Her smile as her eyes fluttered open had him struggling with his decision to forgo the lovemaking. The adoration in her gaze was humbling. She stretched and he came close to tossing the parchment away and feasting on her glorious breasts.
She looked at the parchment curiously then took it from him. She unfurled it, yawned and sat up cross-legged to read. Her mouth fell open. Tears welled in her eyes as she crumpled the parchment to her naked breasts. “Alensonne? My parents have given us Alensonne? Did you know about this?”
Ronan nodded. She whooped, waving the document in the air, then threw her arms around his neck. He fell back on the bed. “My parents trust you. They would never have given us Alensonne if they didn’t have confidence you would take good care of it.”
He frowned. “That’s the trouble. It will take at least a year to get this tower back to the prosperous state it was in before the MacFintains almost destroyed it. How are we going to manage Alensonne at the same time?”
Rhoni sat back on her haunches. “Don’t worry. The Cormant family have been stewards at Alensonne for generations. Michel has passed on, but his sons, Barat and Théo, have returned from England. No one from my family has lived at Alensonne since my grandfather died, years ago. My uncles have castles nearby, and their sons are fine warriors.”
Ronan sat up and read the parchment again. “I promise you, Rhoni, one day we’ll go to Alensonne.”
“I don’t care where I am as long as I’m with you.”
He leaned forward to kiss her. “But Alensonne has become my responsibility, as much as Túr MacLachlainn. I want you to know I take that seriously. I suppose I’ll have to learn your language now.”
She drew back in shock, then saw his teasing grin. “I’ll teach you the most important thing to say. Repeat after me. Je t’aime.”
“Je t’aime,” he whispered, nibbling her earlobe. “Now you tell me. Tà grà agam duit.”
“Taw graw uhgum ditch,” she tried.
He laughed. “Perfect.”
Her eyes darkened. She licked her lips as she raked her gaze over his face. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
It was only then it came to him that he wasn’t wearing his eye patch. Rhoni had helped him forget. He was whole again.
An Excerpt from Birthright, Book V
Kingston Gorse, Sussex, England, 1100
Rosamunda Lallement had spent all of her seventeen years in captivity, hidden away as soon as her impediment became apparent.
Her imprisonment was not harsh. She enjoyed many comforts in the suite of rooms atop the manor house at Kingston Gorse. She was not alone in her captivity. Her older sister, Paulina, shared her confinement.
The doors were not barred, but leaving their chambers was forbidden. Servants made certain they did not wander into the main part of the house. Thomas and Agnès took care of their needs, and were always close at hand in their own chamber in the attic. But they were of peasant stock and never showed warmth or tenderness for their charges. Rosamunda suspected they too were not free to do as they pleased.
The only other people aware of their existence were their brothers. Lucien and Vincent visited often. Their father came infrequently. Rosamunda and Paulina had not set eyes on their mother since they were infants.
Maudine Lallement refused to acknowledge their existence. Rosamunda suspected her mother wished her daughters had never been born.
She asked her brothers if their mother still lived.
Lucien understood and responded with sarcasm. “Oui, despite assuring us daily she longs for death, Maman yet lives.”
Vincent was more forgiving of his mother. “Maman is unwell. We must be patient.”
Rosamunda fisted her hands and scowled. The longing to leave their prison and wander to the edge of the cliff she espied from the tiny window had stolen her patience. The salty tang of the sea filled her nostrils, but she could not see it. Vincent had told them that sometimes the land of their forefathers was visible across the Narrow Sea. Their maternal grandfather, and their father, had both been born in Normandie.
Paulina, on the other hand, preferred to live away from gawking eyes. Rosamunda’s affliction was invisible; her sister’s was not. Even on tiptoe, the top of Paulina’s head came only to the level of Rosamunda’s breasts.
Paulina was a lovely doll, her skin flawless, complexion rosy. Dark, silky hair fell like an elegant drape, accentuating her high cheekbones. Her lips were pouty and full. When she was troubled, her almond eyes wide, she looked like a pensive angel. Her rare smile turned her into a madonna.
Rosamunda envied her sister’s full breasts and well-proportioned figure. Despite her lack of height, Paulina was stunningly beautiful. Yet, she considered herself ugly and believed in the rightness of her imprisonment simply because she was half as tall as most people. Rosamunda raged at the injustice of it.
On the rare occasions their father visited, she dragged him by the arm to the window, pointing to the outside world. She pressed his hand to her face, tears welling in her eyes as she turned to him in supplication.
Marc Lallement always shook his head sadly. “Your maman will not hear of it. You must remain hidden. At least you are comfortable here at home. Many families shut their malformed daughters away in convents.”
Lucien had hinted his mother blamed her husband’s ancestry for their impediments. Perhaps, he blamed himself.
Rosamunda pondered these thoughts as restlessness gripped her this day—their brothers had failed to appear as promised. She threw her mending to the floor and stormed to the window. Trees were turning color, leaves swirled on gusty winds. Autumn was in the air. She pulled her hair out of the braids she hated, ruffling the thick blonde locks into a tangled nest.
Paulina continued to ply her needle. “I know you are bored, but there isn’t much else to do.”
Rosamunda went to sit at her sister’s feet, grabbing the half-finished embroidery sampler from her hands and flinging it to a nearby chest. She grunted impatiently. “Tell.”
Paulina sighed. “Will you never tire of hearing the stories?”
Rosamunda shook her head, smiling broadly.
“Very well. I’ll tell the story of our maternal grandfather.”
Rosamunda rubbed her hands together gleefully.
Paulina began the familiar tale. “Sir Stephen Marquand came to England and settled at Kingston Gorse before the invasion, under the protection of the Saxon king, Edward the Confessor. He passed on to his children the tales of the Conqueror’s feats. Our mother continued the tradition with Lucien and Vincent, who in turn told us the stories.”
Paulina told of battles, of heroic victories, of Saxon revolts, of the great advances in architecture the Normans brought with them. Part of Sir Stephen’s story touched on another tale, Rosamunda’s favorite. She urged Paulina to recount it next.
Her sister pouted, eying her sampler, though Rosamunda knew she loved the tale too. She assumed a pleading expression, confident it would not take much to convince Paulina.
“Oh, very well.”
Paulina shifted her weight in the chair. Entwining her fingers in the tangled strands of Rosamunda’s hair, she embarked on the story of two brothers of a noble Norman family. Antoine and Hugh de Montbryce were heroes of the Battle of Hastings. “The Conqueror granted Hugh oversight of neighboring Melton Manor, where he discovered his true love, Devona Melton.”
Rosamunda sighed and laid her head in her sister’s lap.
Paulina huffed. “You must do something with your hair. It looks like windblown straw.”
Rosamunda blew out exasperated air from between her lips. It was a familiar scolding. She sat up, swatting away her sister’s fingers. There was no-one to see her hair.
Paulina continued, a patient smirk on her face. “Antoine helped Hugh rescue Devona from an abusive Norman who had usurped their estate. Grandfather assisted them with the loan of a rowboat.”
Rosamunda had never known Sir Stephen, but it pleased her he h
ad been willing to aid in the rescue of a damsel in distress. He would not have locked away his granddaughters. She loved the story of the intrepid Montbryces navigating caves and secret passages. She imagined herself in the stead of Devona Melton. But who would be her hero, her champion? No man wanted to marry a woman with her impediment. Vincent sang chansons courtoises, songs of courtly love, but it was unlikely a tall, dark knight would ride to their rescue.
She grunted the question. “Melton?”
Paulina reached to retrieve her embroidery.
Rosamunda tore it once more from her grasp. Now it was Paulina’s turn to snort, but she carried on the tale, only too aware of Rosamunda’s stubborn nature. “Lucien says the Montbryces still come from time to time from their castle in Normandie to visit Devona’s childhood home. He and Vincent have befriended Hugh’s two sons, Melton and Izzy de Montbryce, but they speak only in passing of their sister, Antoinette.”
Rosamunda and Paulina had both laughed upon first hearing the name Izzy, even after Lucien explained it was a nickname for Isembart.
“Our brothers are also acquainted with Adam and Mathieu de Montbryce. They come frequently from Normandie to East Preston, an estate granted to their father, one of your heroes, Antoine. Adam and Mathieu have a half-brother, who has never accompanied them to England, and two sisters. Lucien and Vincent hardly mention them.”
Rosamunda understood why their brothers perhaps had difficulty socializing with their friends’ sisters. She often daydreamed about these friends her brothers boasted of, and wondered if any of them ever visited Kingston Gorse.
About Anna
Thank you for reading VENGEANCE. If you’d like to leave a review where you purchased the book, and/or on Goodreads, I would appreciate it. Reviews contribute greatly to an author’s success.
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I am a firm believer in love at first sight. My heroes and heroines may initially deny the attraction between them, but eventually the alchemy wins out. I want readers to rejoice when the power of love overcomes every obstacle and unites soul mates. For me, novels are an experience of another world and time. I lose myself in the characters’ lives, always knowing they will triumph in the end and find love. One of the things I enjoy most about writing historical romance is the in-depth research necessary to provide readers with an authentic medieval experience. I love ferreting out bits of historical trivia I never knew! I based the plot of Book One, Conquest, on a bizarre incident that actually happened to a Norman noblewoman.
I hope you come to know and love my cast of characters as much as I do.
I would like to acknowledge the assistance of beta reader, Maria McIntyre.
Vengeance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 4) Page 22