Birthright

by Markland, Anna

  Malraux put her over his shoulder as he mounted, then settled her on his lap. “You should be thankful to Letyce. She saved your life. I am grateful.”

  She felt his hard maleness beneath her as they rode. Icy dread numbed her body. Malraux was not an honorable man. He would take from her what she longed to give to Adam.

  Pray We Are In Time

  The village outside the walls of Carnac was seemingly quiet as night fell, but Malraux was confident a hundred pairs of eyes followed their progress, everyone anxious to learn if he had chosen his virgin of Le Manio.

  They had ridden by way of the famed rock and he was satisfied all was in readiness—the scaffolding, the platform and the windlass with its pulley and rope.

  He had hoped to put a fright into the mute, but she had passed out, and it was Letyce who shivered uncomfortably.

  For effect, he reined to a halt outside the cottage of a village elder. “Brébeuf,” he shouted.

  The door creaked open and an elderly man appeared. “Milord?”

  “Tell the rabble they can rest easy. I have my virgin here safe in my arms. Make the bonfires and other celebrations ready. We want to ensure this is the best All Hallows’ Eve Carnac has ever seen.”

  Brébeuf brightened considerably, eyeing Letyce, then the girl in Malraux’s arms. “I’ll see to it, milord.”

  “Peasants are so predictable,” Malraux observed as they made their way into the courtyard of his home.

  Roget rushed out to meet them, taking Rosamunda from Malraux, who dismounted then regained his prize. “Follow me, demoiselle Revandel. You will watch over my virgin until the festivities. Otherwise I shall be forced to choose someone else.”

  Letyce stumbled from her horse. “But you gave me your oath.”

  He laughed. “An oath is only good if both sides keep to the bargain. You promised me Rosamunda Lallement as my virgin of Le Manio. You had best pray she fulfills her role.”

  * * *

  The cave proved to be a godsend for the castaways. It had a natural chimney allowing them to build a hearty fire that one or other of the Bretons kept going all night. Its heat permeated the rocks, drying the clothing arrayed on them.

  “Not completely dry,” Adam declared, tossing Denis’ doublet at him, “but wearable.”

  Denis sniffed the garment with distaste as he shrugged it on. “Stinks of smoke.”

  He pulled a strand of hair in front of his nose, flinging it back in dismay. “I reek of it.”

  He had not slept, and was aware Adam had not either. All Hallows’ Eve had dawned, grey and damp.

  Denis felt the need to make amends. “Anxious as I am to get to Carnac’s estate as soon as possible, I agree with you we should search for Rosamunda.”

  Adam’s shoulders lost some of their tension. “The old Breton says there is another cove around the headland. We can search there. He knows the way to Carnac. That will save time.”

  Denis stretched. “I’m hungry. The hares the Breton lad snared last night were tasty, but I could have eaten more.”

  Adam rolled his eyes. “You and your appetite.”

  They doused the fire and set off in the wake of the sailor, picking their way over craggy rocks and tide pools. Denis spied a tiny crab in one, but it snapped its pincers on him when he pulled it out. “Merde,” he exclaimed, sucking his finger. “I should have skewered it with my sword.”

  “Then what?” Vincent mocked. “Eat it raw?”

  Denis screwed up his nose, deciding it might be better to remain silent and ignore the rumblings in his belly.

  They reached the neighboring cove. Denis went down on one knee in the sand beside a rocky outcropping. “Someone has been here recently. The tide has not yet obliterated their footprints.”

  Adam hovered over him. “Small feet, a woman. Non! Two women. The imprints are different. They lead to the path.”

  Excited by the discovery, they followed the steep trail. Close by a rocky overhang, the tracks became confused. Denis walked further on, studying the terrain. “Horses. One ridden by a man, judging from the new footprints.”

  Vincent picked up something from the ground. “It’s a child’s cloak.”

  Denis hurried back to him and grabbed the garment, his heart in his throat. “This is Paulina’s. I gave it to her at East Preston.” He turned it inside out. “There’s a special pocket—for Topaz.”

  His voice cracked and Adam lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “If we follow the tracks we will find our ladies. I feel in my heart Rosamunda was here.”

  Denis blinked away the moisture in his eyes. “Pray we are in time.”

  * * *

  It was early afternoon when Adam, Denis, Vincent and the Bretons flopped to their bellies to peer over a rise at Carnac’s demesne and the village below it. Men tossed pieces of wood onto already large piles. People moved about busily. Laughter and happy chatter drifted on the air.

  “Seems like any other village preparing for All Hallows’ Eve,” Vincent observed.

  The old Breton shook his head. “Carnac is like any other village, except on All Hallows’ Eve. People come from the surrounding villages and countryside. The lord of the demesne must have chosen a sacrificial virgin or the villagers would not be so happy. They live in fear of his choice each year.”

  Adam turned to face him. “Where is this rock he supposedly throws women down from?”

  The man pointed. “Two miles from here, beyond the field of smaller rocks you see in the distance. No supposing about it, milord. I’ve seen it myself. It turns the young men into a pack of salivating wolves waiting below for the maiden to drop. Except wolves hunt together. Here they come to blows trying to be the one to save her.”

  Denis gritted his teeth. “And the one who does gets to claim her as his wife?”

  The Breton wiped his sleeve across his brow. “If she is not too badly injured and after Malraux de Carnac exacts his droit de seigneur, the hero lies with the maiden. On occasion, they marry, but more often the girl is cast out of the village as a whore.”

  Vincent’s anger showed on his face. “He demands droit de seigneur, in front of everyone?”

  “He delights in it. For him it signals the success of the celebrations.”

  Denis bristled. “Paulina is inside his demesne. We must get to her.”

  Adam laid a hand on his brother’s arm. “Non, far wiser to locate Le Manio and make our stand there. He will not harm her before then.”

  * * *

  They slid down the slope and set off for Le Manio. Not one word was exchanged as they hiked quickly, steam rising from their heated bodies despite the chill in the air. The ancient monolith came into view. They edged closer, keeping out of sight, though there seemed to be no one about.

  Shame flooded Denis as his shaft hardened uncomfortably, but a quick glance at the others made him feel slightly better. He was not the only one affected by the phallic shape of the enormous rock that towered twenty feet, an unmistakable symbol of male pride and power.

  Even Adam was adjusting his breeches.

  Oh, the bawdy jests that would have been flung back and forth had they come upon this giant monolith under other circumstances. They would have been on their knees, indulging in male horseplay, hysterical with laughter.

  However, the wooden scaffolding on either side of the rock brought home to them Malraux’s evil intent. A servant stood on a platform at the top, spreading a canvas over some sort of mechanism. The structure swayed with his movements.

  “It’s a windlass,” Adam said. “He plans to hoist her up.”

  Denis turned to his brother, his heart in knots. “We need a plan. If Malraux throws Paulina from that height she will not survive. I am not the best man to catch her.”

  Adam squeezed his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger. As he and the others devised a plan, the servant climbed down and sauntered off into the woods.

  Adam spoke at last. “I will catch her. If there is interference from locals, Vincent will
hold them off with the help of the Bretons.”

  Denis bristled. “What am I to do?”

  Adam looked into his brother’s eyes, then up at the platform. He laid a hand on Denis’ arm. “You must climb the scaffolding, hide under the canvas, and confront Malraux, or whoever takes Paulina to the top. We cannot all go up to prevent his throwing her. It will not take our weight.”

  Denis swallowed hard, dragging his gaze to the top of the giant rock. “Can we not confront him at the bottom, before he takes her up?”

  Adam shook his head. “There is no cover at the base of the rock. We would be five against Malraux’s men and the villagers. This way we hold the element of surprise. He will not expect another dwarf atop Le Manio.”

  Denis grinned half-heartedly. “And the drunken villagers won’t expect anyone to rush forward to save a dwarf.”

  Vincent shaded his eyes to look up, his brow furrowed. “I suppose he means to raise her up with yon pulley. What does he think she is—a sack of grain? I will kill him for this.”

  Denis put a hand on his arm. “Non, that will be my pleasure.”

  The old Breton interrupted. “Forgive me, mes seigneurs, but everyone from the village and surrounding area will be wearing a disguise or costume. We must fashion masks for ourselves.”

  Denis chuckled as they sauntered off into the woods. “I’ll help, but I won’t need a mask. My face will be terrifying enough for Malraux when I spring forth from under the canvas.”

  * * *

  Denis was the first to notice the glow on the near horizon. “They’ve torched the fires in the village. Best we leave now so I can get to the top of Le Manio before the procession arrives.”

  It was difficult to keep from smiling, despite his anguish. Adam and Vincent looked like uprooted trees. The Breton lad had woven thin branches from laurel trees into an elaborate crown for their heads, then twined more laurel and ivy around their tunics. Faces blackened with dirt completed the effect. Denis might have been fooled had he bumped into them on a dark night.

  Adam scratched his ear with his fingertip. “Every insect in creation is crawling in my hair.”

  The two Bretons put the finishing touches on their own disguises.

  Vincent and Adam held the base of the scaffolding firm as Denis began his ascent.

  The scaffolding had been designed by bigger men and he had to stretch to reach the next crosspiece, then heave his body up to it. Never had his short legs been more of a curse. Planks had been set across the horizontal poles, which were lashed to the verticals with rope, so he at least had a firm footing to stand on. Some of the horizontals had been tied loosely to the monolith.

  He dared not look down, but knew Adam and Vincent stood ready to catch him if he fell. He was sweating profusely and panting hard as he gathered one end of the canvas and slid his aching body beneath it to wait, slumped against a crude wooden windlass. He felt like he had climbed to the top of Rouen cathedral.

  Atop The Monolith

  Adam and Vincent stole off to lurk in nearby bushes as torchbearers entered the clearing, followed by shawm and bodhran players. Behind them men and women danced and cavorted to the beat of the lively music, many seemingly already under the influence of intoxicating substances. Adam felt the vibration of the drums in his bones.

  They crept from the shadows to mingle with the growing throng in the clearing. Behind the dancers marched a small contingent of Carnac’s men-at-arms, looking anything but menacing with their halos of laurel leaves. Then came Malraux, mounted on an elaborately liveried gelding, waving to the cheering crowd, every finger richly jeweled. He wore a black velvet doublet, tight leggings, and shiny leather boots, the only man present not in costume.

  The torchbearers lit the small bonfires around the perimeter. Smoke swirled in the wind. Adam blinked away the sting, reminded of the night of the fire at Kingston Gorse when his life had changed completely. Rosamunda had brought hope and love back into his life. He longed to hold her again, to be assured of her safety.

  He grunted and nudged Vincent. “Letyce Revandel rides next to Malraux. Let’s hope she does not see through our disguises. Take care her gaze does not fall on you.”

  Vincent gasped. “Paulina.”

  Behind Malraux, a servant led a palfrey atop which sat a maiden dressed in a voluminous white robe with a red cape that flowed from her shoulders to cover the horse’s rump. A black hood hid her hair and face. Her hands were tied to the pommel, but her head hung limply, her shoulders sagging.

  Adam put a restraining hand on Vincent as he moved towards the woman. “Too soon.”

  Vincent shrugged him off. “That’s my sister. She looks like she has been drugged. The macabre outfit makes her seem like a giantess.”

  An uncomfortable churning twisted in Adam’s belly. “You’re right. Look at her hands.”

  Vincent’s eyes widened. “They are too big. It’s not Paulina.”

  The relief in Vincent’s voice was palpable, but Adam’s heart raced. “Then who is it?’

  Vincent frowned. “Rosamunda?”

  The voicing of his beloved’s name made the possibility real. Adam was certain it had been Rosamunda’s footprints on the beach and cliff path, and it was likely the male imprints belonged to Malraux. Few others in the vicinity would own a horse. Perhaps the other woman had been Letyce.

  But then what had become of Paulina? He dreaded that Rosamunda was indeed the hooded woman tied to the palfrey, but when Denis discovered Paulina had disappeared and had perhaps never made it to Bretagne… They had found her cloak, but no trace of her.

  By now the clearing was crowded. Most of the women had withdrawn to tend barrels of ale set up on trestles near the trees. A steady stream of patrons plied their way to and from these improvised taverns as the women tucked coins into their aprons.

  “Now I see what they get out of this,” he remarked sarcastically to Vincent, but the latter seemed too intent on the hooded woman to listen.

  Malraux dismounted and swaggered to the base of Le Manio. He made an expansive gesture to the crowd indicating they should continue their revels. The servant who had led the palfrey pulled open the red cape, slid it off and tossed it aside with a flourish.

  A cheer went up from the crowd. Over a thin chemise, Malraux’s sacrificial virgin wore a harness that criss-crossed between her breasts, clearly emphasizing the rigid nipples. Adam knew those lovely globes well and his heart bled with shame and indignation for Rosamunda. He wanted to rush forward to cover her. Vincent growled like a caged animal.

  The servant attached the pulley to the back of the harness.

  The crowd inhaled a collective breath as he started the climb up the scaffold.

  The music stopped.

  Malraux remounted his gelding.

  “He wants to make sure the horde can see him,” Vincent remarked sarcastically.

  “Let’s hope they keep their attention fixed on him and not on the top of the platform,” Adam growled.

  He wished there was some way to alert Denis, who believed it was Paulina about to be hoisted to the top of Le Manio. When the servant got to the platform, Denis would have to render him harmless or risk discovery. “Thank God for the smoke. At least it makes it difficult to see.”

  The seigneur de Carnac cleared his throat. A hush fell over the swaying crowd. “People of Carnac, and surrounds. Welcome to our annual All Hallows’ Eve observances. I trust everyone has had an amusing time thus far.”

  Cheers confirmed his remarks, but Adam kept his attention on the servant as he neared the top.

  Malraux scanned the crowd and coughed again, seemingly irritated that some among his audience were more interested in the man climbing the frame than in him. He raised his voice. “Soon comes the high point of our evening.”

  Murmurs of excitement rose from the crowd.

  “You may be wondering whom I have chosen to be your virgin sacrifice this year. Not one from among you, but a beauty nevertheless.”

  He le
aned over to slowly trace a finger over the front straps of the harness, and smiled. “As you see.”

  More bawdy cheers.

  Raged boiled up in Adam’s throat. He would cut off that defiling hand before killing the wretch. He glanced back to the platform, surprised to see Denis had dispatched the servant and taken his place by the windlass. If he had accomplished it without Adam’s noticing, there was hope anyone looking up would see only a shadowed figure they would believe was hunched over to work the contraption.

  Malraux raised his hand. “Our virgin sleeps now—a little tonic to settle her nerves.”

  Laughter rippled through the clearing, churning Adam’s gut.

  “But she will wake momentarily so we can appreciate fully her enjoyment of the proceedings.”

  Vincent swore. “And I thought my mother was evil.”

  Adam clenched his fists when Malraux produced a dagger from his belt. He slit the ropes binding Rosamunda’s wrists to the pommel.

  She stirred.

  “Courage, mon amour,” Adam whispered, dreading the moment she would awake and discover where she was. “I am here.”

  Malraux raised his hand again. “At my signal, Roget will raise our angel. I myself will climb up to free her into your waiting arms. She may cling to the Manio as long as she can, but eventually she will fall.”

  He wagged a finger. “However, in your enthusiasm, don’t forget my droit de seigneur.”

  Many men licked their lips, no doubt conjuring an image of a maiden clinging for dear life to the giant phallus. Adam feared he might retch.

  Malraux glanced up briefly, then dropped his hand. The palfrey moved restlessly as the maiden was lifted from its back. The jerk of the winch seemed to revive her, and she fumbled with the hood, dragging it off.

  Adam must have drawn blood as he dug his fingernails into Vincent’s arm. Rosamunda’s wild blond hair stood up on end. Fear twisted her beautiful face into a grimace as she took in the wild scene around her, then mouthed her terror, kicking her legs.