THE BASTARD OF BRITTANY

by Victoria Vane

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Kathryn Le Veque. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original World of de Wolfe Pack remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  THE BASTARD OF BRITTANY

  World of De Wolfe Pack

  Victoria vane

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.

  THE BASTARD OF BRITTANY

  Copyright © 2018 by Victoria Vane.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Editor: Elizabeth Komisar

  Cover Illustration: Romance-covers.com

  Stock Photography: Period Images

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Much have I fared, much have I found.

  Much have I got from the gods.

  - The Ballad of Vafthruthnir

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kingdom of Brittany

  905 A.D

  “It is finished!” Queen Oreguen declared with a satisfied smile. “Come and see it.”

  Stabbing her needle into her tambour frame, Gwened rose to examine her mother’s handiwork. “It’s lovely,” Gwened murmured, stroking the silky fabric with a reverent caress. The exquisitely embroidered veil was made of ivory Byzantine silk as delicate as gossamer. The queen had embellished it with equally delicate edging of gold thread. The effect was both subtle and sublime.

  “It is for you,” her mother said with a nod. “You marry in less than a month and must have a suitable headdress for the wedding.”

  “Thank you, Mother for the beautiful gift,” Gwened said.

  “Try it on.” The queen removed her own circlet of gold and offered it to Gwened to replace the cloth fillet that currently held her linen veil in place.

  “As the Countess of Poher,” the queen said, “you will wear such a coronet of gold.”

  As Gwened donned the headdress, her foster sister Adèle looked on in open admiration. “You are beautiful,” she gushed. Smiling, she clasped both of Gwened’s hands. “The day is fast approaching when we will be sisters in truth. Do you grow nervous?” she asked.

  “What bride-to-be is not?” Gwened asked.

  Although she was indeed nervous, excitement mixed with her anticipation. She had known Hugo of Poher for most of her life. He was young, strong, handsome, and morally upright. In sum, he was everything a woman could desire in a husband. Gwened was blessed indeed to be betrothed to such a man.

  The king and queen couldn’t be happier about the forthcoming nuptials. They both greatly esteemed Hugo, perhaps too much. Their adoration was a source of bitter resentment to their own son, Rudalt.

  Hugo naturally excelled in nearly every endeavor—swordplay, archery, riding, and swimming. He was also an avid scholar, passing much time with the monks in the abbey libraries. Rudalt, on the other hand, occupied himself with drinking, whoring, and the lowest company. The only thing the two men had in common was a passion for hunting, the only sport in which Rudalt was Hugo’s equal.

  “Have you chosen a gown?” Adèle asked.

  “I have bought the cloth for a new one,” Gwened answered. “It is a very fine linen of kermes scarlet. I think now I must embroider the hem and cuffs with gold thread.”

  “I would do it for you as my wedding gift,” Adèle offered, “but I fear my needlework is far inferior to yours.”

  “You do well enough,” Gwened said. “But I am useless in the still room, aside from identifying the proper plants for dyes. I think your medicinal knowledge is far more useful than my embroidery.”

  “We each possess our own unique gifts,” the queen remarked. “And it is for each of us to find a way to ply our particular skills for the greater good.”

  “Yes, Majesty,” Gwened answered, wondering wryly how her embroidery could possibly benefit the kingdom of Brittany.

  Oreguen was a dutiful queen, but hardly an affectionate mother. Duty always came first, and she expected her daughters to follow her example. Thankfully, it was Adèle, rather than herself, who would eventually replace Oreguen, albeit, as a duchess, rather than as a queen. Although it seemed unfair that Rudalt would not inherit all of his father’s kingdom, but only the Duchy of Vannes, in all truth, he was not worthy of it.

  Not trusting his own son to rule the entire kingdom when he passed on, King Alain had recently taken measures to divide the power. Instead of inheriting a kingdom united under one sovereign, Rudalt was destined to share Brittany with his two brother-in-laws, Gormaelon, the Count of Cornouailles, who had wed the king’s eldest daughter Avicia, and Hugo, Count of Poher, who would soon espouse Gwened.

  Gwened had long suspected that it was the king’s secret desire for Hugo to eventually wear the crown of Brittany. Perhaps if he wasn’t so disagreeable, Gwened might have felt more compassion for her brother, but the one Gwened truly felt sorry for was Adèle who had been betrothed to him almost at birth.

  “The hour grows late,” the queen announced, putting away her embroidery implements. “’Tis nigh time for vespers.” She then looked to the window of the solar with a frown. “‘Tis strange I have not heard the hunting party return. Rudalt knows how much it displeases me when he is absent at prayer time.”

  “Perhaps it is precisely why he does it?” Gwened suggested.

  Rudalt openly defied the king and queen at every opportunity.

  The queen sighed. “Indeed, he seems to take great joy in my distress, but Hugo?” she asked.

  Always punctual and polite, he would not be late to prayer without a good reason. Where were they?

  “Perhaps they had an unsuccessful hunt and did not wish to draw attention to it?” Adèle offered. The return of a hunting party was generally a raucous event with barking dogs and much roistering. But there would be little cause for celebration if they had failed to bring home any game.

  “I will go down to the kennels and inquire,” Gwened said, glad to get out of doors and escape from under her mother’s thumb at least for a short while. Removing her new veil and cornet, she quickly took them to her chamber and then darted down the narrow staircase to the great hall. Her father was there in conference with a number of his men. Rudalt and Hugo were not among them.

  Following protocol, Gwened held her tongue until the king chose to acknowledge her.

  “What is it child?” he asked.

  “The queen wishes to know if t
he hunting party has returned,” Gwened replied.

  “Nay.” The king frowned. “I was about to send men out to search for them.”

  His statement was echoed by a chorus of shouts and howling dogs emanating from the inner bailey. There was nothing unusual in the cacophony of sounds, but the tone wasn’t right. This was not a happy arrival. The men immediately took to their feet and bolted from the great hall with Gwened following timidly behind them.

  Rudalt dismounted. His horse’s flanks heaved as it they’d been galloped to exhaustion while Hugo’s hunting hounds circled aimlessly and continued to howl. Rudalt’s face and clothing were splattered in blood, but there was no trophy slung over his saddle bow. Four men had set out on the hunt early that morning but she only counted three men. Hugo was not among them. Something wasn’t right! What had happened on this hunt?

  “Hugo?” Gwened asked, her pulse suddenly racing.

  A very large blood covered bundle was slung over Hugo’s charger. The shape was not that of an animal. She stepped toward the horse but her brother blocked her path.

  He stared down at her with bloodshot eyes and the scent of lambig on his breath. “I regret to inform you, dear sister, that your beloved betrothed is dead.”

  Gwened stared at her brother, for a moment she was unable to comprehend his words. “Hugo is dead?” she repeated on a choked whisper.

  “We were attacked by Viking marauders,” Rudalt declared. “Hugo was struck down before we finally drove them off.” He inclined his head to the body slung over the fourth horse. “There was nothing to be done for him.”

  Gwened suddenly felt the ground swelling beneath her feet. It was as if she stood on a ship in rough seas, rather than on dry land. “I cannot breathe,” Gwened gasped, clutching Rudalt’s arm in the fear that she might actually swoon.

  “What is amiss?” Adèle had appeared, wearing a look of concern and confusion. “Where is my brother?”

  “Slain by Vikings,” Rudalt growled. “I must inform the king.” He then ruthlessly shook off Gwened’s hold and pushed past the two women, bound for the keep.

  Still in shock, Gwened stared after her brother. “Hugo is dead,” she whispered, her voice sounding flat and wooden even to her own ears. Suddenly, Gwened’s eyes began to blur and her knees quivered. It wasn’t real. This couldn’t be!

  “Gwened?” Adèle murmured her name but Gwened couldn’t seem to respond. Although she stood in front of her, Adèle’s voice seemed so very far away. Gwened shut her eyes as Adèle pulled her into her arms with a great sob. “My poor brother! My poor, Gwened!”

  The dogs encircled them, erupting into a howling chorus of mourning as the two young women held each other and wept.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A fortnight after Hugo’s death, Gwened still struggled with shock and disbelief. She’d wept for days on end, until there were no tears left. The entire kingdom mourned the young Count of Poher’s passing, or better said, the entire kingdom, save Rudalt. His reaction to Hugo’s death was strangely cold. What exactly had happened on their hunt?

  Gwened struggled to puzzle it together. Her unease over the incident was compounded by inconsistencies of her brother’s story. The king’s men-at-arms had set out early the next morning to the river where the Vikings had landed their boat. Although Rudalt said they had come to rape and plunder, none of the nearby villages had been pillaged. And no one, save Rudalt and his men, had seen the boat. The king seemed to accept their story, but Gwened’s thoughts led her toward a path that she refused to take.

  Surely her brother was not capable of such a heinous deed! She must put this behind her. Voicing the fear in her heart would only give credence to the unthinkable.

  Donning her wedding veil, Gwened wandered her chamber, feeling much like a ghost of her former self. Marriage to Hugo was to have been her future. She had loved him for as long as she could remember and was certain that he also cared for her. She had fantasized about their life together for years. Her heart ached with wistfulness for what might have been.

  Hugo was gone. What was now left for her?

  A soft rap sounded on her chamber door, probably her maid with another supper tray that she would once more send away untouched. “Enter,” Gwened commanded, surprised to see Adèle rather than her maid, Agnes, open the door.

  “The queen sent me to fetch you to her solar,” Adèle said.

  “But I have no desire to leave my rooms.”

  “I too, mourn him, Gwened,” Adèlele said. She came toward her with soft and sympathetic eyes. “But we both must accept that he is gone… and life… goes on.”

  “I still cannot comprehend it!” Gwened said. “Why did it have to be Hugo who was slain? Why wasn’t it someone who would not be mourned? Why wasn’t it Rudalt?”

  The moment she said it, she wished she hadn’t.

  Adèle’s eyes widened. “You should not say such things of your brother.”

  “’Tis true, nevertheless!” Although Adèle was too kind and well-bred to say so, Gwened strongly suspected she would not have mourned Rudalt half as much as Hugo. “I’m sorry,” Gwened said after a moment. “It was thoughtless of me. I didn’t mean it.”

  “The queen awaits you,” Adèle gently reminded her. “She will wonder why you tarry.”

  “Pray tell her I will come anon,” Gwened answered.

  Adèle hesitated, her blue-green eyes wide and plaintive. “Can I trust you not to betray me if I tell ye what I heard?”

  “Do ye oft eavesdrop on the queen?” Gwened snapped.

  “I did not set out to do so, but once I heard mention of your marriage, I could not help but lurk in the shadows.”

  “The queen spoke of Hugo?” Gwened asked.

  “Nay!” Adèle shook her head. “She spoke of another. I heard her ask the priest if there was any impediment to a marriage.”

  “Surely you misheard!” Gwened protested. “I cannot believe they would speak so soon of another marriage!”

  Adèle shook her head. “Nae, sister. I did not mishear. The priest said that there was no impediment and that he has reached the age of consent.”

  “He? Who?” Gwened asked.

  “Alas, I did not hear the name,” Adèle replied with an apologetic look. She then squeezed Gwened’s hands plaintively. “Please do not let on that I told you any of this. I only wanted to save you the surprise.”

  “It is indeed a shock,” Gwened said. “But thank you for telling me.”

  Gwened’s mind raced. How could the king be so cruel as to consider another marriage when her betrothed was so recently laid in his grave? But even as she struggled to understand, the answer came. Politics. The king used his children to form stronger alliances with the most powerful Breton families. Most marriages in their class were arranged for such reasons. In truth, her betrothal to Hugo had been no different. She was just fortunate to have loved him.

  As soon as Adèle departed, Gwened removed her veil and golden fillet. Caressing the fabric for the last time, she locked them away in the bottom of her chest, burying her hopes and dreams with them.

  ***

  The queen sat in her usual place, needle in hand and tambour resting on her lap. She looked up to acknowledge Gwened, her expression as always, cool and serene.

  “You sent for me Majesty?” Gwened asked.

  “Come forth child,” her mother commanded, arms extended.

  Rising, she took Gwened into a brief and awkward embrace, then offered her cheek for a kiss. Gwened recognized the gesture as sympathy. Her parents had never shown affection but today there was almost a hint of compassion in her eyes.

  “How do you fare?” the queen asked after releasing her.

  “I am heartbroken,” Gwened replied. What more was there to say?

  “Hearts do not break,” her mother corrected with an arched brow. “Whether we like it or not, they continue to beat until we die. At times such as this, we must remember that God’s will is perfect, even if it surpasses human understanding
.”

  “Don’t you miss him?” Gwened asked, biting her lip to cease the quivering. Her mother strongly disapproved of tears or any show of strong emotion, for that matter.

  The queen sighed. “The king fears Brittany will suffer for the loss of him. Thus, he must take measures to secure the future of the kingdom. ‘Tis why I have called you.”

  “I don’t understand,” Gwened said.

  “Sit, child.” The queen patted the cushion beside her. “And I will endeavor to explain. Not so very long ago, Brittany was a land that suffered great strife. We were surrounded by wolves in the form of Norse Vikings. Their raids were constant and ruthless. Our people were brutally raped and murdered and taken into slavery. Many of my own kinsmen suffered such a fate, until your father, who was then Count of Vannes, combined forces with his chief rival for power, Judicael, Count of Poher. Together, these two great warriors drove out the marauders.”

  “I have heard this story,” Gwened said. “Hugo told me that his father was slain at the battle of Questembert.”

  “He was,” the queen said. “And his dying request was that our two great families would unite and share the throne of Brittany for perpetuity. ‘Tis why Adèle was betrothed to Rudalt at such a tender age, and why you were also bound to Hugo. But now the king is uneasy that the fulfillment of his vow rests solely with Rudalt. He refuses to go to his grave without taking additional measures to secure both his promise and safeguard the kingdom. To this end, he has spent many days in conference with his counsellors. There is only one solution. Though it may seem distasteful to you at present, you must wed the son of Judicael of Poher.”

  “But Hugo is dead!”

  “Aye. Hugo is dead,” she said. “But Judicael had two sons—Hugo and Mateudoi.”

  “Two?” Gwened shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand. Hugo and Gwened never spoke of a brother.”