“What of his brother, Izzy?” Paulina asked.
Rosamunda bit into her knuckles. The mention of the name brought on the urge to giggle.
Lucien shrugged as Vincent entered the chamber with a fistful of roses. “Izzy stayed home in Domfort. He still suffers greatly from l’arthrite in his hands.”
Vincent twisted one hand grotesquely, sticking out his tongue as he presented the roses to Paulina. “I managed to filch these from the garden without Maman knowing of it. She’d have my head.”
Paulina beamed. Roses were guaranteed to draw out her beautiful smile. Ironically, Rosamunda had been named for the prickly shrub.
Rosamunda clasped her hands together, the edges of her mouth turned down in a gesture of sympathy for this unknown warrior with the painful affliction.
Paulina savoured the roses’ perfume and voiced her sister’s thoughts, as often happened between them. “How does he hold a sword?”
Lucien frowned. “With great difficulty, I think. His hands were gnarled the last I saw him and Melton says it is getting worse.”
Rosamunda took each brother by the hand and drew them to the comfortable upholstered chairs by the hearth. It was a ritual they understood. She wanted to hear about their travels.
“Melton is well,” Vincent began.
Rosamunda put a hand on his arm and touched her face and hair, arching her brows.
Lucien chuckled. “Melton? He’s a handsome fellow. All the Montbryces are. He’s tall, strong looking, and has long dark hair.”
Rosamunda pointed to her eyes.
Vincent shrugged. “Not sure. Blue, perhaps. What say you brother?”
“No idea!” Lucien replied. “I don’t pay attention to such things.”
Rosamunda sighed with exasperation. Eye colour revealed a lot. Resignation darkened her sister’s warm brown eyes. When her brothers told of their adventures, their blue eyes lit up a room like the summer sky.
The green of her own eyes deepened when she peered into the looking glass and ran her hands over her breasts.
Lately she had been troubled with wanton urges to touch forbidden places on her body. Her thoughts and dreams wandered to images of handsome young knights, all bearing the face she had conjured many years ago from what she knew of the heroic Montbryce brothers.
She averted her gaze to hide the tears welling in her eyes. She wanted desperately to escape, but no nobleman wanted a wife who could not speak.
Lucien crooked his finger under her chin. “Don’t cry, ma soeur. Your imprisonment is cruel and unjust. As soon as we are able, Vincent and I will free you both. But for the moment, it is Maman who rules the house.”
Paulina backed away from the hearth, clutching the roses. “Non!” she shouted. “I am content to remain here.”
Rosamunda grasped her sister’s arm, thumping her own chest, shaking her head vehemently.
Paulina broke free. “I am a freak. Do you think I want to be gawked at and ridiculed?”
Vincent came to his feet. “You are not a freak, Paulina. Neither of you are. You must not allow Maman’s despair to destroy you.”
Paulina choked back a sob. “If a mother cannot love a child—”
Rosamunda touched her heart, gripping her sister’s hand. “I love you,” she mouthed.
“So do we,” both men echoed.
The four children of Marc and Maudine Lallement clung to each other in silent sorrow for long moments.
It was Lucien who finally cleared his throat and sniffed loudly. “Anyway, there is other news from Melton. His cousin, Adam de Montbryce is en route to East Preston, with his half brother, Denis de Sancerre.”
Rosamunda opened her mouth but Vincent held up his hand. “Before you ask, Adam looks exactly like Melton. But I’ve never met Denis, therefore I cannot describe him to you.”
Paulina pouted. “What does it matter, Rosamunda? Why do you care about these men? You and I will never meet them. If we did, they would turn away in horror when they discovered our impediments.”
Lucien shook his head. “The Montbryces are chivalrous noblemen. They would never slight a woman.”
Paulina scowled, shaking her head.
Lucien hesitated, casting a glance at his brother. Rosamunda sensed there was more.
She punched Lucien’s shoulder and frowned.
“I’m not sure,” he replied hesitantly. “There is something wrong, but Melton did not divulge what it is.”
“Wrong?” Paulina asked.
Vincent grimaced. “Oui, with Adam de Montbryce. I sensed it too. Mayhap we were mistaken. They will be at East Preston after the morrow. We’ll ride over in a few days to bid them welcome.”
Lucien and Vincent took their leave when Agnès arrived with the midday meal. Rosamunda bade her brothers farewell, letting them know she eagerly awaited news on their return from East Preston.
~~~
Lucien and Vincent Lallement did not exchange a word until they reached Vincent’s chamber. It was the pattern they followed whenever they left their incarcerated sisters. As they had grown to manhood, the injustice of the imprisonment had grated on them more and more.
Lucien slammed the door and leaned back against it. “It’s intolerable, brother.”
Vincent sat on the edge of his bed and slumped forward, his head in his hands. “I agree, but what can we do? If we expose the truth now, Maman will never forgive us. She will cast the girls out, maybe us too. The Lallement family will be shunned. Papa would never be invited to attend court functions again.”
Lucien paced. “Not to mention people might wonder why we had done nothing before. We too might be judged cruel.”
Vincent looked up. “Perhaps if we spirited them away to a convent?”
Lucien snorted. “We may as well condemn Rosamunda to death, and Paulina would become more convinced she should remain hidden.”
Vincent came slowly to his feet. “You’re right. We’d better hasten to the Hall. Maman will nag if we are late.”
Lucien stopped pacing. “In some ways, our parents are the true prisoners.”
Vincent put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You and I are thoroughly caught in their web of lies. It becomes increasingly difficult not to blurt out something Paulina or Rosamunda has said or done. They are beautiful young women any man would be proud to have as sisters, yet we cannot acknowledge their existence.”
Lucien clenched his jaw. “For now we must remain silent.”
~~~
Marc Lallement sat next to his wife in the Hall and watched her distress grow. Servants stood ready to serve the midday meal, but Lucien and Vincent were not yet seated in their places. Maudine would not give the signal. The servants coughed nervously, shifting their feet, which he knew only intensified her rage. He was surprised she had not already dispatched one of them in search of her sons. They had passed the five minute mark, he was sure.
He raised his goblet to his lips, but hastily put it down when his wife glared at him.
He was bone weary of the conflict. Guilt tore at his heart. His sweet Maudine had become a shrew. He had worried about her sanity after the episode with the knotted belt. The birth of a second daughter who was mute had overwhelmed her wits. He was becoming obsessed with ways to rid her of her torment. He pushed from his mind the terrifying possibility that ending her life was one of them.
It had been madness to agree to their incarceration in the first place. He had been so besotted he had allowed not one, but two of his children to be imprisoned in their own home. Had he feared losing the dowry estate of Kingston Gorse if his wife had repudiated him?
Rosamunda and Paulina were beautiful young women. If only Maudine visited them, she would see. But she refused to discuss it. As far as she was concerned, her daughters were dead.
He worried for his sons, increasingly aware of their censure and discomfort. He thanked God at least two of his children had been born whole. When the boys were infants, it was less likely they might accidentally reveal the
truth. Now they were young knights who travelled throughout Sussex. They visited sons of neighbouring Norman families, often practising swordplay and other tactics. Many of their friends had sisters.
Maudine thrust out her chin as their sons entered the Hall. Lucien bowed to his mother. “Maman, I’m sorry—”
Maudine held up her hand, her mouth puckered into a tight line. “Sorry is not good enough. You are both aware of my expectations. What are we supposed to do, sit here and wait, not knowing when you plan to arrive?”
The servants examined the oaken beams, or the planked floor, or their feet as their mistress’s voice became more and more shrill.
Vincent and Lucien stood with heads bowed. Marc’s heart broke for them.
Finally, she ceased her tirade and beckoned to the cook. Their sons took their places in silence. Rabbit stew was hastily heaped onto the trenchers placed before the Lallements. The servants stepped back. Maudine glared at them, inhaled the aroma of the dish before her, then nodded. They retreated.
She turned to look at the men of her family. “You may start now.”
Marc’s gut was in knots. His appetite fled as he watched the juices of the stew trickle into the stale bread of his trencher, but if he did not eat he would never hear the end of it. He tore off the edge of the trencher and bit into it, tasting the bitter gall of his own cowardice.
CHAPTER FIVE
East Preston, Sussex, England
After the journey from Normandie, Adam hoped to ease his weariness with a long soak in the big wooden tub. Denis had tried hard to keep up his spirits on the way, but it had been an effort to concentrate on what he was saying.
Adam had dreaded the reaction of the servants at East Preston when they became aware of his deafness. They meant well and were devastated at his affliction, but he hastily took his leave of them after ordering up the tub.
If they followed the example of the servants at Belisle, they would now walk round on tiptoe, averting their eyes whenever they came into his presence. Or they would bellow at him in the belief it made a difference.
Thank God his other physical torment was not visible to them. His previous determination to remain chaste until his marriage did not mean he had lacked male urges. Far from it. As a youth he’d had a seemingly permanent hard-on. His cock had always stood ready to demonstrate its interest in an attractive female. He had never thrust his manhood into a woman’s sheath, but had enjoyed the ministrations of many eager to use their mouths on him. They had taught him how to please them without penetration.
His shaft failed to stir at the memory.
As he hauled his body out of the tub he looked down at the water running off the flesh between his legs. Everything looked normal, but his shaft seemed incapable of rousing itself.
Hopelessness washed over him. Denis had assured him constantly it was likely a temporary problem, but it had been weeks now, and he might as well be a monk for the interest his manhood had shown in any female he had encountered.
Perhaps encouragement might help matters. He cringed as he cupped his couilles with one hand and grasped his flaccid member with the other. That had usually caused things to stir, but now—nothing.
Sweat broke out on his brow as he strained to pump life into his shaft. Bile rose in his throat. Despair gripped him. He thrust back his head, willing the familiar urges to surge into his body.
Suddenly the door creaked open. He spun around. A red faced maidservant squealed her shock, eyes bulging, hands clamped over her mouth. A heap of drying linens lay at her feet. “I knocked, milord, but—”
The sweat on his body turned to ice as he splayed his hands over his groin. “Get out!” he bellowed. “Out! Vite! Stupid wench!”
The girl let out a strangled cry and fled, bumping into Denis.
Denis stooped quickly to pick up a drying cloth and thrust it at Adam. “Cover yourself.”
Adam threw the linen back at him, his heart thudding in his ears. He stretched his arms wide. “Take a good look. It will be on everyone’s lips that milord’s testicles aren’t what they should be.”
Denis handed the linen back and pointed to his own eyes, shaking his head. “She barely had time to see anything, Adam. And she spoke the truth when she told you she knocked.” He pointed to the door. “I was down the hall.”
Adam cinched the linen at his waist and slumped onto the bed. “I am a useless eunuch, Denis, a shadow of a man.”
Denis stood in front of Adam, hands on his hips. “I am not the person to whine to. I will aid you in any way I can.” He wagged a finger. “But I will not listen to your self-pity.”
Adam slouched on the bed, yet Denis had to reach up to put his hands over his brother’s ears. “Life has dealt you a double blow, brother.” He struck his chest with a fisted hand. “But you are a warrior.”
Adam hung his head. “I no longer have a warrior’s heart.” His words were a distant echo in his ears, but he heard the self pity and hated himself for it.
Denis retrieved more linens. “Now, dry yourself.” He lifted his hand to his mouth. “Get ready to dine in the Hall.”
Fatigue swept over Adam. “I cannot. I will eat in my chamber.”
Denis went to the armoire where servants had stored Adam’s clothing. He brought out a shirt, doublet and leggings, which he threw on the bed. He prodded Adam’s belly. “You are our father’s representative in this manor. You will eat with the rest of us in the Hall. I will send a servant to help you dress.”
Adam leapt to his feet. Had he understood correctly? “Non! I will dress myself.”
Denis smiled. “As you wish.” He pressed his palm to his chest and made a mock bow. “Or, as we have done for each other innumerable times before, I can be your valet.”
It was true. He and Denis had often acted as each other’s valet when away from home. Denis’ lack of stature had not been an issue. Adam had never given it a second thought when he had helped Denis dress. Why was he now uncomfortable with the notion of his half brother helping him don his clothing?
Denis had made it clear Adam’s deafness and impotency had no bearing on his feelings of brotherly love. If it were Denis who had been stricken, would Adam love him any less?
Adam raked his hands through his still wet hair. “I am a coward.”
~~~
Fearing he might sob out loud at the sight of his brother’s dejection, Denis grabbed a drying cloth and vigorously rubbed Adam’s thighs with it. “Listen, brother.”
He chopped his hand across his arm. “When Isembart Jubert lost his arm to an enemy sword, did he immediately get to his feet and carry on his life as it was before?”
Adam inhaled deeply. Denis had hoped mention of Izzy’s namesake would stir him. He rushed on. “Non, of course not.” He touched his arm, then his heart. “The body and the soul need time to heal. He was no longer capable of being a warrior, but Isembart became the only one armed rat-catcher I have ever heard of, acknowledged as the best in all of Normandie. It was his courage and tenacity that saved oncle Hugh’s life.”
Adam seemed to understand the gist of what he was saying. “And tante Devona’s.”
He shrugged into the doublet Denis handed to him, and went down on one knee. Denis did up the fastenings. How often he had wished for his brother’s height, though he did not envy him his present predicament.
Their eyes met. Denis determined to ignore the desolation that darkened Adam’s gaze. “Not that I seek pity for myself, but life has not been easy for me. There have been times when despair has threatened to overwhelm me, but I resolved long ago to be the best man I could be. Stature has nothing to do with courage, or honesty or valour.”
Adam came to his feet, resting a hand on Denis’ shoulder as he stepped into his braies and then his leggings. Denis reached to fasten the points.
“Merci, Denis,” Adam rasped. “Not only for helping me dress.”
Denis slapped him on the thigh. “You’re welcome. Let’s go.”
~~~
> To his surprise, the maidservant who had seen him with his hands on his shaft winked at Adam as she served his food.
Denis leaned over. “She probably thinks you were doing what many men do for their pleasure.”
Adam felt relieved, though he had not grasped everything Denis had said. His deafness was readily apparent, but the fewer who knew of his other problem, the better.
The food in England was never as good as in Normandie, but tonight the venison was excellent. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask his steward, Alain Cormant, if he had employed a new cook, but he hesitated, aware he would be unable to hear the reply.
He had always enjoyed a good conversation, but now—
Perhaps if he watched Cormant’s mouth as he spoke, he might discern what the man was saying. It was beginning to be thus with Denis, but he had known his brother all his life, recognized his mannerisms and mode of speech. Strangers would be more difficult.
However, he had to try. He could not remain alone in his silent world. Marriage was out of the question, but his impairment did not mean he could not enjoy friends, family. Homesickness washed over him.
His departure had made things more difficult for his family, especially his father and mother, but he feared his resentment at Mathieu’s actions might erupt and cause irreparable damage. Thank God Denis had insisted on sticking with him. He might have gone mad otherwise.
Taking a deep breath, he turned to his left to look Cormant in the face. “The meat is tasty, Alain. Do we have a new cook?”
Alain Cormant was the son of Barat who had come from Normandie long ago to assist in the stewardship of the Sussex manors the Montbryce brothers had been granted by William the Conqueror.
Barat, and his brother Théobald, had played an important role in the rescue of Adam’s tante Devona. They had also helped in the rebuilding of East Preston, left derelict for many years after the Conquest.
Alain had been born at East Preston and taken over as Steward of all the Sussex properties when his father and uncle retired to Normandie. Adam trusted him.
Haunted Knights (Montbryce~The Next Generation Historical Romance) Page 3