Defiance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 2)

by Anna Markland

  “I must be ailing for something,” she murmured, fanning her face with her hand.

  The maidservant snorted. “I wonder what it could be?”

  As usual, Oda apparently could not hold her tongue. “Milord Antoine is a very handsome man. He would make any young woman think she was ailing for something.”

  Sybilla should have been indignant, but was not. Little Denis. He had said it with such affection. How could a man care about a malformed child that was not his own? An Angevin at that.

  Oda’s voice broke into her reverie. “Listen to me, my girl. The future is here. The Conqueror will never allow Le Maine to fall back into Angevin hands. We must pray Antoine de Montbryce remains your champion. Without his protection, you and your child won’t survive.”

  Sybilla unpinned the veil from her hair and gave it to her maid. “I know you are right, Oda, but how can we be sure he will continue to champion us?”

  Oda snickered as she combed out her mistress’s hair. “Unless I’m mistaken, the Norman master of Belisle is smitten with you.”

  Sybilla stilled Oda’s hand. “Me? Look at me, Oda. I’m the widow of an Angevin, the mother of a nabot. Men like Antoine de Montbryce don’t fall in love with women like me. I get the feeling he’s always had his pick of women. And where would my honor be if I allowed him to court me? He killed my husband.”

  “War is war. You can have honor, or you can have life and happiness, for you and your child. Remember, you cannot go back to the life you had. Would you want to? Was Denis de Sancerre the loving husband you wanted?”

  Sybilla burst into tears. “He never loved me. I was less than nothing to him.”

  Oda rocked her mistress. “Hush, my lady, hush. I know.”

  Sybilla buried her face in her maid’s ample bosom. “Thank God I have you, Oda. You’re the only real mother I ever had.”

  Antoine rode hard all day to get back to Grandeguay. As soon as he arrived he sought out Jubert, the rat catcher, but was told the man had gone off somewhere the day before, leaving a one word message—Renouf.

  He was frustrated, desperate to share the information he had discovered.

  His plan had been to stay at the fortress overnight and ride to Le Mans to see Hugh the following day, but it quickly became evident he would have to remain there for at least another day to resolve problems which had arisen in his absence.

  Fortunately, he quickly located Hugh when he eventually made it to Le Mans. The Domfort and Montbryce knights had been assigned to the northernmost gate. He found his brother practicing swordplay. Impatient as he was to impart his news, he did not want to cause Hugh to lose his concentration. His brother soon disarmed the other man, and a grin split his face when he espied Antoine.

  They embraced. “Good to see you. Tell me about this Angevin woman you’ve spirited away to Belisle?”

  Antoine hoped his face would not betray his anguish over Sybilla, but his brother knew him too well.

  “What’s this? My philandering brother in a dark mood over a woman?”

  Antoine shrugged. “I’ll tell you later. First, Renouf.”

  Hugh wiped his sword with an oiled cloth. “I can tell by the sound of your voice you have discovered something.”

  He nodded. “Renouf has been financing the fortress at Grandeguay.”

  “Godemite! Sorry—it’s a Saxon oath. Devona’s influence. Go on. How did you discover this?”

  Antoine scoffed. “I know it’s a Saxon oath. I was at Hastings you remember.”

  Hugh sheathed his sword. “Never mind that. Tell me.”

  They walked together to Hugh’s temporary quarters and Antoine told his brother everything that had happened since they were together. He did not, however, mention he thought he might be in love with Sybilla.

  “So, you’re smitten with this Angevin woman?” Hugh asked without pause when the tale was done.

  Antoine bristled. “I didn’t say that.”

  Hugh laughed. “You didn’t have to. I can see it when you speak her name. But a nabot—it will be difficult.”

  Antoine shrugged. “Since when do the Montbryces make things easy on themselves? And it’s probably a lost cause, since I’m a Norman, and the murderer of her beloved husband.”

  Had Hugh heard the despair in his voice? Pursuing and enjoying women had always brought him such happiness. He relished his reputation as a philanderer, though he had never wooed women with the intent of hurting them.

  The futility of trying to establish a relationship with Sybilla made him sick at heart. And yet, just thinking of her aroused him. The irony of it.

  “The irony of it is that her husband would probably have—”

  His words were interrupted by the shout of a breathless man-at-arms bearing the Domfort device on his surcoat. “Milord Montbryce.”

  Hugh tensed. “Here! What news?”

  The man struggled for breath. “Our lady, they have taken her.”

  Hugh’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. “Lady Devona?”

  The man nodded. “Oui, and her mother.”

  Anger distorted Hugh’s face. “Renouf?”

  The soldier shook his head. “Non, milord, the bishop’s men.”

  Hugh’s face darkened. “The Bishop of Domfort?”

  The man shook his head again. “Non, milord, Caen.”

  Hugh looked at his brother. “I’ll wager this is the work of the king. They’ve taken them to the curia regis to be tried.”

  Antoine searched unsuccessfully for something to say to calm Hugh. His brother was no doubt right that Devona and her mother had been taken to the King’s Court in Caen to face trial for adultery—or worse. The likelihood of any outcome other than death for the Saxon women was remote.

  “I must go to her at once,” Hugh rasped.

  Ice crept up Antoine’s spine. “But if you leave here, William will—”

  “I don’t care what happens to me. I must speak for Devona, or she will be condemned. She’s done nothing except try to keep her family alive by submitting to a Norman brute.”

  Antoine had to intervene. “But Hugh—”

  “She’s my wife. I must protect her. I gave her my word that she wouldn’t be harmed in my country. We’ll take what we have learned about Renouf to the curia regis. Perhaps the fact that he’s a traitor will sway the court.”

  Antoine rubbed the back of his neck. “But you’ll need Lady Sybilla to corroborate that testimony. I don’t know if—”

  Hugh seized his brother’s arm. “You must convince her. She owes you much.”

  Antoine nodded, and placed his hand over his brother’s, still gripping his arm. “There are many dangers in all this. But family is above all. Fide et Virtute. Montbryce first and foremost. I’ll do what I can.”

  “It will mean you too must disobey His Majesty and leave your post at Grandeguay.”

  Antoine shrugged. “My men have the situation well in hand.”

  Hugh embraced his brother and they set about making preparations for the ride to the north, back to Normandie to face their angry king.

  En route, the brothers stopped briefly at the fortress to ascertain if Jubert had returned. He had not. Antoine left a message that the rat catcher was to be informed upon arrival about the curia regis. If he had any information he was to proceed to Caen with all possible haste.

  At Grandeguay, they parted company. Antoine rode on to Belisle to convince Sybilla to help them, and Hugh went to Domfort to ascertain exactly what had happened to Devona and Wilona. They agreed to meet again in Caen.

  Proposal

  Antoine’s heart filled with grief and concern for his brother as he watched him ride away like a madman. He was afraid for Hugh, afraid of what his love for Devona would drive him to do.

  It had all seemed so simple when they had first decided to help the Meltons. Now, their whole family might be threatened, even their eldest brother. Despite his pivotal role in the success of the invasion, Ram could lose his earldom if the king decided to
be vindictive.

  There was a long tradition of amity between the Montbryce family and the king, but William was not a man to anger. He might even confiscate Montbryce Castle. Antoine’s blood ran cold at the prospect.

  Who would the king choose among the landed nobles of Normandie to sit in judgment with him on the curia regis? Who from the ecclesiastical ranks? Much would depend on who these men were. Friend or foe?

  By the time he saw Belisle on the horizon he was in a mood to snatch Sybilla and force her to Caen, but he would have to calm down and take a more careful approach. His feelings for her must not be allowed to get in the way of what he had to accomplish for his brother, for his family. If he forced her to Caen, there was no guarantee she would testify. If she did, she might put herself in jeopardy and be branded as a traitor.

  When he reached the bailey, he was alarmed to find himself in the midst of an angry mob of villagers armed with all manner of tools and implements.

  Bretel, sword drawn, was standing at the door to the keep, flanked by men-at-arms. The mob turned to look at their lord as he rode in.

  He unsheathed his sword and stood in the stirrups. “What in the name of all that’s holy is going on here?”

  Some of the women in the crowd shrank back, drawing their shawls more tightly around their shoulders. The hubbub stilled.

  “I repeat, what is going on here?”

  It was Bretel who replied. “They’ve come for the babe, and the Angevin woman.”

  Antoine had known anger before, but what surged through him at that moment was beyond anger. For the first time in his life, he was ashamed of being a Norman. Even Renouf’s brutality paled in comparison with slaughtering an innocent child, deformed or not.

  He searched out the faces of the men in the crowd who seemed the most belligerent. Espying one he recognized as a troublemaker, he pointed his sword at him. “Any man who would slay a child and a defenseless woman will answer to me.”

  The man paled. “But he’s—evil, milord, a green-eyed monster. And she’s an enemy—an Angevin with mismatched eyes.”

  Murmurs of agreement rose from the mob, but the fervor had left many faces. “That’s superstitious nonsense. I myself have green eyes. Am I a monster then? Go back to your homes. You make me ashamed.”

  Gradually, the men lowered their implements. They had intended to hack to death a woman and her child, but now seemed aware of the barbarity of their intent. The crowd slowly dispersed back to the village, though Antoine recognized the glint of defiance in the eyes of some.

  He dismounted and strode over to Bretel, who was sheathing his sword. “Good thing I came when I did.”

  “It is indeed, milord. But I worry some of them remain unconvinced and will stir up the others again.”

  Antoine nodded, aware Bretel was probably right. Having ascertained the lady was in her chamber, he resolved to go to her before taking refreshment. What he had to ask of her was too important to delay.

  Sybilla and Oda heard the commotion in the bailey and knew the mob had come for them.

  Denis suckled noisily, blissfully unaware of the threat to his life.

  Alise Bretel arrived to tell them her husband was holding them at bay.

  Oda fell to her knees in prayer.

  Then Antoine’s angry voice rang out. It was a good thing Sybilla was seated or she would have swooned. Something tightened deep in her belly at the sound of his commanding voice.

  Minutes later, a knock heralded his arrival. Oda opened the door and as Antoine strode in, Sybilla knew she had never been as glad to see anyone in her life. It was evident he had ridden hard to get there. His black hair had grown a little, but it was plastered to his head, and the tang of healthy male sweat filled the chamber.

  He looked away when he realized she was suckling her child, and it touched her heart. Here was a gentle warrior, a man who would defend those he loved and the things he believed in to the death, but a man considerate of others.

  Oda draped a small blanket over the suckling child.

  Antoine took a step back. “Your pardon, Lady Sybilla, I didn’t realize—”

  She smiled at him and held out her hand. “Milord Montbryce. Please. Don’t leave. Once again, we owe you our lives.”

  Antoine took her hand and brushed his lips against it. Heat rushed up Sybilla’s thighs and curled into a damp throbbing at the core of her womanhood. Her nipples, already peaked by her child’s suckling, tingled more. Involuntarily, she arched her back slightly, thrusting her swollen breasts. Antoine’s face reddened as he glanced briefly at his groin.

  He wants to be sure the gambeson covers him. Oda was right. He desires me.

  Sybilla applied a small amount of pressure to Antoine’s fingers. His green eyes flashed. She had a momentary notion to let the blanket concealing her breast slide accidentally to the floor. Confused emotions rushed through her. This warrior had killed her husband, but it had been an act of war—not of murder.

  Denis de Sancerre had never treated her as a nobleman should. But, Antoine was a Norman. There could be no future, especially with Denis’ deformity. No man, noble or not, would want to take on that burden. It was hers alone to bear. Yet, she was drawn to him.

  Antoine cleared his throat. His eyes moved from hers to the concealing blanket, then back again. He ran his fingers gently along the babe’s little foot protruding from the edge of the blanket. “I’m ashamed of my villagers. They are ignorant, superstitious folk.”

  For long minutes, the only sound in the room was the happy noise of a baby at his mother’s breast. It was as though time had stopped, and nothing existed outside of that one natural happening. Had she fallen asleep? Was this a dream? She felt the urge to reach up and pull Antoine’s rapt face to her breast. She longed to feel his full, sensuous lips tugging on her nipples.

  Oda’s voice broke the spell. “I’ll take the babe, milady.”

  Sybilla lowered her languid gaze and saw that Denis had fallen asleep. “Oh, oui—I didn’t realize—he’s sleeping.”

  Then she looked up at Antoine. Oda had gathered up the child and the blanket. Sybilla’s breast lay bare to his gaze. She thought for a moment he might reach out and touch her, and she longed for him to do exactly that. But he seemed suddenly to realize what he was doing and stepped back, away from her. She felt her face flush as she pulled her chemise to cover her breasts. She had never been so aroused by a man.

  “Sybilla,” he rasped. “I mean—Lady Sybilla. Forgive me. I was so rapt in watching the child.”

  Oda snorted.

  He straightened and squared his shoulders. “We need to speak again about the matter of Renouf de Maubadon.”

  Sybilla sensed a coldness come over him. Whatever she replied now could have an impact on her future. She would need to be wary. Antoine had indicated this matter touched on his brother’s survival. Members of a proud noble family such as the Montbryces would do anything to protect their own. “I thought we had completed our discussion of the man. I barely knew him, and was unaware of his relationship with my husband.”

  He shifted his weight. “Unfortunately, we aren’t done with it. You’ll have to testify to what you knew of the man.”

  A chill swept over her. “Testify?”

  His arms were rigid at his sides, his fists clenched. “At the curia regis.”

  Cold fear raised the hair at her nape. What were the Montbryces involved in? “Testify that the man was a traitor—at King William’s court? You must think I have a death wish, milord. Besides, it was Oda’s knowledge that was imparted to you, not mine.”

  Antoine ran a hand distractedly through his hair. “The court won’t accept the testimony of a peasant. You know that. My brother’s life and that of his wife may depend on you, Lady Sybilla. I could force you to go.”

  Another shiver of fear raced up her spine. She wouldn’t be surprised if her red hair had turned white. “You could force me to go, but you cannot force me to speak against my will. Even the bastard’s court
would not permit that.”

  Antoine’s anger at her disparaging remark about his king was evident. He struggled to control his temper. As they glared at each other, something he had said penetrated. “His wife?”

  He slumped into a chair. “Oui. His Devona.”

  A memory tickled the back of Sybilla’s mind. She glanced at Oda, who had the same surprised expression on her face.

  “Devona? That’s the name of Renouf’s wife.”

  Antoine seemed to have lost control of one leg as it twitched nervously up and down. He put his hand on his knee, as though to still the trembling. Sybilla was beginning to see where the story was going. “I think you had best tell me the whole narrative.”

  Antoine rose to his feet and paced for a while. Sybilla felt an inexplicable need to comfort him in his trouble, but her honor—

  He stopped pacing and came to stand before her. “I lay our family’s future survival at your feet, Lady Sybilla.”

  He recounted the story. Denis started to fuss, but Oda appeared so engrossed in what Antoine was telling them that she barely noticed as she absentmindedly rocked his cradle with one hand.

  When Antoine had finished, he went down on one knee in front of Sybilla and took her hand. “I know it’s a great deal to ask of you, Sybilla, but—”

  Denis was now screaming loudly, and Sybilla was distracted as Oda carried the child to her.

  “I’ll leave you to tend to your babe. Hopefully, when I return we can plan for our journey.”

  Antoine bowed and left to go to his solar. The journey, the mob, and the confrontation with Sybilla had exhausted him. He called for a servant to bring a bath. His valet came to help him strip off his armor and clothing. His groin still ached with the intense memory of watching Sybilla nurse her child. How he had longed to press his lips to the dark nipples he had glimpsed, to twirl his tongue—

  What were the options if she refused? It was true he could not force her to testify. He realized his valet had been talking all the while.

  “What did you just say?”