Antoine felt his face redden, swallowed hard and was about to take his leave from the chamber before he volunteered to help with the sucking. Sybilla stirred and gave a low moan. Her arms folded around her child as if by instinct. She opened her eyes and her confused gaze fell to the babe at her breast. Then she looked up at Oda and smiled. Alise seemed to suddenly realize that Antoine’s eyes were fixed on the scene before him and she draped a cloth over the child, hiding Sybilla’s breast from his view.
Sybilla noticed Antoine then and blushed. He cleared his throat. “I’m glad to see you are recovering from your ordeal, Lady Sybilla,” he rasped. “I’ll leave you and your babe in the good hands of your ladies.”
He turned to Alise. “Make sure food is brought for our guests.”
Alise nodded. “Milord.”
His legs trembled as he left the chamber. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, willing his heart to stop racing and his arousal to subside.
***
A day later, Antoine was pacing the hallway outside Sybilla’s chamber, his emotions in knots. He wanted to see her, yet didn’t. What could he say to her about her child? How was she coping with the reality of birthing a boy who would be an outcast all his life? But he had to find out about Renouf. Did she know him? Why had he been a frequent visitor to Grandegué? Taking a deep breath, he tapped on the door.
Oda appeared, bowed and ushered him in.
Antoine noted her new deference. “How is your lady?’ he enquired, keeping the emotion out of his voice.
“I am feeling stronger,” Sybilla said.
She did indeed look a great deal better. She wore a clean veil over her hair, but he could see the fiery redness of it through the gauzy material. He swallowed hard. “The babe?” he asked.
“Denis is asleep—at last,” she said with a smile. Oda had gone to sit on a chair by the side of the cradle.
She’s undergone an ordeal that would have broken most women, yet she looks radiant.
He opened his mouth, but no sound seemed to want to come out.
“I wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart,” Sybilla whispered. “Oda told me what happened. You saved my child’s life.”
Suddenly Antoine knew what had to be said. He judged her strong enough. “I saved him for the moment, Lady Sybilla, but the worst is not over yet, as you know. Discontent is growing in the village about the boy. It doesn’t help that he’s the son of Angevins, as well as—”
“—a monster, a nabot? Is that the word you were seeking?”
Resentment rose in his throat. “I’m not the one whose opinion you need to fear. I’ve protected the boy, and will continue to do so. But I’m here only briefly. Soon I must return to Grandegué.”
Sybilla looked away, and he saw a tear trickle down her cheek. “I’m sorry, milord Antoine. I’m very grateful for your actions. I suppose I’m—”
Antoine smiled. “You have undergone many ordeals in the last while, Lady Sybilla. You are permitted to be testy, only now and again though.”
She smiled in return, but then grew weepy again. “If my husband were still alive, he would have killed Denis as soon as he set eyes on him.”
Antoine nodded, knowing she spoke the truth. He wondered what he would have done if it was his babe. He decided to change the subject. “Lady Sybilla, forgive me, I know you are tired, and I have no wish to impose upon you too long, but I have some questions.”
She arched her brows. “Questions?”
Antoine noticed Oda had moved to sit on the edge of her chair. “What can you tell me about Renouf de Maubadon?”
Sybilla cast a nervous glance at her maidservant.
“You do know the man?”
“I—do,” Sybilla stammered.
Antoine felt his heart skip a beat. Perhaps there was hope yet for Hugh and Devona. Oda had risen and come to stand at the edge of the bed. Antoine gave her a stern look, then turned back to Sybilla. “I don’t have time to play games. My brother’s life may depend on what I find out about this man, so tell me now what you know of him.”
Sybilla looked stricken. “To do so would betray my husband.”
Antoine didn’t want to distress her further, but he had to know. “Tell me, Lady Sybilla. I saved your child’s life, now you can repay me by saving my brother. Your husband didn’t care that he trapped you in a smoke-filled donjon. I’m the one who brought you here when I could have sent you to my Duke.”
A choked sob escaped Sybilla’s lips, and she shook her head. “I cannot,” she murmured.
“Tell him, milady.”
Antoine couldn’t believe Oda had spoken so forcefully to her mistress. The maid repeated her words. “Tell him.”
Sybilla sniffled and blew her nose. She didn’t look at Antoine as she spoke. “He is—was—a friend of my husband’s.”
A chill crept up Antoine’s spine. “Friend? What kind of friend?”
“She doesn’t know, milord,” Oda said quietly. “But I do.”
Sybilla gave her maid a curious look. “What do you mean?”
Oda sighed. “Renouf de Maubadon was the kind of friend who brought money.”
Sybilla looked confused, but he was beginning to understand.
“Money for what?” Sybilla asked.
Antoine spoke before the maid could answer. “I suspect for armaments, horses, payment for mercenaries. Am I right?”
Oda nodded.
So this is where the money has gone from Melton Manor—to support the Angevins.
Sybilla suddenly looked afraid. “You know where the money came from, don’t you?”
“I have a suspicion,” he replied. “Thank you. I must leave for Grandegué and thence to Le Mans to speak with my brother.” The fear in her eyes intensified. “I’ll leave orders with Bretel that you and the babe are to be protected.”
He wanted to wipe away Sybilla’s tears, to embrace her, give reassurance and solace, but was afraid she would recoil at his touch, the touch of her enemy. “I’ll return home as soon as I can, but it may be a fortnight or more.” He bowed to Sybilla and then strode over to the cradle. “Oda, take good care of your mistress, and little Denis.”
Oda nodded.
“Safe journey, milord Antoine,” Sybilla rasped as she watched him leave.
“We had to tell him,” Oda exclaimed as soon as he had left. “I never did trust that Renouf.”
“I know,” Sybilla whispered. She was tired and confused. Antoine de Montbryce seemed an honourable, decent man. But her hatred of Normans was so ingrained she didn’t know if she could trust him. No doubt he had nothing but contempt for her and her kind. Yet, he had gone to such lengths to protect them. She had hoped he would take hold of her hand and brush his lips to it in parting. She felt her body grow hot at the thought of it.
“I must be ailing for something,” she murmured to Oda.
The maidservant snorted. “I wonder what it could be?” she said with a sarcastic smile, and Sybilla felt her face redden. “Milord Antoine is a very handsome man. He would make any young woman think she was ailing for something.”
Sybilla should have been indignant, but wasn’t. Little Denis. He had said it with such affection—how could a man care about a malformed child that wasn’t his own—an Angevin at that.
Oda’s voice broke into her reverie. “Listen to me, my girl. The future is here. The Conqueror will never allow Le Maine to fall back into Angevin hands. We must pray Antoine de Montbryce remains your champion. Without his protection, you and your child won’t survive.”
Sybilla unpinned the veil from her hair and gave it to her maid. “I know you are right, Oda, but how can we be sure he will continue to champion us?”
Oda snickered as she combed out her mistress’s hair. “Unless I’m mistaken, the Norman master of Belisle is smitten with you.”
Sybilla stilled Oda’s hand. “Me? Look at me, Oda. I’m the widow of an Angevin, the mother of a nabot. Men like Antoine de Montbryce don’t fall in lo
ve with women like me. I get the feeling he’s always had his pick of women. And where would my honour be if I allowed him to court me? He killed my husband.”
“War is war. You can have honour, or you can have life and happiness, for you and your child. Remember, you cannot go back to the life you had. Would you want to? Was Denis de Sancerre the loving husband you wanted?”
“Non,” Sybilla sobbed. “He never loved me. I was less than nothing to him.”
“Hush, my lady, hush. I know,” Oda crooned, rocking her mistress.
Sybilla buried her face in her maid’s ample bosom. “Thank God I have you, Oda. You’re the only real mother I ever had.”
***
Antoine rode hard all day to get back to Grandegué. As soon as he arrived he sought out Jubert, the rat catcher, but was told the man had gone off somewhere the day before, leaving a one word message—Renouf. Antoine was frustrated, desperate to share the information he had discovered.
He had planned to stay in Grandegué overnight and ride to Le Mans to see Hugh the following day, but it quickly became evident he would have to remain at the fortress for at least another day to resolve problems which had arisen in his absence.
Fortunately, once he got to Le Mans, it didn’t take him long to locate Hugh. The Domfort and Montbryce knights had been assigned to the northernmost gate. He found his brother practising swordplay with another knight. Impatient as he was to impart his news, he didn’t want to distract Hugh and cause him to lose his concentration. Hugh soon disarmed the other man, and Antoine saw the look of relief on his brother’s face when he caught sight of him.
“Antoine! Good to see you.” They embraced. “What of this Angevin woman you’ve spirited away to Belisle?”
Antoine hoped his face would not betray his anguish over Sybilla, but his brother knew him too well.
“What’s this? My philandering brother Antoine, in a dark mood over a woman?”
Antoine shrugged. “I’ll tell you later, Hugh. First, Renouf.”
Hugh had taken out his sword again and was wiping it with an oiled cloth. “I can tell by the sound of your voice you have discovered something.”
Antoine nodded. “Indeed! Renouf has been financing the fortress at Grandegué.”
“Godemite! Sorry—it’s a Saxon oath. Devona’s influence! Go on. How did you discover this?”
“I know it’s a Saxon oath,” Antoine replied sardonically. “I was at Hastings you know.”
Hugh sheathed his sword. “Never mind that. Tell me.”
They walked together to Hugh’s temporary quarters and Antoine told Hugh everything that had happened since they were together. He didn’t, however, tell his brother he thought he might be in love with Sybilla.
“So, you’re smitten with this Angevin woman?” Hugh asked without pause when Antoine had finished his tale.
“I didn’t say that.”
Hugh laughed. “You didn’t have to. I can see it when you speak her name. But a nabot—it will be difficult.”
Antoine shrugged. “Since when do the Montbryces make things easy on themselves? And it’s probably a lost cause, since I’m a Norman, and the murderer of her beloved husband.”
Could Hugh hear the despair in his voice? Pursuing and enjoying women had always brought him such happiness. He relished his reputation as a philanderer, though he had never wooed women with the intent of hurting them, physically or emotionally. The mere idea of the futility of trying to establish a relationship with Sybilla made him feel sick at heart. And yet, just thinking of her aroused him. The irony of it!
“The irony of it is that her husband would probably have—”
“Milord Montbryce!” Antoine’s words were interrupted by the shout of a breathless man-at-arms bearing the Domfort device on his surcoat. Antoine saw his brother tense.
“Here,” Hugh called back. “What is it?”
“Our lady,” the man gasped. “They have taken her.”
Hugh’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. “Lady Devona?”
“Oui, and her mother.”
Anger distorted Hugh’s face as he asked the man, “Renouf?”
The soldier shook his head. “Non, milord, men from the Bishop.”
Hugh’s face darkened and his jaw clenched. “The Bishop of Domfort?”
The man shook his head again. “Non, milord, Caen.”
Hugh looked at his brother. “I’ll wager this is the work of the King,” he hissed. “They’ve taken them to the curia regis to be tried.”
Antoine wanted to say something to calm Hugh, but what was there to say? His brother was no doubt right that Devona and her mother had been taken to the King’s court in Caen to face trial for adultery—or worse. The likelihood of any outcome for the Saxon women other than death was remote.
“I must go to her at once,” Hugh rasped.
Antoine felt his spine go cold. “But if you leave here, William will—”
“I don’t care what happens to me, Antoine. I must speak for Devona, or she will be condemned. She’s done nothing except to try to keep her family alive by submitting to a Norman brute.”
Antoine felt he had to intervene. “But Hugh—”
“She’s my wife,” Hugh retorted angrily. “I must protect her. I gave her my word that she wouldn’t be harmed in my country. We must take what we have learned about Renouf to the curia regis. Perhaps the fact that he’s a traitor will sway the court.”
“But you’ll need Lady Sybilla to corroborate that testimony. I don’t know if—”
Hugh seized his brother’s arm. “You must convince her, Antoine. She owes you much.”
Antoine nodded, and placed his hand over his brother’s, still gripping his arm. “There are many dangers in all this, Hugh. But family is above all. Fide et Virtute. Montbryce first and foremost. I’ll do what I can.”
“It will mean you too must disobey His Majesty and leave your post at Grandegué.”
Antoine shrugged. “My men have the situation well in hand.”
Hugh embraced his brother and they set about making preparations for the ride to the north, back to Normandie to face their angered King.
En route, the brothers stopped briefly at Grandegué to ascertain if Jubert had returned. He had not, so Antoine left a message that the rat catcher was to be informed upon arrival about the curia regis. If he had any information he was to proceed to Caen with all possible haste. From Grandegué, they parted company. Antoine rode on to Belisle to convince Sybilla to help them, and Hugh went to Domfort to ascertain exactly what had happened to Devona and Wilona. They agreed to meet again in Caen.
Antoine’s heart was filled with grief and concern for his brother as he watched him ride away like a madman. He was afraid for Hugh—afraid of what his love for Devona would drive him to do. It had all seemed so simple when they had first decided to help the Meltons. Now, their whole family might be threatened—even their brother Ram, Earl of Ellesmere. Ram and Mabelle could lose everything if the King decided to be vindictive, despite Ram’s pivotal role in the success of the invasion, and the Battle of Hastings.
There was a long tradition of amity between the Montbryce family and the King, but William wasn’t a man to anger. Might he confiscate the Montbryce Castle at Saint. Germain? Antoine’s blood ran cold at the thought. Who would the King choose among the landed nobles of Normandie to sit in judgement with him on the curia regis? Who from the ecclesiastical ranks? Much would depend on who these men were. Friend or foe?
By the time he saw Belisle on the horizon he was in a mood to snatch Sybilla and force her to Caen, but he realized he would have to calm down and take a more careful approach. He couldn’t let his feelings for her get in the way of what he had to accomplish for his brother, for his family. If he forced her to Caen, there was no guarantee she would testify. If she did, she might put herself in jeopardy and be branded as a traitor.
When he reached the bailey, he was alarmed to discover an angry mob of villagers. His steward, Brete
l, sword drawn, was standing at the door to the keep, flanked by men-at-arms. The mob turned to look at their lord as he rode in and the hubbub stilled.
“What in the name of all that’s holy is going on here?” he shouted, unsheathing his sword.
He saw some of the women in the crowd shrink back and draw their shawls more tightly around their shoulders.
“I repeat, what is going on here?”
It was Bretel who replied. “They’ve come for the babe, and the Angevin woman.”
Antoine had known anger before, but what surged through him at that moment was beyond anger. For the first time in his life, he was ashamed of being a Norman. Even Renouf’s brutality paled in comparison with slaughtering an innocent child, deformed or not. He searched out the faces of the men in the crowd who seemed the most belligerent. Espying one he recognized as a troublemaker, he pointed his sword at the man and hissed, “Any man who would slay a child and a defenseless woman will answer to me.”
“But he’s—evil, milord, a green-eyed monster,” the man stammered. “And she’s an enemy—an Angevin with mismatched eyes.”
Murmurs of agreement rose from the mob, but Antoine could see the fervour had left many of their faces. “That’s superstitious nonsense. I myself have green eyes. Am I a monster then? Go back to your homes. You make me ashamed.”
Gradually, the men lowered the implements they had brought, thinking to do murder with them, but now seemingly aware of the barbarity of their intent. The crowd slowly dispersed back to the village, though Antoine recognized the glint of defiance in certain eyes.
He dismounted and strode over to Bretel, who was sheathing his sword. “Good thing I came when I did,” he remarked sardonically to his steward.
“It is indeed, milord. But I worry some of them remain unconvinced and will stir up the others again.”
Antoine nodded, aware Bretel was probably right. “Is the lady in her chamber?”
Bretel assured him she was and so he determined to go to her before taking refreshment. What he had to ask her was too important to delay.
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