Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)
Page 46
The battle itself lasted a brief hour. Henry dismounted and ordered most of his knights to do the same. Mortain charged the front line. The intervention of Henry's reserve force proved decisive. Most of Curthose’s army was captured or killed.
François de Giroux was among the captured Curthose supporters, but was subsequently released by the King. He pledged his allegiance to Henry and was allowed to return to his castle with what remained of the body of his son, Pierre. Robert dreaded imparting the news to Dorianne.
Baudoin and Caedmon saw action in what essentially became a running battle over several miles, and Robert was proud his brothers and cousins had come to join him in this crucial fight.
He requested and received a boon from his king—he wanted to be in the party of knights seeking to apprehend the Duke. When the fugitive was trapped at a farm two miles north of Tinchebray and forced into surrender, Robert itched to run him through with his sword. The dark memories washed over him, but he did not want the blood of the King’s brother on his hands.
He handed Curthose over to the King, but not before goading him in a proud and steady voice and with a mock bow. “Your Grace, I am Robert de Montbryce, of late your guest in Caen. I hope for your sake the prison your brother the King has in mind for you is better than the one you inflicted on me. You will be in prison much longer than I was.”
~~~
When they arrived back at Montbryce, there was a message for Baudoin. Dorianne herself delivered it to him. Her daughters clung to her skirts and she held Alexandre in her arms. She thrust the missive into Baudoin’s hand as he dismounted. Her expression told them it was not good news.
Before he read the message, Baudoin took Dorianne aside. “Robert will find it hard to tell you this, sister, so I will. Pierre was killed at Tinchebray. Robert was not the one who slew him. I did.”
She swayed and clutched Alexandre. “My father?” she whispered.
“He was captured, but swore his allegiance to Henry and was released. He took Pierre’s body home.”
Dorianne only nodded.
Baudoin opened the message. Caedmon watched his brother’s face draw into tight lines as he read it.
“What is it?” he asked.
Baudoin exhaled loudly. “I suppose I should have expected this. Rhun and Rhydderch have been arrested by the Earl of Warwick for harassing the building of his new castle at Abertawe in south Wales. They are sentenced to hang in a fortnight. Carys is distraught for her brothers. I must return at once to see what I can do.”
“I’ll journey with you,” Caedmon said.
Robert put his arm around Baudoin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about Carys’s brothers. Rhodri must be devastated. Will we never know peace?”
Caedmon braced his legs, determined not to let his younger brothers lose heart. “Listen, we’ve achieved our father’s goal. Normandie and England are again subject to one ruler, King Henry, son of the Conqueror, the only one of his children born in England. The political strife has been put to rest. But the battles aren’t over. Now Baudoin, you and I will ride to help Carys’s brothers. We must be our father’s sons and protect this family. We’re his legacy.”
The three men embraced, too overcome with emotion to speak. Baudoin and Caedmon hugged Dorianne and her children. Dorianne sniffled back her tears as they kissed Alexandre, and then Catherine and Marguerite begged to be picked up. The two men crouched. Baudoin lifted Catherine and Caedmon hoisted Marguerite onto his shoulders. They clung to their uncles, giggling. “Goodbye, beautiful nieces,” Caedmon said.
“Au revoir, oncle Caedmon, oncle Baudoin,” they replied.
Baudoin lowered Catherine to the ground and mounted his stallion.
Caedmon put one arm around Robert’s shoulder and drew him aside. In a low voice he said, “After we leave, Robert, turn around and take a good look at your family. You’ve wrought your revenge on Curthose, now you must defeat whatever demons are destroying your wife and children. Look into the eyes of this child on my shoulders. She needs you.”
Robert nodded slowly, and reached up to take Marguerite. For a moment Caedmon feared she would make strange with the father she barely knew. But then she put out her arms and threw them around Robert’s neck.
“Godspeed, my brother,” Robert rasped, holding his daughter tightly.
~~~
Dorianne gasped when she saw how fiercely Robert held on to his little girl. Was there hope now that he could learn to love them again? She had resigned herself that she would never again be the object of his love, but his children—she knew what it was to grow up without a father’s love.
He came to her and put his arm around her waist. It was the first time for months he had willingly touched her, and her knees buckled. He held her up, as if sensing her distress. “Let’s get inside. I must get this armor off.”
He crouched and beckoned Catherine, who had again taken refuge in her mother’s skirts. She looked at Marguerite then held out her arms. He lifted her and carried both of them into the keep. “My father was good with children,” he said to Dorianne.
She could barely speak. “Oui, he was,” she rasped.
Alexandre seemed suddenly to become aware his sisters were being carried by their father. He squirmed in Dorianne’s arms and reached out to Robert. “Papa,” he begged.
Robert turned, his eyes filled with tears. “He has never called me that before.”
Dorianne tried to soothe Alexandre. She stroked his hair off his face. “Papa will pick you up when he’s got his armor off,” she cajoled. He was not to be placated. Robert laughed and crouched to put the girls down. He smiled at them. “Can I put you down for a few moments, while I kiss your brother?”
Both girls pouted, but did not put up a fuss. Robert took Alexandre from Dorianne and lifted him high above his head. Alexandre giggled with delight. Robert lowered him and clasped him to his breast, burying his face in the child’s hair. “My son,” he croaked.
Dorianne’s heart filled with cautious hope.
~~~
After bathing, Robert decided to go to the nursery. Suddenly he could not get enough of his children. They had missed so much while he struggled with his ghosts. He had a lot to make up for.
When he strode into the room, his girls ran to him, squealing with delight. He nodded to the nursemaid, crouched and pretended they had knocked him over. The three wrestled on the floor until both girls seemed worn out by his tickling. “Show me your toys,” he said, feigning defeat.
Catherine took his hand and dragged him over to a bench. Two knight puppets lay atop it. He looked enquiringly at the nursemaid. “They like to play with them,” she explained, “but don’t really know how.”
He knelt beside the bench. “Well, we’ll soon fix that. Catherine, you stand at that end of the bench.” He placed the strings attached to the knights in her hands. “Hold them tightly.”
“Marguerite, you stand at the other end.” He straightened the strings and put the other ends in her hands.
“Now, if you both pull—oh, too hard. Pull gently, and you’ll see them battle each other.”
The two giggled with delight once they got the feel of it. The two miniature knights twisted and turned in mock battle with each tug of the string.
Robert laughed at their amusement. How could he have found their joy irritating? “Where’s Alexandre?” he asked.
Catherine thrust her chin out towards an alcove. “With Maman,” she replied.
It was only then he became aware of Dorianne suckling his son in the shadowed alcove, watching him. She lowered her gaze when she realized he had seen her, covering the suckling babe with a blanket.
Robert cursed himself for the times he had sent her away when she nursed their child. “I’m going to talk with Maman for a few minutes,” he said to his daughters. “Can you play with your toys for a while?”
They nodded and carried on the mock battle. He came to his feet and walked over to the alcove. “Alexandre still suckles?” he w
hispered.
Dorianne nodded. “Oui, sometimes.”
“I’ve missed so much,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “I’ve been here, yet I haven’t.” Carefully he pulled the blanket away. His shaft responded. Alexandre had fallen into a contented sleep, his head resting on his mother’s breast. Dorianne’s eyes flitted to his groin then she looked away, blushing. Her mouth fell open.
Robert shifted his weight. Did he have the right to ask? He touched his fingers to Dorianne’s burning cheek. She looked up at him, her eyes wary.
He went down on one knee and bowed his head, fearful of the answer he might receive to his request. “May I return to your bed this night, milady Comtesse?”
A choked sob escaped her lips. He looked up. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She reached for his hand. “I will be waiting for you, milord Comte.”
He kissed her hand, stroked his son’s head, rose and went back to playing with his girls.
~~~
The light tapping at the door of her chamber set Dorianne’s heart beating rapidly. She fanned her face and straightened the neck of the linen chemise she had decided to wear. She usually slept naked, but did not know what to expect from Robert. His behavior since his rescue more than a year before had been unpredictable. She swallowed hard and murmured, “Entrez.”
The word stuck in her throat. She coughed and tried again. “Entrez.”
She had never noticed before how the hinges creaked. As he entered Robert did not look at the bed where she sat propped up on the bolster, the linens up to her chin. He turned to close the door, his shoulders tense. He wore a long night shirt. She knew he was still uncomfortable with his body, though he had regained much of his weight and rebuilt most of the muscle he had lost. She longed to see his body again.
He turned and hesitated. She held out her hand. “Come lie with me, husband,” she murmured. “We must talk.”
He nodded, walked to the bed and sat next to her, his knees bent. He drew the linens up over his chest, clamping them down with his arms. Why was he so nervous?
“You have never told me what it was like,” she whispered. Would he tell her, or would he continue to shut her out of his nightmare?
Still he did not look at her. “I cannot.”
She placed her hand over his. “Neither of us will find peace until you do.”
He gripped her hand and put it to his forehead. She barely heard his answer. “I know.”
He did not speak for long minutes, and then gradually he told her of his captivity. He talked long into the night. Sometimes the painful words came in a rush, sometimes he had to force them out. When he told the story of the kittens, he sat for a long while with his arms clasped to his chest. She wept for the suffering he had endured.
Finally, he inhaled deeply. He seemed to be holding his breath. Then she heard the sobs emanating from deep with his chest. He shook his head.
She gathered him into her arms. “Let them out, Robert. Let them out.”
His head sagged onto her breast and he sobbed openly. “A man shouldn’t cry,” he lamented.
“A man who can’t cry isn’t a man,” she replied.
She held him until long after he had quieted. She thought he had fallen asleep, but when she tried to ease him onto the bolster, he looked up at her. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. “I feel better,” he said. “I’ve talked of nothing but myself. I’ve never asked about your ordeal.”
She put her finger on his lips. “Mine was nothing compared to yours.”
“The candles have all but burnt out. Lie down while I light new ones and you can tell me,” he suggested.
He walked over to light the new candles from the guttering remains of the old ones. Had some of the tension left him? He seemed more at ease as he wedged the new candles into the bases and then went to cleanse his hands at the basin.
He came back to bed, and she recounted the details of her ordeal as they lay side by side. He eased up on one elbow. “I knew you were in Caen.”
She edged nearer to him. “I wanted our son born there. I could feel you.”
Robert shook his head and smiled. “I had the same sense of nearness. I felt your presence.”
She leaned over, her heart beating wildly, and kissed him lovingly, pressing her tongue against his lips. She could tell he was aroused, but again he held himself in check. She drew back and looked at his face. “What’s wrong? Do you no longer find me desirable? I don’t blame you. If I hadn’t trusted Pierre—”
Robert looked away. “Dorianne, your trusting nature is one of the things I love most about you. I desire you more than I can tell you. I can’t understand why you still desire me. I’m not worthy of you.” He took a deep breath. “My desire for you during my incarceration is what led to my sin. I’m ashamed of myself.”
She did not understand. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. A lesser man wouldn’t have survived what you did.”
The sorrowful look Robert gave her was troubling. She felt unburdened that he did not blame her, but she needed to break through whatever still held him in its thrall. It was clear he did not want to say more. What sin could he mean? “What do you mean by sin?”
A heavy sigh shuddered through him. He sat up and stared at the bed. “I sinned. I sinned, over and over.”
She sat up next to him, put her hand on his shoulder, and whispered, “Then confess.”
He became impatient. “I’ve confessed again and again to the Bishop. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t cleanse me.”
“Confess to me then,” she whispered.
She had startled him, but he looked into her eyes.
She moved to sit cross-legged in front of him and took his hands. He averted his eyes. They sat for long silent minutes, holding hands, listening to each other breathing. Then Robert spoke so softly she barely heard him. “Dorianne, a man has needs—strong needs—urges—desires.”
She raised his hands to her lips. “I know. I understand desire. You’ve shown me only too well that a woman can have these desires too. I’ve ached for you since your return. All the time you were gone—”
He pulled his hands away from her mouth, but she would not release her hold on him. Still he stared at the linens. “But when a man has strong desires—and there’s no woman—”
He wrenched his gaze from the bed and looked at her. Her belly roiled at the anguish in his eyes.
“Dorianne—I couldn’t help myself. The more I tried to stop, the more I brought myself relief. It’s a mortal sin, but I couldn’t help myself.”
Dorianne had led a sheltered life, her father’s prisoner. Other than occasional glimpses of bare male flesh during her spying adventures atop the battlements, and the intimate joys Robert had shown her, she was ignorant of the male body. However, she would never forget the long nights she had lain awake in frustration longing to feel her husband’s manhood deep inside her, especially since his return, knowing he was so near. “You mean, when a man has desires, and—there’s no woman—he can—give pleasure to himself?”
“Oui,” he said softly, hanging his head.
She considered this new information. “Can a woman do the same for herself?” she asked. “I had needs too.”
Robert looked back at her. “Oui, Dorianne, a woman can pleasure herself if there’s no man to fill her needs, or even—”
His hands had become warmer, his skin redder and he was shifting his hips. She recognised the signs and it aroused her. “Robert, you probably worry I’m shocked by the idea of you—of your—but in truth I find it exciting,” she whispered, feeling the blush redden her cheeks.
He trembled as he drew her into his arms. “In truth, the vision behind my eyes of your touching yourself excites me.”
She drew the chemise over her head and threw it to the floor. “Show me how,” she breathed. He crossed his arms, reached for the hem of the nightshirt and peeled it off his body.
He held her tightly and they were skin to skin for the first time since his rescue.
She wanted to scream out her joy and relief. Could he feel her body trembling?
Robert laid her down, and bent to kiss and lick her nipples in turn, then rolled each one between a finger and thumb. “I’ve dreamt of your breasts,” he growled. “Dreamt of suckling and squeezing, of seeing the look on your face I see now.”
She gasped. “Robert—”
He put his forefinger to his lips, then took her hand, placed it on her breast and rolled one nipple with her fingers while he teased the pebbled tip of the other breast. “Squeeze your nipple, Dorianne,” he whispered. “Feel how hard it is.”
She thrust her head back. Molten sensations coursed through her. The passion he ignited burned deep in her belly. Her mouth fell open and she licked her lips. He responded to the open invitation of her tongue, sucking it into his mouth as he kissed her. He laid her other hand on her breast, removing his own. “Squeeze both now. Twice the pleasure.”
His fingers traced slowly down her body to stroke the intimate ache between her legs, stoking the fire. She squeezed her nipples harder, moaning as the heat of her need grew. He slid his fingers in, then out of her slippery wetness, over and over. Soon, soon the crescendo would wash over her. She was nearly there. It had been too long.
Robert took one of her hands from her breast and placed it lower, where his own had brought intense pleasure. He showed her how to caress her aching flesh with her fingers. He took his hand away and bent to suckle her. The intensity of her release made her light headed and she heard her own voice scream Robert’s name. The waves of pleasure went on and on, carrying her away.
When her breathing slowed, she opened her eyes. She lay with her legs open, one hand on her sex, the other still on her breast. Robert’s gaze was full of unshed tears. “Dorianne,” he rasped, “I never beheld anything more lovely.”
Lazily, she reached for his erection, closed her hand around his rigid flesh and whispered, “Can it not be beautiful when a man pleasures himself?”
She moved to sit beside him, then took his hand and put it on his shaft, folding her hand over his. She stroked with him, then took her hand away and pleasured herself again. She never took her eyes off Robert’s manhood and watched it harden and darken as he clenched his fist tighter, his strokes firmer and faster, his breathing more labored.