It was Edwin who kept Gallien occupied with male pursuits such as hunting and swordplay while Felicité labored. When news came of her death, it was Edwin who shared his grief and relief. He had stayed another sennight at Shelfhoc, wanting no part in the removal of Felicité’s treacherous body. Playing fetch with the dogs for long hours had been good for his soul.
Listening to Peri’s wails as she labored to bring forth his child, Gallien relived the horror of those days. He sought refuge in the family chapel of the church, but her cries of agony followed him there. He knelt, head bowed, on the worn red cushion of the prie-dieu where his father and grandfather had knelt before him, no doubt offering the same supplication. “Please deliver her safely, Lord. I need her.”
He stiffened his spine as another groan rent the air. They were closer together now, lasting longer. He prayed the hours of torment would soon be over.
Dread sat in his belly like a lead ball. What if she died? His mother had been at death’s door after birthing Fleurie. To this day, his father could not repeat the story without his voice cracking. Only the healing skills of Uncle Rhys had saved Carys de Montbryce.
He praised the saints that his mother tended Peri now. She couldn’t be in better hands.
“I long for a child,” he confessed, then hesitated. God might strike him dead for what he was about to ask. He swallowed hard. “But if one of them must die, I beg you to spare my wife.”
A shuddering sob escaped unbidden from his throat when Peri screamed again—a long, guttural shout.
He rested his forehead on the front of the prie-dieu. “My Angevin has become important to me. Little by little she has wormed her way into my heart—a heart I thought never to trust to another again.” He looked up at the altar. “I thank you for her love.”
He knelt for long minutes, thinking he should also thank the goddess Arianrhod, just in case. His legs trembled when it dawned on him everything had fallen silent.
He was sure his knees would buckle if he stood. He would always bear the scars of Felicité’s perfidy, but Peri’s love had restored his confidence, made him a man again. “I cannot lose her now,” he murmured.
He stood, hands braced on the prie-dieu until the dizziness abated. He made the sign of his Savior across his body and turned to leave the church.
Another throaty scream sent icy shivers racing across his nape. He ran from the church, his dying wife’s name a mantra on his lips.
* * *
Carys de Montbryce patted Peri’s hand. “There now. Didn’t I tell you the second one would be easier?”
Exhausted, Peri smiled weakly. “Thank you, maman. I would have been more afraid without your reassuring presence.”
Carys de Montbryce shrugged, keeping an eye on one of the Ellesmere midwives as she cleansed Peri and dressed her in a clean nightrail. “You did well, not even blinking when we realized there were two babes.”
Peri glanced over to where another midwife was busy swaddling her children. “Now it’s over it seems to have happened quickly, but at the time—”
The countess smiled as her new grandchildren were brought to their mother. The boy squirmed and fussed; the girl looked around as if appraising her new surroundings. “Just like you and Gallien,” she remarked with a grin.
The enormity of what had happened suddenly settled on Peri as the two newborns were nestled into her arms. “Gallien is in for a surprise.”
At that moment, the door was thrust open. Gallien stood on the threshold, his hair in disarray, his tunic disheveled, fear and uncertainty evident on his face.
* * *
Peri’s hair was plastered to her head, but she was smiling.
His mother was laughing.
The midwives glared at him.
Eyes back to Peri. Why was she holding two bundles? He blinked rapidly, fearing his vision had blurred. He opened his mouth, but words failed him. Hesitating on the threshold, he sensed he had intruded at the worst possible moment into a world of women, but his feet refused to move.
His mother took his elbow, drawing him to the bed. “Just in time. I was coming to get you. Your beautiful wife has given me two healthy grandchildren.”
Gallien stared at the vision in the bed. “Two,” he parroted. “Healthy grandchildren.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to congratulate his mother, then reality hit him in the gut—these were his children, his heirs. His wife had given birth to twins.
He stared at Peri, amazed that two babes had grown in her slender body.
“You kept saying I was big,” she teased. “Come and meet your son and daughter.”
Gallien gazed at the two tiny creatures, afraid to touch them.
He became dimly aware his father had entered the chamber. Without hesitation, Baudoin de Montbryce took the boy from Peri, cradling him, cooing unintelligible sounds.
Jealousy surged through Gallien, but he hesitated.
Suddenly, his father thrust the babe into his arms. “A son, Gallien. Well done, Peri. And twins,” he exclaimed, reaching for his baby granddaughter. “The last twins in this family were Caedmon’s children, Blythe and Aidan, more than twenty years ago.”
Gallien sucked in a breath. What if he dropped the red-faced child squirming in his arms? The babe screwed his eyes closed and let out a piercing wail. Gallien’s heart lurched. He swayed back and forth trying to ease whatever pained the child.
His mother relieved him of his worry. “He needs what only his maman can give him.”
Gallien felt strangely bereft without the tiny warm body in his arms, but his father promptly handed over his bundle, exclaiming proudly, “Look at the red hair.”
Gallien gaped at a miniature replica of his wife. This must be a dream. Two children, and Peri safely delivered. He wanted to fall to his knees in thanksgiving. His long nightmare was over. He had a loving wife he trusted, and two healthy children.
He became more of a dumbstruck idiot when his wife bared her breast to suckle their son. The babe grew impatient. Gallien had a momentary notion to demonstrate suckling to the boy.
Peri’s face reddened. “I am new at this, little one,” she cooed. “Have patience with me.”
Gallien watched in awe, his shaft turning to granite, as his son latched on and sucked hungrily. He grinned and pecked a kiss on his daughter’s head.
It dawned on him he had barely uttered a word since entering the chamber, but his heart was so full, he feared he might sob out loud.
Peri looked up at him. “We had decided to name a son Rodrick Rambaud, in honor of both his paternal great grandfathers, but we never settled on a girl’s name.”
Gallien looked at the child in his arms, suddenly confident. “Grace,” he declared, “for that is what God has granted us this day.”
Malicious Intent
“The animosity between Empress Maud and her Angevin husband is apparently the talk of Henry’s court,” Baudoin told Gallien. “Tacit support for Stephen is growing.”
They were in the gallery. His mother was showing Fleurie and Isabelle how to do a complicated embroidery stitch on a banner they were making for the approaching Yuletide.
Peri had not arrived back from the nursery where Rodrick and Grace were being put to bed.
Étienne had gone off to visit Edwin at Shelfhoc.
Carys shot a worried glance at her husband. “Perhaps it would be better not to discuss such matters when Peri arrives.”
Gallien reassured her. “Peri is rightly proud of her Angevin roots, but she is content here now. Talk of Geoffrey will not upset her.”
“Still,” Baudoin mused, “best not to discuss matters of succession in front of her.”
Gallien bristled. “Peri can be trusted just as much as Fleurie and Isabelle. She knows where her loyalty rests now. We have talked at length about Maud and Stephen and what might happen when Henry dies. My wife is an intelligent woman. I value her opinion.”
His mother leaned over and patted his hand. “I am glad you have
come to trust her. You seem much happier.”
Gallien thrust out his chest. “I am the happiest man alive. I have two thriving children and a wife I would trust with my life.”
* * *
Devlin de Villiers groveled before Geoffrey of Anjou. At least he hoped Geoffrey would believe he was groveling. He had purposely sought out the Angevin when he was not with Maud, which was not difficult given that they avoided each other. Only Geoffrey’s bodyguards stood ready to cleave Devlin in two if he acted rashly.
Geoffrey looked down his nose at Devlin’s stump. “Aren’t you the interfering busybody who challenged me once?”
Devlin kept his head bowed. “I am, Majesté, and I have come to realize the error of my ways. I humbly beg your pardon.”
Geoffrey’s chest puffed out at the exalted title he had not yet earned. He motioned Devlin to an alcove, his forefinger pressed to his lips. “Speak on.”
Devlin smirked inwardly. This Angevin boy would make a poor king. “I am recently wed to Tandine Grisjaune, who is a friend of the lady you were speaking with when I interrupted. Forgive me, for I believed she spurned your advances. I have learned from my wife that in fact the opposite is true.”
Geoffrey’s eyes widened, though he feigned indifference. “Go on.”
“Peridotte de Montbryce has confided to my wife that she wishes to be free of her husband. He agitates against our empress in favor of Stephen of Blois.”
Devlin had no idea where Montbryce’s allegiance lay, but Geoffrey did not know that. “She thinks fondly of a certain Angevin. Perhaps if this knowledge fell into the right ears, Montbryce might be removed and then…”
Geoffrey’s eyes darted back and forth as he licked his lips. “You are forgiven your previous impertinence. Speak to no one of this matter.”
Devlin bowed low as Geoffrey strode off.
* * *
Ermintrude de Calumette remained as still as possible, given the arthritic pain gnawing her joints. The man speaking to Geoffrey of Anjou in a nearby alcove was out of sight, but she recognized the voice—the despicable de Villiers to whom the gentle Tandine Grisjaune had had the misfortune to be wed. The man made her skin crawl.
Moreover, she knew exactly which lady they were discussing—the Angevin upstart she thought she had got rid of forever.
The development would have to be watched.
Arrest
Pascal Bonhomme rushed into the Map Room without knocking, something Baudoin had never known him do before. Four armed men, bearing a devise he did not immediately recognise, followed close behind.
Breathless, Bonhomme waved a parchment, glancing from Baudoin to Gallien, then to Étienne. “Forgive me, mes seigneurs.” He bent to recover his breath. “These men are part of a contingent in the courtyard. They have a warrant.”
Baudoin had faced death many times in his long life, but the fear that settled in his belly was the worst he had ever known. Indignant that armed men had entered his home without permission, he struggled to control the foreboding that washed over him. “A warrant?”
Bonhomme brandished the document anew. He swallowed hard. “An arrest warrant.”
Gallien frowned.
Étienne rushed forward to read over his father’s shoulder. “Dieu, Gallien, they’ve come to arrest you.”
Gallien snatched the warrant from his father’s grasp. “On whose authority?”
Baudoin’s blood ran cold. “Geoffrey of Anjou.”
* * *
Gallien stared at the warrant, his gut churning. He had known humiliation before, but no Montbryce had ever faced arrest.
The charges were clear. He was accused of sedition and disloyalty to the Crown of King Henry. But the warrant bore Geoffrey’s’ seal. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “There is only one person who could have betrayed me in this fashion.”
His father frowned, hesitant, then shook his head. “Non, Gallien. Peri would never do such a thing. You are the father of her children. She loves you.”
Gallien gritted his teeth as an iron fist closed around his heart. “She has always loved Geoffrey more. She has found a way to be rid of me.”
“That is nonsense, and you know it.” Étienne spat in the direction of the intruders. “We will kick these messengers out of the castle. You’ll not go to the Tower.”
One of the soldiers stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword, eyeing Étienne. “Our instructions are not to take him to the Tower.”
“At which of His Majesty’s castles am I to be a guest?” Gallien asked sarcastically.
“Tamworth.”
Gallien and his father exchanged a glance. Tamworth was not a royal castle.
Baudoin put a restraining hand on Étienne’s arm. “There will be no violence against these men. There are other ways to solve this. I will appeal directly to Henry.”
“Appeal to Henry? What is going on here?” Gallien’s mother asked loudly as the women of the Montbryce family hastened into the Map Room.
Peri’s face was a mask of confusion and fear as she looked from her husband to the guards. He had to admit she made a good show of feigning surprise. The knot in his belly tightened.
The soldiers looked at the women nervously. “Milord Earl, we want no trouble. If milord Gallien will come along quietly.”
Peri rushed to his side. “Where are they taking you, Gallien?”
He shrugged her off as the guards clamped manacles to his wrists. “Wherever your precious Geoffrey has commanded them to take me.”
She frowned, her face red. “Geoffrey of Anjou? I don’t understand.”
The guards ushered him forward, but as he made to move with them, Peri latched on to his arm, pulling him back. “Non. I will not let them take you. You are frightening me.”
Gallien knew it was the last time he would set eyes on her. The serpent that lay coiled around his bowels sank its fangs into his heart. “Now, you will be free. You can go to your lover.”
She let go, falling back as if struck by a lightning bolt. The color drained from her face. Étienne scrambled forward to catch her before she fell.
Gallien did not look back at his faithless wife as he was escorted from the chamber.
* * *
Her head throbbed as the room spun, but Peri was determined not to swoon. A knife had been thrust into her heart, and she would bleed to death if the blade was not withdrawn. She looked desperately at her father-by-marriage. “My lord, why are you permitting this?”
Baudoin strode towards her, his face ashen. “Have no fear, daughter, I intend to ride as far as Westminster if necessary to speak to Henry. It’s my belief he has no knowledge of this. He knows better than to offer such an insult to one of his most supportive barons.”
Peri watched his mouth move, heard his words, but made no sense of them. Only Gallien’s taunt filled her head.
Your precious Geoffrey...your lover.
Baudoin and Étienne left quickly.
Her knees buckled. Silence filled the chamber. Gripping the folds of her skirts, she looked at the other three women, their expressions guarded. None had come to her aid.
They believe I have betrayed Gallien.
It was a blow. She had lost their trust. Perhaps she had never been accepted as a member of this family, merely tolerated as an Angevin foisted on them.
But it was the dagger of Gallien’s certainty of her guilt that twisted in her heart, draining away the will to live.
She fled, not knowing or caring where her feet took her.
* * *
Fear for her son’s life held Carys de Montbryce in its thrall. She stood rooted to the spot, oblivious to the wails and remonstrations of her daughters. She feared too for her husband and Étienne, now embarking on a perilous journey. But her heart broke for Gallien and Peri and their children. Love had overcome mistrust, humiliation, betrayal, and hatred. Now some insidious force threatened to destroy their hard-won happiness.
She clutched her hands tightly to her b
elly to still the anger roiling there. “Come, we shall seek the help of the goddess,” she told her daughters firmly. “Arianrhod will help them.”
Fleurie hesitated. “Gallien believes Peri betrayed him.”
Her mother turned to her. “He is a fool. Find her quickly.”
* * *
Gallien’s escort treated him with the respect due his rank as they rode, but the manacles soon scored his wrists. Tamworth was a day and a half’s ride, and they changed horses at Chnoc. He was given a tumbler of watered ale and a small loaf of stale bread, before they set off riding again through the night. After ten hours on horseback, he was exhausted, saddle sore, and furious.
He wondered why he had been brought to Tamworth. Its castellan was known to sympathise with Clito’s cause. The Marmions were hereditary champions of the Dukes of Normandie, but surely Robert de Marmion would not imprison the son of a fellow nobleman. He had never shown enmity to the Montbryces. And what connection could Marmion possibly have to Geoffrey the Handsome?
He looked up at the enormous motte built after the Conqueror granted the Marmions possession of the Anglo-Saxon fortification that had stood on the site for over a hundred years. He heard the swift moving waters of the River Tame nearby. He shivered, dreading what lay ahead in the forbidding structure.
He was aware of the treatment his uncle had undergone during his cruel incarceration at the hands of Curthose. Baudoin de Montbryce often remarked sadly that he did not believe Robert had ever fully recovered.
To his surprise, and relief, he was led to a chamber. It was sparse and chilly and smelled musty, but it was comfortable. He would guess the empty grate had not felt the lick of flames for a long while.
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