Passion in the Blood

by Markland, Anna

  The Bishop intoned a brief prayer of blessing and sprinkled the bed with holy water. Then, despite ribald urgings from the guests to “Get on with it”, Robert pointed to the door with an imperious wave of the hand. He teased his brother with mock humility. “Baudoin, I apologise I’ll be unable to escort you and your lovely bride to your chambers. I’m afraid I’ll be rather busy with my own wife.”

  “Never fear,” Baudoin responded with equal levity. “I’ll manage without your help.”

  The last to leave as he ushered the well-wishers out, Ram gave Robert a wink and closed the door. The newlyweds heard the merry voices continuing on to Baudoin’s chambers.

  “Alone at last,” Robert quipped to his bride. He slipped off the silk bed robe, lifting his hips to free the fabric from beneath him. He helped her remove the bed robe she wore, then drew her on top of his body. The silk of her nightgown inflamed him as he felt its coolness on his chest and on his already aching shaft. She nestled her head against his neck and nibbled him. He hunched his shoulders and laughed. “I’m ticklish.”

  She raised her head, smiled a wicked smile and resumed her nibbling. Her body warmed and he wondered if she was already wet for him. He laughed again and held her away, instantly missing the feel of the cool silk on his sack.

  “I love this flimsy frock you wear, but it will have to go,” he said, holding her with one arm and trying to lift the shift from her body.

  She raised her arms to help him, stoking the fires of his need as her body was revealed. The logs in the hearth crackled.

  “You’re beautiful, Dorianne,” he whispered, pulling her back on top of him.

  With her forearms on his chest she raised up to look at him. He flicked his tongue, wanting to lick the twin globes pouting together enticingly between her upper arms, the nipples begging to be suckled. The glow of the fire danced on her skin. She lowered her body and touched her tongue to his. They lapped at each other lovingly. He licked her lips, the corners of her mouth, then increased the pressure of his kiss as his need and his arousal grew. He explored the warmth of her mouth, her teeth. She tasted of apple brandy. She sucked rhythmically on his tongue. Keeping their mouths joined he rolled her off his body and on to the bed beside him.

  She broke away, her expression uncertain. “I’m not sure—”

  Robert’s heart thudded. She’d never touched his manhood. He took her hand and placed it on his shaft. “Move your hand on me,” he whispered, showing her how.

  Taking her other hand he placed it on his sack. “Like this. Pull up and squeeze.”

  She did as he showed her and he exhaled loudly. “That feels good.”

  She arched her back, thrusting her breasts upwards. “I’m light headed,” she rasped.

  Blood is rushing to my head too!

  His mouth found a nipple and suckled. She hummed, deep in the back of her throat, and pressed her belly against his erection. Her eyes widened and her breath caught.

  “You’re getting bigger,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be afraid, I will fit. I’ll make you ready. There’ll be but a moment’s pain and then—”

  He couldn’t speak. He loved this woman so deeply the words foretelling the ultimate passion he hoped they would share in a few minutes were too much to squeeze out of his dry throat. He grasped the back of her warm neck and buried his face in her soft hair. His passion seemed to arouse her.

  “I’m yours to do with as you will, Robert,” she whispered, her eyes bright.

  Remembered visions of his hands kneading her breasts glistening with fragrant oil and his mouth on her sex carried him to greater heights. He reached with his long fingers to touch her female nub. He covered her scream with his mouth, her wetness flooding his fingers. She convulsed as release shuddered through her.

  He knelt between her legs as she opened for him. “I can’t wait any longer, Dorianne. I need to be inside you now.”

  “I’m ready,” she murmured lovingly, and his soaring heart knew she was.

  He was a big man and hoped the pain wouldn’t be too great. He slid his whole length into her and felt the barrier tear. The warmth of her maiden’s blood mingled with her woman’s juices flooded over him like a tidal wave. He was a drowning man who didn’t want to be rescued. He took his weight on his elbows and crushed her breasts to his chest. She didn’t cry out.

  “Am I hurting you?” he rasped as he pounded into her. “I can’t stop.”

  She shook her head, her eyes glazing over. “I relish it, Robert. It’s my rite of passage into womanhood.”

  He sent a prayer of thanks heavenward he’d been gifted with this remarkable young woman as she surrendered her body to his possession, her muscles pulsating against his shaft. Moments later the white heat surged from his body into hers and he was engulfed in his release.

  ***

  Baudoin didn’t spill on the sheets of his matrimonial bed. As promised, he pumped his seed as far inside his mystically beautiful wife as he could, and relished her obvious enjoyment of his possession of her. There would be difficulties, but she was his now and nothing could part them.

  ***

  Robert and Dorianne left for Normandie two days later. Hugh met them at Montbryce castle, and briefed Robert on the political situation which had deteriorated into two distinct camps. Curthose was obviously planning an invasion of England. Robert had brought troops from Ellesmere to strengthen his garrison and made preparations to defend the castle against attack by Curthose supporters if it came. He half expected the Duke himself to come to persuade him to fight on his side, and was relieved when that didn’t happen. Given the danger of venturing beyond the castle environs, he and Dorianne spent most of their time together, enjoying the exhilarating passion they shared.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In the month of July in the year of Our Lord One Thousand One Hundred and One, Curthose landed at Portsmouth with an invading army. Ram and Mabelle were relieved Robert wouldn’t be among the Norman knights accompanying Curthose, but anxious because Baudoin and Caedmon had gone south to fight for Henry. Mabelle did what she could to cheer Carys.

  After many long, tense days, it was Baudoin who returned home with good news. “You were correct, Papa, in your assessment that the supporters of William Rufus would in turn support Henry. So did the Church.”

  Ram exhaled loudly and tightened his arm around Mabelle’s waist. “It’s over then? Caedmon is safe also?”

  Baudoin’s squire helped Carys remove his armour, and once that was accomplished, he sat down wearily, drawing Carys on to his lap. “Oui, he’s gone straight to Ruyton. But it’s a stalemate, with Henry keeping England and Curthose getting a pension of Two Thousand Pounds per annum. The treaty calls for an amnesty.”

  Ram shook his head and slumped into a chair, drawing Mabelle onto his lap. “But you know Henry will seek revenge on anyone who has supported Curthose. Thank God we seem to have made the right decision.”

  Mabelle spoke for the first time. “A stalemate won’t ease tensions in Normandie. It has only put things off. We still serve two masters. It’s untenable. Curthose will be incensed with the nobles who didn’t support him, in particular his former allies.”

  “Like the Montbryces,” Baudoin voiced what all knew in their hearts. “He probably believes that if he could have shown he had the support of Robert’s men from Normandie and ours in England the outcome might have been different. No doubt he will spread his rancour among disgruntled supporters.”

  ***

  Baudoin’s words were prophetic. Over the next two years Normandie became a more dangerous place. Montbryce was an armed camp. Travel was difficult and only accomplished with a large contingent of knights and men-at-arms.

  Dorianne and Robert welcomed two daughters into the world, Catherine and Marguerite. Ram and Mabelle travelled to Normandie and doted on their grandchildren.

  Carys bore two sons, Gallien and Etienne. Though Robert said nothing, rejoicing with his brother, Mabelle sensed his long
ing for a son. All recognized the importance of an heir.

  Mabelle watched helplessly as the stress of the political situation took a toll on Ram. Though no longer young, he’d aged well and remained a strong virile man, but now he seemed to age visibly before her eyes. His hair had turned grey, his blue eyes were guarded and full of worry. He was anxious for Robert and Dorianne, and his brothers in Normandie, amid the growing political uncertainty. No one doubted there would be another confrontation between the sons of the Conqueror.

  Ram suffered debilitating chest pains, but when she mentioned it, he shrugged them off as nothing. “It’s something I ate,” he’d say. “I am nervous with all this worry.”

  A day after marking three score and two years, Rambaud, Comte de Montbryce, First Earl of Ellesmere, suffered an apoplectic attack in his sleep while on a visit to Normandie. He never woke and died in his wife’s arms. She keened his name, unable to believe this man she’d loved was dead. The crux of her life for nigh on forty years, he’d become one of the most powerful and wealthiest nobles in England and Normandie, known as a firm but fair man, a negotiator first and warrior second. But above all else he’d been her magnificent lover.

  King Henry, son of the Conqueror for whom Ram had sacrificed much, sent his condolences. No word came from Curthose.

  Robert de Montbryce became Comte de Montbryce, de Belisle, d’Alensonne and de Domfort, inheriting, as the eldest surviving son, his parents’ lands in Normandie. Baudoin became the Second Earl of Ellesmere.

  Baudoin, Rhoni and Caedmon came from England. Mabelle was at least consoled Ram had died in his beloved Normandie and she buried him, as she’d promised long ago, in the family crypt in the castle de Montbryce. The coffin was placed in a tomb next to those of Ram’s mother and father.

  Mabelle never returned to England, preferring to live out her final days at the castle de Montbryce with Robert and Dorianne who were appreciative of her presence in their lives.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The observance of Epiphany in the year of Our Lord One Thousand and Four was a subdued affair at Montbryce, as was the Yuletide that preceded it. A veil of sadness for the loss of Rambaud de Montbryce hung over the castle. Mabelle often remarked it reminded her of when Ram’s father had died while his three sons were away fighting at Hastings.

  In the midst of this mourning, Pierre de Giroux rode into the environs of the castle de Montbryce alone and was immediately challenged by the guard.

  He threw back his shoulders and announced, “I am Pierre de Giroux, brother to the Comtesse de Montbryce. I’m here to see my sister.”

  He was escorted into the courtyard where a stable boy came to take his horse as he dismounted. Tristan Bonhomme strode out to greet him. The escort identified him to the steward.

  Tristan bowed. “Welcome, young knight. Is the Comtesse expecting you?”

  Pierre removed his gloves and slapped them against his palm. “Non, but she’ll be happy to see me. It’s taken me too long to bring our family’s condolences for the Comte’s bereavement. And I hear I have nieces I’ve never met.”

  Bonhomme took him to the Map Room and went in search of his lord and lady. Robert was surprised when Bonhomme told him who awaited them. “You’re sure of the name?” he asked.

  Dorianne leapt to her feet, casting aside her sewing. “Oh, Robert, has Pierre at long last convinced my father to put his hatred behind him? I pray for it daily.”

  Robert braced his legs. “Dorianne, let’s not forget the pain and suffering Pierre inflicted on you and that he attempted to kill me. We have two children and he has never made any attempt to meet them.”

  His wife put her arms around his neck. “He was young and under my father’s thumb. Things have changed. Why else would he come here?”

  Robert pressed his forehead to hers. “There’s only one way to find out. But don’t get too close to him.”

  He turned to his steward. “Is he armed?”

  “He has a sword, milord,” Bonhomme replied. “That’s the only weapon I could see.”

  As soon as they entered the Map Room, Dorianne ran to her brother and flung her arms around his neck. “Pierre, I’ve missed you.”

  “So much for my advice not to go near him,” Robert thought, keeping a wary eye on the young man. Pierre had changed. He looked rough, his beard unkempt, his hair matted. He was no longer a boy.

  Pierre hugged his sister then dropped to one knee. “Dorianne, please forgive me for the pain I caused you. I’ve fretted over nothing else since. I hope you’re healed by now?”

  Dorianne pulled him to his feet. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine now. Get up, please. I forgive you, and Robert does too,” she gushed.

  Robert had no such thoughts. Fretted, indeed.

  Dorianne linked her arm in her brother’s. “How is Papa? Does he know Robert and I have two children?”

  Pierre grimaced. “Oui, he knows, but he’s still stubborn and his pride won’t let him come. He sends his congratulations and his condolences on the death of your esteemed father, milord.”

  Thank be to the saints my mother isn’t here.

  “Merci,” Robert responded coolly. “Well, brother-by-marriage, now you’ve given us your good wishes, what other news do you have?”

  He suspected the Giroux family had participated in Curthose’s invasion, but didn’t know if Pierre had been part of the landing in England.

  Dorianne gave Robert a scolding look, plainly displeased at her husband’s coolness towards her repentant brother. Then she blurted out, “Pierre, you look as though you’ve had a long journey. Why not stay here with us at Montbryce? Robert, I’m sure you can find a post among your men for my brother?”

  Pierre held up his hands in protest. “Non, Dorianne, I can’t expect that from the Comte.”

  She linked her arm in his. “Nonsense. We must put rancour behind us. Isn’t that right, Robert?”

  Robert was angry he’d been backed into a corner. He didn’t blame Dorianne for her trusting innocence, but if Pierre was to stay at Montbryce he’d have to prove his trustworthiness. He noted sourly Pierre hadn’t sought his pardon directly, nor apologized to him for attempting to kill him. Could he keep the suspicion out of his voice?

  “I’m sure I can find a place for you, Pierre. I’ll speak to my Second, Bernard Chauvelin, and we’ll get Bonhomme to prepare a chamber for you. Come, we’ll find him together.”

  ***

  “How goes it with Pierre de Giroux?” Robert asked Chauvelin two months later.

  “Your brother-by-marriage is a good soldier, milord. I put him in the hands of our toughest Captain as you requested, and Gicotte gives good reports of him. He has tested his mettle, as you instructed, and found him resilient.”

  “We can trust him then?” Robert asked.

  “He’s a quiet man, milord, hard to read. He hasn’t been here very long, but he has acquitted himself well. He’s not a man who makes friends.”

  Robert had noticed Pierre’s cool demeanour and solitary ways, but perhaps that should be of no concern. The boy had grown up with a difficult father after all. “Tell Gicotte to ease up somewhat on the discipline, perhaps give Giroux a small promotion.”

  “Oui, milord.”

  ***

  Dorianne cuddled into Robert’s back as they lay skin to skin that night. “Pierre told me you gave him a promotion. Merci.”

  Robert reached behind him and pressed her arm.

  She nuzzled his neck. “Your mistrust has come between us. We never seem to discuss my brother without one of us losing our temper. I’m relieved you’ve decided to trust him.”

  Her husband remained silent, wishing he could rid himself of his suspicions. He’d wanted to discuss it with his mother, but since his father’s death she seemed preoccupied and distracted, cloaked in sadness. He didn’t want to get into another argument over it. His wife’s naked body pressed against him was already playing havoc with his senses, as it never failed to do. He turned to her, bent his head to
lick her nipple and suckled.

  She ran her fingers through his hair. “You’ll soon have to share your delight again, Robert,” she teased.

  He looked up at her, wondering what her smile meant. “Share?” he asked.

  “Yes, you know—” She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “You’ll have to share the suckling—with your son.”

  Robert suddenly felt his heart would burst. “You’re enceinte again?” he murmured.

  “Oui.”

  He rose from the bed and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, swaying from side to side. He couldn’t speak.

  “You’re happy?” she asked him after a few minutes.

  “I’m delirious. Merci, my love. It’s a precious gift you’ve given me. I love you. Another child. Perhaps this time a son of my own.”

  She tucked her head into his shoulder. “A son for us to love,” she said with a smile.

  He laid her back on the bed, aware she’d seen the desire flare in his eyes and the obvious sign of his arousal.

  “Can we still—? Is it permitted—?” Why was he stammering like an idiot?

  She laughed. “You’d think this was our first baby! Yes, it’s permitted. In fact, it’s encouraged.”

  “Thank goodness,” he breathed as his mouth fastened on hers and they began the long slow pleasurable climb to ecstatic release.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Curthose frequently made his anger known to the noble Norman families who’d supported him. One who paid particular attention was Pierre de Giroux. He’d been proud to sail with his Duke to invade England, and had been extremely disappointed in the outcome. He felt the Curthose supporters had been sent back to Normandie with their tails between their legs. They hadn’t even engaged in a battle.

  His youthful impetuosity, fuelled by his hatred of Robert de Montbryce and Curthose’s anger, led him to place the blame for the failure of the invasion completely at Robert’s door. He’d schemed long and hard to devise a plan to deliver Montbryce into Curthose’s hands, and now success was within his grasp.