The Ultimate Romance Box (6 Bestselling Romance Novels)

by Eckhart, Lorhainne

  He would not count the strokes. There was no point. He doubted if de Villiers had yet decided how many would be administered. The torture would cease either when he was dead or when de Villiers called a halt.

  As the lash peeled the skin from his back, he yelled the Montbryce war cry, as his grandfather had done at Hastings. Fide et Virtute! Faith and Valour. He conjured an image of his wife, her face, her smile, her breasts, her sweet, warm, welcoming sheath. He wanted Peri to be his last memory.

  “Hold!”

  It had been only five strokes, six at most. The plan was evidently to kill him slowly. He twisted, trying to keep some of his weight on his toes, but his calves cramped with the effort.

  The silent minutes dragged by. He smelled his own blood. Soon he would have to relieve himself. He hoped he was dead before his bowels emptied.

  “Resume!” de Villiers commanded.

  Gallien took a deep breath and lifted his toes from the floor. Better to suffocate than to die in his own filth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Tandine de Villiers covered her head with her arms in a futile attempt to ward off her husband’s blows. Where he had secreted his children was a mystery to her, but she was at least relieved to have drawn his anger away from them for the moment.

  It was not the first time Devlin had struck her. A man was entitled to beat his wife if she transgressed, but Tandine had no notion of what she had done to displease him. He was a man who seemed to be in a permanent state of anger.

  She had submitted to his rough handling in their bedchamber, doing things to him and allowing him to do things to her that made her gag.

  She had tended his six children, and they had welcomed her attentions. It had quickly become evident Devlin considered his children a burden. They too feared him.

  Life had been pleasant while Devlin had been away on some mysterious errand for Geoffrey of Anjou, but now he was back. He had spent a lot of time in the undercroft, forbidding her and the children to venture into that part of the house. Armed men she did not recognize loitered around the grounds.

  “My lord, please,” she sobbed. “Tell me what I have done to merit this treatment.”

  Devlin raised his hand again, but then grasped her arm and forced her to sit at the small table. He thrust a quill into her trembling hand. “Write what I tell you.”

  She dipped the point in the encaustum, wiping off the excess on the lip of the well. Holding the quill poised over the parchment, she prayed the ink would not blot with the trembling of her hand.

  “To milady Peridotte de Montbryce—”

  Tandine gaped at him.

  He raised his hand again. “Write!”

  Hastily she scrawled the words, then looked up at him, her throat dry as a desert.

  “My dearest friend—”

  He paused, waiting for her to finish.

  “I bid you come with all possible haste to de Villiers Hall. I have news of your husband. In the interests of his welfare and that of your children, tell no one.”

  Tandine’s heart thudded in her ears. What did Devlin know of Gallien de Montbryce and his children? Why did he want Peri de Montbryce to come to their home? Dread rose in her throat. What was going on in the undercroft?

  “Sign it, ‘In friendship, Tandine de Villiers.’”

  She obeyed, put down the quill, then sat with her hands in her lap, not daring to look at her husband. He made sure the ink was dry and rolled up the parchment. It was not until she heard the key turn in the lock and was sure she was alone that she fell to her knees weeping.

  ~~~

  Baudoin and Étienne de Montbryce rode into the bailey of Tamworth Castle as the sun was going down. It had been a long ride from Milton Keynes where messengers from Geoffrey of Anjou had intercepted them on their way to Westminster.

  Geoffrey’s message had been welcome, if surprising. He apologised profusely for any misunderstanding regarding Gallien de Montbryce, laying the blame for the “arrest” squarely on the shoulders of some minion who had been “severely punished”. He assured them Gallien was a merely a guest of Tamworth Castle. They were handed a signed and sealed document confirming Gallien’s freedom.

  They had been on the road three days to get to Milton Keynes, and had ridden fast and furious to get to Tamworth in a day and a half. Baudoin was frustrated that they had been close to Tamworth days earlier. They and the Ellesmere men-at-arms were exhausted, as were their mounts.

  Marmion’s steward hurried out to meet them, bowing appropriately when they explained who they were. Baudoin handed him the release. “I am here to see my son, Gallien de Montbryce, and to escort him home on the morrow.”

  The steward broke the seal, unfurled the document, and perused it, his puzzlement evident on his face. “But he is gone, milord Earl.”

  Baudoin fisted his hands, anger robbing him of breath. “What treachery is this? Geoffrey of Anjou assured me he would be here.” A tentative hope flickered to life. “Has he already left for Ellesmere?”

  The steward scratched his head, ushering his visitors into the keep. “I hardly know, milord. His gaolers were peculiar, brutish men who spoke little. I only allowed them entry when de Villiers produced the royal warrant.”

  Étienne gasped, dread in his eyes. “De Villiers?”

  Baudoin struggled to tame the wild creature tearing his heart apart. “Did my son leave with de Villiers?”

  The steward looked nervously from one to the other. “Again, I have no answer. He was in a small chamber that has not been in use for some time. Early this morning a maidservant came to tell me it was unlocked and empty.”

  Relief surged through Baudoin that Gallien had not been held in a cell, but now he was in the hands of his arch enemy, having apparently been spirited away during the night. He turned to Étienne. “I can’t recall the name of the place where de Villiers has his hall. It’s near Chasewater.”

  Étienne hesitated, frowning. “Norton Canes.”

  “How far from here, steward? De Villiers bears my son ill will.”

  The man stroked his beard. “Two hours, at a gallop. The route is flat, but it is already dark.”

  Baudoin clenched his jaw. “And our mounts are spent.”

  “I can spare fresh horses for the two of you, milord, and a half a dozen of the castellan’s men. I’ve a lad from that area who can guide you. Your men will have to follow on the morrow.”

  Baudoin slapped the steward on the back. “Good man. A bite to eat while we wait?”

  “Indeed, milord. I will show you to the Hall and summon victuals from the kitchens.”

  As they followed his lead, Baudoin confided in his son. “I don’t like the idea of riding into de Villiers’ lair without Ellesmere men, but my instinct tells me we must not wait.”

  “I agree, papa. I fear Gallien is in grave danger.”

  ~~~

  Alys tiptoed into her mistress’s chamber. Peri’s eyes were closed, but sleep had eluded her since Gallien’s arrest. She had risen before dawn. After visiting her children in the nursery, she had returned listless to her chamber once they were sated and sleepy. It broke her heart to think of Rodrick and Grace growing up without their father. She assumed Geoffrey would have received her letter by now. Had he heard her plea and released Gallien?

  Alys tapped her shoulder. “Are you awake, my lamb?”

  Peri squeezed her eyes tight shut, recognizing the grief in Alys’ voice. The elderly maidservant was the only link to her childhood, and the gruff old woman was heartsick over what had befallen her mistress. She was sure Alys too suspected she was again with child. “Non, I’m awake,” she whispered. “What is it?”

  “A courier,” Alys replied.

  Peri sat up quickly—too quickly, as vertigo ensued. “News of Gallien?”

  Alys shook her head sadly. “Non, from your friend, Tandine.”

  Peri’s hopes sank. She accepted the missive, but put it aside. “I will read it later.”

  “The courier awai
ts a reply. Said I was to put the letter directly in your hands, and no one else’s.”

  What was so important that Tandine would send a courier? Peri’s heart lurched for her friend. Perhaps one of her stepchildren was ill and Tandine was begging the Countess’s help.

  She broke the seal and scanned the message—then read it again. A deafening pulse beat a tattoo in her ears.

  Alys fidgeted and took her mistress’s hand. “Not more bad news?”

  Peri shuffled off the bed, a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts swirling in her head. “Tandine has word of Gallien. I must go to her. Where is the courier?”

  “In the bailey, but you cannot leave the castle without telling anyone.”

  “Tandine warns of danger to my children if I share the contents of the letter. De Villiers Hall is not far. I can be there before nightfall. Is the escort armed?”

  “Oui, milady, but—”

  “Go quickly to the stables. Have my horse saddled. Tell the courier I will be there directly.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Darkness crept into the courtyard of de Villiers Hall as a stable boy helped Peri dismount from her horse. She was exhausted after the seven hour ride, but hope for Gallien had kept her going. The escort had barely spoken a word, increasing her trepidation.

  She stamped her numbed feet on the cobblestones. Anxious to meet with Tandine, she was disappointed and nervous to see Devlin de Villiers emerge from the house.

  “Welcome, milady de Montbryce,” he oozed.

  What was it about him that set her teeth on edge? She pitied her friend, married to such a strange man.

  “Tandine?” she asked, as he ushered her towards the house, aware that her escort had disappeared.

  “I will take you to her.”

  She prepared to follow him inside, but he lit a torch and walked away from the door. Puzzled, she followed him along the front of the house. He carried on, only occasionally looking over his shoulder to grin at her. At the back of the house he stopped at the top of a ramp that seemed to lead down to an undercroft.

  She swayed, reluctant to follow him any further as he set off down the ramp. “I don’t understand,” she murmured. “Is Tandine in the cellar?”

  She shivered as he beckoned with his mutilated arm. “Come, milady.”

  The way he said milady sent a bolt of dread up her spine, but she could not remain alone outside in the dark. Surely he meant her no harm. She was merely distraught over Gallien’s whereabouts. Perhaps Tandine was being cautious. But why?

  He led her to a wooden door. “Mind your head, milady,” he warned, shoving the wooden door with his stump. It scraped on the stone floor. He put his hip to it.

  The knot of fear in Peri’s belly tightened. Why had Tandine arranged a secret meeting in the undercroft?

  The door shuddered open. She bent to follow through the low opening, then straightened slowly, gasping as his torch lit the gloom. It was a cellar.

  Apprehension skittered up and down her thighs as he shoved the stubborn door closed. She put a hand to her breast. Something was wrong. She looked back at de Villiers. He sneered and made a mock bow. “Welcome indeed, milady.”

  She turned away, her heart beating wildly. She covered her nose against the fetid odour of damp and decay. Cold sweat broke out on her body as de Villiers lifted his torch higher, illuminating a blackened cauldron, the crackling fire beneath it burning hot in a stone grate. Clouds of steam rose from its sputtering contents, filling the air with wet heat.

  Memories of her first day at Westminster flooded back. Perhaps this was a kitchen of some sort. The pot was large enough to cook a horse. Her knees trembled now. There was to be no meeting with Tandine. She had been lured here under false pretences.

  She looked back at de Villiers. Leering at her, he moved closer to the cauldron, pointing his torch beyond it. She narrowed her eyes, peering into the swirling steam. Bile rose in her throat when she made out the figure of a man, his hands tied to a beam high above his head. Stripped to the waist, his grime streaked body gleamed with sweat. His feet were bare, his toes hardly touching the stone floor. She had seen deer strung up the same way, blood draining from their carcasses.

  Fear thudded now in her breast. She cast about for something to hold on to, afraid she might swoon. Was the wretch dead? Who was he? Her gaze travelled up the long legs, over the bruised belly, to the well-muscled chest—

  A shriek died in her throat as the steam cleared. The man’s head lolled forward like a broken marionette. His face was hidden, but there was no mistaking the silver hair.

  “Gallien” she screamed as terror engulfed her. She wanted to run to him, but de Villiers shoved her back, pinning her against the wet wall, his stump pressed against her breasts. She struggled. The cold rough stone bit into her back. “Not so fast,” he taunted.

  A hoarse voice uttered her name. “Peri?”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Gallien,” she rasped, heartsick at the pain and exhaustion on his beloved face. She rammed her elbow into de Villiers, but he deflected the blow and laughed. “Awake I see, milord Montbryce.”

  De Villiers had brought them both here, but for what reason? She swallowed hard, her throat dry as a desert despite the moisture in the air. Her limbs had turned to lead. “Why is my husband here? What have you done to him?”

  De Villiers stepped back, brandishing the flaming torch at her. The smirk had been replaced by a grimace of hatred. “Stay there, else I set you alight now.”

  She gripped her throat, seeking to still the deafening pulse that threatened to choke her. She sought her husband’s eyes. “What is going on, Gallien?” she sobbed. “Why are we here?”

  De Villiers strode over to his prisoner, waving the torch in his face. “Tell her, tell your pretty wife why she is about to be raped before your eyes.”

  Gallien hissed in a sharp breath, then spat at de Villiers. His target sidestepped the spittle then whirled to kick Gallien in the shin. “Mayhap I’ll play with you first, so she can feel your pain. Tell her!”

  Peri stood frozen, unable to move, incapable of coherent thought. The man she loved more than life was to suffer terrible torture at de Villiers’ hands. Then she would be raped.

  Gallien swallowed, breathing hard. “We are here because I cut off his hand.”

  De Villiers snorted, swinging the torch back and forth wildly, dangerously close to Gallien’s chest. She heard the woosh of the flame. The odour of singed hair filled her nostrils.

  “Tell it all, Montbryce,” he shouted, prancing like a tormented soul amid the billowing clouds of steam, the flames of the fire shining in his manic eyes.

  Gallien gritted his teeth. “This pathetic wretch was my wife’s lover.” He looked into Peri’s eyes. “They cuckolded me even before our marriage. Felicité was a whore who flaunted her infidelity.” He looked back at de Villiers who seethed with anger beside him. “I hated her.”

  De Villiers ranted, pacing before the steaming cauldron, promising gleefully to throw Peri into the boiling water after debauching her, but Gallien’s words filled her mind.

  I hated her.

  He had not loved his first wife. She had hurt him, broken his heart. No wonder he had feared to trust his new wife.

  De Villiers growled, thumping his chest with his stump. Sweat plastered his hair to his head. “She was an angel. I loved her. You murdered her, and my child.”

  Gallien’s gaze was still fixed on Peri. Love blazed in those tormented blue depths. Glancing quickly to make sure de Villiers’ eyes were not on her, she looked back at her husband and put her hands to her belly.

  Gallien’s nod told her he understood.

  The raving monster who strutted before her, threatening dire torture, was the cause of Gallien’s misery, and her own. Fury raged in her heart, turning her terror into icy calm. She would not allow him to hurt her husband any longer. She would protect their child.

  The befuddling fog of fear lifted. De Villiers had a dagger tucked in
his belt. It was her one chance. Bracing her clammy hands against the wall, she launched her body at her husband’s tormentor, screaming like a demon newly cast out from hell.

  ~~~

  The bloodcurdling scream that issued from the throat of his dainty Peri stopped Gallien’s heart. At first sight of her, it had struck like a kick in the belly that it was his wife de Villiers intended to kill, not him. He would be left alive to grieve.

  The revelation of her condition had been a shock. Elation and abject fear for her threatened to render him witless. What was she thinking, risking her life and the babe’s? Had fear of rape and a gruesome death spurred her on? As she threw her fragile body at de Villiers, her green eyes glowed with rage, not fear.

  Caught off guard by the onslaught, de Villiers reached for his dagger, dropping the torch. It rolled towards the cauldron. Cursing, he struggled to dislodge her grip from his good arm.

  It was only a matter of time before de Villiers’ superior strength would win out. If Gallien did nothing, the madman might drag Peri to the boiling water and push her in. That or plunge his dagger into her heart.

  Fear for his wife twisted in his gut. Pain gnawed the tortured muscles of his arms. His lacerated back felt like the skin had been peeled from it inch by inch. With the last of his strength, he tightened his shoulders and pulled his battered body up, his biceps on fire. He lashed out with his feet to kick de Villiers in the face, fearing his racked arms might leave their sockets.

  The brute reeled at the impact, stumbling onto the fallen torch. He released Peri, reaching out blindly with his mutilated hand. He screeched as the hot metal of the cauldron seared his stump. The air filled with the stench of burnt flesh and foul swearing as he clutched his arm to his chest.

  Gallien feared the torch would ignite Peri’s skirts. “Kick it away,” he urged.

  Yelling a hair-raising shriek, she nimbly sidestepped the flame, grabbed the dagger, and plunged it into the madman’s injured arm. He bellowed and shoved her away. She teetered, then shoved back. Disbelief clouded his eyes as he lost the fight to keep his balance and fell backwards into the boiling water, his arms and legs flailing, hot water splashing everywhere. Howls of agony rent the air.