~~~
When Ram did not return to their tryst, Mabelle knew it must be a matter of importance. She dressed and went in search of him, bumping into Baudoin as he hastened from the Map Room.
“What’s happened?” she asked, a sense of foreboding washing over her when she saw Ram’s harried expression.
He rose and motioned her to sit by the fire. “King William Rufus is dead. He was accidentally shot. He might have survived had he not fallen from his horse and impaled the arrow more deeply.”
She made the Sign of the Cross. “May God have mercy on him,” she whispered. “He didn’t have a chance to confess his sins. What will happen now?”
Ram exhaled. “Henry will claim the throne, but so will Curthose. Interestingly enough, according to the message I received, Henry was also in the New Forest yesterday and became aware of what had happened immediately, giving him a head start. No doubt he’s already been to Winchester to take over the Treasury.”
“Who shot the King?” Mabelle asked, sure whoever it was must be a dead man by now.
Ram snorted. “This is where it gets interesting. Tirel of Poix. Again this is according to the message. The same Tirel who is well known as one of England’s best bowmen. He rarely misses a shot.”
The implications for her family suddenly struck Mabelle. “What must we do now?”
Robert answered. “Baudoin is arranging for a messenger to Caedmon and Agneta.”
Mabelle looked at her husband and smiled. Of course he would want to make sure his illegitimate son was protected, and part of the plan of action.
Ram was blunt. “We must gather information in the next few days and decide which claimant we’ll support. Our lives and all we hold dear may depend on the correct choice.”
He turned to greet his son as he re-entered the room. “Baudoin, contact our man at Court. We need to know what’s happening, what’s rumor and what’s fact.”
“Already done, mon père,” Baudoin replied. “And Rhoni and Ronan are on their way.”
Mabelle and Ram exchanged a look of pride in their youngest son as their daughter Rhoni and her Irish husband came hurriedly into the room.
Mabelle clasped Rhoni’s hands and gave a reassuring squeeze. She looked fondly at the young woman, always amused at her insistence on Rhoni, instead of Hylda Rhonwen. Mabelle had wanted to honor her late mother, Hylda—a woman she barely remembered. As long as Rhonwen was aware Mabelle’s daughter had been named for her—that was the important thing.
Her gaze moved to her two handsome sons—Robert, the future Comte de Montbryce, and Baudoin, who had already taken over a great deal of the responsibility of Ellesmere. Then she looked sadly at Ram. Though they had spent most of their lives in England, their hearts lay in Normandie, at the castle de Montbryce where Ram had grown up. Now a lifetime of sacrifice and devotion to the furtherance of Norman interests in England could be put in jeopardy by the death of King William Rufus.
~~~
After days of terrible uncertainty, Mabelle entered the Map Room where she found Ram, Baudoin, and Caedmon, newly arrived from Ruyton. Her men were enjoying a tankard of ale. Robert and Rhoni’s husband had already left for Normandie, Ronan insisting his wife remain in England.
She embraced Caedmon, kissing him on each cheek. “It’s fortunate you and your family were visiting your mother instead of at home in Northumbria. Whenever I see you three handsome men together, I’m always taken aback at how alike you are. How is Agneta with this latest pregnancy, Caedmon?”
“She’s well,” he replied with a smile. “Though she wasn’t happy about my leaving her and my mother with three children, and Edwin only two years old.”
Mabelle shook her head. “I can’t believe it. It seems only yesterday Agneta birthed your twins here in Ellesmere.”
Caedmon reddened, still regretful he had been off on the Crusade when his twins, Blythe and Aidan had been born.
Mabelle gave him a reassuring smile. “Do we know yet what’s happening?” she asked.
Caedmon FitzRam returned the smile. He admired his step mother. Despite being a woman, she had always taken an active role in matters affecting her family’s future, and his father valued her opinions. Ram was fond of telling people he was that most unusual of things, a nobleman in love with his intelligent wife.
It had not always been thus. His father had confided in him that when he and Mabelle first met they had clashed frequently, Ram firm in the belief women should be seen and not heard. But the long separation of the kidnapping had convinced them it was their destiny to be together, to enjoy an all-conquering passion.
Baudoin answered his mother’s query after wiping his hand across his mouth, savoring the dark ale. “According to our contacts at Court, the king was eating while making preparations for the hunt. He was laughing and jesting and pulling on his boots when a smith arrived and offered him six arrows. He took them eagerly, praising the workmanship. He kept four and gave two to Walter Tirel. Ironically he told his fellow hunters it was only fitting the sharpest arrows should be given to the man who was the deadliest shot.”
Mabelle sat down in the chair next to Ram’s. “What happened then?”
“They galloped off into the woods. Tirel and the king were stationed with a few companions, on the alert, waiting for their prey, their weapons ready. A beast suddenly ran between them. The king drew back from his place, and Tirel let fly an arrow. It struck the king, who fell from his horse, driving the arrow deeper.”
Mabelle’s hands went to her mouth. “What’s become of Tirel?”
Baudoin shrugged. “According to one rumor, he denies firing the shot. According to another he was not in that part of the forest, and yet another says he was not in the forest at all. There was apparently much confusion after the event and no one is sure what happened.”
Mabelle shook her head. “I can imagine. What have they done with the body?”
Her son completed the tale. “It’s said he was loaded on to a cart and taken to the cathedral at Winchester where his body was committed to the ground within the tower.”
His father took up the story, running a hand through his hair. “Rufus won’t be missed by the people. Everything hateful to God and to righteous men was the daily practice during his reign. But that doesn’t solve our problem.
“Henry was crowned at Westminster two days ago. He’s issued a Charter of Liberties promising good government. Many of the supporters of William Rufus will support him. Curthose is back from the Crusades and is laying plans to invade England. If we know as much, you can be sure Henry does too and will prepare.”
He paused for several minutes, staring into his tankard. Then, in a solemn tone, he announced, “I hope I’ve made the right decision for this family.”
All eyes turned to him. “I told the others before they left for Normandie, I’ve decided we’ll support Henry. I believe he’ll be the better monarch in the long term. Curthose has failed his supporters time and again. It’s crucial Robert prepare for war. He’s not happy with my decision. You know, Caedmon, your brother was named for the Conqueror’s son, and he’s more inclined to support his Duke, his namesake.”
“I know, mon père,” Caedmon answered, always surprised he could comfortably call Ram his father after the disastrous beginning of their relationship when Caedmon had refused to accept he was the son of a Norman. He had grown up believing he was the son of a Saxon war hero killed at Hastings. Full of self loathing when he discovered the truth, he had abandoned his wife Agneta and gone off on the People’s Crusade. His dire experiences during the Crusade had convinced him beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing good comes from hatred and vengeance.
Ram cleared his throat, and drank the last of his ale. He put the empty tankard down on the table. “Now, Caedmon, we must speak of the risks to you and your family of my decision. The threat to Montbryce lands here in England is slight. We could lose Ellesmere in the event Henry doesn’t win, but I doubt it. Curthose will recognise my pa
st loyalty to him, and to Normandie, and also the importance of keeping a strong proven presence here in the Marches.”
Baudoin smirked. “He’d be hard pressed to control this region without our help.”
Ram chuckled. “Quite so. Rhodri ap Owain would recommence his raids in this area if we weren’t here. Your ancestral estate at Shelfhoc should be safe, Caedmon, as well as the three lucrative Sussex manors I’ve already transferred to you. However, any English lands I’ve willed to you may be forfeit if Curthose succeeds. Kirkthwaite Hall is your wife’s inheritance, and as such is safe.
“The most important thing is to secure the Montbryce lands in Normandie. Robert will strengthen the castle itself. Ronan will garrison Alensonne. My brothers, Hugh and Antoine, and their sons, will fortify Belisle and Domfort. I wish Robert would get on with finding a wife who will bring him strong allies. We may need them.”
Caedmon braced his legs and squared his shoulders. “You are my liege lord, Father, and I’ll serve you whatever your decision,” he replied, rejoicing in his heart he already had a beautiful wife who loved him despite his shortcomings. He hoped his half brother would find a woman he loved, and not have to marry for the sake of an alliance.
PASSION IN THE BLOOD
CHAPTER TWO
Giroux Castle, Normandie
Dorianne de Giroux had grown up in the bosom of a family filled with hatred and the desire for vengeance. Before she was born, her late grandfather had been blinded and mutilated by another baron, Guillaume de Valtesse, after a bitter argument over territory.
Sitting with her father and brother in the gallery, she concentrated on her embroidery, but once again, her father, François, wanted to relive the nightmare.
“Your grandfather sank into madness after his blinding and made life a living hell for his sons, Phillippe, Georges, and me. Yet it was we who had captured the Valtesse castle at Alensonne in retaliation. With the help of Valtesse’s bastard, Arnulf, we cast Guillaume out and exiled him, along with his daughter, Mabelle. Curses on fate that Arnulf would die and Valtesse regain his castle.”
Dorianne had heard this story a thousand times and knew what came next. Her uncle Phillippe had been consumed with hatred for the Valtesse family. He had gone to England and plotted against Mabelle’s husband, the Comte de Montbryce. News had eventually reached them Phillippe had been killed in Wales.
“Papa,” she ventured. “Can we not talk of other things?”
François glared at her as if she was speaking Greek and then carried on. “I’m not a violent man, but I can never forget the torments I suffered at the hands of my mad father.”
It worried Dorianne that her older brother, Pierre, seemed to hang on their father’s every word, encouraging his preoccupation. “Well, Papa, you almost had one of the Montbryces convicted of adultery by the King’s court in Caen.”
François smirked. “Much good that did. The Montbryces were in the Conqueror’s pocket. Had I succeeded in getting Hugh de Montbryce condemned, Phillippe might never have embarked on his plan to aid the Welsh kidnappers who captured Rambaud de Montbryce’s wife and her brats.”
Her father rarely showed affection for his children, and she had looked to Pierre for love and kindness. Their mother loved them, but she was a timid woman who wilted under the gaze of her husband and did his bidding in all things. Elenor now sat with her head bowed, as she did every evening, immersed in her sewing, contributing nothing to the conversation.
Dorianne dreaded the day her father would find her a husband. Having led a secluded existence in the Giroux castle, she had no friends, only her brother. A year older than she, Pierre was allowed more freedom and often travelled with their father through their lands or to other barons’ demesnes.
She harangued her brother for details of his travels upon his return, anxious to hear about the outside world. Pierre trained with the men-at-arms of the castle, and Dorianne often stole up to the parapets to watch secretly as the men practised their skills. Her Maman and Papa would be horrified if they were aware she’d seen men bared to the waist, sweating.
Young noblewomen of eighteen were not supposed to know of such things.
Sometimes seigneurs from neighboring lands would visit, often bringing their sons. This was part of the game to get her a husband, but none of the young men took her fancy. However, she would have no say in the matter. Her father was already irritated she was past the age when most young noblewomen married. The only family her father would never betroth her to was that of the Comte de Montbryce, their hated enemy, whose lands were but a day’s ride away.
~~~
A few days later, her father took her by surprise at supper in the Hall. “Dorianne, two days hence you’ll accompany Pierre and me to the castle of the Comte d’Avranches.”
“Two days?” she parroted, stunned she was being allowed to leave the castle, but suspecting more would be revealed and that it would concern a betrothal. She waited, noticing Pierre’s nod of approval.
She grew more apprehensive and toyed with her food, watching her father chew leisurely on a chicken leg and then take a long swig of ale. Noisily sucking food out of his teeth, he confirmed, “We’ll meet with the Comte to discuss your betrothal to his son, Otuel d’Avranches. He maybe a bastard son, but your marriage to him will bring us strong allies in the coming war with Henry of England. The Comte plans to host a Grand Council to discuss the political situation, and we’ll be his guests. It’s a perfect opportunity for them to meet my beautiful daughter.”
Her eyes widened. This might turn out to be a good thing, but a bastard? Encouraged by her father’s unusual warmth, she ventured to ask, “What’s the Comte’s son like?”
He cast her an indignant look. “I know not, daughter, I haven’t met him. He’s never attended any of the tournaments. He’s but a boy of ten.”
Her heart plummeted. “Ten! But father—”
Her father held up his hands. “Enough of this, Dorianne. He’s a d’Avranches. That’s the important thing.”
She crossed her arms over her breasts, slid down in her chair and sulked for a while, then something else her father had said came to mind. “Coming war? There’s to be a war?”
Pierre looked at her as though she was stupid. “Don’t you know anything? There’ll be war over the throne of England.”
She gritted her teeth and hissed back at him. “How am I supposed to know what’s going on when I’m a prisoner here?”
Her father got up and left. Elenor packed up her sewing and dutifully followed him, venturing a strange smile at her daughter. Dorianne slumped back into her chair.
“What’s wrong with you?” Pierre asked belligerently.
Dorianne was not sure that sharing her feelings with him was a good idea. “In my wildest imaginings of my future husband I never dreamt he’d be a boy much younger than me.”
Pierre shrugged as he came to his feet. “Dori, it’s father’s decision. You’ll have to make the best of it. Be grateful he’s not sending you to a nunnery.”
Dorianne sat bolt upright. “Why would he do that?”
Pierre left without another word, whistling. The future did not look promising.
PASSION IN THE BLOOD
CHAPTER THREE
Robert de Montbryce was deeply uncomfortable with his father’s decision to support King Henry in the battle for control of Normandie. As a loyal Norman he felt they should fight for his namesake, Duke Robert Curthose. The now dead William Rufus and Curthose had made an agreement naming each other heir presumptive. Henry had usurped the throne as far as Robert was concerned. He needed to know the allegiances of the other noble families in Normandie. Who would fight on which side?
He had received an invitation to the Grand Council being summoned by the Comte d’Avranches, a Marcher Lord like his father. He told Steward Bonhomme, “This Grand Council will be an excellent chance to sound out the other families, most of whom also have lands in England. My uncles Antoine and Hugh will attend to represe
nt the family’s other holdings and it will be an opportunity to formulate a unified plan for the Montbryce lands. I expect at least some of my cousins will be there too.”
Bonhomme made the preparations and Robert completed the two day ride with his knights to Avranches. He was welcomed warmly by the Comte who had grown so fat he walked with the aid of the heavy staff now leaning against the massive chair in which he sat.
“How is my old friend, the Earl of Ellesmere?” d’Avranches asked. “I haven’t seen him for a while. I hear good things concerning his area of the Marches though. Your father seems to have solved many of the problems of the Welsh there. My earldom is still plagued by those infernal rebels, Rhun and Rhydderch ap Rhodri.”
Robert’s chest swelled at the well-deserved praise for his father. He smiled inwardly, privy to information about Rhodri ap Owain and his family d’Avranches did not know. Though the troubles with the Welsh were still ongoing in the border Marches, his father’s holdings had been relatively free of trouble after the marriage of the rebellious Rhodri and Rhonwen, who was like a daughter to his mother, Mabelle.
Robert’s own sister, Rhoni, had been born in the Welsh chieftain’s fortress during their captivity. Though a child at the time of the kidnapping, Robert had taken a liking to the fearsome Welshman who had taught him how to fight and defend himself, and, more importantly, how to ride a Welsh mountain pony.
But he shared none of this with d’Avranches. “He’s well, milord, apart from his rheumatism. He and my mother are both well.”
D’Avranches slapped him on the back. “And I suppose your mother is as beautiful as ever?”
“She is,” Robert answered with a grin.
The Comte had not removed his arm from Robert’s shoulders. “Your uncles and cousins arrived earlier. Your chambers are satisfactory?”
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