Star-Crossed

by Anna Markland

  Rhodri shook his head and insisted. “There’ll be others where you take her who may wish to harm her.”

  Still Baudoin did not look away, his eyes locked on Rhodri’s. “On my honor, I’ll protect her with my life.”

  There was a time when the oath of a Norman would have meant nothing to Rhodri, but Baudoin was the son of an honorable man, whose life he had spared many years ago. Baudoin’s sister had been born in his own fortress of Cadair Berwyn and named for his wife, Rhonwen. He and his men had once saved Baudoin’s half-brother from drowning in the River Dee.

  It seemed Fate had decided the two families would be inexorably linked, and he was not a man to stand in the way of destiny. He turned to his daughter, looked into her eyes and said, “Carys, you’re aware I don’t want you to go with this man. But as you know, I’m a great believer in the power of love.” He winked.

  He could tell from his daughter’s expression she found his words amusing when she looked at her fierce father with his wild black hair, his war braids, his tattoos, his intimidating body, his dagger tucked at his waist. She tried hard to control a grin, but she knew he did believe in the power of love. He had wooed a shy healer to share his difficult life. “I’ve never loved you more than I do at this moment,” she rasped. “You know he’s my destiny.”

  Rhodri’s eyes filled with tears as he embraced his little girl, remembering how he had told Rhonwen the same thing many years before. Here too was a woman who had known the intimate touch of a man she loved. “Then you must follow your destiny, daughter. Go with him. You have my blessing.”

  Rhun urged his horse forward. “But father,” he shouted.

  Rhodri raised his hand to silence his son.

  Rhun clenched his jaw and glared at Baudoin.

  Carys strode towards her brothers, smiling. Rhys dismounted and embraced her. “Goodbye, little one,” he said. “Be happy.”

  Rhun and Rhydderch would not dismount. She pushed her way between their horses and laid her right hand on Rhun’s knee, and her left on Rhydderch’s. “Goodbye, handsome brothers. You will be in my heart. Be safe. I love you.”

  “Goodbye, Carys,” Rhun croaked.

  Rhydderch could not speak.

  Baudoin helped her mount, remounted his own gelding, then raised his fist in salute to the four warriors who watched him go, taking with him their precious jewel over the ancient bridge.

  Rhys turned to his scowling brothers and said pointedly, “You’ve failed to consider your sister will one day be the Countess of Ellesmere.”

  Wedding Night

  Three sennights later, the Montbryce brothers were married to the women they loved in the church their father had commissioned. Mabelle had outdone herself in her efforts to make it a memorable occasion, both for her sons and the local gentry.

  “Some people believe you and Robert are twins,” she told him. “You look so alike with your dark hair and blue eyes.”

  Baudoin laughed. “Oui, and Caedmon’s presence as the third replica of our father has only added to the delight of those in attendance.”

  Mabelle chuckled.

  Baudoin admired the way his mother had accepted her husband’s illegitimate son and welcomed him into the bosom of their family. He never thought of Caedmon as anything other than his brother.

  His mother was still gushing. “Your brides are stunning in their wedding finery. It’s wonderful that Carys and Dorianne have become friends.”

  He smiled too. “Oui, as soon as they met. Now instead of healer and patient, they will be sisters-by-marriage.”

  Mabelle sighed. “It’s unfortunate for both women their fathers aren’t present to see them wed. Rhonwen’s here with Rhys, but it doesn’t bode well that no members of the Giroux family are in attendance, though your father reached out to them by sending messengers. They were refused admittance to Giroux castle.”

  Baudoin grasped his mother’s hand in reassurance. “Agneta made the journey from Ruyton with Caedmon and everyone has been delighted to see how their twins have grown. The five-year-olds see themselves as the protectors of Edwin and baby Ragna.”

  Mabelle kissed her son’s hand. “Did you see Caedmon’s face when he and Agneta set eyes on Rhys?”

  Baudoin laughed, having heard the tale of Rhodri and Rhys saving Caedmon from drowning when Rhys was a mere lad. “Of course, everyone is taunting me and Robert that it’s now our turn to provide you and Papa with heirs.”

  Ram joined them. He slapped Baudoin on the back when he overheard. “Judging by the lustful looks on your faces when you look at your brides, I doubt it will take long.” Then the smile left his face. “Does Caedmon resent that his children can never be Montbryce heirs?”

  Baudoin shook his head. “Be assured, Papa, he doesn’t. He’s more than happy with what you have provided for him and his family.”

  The guests took their places at table. Trésor and her helpers in the kitchens had prepared a memorable feast to celebrate the event. They dined on roasted goose stuffed with figs, pheasant with boiled leeks, rabbit stew, black bread and of course the trout à la Cuisinière. Those who had room for dessert enjoyed gooseberry tarts and cheese. The wine and ale flowed freely and Ram gave orders for two of the kegs of the Montbryce apple brandy brought from Normandie and kept in the cellars for special occasions to be opened.

  “I can’t think of a more special occasion than this,” he quipped as he offered a toast to his sons and their new wives. “I wish to propose a toast to my sons, Robert and Baudoin, and to their beautiful wives, Dorianne and Carys. Mabelle and I’ve been blessed to have two such proud Normans as our sons. The future of the Montbryce name is in good hands.”

  Cheering broke out as everyone raised their goblets to the newlyweds.

  Robert stood to respond to the toast. “Milord Earl and Countess of Ellesmere, Comte and Comtesse de Montbryce, I know I speak for my brother as well as myself when I say it was our good fortune to be born your sons. It’s our awesome responsibility to ensure the continuance of the great name of Montbryce, and again I know I speak for both of us when I say we’ll do our very best in that task.”

  Guffaws echoed through the appreciative crowd.

  “But I want to finish by saying it’s been my honor to share this important day of my life with Baudoin. He’s a man to emulate and I’m proud to have him as my brother.”

  Baudoin was humbled his older brother would pay him such homage.

  Mabelle could contain her tears no longer and cried on Ram’s shoulder.

  Rhys comforted his mother as she, too, wept.

  * * *

  Dorianne leaned close to her husband’s ear. “Carys and I are nervous about what will happen when it comes time for the two of you to take us to bed.”

  Robert looked at her strangely. Surely she knew?

  Dorianne blushed. “Non, I mean, we’ve heard tales of bawdy revelers forcing newlyweds to join their bodies in public, and we dread the possibility.”

  Robert took her hand, and smiled across at Carys, who was nervously biting her lip. “I can assure both of you no such thing will be allowed to happen. We’ll be escorted to our chambers, undressed by our servants, in private, and tucked up in bed together. Then the bishop will give his blessing, and the guests will leave.”

  Baudoin had overheard. “Then we’ll get down to business, in private,” he laughed, rubbing his hands together.

  As the festivities drew to a close, Robert and Dorianne were the first to be escorted to bed, since he was the eldest son. It was the first time Dorianne had been in Robert’s chamber and he’d made sure a cheerful fire warmed the room. A carved wooden screen had been placed at one end, and she and Margene stepped behind it. He wished he could watch as the maidservant helped remove his bride’s garments and shoes.

  However, his friends and brothers were divesting him of his clothing, tossing it here and there. He grabbed a red silk bed robe offered by Baudoin, cinching the belt lightly around his waist. Smiling and waving to the chee
ring and jeering crowd, he strode proudly across the room and climbed into bed beside a blushing Dorianne. She was propped up against a large bolster, having been tucked in by Margene.

  The bishop intoned a brief prayer of blessing and sprinkled the bed with holy water. Then, despite ribald urgings from the guests to Get on with it, Robert pointed to the door with an imperious wave of the hand. He teased his brother with mock humility. “Baudoin, I apologise I cannot escort you and your lovely bride to your chambers. I’m afraid I’ll be too busy.”

  “Never fear,” Baudoin responded with equal levity. “I’ll manage without your help.”

  The last to leave as he ushered the well-wishers out, his father gave Robert a wink and closed the door. The merry voices continued on to Baudoin’s chambers.

  “Alone at last,” Robert quipped. He slipped off the silk bed robe, lifting his hips to free the fabric. He helped his wife remove the bed robe she wore, then drew her on top of his body. The silk nightgown was enticingly cool on his chest and his already aching shaft.

  She nestled her head against his neck and nibbled him.

  He hunched his shoulders and laughed. “I’m ticklish.”

  She raised her head, smiled a naughty smile and resumed her nibbling. Her body warmed and he wondered if she was already wet for him. He laughed again and held her away, instantly missing the feel of the cool silk on his sac.

  “I love this flimsy frock you wear, but it will have to go,” he said, holding her with one arm and trying to lift off the shift.

  She raised her arms to help him, stoking the fires of his need as her body was revealed.

  The logs in the hearth crackled.

  “You’re beautiful, Dorianne,” he whispered, easing her back on top of him.

  With her forearms on his chest, she raised up to look at him.

  He flicked his tongue, wanting to lick the twin globes pouting enticingly between her upper arms, the nipples begging to be suckled.

  The glow of the fire danced on her skin.

  She lowered her body and touched her tongue to his. They lapped each other lovingly.

  He licked her lips, the corners of her mouth, then increased the pressure of his kiss as his need and his arousal grew. He explored the warmth of her mouth and her teeth, tasting apple brandy.

  She sucked rhythmically on his tongue.

  Keeping their mouths joined, he rolled her on to the bed beside him.

  She broke away, her eyes full of uncertainty. “I’m not sure—”

  Robert’s heart thudded. She had never touched his manhood. He took her hand and placed it on his shaft. “Move your hand on me,” he whispered, “like this.”

  Taking her other hand, he placed it on his sac. “Pull up and squeeze. Gently.”

  She did as he showed her and he exhaled loudly. “That feels good.”

  She arched her back, thrusting out her breasts. “I’m light headed,” she rasped.

  Blood is rushing to my head too!

  His mouth found a nipple and suckled.

  She hummed, deep in the back of her throat, and pressed her belly against his erection. Her eyes widened and her breath caught. “You’re getting bigger,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’ll make you ready. There’ll be but a moment’s pain and then—”

  He could not speak. The words foretelling the ultimate passion he hoped they would share in a few minutes were too much to squeeze out of his dry throat. He grasped her warm nape and buried his face in her soft hair. His passion seemed to arouse her.

  “I’m yours to do with as you will, Robert,” she whispered, her eyes bright.

  The memory of perfect breasts glistening with fragrant oil and the taste of her most intimate place carried him to greater heights. He touched a finger to her female nub, covering her scream with his mouth, her wetness flooding his fingers. She convulsed as release shuddered through her.

  He knelt between her legs as she opened for him. “I can’t wait, Dorianne. I need to be inside you, now.”

  “I’m ready,” she murmured lovingly, and his soaring heart knew she was.

  God had been generous with his male endowments and he hoped the pain would not be too great. He slid his whole length into her and felt the barrier tear. The warmth of her maiden’s blood mingled with her woman’s juices flooded over him like a tidal wave. He was a drowning man who did not want to be rescued. He took his weight on his elbows and crushed her breasts to his chest. “Am I hurting you?” he rasped as he pounded into her. “I can’t stop.”

  She shook her head, her eyes glazed. “I relish it, Robert. It’s my rite of passage into womanhood.”

  He silently uttered a prayer of thanks for the gift of this remarkable young woman as she surrendered her body to his possession, her muscles pulsating against his shaft. Moments later, the white heat surged from his body into hers and his release engulfed him.

  * * *

  Baudoin did not spill on the sheets of his matrimonial bed. As promised, he pumped his seed as far inside his mystically beautiful wife as he could, and relished her obvious enjoyment of his possession of her.

  Challenges lay ahead, but Carys was his now and nothing could part them.

  * * *

  Robert and Dorianne left for Normandie two days after their marriage.

  Hugh met them at Montbryce Castle and brought Robert up to date on the political situation which had predictably deteriorated into two distinct camps.

  Curthose was openly planning an invasion of England.

  Robert brought troops from Ellesmere to strengthen his garrison and made preparations to defend the castle against attack by Curthose supporters if it came. He half expected the duke himself to come to persuade him to fight on his side, and was relieved when that did not happen.

  Given the danger of venturing beyond the castle environs, he and Dorianne spent most of their time together, enjoying the exhilarating passion they shared.

  An Unbearable Loss

  A few months later, in July of the year of Our Lord One Thousand One Hundred and One, the long-expected invasion began. Curthose landed at Portsmouth with his army.

  Ram and Mabelle were relieved Robert would not be among the Norman knights accompanying Curthose, but anxious because Baudoin and Caedmon had gone south to fight for Henry. Mabelle did what she could to cheer Carys.

  After many long, tense days, it was Baudoin who returned home with good news. “You were correct, Papa, in your assessment that the supporters of William Rufus would in turn support Henry. So did the Church.”

  Ram exhaled loudly and tightened his arm around Mabelle’s waist. “It’s over then? Caedmon is safe also?”

  Baudoin’s squire helped Carys remove his armor, and once that was accomplished, he sat down wearily, drawing his wife on to his lap. “Oui, he’s gone straight home to Ruyton. But it’s a stalemate, with Henry keeping England and Curthose still Duke of Normandy with a pension of two thousand pounds per annum. The treaty calls for an amnesty.”

  Ram shook his head and slumped into a chair, drawing Mabelle onto his lap. “Henry will seek revenge on anyone who supported Curthose. Thank God we seem to have made the right decision.”

  Mabelle spoke for the first time. “A stalemate won’t ease tensions in Normandie. It has only put things off. We still serve two masters. It’s untenable. Curthose will be incensed with the nobles who didn’t support him, in particular his former allies.”

  “Like the Montbryces.” Baudoin voiced what all knew in their hearts. “He probably believes that if he had the support of Robert’s men from Normandie and ours in England the outcome might have been different. No doubt he will spread his rancor among disgruntled supporters.”

  * * *

  Baudoin’s words proved prophetic.

  Over the next two years, Normandie became an even more dangerous place. Montbryce was an armed camp. Travel was difficult and only accomplished with a large contingent of knights and men-at-arms.

  Dorianne and Rob
ert welcomed two daughters into the world, Catherine and Marguerite. Ram and Mabelle travelled to Normandie and doted on their grandchildren.

  Carys bore two sons, Gallien and Etienne.

  Robert rejoiced for his brother, but Mabelle sensed his longing for a son. All recognized the importance of an heir.

  No one doubted there would be another confrontation between the sons of the Conqueror. Mabelle watched helplessly as the stress of the political situation took a toll on Ram. Though no longer young, he had weathered the years well and remained a strong virile man, but now he seemed to age visibly before her eyes. His hair turned grey, his blue eyes were guarded and full of worry. He was anxious for Robert’s family and his brothers, all mired in the growing political uncertainty in Normandie.

  He began to suffer chest pains. When Mabelle fretted about them, he shrugged it off. “It’s something I ate,” he would say. “I am nervous with all this worry.”

  A day after marking three score and two years, Rambaud, Comte de Montbryce, First Earl of Ellesmere, suffered an apoplectic attack in his sleep while on a visit to Normandie. He died in his wife’s arms.

  She keened his name, unable to believe this man she had loved so passionately was dead. The crux of her life for more than thirty years, he had become one of the most powerful and wealthiest nobles in England and Normandie, known as a firm but fair man, a negotiator first and warrior second.

  But above all else he had been her magnificent lover, companion and friend.

  King Henry, son of the Conqueror for whom Ram had sacrificed much, sent his condolences. No word came from Curthose.

  Robert became Comte de Montbryce, de Belisle, d’Alensonne and de Domfort, inheriting, as the eldest son, his parents’ lands and titles in Normandie.

  Baudoin succeeded as Second Earl of Ellesmere.