Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance)

by Markland, Anna

  Marguerite must have sensed his dismay. “You have placed this family and our household in jeopardy, mon frère, so it is fitting Jean be here.”

  He toyed with the idea of feigning ignorance, but to what end? “It’s not what you think.”

  The ever-patient Jean motioned him to a chair. “Ale?”

  Alex sat, shaking his head. He’d had one too many tumblers of wine after a long emotional day. “You have correctly surmised Elayne is not a servant, but she is not my mistress.”

  Marguerite smiled. “That’s why I have assigned her to a chamber. Had I known the truth yesterday, she wouldn’t have slept on the floor. You didn’t trust me.”

  Alex inhaled deeply, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “Elayne has helped me see that a lack of trust is one of my failings. She talked to me about Papa.”

  Marguerite clutched her throat. “Papa loved you, you know, probably more than the rest of us put together.”

  Marguerite had always been bossy, but he’d never sensed jealousy in her. “And I failed to see it.”

  “You were a baby, Alex, born in difficult circumstances to a woman in great fear and distress. You were the longed-for heir to Montbryce, but Maman didn’t know if her husband was alive or dead. She brought you into the world in a convent far from home, far from me and Catherine, alone and terrified with only the nuns to help her.”

  There was so much he’d never considered before. He’d blamed his father for the tension in their lives, but it was true that his mother had also been abducted at the same time as his father, and imprisoned before escaping to the Abbaye aux Dames in Caen. Perhaps as a babe he’d sensed that fear.

  Why had it taken him thirty years to realize these truths? So much of his life wasted on unnecessary resentments.

  “I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses as far as Papa is concerned, Alex. Now tell me everything. We need to be prepared.”

  It occurred to him then that not only had he shut out his father, he’d paid scant attention to anyone in his family for years, always keeping himself aloof.

  Yet they loved him. It was humbling.

  “Henry and Claricia are Elayne’s children.”

  Marguerite glanced at her husband. “Which means they are not King David’s grandchildren.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Illegitimate.”

  Long minutes passed in silence, except for the crackle of the hearty fire. Then Marguerite asked him, “Maud and Geoffrey are unaware of this subterfuge?”

  “Oui.”

  Jean spoke for the first time. “What of their father?”

  An ache stirred behind Alex’s eyes. “In Scotland, I assume.”

  Marguerite rose to pace in front of the hearty fire. “Elayne isn’t a widow?”

  The ache now throbbed in his temples. “Apparently not.”

  “You’re sure of this?”

  He sat up straight. “She told me she is married.”

  Marguerite came to stand before him. “Sometimes you are dimwitted, brother. If she had a husband, King David wouldn’t have sent her. You love the woman, any fool can see it. Perceptive as she is, I’m sure she knows it. A husband is a certain way to keep you at bay.”

  A snake curled around his bowels. “Why would she want to? Am I so unlovable?”

  Marguerite threw her hands in the air. “Explain it to him, Jean.”

  Jean Venestre stroked his beard. “Elayne is playing a dangerous role in a deadly game. She cannot afford to make a mistake. Her children would suffer as a consequence.” He smiled at his wife. “Love tends to muddle a woman’s thinking.”

  Hope flickered. “You think she loves me?”

  Marguerite snorted. “My brother is addlebrained,” she muttered. “Can you not see it?”

  Alex stared at her, struck for the first time by her resemblance to their mother. “Marguerite,” he whispered hoarsely, coming to his feet.

  His sister embraced him, her eyes filled with tears. “I prayed the right woman would come along and melt that frozen heart of yours.”

  He recognized the truth of it. He was emerging from a long, lonely winter. But the road ahead was fraught with danger. There would be no joyful spring if he failed to keep Elayne and her children alive.

  His sister squeezed his hand. “She’s in the little chamber next to the children’s.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FAOL LURCHED TO HIS FEET when Alex approached the door. The dog must have sensed Henry was safe and that it was Elayne who was alone. He quickly lay back down across the threshold when he saw there was no danger.

  “Good dog,” he whispered, bending to scratch Faol’s belly. The dog grunted, stretching his long front legs.

  Alex straightened, tugging the edges of his tunic, and tapped on the door. He felt like a nervous young swain courting his first girl. Not that he’d ever really courted anyone.

  There was no sound from within. Perhaps she’d already retired. Disappointment filled him, yet he was strangely relieved.

  He hunkered down again to give the dog a farewell tug of the ears. The door creaked open a crack.

  He stood quickly, overtaken by an urge to rain kisses on the wide green eyes that peered around the door.

  She clutched the familiar shawl around her shoulders. “What are you doing here, milord?”

  Was it that she was entrenched in the servant role, or was she determined to discourage him?

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, Elayne. May I enter?”

  Faol lumbered to his feet, pushing his nose to the opening.

  They both chuckled nervously.

  “He thinks he’s invited too,” Elayne said with a smile that gave him hope.

  “Does that mean I’m invited?”

  As if resigned to spending the night in the corridor, Faol slumped to the floor with a grunt, blocking the door. Elayne eased it open a little more.

  Alex took advantage of the moment, strode over the dog and pushed the door wide. “I’ll shove him back.”

  He entered the chamber, then pushed the door closed, easing the reluctant dog out of the way.

  “Slyly done, milord,” Elayne said with a smile. “He might never forgive you.”

  ~~~

  ELAYNE BLESSED THE SAINTS for the distraction of the dog. She’d known as soon as she’d heard the tapping at the door that Alexandre stood just inches away. Her heart had soared as a pulse throbbed in her throat. Her resolve to stay silent until he left had lasted but a few seconds. She wanted to see him, wanted to find solace in his arms.

  Now here he stood, looking uncertain yet determined, his nostrils flared. Inhaling deeply, she filled her senses with the clean masculine scent of him.

  The bed tucked in one corner of the room was small, but it loomed large as they faced each other. Where had the urge to wrestle him onto the mattress come from? Had the strain of the treacherous scheme addled her wits?

  He was a Count, one of Normandie’s most powerful noblemen, and he was an ally of Maud. Her father-by-marriage was counting on her to convince the would-be Queen of the English that he had indeed consigned his grandchildren in support of her cause.

  But Alexandre hadn’t betrayed her identity, and the glint in his darkened blue eyes told her she was in the presence of a hungry male who desired her.

  The situation bordered on the ridiculous. King Dabíd would attack Stephen come what may because of his loyalty to the memory of another king who’d given him shelter in his youth.

  The desperate notion flitted into her mind that her father-by-marriage would honor his commitment to Maud even if she murdered his grandchildren. Her own life meant nothing to him, of that she was certain. Had he even cared at all for his bastard son, Dugald? He’d seemed unmoved, almost relieved when told of his death.

  Seized by an insane urge to laugh, she cried instead, a torrent of tears bursting forth to stream down her face.

  Alexandre came to her quickly, folding her quivering body in his embrace. T
he keening wail she’d caged in her throat shuddered to be free as she nestled her face against his warm neck. It escaped, only to be captured and calmed by the moist caress of his lips as he covered her mouth with his.

  Dugald’s kisses had been demanding, ugly, rough. Alexandre’s caress asked nothing, but promised everything. She was keenly aware of the hard heat of his body pressed against her, but his kiss was gentle, soothing—until he coaxed her mouth open with his tongue, lighting a fire in her most private place.

  She arched into him, twining her arms around his neck, her sobs turning to a groan of longing that emerged unbidden from deep within.

  His tongue mated with hers, sucking, teasing. He nibbled her lower lip, then tightened his hold and plunged in his tongue again, drawing hers into his mouth.

  Desire warmed her thighs, spiraling into the core of her being. This was the all-consuming passion a man and a woman were supposed to share. She’d longed for it, and wanted with all her heart to surrender to it now. But she couldn’t. She braced her hands on his chest and eased away.

  “I won’t let you go this time,” he breathed, nuzzling her neck. “We must talk.”

  An insistent but pleasant ache tiptoed up her spine and teased her nipples. “There is nothing to discuss.”

  She squealed in surprise when he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently then knelt on one knee, planting his hands on the mattress on either side of her head. She turned away from his piercing gaze as he loomed over her.

  His nearness was overwhelming. If only she were a simple serving woman, she could reach up and touch his face, erase the frown that furrowed his brow.

  “Look at me, Elayne. Tell me the truth. Are you married?”

  She looked into his eyes and saw herself in those blue depths. She couldn’t lie to this man. “I am widowed,” she confessed. “Dugald is dead.”

  His eyes brightened. “Then there is hope for us?”

  She struggled to sit upright. “How can there be a future for us, Alexandre? My children’s lives may depend on my fulfilling my role. Maud must be convinced Henry and Claricia are the King’s legitimate grandchildren.”

  “But I can protect you, all of you.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “You cannot protect us from Maud. Your father swore allegiance to her.”

  He stood abruptly, raking both hands through his black hair. “Many of those who pledged to her have broken the oath, claiming it was given under duress. The Montbryces in England are for Stephen. I don’t like the idea of going to war against my family, and I am more and more convinced Stephen is the better monarch.”

  Elayne fisted her hands in the skirts of her bliaut. “But Henry and Claricia’s grandfather is for Maud. If we change allegiance, we can never return to our homeland. My son and daughter carry royal blood in their veins, though their father was illegitimate. Can I deny them their birthright?

  “You are a powerful ally for Maud. She will not let you go without taking revenge. You could lose Montbryce Castle.”

  He came back to the bed, holding out his hands. “And more. But you have taught me to listen to my heart, and it tells me you are my future. You and your children.”

  Elayne had spent enough of her life with Dugald that she recognized male lust, and had no doubt Alexandre de Montbryce wanted her. She desired him, so she understood. But did he love her as she loved him?

  Did it matter so long as she could spend her life with him, however brief that life might be? She was bone weary of trying to do it all herself.

  She put her hands in his, cheered by the warmth of his skin. “You must do what you think is right. I am a mere woman, without power. I consign myself and my children to your care.”

  ~~~

  A MAELSTROM OF CONFUSED THOUGHTS swirled through Alex’s head, his senses already intoxicated by the scent of female arousal. Elayne wanted him, of that he was certain. In a matter of moments they could both be naked, pleasuring each other. His rock-hard shaft approved of the idea.

  But did she love him? She’d flinched away from him once, thinking he meant to harm her. He cursed her dead husband for the damage he’d apparently wrought. If he took her too quickly, she might never come to love him.

  He craved her body, but he longed for her love.

  It occurred to him Henry and Claricia could be his allies in the campaign to win her. The possibility of a ready-made family elated him.

  The oath to Maud had to be dealt with. His own family would support his decision to side with Stephen, but Maud and Geoffrey would be incensed. Elayne was right that there would be retribution.

  Despite the danger, his mind was clearer on the subject than it had ever been. It was as if Elayne freed his brain from the morass of years of resenting the mantle his father had passed to him.

  Now he recognized he was born to be Comte. What had Marguerite said? The long awaited heir to Montbryce. His mother had often told him she’d wanted him to bear the name of a fabled Emperor.

  Pride swelled his heart. He looked into the eyes of the woman who had changed his life, filled with regret that this wouldn’t be the night of their first joining. “Get some sleep, Elayne. We must return to Montbryce as soon as possible.”

  Disappointment flashed briefly in her eyes, easing the ache. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Their time would come. He kissed her forehead, squeezed her hands, and left.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ALEX GLANCED AROUND THE SMALL CHART ROOM of Montbryce Castle, the thought occurring unbidden that some future Comte might have to consider expanding it.

  The unpleasant odor of too many men of action packed into a confined space around an over-large table wasn’t conducive to clear thinking, and the men gathered there needed to think clearly, especially him.

  None among them—his brothers, his MacLaichlainn cousins, Bonhomme, Brodeur, the guard captain, and his lieutenants—had expressed any surprise when he’d made his announcement. They had known, perhaps expected, that he would break the oath binding the Montbryces of Normandie to Maud.

  All that remained was to discuss the defense of the castle, and it became plain as Brodeur explained his plans that he had already put his men and machines on a war footing. The armory had been replenished, and weapons sharpened. Preparations were underway to provide accommodation within the safety of the walls for peasants dislodged from the cottages around the castle, along with their livestock.

  Bonhomme explained in detail the extra food, wood and water he’d gathered in anticipation of a siege. “Montbryce has never fallen into enemy hands,” he declared, “and it’s not going to happen on my watch.”

  Alex didn’t like to mention the castle had never come under attack, thanks in large measure to the uncanny ability of his ancestors to remain in the good graces of those in power—no easy feat in the quicksands of Norman politics. But his heart swelled with pride. “I thank you all for your loyalty,” he told them, acknowledging they’d accomplished all they had without his leadership.

  “It’s the right decision,” Romain said. “Every man here knows it. We’re fortunate that Maud and Geoffrey didn’t visit us as we feared they would, or they might have caught wind of our preparations.”

  Bradick Ronan stroked his beard. “Word from Alensonne is they took the road in the opposite direction when they left our castle.”

  Alex shook his head. “I suspect the Plantagenets stayed away precisely because they anticipated our defection. I’ve sent riders to officially inform Maud of my decision, wherever she may have gone, but they have spies everywhere and were probably already plotting an attack.

  “We will discuss the kind of action we expect. Laurent, you’ll send word to Gallien in England. Hopefully it won’t get to a point where we need his help, but he has Stephen’s ear.”

  He put a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “I want you to take a contingent of men and travel to King Stephen at Westminster as my emissary. He knows you and will have confidence in
our change of allegiance.”

  Laurent frowned. “I will not.”

  Alex was taken aback. “But—”

  “Non, you misunderstand. I will gladly go as the emissary, but with only two men to accompany me.”

  “Out of the question. That leaves you vulnerable.”

  Bradick Ronan laughed. “Me and my son are Laurent’s chosen companions. Three men can travel fast. Otherwise—”

  Alex recognized the stubborn jut of his cousin’s chin. “Very well.”

  He turned to address the group. “Vigilance is the key, and we must know our strategy and that of our enemy,” he declared, feeling much more confident than when he’d first walked into the Chart Room after the hurried journey from his sister’s home. “But I would hear you swear now, for King Stephen and Montbryce.”

  “For King Stephen and Montbryce!” they shouted in unison, fists thrust into the air.

  ~~~

  ELAYNE BECKONED HER CHILDREN to sit either side of her on the bed, even at this last moment unsure how to explain the new realities to them. She spread her arms around their shoulders, wishing forlornly that was all that would be necessary to protect them. How could infants be expected to understand the sometimes deadly games adults played?

  To this point she’d managed to allay their fears by treating their situation as a game, a charade. Playing the role of grandchildren to King Dabíd wasn’t hard—that’s what they were. Illegitimacy and its implications meant nothing to them.

  She glanced over at Faol, lying across the threshold of the door, snoring contentedly. The dog had finagled his way into the chamber, but accepted he was expected to remain at the doorway. She wondered absently how long it would be before the animal was sleeping on the children’s bed.

  Yawning, Claricia leaned into her. “You’re sad, maman.”

  She kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “Part of me is sad, but part of me is happy too.”

  The child looked up at her. “I understand. Part of me is sad that I can’t be with Rosetta any more, but part of me is happy that she’s my friend.”

  Elayne swallowed the lump in her throat. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so hard after all. “I want you both to listen very carefully.”