She didn’t hear exactly what Comte Bernard said, didn’t need to. The only sounds that came to her ears were the thin metallic wail of swords drawn from scabbards, and her own anguished cry, “Non, Papa. Don’t kill him, please don’t kill him.”
Then she fainted.
When Mabelle came into view outside the chapel, Ram wanted to take back everything he had told his father concerning the necessity of a postponement. He wasn’t sure in his own mind why he’d asked for such a thing. The expression of nervous anticipation on her beautiful face turned to one of utter dismay. His gut clenched. He tore his gaze away to concentrate on her volatile father.
When Guillaume drew his sword, Ram’s brothers responded, freeing him to rush forward to catch Mabelle as she fainted. He gathered her up into his arms, filled with an urge to beg her forgiveness.
Glaring at him as if he had two heads, Giselle picked up the trailing veil and unfastened it from Mabelle’s hair. Her tresses fell free, prompting a desire to run his hands through the golden curls. His betrothed felt light in his arms, her head nestled against his chest, yet his heart was heavy. What he had done would turn her against him. He wanted her with an intensity that shook him, but he pushed the ache aside. Glory and wealth beckoned.
Ruffled Feathers
Ram reluctantly left Mabelle in Giselle’s care. He had to explain, though what he’d say…
On his way back to the chapel he encountered his father and a very angry Guillaume de Valtesse. Ram regretted disappointing his father, but the other man’s fury raised his hackles.
“You’ve shamed my daughter, Rambaud de Montbryce,” Valtesse screamed, spraying spittle across Ram’s face. “I’ve killed men for less. Jilted at the chapel door. I’ll have to send her to a nunnery.”
Ram wiped his face, trying to keep his anger in check. “I haven’t jilted her. I’m requesting a postponement, a time for us to prepare for this momentous step. I’ll soon be going off to war and it isn’t fair—”
Guillaume threw his hands in the air. “Rubbish! Many women will be sending their men off to fight.”
Ram ran his fingers through his hair, the other still on the hilt of his sword. “But, Mabelle and I only met today.”
Guillaume snorted derisively. “Many noblemen meet their wives for the first time at the chapel door.”
Ram took his hand off his sword and opened his arms in a gesture of conciliation. “I need more time. Will you not grant that?”
Guillaume strode off towards the door. “Non, the betrothal will be cancelled and she must go to a nunnery.”
The threat rendered Ram speechless. His feisty betrothed would wither and die in a convent.
His father intervened. He looked at his heir as he spoke. “My dear Valtesse, we all, including my son, are aware this marriage will benefit the Montbryces, your family and Normandie. Does it matter if it takes place now or in the future, as long as it takes place? We’re on the brink of war. Ram is one of the duke’s closest counsellors. He’s perhaps right that he should not be distracted at this juncture by a new bride. It would not be fair to Mabelle, or to our duke. And if you send her to a nunnery, the Church will inherit your lands.”
This last ploy seemed to resonate with Valtesse. After pacing for several minutes, he agreed to a postponement. “I’ll take Mabelle with me to Alensonne.”
Ram couldn’t let her go. “Non, she’ll stay here.”
His vehement refusal clearly took his father by surprise, and he was afraid Valtesse would lose his temper again, but his failure to continue the argument was proof the Seigneur no longer wanted to be burdened with his daughter.
Ram sensed the nobleman was close to capitulating. “We can’t come to know each other if she’s in Alensonne. She’ll be chaperoned here and won’t be shamed. I’ll oversee what she does and whom she sees.”
Before Valtesse could object, Ram turned and strode out of the chamber.
He Does Not Want Me
Mabelle preferred to remain in a stupor. Then there were no tears. When she was awake, they came unbidden and she couldn’t cease sobbing, despite Giselle’s best efforts to console her. For two days she couldn’t speak of her humiliation. Then she could only stammer, “He…he…does…doesn’t want me.”
Giselle sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her mistress’s hair. “He’s conflicted, milady. Young men don’t like to rush into marriage.”
Mabelle shook her head. “He…he doesn’t…want me.”
Giselle sighed. “Milord Rambaud isn’t a cruel man. It’s a postponement.”
Mabelle blew her nose. “He…does…not…want…me, any more than my father did.”
“Soon there’ll be war with Harold of England. Milord Rambaud must concentrate on his duty to Normandie.”
“But he doesn’t like me.”
A fit of hiccups followed this outburst.
Giselle continued to stroke her lady’s hair. “Non, that’s not true, milady. He’s come several times a day to ask about you. He carried you here when you fainted. I’ve known milord since he was a boy. He cares for you.”
Mabelle lay back against the bolster. “He abandoned me at the chapel door. I wish my father had killed him.”
“Hush, milady. You know that’s not true. You must eat something. That will improve your spirits.”
Mabelle shook her head. “I can’t eat. I’ll be sick.”
Giselle rose and went to fetch a goblet. “Drink then, a sip of ale.”
After another day, Mabelle grudgingly accepted broth, but refused to leave her bed. In the years she’d wandered with her father she had never known such humiliation. She had allowed herself to hope, to have feelings, and Ram de Montbryce had ground her into the dirt. She disgusted him. He would never feel anything for her, and yet she still desired him, couldn’t get the picture of him at the lake out of her head.
Eventually, Giselle coaxed her into a soothing bath. She felt better with her hair washed, but when the maid searched through her garments for a suitable dress, she espied the wedding gown and declared loudly, “Get rid of it. I never want to see it again.”
Ram bumped into Giselle as she came out of the chamber clutching Mabelle’s wedding gown. He folded his arms and frowned. She bundled the dress more tightly to her body and turned away.
He fingered the material. “Don’t worry, Giselle. I understand her hatred of the gown.”
“You heard, milord?”
“Oui.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t think she’d be this upset.”
Giselle snorted. “She’s a woman, milord, a woman you rejected at the chapel door. How do you imagine she feels?”
Ram bristled. “She’ll just have to get used to me. She’s wilful.”
Giselle snorted. “How do you know that? You only spent two minutes with her, and she was in a swoon for most of that time.”
He looked away, realizing his mistake. “I mean, from what I understand…from what Antoine has told me.”
She frowned. “Antoine? He barely knows her either.”
Ram hoped that was true. He’d been reluctant to broach the topic with his brother and didn’t like that this mistrust stood between them. Had she been waiting for Antoine in the meadow? He and his brother had always had a close bond, sharing everything. But he didn’t want to share Mabelle.
Why does she rouse such strong feelings in me?
He had reacted badly at the lake, but her beauty and state of undress had taken him unawares. Now he stammered on, driven by a need to justify his actions to this little maid who knew him well, and who cared for him. “I’m told she rides her mare all over the estate, mounted astride. This isn’t the behavior of a future comtesse. She must comport herself in a suitable manner, something she evidently hasn’t been taught. She must learn to be a Montbryce.”
“But her mare is one of her few pleasures, milord.”
He soldiered on. “Nevertheless, when she recovers, I’ll speak with her. We’ll come to an understanding of
whose wishes and desires rule in a marriage. I must have obedience.”
Giselle stared at him, open-mouthed.
“What? What’s wrong?” he shouted to her back as she stomped off.
Regrets
A sennight passed before Mabelle would agree to eat in the Great Hall with everyone else. Ram cringed when he saw her unhappy face. The spark had left her eyes, and she chewed her bottom lip nervously. She looked tired and ill-at-ease, but his manhood hardened at the sight of her.
This woman never fails to rouse me.
He took her hand and indicated the seat next to him. “Sit here by me.”
She didn’t withdraw, but her fingers were stiff. “That’s not my place, milord,” she replied coldly. “I’m not your wife. I have no right to sit at the head table.”
He tightened his hold, drawing her to the seat. “You’re still my betrothed. Please obey me and sit here.”
She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. A flash changed the warm brown, rich as the earth of his homeland, to an angry blaze, and he remembered her reaction at the lake to the mention of obedience.
Good, the fire is back in her eyes.
She took her hand from his, sat demurely, back rigid, hands folded in her lap. He suddenly missed the warmth of her skin, but resisted the urge to grab both her hands, press them to his face and kiss the palms.
She glanced over at Hugh and Antoine, seated further along the table, and smiled. Both returned the smile, but Antoine winked, sending pangs of jealousy searing through Ram. He wanted to leap up and pound his brother into the ground. Trying to control his temper, he turned to speak to Mabelle, ignoring Hugh’s barely concealed snorts of laughter. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered.”
She shrugged her shoulders lightly and shook her head. “I’ll never recover.”
There was no anger in her voice, only resignation, and he regretted being the cause. Putting his hands squarely on his knees, he leaned towards her slightly and offered, “Let me explain my actions. Perhaps then you’ll not think so ill of me.”
She looked up into the rafters. “I’m all ears, milord.”
Ram fought the urge to tell her she should not treat him with such sarcasm. “I requested a postponement. We will marry when I feel the time is right.”
“And when might that be, milord?”
She’s a feisty filly.
The notion brought new blood rushing to his manhood. He cleared his throat. “I’ll be off to fight in England. The duke relies on me. Until then, you and I can come to know each other, perhaps repair some of the mistrusts, reach an understanding.”
She turned to look at him. “An understanding of what?”
She looks me right in the eye when she baits me.
He coughed again, rubbing his forefinger briefly over his top lip. “Well, of certain standards, codes of behavior for a future comtesse.”
She looked away. Even to his ears, his words sounded inane, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He waited, hoping she would turn those disturbing eyes on him again. When she looked back at him, he held her gaze, wanting to make sure she knew he was determined. Their eyes locked. Could she tell a wave of heat had rolled over him? He might drown in those brown eyes. “We must talk about your mare.”
She lowered her long lashes and looked away and he felt her tense beside him. Still he pressed on. “I can’t allow you to go riding alone all over the demesne.”
She looked back at him, her eyes boring into his. “Why not?”
Again she questions me. Keep calm.
He took a deep breath. “You ride astride. It’s not seemly. And it’s not safe.”
She stood. “Excuse me, milord. As you’ve said, I’m not a seemly woman. You wish to deprive me of my only pleasure. I can no longer sit here.”
He got to his feet, shoving his chair back so abruptly it toppled, crashing to the floor. “Mabelle…”
But she flounced off, head high, back rigid, and he didn’t intend to embarrass himself further in front of his grinning brothers.
Her only pleasure.
The challenge in those blazing eyes held the promise of passion, and he wanted desperately to be the one to introduce her to many other pleasures.
Discreet Meddling
Milady, you seem upset,” Giselle observed a sennight later when Mabelle stormed into her chamber yet again, slamming the door with both hands.
Mabelle whirled around, shoulders heaving. “You love my betrothed like a son, but he’s the most infuriating…”
“He’s a man, milady.”
Mabelle walked towards her bed, fingertips pressed to her forehead. “But he wants to control everything I do. First he forbids me, forbids me to ride my mare. That’s not considered comtesse-like behavior.
“Then it was how I dress. Next he forbade me to express my opinion of the conflict with Anjou. He scolded when I told him what I overheard people saying about the duke in the castle at Arques.”
She sat on the edge of the bed. Giselle sat down beside her, put an arm around her lady’s shoulders and took hold of her hand. “Rambaud wants to live up to what he sees as his father’s expectations. He believes his parents’ marriage was dominated by his father, and to the outside world it was. But I can tell you differently. The comte respected his wife and never made a major decision without seeking her opinion. Rambaud’s view is women are for, well, obedience. And bedding—and the begetting of heirs, but he’ll change, as did his father.”
Mabelle leaned her head on Giselle’s shoulder and blushed. “I don’t think the bedding will be a problem. I have to admit we seem drawn to each other that way. When he looks at me with those startling blue eyes, I want to surrender, to be obedient, to agree with everything he says. And he knows the power of those eyes to make a woman do foolish things. His voice is like the beat of a tabor drum rolling through me.”
She blushed and paused, fiddling with the sleeve of her gown, afraid she’d betrayed too much of her intense feelings. She rose from the bed to sit in a chair. “I long to bear a child I can love. But what Ram wants is dominance.”
Giselle massaged her lady’s shoulders. “He’s a soldier, milady. Above all else he’s a warrior. But he’s ambitious and such men believe they have to control everyone. His life has revolved around discipline.”
Mabelle leaned her head on her hand. “But I can’t sit all day doing nothing. If I’m to be a comtesse, I need to learn things about the castle, the estates, the world. Ram will let me do none of that.”
Giselle knelt in front of her mistress. “Rambaud is a good man, milady. Sometimes, men rebel when they think they’ve been forced into a marriage, though their hearts tell them it’s what they want. They feel they have to assert their authority. Rambaud has never been cruel, or unreasonable. He’ll come to see you’re not a threat, but you must make him see you can help him achieve his ambitions.”
Mabelle moved her head from side to side as Giselle stood again and kneaded her tense neck muscles. “How did things get so complicated? I want a husband who can love me for myself, let me be myself.”
“Don’t give up hope, milady. Someday Rambaud de Montbryce will be that man. Help him grow.”
Mabelle placed her hand atop the maid’s. “Thank goodness I have you. I would feel alone here without your guidance.”
“You seem upset, mon fils—again,” Comte Bernard remarked to Ram when he stormed into the solar, slamming the door. “That’s the second loud bang to echo through the castle this evening.”
Ram whirled around. “This woman you want me to marry is insufferable. She’s wilful.”
His father smiled. “I want you to marry? Sit down. What has she done now?”
Ram sat, but on the edge of the seat. “You think highly of her, mon père, but she must learn to be more obedient.”
To his annoyance, his father rolled his eyes.
“Don’t you find her pleasing?”
She pleases me so much I can’t control my arousal whenever I’
m near her.
He stood again and paced. “Oui—er—she’s pleasing—I agree—but—”
His papa stretched out his legs and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Don’t you think she’s intelligent?”
“Oui—very—but—”
“Would you prefer an empty-headed wife?”
“Well—non—”
“Is she not beautiful?”
Ram sank back down into the chair. “She’s breathtakingly beautiful, but, for example, it’s my right to decide what should be done with Alensonne when her father dies, isn’t it?”
His father stood, walked to the hearth and stared into the flames. “Alensonne is her birthright, Ram. True, it’s part of her dowry, but she grew up there. She lost that childhood home when she was a girl.” He turned to face his son. “Why do you want to deprive her of a say in what happens to it?”
Ram had no answer. He got to his feet again, and resumed his pacing, his arms folded across his chest. “I didn’t think of it that way.”
A reassuring hand landed on his shoulder. “Mabelle isn’t a threat to you, unless you turn her into one. She has survived worse tyrants than you, and is wily. If you want her on your side, you’ll need to be more subtle, more appreciative of her talents and opinions. If you’re not, she’ll find a way to achieve what she wants, despite you.
“She’ll make a much better ally than enemy. She has listened to gossip in castles the length and breadth of Normandie and may have a better idea of people’s sentiments than even our duke. Mabelle is an exquisite rose and roses have thorns, but we tolerate the slight pain they may cause so their intoxicating beauty can enrich our lives.”
He considered the wisdom of his father’s words, but change never came easy. “I suppose I could indulge her a little more.”
Conquest (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 1) Page 6