Robert pressed his forehead to hers. “There’s only one way to find out. But don’t get too close to him.”
He turned to his steward. “Is he armed?”
“He has a sword, milord,” Bonhomme replied. “That’s the only weapon I could see.”
As soon as they entered the Map Room, Dorianne ran to her brother and flung her arms around his neck. “Pierre, I’ve missed you.”
So much for my advice not to go near him!
Robert kept a wary eye on the young man. Pierre had changed. His unkempt beard and matted hair gave him a wild look. He was no longer a boy.
Pierre hugged his sister then dropped to one knee. “Dorianne, please forgive me for the pain I caused you. I’ve fretted over it. I hope you’re healed by now?”
Dorianne pulled him to his feet. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine now. Get up, please. I forgive you, and Robert does too,” she gushed.
Robert had no such thoughts. Fretted, indeed.
Dorianne linked her arm in her brother’s. “How is Papa? Does he know Robert and I have two children?”
Pierre grimaced. “Oui, he knows, but he’s still stubborn and his pride won’t let him come. He sends his congratulations and his condolences on the death of your esteemed father, milord.”
Thank be to the saints my mother isn’t present.
“Merci,” Robert responded coolly. “Well, brother-by-marriage, now you’ve given us your good wishes, what other news do you have?”
He suspected the Giroux family had participated in Curthose’s invasion, but did not know if Pierre had been part of the landing in England.
Dorianne gave Robert a scolding look, plainly displeased at her husband’s coolness towards her repentant brother. Then she blurted out, “Pierre, you look as though you’ve had a long journey. Why not stay here with us at Montbryce? Robert, I’m sure you can find a post among your men for my brother?”
Pierre held up his hands in protest. “Non, Dorianne, I can’t expect that from the Comte.”
She linked her arm in his. “Nonsense. We must put rancor behind us. Isn’t that right, Robert?”
Robert was angry he had been backed into a corner. He did not blame Dorianne for her trusting innocence, but if Pierre was to stay at Montbryce he would have to prove his trustworthiness. He noted sourly his brother-by-marriage had not sought his pardon directly, nor apologized to him for attempting to kill him. Could he keep the suspicion out of his voice? “I’m sure I can find a place for you, Pierre. I’ll speak to my Second, Bernard Chauvelin, and we’ll get Bonhomme to prepare a chamber for you. Come, we’ll find him together.”
~~~
“How goes it with Pierre de Giroux?” Robert asked Chauvelin two months later.
“Your brother-by-marriage is a good soldier, milord. I put him in the hands of our toughest Captain as you requested, and Gicotte gives good reports of him. He has tested his mettle, as you instructed, and found him resilient.”
“We can trust him then?” Robert asked.
“He’s a quiet man, milord, hard to read. He hasn’t been here very long, but he has acquitted himself well. He’s not a man who makes friends.”
Robert had noticed Pierre’s cool demeanor and solitary ways, but perhaps that should be of no concern. The boy had grown up with a difficult father after all. “Tell Gicotte to ease up somewhat on the discipline, perhaps give Giroux a small promotion.”
“Oui, milord.”
~~~
Dorianne cuddled into Robert’s back as they lay skin to skin that night. “Pierre told me you gave him a promotion. Merci.”
Robert reached behind him and pressed her arm.
She nuzzled his neck. “Your mistrust has come between us. We never seem to discuss my brother without one of us losing our temper. I’m relieved you’ve decided to trust him.”
Her husband remained silent, wishing he could rid himself of his suspicions. It had been his intention to discuss it with his mother, but since his father’s death she seemed preoccupied and distracted, cloaked in sadness. He did not want to get into another argument over it. His wife’s naked body pressed against him was already playing havoc with his senses, as it never failed to do. He turned to her, bent his head to lick her nipple and suckled.
She ran her fingers through his hair. “You’ll soon have to share your delight again, Robert,” she teased.
He looked up at her, wondering what her smile meant. “Share?” he asked.
“Yes, you know—” She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “You’ll have to share the suckling—with your son.”
Robert suddenly felt his heart would burst. “You’re enceinte again?” he murmured.
“Oui.”
He rose from the bed and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, swaying from side to side, choked with emotion.
“You’re happy?” she asked him after a few minutes.
“I’m delirious. Merci, my love. It’s a precious gift you’ve given me. I love you. Another child. Perhaps this time a son of my own.”
She tucked her head into his shoulder. “A son for us to love,” she said with a smile.
He laid her back on the bed, aware she had seen the desire flare in his eyes and the obvious sign of his arousal.
“Can we still? Is it permitted?”
Why was he stammering like an idiot?
She laughed. “You’d think this was our first baby! Yes, it’s permitted. In fact, it’s encouraged.”
“Thank goodness,” he breathed as his mouth fastened on hers and they began the long slow, pleasurable climb to ecstatic release.
PASSION IN THE BLOOD
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Curthose made his anger known to the noble Norman families who had supported him. One who paid particular attention was Pierre de Giroux. Having sailed proudly with his Duke to invade England, he’d been extremely disappointed in the outcome. They’d been sent back to Normandie with their tails between their legs without engaging the enemy.
His hatred of Robert de Montbryce and Curthose’s anger led him to place the blame for the failure of the invasion completely at Robert’s door. He had schemed long and hard to devise a plan to deliver Montbryce into Curthose’s hands, and now success was within his grasp.
“Your men must come after midnight,” he explained again, handing a rolled parchment to the Duke’s lieutenant. “I’ve devised a plan of the location of the postern gate of Montbryce Castle. It’s difficult to find. Your men will have to pay close attention to the chart. I’ll be there to open the gate.”
The band of well-armed men stood in a clearing deep inside a copse, not far from the Montbryce lands.
The man studied the drawing Pierre had given him. “Is it guarded?”
Pierre smirked “Oui, but I’ll take care of the sentry. He’ll be taken by surprise. They trust me.”
“And once inside?” the Duke’s man asked.
“Your men will eliminate Robert’s bodyguards. Then I’ll conduct them to the Comte’s chambers. I must have your guarantee he won’t be killed. He’s married to my sister.”
The lieutenant reassured him. “They won’t kill him. He’s to rot in a dungeon for his disloyalty. But won’t your sister be with him in their chambers?”
“Oui. I’ll take care of her. Your men must remember their hoods and no identifying marks on their tunics.”
“It will be done. Until tonight then.”
Pierre watched the men leave, then returned to his post as captain of the guard of the postern gate of Montbryce Castle.
~~~
Intruders roused Robert from a deep sleep. He tried to curl his body around his wife, to protect her, but he was dragged cursing from the bed. Dorianne’s scream turned into a muffled protest. His heart and gut lurched at the thought of rough hands on her. He blamed himself for not sensing the castle was under threat.
The coarse wool of his attacker’s tunic chafed his naked skin. The odor of unwashed men sent a wave of nausea r
olling over him. Icy fear crawled through his veins. A blindfold was tied roughly over his eyes. He heard Dorianne struggling to be free, as fists pounded his flesh. “If you touch my wife I’ll kill you,” he rasped. “Dorianne, where are you?”
“I’m blindfolded, Robert,” she cried in terror.
Someone made a snorting noise. “You’re in no position to issue threats, milord Comte.”
Vulnerable as he was in his nakedness, he was incensed that his wife was also naked. What did these men want? Would they rape her before they killed them both? He had to stay calm, but desperation for his wife and unborn child seeped into his racing heart. A hood was placed over his head and two men forced him to his knees, arms behind his back. “What is it you want? How dare you invade the privacy of my home, my castle?”
“Put this on,” was the only reply. Something was thrown at him. His hands were released and he picked the garment, indignation rising in his throat. “I’ll not don this garment. It’s a penitent’s robe,” he said defiantly.
A blow to the back of his head sent him reeling.
“If you don’t, we’ll carry both you and your wife naked. I have a nice nun’s habit for her, if you cooperate.”
He heard a soft thud, then Dorianne panting heavily, sobbing.
“They’ve given me a habit. I’m covered now,” she whispered.
Robert reluctantly donned the rough robe and cinched the rope at his waist. His hands were bound behind him and he was hoisted as effortlessly as a sack of turnips over a very broad shoulder. The man’s helmet pressed against his arm and the mail of a hauberk dug into his chest. These men were soldiers. But whose soldiers? Who had sent them?
He was carried down steps. Dorianne still sobbed. Cool air hit his face. Where were they taking him? What had happened to his bodyguards? The attackers kept silent. This had evidently been well planned. Each man knew his role. These were no peasant brigands. Suddenly the pace slowed and he was jostled against a gate. The postern gate! Who was in charge of securing it?
He wracked his brain, settling on the grim answer he should have known—Giroux. But if it was Giroux, whose men were these and why take Dorianne? She sobbed, not far away. They were jostled onto horses. Robert’s hands were freed and then retied to the pommel.
“Dorianne?” he called out.
“Robert?” she sobbed, but her voice seemed more distant.
“Dorianne?” he shouted again.
“Robert?” Fainter now. They were taking them to different destinations.
“Where are you taking my wife?” he demanded.
He received no reply. His feet were bound from ankle to ankle, the rope tied beneath the horse. He then had to devote his energies to staying mounted as they galloped away to his fate.
They rode for hours. He lost track of time. The rough robe chafed his legs and genitals, his head and body throbbed where he’d been punched, his cold hands were numb from the effort of hanging on to the pommel, and he was exhausted with worry for his wife. He had no sense of the route, the hood blocking all visual clues. Fear constricted his breathing.
When he heard the hooves clatter to a halt in a cobblestone courtyard he assumed they had reached their destination—evidently a castle. He was untied and dragged from the horse. Body odor told him it was the same burly shoulder that carried him. He was taken inside, along winding corridors, then down steps, a long way down. The stench grew viler, the air cooler. He heard cries of human misery. Then they went lower, his head and shoulders colliding with the walls of the narrow staircase. Here utter silence reigned, the only sound the grunts of the man who carried him. A metal door grated open. He was thrown to the ground, the hood pulled from his head. The metal door slammed.
A sarcastic voice, the same cruel voice that had commanded him to don the robe, sneered, “Welcome to your new home, milord Comte!”
Laughter receded as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom around him. The stench turned his stomach. He discerned gradually he was in a tiny, windowless cell. One man could lie down, two could not. There was a hole in the corner which he surmised went straight to the drains. This was the source of the foul odor. He struggled to his feet and discovered he could barely stand upright before his head touched the ceiling. Damp straw covered the stone floor. He hurried to the drain to retch, praying they had not brought Dorianne here.
“Dorianne,” he called, then waited. “Dorianne,” he called again.
Only his voice echoed in the eerie silence. He drew the cowl of the robe over his head, collapsed onto the straw, hugging his knees to his chest, and succumbed to exhaustion.
~~~
After she donned the habit, a man lifted Dorianne carefully and carried her in his arms, looping her bound hands over his neck, forcing her close to him. This man’s body odor was different—cleaner. There was something familiar, but he did not speak. She trembled uncontrollably. Once outside, her captor mounted and sat her before him on his lap, holding her tightly. He said nothing. She was exhausted by terror and passed out despite being jostled on the horse.
When she woke she was abed in a chamber that seemed too familiar. The blindfold and bindings had been removed, but she still wore the chafing habit. She sat up abruptly. It was her own chamber in her father’s castle!
She had been rescued! She was safe! Where was Robert? Gingerly she rose from the bed and made her way to the door. It was locked. Why was she locked in? She banged her fists on the heavy wood. “Help, help, Please release me. I’m awake now. Is Robert safe?”
No one came. She wandered around the familiar room, a feeling of foreboding taking hold in the pit of her stomach. By the time the door creaked open she was again trembling, but with a different fear. Pierre strode in carrying a tray.
“Here you are, Dori. I brought you some food,” he drawled.
She rose slowly and asked him, “Where is Robert? Is he safe? Did you rescue him too?”
“Rescue him?” he sneered. “He’s my prisoner, as are you.”
She could not understand. “You’re my brother. How can I be your prisoner?”
“You’re no longer my sister. You forfeited the right when you married Montbryce. In any case you married in England, so your marriage is null here in Normandie. You’re a whore who has brought shame, disgrace and ridicule on the Giroux name.”
Her blood turned to ice. Hatred had turned her sweet brother’s mind to dust. “Where is my father? I wish to speak with him,” she said trying to keep the fear out of her voice.
Pierre shrugged. “Father is away from the castle for a few days. You’ll stay here until arrangements are made for you to be sent back to a nunnery—one you can’t escape from.”
It was on the tip of Dorianne’s tongue to blurt out she was with child, but she thought better of it. It would give Pierre too much power. Nor would it be any use to expect help from her mother. Her mind worked feverishly to find a solution to her dilemma. Surely her mother-by-marriage, Mabelle would raise the alarm? But when? The poor woman spent most of her time in the crypt. Would she discover they were gone, that they had been abducted? And where in the name of all the saints was Robert? Was he here in this same castle?
“Thank you for the food, Pierre. I prefer to eat alone,” she said, knowing now what had been familiar about the man who had carried her.
“As you wish.” He put down the tray and left, locking the door behind him.
~~~
It was Tristan Bonhomme who raised the alarm when early the next morning he discovered the sentry’s body at the postern gate, and the bloodied bodies of the special guard. He ran immediately to inform the Comte, but when he received no answer to his insistent knocking on the chamber door, he took the liberty of entering. He recognized at once the evidence of a struggle. Fear nipped at his heels as he scoured the castle for any sign of his beloved master and mistress. It soon became apparent they were gone. With a grieving heart, he went to inform the dowager Comtesse.
Mabelle was incredulous. “Disappeare
d?” she asked. She became more and more agitated as Bonhomme told her the details of the dead guards and the ransacked chamber.
“We must seek the help of King Henry in this matter. It will take too long to get a message to Baudoin at Ellesmere, though we must send one there also. I’ve never missed Ram as much as I miss him now. What would he do in the circumstances? Are Robert and Dorianne being held for ransom? Dieu, what terrible memories that possibility brings back.”
Tristan was distraught and did not know how to comfort her as she wept.
“Who has taken them, Bonhomme?” she asked.
“I fear I know not,” he answered sadly.
They were joined by Robert’s Second, Chauvelin and Captain Gicotte. Tristan had alerted them in his frantic search.
Chauvelin spoke first. “Madame la Comtesse, regrettably it appears Pierre de Giroux has also disappeared. He may have been another victim of this plot. However, the postern gate was his responsibility.”
Mabelle’s hand went to her throat. “Giroux?” she gasped. “Robert didn’t trust him. Will we never be free of this feud?”
“Perhaps he was right in his judgment, milady,” Gicotte replied.
“Chauvelin, we are reliant upon you now until we can get word to the King in England and to Baudoin,” Mabelle said.
“Milady, I’ll send out small groups to listen and report back to us. We must ascertain where they’ve been taken, and someone will talk. They will drink too much and divulge the secret we wish to know.”
“Merci. I leave that in your capable hands. Bonhomme, please make sure messengers are dispatched immediately to Henry and to Baudoin. I’ll apply my seal.”
PASSION IN THE BLOOD
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In his dark, damp cell Robert waited for the torturers. Days went by. Twice a day, he surmised each morning and evening, a heel of stale bread, moldy cheese and a tumbler of watered ale were shoved through the bars of his cell. The foul smelling hulk of a man who brought the food shuffled across the stone floor, but said nothing. When Robert spoke to him, he opened his mouth and with a strangled grunt pointed to his missing tongue with a fat finger ingrained with dirt. The same mute brought him the second meal later in the day. It was mostly the same fare, with, from time to time, a piece of boiled mutton. He communicated only with signs and grunts and headshakes.
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