Finale (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 12)

by Anna Markland

  She opened her brown eyes and smiled sleepily, confirming his belief he had at last found the right woman.

  He gently moved her leg draped across his thigh, congratulating himself on his self-control but not looking forward to the long ride ahead with a rock-hard arousal.

  Within the hour, the wagon, horses and donkey had been unloaded.

  Barr recruited a contingent of mercenaries, mostly Bretons, who frequented the Ouistreham docks ready to provide escort to nobles traveling within Normandie. “We cannot be sure what the reaction has been on this side of the Narrow Sea to the news of Becket’s death,” he explained to Hollis. “Two of the Bretons I’ve hired will drive the wagon, just in case.”

  “You think word has already reached Normandie?” she asked.

  “I’ll warrant King Henry learned of it within a day, but don’t worry. I trust the men I’ve chosen.”

  “You’ve employed them on previous occasions,” she replied.

  “Oui, and we’ll be on the road only a few hours.”

  John and Arthur had climbed out of the wagon before it was unloaded from the galley. They balked, pouting when Hollis bade them re-enter.

  “I want to ride with William,” John said.

  “Me with Martin,” Arthur muttered.

  “You’ll be warmer in the wagon,” Hollis warned.

  “They can ride with us,” Martin asserted.

  “Very well,” Barr agreed. “Until it gets too cold.”

  Hollis laughed as her eager nephews scrambled to mount behind the twins with Axel’s help.

  Barr hesitated, until lust overcame good sense. “Would you like to ride with me, milady Hollis?”

  Her face reddened, confirming the foolishness of his offer as more blood rushed to his groin. His shaft had apparently taken control in retaliation for the years of disciplined celibacy.

  He mounted Trogen and beckoned Axel. “Assist Milady de Moreville to mount behind me,” he instructed, coward that he was. The swell of her breasts against his back would be preferable to an embarrassing incident if she sat in his lap.

  The cheeky servant winked as Hollis settled atop the horse and put her arms around Barr’s waist.

  The cavalcade followed the Orne into the outlying hamlets of Caen. “Will we see the abbeys built by the Conqueror?” she asked excitedly. “And the castle?”

  He’d intended to avoid the center of the city. “Caen holds very unpleasant memories for our family.”

  Her silence spoke volumes. She was curious, but didn’t want to offend. As his comtesse, she’d have to be made aware of his family’s history. What better place to tell it to her than Caen?

  He changed course. “My grandfather, Robert de Montbryce, was abducted by the Duke of Normandie and unjustly imprisoned in the duke’s stronghold in Caen. For months he endured a cruel solitary confinement in horrendous conditions.”

  She tightened her hold on his waist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. When you say the Duke of Normandie, you mean Robert Curthose.”

  “Oui, brother of King Henry, the first of that name, of course. After the sudden death of King William Rufus, his brothers Curthose and Henry were rivals for the throne of England. The duke sought revenge on my grandfather for supporting Henry.”

  “Count Robert was eventually freed?”

  “Oui, but my father, Alexandre, was born during his imprisonment, and that led to difficulties between them. It apparently took my grandfather a long time to recover. They never really got to know each other.”

  “Rather like me and my brother,” she replied, “for different reasons.”

  “Years later, my father was eventually persuaded to visit the prison in Caen and it changed his attitude. Now, he insists the whole family make an annual yuletide pilgrimage. Despite what my grandfather endured, he survived and went on to bring further glory to our name. That’s why I was in Caen when word came of the excommunications.”

  She was silent for a while, then asked, “Do you get along with your father?”

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I love and respect my father,” he replied, inwardly content it was the truth. “My family has prospered for generations because we are loyal to each other. The only time we’ve been on opposite sides of a conflict was when Stephen and Maud fought for the throne of England. My father supported Maud as Henry’s legitimate daughter. His cousin, Gallien, Earl of Ellesmere in England, initially supported Stephen. But that finally changed and the family survived the breach.”

  “I have a lot to learn,” she said. “The Montbryces have been blessed with strong men.”

  “Strong women, too. My grandmother, Dorianne, was abducted at the same time. She was with child and feared for her unborn bébé. However, she managed to escape and gave birth to my father.”

  “I hope I can be equal to the title of comtesse.”

  “I’m not worried,” he reassured her. “You’re a courageous woman.”

  After a while, she asked. “Where do the FitzRams fit in?”

  He chuckled. “That’s a whole other story I’ll tell you another time, along with the tale of why there are dozens of cats at Montbryce.”

  Hollis shivered, but not because of the winter air. Barr’s big body was giving off enough heat to keep her warm. However, cats meant rats. She’d envisioned Montbryce as a well-appointed, vermin-free castle.

  “We have dogs too,” he added. “Most of them descendants of Faol, a wolfhound brought from England by my Oncle Laurent and given to my half-brother, Henri.” He nodded to the near distance. “The abbeys are ahead.”

  His announcement sent all thoughts of nasty rodents scurrying away.

  She marveled at the stunning architecture of the abbeys built by the Conqueror, one for monks and the other for nuns. Barr pointed out the Abbaye aux Dames as his father’s birthplace. “One day, I’ll tell you the complete story,” he promised.

  His body tensed when they rode by Caen Castle, a dark, forbidding structure that sent gooseflesh marching up her spine.

  “The injustice of it still rankles,” he admitted. “If you saw the oubliette in which my grandfather was confined, you’d wonder he survived at all.”

  She leaned her face against his back, wanting him to know she grieved for his family’s torment. Here was a man who could fully understand her feelings about the damage Hugh had wrought on the de Moreville name. “Our history isn’t as illustrious as yours, but…” She choked on the words, thankful her parents were no longer alive to endure the notoriety.

  Barr patted her hands. “Remember, my love, every ending…”

  As they rode through the Normandie countryside, she became sleepy listening to the interminable questions posed by her nephews and the FitzRams’ patient replies. She’d hated traipsing around Normandie in her brother’s wake as he followed King Henry hither and yon in mostly inclement weather. Upon arriving back in England, she’d hoped never to return to Normandie’s shores. Now, she saw it as a land of opportunity, her new home, the place where she would marry the man she loved and bear his children. Montbryce did, indeed, offer a new beginning and she was determined to seize it with both hands.

  She prayed Barr’s parents would welcome her and give their blessing.

  “There’s my home,” he announced, his voice full of pride.

  She peered around him to look ahead. Surrounded by meadows still dusted with traces of the snow that had blanketed everything scant days ago, the imposing castle sat atop a promontory. It was flanked by acres and acres of orchards where she supposed they harvested the apples to make brandy.

  Her courage fled. Montbryce was at least ten times larger than Burgh, and it was only one of the estates the family controlled.

  When they rode into the bailey, grooms swarmed out of the stables to take the reins of the horses. William and Martin dismounted and lifted the suddenly silent John and Arthur from their horses. Hollis understood how the little boys felt as they gazed up at the towering walls.

  A ta
ll, kindly-looking man appeared, dressed in the garb of a steward, a host of smiling servants trailing behind him, all clearly excited to welcome their comte’s son home.

  Barr dismounted and reached up. “Bonhomme,” he explained to Hollis as the steward issued orders for the wagon to be unloaded. “We’ve lost track of how many generations of his family have been stewards here.”

  She put her hands on his shoulders and slipped into his embrace. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

  “No need,” he said.

  “Six generations, milord,” a smiling Bonhomme informed him, bowing low. “Welcome home. Your parents will be relieved to see you…and…”

  Barr took her hand and introduced his guests. “Lady Hollis de Moreville, and her nephews, John and Arthur. And, of course, our cousins’ boys, William and Martin FitzRam.”

  “Welcome, Lady de Moreville,” Bonhomme replied with a courteous bow before shaking hands with the twins. Then he turned back to her, one eyebrow raised.

  This was a moment of truth. She could either shoulder the blame for her brother’s actions, or fulfill her role as a future comtesse. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Steward Bonhomme,” she said.

  Barr squeezed her hand. Evidently, she’d said the right thing.

  “Axel is the nephew of Steward Cormant from Alensonne,” he told Bonhomme. “I know you’ll make him welcome in his new home.”

  “Indeed. However, it’s chilly and I must make sure there’s still a hearty fire burning in the hall.”

  He strode off to enter the keep, bowing to an elderly man who was on his way out. The newcomer’s dark hair was streaked with silver, but there was no mistaking from the facial resemblance that this was Barr’s father. A huge grey wolfhound loped at his side. She felt an immediate kinship with the hound having trekked the moors with wolfhounds for years.

  The two men clasped arms, slapping each other on the back as they shared an embrace.

  The dog whimpered until Barr bent to rub its ears, laughing when the beast licked his face.

  “We’ve been concerned since news came of the assassination,” the Comte said hoarsely, curling his fingers under the dog’s collar. “We expected you to return home from Bures. Your mother will be relieved to see you.” He smiled at Hollis. “And who is this beautiful young lady?”

  The love and pride in Barr’s voice when he introduced her to his father bolstered her courage. She curtseyed deeply. “It’s my honor to meet you, Comte Alexandre.”

  He offered his hand to help her rise. She looked into blue eyes and saw warm approval. She got the feeling he’d guessed the reason his son had brought her home, but he frowned slightly when he espied John and Arthur.

  “My nephews,” she explained quickly.

  “They’ve become our charges,” Barr added.

  Elated by his selfless willingness to accept responsibility for the boys, Hollis beckoned them, proud of the polite bow they executed when introduced.

  Barr gestured to the twins. “And you must recognise William and Martin FitzRam.”

  The youths came forward to be embraced by Comte Alexandre. “Of course, Bronson’s boys. You’re the very likeness of your father. Welcome. I hope you’ve come to continue your training here. I always said Montbryce is where you should be, not with Hugh de…”

  He paused and turned to look at Hollis.

  He knows who I am.

  Barr took hold of her elbow. “It’s a long story, Papa,” he said, “but let’s get indoors before we freeze. I expect maman is growing impatient.”

  Barr put his hand to the small of Hollis’ back and guided her into the castle he loved. She let Gitan lick her fingers, all the while conversing politely with his father. He couldn’t explain the reason, but he took the casual gesture as an omen his betrothed would be happy at Montbryce.

  He tried to keep his face composed when she whispered, “I don’t see any cats.”

  “You won’t when Gitan and his offspring are around.”

  She looked down at the dog as if just noticing the wolfhound was loping along comfortably beside her, no longer restrained by his master. “And I don’t suppose the dogs venture into the cats’ domain either,” she said with a smile.

  His mother was waiting to greet them at the entryway to the hall. “I was too impatient to sit still when we heard you’d come home,” she said, kissing him on both cheeks as he bent to embrace her.

  She greeted William and Martin as kinsmen, asking in a Scottish brogue about their parents and the manor house in Northumbria. Then she turned her attention to Hollis. “Welcome, Lady de Moreville,” she said, again in English. “I am Elayne de Montbryce.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Barr caught sight of Bonhomme exiting the hall on his way to the kitchens. “Efficient as ever, our faithful steward,” he remarked.

  Hollis smiled and curtseyed. “I thank you for your welcome, Countess.”

  His mother took John and Arthur by the hand and led them to the fire. “And these young men are yer nephews.”

  Barr had to admire the amount of information Bonhomme had passed on in scant minutes.

  “’Twill be a pleasure conversing in English for a change,” his mother continued. “I dinna suppose ye speak the Gaelighe?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Hollis replied, holding her hands to the flames. “Few still speak it in Cumbria.”

  “Ye’re from the borderlands?”

  Servants came to take their cloaks. Barr relaxed, listening to the two women chatter as if they’d known each other for years. John and Arthur’s faces reddened from the heat of the fire, their heads swiveling from one speaker to the next, all the while keeping a cautious eye on the dog.

  Barr might have known his mother would immediately put Hollis and the children at ease. Ever the quiet side of their marriage, his father sat in an upholstered chair by the hearth, playing with Gitan’s ears. He appeared to show no interest, but Barr knew from experience that wasn’t true.

  Bonhomme himself brought tumblers of apple brandy for everyone, which Barr thought unusual. “I’ve given young Cormant over to my son to watch over,” he announced.

  “A new squire accompanied us,” Barr explained to his mother. “The nephew of Steward Cormant from Alensonne. I met him in Bures, and…”

  His father got to his feet, as did the dog. “Oui, oui…We want to hear all the details of the plot and the assassination, but, first of all, your mother is anxious to know why you’ve brought Lady de Moreville here.”

  “They kissed,” John blurted out unexpectedly.

  “Lots of times,” Arthur added.

  A brief moment of utter silence greeted these pronouncements before all the adults burst out laughing, which set Gitan to barking and wagging his tail furiously.

  “As I thought, Bonhomme,” his mother exclaimed in the accented Norman-French the servants had learned to understand over the years. “I hope you fetched a tumbler of brandy for yourself so you can join us in a toast to our son’s new bride.”

  “Indeed, milady,” he replied, raising his tumbler.

  An Important Test

  Hollis had been in Montbryce a scant half hour, yet already felt she was among family. The FitzRams looked more at ease than she’d ever seen them under Hugh’s tutelage. Even Barr seemed more relaxed, the lines of worry about Becket that had marred his handsome face now gone. He was happy to be home, and it was obvious his parents loved him.

  Gripping the tumbler of the much-touted apple brandy with trembling hands, she resisted the urge to rush into her beloved’s arms when the comte cleared his throat and began the toast.

  “Bernard Alexandre Rambaud Robert de Montbryce,” he said, then had to cough again, clearly emotional.

  Barr clenched his jaw.

  “It has been our most heartfelt wish,” the comte continued, “that you would one day find a woman with whom you wanted to share your life.” He winked at his wife. “I can assure you the love of a woman makes everything much more pleasurable.”
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  Barr’s smile and the tantalizingly lecherous glint in his eyes did strange things to Hollis’ heart, which began to beat even faster when his father turned his intense blue gaze on her.

  “The way you look at Hollis, my son, it’s evident you have indeed found your soul’s mate, even in the midst of turmoil. I ask you all to drink to the health and happiness of Barr de Montbryce and Hollis de Moreville.”

  Close to tears of joy as everyone repeated the toast and drank their brandy, Hollis stared into the golden liquid. Hugh allowed her a small glass of red wine on special occasions. Brandy was probably similar.

  She lifted the tumbler to her lips intending to take a sip.

  At the very same moment, John crowed to his brother, “I told you they’d wed.”

  She laughed, which turned the sip into a gulp.

  The fiery liquid burned a path down her throat and up her nose. When she tried to breathe again, tears ran down her cheeks as she coughed uncontrollably.

  Chuckling, Barr wrestled Hollis’ tumbler from her grip and handed it back to Bonhomme. “You’ve passed an important test,” he said, rubbing his hand up and down her spine.

  “Test?” she wheezed.

  “The same thing happened to me when I took my first taste,” his mother explained. “After all these years, I can only sip small amounts.”

  “It’s supposed to be a good omen,” his father said with a grin. “Your coughing fit proves you’re not used to strong spirits.”

  “True,” Hollis confirmed with a weak smile.

  Barr stroked away her tears with his thumbs. “Maman, Papa, you’ve surmised correctly that I intend to wed Hollis as soon as possible, and your blessing is important.”

  His father shook his hand. “You’re of an age not to require our blessing, Barr, but you have it anyway.”

  “Welcome to our family,” his tearful mother said, embracing Hollis.

  “I thank you,” Hollis replied, sniffling back more tears. “I am not worthy.”