Finale (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 12)

by Anna Markland

  Barr felt the need to explain, but didn’t want John and Arthur to overhear. “Bonhomme,” he said, “might there be refreshments in the kitchens for these young knights?”

  The steward ushered the boys out of the hall.

  “She feels guilty because of her brother’s actions,” Barr explained once they’d gone. “I’ve assured her it makes no difference to my feelings, nor to yours. If Hugh de Moreville hadn’t taken it into his head to murder the archbishop, I would never have met Hollis.”

  His father nodded. “We understand. I wouldn’t have met your mother had King David of Scotland not tried to hoodwink Geoffrey of Anjou. No use arguing with destiny. However, I think you’d better tell us the details of what happened in Canterbury. It always pays to be prepared.”

  “For what?” Hollis asked, her brown eyes wide with worry.

  Barr gathered Hollis into his embrace. “Henry is volatile and unpredictable. There’s no telling what he might do about Becket’s death, but I doubt he even knows you exist.”

  She inhaled deeply, drawing on his strength. “I always feel safer in your arms.”

  “And he wouldn’t dare make reprisals against a member of the Montbryce family,” the count assured her.

  “Especially an innocent one,” Barr added. “Now, before we retell the story of Canterbury, I have a gift for my betrothed on this momentous occasion.”

  “A gift?” she replied. “But I have nothing for you.”

  He picked up the traveling satchel he’d placed by the hearth. “You’ve given me more than I expected from life,” he said, opening the bag.

  She grew curious when he carefully pulled out what looked like a bundle of straw.

  “What’s this?” the countess asked.

  “Patience, maman. Firstly, let me explain my fascination with the holly bush since I met Hollis.”

  Her heart raced when he unrolled the dead grasses to reveal a jumble of holly sprigs.

  “A peasant showed me how to make the right cuts and instructed me regarding planting. Soon, we’ll have English holly growing at Montbryce.”

  The tender and thoughtful gesture from a seasoned warrior brought more tears to Hollis’ eyes. “I’m overwhelmed.”

  She noticed the count and countess had gravitated into each other’s arms.

  “’Tis wonderful,” his mother said. “I dinna think holly grows anywhere on the estate.”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” her husband replied.

  Barr rewrapped the sprigs. “Bonhomme will see to it.”

  Aftermath

  Predictably, a seemingly horrified King Henry ranted and raved, loudly proclaiming his shock and outrage at the murder of his former friend—but he didn’t go to England.

  “He feels safer in Normandie,” Alexandre de Montbryce remarked more than once.

  The king failed to condemn the perpetrators outright and it was rumored he’d privately advised them to flee to Scotland. Barr discounted the notion, doubting Henry even knew who the four knights were when their names were told to him.

  News from Ellesmere in England confirmed continuing angry indignation among the people. There was talk of a popular campaign to proclaim Becket a martyr, which didn’t surprise Barr.

  The political turmoil seemed like an insignificant backdrop to the elation in his heart as he watched Hollis settle into his ancestral home. She expressed genuine enchantment with every new chamber, tapestry, servant or garden she encountered.

  The Countess’ children from a previous marriage, the Dunkelds, came from Scotland to spend part of the festive season with their mother. A persistent rumor among the Scots claimed the assassins had retreated to Knaresborough. “My brother’s castle in Yorkshire,” Hollis murmured softly.

  The Montbryces celebrated the feast of Epiphany as a happy family. They observed the traditional ritual of burning the Yuletide wreath. Everyone, including Hollis, cheered when Barr threw his cedar frond into the flames and wished for many healthy sons. True to her nature, Hollis’ wish wasn’t for herself. “I wish for a long and happy life for John and Arthur.” Twirling their own cedar twigs, her nephews beamed, but it was doubtful they understood the deeper significance of their aunt’s words. Tears welled in her eyes when they predictably wished for the safe return of their father.

  Barr found himself ridiculously jealous of the attention his brothers lavished on his betrothed, but he suffered with good humor their merciless teasing about his being too old to please a young bride.

  Bonhomme clearly adored Hollis, which augured well for the future.

  His parents already treated her like a daughter.

  However, it was her obvious nervous excitement at their coming marriage that made the three weeks of preparation stretch like an eternity. He loved the innocent blush that reddened her cheeks whenever she looked at him. He wondered if the blush spread to her tempting breasts. She confided that he’d stirred previously unknown wanton feelings, and he was convinced he had found a woman of great passion. He and Belinda had married too young; regrettably, his wife’s pleasure hadn’t been uppermost in his mind. Older and, he hoped, wiser, he’d planned in detail how he was going to please Hollis once he got her into their marriage bed.

  Barr’s family was powerful and enormously wealthy, but it was their genuine nobility that touched Hollis’ heart. Everyone, from the count and countess to his siblings, to the steward, to the lowliest scullery lad in the kitchens, had welcomed her and her nephews warmly. It was clear every servant in the castle loved and respected the Montbryces.

  She faced an awesome responsibility as wife to the Montbryce heir, yet Barr’s reassuring confidence bolstered her courage to tackle whatever lay ahead. Given King Henry’s unpredictability and the looming squabbles between his avaricious sons, Normandie might soon become a dangerous place.

  However, the Montbryces had survived dire circumstances before. Anger constricted her throat when Barr took her to the orchards and showed her some of the damage still evident after Geoffrey of Anjou’s attempt to burn them to the ground more than thirty years before.

  In the sennights since their arrival at Montbryce, Barr had spoken more and more openly about their wedding night and hinted at intimacies they would share. If his intent was to make sure she looked forward to their physical union, then he’d succeeded. The insistent feelings of desire spiraling through her body stood in sharp contrast to the simmering anxiety she’d felt at the prospect of intimacy with Gareth. She’d been a naive girl then. Now, she was a woman with a woman’s needs.

  A Wedding

  Standing at the door of the chapel awaiting his bride, Barr thought back over the events that had led up to his meeting and falling in love with Hollis. It was clear destiny had played a role.

  Had he not decided to travel to England to warn Becket, their relationship might have come to nothing. It was a sobering thought that the reborn Barr de Montbryce might never have seen the light of day.

  The celibate knight who’d sworn off sexual congress was now a randy fool who spent sennights dreaming about setting eyes on the sensitive pink folds he’d only touched once.

  He’d nigh on driven himself mad imagining how Hollis would taste.

  His shaft saluted in complete agreement with his plans when his bride appeared, walking towards the chapel on his father’s arm.

  A thousand thoughts swirled in Hollis’ head. She was the daughter of an old noble family considered reasonably well-off in Cumbrian society. By marrying Barr de Montbryce she was becoming a member of a dynasty whose power and wealth she couldn’t imagine. Her red silk bridal gown, sewn by Montbryce seamstresses, was finer than anything she’d ever worn. Even John and Arthur expressed their boyish astonishment at how beautiful their aunty looked. Garbed in new tunics, hats and leggings specially tailored for the ceremony, they walked behind her, heads held high, determined, for all their tender years, to show support as the only members of her family present.

  It was scarcely credible that Hollis de
Moreville, spinster daughter of an obscure Cumbrian family, sister of an assassin, was marrying Barr de Montbryce. When she saw her betrothed standing proudly outside the chapel, waiting with a genuine gleam of lustful admiration in his blue eyes, her racing heart calmed. This strapping warrior was her destiny, her forever.

  Barr had uttered marriage vows before but, as he stood before the bishop, he realized he’d been too young to understand the full import of what he’d promised. He’d been faithful to Belinda and tried his best to be a good husband, but they’d never shared the passion that flared between him and Hollis.

  When the bishop cleared his throat, he dragged his eyes away from his bride’s beautiful face.

  “Blessings, lords and ladies,” the cleric announced. “We are assembled here to join Milady Hollis de Moreville and Sir Bernard Alexandre Rambaud Robert de Montbryce together. Sir Barr de Montbryce, are you here this day in pledged troth of your own free will and choice?”

  “Oui, Your Grace.”

  “Milady, are you here this day in pledged troth of your own free will and choice?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Barr appreciated the bishop’s use of English for his bride, suspecting his mother’s hand behind the favor.

  “In as much as this noble lord and lady have pledged their troth to be married, we call upon heaven to bless this union. Therefore, if anyone can show just cause why they may not be joined together by God's law, let them now speak, or else hereafter keep silent for all time.”

  Barr’s throat suddenly constricted. What if the bishop himself objected because of the actions of Hollis’ brother? His unreasonable panic subsided when the cleric announced, “There being no objection to this marriage, let us continue.

  “Do you, Barr de Montbryce, take as wife Hollis de Moreville and pledge before God and these witnesses to be her protector, defender and sure resort, to honor and sustain her, in sickness and in health, in fair and in foul, with all your worldly powers, to cherish and forsaking all others, keep only unto her, so long as you both shall live?”

  Barr had never been more sure of anything in his life. “I do so pledge.”

  “Do you, Hollis de Moreville take Barr de Montbryce to be your rightful lord husband and pledge before God and these witnesses to honor and cherish him, to cleave unto him, in sickness and in health, in fair and in foul, be his one true and lasting counselor and solace, and forsaking all other, keep only unto him, so long as you both shall live?”

  Hollis turned and their gazes met. “I do so pledge,” she replied.

  Barr’s heart rejoiced.

  The bishop pronounced them man and wife and encouraged a kiss.

  Barr took Hollis into his embrace and kissed her, pouring all the love he could into a chaste kiss. To his surprise, his wife coaxed open his lips and twirled her tongue around his. He wondered briefly if there was any way to forgo the banquet and get her to bed.

  Behind him, he heard his father chuckle and Hollis’ nephews giggle.

  The bishop coughed loudly. “We’ll process into the chapel for the nuptial mass.”

  They broke apart. “I love you,” he whispered, further aroused by the fiery blush and seductive smile that betrayed his bride’s desire to get straight to the bedding.

  “As I love you,” she replied.

  Teasing

  Seated at the high table in the enormous Great Hall, Hollis grew apprehensive as she watched a myriad of servants carry one enormous platter of food after another out of the kitchens. She leaned close to Barr’s ear. “I don’t think I can eat.”

  He squeezed her hand under the table and nibbled her earlobe. “You don’t have to. We’ll satisfy our appetites later.”

  Keenly aware of Barr’s very masculine presence, she inhaled deeply, looked into his eyes and searched for words to describe her yearning for him. “I crave you,” she whispered.

  The blue darkened slightly as he licked his lips, and she recognized the moment he made a decision. He placed her hand on the warm bulge at his groin. “I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you.”

  Encouraged by his words and the longing in his eyes, she cupped her hand over his manhood. His heat traveled up her arm, into her tingling nipples and thence to a very private place.

  He flared his nostrils, pressing her fingers into his hard need. “Hopefully, my father’s remarks will be short.”

  She glanced at the count and felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Her father-by-marriage was staring at them, a strange smile on his face. “Your papa knows what we are doing,” she whispered, trying to withdraw her hand.

  Barr held her firm. “Don’t worry, maman’s hand is probably working the same magic on him.”

  She shifted her gaze to the countess whose wink confirmed Barr’s assertion. She tried without success to recall any sign of intimacy between her own parents, or even between Hugh and his late wife.

  An overwhelming sense of gratitude flooded her. She was marrying a man she loved and who loved and desired her. “We’re very lucky,” she whispered.

  “Curse of the Montbryces,” he replied.

  Barr almost wished he hadn’t mentioned the curse, but better Hollis understand his relationship with his first wife before they embarked on the journey to physical union. “We are that most unusual of things, noblemen in love with their wives,” he explained. “I believed I was the first Montbryce in many generations not to fall victim to the so-called curse.”

  Frowning, she hesitated, nibbling her lower lip. Her innocent curiosity was one of the things he loved about her, and he was confident she would eventually give voice to the question nagging at her.

  “But you were married before.”

  This was the moment of truth but, now it had arrived, he struggled for words to explain his first marital relationship. “I cared for Belinda, but I wasn’t in love with her, nor she with me. We were young, and I suppose we thought love would grow between us. Friendship and respect did, but not love. I realized it even more so after meeting you. You’re in my soul.”

  “But you grieved when she died, and resigned yourself to celibacy. I thought that was because you loved her so dearly.”

  He inhaled deeply. Better Hollis be aware of all his faults now. “I did grieve, for the loss of a beautiful young woman who deserved a long and happy life. And I grieved for the unborn child she carried, a child I more or less forced on her.”

  Her eyes widened. “She didn’t want children?”

  “It wasn’t so much that. She recognized her duty to provide heirs, but she came close to death after losing two unborn babes and was terrified of childbirth. I was racked with guilt when she died.”

  “I’ve heard it said some women die of fright on the birthing stool.”

  He tightened his grip on her hand. “The expectation is that we’ll provide Montbryce heirs, but my brothers have sons. I couldn’t bear to lose you. If…”

  She shook her head vehemently. “I want to bear your children, Barr. It’s my fondest wish. The prospect of being childless was my biggest resentment about spinsterhood.”

  Her naughty smile indicated she felt his shaft salute under her hand. “And you can see I am anxious to fill you with my seed.” He removed her hand from his groin and lifted it to his lips as he got to his feet. “Excuse me. I’ll speak with papa. He might just draw out his speech to keep me twisting in the wind.”

  Hollis picked at the roasted chicken, trying not to laugh at the banter going on between the frowning Barr and his grinning father. She envied their trust in each other. Father and son were friends.

  She was sure her face must be as red as a winter beetroot when the count wiggled his eyebrows at her.

  Barr regained his seat. “Papa is enjoying my discomfort,” he said, placing his warm hand further up her thigh than was appropriate, but not as far as her wanton body craved.

  She conveyed her feelings by inching her fingers into the warm valley at the top of his thigh.

  He smiled, his eyes a
blaze with lust. “Minx.”

  She squirmed in her seat in an effort to assuage the need pulsating in her womb.

  His father chuckled.

  “See what I mean,” Barr hissed.

  A hush fell over the gathering when Count Alexandre de Montbryce came to his feet. “I think it’s time I offered a toast so my impatient son can take his bride to bed.”

  The crowd cheered, whistled and banged tankards on the tables.

  She was surprised when he addressed his opening remarks to her.

  “Hollis de Montbryce—daughter—you are a gift from God, a blessing we prayed for, and my son appreciates his good fortune in finding you. You have brought light into our lives. I ask all those present to join me in toasting the health of the Vicomtesse de Montbryce.”

  Tears welled as the toast echoed around the enormous hall. She had never heard such words of respect from her own parents. She stood and bowed her head in acknowledgment, awed by the love in Barr’s eyes as he too raised his tankard. “I thank you,” she tried in what she hoped was acceptable Norman-French. “It is my honor to be welcomed into this illustrious family.”

  More loud cheering followed her response. “Was that all right?” she asked her husband as she sat.

  “Perfect.”

  She had a feeling he’d have said the same if she’d spoken in Greek.

  “Barr de Montbryce,” the count continued, “my eldest son and heir—you have always been a source of pride. You have the heart of a warrior, yet you are kind and honorable. I’m confident your new wife knows how lucky she is. The family curse has fallen on you at last.”

  It was evident from the loud guffaws of laughter that all the guests were aware of the curse.

  “To the health of Vicomte Barr de Montbryce.”