If Love Dares Enough (The Montbryce Legacy Medieval Romance)

by Anna Markland

  She closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. He longed to place his hands gently on the rise of her bosom and rest his head there. She swayed. He waited.

  “I presume you would wish to have the ceremony before your departure for Caen, so you can take me with you?”

  The ice in her voice cut into his heart. She had judged his proposal to be based on his desire to save his brother. Could the woman not see he loved her, that his love for her had turned him into a blithering nincompoop? But she was right. Haste was imperative. He would make it up to her later.

  “I’d like to make the arrangements for the morrow,” he blurted out, again realizing how mercenary he sounded. He rose from his knees. “Shall we toast our forthcoming union?”

  Dieu, could I make myself sound any more ridiculous?

  Sybilla shook her head. “Non. I think I’ve had a surfeit of wine this evening. Tomorrow will be an eventful day. I must bid you goodnight, milord.”

  As she turned to leave, he caught hold of her shoulders and turned her back to face him. “My name is Antoine,” he breathed.

  He couldn’t bear the look of desolation and disappointment on her face. She was to be his bride. He wanted to kiss her. He’d imagined it so many times. Still holding her shoulders, he pulled her to his body and brushed his lips against hers. He wanted to coax her mouth open, to deepen the kiss, but didn’t want to alarm her.

  Then the thought occurred to him that she was a widow. Her husband must have kissed her a hundred times. Would she be thinking of Denis de Sancerre when he kissed her? He was becoming more aroused with her body pressed against him, and his tongue flicked over her lips, savouring the taste of the wine on them, the fragrance of the rosemary. She gasped and opened her mouth. Had her body surrendered some of its stiffness? He let his tongue wander into her mouth—and his knees went weak when she sucked on it. He gathered her into his embrace and deepened his kiss.

  When they broke apart, each taking a deep breath, she stammered, “I’m sorry—I don’t really know how to kiss.”

  Surprised by her remark, he laughed, and saw her flinch. “I’m not laughing at you, Sybilla. That was a wonderful kiss.”

  “Really?” she whispered.

  “Really.” He leaned his forehead against hers and felt how heated she was. If he didn’t let her go it was likely he would pick her up, toss her on the bed and make love to her this very night. But that would shame her. She was a woman who had only recently given birth, a woman who hadn’t yet been churched. He would need to see to that as well on the morrow.

  He smiled as he proffered his arm. “I’ll escort you to your chamber.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Devona had lost track of how long she and her mother had been incarcerated in the hellhole. She judged it to be about a fortnight. Her mother wouldn’t last another fortnight. Lady Wilona was already losing her tenuous grip on reality.

  They were brought food twice a day—stale bread and watered ale. The straw in their cell was filthy. They hadn’t been allowed to bathe. Black rats scurried everywhere. There was a hole in the stone floor—a dark corner for relieving the call of nature. Lady Wilona had spent much of her time retching into it. They were provided a bucket of brackish water to swill down it. The stench was overpowering.

  I might not last another fortnight either.

  Did Hugh know she’d been arrested? Where was this castle in which they languished? She and her mother had been bound and blindfolded throughout the long ride from Domfort. Who had arrested them? If only Hugh would come. She could face this with him. How had he fared in Le Mans? He had sent word the King had garrisoned him there, but did he still live? Had the King already punished him for his part in her rescue? The men who had come for them had talked of a bishop. Did William hold a curia regis in Normandie as he did in England? Her heart plummeted at the thought. Might she be hauled before a tribunal of barons and bishops to be judged? Were they to face the wrath of King William?

  In the distance she heard the jangling of keys. Gradually the sound grew louder.

  “Up on your feet,” a harsh voice shouted, rattling the keys against the grating of the door. “You’ve a visitor.”

  At last. Hugh!

  As she stumbled to stand, she saw Renouf’s grinning face at the door. She sank back to the floor, feeling no fear, only disgust for this monster who had brought misery to so many.

  “How is my fine wife this day?” he crowed. “Do you prefer this to the genteel life I offered you?”

  She remained silent.

  “And where is your protector now? The great Hugh de Montbryce? Do you think the barons and bishops will condone what you’ve both done?”

  Devona had never been a violent person, but she wanted to kill Renouf—if only she had a weapon. Perhaps she could heave the bucket at him. Did she have the strength? She prayed he would not persuade the gaoler to open the door.

  He continued his harangue for several minutes, but seemed to lose interest when she refused to rise to the bait. Lady Wilona had remained silent throughout, lost in a stupor. Renouf stomped off, muttering to the gaoler about adulterous wives and retribution.

  “Has he gone?”

  Her mother’s voice shook Devona out of her daze. “Yes, he’s gone.”

  Wilona sat up and took both of her daughter’s hands. “Hugh will come, Devona. We must hold on to that belief. Whatever happens, I’m more content to rot here than in Renouf’s clutches.”

  “Pray then our punishment is not to be returned to him.”

  They soon fell asleep, clinging to each other until their next meager meal was shoved through the grate.

  “Lucky you, ladies,” the gaoler crowed. “Another visitor.”

  Still half asleep and exhausted by fear, Devona looked up from where she lay on the straw and saw—Hugh’s face. “Hugh?” she rasped.

  “Non, Devona. I’m Ram de Montbryce, Hugh’s brother.”

  “The Earl?” she croaked as she struggled to her feet. Grasping hold of the grated door, she peered at the face that looked so much like Hugh’s.

  “I’m Devona,” she murmured in confusion, “And may I present my mother—” As she turned to indicate Lady Wilona she lost her balance. She felt like a drunkard. “What must you think of me, my lord Earl? This is not how I imagined our first meeting. Where is Hugh?”

  Ram closed his hand over hers. Its warmth brought her comfort. “He’s safe. He was taken prisoner three days ago. King William has given me leave, because of our longstanding friendship, to see you. I was here in Normandie when the news came. I’ve already made arrangements to get Hugh moved to a different place of incarceration. These conditions are intolerable, and I apologies for the way you have been treated in my country.”

  “Hugh is safe?” was all Devona could think to say as a tear rolled down her cheek. “And Antoine?”

  Ram nodded. “Safe. Not in prison—yet. Step back while this miserable excuse for a gaoler unlocks your cell.”

  Devona didn’t recall much of the journey to the nearby Abbaye aux Dames. Men in uniform carried her and her mother out of hell and took them to the convent, where they were allowed to bathe and given a meal and clean clothing—novices’ habits. Ram explained they would be kept here until the curia regis was convened.

  “How long will that be?” Wilona asked.

  “Possibly another fortnight. You’ll not be allowed to see Hugh, but I will. He’s confined to the Abbaye aux Hommes nearby. He wanted me to tell you how much he loves you, Devona.”

  Devona couldn’t speak. “Tell him—tell him we are safe now. Tell him I love him. Tell him I’m sorry to have brought this upon him—upon you and your family.”

  “Lady Devona, Hugh is my brother. Since Hastings, I’ve watched him struggle with his demons. You have exorcised those demons, and for that I thank you. We are all doing what we can to resolve this situation.”

  “Thank you, my lord Earl.”

  “Please, if we are to be related, you must call me Ram.
”

  “Ram—has Hugh told you—about Renouf—about our so-called marriage?”

  “Oui, he has told me. Don’t blame him for breaking his oath. I told him I would do nothing to help either of you if he didn’t tell me the complete story.”

  “Tell him I understand, but the curia—I’ll be shamed if the court hears of it.”

  “Keep faith. I’ll return if there is news. Don’t despair. I must go. Antoine is being married.”

  “Married?”

  “Oui, at the Abbaye, so Hugh can attend. The King has given his consent, which is a good sign.”

  “Who is his bride?”

  “It’s a long story, Devona. I’ll tell you another time. Enough to say this marriage may help your cause.”

  ***

  Antoine stood waiting for his bride to arrive. Despite the circumstances, it felt good to know both his brothers were there to stand with him. Ram had been instrumental in obtaining the King’s permission for the marriage to take place, and for it to happen in the magnificent abbey church William had built. Antoine suspected it had not been easy to persuade the King to allow him to marry an Angevin prisoner. Ram must have done some smooth talking! Now there would be no danger of Sybilla being executed.

  Hugh had been allowed to shed the monk’s robe he was obliged to wear as a detainee and stood beside Antoine in clothing befitting his rank and station.

  All was in readiness—little Denis slept peacefully in Oda’s arms; seated next to her was an unmarried peasant girl brought as a wet nurse from the Abbaye aux Dames after losing her child at birth; he and Hugh were richly attired; a more majestic location for a wedding would be impossible to find; they had the King’s blessing—yet Antoine felt uneasy. His heart ached—if only Sybilla had agreed to this union because she loved him and not because she believed it was the only way to protect herself and her son.

  He’d found his soul mate, just as Ram had found Mabelle, and Hugh his Devona. Would Sybilla forgive him for slaying her beloved husband? He resolved to spend his life trying to convince her of it as he saw her come into view on Ram’s arm. Whenever they were apart he’d tried to dismiss his attraction to her as merely physical, but as soon as he saw her, he knew differently. This woman was in his blood. His need for her went beyond the physical, although his shaft was doing its usual thing as he watched her walk slowly towards him. They would be unable to consummate their marriage for a while yet, though Sybilla had undergone the churching ritual earlier in the day. He would not bed her until she indicated she was ready—and willing.

  When they reached Antoine’s side, he proffered his hand and Ram placed Sybilla’s on top of it. Her hair and face were covered by a long gauzy veil, but the red highlights shone through. Sybilla looked at him directly and her mismatched eyes flashed. He hoped she had seen the love he bore her reflected in his eyes. Her hand was warm and moist. Although her elegant bearing bespoke confident assurance, he sensed she was nervous. For a brief moment her fingers squeezed his hand and heat rushed through his body. He smiled at her, hoping he didn’t look like the lovesick fool he felt. How often he had teased Ram about his feelings for Mabelle, but how hard it was to bear the prospect of unrequited love.

  They faced the priest and the ritual began.

  Sybilla’s agitated heart had calmed somewhat when she’d caught a glimpse of Denis sleeping peacefully in Oda’s arms. It was only thanks to the man she was about to marry that her son had any prospects for the future.

  When her hand had been placed into Antoine’s she’d felt his warmth flood through her. Her whole body became heated whenever she was near him, and the heat pooled in her most intimate female places. At first she had thought she was ill, but knew now she was in love with Antoine de Montbryce. She would have to guard her heart. He was marrying her in the hope of saving the brother who stood at his side.

  Though, when she looked into his eyes, was there more? Was it love she saw in those green depths? As a girl she had dreamed of being married to a handsome knight who was madly in love with her, and she with him. Could such a dream come true? It seemed unlikely after her experience with Denis de Sancerre. However, looking at Antoine and his brothers, all so alike in appearance, she had to admit the Montbryces were a handsome and noble family—a far cry from the Sancerres and her own family, the Taloches.

  “Milady?” The priest’s whisper broke into her reverie. She realized she was supposed to be saying something. “Are you willing, milady?”

  “I—am willing,” she replied, feeling Antoine squeeze her hand. He must have spoken his vow already—she’d been in such a daydream, imagining the possibilities—

  She felt her face redden, and knew Antoine had turned to look at her. She swayed, clutching his hand more tightly. She looked at his face and saw the unspoken concern there. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. Suddenly she felt more confident about the future. Perhaps she and Antoine could have a successful marriage. They were certainly drawn to each other physically, of that she had no doubt, and he genuinely cared for Denis. Her heart lifted and when she looked back at Antoine she hoped her smile reflected her love.

  Before she knew it, Antoine was lifting her veil and gathering her into his arms for the traditional kiss. They hadn’t kissed since the first time, a fortnight before. She closed her eyes. This time his kiss was chaste, and Sybilla felt inexplicably disappointed there had been no tongue thrust into her mouth.

  The monks provided a modest celebratory meal. Though the portions were small, the quality of the food and wine was excellent. Sybilla felt both Ram and Hugh’s expressions of congratulation were genuine. Antoine was more than solicitous of her and made sure Oda and Denis and the wet nurse were all comfortable and well taken care of. Inevitably though, Devona and Hugh’s predicament overshadowed the occasion. After a while the three brothers withdrew for a private conference, and Sybilla could see the tension in their shoulders when they reappeared.

  “What is it?” she asked Antoine as he came to sit beside her once more. She felt the heat of his thigh against hers. At one time she had been relieved her condition would preclude intimacy on her wedding night, but now she found she longed for Antoine to bed her.

  Antoine grimaced. “I’m sorry, Sybilla. This is your wedding day, and you are such a beautiful bride. There should be no sadness on a day like this.”

  Sybilla couldn’t recall anyone telling her she was beautiful before. She put her hand over his in reassurance. “I understand. Tell me.”

  He exhaled and ran his hand over his hair. “There is still no word from Jubert. Hugh feels better now he knows Devona is no longer in the cells, but he’s distraught at what she has suffered. But the really bad news is that François de Giroux is one of the barons who will sit on the curia.”

  “Giroux?”

  “There is a long standing hatred between the Montbryces and the Giroux family, caused by a heinous act perpetrated long ago by Mabelle’s father. François won’t be favourably disposed to us.”

  Sybilla closed her fingers over his hand, but could think of nothing to say. Her upbringing had been to trust none of these Norman nobles anyway. She was powerless in this enemy camp, only tolerated because she was now Antoine’s wife.

  Antoine took both her hands in his. “Sybilla, I know we are asking much of you to testify against Renouf, but—”

  Sybilla put her finger to his lips. “I know how much you love your brother, Antoine. I’m your wife and I will obey your wish for me to testify. You won’t have married me in vain.”

  She felt him tense and saw the anger in his eyes as he stood abruptly. “That’s not the reason I married you, Sybilla. Come, I will deliver you safely to the Abbaye aux Dames. It’s not far. The nuns have prepared a chamber for you and the babe.”

  She went with him, wishing she could spend the night with her husband. She didn’t care at that moment why he’d married her. She simply longed for him to hold her against his strong body.

  Antoine saw them
safely inside the convent and then left to return to the Abbaye aux Hommes where the three brothers planned to continue their discussions about the upcoming trial.

  Once Sybilla was assured Denis was fed and put back to sleep she left him in Oda’s care and went to seek out the Abbess.

  “Congratulations on your marriage, milady Montbryce,” the religious said in a tone which left no doubt about her feelings for Angevins.

  “Merci, ma mère,” Sybilla responded, bowing slightly, thinking she liked the sound of her new name. “I’d like to speak to Lady Devona.”

  The nun’s face remained expressionless. “She’s an adulteress who has been confined.”

  “I don’t intend to try to free her,” Sybilla responded with some sarcasm. “I merely wish to greet my new sister-by-marriage.”

  The nun arched her brows and made a deprecating sound, but she removed a key from her pocket. “Follow me.”

  She led Sybilla through the cloisters into a different part of the convent and unlocked a small door, shoving Sybilla inside. She heard the key turn again when the door was shut behind her. It took a few moments to become accustomed to the darkness. A single candle struggled to cast light into the gloom. She gradually became aware of two women huddled together on the small pallet, one older, the other young.

  “Devona?” she asked quietly.

  Devona let go of her mother and came to her feet, looking curiously at her visitor. “You are Lady Sybilla,” she murmured hoarsely.

  Sybilla nodded, feeling an urge to put her arms round this beleaguered young Saxon woman who had suffered much at the hands of the Normans. She felt a kindred spirit. She took hold of Devona’s trembling hands. “Oui, I’m Sybilla.”

  Devona squeezed Sybilla’s hands. “I’m so happy for you, and Antoine. I’m sorry I wasn’t allowed to attend the ceremony. I hope you’ll be happy together. Antoine has risked a great deal for me and Hugh. Ram has been telling me about you during his visits. I thank you for agreeing to help us. I know it means danger for you.”