Haunted Knights (Montbryce~The Next Generation Historical Romance)

by Anna Markland

  Alain smiled, licking his lips. He did not raise his voice in reply, but spoke slowly and clearly. “Indeed. Friselle came to us on the recommendation of the Lallements.”

  Adam frowned. “From Kingston Gorse?”

  Alain’s nod confirmed it.

  By rights, noblesse obliged they ride to Kingston Gorse to thank their neighbours, but the prospect filled Adam with trepidation.

  Denis tapped him on the shoulder. Adam turned to look at his brother, suspecting what the persistent little devil would say.

  “We should ride over there tomorrow to thank them. I have never met the Lallements.” He winked. “Do they have daughters?”

  Adam cringed, thankful to reply in the negative. “Non. Two sons. Lucien and Vincent. Good men.”

  Denis shrugged. “Too bad! From the stories, I thought the family at Kingston Gorse were Marquands?”

  “Originally they were. Sir Stephen Marquand gave the estate to his daughter as her dowry when she married Marc Lallement.”

  Denis came to his feet. “Then we should ride there on the morrow to thank Sir Marc and his good lady.”

  Adam wrinkled his nose. “I doubt if either Sir Marc or Lady Maudine were responsible for the new cook.”

  Denis regained his seat, his brow furrowed.

  Alain Cormant interrupted. “Milord Adam is correct. Lucien Lallement directed Friselle to us.”

  The corners of Denis’ mouth turned down. “The Lallement parents are not very sociable?”

  Adam laughed out loud, suddenly aware it was the first time since his illness. “That’s putting it mildly. Lady Maudine Lallement is downright unfriendly, and Sir Marc behaves as if he is shielding some deep, dark secret.”

  Denis laughed too. “We won’t concern ourselves with the parents, if the sons are good company. I am anxious to become acquainted with people in these parts.” He spread his arms wide and winked at Adam. “I wager they have never met anyone like me before.”

  Adam could not help but smile. “You are no doubt right on that score.”

  “We ride on the morrow then.”

  Adam met the challenge in his brother’s eyes. “Oui, on the morrow.”

  ~~~

  Relief washed over Denis. Much was riding on forcing Adam to face his impairment. It pained him to see his good natured, outgoing brother sink into despondent isolation. Heartened by Adam’s willingness to engage Cormant in conversation, he had gambled that a gentle push would persuade him to travel to Kingston Gorse.

  He worried about what he had learned of the lord and lady, but if the sons were gentlemen, where lay the harm?

  Denis enjoyed meeting new people, though invariably their first reaction upon seeing him was one of shock and embarrassment. They never knew where to look. He had learned to expect that. He relished their further surprise when it quickly became apparent he was not a mad freak, but an articulate and cultured man.

  If only there existed a woman somewhere who might overlook his dwarfism and love him for the man he was. He had come across a few female dwarfs in his travels, mostly itinerant entertainers, part of a troupe. Their crude, bawdy humour amused him, but they did nothing to arouse his male interest.

  He was destined to live a bachelor life. Now Adam had been condemned to the same fate. Was it meant to be? God’s will? The Giant and the Dwarf, boon companions to the end. A pang of guilt stabbed him—perhaps deep within his heart he was glad Adam had been rendered impotent.

  One thing was sure. He would never desert his beleaguered brother.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lucien and Vincent Lallement rode out of the courtyard bound for East Preston. At the outer gate, they reined their horses to a halt and looked back at the ivy covered walls of their home. Their gaze inevitably travelled from the stone walls of the lower floor to the half timbered sections of the second and attic storeys. It had become a ritual whenever they left the house.

  Lucien clenched his jaw. “She can’t see this side of the house, but Rosamunda’s face will be pressed against the glass of their window.”

  Vincent tightened his grip on the reins. “She longs to be free, to explore the outside world. She’ll miss us.”

  They exchanged a glance, then quickly averted their eyes. Lucien’s gut roiled. The injustice was more and more intolerable. He recognized the torment in his brother’s eyes. “This situation must end,” he exclaimed.

  Vincent pressed his fingertips to his forehead. “You are right, brother, but I have no solution to offer.”

  Exasperated, Lucien urged his horse to a gallop. Vincent followed. They rode hard for half a mile along the southern coast of England. The brisk breeze and the smell of the sea filled Lucien’s nostrils. He loved the white cliffs, the endless beaches and inspiring coastal vistas of his native Sussex. He half closed his eyes, wishing he might somehow stumble on a way to free his sisters without disobeying and disgracing his parents.

  As he turned inland to East Preston, he crested a rise, peering over his shoulder through the swirling sand stirred up by his horse’s hooves to see if his brother still rode close behind.

  He almost careened into two riders coming the other way. The four steeds snorted and bucked as their riders reined them in.

  “What the hell!” Vincent exclaimed, struggling to control his frenzied horse.

  “Merde!” one of the unknown riders shouted.

  The cloud of dust from the sandy terrain gradually settled, revealing four indignant horsemen glaring at each other, blinking away the grit, hands on the hilts of their swords.

  Lucien’s mouth fell open in astonishment; one of the other riders was a dwarf. He blurted out words without thinking. “Who the hell are you?”

  The dwarf rose in the stirrups, drawing his sword. “I am Denis de Sancerre, who the fyke are you?”

  A loud cough caught Lucien’s attention. He immediately recognized Adam de Montbryce. The Norman looked thinner than the last time he had seen him, but there was no mistaking the black hair and noble bearing.

  “Milord de Montbryce,” he exclaimed. “We were on our way to see you.”

  Adam frowned as he peered through the settling dust. “Lucien! We are coming to visit you! Put up your sword, Denis.”

  The dwarf scowled, but did as Montbryce bade him.

  Lucien’s eyes were fixed on the miniature knight.

  Adam nudged his horse alongside the dwarf’s, putting a hand on his shoulder. “May I properly introduce my brother, Denis de Sancerre. Denis, my friends and neighbours, Lucien and Vincent Lallement.”

  ~~~

  Denis had long ago become inured to the rude stares of others when they first set eyes on him. But the way the Lallement brothers gaped was unnerving. They seemed struck dumb.

  “Never seen a dwarf before?” he goaded.

  They exchanged a quick glance, and swallowed hard. “A thousand apologies, milord Denis,” Lucien stammered, his face reddening. “It’s just that—er—” He looked again to his brother, as if seeking help.

  Denis curled his lip in disgust. “Didn’t you say these were gentlemen?” he asked Adam, though it was unlikely his brother would hear his aside.

  Adam nudged his horse forward. “It is indeed a coincidence we chose the same day to call one on the other. I estimate we are closer to Kingston Gorse. We could return there with you.”

  To Denis’ further disgust, the Lallements hesitated. Were they afraid he might taint their home? “Your friends seem hesitant,” he declared loudly. “Perhaps we should invite them to East Preston instead.”

  “Again, my apologies, mes seigneurs,” Vincent offered, dismounting and bowing to both Normans. “We would be honoured to escort you to Kingston Gorse. We are distracted because our mother is—not well. But that is no reason not to extend our hospitality to you.”

  Adam frowned. Denis knew he had not heard Vincent Lallement’s explanation. Not wanting to make his brother’s impediment obvious, he looked him full in the face. “If Madame Lallement is indisposed, w
e should return with your friends to East Preston.”

  Adam had previously mentioned Lady Lallement’s temperament. If she was as rude as her sons, he had no wish to ever go to Kingston Gorse.

  “Please, we insist,” Vincent reiterated.

  Denis evidently did not scowl hard enough at Adam. With a shrug, his brother agreed to accompany the Lallements to Kingston Gorse.

  ~~~

  As they neared his home, Vincent’s guts were in knots. Lucien’s face betrayed the same worry. A dwarf! Their mother would faint dead away.

  But what of Paulina? Should he smuggle her down from the hidden chambers to meet this miniature knight? What if she was repulsed by his features? Denis de Sancerre might be the right height for his tiny sister, but he was not a handsome man, though his bearing was dignified and noble. He certainly looked strong for all he lacked stature.

  And what ailed Adam de Montbryce? He seemed detached, ignoring most of the idle chatter Vincent and Lucien directed his way. It was irritating that the dwarf kept repeating everything they said.

  Montbryce had always been an outgoing fellow. Now he appeared lost in thought, morose. Had someone dear to him died?

  “Are you well, Adam?” Vincent ventured.

  Montbryce glanced up at him sharply, then at Sancerre. “Forgive me, Vincent. I have been ill. My malady affected my hearing. I am slowly learning how to discern what people say by watching their mouths, but I am not yet proficient in the skill.”

  “Forgive me. I will try to speak more clearly. My father often complains I mumble.”

  Deaf!

  Vincent’s heart leapt into his throat. A man who was deaf might not care if his wife was mute.

  But how to ensure Montbryce and Rosamunda met? It would be a challenge persuading their mother to allow a dwarf to remain under her roof. A thousand possibilities swirled in his mind. Lucien too seemed lost in thought. If only they’d had some foreknowledge of these incredible events.

  A stable boy took the reins of the four horses in the courtyard of Kingston Gorse. He seemed unable to take his eyes off Denis de Sancerre. Lucien glared at him as he motioned the visitors to the entryway of the manor.

  Adam had removed his gloves and was swatting the dust from his boots. “I hope your mother is sufficiently recovered. I wish to thank her for sending us our new cook.”

  Vincent’s heart fell. If his mother learned he and Lucien had finagled to get Friselle away from the oppressive kitchens of Kingston Gorse, there would be hell to pay.

  Lucien cleared his throat loudly as Maudine Lallement’s voice echoed off the stone floor of the entryway. “Lucien? Vincent? Why are you home already? I thought—”

  Adam and Denis both bowed as she came into view. The colour drained from her face when she saw Denis.

  Lucien rushed to take her hand as she swayed. “Maman, you remember Adam de Montbryce from East Preston. And may I introduce—”

  Maudine Lallement stood mere inches from Adam de Montbryce. If he had not already been deaf, the strident shriek that emerged from her throat would have rendered him so. The screeching went on and on as she pointed a quivering finger at Denis.

  Vincent had lived with his mother’s eccentricities his whole life, but shame washed over him as the depth of her madness dawned on him. He strode to help his brother restrain her as she tried to sweep Denis from the house. “Get it out! Get that evil goblin out of my home.”

  Marc Lallement appeared. “What is going on?”

  His mouth fell open when he espied Denis.

  Sweat trickled down Vincent’s spine as he and his brother struggled with his demented parent. Their father seemed rooted to the spot where he stood. “Maman is unwell. Please summon her maid to her chamber.”

  They strong-armed her up the stairs, still shrieking. Vincent looked down at the entryway. His father had disappeared, leaving Adam de Montbryce and Denis de Sancerre to stare at the scene on the stairway.

  Vincent opened his mouth, but what to say? His mother’s madness would now become known far and wide. And he was sure Adam and Denis would leave immediately, never to set foot in Kingston Gorse again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rosamunda and Paulina clung to each other in their aerie atop the house. Even here they heard frightful shrieks. What was going on? Was the house under attack? Surely the Saxon brigands Lucien had mentioned were wreaking havoc further north?

  Rosamunda saw no evidence of invading forces through their tiny window. Seagulls soared on the breeze, but there was no sign of human life.

  The screams became more muffled, then stopped entirely. Foreboding washed over Rosamunda. Had their mother died? Would her death mean their freedom?

  Guilt and hope warred in her heart.

  Had she heard Lucien’s voice amid the screaming and shouting? How could that be? Her brothers had gone off to East Preston.

  She had rung the hand bell several times to call Agnès or Thomas, but no one came. They never divulged anything in any event. Rosamunda suspected they lived in fear of their mistress. Lucien and Vincent were careful to do her bidding and their father was completely under his wife’s thumb.

  Perhaps Thomas had been summoned to assist with whatever crisis had arisen. There was nothing to prevent Rosamunda from sneaking to the landing to see what was going on.

  She pressed her ear to the door.

  Nothing.

  “What are you doing?” Paulina murmured.

  Rosamunda pressed her forefinger to her lips, pointing to the door.

  Paulina grasped her arm. “Non! I am afraid.”

  Rosamunda put her arm around her sister’s shoulders, her other hand fluttering over her heart. “I am afraid too.” She shook her head, gesturing to the chamber. “This is not a life.”

  Paulina averted her eyes. “I am content here with you.”

  Rosamunda wanted to hug her sister, to reassure her she and Vincent and Lucien would protect her in the world outside, if they were freed. It was fear of ridicule that held the tiny woman in its thrall. But time was of the essence.

  Paulina gasped and squeezed her eyes shut as Rosamunda opened the door. Neither had noticed before how loudly the hinges squeaked. Rosamunda took her first step over the threshold in eighteen years, her heart beating in her ears.

  The planked floor creaked underfoot despite her efforts to tread softly. Sweat trickled between her breasts. She held out her arms at her sides, as if walking the high parapets she glimpsed daily from her window.

  She inched her way to the wooden railing that led to the stairs. Her legs felt like lead weights. Dare she look over? Their chambers were three storeys up. Would she see to the bottom if she peeked over the precipice? She had been born in her parents’ chamber on the second floor, but had no memory of it. The ground floor was a complete unknown.

  Holding her breath, she gripped the railing and peered over.

  It was the first time she had seen the elaborate chequered floor below. The design drew her. She stared until she became dizzy, remembering what her brothers had told her of its history.

  When she was seven she had listened with rapt attention to the ongoing account of a grand project taking place in the lower reaches of the house. Upon her return from the consecration of Winchester Cathedral, Maudine Lallement had insisted upon the installation of a stone slab floor in the entryway of her home, like the one in the church’s north aisle. Nothing would dissuade her from the idea. At great expense, marble was hauled ninety miles from Purbeck, and a sort of light grey and dark brown pattern emerged as a result.

  Their father had complained when his wife wanted white marble interspersed with the dark. She urged him to bring it from Carrara in Italy, but he balked at this. Undeterred, Maudine ordered some of the slabs lime washed regularly to lighten them.

  As Rosamunda gazed, someone walked into the patterned space. A man! Black hair, tall. Speaking Norman French. His deep, commanding voice reached even her high perch. “I say we stay.”

  She saw on
ly the top of his head and broad shoulders, but a strange warmth flooded her body. Winged creatures fluttered in her belly.

  “Yes, stay,” she mouthed, gripping the railing more tightly, swaying in a trance. “Please stay.”

  She crumpled to the floor before she succumbed to the urge to rush down the stairs and into the stranger’s arms.

  As she lay panting, slumped against the rails, another voice reached her. Indignant, yet respectful. “You are not the one being treated like a freak.”

  Alarm surged through her. She had to look. She hauled herself to her feet. Another black-haired man. He looked shorter, yet still broad shouldered.

  Vincent and Lucien had shown off their skill at a popular new game of strategy. Father had bought them a handsome set of carved game pieces. The men below postured like two knights playing esches, tension evident in their stance, even from a distance.

  Her sister’s voice intruded. “Psst! Rosamunda!”

  The smaller knight looked up. Rosamunda crouched quickly, but not before catching a glimpse of a high forehead and enormous eyes.

  She sat rooted to the spot, sweating, until she heard Lucien’s voice. Plucking up her courage, she stood slowly and looked over the railing again. Now there were four knights on the esches field. Vincent and Lucien were home, the latter apparently apologising profusely to the shorter man.

  Rosamunda deduced at once the visitors were Adam de Montbryce and his half-brother. Denis, was it? But why had they come? And why was maman screeching? What had gone wrong?

  The men left the entryway in silence, walking stiffly, evidently bound for some other ground floor chamber, perhaps the Hall of which Vincent and Lucien had often spoken. Echoes of their booted feet striking stone reached her.

  Rosamunda crept back to Paulina who was clinging nervously to the door frame. She held up two fingers. “Men, visitors.”

  Paulina dragged her back into the room and shoved the door closed. “If she catches you—”

  Rosamunda shook her head, disentangling her arm from Paulina’s grasp. She put her hands together and put them to the side of her head. “Maman is abed, I think.”