If Love Dares Enough (The Montbryce Legacy Medieval Romance)

by Anna Markland

  Antoine tightened his grip on Sybilla. “What is your name?”

  “Oda.”

  Antoine felt he should reprimand the surly peasant for her lack of deference, but there would be time enough for that. Now he held a vulnerable woman and, inexplicably, he wanted to proclaim himself her champion, to protect her. She was light in his arms, despite being heavy with child. His Duke would likely order her execution as the wife of an Angevin traitor.

  “Where is her chamber? Show me.”

  As he carefully mounted the narrow stone steps leading out of the crypt, the edge of Sybilla’s wimple caught and dragged, revealing her hairline. It was as though the sun had broken through into the dark recesses of the gloomy place. She was a redhead. Lust roared through him. Hugh might prefer his raven-haired, green-eyed beauty, but Antoine had never been able to resist the allure of red hair. He tried to keep his attention on the steps and not let his eyes stray to her breasts, rising and falling as she breathed irregularly.

  “By all that’s holy, she’s a pregnant woman,” he chided himself. “And an enemy.”

  Oda reached round him to right the wimple and they continued their journey through the smoke blackened hallways to Sybilla’s solar. The door was charred, but the furnishings had survived. He laid her on the large bed. He couldn’t explain the fury he felt at the idea she might have lain with her husband there. What was wrong with him? What did he care if an Angevin dog rutted with his child-bride in this very chamber? He needed to get control of his emotions.

  “Does she have a weapon?” he asked Oda sternly.

  The maid shot an uneasy glance at him, obviously trying to decide whether or not to lie. “I will search her,” he said, and felt his erection throb at the idea of touching Sybilla’s body.

  The maid reached over and removed a dagger concealed in her lady’s sleeve. She handed it to Antoine.

  “And you?”

  The sullen maid turned away from him and tucked up her skirts to retrieve a dagger strapped to her thigh. She held it out to him, reluctant to let go. “What protection do we have now against your men?”

  Antoine squared his shoulders. “Victorious Montbryce knights don’t celebrate by raping women. I’ll see to your lady’s protection. I expect you to take care of her needs.”

  He left, wishing he could have stayed to tend her. But she would have only hatred in her heart for him. He was a Norman, a despised enemy who had killed the father of her unborn child. With bile rising in his throat, he went back to the task of organizing the defenses and re-establishing his conquered fortress. He would secure it for his Duke. Perhaps his success in this endeavour would soften William’s heart towards the Montbryces.

  ***

  “I’m sending you to my castle at Belisle,” Antoine told Lady Sybilla two days after the fall of the fortress. “This is no place for a lady, especially one in your condition.”

  He had summoned her to the Hall, having agonized over what to do with her. If he sent her as a prisoner to William, she would be executed. His gut wrenched when he thought of that probability. If he sent her to Belisle, William would be annoyed, and the King was angry enough with the Montbryce family. Antoine decided he would face that problem if and when it materialized. He had to keep Sybilla alive.

  “I prefer to stay here, with my people,” she replied coldly.

  Oda had accompanied her mistress, and Sybilla was leaning heavily on the servant. It seemed to Antoine that in only two days she had grown rounder, her burden lower. Her pale skin had taken on a sallow pallor and she looked like she might drop the child any minute. “If you don’t care for your own well-being, think of your unborn child’s. The kitchens here are still not fully repaired. Most of your servants are dead, or have fled, so there are few left to do the work of many. Everything reeks of smoke. This is an arena of war. There is no midwife.”

  “But Belisle is in Normandie. You would send me there as a prisoner?”

  “You are my prisoner, Lady Sybilla, whether you like it or not.” Erotic thoughts of what he would like to do with Sybilla if she was a prisoner in his bed ran through his head. He kept his voice stern, wanting to make her understand that his castle would be the best place for her. “You’ll be safer in Belisle.”

  She snorted. “Safer than where? Here I am in my own land, with Angevins.”

  Antoine arched his brows. Why was she being so difficult? Perhaps her stubbornness came with the red hair. That thought sent icy heat rushing up his spine. The brief glimpse had left him longing to see all of it. He cleared his throat. “You are in lands which belong to the Duke of the Normans, King of the English. You are his prisoner as much as you are mine. Would you prefer I send you to him in Le Mans?”

  He saw her hesitate as the implications of what he had threatened dawned on her. “Or perhaps you would rather stay here and await his Majesty’s return with an occupying force? He has already taken Le Mans, and I’m confident he intends to return this way once that town is secured. This fortification protects the easiest ford across the Sarthe. He wasn’t happy about having to lengthen his journey to Le Mans before your fortress fell.”

  Sybilla looked straight at him. “It would appear I have no choice, though my husband would not have wanted his child born in Normandie,” she complained.

  Antoine bristled at the insult, and it was all he could do not to remind her that Sancerre had not cared about the child when he set fire to the keep. But he thought perhaps there was a hint of relief in her voice. He was about to reply when Sybilla interrupted him.

  “Oda will accompany me.”

  Irritating as her demeanour was, Antoine couldn’t help but be impressed with her courage in the face of her predicament. “I’ll allow your maidservant to go with you. Be ready to depart on the morrow.”

  Sybilla gave him the barest of nods, seemed about to leave, then hesitated. “Will you also return to Belisle, milord Montbryce?”

  “Non, I remain here to await my King. Some of my men will escort you.”

  Was that a hint of disappointment in those mismatched eyes?

  Sybilla took her leave.

  “What’s to become of me, of my child, Oda?” she sobbed once she and her maid were alone in her solar.

  Oda helped her mistress on to the bed, and set about removing her shoes. The maid had worked tirelessly to air the smoky linens. “Milord Montbryce is a merciful man, milady. For some reason he wants to protect you from the wrath of his King.”

  Sybilla rubbed her swollen belly. “You’re right. I have no doubt the bastard William would have me executed as a traitor. I’m so tired of being the pawn of arrogant men. My back aches so.”

  Oda went to kneel behind her lady on the bed and kneaded Sybilla’s back. “But a pawn can be a powerful piece, milady, if well played.”

  Sybilla groaned as Oda’s fingers worked their magic on her aching muscles. She opened her knees and let her head fall forward as far as she could. “I begged my father not to sell me to Denis de Sancerre, but he insisted no one else would take me as a bride with my mismatched eyes.”

  Oda made a disparaging noise.“Your father is a greedy fool. I think Antoine de Montbryce is taken with your eyes.”

  Sybilla heart raced. Every time she’d looked at Antoine she’d experienced the same strange feelings. Something about him drew her. But he was a Norman who had killed her husband. She should hate him, but discovered she could not. What would his hair be like once it grew back? He had the most unusual green eyes, and his broad shoulders—

  She shook herself out of her reverie. “Antoine de Montbryce is our enemy, Oda.” She let out a long sigh. “Do my feet now.”

  The maid did as she was bidden, but stopped to look up at Sybilla’s face. “Sometimes, we have to make new alliances, if we want to survive. Your father and your husband didn’t have your best interests at heart. They thought only of themselves. The Norman is thinking of your welfare.”

  With a sigh of exasperation, Sybilla removed her wimple and
collapsed back onto the bolster, running her hands through her loosened hair. It was true Sancerre had not loved her. She had been his chattel, a means to an end. He had not allowed her to call him by his given name. Like most young maidens, she’d dreamed of the handsome knight she would one day fall in love with and marry. The reality of her loveless marriage had been a bitter gall to swallow. Her husband’s clumsy invasions of her body had left her feeling cold and defiled.

  But Antoine was a noble knight. Sending her to his castle would indeed improve her chances of staying alive. But why would he care? She was his enemy, pregnant with another man’s child.

  Pawns were not able to move backwards. Dwelling on the past was futile. She hoped the right moves would bring a brighter future for her child. She would play Antoine’s game, whatever it was.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Montbryce and Domfort knights fought well under Hugh’s command, though he did his best to stay out of William’s way during the taking of Le Mans. He prayed that when the Conqueror left to return to Normandie with the main force, he would not choose Hugh as one of the barons to remain behind to secure the city. It was a forlorn hope. He was ordered to garrison his troops there for a month, and dared not anger the King by protesting too loudly that Domfort had been left poorly protected. He sent a message to Devona explaining his delay in returning.

  He worried about her constantly and was preoccupied with devising ways to solve their dilemma. He was hard all the time, but now he knew the reason—he burned for Devona because he had discovered with her a world he had thought denied to him—a world of sensual pleasure and fulfillment in a woman’s arms. In her presence he felt whole.

  Word had come from Antoine that he was mired in securing the ruined fortification at Grandegué, leaving Belisle vulnerable as well. Part of Antoine’s message detailed curious news concerning Renouf de Maubadon. After trying to gain access to Alensonne, Renouf had disappeared, and Jubert was certain the brute was heading in the direction of Grandegué when he lost track of him. Jubert had joined Antoine at Grandegué. The fire had dislodged many rats and Antoine jested about seemingly always being in need of a rat catcher.

  Jubert’s presence, however, had turned out to be fortuitous. Able to mingle and fraternize with serfs and servants, he’d learned that Renouf was known at Grandegué, where he had apparently been a frequent visitor.

  Antoine added a brief note about the lady of Grandegué, a pregnant woman who had been sent to Belisle, for safety’s sake. He mentioned he would be riding to Belisle for a brief visit, ostensibly to check on the defenses there, but in fact to ask Lady Sybilla Sancerre what she knew of Renouf de Maubadon.

  Hugh wondered what Renouf was doing in enemy territory. The man wasn’t a warrior, so it was doubtful he was planning to fight for the Duke’s cause. He also wondered why Antoine had sent the Angevin woman to Belisle. By rights she should be surrendered to the Duke, tried and executed.

  ***

  Riding for Belisle, Antoine pondered the perplexing situation until he was dizzy. He had told Hugh the motivation was to question Sybilla de Sancerre about Renouf, and though this mission was important to him, it was his heart pushing him to see her again—to be near her. He was a lover of women. They liked him and he liked them, but he had never been as obsessed with a woman as he was with Sybilla. It worried him.

  He sensed tension in the air when he strode into the Hall at Belisle. As he was taking off his gauntlets, his steward, Alphonse Bretel, arrived.

  “Bretel, what’s happening?”

  The steward hesitated a moment. “It’s the Angevin woman.”

  Antoine’s gut wrenched. “What about her?”

  Again the steward seemed uncomfortable. “She’s labouring to bring forth the child. There are—difficulties.”

  Antoine slapped his gloves against his thigh. Bretel was a forthright, trustworthy man and he wondered about his reticence. “What kind of difficulties?”

  Bretel cleared his throat, his face reddening. “This is women’s business, and I only report what I’m told. The two midwives from the village are attending her, as well as her maid, but—”

  “But what?”

  “The women are not happy about the fact she’s an Angevin. And she’s having difficulty birthing the babe.”

  Antoine felt his blood run cold. “Surely, they are women who will strive to do their best to help her, notwithstanding her allegiance?”

  Bretel shifted his feet uneasily. “Again, I report only what I’m told, milord. She has laboured for many hours.”

  “Where is—”

  Before Antoine could finish, there was a sudden commotion as two frantic women burst into the Hall, pursued by a screeching Oda. One of the women clutched a bundle.

  “Murderers, Norman murderers!” Oda shouted. “You cannot kill the child.”

  “He’s a monster,” one of the women screamed back at her.

  Antoine strode in front of the women and held up his hand. “What is going on here?”

  The woman clutched the bundle more tightly as she bowed. “The Angevin has birthed a monster, milord, an abomination. It’s an omen.”

  Oda fell to her knees at Antoine’s feet. “No, milord, I beg of you. Spare the child. I will tend him. My mistress and I will take care of him. You cannot allow the murder of an innocent child.”

  A piercing wail emanated from the bundle. “You have the child there?” Antoine asked the midwife. “I would see him.”

  The woman turned away from him. “It’s bad luck to look upon one such as he.”

  Antoine noticed Bretel’s nervous expression. His own heart was thudding in his ears, but he insisted. “Nevertheless, I will see him.”

  Oda struggled to her feet and snatched the baby away from the agitated midwife. She cuddled the child to her, walked over to Antoine and opened the blanket.

  His heart broke for Sybilla. The babe’s head was too big for the body, the legs stunted and bowed. Still streaked with the blood of his birth, he looked like a macabre goblin.

  Antoine inhaled a deep breath and turned to his steward. “Bretel, please see that these women are paid well for their services and escorted home.”

  “But milord,” both women protested at once.

  “Bretel,” Antoine insisted, turning away to look at Oda.

  He waited until he heard the door of the Hall close behind them, leaving him alone with the maidservant. She was still panting, her eyes wild. “Oda,” he began.

  The maid’s mouth fell open at his use of her given name, and she clutched the bundle more tightly, shaking her head.

  Antoine held out his arms. “Give him to me. I’ll not hurt him.”

  Oda hesitated, then slowly released her grip and gathered up the child to give to Antoine. He pushed the blanket away from the baby’s face. A fierce desire to protect this deformed infant swept over him, and he took hold of the stunted fingers. He would have to choose his words carefully. “Lady Sybilla has survived?”

  “Oui, milord.”

  “Has she seen her son?”

  “Oui, milord.”

  He felt the baby try to squeeze his fingers. “She knows he lives, that he is—?”

  “She knows. When the women seized him, she struggled to stop them, but was so weak she swooned. I had to leave her so I could follow them and protect him.”

  Antoine felt relief flow through his veins, followed by alarm. “She’s alone still?”

  Oda’s hands flew to her mouth. “My lady,” she cried, turning to hurry out of the Hall. Antoine followed close behind, clutching the infant to his chest.

  Life is suddenly more complicated.

  When they arrived at the chamber, Sybilla was lying in a dead faint close to the birthing stool. She was clad only in a bloodstained chemise. With a strangled cry, Oda fell to her knees beside her mistress. Antoine felt an urge to lash out at something, anything. As if sensing his agitation, the baby began to squirm and scream loudly.

  “Get up, Oda,” h
e ordered. “Take the child.”

  He bundled the baby into Oda’s arms then scooped Sybilla up from the floor. She felt so light in his arms, and her body was warm. Her dishevelled red hair hung like a thick curtain. She was as pale as death. He put his ear to her mouth. “She breathes still,” he exclaimed, laying her on the bed.

  Oda was trying unsuccessfully to calm the infant.

  “Give the child to me,” Antoine growled. “See to your lady’s needs. You must save her.”

  Oda nodded and gave him the wailing bundle. He strode to the door and shouted for Bretel, who was hurrying down the corridor.

  “Milord?” the steward panted.

  Antoine stuck the end of his finger in the boy’s mouth, and he tried to suck. “Find a wet nurse.”

  Bretel’s mouth fell open. “It won’t be easy, milord. He has two marks against him. He’s an Angevin nabot.”

  Antoine’s first instinct was to strike the man, but he realized Bretel was speaking the truth. “Do what you can. If Oda can save her lady, we’ll hope she can suckle the babe. And ask your wife to come and assist Oda.”

  Bretel nodded and left.

  Antoine had never felt so helpless. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to. He looked over to where Oda was frantically trying to revive her mistress. Alise Bretel came hurrying into the chamber, accompanied by a servant carrying a bowl of water, linens and clothing. Antoine turned away, sickened by the sight of Sybilla’s blood. He was a warrior, used to seeing blood, but this—

  He chivvied the child, but nothing would soothe him. In frustration he handed him over to the maidservant. Time dragged by. Antoine paced in the hallway. Agitated by the screams of hunger, he strode back into the chamber and took the child again.

  “Milord.” Alise’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Bring the child. He may suckle. We must try.”

  Antoine’s heart lifted when he saw that the women had managed to cleanse Sybilla, but then he realized she was still in a stupor. Oda had bared her mistress’s breast, but was shielding her from Antoine’s view. He gave the child over to Alise who placed him at Sybilla’s breast. Though his view was blocked, his erection soared. Alise tried to get the infant to suckle. She glanced up and must have noticed Antoine’s stricken expression. “Don’t worry, milord, I’ve yet to meet the babe I couldn’t coax to the teat. If we can get him to suck, it might revive her.”