Star-Crossed

by Markland, Anna

  * * *

  “Dorianne, you’ve scarcely eaten anything,” her father chided at supper that night, taking his attention away from a conversation with another nobleman. “The discussion regarding your betrothal to Otuel d’Avranches is going well. It’s now a matter of agreement on a dowry,” he said loudly enough for all to hear.

  She cringed and smiled weakly, rubbing her temple. “My head aches, Papa. May I be excused to go rest in my chamber?”

  He shrugged her away with a nod and resumed his conversation.

  Pierre watched her go. He had seen Robert de Montbryce at a nearby table, laughing and drinking ale with friends and his cursed uncles, glancing occasionally in the direction of Dorianne. He suspected from her obvious discomfort that his sister had been aware of those eyes on her.

  When Montbryce rose from his place and left by the same entryway as Dorianne, Pierre decided to follow. Near his sister’s chamber he caught sight of them and hastily retreated to the shadows, seething with fury. Montbryce was holding Dorianne’s hand, whispering in her ear. She did not pull away. Indeed, the whore was smiling at the hated Montbryce. He pressed closer to the wall, listening.

  “—the chapel—midnight—”

  Then the unthinkable—his sister allowed Montbryce to kiss her, and not the kind of brotherly kiss he gave her.

  Pierre resolved in that moment to kill Robert de Montbryce in order to protect his family honor. She was to be betrothed to the d’Avranches boy. He did not envy her fate, but that was of no import. They would have an unpleasant surprise when they held their clandestine tryst in the chapel. His father would be proud of him when he saw the blood of a Montbryce on his hands.

  Elation To Desolation

  Dorianne timidly shoved open the heavy oaken door to the chapel a little after midnight. She had dismissed her maid with the excuse she would prepare herself for bed, then debated for hours whether to come. She doubted Robert would show up. A man like him wouldn’t be interested in her.

  As she became accustomed to the gloom, her breath caught when she saw him kneeling on a prie-dieu before the altar.

  He turned, smiled and held out his hand.

  Her heart jumped into her throat. She took his hand and knelt beside him. As her knees sank into the plush blue cushion, she looked up at the crucified Christ. The path of her future suddenly became clear.

  This man will be my husband.

  The prospect filled her with exhilaration and dread.

  Two candles flickered on the altar, adding to the air of sanctity. She and Robert remained motionless in silence for several minutes, their heads bowed.

  “I feel I’m in the throes of a mystical experience, Dorianne,” he whispered. “I’m aware of the gulf between us, but none of that matters at this moment.” He squeezed her hand. “Look at me.”

  She turned to look at him, love blossoming in her heart as she gazed into his eyes. A faint trace of incense tickled her nostrils.

  He smiled. “I’ve never known such feelings as I feel for you. I pledge myself to you. I am yours forever, Dorianne.”

  She had longed to hear such whispered endearments. “I’ll be yours forever, Robert. I give you my pledge,” she echoed, her voice shaking.

  They gazed into each other’s eyes. He squeezed her hand again. “It is a man’s right to kiss his bride,” he murmured.

  She parted her lips and raised her hand to touch his face.

  He placed his hand over hers, filling her with a deep contentment unlike any she had known before.

  After a few minutes, he helped her rise. “Go now. We’ll arrange to meet on the morrow. I’ll speak with your father.”

  Dorianne shook her head sadly and was about to tell him it would be futile, but Pierre appeared suddenly, flinging aside a heavy drapery that had concealed him. One of the candles guttered out.

  Pierre brandished a dagger at Robert. “You force me to take action in a holy place, Montbryce. Remove your hands from my sister. Tonight you will die. You intend to dishonor her and our family. She’s pledged to d’Avranches and will never belong to you.”

  She pleaded with her brother as Robert moved to protect her. “Pierre, please. Put the dagger away. Robert isn’t our enemy. I don’t want to marry Otuel.”

  Her entreaties gave Robert time to take out his dagger. “Get behind the altar, Dorianne, and stay there,” he commanded.

  Reluctantly, she retreated. “Please don’t kill my brother.”

  The two men circled, eyeing each other warily.

  “I don’t wish to harm you, Pierre,” Robert told him. “And I won’t dishonor your sister. I intend to marry her, to make her my wife. She’ll be the Comtesse de Montbryce.”

  “I’ll kill her first,” Pierre spat.

  He lunged, but Robert grabbed his wrist. The blade reflected the light of the lone candle as the two men struggled. It was evident Robert was the stronger man, but he seemed to be holding back, not wanting to harm his opponent. When he glanced at her for a brief moment, Pierre’s dagger sliced into his bicep. Heart pounding, she ran from the safety of the altar and rushed at her brother. “Non, Pierre, I beg of you, please don’t kill him.”

  Light suddenly flooded the gloom. Everyone’s attention was drawn to the door as castle guards rushed in, torches held aloft. D’Avranches lumbered in behind them, leaning heavily on his staff and breathing hard. The guards forced the two men apart. The comte was visibly angered. “What’s going on here, Montbryce?”

  Dorianne fell to her knees before him, head bowed. “Milord Comte, please don’t chastise them. It’s my fault.”

  Pierre struggled to get free of the guards. “Milord—”

  D’Avranches raised his hand to silence him and motioned the guards to loosen their hold. “I will not tolerate the use of weapons in my home. I repeat, what’s going on here?”

  Robert sheathed his dagger. “Milord Comte. I humbly beg your pardon. A misunderstanding.” He offered his hand to Dorianne.

  “Do not touch her,” Pierre shouted, grasping her arm. He pulled her to her feet and pushed her roughly to the door.

  D’Avranches scowled, his fat face red. “Arrête!”

  The guards again took hold of Pierre, but he would not be silenced. “She’s my sister, milord. I have the right to command her. She will come with me.”

  She struggled in vain to pull free of Pierre’s grasp. It was an inescapable truth that her brother did have dominion over her. The sight of blood seeping through Robert’s sleeve only served to heighten her despair.

  Robert moved towards them, but the Comte stood in his way. “Montbryce, what claim do you have on this maiden?”

  * * *

  Anger raced through Robert. He had no legal right to Dorianne, and Pierre would be allowed to take her. “I have no claim, milord.”

  Dorianne looked at him, her face full of anguish. Had she expected him to champion her? The only way would be to offer for her now, in this moment. But such an offer should be made to her father, who was not present. Robert had no choice but to let Pierre take her. He hoped she could see commitment in his eyes.

  Pierre looked to the comte. “Milord?”

  D’Avranches hesitated, then gave his permission, and Pierre dragged his sobbing sister from the chapel.

  “I want an explanation, Montbryce,” the comte hissed after they left. “I’m in negotiations to betroth that girl to Otuel.”

  The prospect of Dorianne with the sulky child tightened Robert’s gut. He would have to choose his words carefully. “Milord Comte, again, I humbly beg your forgiveness for the disturbance. I didn’t know of the plans regarding Dorianne and your son. But I ask you, as an old friend of my family, not to pursue those discussions any further. I wish to make Dorianne my wife.”

  The comte snorted. “But she’s a Giroux. Your families are bitter enemies. I assume that’s why young Pierre was wielding the dagger?”

  Robert’s heart was still beating too fast and he wanted to find the young hothead and
shake sense into him. He had gone from elation to fear to desolation in the space of a few minutes. It brought back too many dark memories of a vengeful madman with his sword raised, poised to cut off Robert’s head. He could still remember his mother’s cry of pain as Phillippe de Giroux dragged her by the hair. His emotions were in turmoil. Had he found a woman he could love, only to lose her?

  He inhaled deeply to control his anger. “Oui, but don’t be too hard on him. He’s young and hasn’t yet learned that hatred and vengeance sow the seeds of destruction.”

  The comte hesitated. “Why is it important for you to marry this girl? Don’t you have enough problems at the moment?”

  Robert laughed. “No more than any of us Normans. But she’s the one I want. The one I need.”

  D’Avranches chuckled. “Like your father, I suppose. He’s always boasting of how much he loves your mother. I’ll tell Giroux the betrothal is off. But you’re the one who will have to deal with him and his impetuous son.”

  “Not to mention my own parents,” Robert quipped. “Thank you, milord.”

  The comte pointed to his arm. “You’d better get that wound seen to.”

  It was only then Robert noticed he was bleeding.

  Over My Dead Body

  François de Giroux had never been a violent man. He seethed with hatred and resentment for the tormented years growing up with his blind, demented father. He had been devastated by the death of his older brother, and was distraught now over the lack of news about his younger brother. Georges had failed to return with Curthose from the Crusade.

  His life was ruined and he grieved inwardly that hatred would likely shape the lives of his children. It was a curse from which he could not break free. When he was told Robert de Montbryce had lured his daughter to the chapel, and that the betrothal would not come to fruition, he swore to kill the man he deemed the source of all his ills.

  When his enemy confronted him later in the morning in the castle garden, his anger boiled over. “I know not, Montbryce, how it is you’ve managed in such a short time to wreak this vengeance on me and my family. Dorianne is an innocent. You shouldn’t have used her this way. You’ve ruined her reputation. I’ll have to send her to a nunnery.”

  Montbryce held his bandaged arm to his body, the sleeve of his doublet hanging empty.

  François felt a surge of pride—at least Pierre had drawn blood.

  Montbryce persisted. “Seigneur de Giroux, I haven’t used Dorianne. I intend to make her my wife, if you’ll allow it.”

  Giroux turned to leave. “You’ll have to stride over my dead body.”

  “Why must you be ruled only by hate?” Montbryce shouted. “Look what it’s done to your family. Look at your daughter. You’re denying her the possibility of becoming a comtesse. It was not a Montbryce who visited the indignity of blinding on your father. It was a Valtesse.”

  There was truth in the words, but François could not heed them. “You’re all the same spawn,” he sneered, and stormed into the keep.

  * * *

  Robert searched for Dorianne. Upon discovering she and her brother had left the castle, he sought out his uncles, feeling guilty for abandoning the family cause. They were seated close to the rear of the assembly.

  Hugh greeted him. “We were worried, especially after hearing of the confrontation in the chapel yestereve.”

  Robert groaned inwardly. Now he would receive a scolding, like a naughty child. “I apologize, mes oncles, I should have been here. I was—”

  “We know,” Antoine interrupted.

  Robert’s hackles rose. “If you’ve heard what happened—”

  Again, Antoine interrupted with a grin. “We’ve heard, but why don’t you tell us your side of the story?”

  Surprised by his uncle’s apparent good humor, he let go of some of the tension in his jaw. He had forgotten that he was in the presence of two men who, many years ago, had risked a great deal for the women they loved. The Montbryce family had been in danger of losing all they held dear because of the actions of these selfsame uncles.

  Several heads turned and indignant faces indicated they should continue their conversation elsewhere. The Comte d’Avranches looked particularly annoyed. Deciding he had likely done enough already to offend his host, Robert motioned to the doorway. “We should go somewhere else.”

  They followed him, speaking in hushed voices as they walked along the corridor.

  “I honestly don’t know what came over me,” Robert admitted. “I took one look at Dorianne and knew I had to have her. Of course, I wasn’t aware she was a Giroux.”

  Antoine chuckled. “I’ll never forget the horror on your face when her father challenged you in the hall yesterday.”

  Robert stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. He exhaled loudly. “I confess I thought that was the end of it, but I can’t get the woman out of my mind.”

  Hugh slapped his nephew on the back. “We know the feeling, young man. It’s the curse of the Montbryces to fall hopelessly in love with the one woman they shouldn’t. Because Antoine and I are older doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten what it was to be smitten the first time we set eyes on Devona and Sybilla.”

  They sought a quiet corner in a secluded alcove in the small hall and huddled close to continue their conversation.

  Robert shook his head. “I know you both had difficulties to overcome, but you didn’t fall in love with the daughter of your parents’ arch enemy.”

  Antoine’s voice became sterner. “Are you in love with her, Robert, or is it lust? Decide now, because, if you’re to pursue this, Ram and Mabelle will be devastated. Your mother longs for you to make a good match and my brother is anxious for allies here in Normandie. Consider carefully. A marriage to Dorianne de Giroux won’t bring us any friends.”

  A serving girl came with tankards of ale.

  Robert stared into the dark liquid. “As if we don’t have enough to worry about with Curthose and Henry, now I’m might rekindle an old feud and hurt my parents.”

  Antoine wiped the ale from his mouth. “Giroux has never let the flame die. He has kept the hatred alive, burning a hole in his heart. You’re aware it was he tried to have Hugh and Devona condemned by the curia regis?”

  Robert nodded.

  Hugh pointed to Robert’s injury. “From what I see, and what we’ve heard, the same hatred has taken root in the breast of his son as well.”

  Robert touched a hand to his wound. He had hardly noticed the discomfort in his preoccupation with Dorianne. “Pierre was full of bitterness. I didn’t expect it. I mean, if anyone has a right to resent members of the Giroux family, it’s me. But it’s time to put an end to this feud.”

  Antoine drained his tankard and looked around for the servant. “Drink your ale, Robert. Where is Dorianne now?”

  Robert took a swig. “Pierre has taken her back to their castle. Maybe, I should forget the whole thing. She might not feel the same way. She’s probably too young for me.”

  Antoine banged his tankard on the small table, attracting the servant’s attention. “I overheard Giroux blustering about sending her to a convent. You may have condemned the girl to a life of religious servitude.”

  Robert looked up sharply. The notion of Dorianne in a nunnery made him want to retch. She was full of life, natural, a woman made to partner a man, to bring him pleasure and love. She had lived most of her life as a virtual prisoner. It was time to set her free.

  He drank the last of his ale, but refused a second serving the servant was set to pour from a jug. “I must get back to Montbryce forthwith. We’ve made our family’s position perfectly clear to these other barons. We can do no more. When you return home, strengthen your garrisons further. Send word to Ronan at Alensonne. I’ll fortify Montbryce, then travel on to Ellesmere and apprise father of what has transpired here.”

  “Including that you want to marry a Giroux?” Antoine asked quietly.

  Robert looked into his uncle’s green eyes and whispered, “Oui, ev
en that.”

  Hugh raised his tankard, “Then I wish you luck, nephew. You’ll need it.”

  Curse The Day

  Dorianne rode home with a stranger. Pierre did not speak on their journey. Her attempts to broach any topic were met with stony silence and hateful glares. The ride to Avranches had been an adventure. This was an ordeal.

  Weary in body and heart, she walked from the courtyard of Giroux castle into the keep while Pierre spoke to the stable boys. Suddenly, he was behind her, his hand firm on her elbow, his fingers digging into her flesh. He gripped a riding quirt in his other hand. “Go straight to your chamber, Dorianne.”

  Her insides clenched with fear at the grim expression on his face. She pulled away, but he tightened his hold. “What are you doing? It’s the middle of the day. Why should I go to my chamber?”

  Pierre pushed her along. “You will be confined from now on. You cannot be trusted.”

  Dorianne gasped. “Trusted to do what? Be as full of hate as you and father? Let me go.”

  “What’s happening, Pierre?” It was their mother who had come to investigate the commotion.

  Dorianne could barely keep up with Pierre as he hurried her in the direction of her chamber. She appealed to her mother. “He’s forcing me to my chamber, maman.”

  Her mother bustled to keep pace with them. “Why are you treating your sister this way?” she asked nervously.

  Elenor pulled up in surprise when he stopped abruptly. “Because she’s a whore. She enticed Robert de Montbryce to a secret tryst. She allowed him to kiss her.”