morrow I have to leave for Domfort,” he announced, trying to keep his voice steady.
“What time will we be leaving?” Aediva asked excitedly. “I like it here, but I’m anxious to see your castle.”
“Unfortunately, you won’t be coming with me—this time,” he stuttered.
“None of us?” Bemia queried.
“Some of my men will accompany me.”
He saw the pain in Devona’s eyes and looked away. “I have to travel quickly—there’s a problem—and I think you need to rest further—you’ve had an ordeal—I’ll send for you—it’s better this way—preparations need to be made—this isn’t the time.”
Don’t start to cry, Devona or my resolve will weaken.
He saw that she was standing stoically, looking somewhere beyond him, shoulders rigid, small fists clenching at her sides. Brigantia came to stand next to her, as if sensing her distress, and she put her hand on the dog’s head. She was swaying slightly.
He babbled on. “Bonhomme will take good care of you here. He’s an excellent steward, just like his father before him. His son Mathieu is Ram’s steward in England. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
Stop talking now! You’re fooling no one.
“Perfectly safe,” Devona murmured, her green eyes full of disappointment.
Lady Wilona came to his rescue. “We understand, Lord Hugh. You’re an important nobleman with heavy responsibilities and you can’t be burdened now with a gaggle of women. You’ve already sacrificed a great deal for us. We’ll be fine here until you can send word. Come girls, Lord Hugh no doubt has much to do before he leaves.”
He felt like shouting that the only important thing he wanted to do was peel Devona’s clothing from her body and make slow passionate love to her. He’d gone over and over every tantalizing step of the process in his mind, but instead rasped, “Thank you, Lady Wilona. I knew you would all understand.”
He thought that even the dogs gave him a backward glance of disgust as the Saxons left the gallery. He clenched his fist, leaned against the wall and banged his forehead against it several times before making his way to the stables.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Renouf had to plan carefully. It was imperative he regain Devona, but he was a man with secrets. Whatever action he took would have to be strategically plotted. He had much to lose if the truth were ever discovered.
Should he appeal to the elder Montbryce brother, the Earl of Ellesmere? Supposedly he was a confidant of King William who wouldn’t want the embarrassment to reflect on him. Should he petition the King? If so, was it advisable to do it in England, or appeal to the ducal court in Normandie? Or would the King dismiss the petition as frivolous?
Or, should he simply challenge the Montbryces in their own castle? That would take more manpower than he had at his disposal, and the mercenaries were already costing him too much coin.
He could appeal to the Church. After all, the abduction of his wife broke ecclesiastical law. He could speak to the bishop in Sussex, or better still the bishop in Normandie where the Montbryce castle was. But had they gone there, or to some other castle they controlled?
Oui, it would take careful consideration. Perhaps a combination of ploys would be needed. Whatever happened, he would have to make sure no word of this debacle reached Malbadon. Then he would be doomed.
***
The Bishop of Arundel considered he was a good judge of character. It was this ability that had helped him secure his position. He took an instant dislike to the belligerent Norman knight who had just kissed his ring in a most perfunctory manner.
“What can I do for you, my son?” he asked for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Audiences could be tedious. People brought petitions about the most trivial of matters, thinking he had the power to work miracles.
He smiled inwardly. It was true he did have power in King William’s England, much more than he would if he’d remained an obscure cleric in Normandie, but he preferred to wield it cautiously. Too much power could go to a man’s head and trip him up when he least expected it. He realized he hadn’t been listening to the bearded giant standing before him. He fixed his attention back on the knight’s scowling face. “Your wife?” He recalled at least that much of what had been said.
“Oui, Your Excellency, my wife has been abducted.”
The Bishop arched his brows. “Surely, Sir—er—” He glanced enquiringly at a clerk holding a ledger who whispered the name he sought. “—Sir Renouf, that’s a matter for the legal authorities?”
Renouf shook his head. “She’s been abducted by a Norman lord and taken to his castle in Normandie.”
Now the Bishop’s eyes were wide. “A Norman has stolen your wife? Who is this man?”
“Hugh de Montbryce, Your Excellency.”
The Bishop’s blood ran cold. He was only too cognizant of the power and influence at both the English and Norman courts of the Montbryce name. He would have to tread cautiously in this matter. “You’re certain of this? Why would he do such a thing?”
Renouf braced his legs and squared his shoulders, his hand seeking the hilt of his missing sword, deposited, as was required, in the antechamber. “They’re lovers. It’s adultery. I demand my rights as her husband.”
The Bishop forced back a smirk. “You want her back I take it?”
Renouf clenched his gloved fists. “Oui.”
“Did she go willingly?”
“She must have. I was absent—in Normandie.”
The Bishop leaned forward in his chair. “What were you doing there? Why did you not take her with you?”
The cleric sensed his petitioner’s reticence as Renouf said vaguely, “Visiting family.”
“Did your wife accompany you to England from Normandie when you first came?”
“Non. She’s a Saxon. We were wed in England—at Melton Manor.”
Now here’s a strange kettle of fish!
“Let me understand you, Sir Renouf. Your Saxon wife has run off to Normandie with a Norman baron?”
Renouf became increasingly agitated as the interview proceeded. There was definitely something the man wasn’t telling him. But what? The Montbryces were not a family to tangle with. On the other hand, if this man’s wife had indeed been abducted, it was the responsibility of the Church to see the sin punished. Having spent only brief minutes with Renouf he could understand any woman’s desire to flee as far as she could. But—she was his wife.
Renouf knelt on one knee and crossed himself quickly as the Bishop heaved his frame up from the throne with the help of his crosier and made the sign of the cross.
“I’ll speak to some people. Bless you, my son.”
Renouf stood. “When will I hear from you, Your Excellency?”
“Return in a fortnight.”
Let’s hope he has found another resolution before that day.
Renouf bowed his way out of the audience.
When the petitions were over, the Bishop sent a discreet cleric to Kingston Gorse, where Sir Stephen Marquand dwelt. It was close to Melton and the knight might know something of this drama.
His suspicions were confirmed when the cleric returned with details of the Melton family and their suffering at the cruel hands of Renouf de Maubadon. While Sir Stephen hadn’t mentioned the involvement of the Montbryce family in the disappearance of the Saxons, he hadn’t denied it either. The Bishop also learned of the dominion the Montbryces had been given over the Sussex manors, and of the existence of two Norman stewards at East Preston. He summoned them to his palace.
Two days later, Barat Cormant came to see the Bishop, with his brother’s apologies. As soon as the summons was received they’d sent messages to Lord Antoine and Lord Hugh.
“No matter, Steward Cormant,” the Bishop said. “I suppose I don’t need both of you here. I want to question you on the matter of Melton Manor.”
“Melton, Your Excellency?”
“Hugh de Montbryce is the new overlord there, is he not?”
“He is, your Excellency.”
“What manner of man is Sir Renouf de Maubadon?”
“I’ve met the man but briefly,” Barat spoke truly. “I’ve attempted to peruse the accounts on behalf of Lord Hugh several times, but am rebuffed each time. I gained access only once when Sir Renouf was away in Normandie and his henchman Torod in charge.”
The Bishop steepled his fingers. “And what did you discover?”
Barat replied respectfully. “Your Excellency, I am sworn to the service of the Montbryce family. Perhaps if you could share with me why you wish this information—”
The Bishop bristled, but then said, “There has been a complaint and I’m bound to investigate it.”
Barat looked startled. “About me, your Excellency?”
“Non, non. Not about you. About Lord Hugh de Montbryce.”
“And Sir Renouf is the complainant?” Barat hoped he had just the right edge of surprised indignation in his voice.
The Bishop sank further back into his chair. “Oui, you have it.”
“My sense is, Excellency, that Sir Renouf is a man with secrets to hide. He’s also a cruel man, who enjoys inflicting pain on others.”
“I see. On his wife, par example?”
Barat said nothing, merely nodded slightly.
The Bishop was silent for several minutes. Barat was well aware of the difficult situation the cleric had been put in. Finally His Excellency spoke. “I’m bound by my office to investigate the complaint of the abduction of Sir Renouf’s wife. I wish you to pass that message on to your lord, and to his brother, the Earl of Ellesmere.”
Barat bowed. “Oui, your Excellency.” He assumed the meeting was over, but then the Bishop spoke again. “You know, Cormant, one of the things I find exceedingly irritating about my job is how interminably long it seems to take to get anything accomplished. Thank you for coming. Keep me apprised of your progress at East Preston—and Melton. If perchance Lord Hugh does visit Sussex again in the near future, I’d dearly like to meet him.”
Barat nodded his understanding. “Adieu, Your Excellency, thank you for your blessing. I will inform my masters.”
***
Back in Normandie, Hugh and Antoine had received the joyous news of the birth of Ram and Mabelle’s son, Robert. Hugh had ridden to Belisle to celebrate with his brother.
“Théobald thinks he’s found the perfect man to follow Renouf when next he goes off to Normandie,” Antoine told Hugh.
“Bon! Who is it?”
“Isembart Jubert.”
Hugh laughed. “The rat catcher?”
What could be better!
“Oui,” Antoine laughed too. “Jubert has already ascertained that when Renouf sails he usually goes by way of Portsmouth to Barfleur. Apparently rat catchers have a network of information they share. He and Sir Gerwint are watching for signs of preparations for departure from Melton Manor.
Now, a toast, mon frère,” Antoine raised his tumbler of Montbryce apple brandy. He’d had several casks brought from the family seat. “To Robert, the next Comte de Montbryce.”
“To Robert,” Hugh replied, and both men downed the brandy in one.
Antoine refilled the tumblers. “And to our brother, Rambaud and his beautiful wife, Mabelle. May they have many more healthy children.”
“To Ram and Mabelle.”
The two men had much to discuss and decisions to make after word had come of the Bishop of Arundel’s message to Barat. Hugh had spent many lonely nights at Domfort aching for Devona and worrying about what to do.
Antoine drained his tumbler. “Why have you not brought Devona and her family? I was looking forward to showing them my castle. All is in readiness.”
Hugh had known sooner or later Antoine would pose this question, and he still didn’t know what the answer would be. “She isn’t at Domfort,” he murmured.
About to pour another brandy, Antoine paused. “What did you say? Not at Domfort? Where in the name of all the saints is she then?”
Hugh looked at his feet. “Montbryce.”
Antoine swore. “You left them at Montbryce, despite my advice?”
“I had no choice.”
Antoine slammed his tumbler down. “I don’t understand you, Hugh. You love the woman and you care for her family, to say nothing of those handsome dogs! I know there are difficulties, and no doubt temptations, but surely you need her with you? And what of her? How is she faring without you at Montbryce?”
“I understand she’s well. They’re all well, according to Bonhomme.”
Antoine glared. “Mon Dieu, the woman must be bereft. She needs you, and you’ve abandoned her in a foreign land.”
Hugh avoided Antoine’s piercing green eyes. “I had no choice.”
“You keep saying that, little brother, and you’ll have to explain it to me, slowly. There’s more to this than you’re telling me. Have you lost interest in her?”
“Non!” Hugh replied vehemently.
Antoine was pacing back and forth now, obviously angry. “Then what’s the problem? Why have you so obviously distanced yourself from her? And don’t give me the excuse of her marriage. We both know Renouf is no husband to her.”
There was a long silence.
“I’m afraid,” Hugh rasped. He would finally have to let his demons see the light of day. He sat with his hands clasped together, trying to still the hand tremor, forearms resting on his thighs, head bowed, staring at the floor, a muscle twitching involuntarily in his leg.
Antoine stopped pacing and his shoulders relaxed. “This has to do with Hastings, does it not, Hugh?” he said gently.
Hugh nodded. “I’m afraid—of myself—of what I might do.”
The silence stretched between them.
“Hugh, I’m about to confess to you something about myself I’ve never told anyone before—about Hastings.”
Hugh was startled. He’d thought he would be the one doing the confessing.
“I’m not sure why I’m so ashamed of this, because I know it happened to many men that day. In the throes of the battle I became uncomfortably aware of the fact that the violence was arousing me.”
Hugh couldn’t speak. His gut had clenched and he thought he might retch.
Antoine continued. “It was a source of great concern to me, because warrior I may be, but I’m not a violent man. It was in fact your words after the battle that brought me some relief.”
Hugh looked up at his brother. “My words?”
“Don’t you recall your anguish, your embarrassment? You were feeling the same wretchedness. It helped. I was able to recognize what had happened to me and I determined to fill my life with passion that brought only joy and happiness and not bloodshed and violence. But I’ve been afraid the same has not been true for you.”
Hugh wanted to weep. “Antoine,” he choked, “I’m afra
id I’ll hurt her, afraid that the lust for aggression will resurface if I allow my passion for Devona to control me.”
Antoine put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Mon Dieu, you’re the gentlest person I know. You don’t have a hurtful bone in your body. Have you once had the smallest thought of hurting her?”
“Non,” Hugh murmured.
Antoine intensified his grip. “You and Devona have a lot of problems to solve, but you can only do it together. Living apart and in fear will accomplish nothing. Go to Montbryce and get her. Don’t let Hastings destroy both of you.”
Then Hugh did weep, and his brother consoled him.
***
At Montbryce, Devona was trying hard to keep faith. She believed Hugh de Montbryce loved her, that he would slay whatever demons he was wrestling with and come for her. She was glad to have her mother to confide in. “I fell in love the moment I first saw him. It was a surprise because I had tried to deny feelings in an effort to cope with Renouf’s brutality.”
“I sense he’s struggling with something,” her mother replied. “Do you think it’s because you’re a Saxon?”
Devona shook her head. “No. You’re right, he’s struggling, but I don’t know what demons haunt him. And while my marriage is a problem, I think it goes deeper than that.”
Wilona carried on with her sewing. “Well, this castle is a comfortable place to live and we’re all well taken care of, and treated with respect.”
“But it isn’t our home, and I miss Hugh terribly.”
She didn’t tell her mother about her memories of his warm hands on her breasts the night they’d stood on the battlements and how her body had responded to the swelling of his loins pressed against her. She ached for him, but feared she would never be able to entrust her body to a man. “I worry about my future in Normandie, but that of my sisters preoccupies me constantly. What will become of them in this foreign land?”
Her mother smiled. “We’ll have to wait and see what life brings, daughter. We must be patient.”
Devona often went up to the battlements, remembering how safe she’d felt in Hugh’s arms. Looking out one glorious day at the verdant fields and the apple orchards beyond, she caught sight of a brigade of men approaching on horseback. She shaded her eyes against the glare of the sun.
If Love Dares Enough (The Montbryce Legacy Medieval Romance) Page 10
