Jeopardy (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 10)

by Anna Markland

“The English earl, my lord de Montbryce,” she replied sheepishly, hesitant to attempt to get out of bed and curtsey.

  “One and the same but, since we are to be related, I’ll be offended if you don’t call me Gallien.”

  “Gallien, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping to save my children.”

  He shrugged. “I simply carried them to safety. Alex took all the risks. Looks like he has finally succumbed to the curse of the Montbryces.”

  “Curse?” she asked.

  Alex laughed. “The Montbryces are considered to be cursed because they are noblemen in love with their wives. It’s a tradition I thought myself incapable of upholding.”

  “Until he met you,” Gallien added with a naughty grin. “It happens to the worst of us. I was determined never to love again after…well, it’s a long story, and you’re tired.”

  She fought back a yawn. “You can tell me some other time.”

  “Gladly,” he replied.

  Feast

  DESIRE CURLED ITS WARM WAY up the backs of Elayne’s thighs and nestled into her most intimate place when Alex kissed her after the priest had given him leave.

  Their guests, gathered in the chapel of Montbryce Castle, cheered and clapped loudly. He deepened the kiss, slowly teasing her tongue with his, but she gently broke away, resting her forehead against his. “We must remember a king is watching,” she whispered.

  Alex shrugged. “He’s cheering louder than anybody.”

  Looking very pretty in a gown of blue velvet trimmed with white ermine that matched her mother’s outfit exactly, Claricia giggled, her little hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes dancing.

  Henry rolled his eyes at his sister as if she was the silliest girl in the world, then patted Faol’s head.

  The dog hadn’t moved a muscle nor made a sound throughout the ceremony, despite being obliged to wear a heavily jeweled collar in honor of the occasion.

  King Stephen came forward to greet them. “Let me be the first to congratulate you both on a fine match.”

  Alex bowed. “Majesté, we’re honored you came to our wedding. You’ve been back and forth across the Narrow Sea many times since we last met, and Normandie is not the safest place to travel these days.”

  Stephen took Elayne’s hand as she curtseyed, brushing his lips across her knuckles. While it was exciting to be so honored by a king, and Stephen was a handsome man, his touch didn’t move her in the slightest.

  “Such are the burdens of a king, but I was determined to come. If not for your bravery, Caen would have been in serious peril. How could I not attend after your husband’s generous gift to the Crown of so many excellent war tents? Besides, you’ve made a remarkable recovery in only six sennights, my dear.

  “Now, greet your guests and then we’ll enjoy the famous Montbryce cuisine, hopefully followed by a tumbler or two of apple brandy.”

  Romain and Laurent came to congratulate them as the king wandered off. It amused her that Alex couldn’t conceal his impatience when both brothers-by-marriage lingered over the kisses and hugs of congratulations. Neither brother hid his amusement, and she enjoyed their deliberate needling. It reminded her of the tit for tat she and Beathan had indulged in as children. It was heartwarming that Romain and Laurent welcomed her as a sister.

  Gradually, the celebrations moved into the Great Hall where she and Alex took their places on the dais.

  She leaned over to whisper in her husband’s ear, tempted to nibble on his earlobe. “I hope this feast doesn’t deplete your stocks of apple brandy.”

  He looked at her as if she’d spoken in Greek. “You’ve never been in the cellars, have you?”

  She shook her head, wondering what he meant.

  He gently pressed her fingertips to his mouth. “On the morrow I’ll show you. This night I have more pressing things to take care of,” he teased.

  The hall suddenly seemed stiflingly hot. During the long weeks of her convalescence, they’d kissed and held hands. After her recovery, they’d made a pledge to refrain from joining their bodies as penance for their unintentional adultery. It had been torture to spend every day with the man she loved and not touch him.

  Henry and Claricia had easily fallen into calling Alex Papa, and it gladdened her heart to see the love he lavished on his stepchildren.

  The feasting went on for hours as the cooks produced one mouth watering dish after another. It had been decided to begin with miniature pastries filled with beef marrow, followed by the famous truite à la Montbryce.

  “You will love this trout,” Alex assured her, offering a chunk on the end of his eating dagger. “It’s cooked in a manner handed down from La Cuisinière, a legendary cook at the castle in my grandfather’s time. Even I am ignorant of the special ingredient that makes it unique. It’s a closely guarded secret.”

  It melted in her mouth. “I will have to learn it if I’m to be the Comtesse. Perhaps one of your sisters knows?”

  Alex chuckled, looking across to where Marguerite and Catherine sat with their husbands and children. “You can ask—”

  He was interrupted when the entire assembly of several hundred guests came to their feet as King Stephen rose unexpectedly to offer a toast to the long dead La Cuisinière. Shouts of agreement followed his brief speech. Elayne wondered if perhaps His Majesty had already sampled a few tumblers of apple brandy.

  A small bowl of broth with bacon was followed by roasted larks, chosen because they were a favorite of Alex’s. He teased Elayne by feeding her the dainty bits of succulent meat by hand from their shared trencher. His blue eyes darkened when she licked the grease off his fingers.

  Roast lamb with leeks and onions came next. Elayne exacted her revenge by feeding the meat to Alex. They both laughed out loud when they caught sight of Claricia trying to feed her brother by hand. He brushed the food away, his patience obviously near its end.

  “I suppose siblings are the same everywhere,” Alex said.

  “Aye,” she agreed, arching her brows. “If he thinks she’s annoying now, wait until she grows up a little and learns feminine wiles.”

  Her husband took her hand beneath the table and placed it on his arousal. “I can’t wait to sample your feminine wiles again.”

  It was the first time she’d touched him intimately in weeks. The fire of longing in his eyes and the hard proof of his need blazed a path of wanting that burned in every part of her body. She was dizzy with desire, but before she could respond, Romain and Laurent stood, goblets in hand.

  “Make it quick,” Alex growled to his brothers, causing general amusement among the guests seated near the dais, except for Marguerite and Catherine who pretended to look shocked.

  Romain winked at Elayne and she feared he would deliberately talk on and on.

  “Majesté,” he began, bowing to the king, “guests, and friends. It is my honor to offer a toast to my brother and his new wife. Laurent and I have always known the right woman would come along to be Alex’s Comtesse, and we were right. Elayne is a person of great courage who we are confident will assist my brother in upholding the proud traditions and standing of this noble family.”

  It touched her heart that the often flippant Romain had to pause to clear his throat, evidently moved by his own words.

  “What my brother is trying to say,” Laurent continued, “is that we love you both and wish you many years of happiness.”

  He raised his goblet. “I ask that everyone stand and raise their goblets to Alexandre and Elayne, the Comte and Comtesse de Montbryce.”

  The toast was echoed around the hall, followed by the loud banging of empty goblets on wooden tables.

  Faol barked enthusiastically.

  A simple sweet of frumenty was served along with spiced wine. The king cheered the loudest when casks of apple brandy were set up on a trestle table and guests invited by Bonhomme to help themselves.

  Elayne noted the ever vigilant steward had posted a manservant at each cask to assist those wishing to draw the g
olden liquid. He’d also placed half a dozen vases with leafy twigs on the trestle tables. She wondered what they were.

  Alex came to his feet. “Before everyone rushes off to get their apple brandy, you will see some greenery next to the casks. This morning, Steward Bonhomme and his men were able to snip new growth from a few of the burned trees in the orchard.”

  His unexpected announcement was met with a moment of stunned silence, followed by wild cheering and more barking from Faol.

  Alex raised his hand and the guests slowly quieted. “I consider this a sign from God that our orchards will rise again from the ashes.”

  Cheers broke out once more. Alex waited patiently for the noise to abate, smiling. “My life used to be barren and bleak until I met Elayne and her children. They have breathed life into me, and I will bear fruit.”

  She felt her face redden as guffaws, goblet banging, clapping and whistling filled the air. Did he suspect what she herself had only recently acknowledged, that she had already conceived?

  Alex regained his seat just as King Stephen rose from his chair again, motioning the guests to remain in their places. He’d already procured a tumbler of apple brandy, which he held aloft. “I think it’s Elayne who’ll be bearing the fruit, my friend.”

  More laughing and cheering. Elayne wished for something cool to press to her burning face.

  “Seriously,” he continued, “I offer a salute to this family and to the as yet unborn fifth Comte de Montbryce. He will follow in the footsteps of four great and gallant Normans, Bernard, Rambaud, Robert and Alexandre. To the Montbryces.”

  “To the Montbryces,” came the hearty echo.

  Swaying noticeably, the king called for silence. “Now, Alex, take your bride to bed so the rest of us can enjoy our brandy in peace.”

  Bearing Fruit

  ALEX SILENTLY THANKED STEPHEN. After all, he couldn’t disobey a king. He grasped Elayne’s hand. “Quick, up the steps.”

  They dashed towards the staircase that led to his chamber. But he wasn’t fast enough. His brothers had beaten them to it and now blocked their way.

  Romain grinned. “Tsk, tsk, mon frère, trying to escape without a proper escort?”

  He and Laurent hunkered down. Romain pointed to his shoulder. “Up.”

  Shaking his head, Alex reluctantly let go of Elayne’s hand and allowed himself to be hoisted atop his brothers’ shoulders.

  Four burly young men appeared with a chair, inviting Elayne to sit, then they lifted it onto their broad shoulders.

  Alex kept looking behind him as they made their unsteady way up the stone steps, worried Romain’s inebriated friends might accidentally pitch Elayne out of the chair, but she seemed to be holding on tightly to the arms. Her laughter warmed his heart.

  Suddenly, Henry, Claricia and Faol appeared, ascending the staircase, Claricia holding up the skirts of her gown.

  “Maman,” she shouted. “Wait for us.”

  Alex wanted to laugh. He’d been so intent on getting Elayne into bed, he’d forgotten all about saying good night to his children. The responsibilities of being a father sometimes slipped his mind. From his perch he looked down on the hopeful threesome. “Your Maman and I are going to sleep together this night in my chamber, and you will sleep in yours.”

  Henry turned to his sister. “Told ye.”

  Claricia stamped her foot and scowled, tightening her grip on the folds of her gown. “But ye didna say goodnight.”

  Elayne had been chewing on her knuckles, he suspected in an effort to stifle her amusement, but now she sobered, and asked her bearers to lower her chair.

  She sat on one of the steps and Henry and Claricia snuggled into her, one on each side. Faol tried to push in but gave up and squeezed his big body onto the step below.

  Contentment flowed over Alex as he watched his new family. Romain and Laurent squeezed his hands. A vivid memory struck him so forcefully he almost fell from their shoulders. He and Romain had sat here as small boys with their father.

  “I remember,” he rasped. “Maman was sick and Papa sat here with us, his arms around our shoulders, comforting us.”

  Romain nodded. “We didn’t know then she was enceinte with Laurent.”

  Alex slipped from his perch and came to sit on the step below Faol. “It was thoughtless of us to leave without wishing you goodnight.”

  Henry nodded soberly.

  Claricia smiled coyly, leaning into her mother.

  Elayne pecked a kiss on their foreheads. “Goodnight, my children.”

  Alex rose, holding out his arms to Henry. The boy came into his embrace willingly. “Goodnight, Papa. Sleep well.”

  Elayne chuckled, her face red.

  He put Henry down, then picked up Claricia. She hugged him fiercely. “Goodnight, Dadaidh Lix,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  Alex couldn’t speak, unable to think what he’d done to deserve this happiness. He put the child down. “I love you too,” he croaked. “Go now to Tante Marguerite. Rosetta must be wondering where you are.”

  Claricia’s eyes widened with glee. She turned to follow Henry and Faol who’d already started down the steps, but seemed to change her mind. “Maman, what did the king mean that you’ll be bearing fruit? You’re not a tree.”

  Alex struggled to keep his demeanor serious. “I think you should go ask Tante Marguerite that question.”

  Epilogue

  ELAYNE AND ALEX LAY UNDER THE COVERS still fully clothed, holding hands, exhausted by a fit of giggling that had seized them the moment their escorts left the chamber.

  Remaining clothed had been Romain’s idea so the Bishop could enter and bless their marriage bed. “He’ll never know you’re still clothed, and why would he care? Just take off your doublet, Alex, and pull the linens up to your chins. This way we’ll get rid of him faster.”

  Keeping a serious and respectful expression on their faces had been difficult as the cleric sprinkled holy water and recited the blessing.

  Elayne and Alex had earlier discussed their suspicions that Romain and Laurent, with the help of friends, planned to strip their brother after the Bishop left, and tease him in front of his new wife.

  They too had a plan. As soon as Alex made a show of removing Elayne’s clothing, the boisterous group left, pouting and casting aspersions on Alex’s ability to have fun.

  “Romain’s right,” Alex rasped. “I never did know how to have fun.” He eased over onto his side to face her and put a hand on her waist. “Until I met you.”

  She turned her head and smiled at him, content beyond imagining at the love burning in his eyes. She put her hand over his. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love you’ve brought into my life, Alex. I didn’t know what love was until I met you.”

  He leaned over to kiss her. His warm lips tasted of spiced wine. She opened her mouth, craving his tongue, his breath, thirsting for his moisture. Cradling her face in his hands, he nibbled her lower lip, then sucked on it before plunging his tongue in again. When he broke them apart he whispered, “You taste wonderful. I want to see your body. It’s been too long.”

  His deep voice bathed her in a warm, vibrating glow. She felt at once calmed and excited. Though his words were arousing, they were uttered with love. “Undress me,” she whispered into his mouth.

  He helped her sit up. “Move to the edge.”

  He knelt in front of her and ran his fingertips up her skirt, easing down first one, then the other garter, then peeling off her hose. She leaned back on her elbows, watching him as he kissed her toes, one at a time, stoking the fire building in her loins.

  She’d long since lost the veil she’d worn in the chapel. Alex unpinned her hair, licking his lips as it fell around her shoulders.

  “Stand up,” he commanded, reaching for her hand.

  He bent to grasp the hem of her blue gown and in one quick movement pulled it off over her head. Her chemise clung to it and came off at the same time, leaving her suddenly completely naked, her ha
ir standing on end. He tossed the garments away, his eyes raking her from head to toe, but she felt no nervousness. She wanted him to look at her, but she wondered if he could tell she was enceinte.

  “You’re a goddess,” he rasped.

  She held out her arms. “And you are my blue eyed god.”

  He yanked off his linen shirt and threw it onto the pile of discarded clothing. It struck her then that he was sculpted like a Greek god, an Adonis, lean, muscled, beautiful. Her throat was a desert. All the moisture in her body seemed to have pooled in one place.

  He took hold of her hands, placing them on the laces of his leggings. “I want you to take them off.”

  Glancing at the bulge at his groin intensified the aching need. She untied the fastenings and quickly eased his leggings and braes from his hips and over his arousal. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said hoarsely.

  He was as big and thick as she’d remembered in her dreams and fantasies. She pressed her body to his, feeling the warmth of his engorged flesh on her belly.

  You have planted a child there, my love.

  He shoved the leggings down over his knees and kicked them off. “Lay down, I want to taste your sweetness.”

  Her body still held the memory of the blissful sensations he’d ignited the last time he’d put his mouth on her. She lay back, opening her legs without hesitation.

  He licked and suckled and drank like a man newly delivered from the desert. She played with his hair, relishing its softness. “I love that,” she murmured, cupping her breasts with her hands, brushing a thumb over a nipple.

  He flicked his tongue back and forth over her happy nub. She squeezed her nipples, arched her back and tumbled into an abyss of bliss, where there was no necessity to breathe, no need for sounds—only the intense feelings mattered, sensations that flowed into her womb, her spine, her toes, the top of her head, spasms of pleasure that went on and on.

  ALEX HAD NEVER ACQUIRED THE SKILL of playing a musical instrument, but he was a maestro now as Elayne’s body responded to his touch.