Perhaps, she too felt the strange excitement of being in a cave. Yet he felt no compulsion to hurt her, only to hold, protect and keep her safe. He dozed as well, utterly content, despite the dampness penetrating his nether regions from the cold stone slab on which he sat.
A voice broke into his reverie. “Ahoy, milord Hugh, pass the wounded dog to me, then I’ll take milady. The others are safe aboard the longboat, although the other hound almost swamped the boat climbing in. We’ll see you delivered there. The tide and winds are right to take us to Normandie. The saints are with us this day.”
Hugh roused Devona, lifted Boden and gave him over to the oarsman, then helped Devona scramble into the boat, jumping in behind her. He chuckled as he enfolded her in a blanket and then draped another around his shoulders. “My faithful oarsman always has the presence of mind to bring blankets.”
She snuggled into the blanket. “My heart is beating too fast.”
“Mine too,” he confided.
Once abreast of the longboat, the oarsman braced his legs and lifted the dog to the waiting arms of another Montbryce man. Hugh and Devona were pulled aboard.
She clung to Antoine for balance after boarding. He explained their plan. “We’re going by way of Kingston Gorse, to return the rowboat and load our horses.”
“Thank you. I can’t tell you what’s in my heart yet. This is all so overwhelming.”
Antoine indicated to Hugh he should make Devona comfortable with the other females crouched in the centre of the boat. “Rest now. We’ll get you safely to Normandie.”
Aediva and Bemia snuggled into their mother’s side.
Hugh turned to the crewman who was looking the dog over, examining its wound. “How fares Boden?”
“It’s a deep wound, but the bone isn’t chipped or broken, so the dog should recover. He’s a brave lad. I’ll bind it.”
Relief blossomed on Devona’s face. Hugh gathered the blanket tighter under her chin. “Go sit with your mother. You need to get reacquainted.”
Devona slept soundly in the longboat, oblivious to the noise of horses being loaded at Kingston Gorse. She didn’t reawaken until she felt the warmth of a hand on her forehead. For a moment she couldn’t think where she was as she gazed into blue eyes she had dreamed of so often.
She struggled to sit up. “Hugh?”
He brushed a kiss on her forehead. “We’re nearing Normandie.”
She was lying in his arms under a flapping canvas but had no memory of being moved from one boat to the other.
Aediva and Bemia and Lady Wilona were all awake, smiling, but looking apprehensive.
Her voice was hoarse. “I miss my grandfather already.”
He tightened his embrace. “I understand. But at least you know he lives. He wouldn’t have been happy in Normandie. In truth, life would have been difficult for him there. He’ll feel more useful spying on Renouf.”
She nodded. “How is Boden?”
Hugh pointed. “See for yourself.”
Both mastiffs stood at the prow of the boat looking out, tails wagging, as if they sensed the approaching shore. Boden seemed determined to wobble on three legs.
She clutched Hugh’s hand. “I’m afraid. We’re Saxons.”
He grasped her hand tightly and pressed it against his heart. “I swear to you I’ll protect you with my life. No harm shall come to you or your family in my homeland. After we disembark we’ll ride to Montbryce to spend a few days there. I want you to see where I was born. It’s our family castle, seat of my brother, the Comte de Montbryce. I must also visit my parents’ tomb in the crypt.”
She blushed. “I can’t believe I slept through the voyage.”
He chuckled. “Well at least you didn’t have to listen to Antoine being seasick. He’s a poor sailor.”
“But a good brother.”
“You’re right, and I must assist him with the landing. Stay here until I come for you.”
He kissed her forehead again. A wave of heat swept through her body, followed by a chill now she was not warmed by his strong arms.
The brothers and their men ably disembarked the horses and other goods the ship had carried, including two crates of live pigeons from East Preston. Boden and Brigantia presided over the operation, giving an occasional ‘woof’ of approval.
When the horses had been saddled, Hugh came to fetch the women. “Mesdames, we don’t have enough horses for everyone. Lady Wilona, you’ll ride with my brother, two of my men-at-arms will take Aediva and Bemia, another will carry the dog. Don’t worry he’s a burly fellow. Devona you’ll ride with me. Brigantia will keep up. We won’t be riding too fast.”
Wilona nodded her approval and, once everyone was mounted, the party set off for Saint Germain de Montbryce. Seated behind Hugh, Devona clung to the strength in his broad back, her arms around his waist, the warmth from his body seeping into her, praying she wasn’t dreaming.
Everything had happened so fast, Hugh wondered if he was dreaming as Devona’s arms tightened around him. He relished the thrill of her breasts pressed firmly against his back. He tried not to become aroused, but it was hopeless. He decided instead to ponder the possible ramifications of his actions.
He had kidnapped the wife of a Norman nobleman and spirited her away to his own land. If he made love to her, which he desperately wanted to do, she would be guilty of adultery. If his bloodlust surfaced during the mating, he might commit some unspeakable savagery against the woman he loved with all his heart. If it didn’t, he was a virgin, by the saints, and she a woman married for five years. What would she think of his lack of experience? Would it be evident?
On top of that, he was harboring a Saxon woman who had killed the capitaine of the same nobleman. Though she had acted in defense of herself and her children, Hugh knew only too well what the sentence of a Norman court would be. He wondered what Renouf would do once he returned home and found the prize gone? Just where did the man go so frequently in Normandie?
Hugh was heartily glad to see the imposing Castle Montbryce come into view on its promontory. Contentment swept over him, as it always did at the sight. He glanced over to Antoine and they exchanged a smile and a nod. He was home, the woman of his dreams with him. He hoped it wouldn’t all turn into a nightmare.
Steward Fernand Bonhomme had everything in readiness for milords Hugh and Antoine and their guests when they arrived. His comte’s brothers would sleep in their own chambers, which had been aired out. Two chambers had been readied for the ladies. He was somewhat taken aback by the huge dogs, which he did not expect, especially since one was injured. However, he soon had the stable boys dealing with the matter of food for them. In any case they were to sleep in the ladies’ chambers.
“Bonhomme, where would Montbryce be without you?” Antoine exclaimed, after the women had been taken to their chambers by a maidservant. “The entirety would crumble around our ears.”
“It’s my honor to serve you, you know that, milord. Not as easy with Mathieu gone off to serve milord Rambaud in England, but I still have my younger son Honoré here as my right hand. He’ll be ready to take over from me when the time comes.”
He did not mention how much more difficult his wife’s death six years earlier had made things. No use dwelling on that painful subject.
“Bonhomme, just one reminder, for the other servants,” Hugh said. “Our guests are all Saxons, as you know. They must feel no discomfort here. They have endured much, and all at the hands of Normans.”
“Don’t worry, milord. I’ve already spoken to everyone. They won’t encounter those kinds of Normans here.”
Hugh slapped the faithful seneschal on the back. “Good man.”
Fernand’s heart swelled. “La Cuisinière has all in readiness when you want the evening meal to begin in the Great Hall.”
Hugh rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. “My mouth waters already at the mention of her name.”
Child's Play
Renouf had not looked forward
to returning to England. Though his visits to his family were fraught with arguments and confrontations, he nevertheless felt more at home in Malbadon. His roots were there. It was where he belonged.
On the other hand, he longed to return to Melton, to run his hands over Devona’s lush breasts, to feel her mouth on his shaft, to see the fear in her eyes. The mere thought of it roused him. At Melton he could drink fine wine to his heart’s content, eat as much rich food as he wished, issue orders and have them obeyed, all without censure. In Melton he was lord of the demesne, whereas in Malbadon—
He had considered leaving early, but that would have precipitated another acrimonious argument, so he had departed on schedule. As his longboat neared the English shore, he could hardly wait. He was confident Torod had kept careful watch over his manor in his absence. Things might get tricky with a new overlord snooping around.
Not to worry. The ugly toad is terrified of me. He knows the consequences of failure.
As soon as he saw one of his hired mercenaries waiting at the landing, he knew something was amiss.
He jumped off the longboat. “What is it, Pascal? Where’s Torod?”
The man gulped. “Gone, milord.”
Renouf glared. “Speak more plainly. Where has he gone?”
“We don’t know. None have seen him since two mornings since. He went off to collect rents—and—”
Renouf narrowed his eyes. “And what? I’m getting impatient.”
Sweat beaded on Pascal’s brow. “We—the men—we all fell asleep—after the meal—midday—”
Had he heard correctly? “Fell asleep?”
Pascal hurried on. “We think we were poisoned. We flogged the cook and the servants, but none will confess.”
Foreboding crept into Renouf’s breast. “Poisoned? By whom? Who else is missing?”
The man was plainly nervous to impart the next piece of information. He must have drawn the short straw.
“The—Saxons,” he stammered.
Renouf’s voice dripped ice. “Which Saxons?”
Pascal’s eyes looked everywhere but at Renouf. “Your lady wife, milord—and her family—and those cursed dogs.”
Renouf spat out his fury. “I don’t care about the bloody hounds.”
By now he had retrieved his horse. He mounted quickly. “And Torod’s is the hand behind this escape? I think not. The man has the brains of a flea.”
“I don’t know, milord, but we can’t find him anywhere.”
Renouf snorted. “Likely dead, killed by the Montbryce brothers. Who else would have the temerity to invade my home and kidnap my wife?”
Pascal remounted and caught up to his master. “Their steward did come to speak with Torod.”
Renouf was startled. “From where?”
“I think their manor at East Preston.”
“The derelict?”
“They’re reopening it.”
Renouf picked up the pace. “What of the madwoman, and the old man?”
The youth swallowed hard. “All gone, milord.”
Renouf slowed his horse. “And no one saw them go? How could they have fled? Did they take horses?”
“Only Torod’s mount is missing.”
Renouf gripped the reins. “So whoever killed him took his horse. But how did the others escape? And where did they go? Our first stop will be East Preston.”
He urged his horse to a gallop.
Théobald Cormant was pleased with himself. He had so far managed to trap two dozen pigeons which had been sent off to Normandie with Lord Antoine. The rat poison he and his brother Barat had set under the careful supervision of the rat catcher was paying off handsomely, rigid rodent bodies turning up everywhere.
He gritted his teeth as a Norman he assumed to be Renouf de Maubadon came riding into view. “But here comes a rat of a different order.”
Milord Antoine had predicted the advent of this despicable brute.
“Milord?” he oozed in his best steward voice as Renouf reined in his horse. “May I be of assistance? I’m Théobald Cormant, steward of East Preston.”
Renouf scowled. “Where are Antoine and Hugh de Montbryce?”
Théo dipped his head, then looked Renouf in the eye. “May I enquire who you are, mon seigneur?”
Renouf’s ire was evident on his red face. “I am Sir Renouf de Maubadon, of Melton Manor.”
Théo kept his voice even. “Mes seigneurs are probably in Normandie. They left several days ago. With large castles to administer there they have appointed my brother and me as seneschals here, to oversee the manors granted by King William, including yours.”
Renouf bristled at the reminder. “Are you the steward who came to my manor two days since?”
Théo was enjoying the game. “Melton? Non, milord, that was my brother, Barat.”
Renouf’s voice had risen to a shout. “And with whom did he speak?”
Théo shrugged. “I know not, milord, and he isn’t here today. He’s gone to Kingston Gorse for more rat poison. We have a significant rodent problem here. Is something amiss?”
Renouf looked perplexed.
Théo bided his time.
“I will return,” Renouf shouted as he and his man rode away.
Théo watched them go. “And I’ll be waiting, raton.”
When Renouf rode into the courtyard of Melton Manor a short time later, Barat Cormant was waiting, leaning casually against the wall of the well.
Renouf challenged him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“I’m Barat Cormant.”
“But you’re supposed to be at Kingston Gorse.”
“I was, milord, and I thought to call in here on my way back to East Preston. I spoke with your man the other day. Did he not tell you?”
Barat struggled to hide his amusement as he watched a furious Renouf almost fall off his horse when his foot caught in the stirrup as he dismounted. He flung the reins to the man accompanying him.
Barat decided to keep talking. “I’ve been trying to find him here today, but he seems to have disappeared. No one knows where he is. However, now you’re here we can go over the accounts.”
Renouf shook his fist. “There will be no accounting done this day, I can promise you.”
“I see, milord. Of course. This is a bad time? Perhaps on the morrow?”
Renouf waved him off, cursing as he strode into the manor house.
Barat remounted and rode away with a shrug and a grin. Compared to his father’s former masters, Guillaume and Arnulf de Valtesse, dealing with this man would be child’s play.
Ramifications
Despite her mother’s obvious exhaustion, Devona felt compelled to speak. Recriminations whirled in her head, but she wanted to embrace her parent and welcome her back to life.
Eyes full of regret, Lady Wilona took her daughter’s hand.
Devona pressed it to her cheek. “Hush. You need sleep. A meal is to be served in the Great Hall later. Till then, rest. You’ve had a difficult day.”
Tears trickled down Wilona’s cheeks. “I’ve been a coward.”
Devona kissed her forehead and wiped away the tears. “You’re back with us now. That’s all that matters. And you saved us from Torod.”
Wilona’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh God. I killed a man. I’ll burn in hell.”
Devona shook her head. “You did it to save us. God won’t punish you for that. You were defending your children.”
Her mother blinked away tears, her eyelids heavy. Devona tucked the bed coverings around her.
“Sleep peacefully,” she whispered, tiptoeing to the open door of the adjoining chamber.
Aediva and Bemia were curled up together on the same bed, still awake. She sat on the edge and stroked Aediva’s hair.
“Are we safe now?” Bemia asked.
Devona gasped out a yes as it came to her she had not breathed properly for many hours during the escape.
The possibility they were free of Renouf’s cruelty hit h
er full force and she bit her knuckles to stifle a sob.
Aediva reached up and put her hand on Devona’s face. “It’s all right to cry. Your bravery has kept us all alive. Come, rest here with us.”
Devona sobbed then, undone by her sister’s compassion and understanding. The three girls curled up together on the big bed and cried out the pain and loss of five long years, until exhaustion carried them into sleep.
After he and Antoine had prayed beside their parents’ tombs in the crypt, Hugh went to rest in his own chamber. Devona’s presence under the same roof kept him on edge. He wanted to go to her, to hold her and kiss away the years of pain and torment, but it wouldn’t be appropriate. Although her husband was a monster, she was still married to him. She did not belong to Hugh.
His heart was heavy as he looked to the future. Now he had rescued these Saxons, what was he to do with them? They were foreigners in his country. He would have to act as their protector. He longed to be so much more as far as Devona was concerned, but the idea of an adulterous relationship and fear of his own latent aggression combined to weigh heavily on him.
He could leave them at Montbryce, under the protection of the Bonhommes, but then they would be virtual prisoners. Another possibility was to take them to Domfort, where they might enjoy a freer life with him as their champion. But then Devona would be an ever present temptation. Censure might fall upon them too from the Church once the bishop learned Devona was married—to a Norman no less.
He wandered into Antoine’s chamber to discuss it with him, though he intended to say nothing about his fears that passion might arouse violence in him.
His brother’s face registered surprise. “I can’t imagine why you would want to leave them here at Montbryce. It seems to me that the ultimate solution is to get rid of Renouf.”
Hugh slumped onto the edge of the bed. “I agree, but we can’t murder the man.”
Antoine sat beside his brother. “You’re right. But if we watch him, we’ll discover where he goes in Normandie and why.”
Defiance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 2) Page 9
