He gasped for air. “Don’t worry. I will keep you safe.”
She frowned and it dawned on him his mask had muffled his voice.
She replied, but again he could not hear.
He reached the lower floor, where the bucket brigade seemed to have the fire under control. He stumbled out into the courtyard. Willing hands reached to take the woman from him, but he strode on past piles of furniture, tapestries, paintings, and the like, until they were safely away from the house. He knelt to lay her down carefully on the damp grass then tore off his mask, gulping in air.
The woman reeked of smoke and she coughed uncontrollably. He helped her sit up. She spoke again. He had never been as frustrated by his deafness. She likely judged him an imbecile too dimwitted to reply.
Lucien dropped to his knees beside them, showering kisses on the woman’s face, stroking back her hair. “Rosamunda, sweet sister,” he sobbed.
Jealousy ripped through Adam. He put a hand on Lucien’s shoulder, seized by an inexplicable urge to shove him away. He wanted to be sure of her name, uncertain whether he had heard it correctly at dinner. “She is Rosa?”
Lucien turned a tear-streaked face to him. “Rosamunda. Thank you, Adam. You saved her life.”
Adam was tempted to pound his fists into the man. Instead he looked into the woman’s eyes, seeing the glow of the burning roof reflected there, and rasped, “Rosamunda, I am Adam de Montbryce.”
She smiled and replied. She might have said I know, but how could she know who he was? Impatient rage tore at his heart.
Lucien touched his arm. “She is mute.”
Adam suddenly understood why this young woman had been shut away. Emotions warred within him. If he had been born deaf, would his parents have shunned him? He had only to look at Denis for the answer. But doubtless Rosamunda was not the only child who had suffered neglect because of an impairment.
For reasons unknown to him, he leaned over to brush a kiss on her lips. Her eyes widened and she returned the kiss, curling her arms around his neck.
Lucien scowled.
Adam drew back. This was foolhardy. He had nothing to offer this young woman. He wanted to run his hands over her lovely breasts and shapely hips, evident despite her wretched garb. She was a woman born to bear children.
After what she had suffered, she deserved a man who could give her children, a whole man. If only he had met her before his illness. He came to his feet. “I must find Denis. I leave you in the capable hands of your brother.”
~~~
Rosamunda’s heart raced. In minutes she had gone from terror to elation to despair. She remembered choking in the garderobe, certain death was imminent.
Inexplicably, she had opened her eyes to find herself in the arms of a man she knew in her heart was Adam de Montbryce. His nose and mouth were covered, but his ice blue eyes had burned into her soul. Cradled against his bare chest, she had felt safe, despite the dangerous descent from the attic rooms.
What a sight she must be, yet he had kissed her. The brush of his lips against hers had sent strange new sensations tingling through her body. How she had longed for a voice to properly thank him for saving her life.
But then Lucien’s disclosure of her muteness had dawned on him fully and he had withdrawn, leaving her bereft. Perhaps Paulina had the right of it. Rejection was painful.
Lucien smoothed her hair off her face, his eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Rosamunda. Forgive me my weakness.”
She pressed his hand to her cheek. “Paulina?”
Lucien peered into the darkness. “She is safe. The dwarf saved her.”
She frowned. “Dwarf?”
“It’s a long story, ma soeur. But I cannot tell it yet. Maman and Papa are both dead.”
Rosamunda closed her eyes as tears flowed unbidden. She could not cry for her mother, but she had loved her father despite his weakness.
She and Lucien clung to each other, one in their grief.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Agony gnawed at every bone in his misshapen back and hips, but Denis was determined not to lay his burden down until they were safely away from the house. He fell to his knees in the grass, thankful of Vincent’s help supporting his sister as she slumped forward off Denis’ shoulder.
Kneeling, Vincent cradled her, sobbing. Denis tore the mask from his face, thumping his chest with his fist as fits of coughing racked his body. Panting heavily, trying to control the tremor that had taken hold, he looked through bleary eyes at the woman whose life he had saved.
At least he hoped he had saved her. She had not opened her eyes, despite Vincent’s heartfelt entreaties.
Denis blinked rapidly, sure he must be imagining things. Paulina, for so Vincent had called her, was a beautifully formed woman—but she was his height! He shivered again, but for a different reason. He had been right about the breasts. This was no child. His fingertips tingled. Paulina’s breasts would fit perfectly in his big hands.
He wanted this woman. She had been made for him.
Her eyelashes fluttered and she moaned.
It came to him suddenly what a fearsome sight he must be. His features were ugly at the best of times. If she set eyes on his smoke-blackened face and body—
She will believe she has gone straight to hell and been greeted by an ancient gargoyle!
He scrambled to rise before she opened her eyes, but it was too late. She lifted heavy lids and stared at him. Without blinking, she took several deep breaths.
Over the years he had become indifferent to whether people liked him or not, but his gut roiled at the possibility this woman might be repelled. As he knelt, gazing into her warm brown eyes, aware of the rise and fall of her breasts, Denis was speechless for the first time in his life.
He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, that he would willingly spend his life making amends for the wrongs done to her. But all that came to his lips was, “I am Denis de Sancerre.”
She frowned, looked up at her brother, then back at Denis.
His heart thudded in his ears. He had never felt as vulnerable, and he didn’t like it. Obviously revulsion had struck her dumb.
~~~
One minute Paulina was gasping for breath in the garderobe, the next she was staring into the gaze of a strange little man with a barrel chest and huge forehead. She heard Vincent murmuring her name over and over, begging forgiveness.
It seemed she had not died. She had a vague memory of being carried over someone’s shoulder. Had this miniature man saved her?
She had believed she was the only person of her height, but evidently such was not the case. Her saviour was not handsome, but the longing in his green eyes touched her heart.
Life could not have been easy for this man whose head was too big for his body and whose shoulders seemed permanently hunched. Yet he had an impressive presence. His name confirmed his nobility. This was Adam de Montbryce’s half-brother!
A thousand questions swarmed through her head. Beside her knelt a man of stunted stature who had lived in the world. What was it like? Had he been persecuted? Would she be shunned by people? But his gaze held her in its thrall and she could not get the words out of her mouth.
It came to her suddenly that she had not given a thought to her sister. “Rosamunda?”
Vincent hugged her to his chest. “Rosamunda and Lucien are safe, but maman and papa are dead.”
She shivered, but felt no grief for the parents who had incarcerated her. She looked again at the strange man still kneeling beside her. “Did you save me, Vincent?”
“Non, it was Denis who carried you out.”
Paulina looked back at the house where she had spent her life, the top half now a smouldering ruin, gaunt against the night sky. She was tiny, but it must have taken enormous courage and strength to carry her from the third floor. Was it appropriate to touch his face in thanks? She had no experience of men besides her brothers.
Suddenly the man took her hand and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. Hi
s big hand swamped hers. She had a strange urge to press its warmth to her tingling breast, to touch the hand he had kissed to her own lips. The fire must have addled her wits, or made her ill.
He rolled to his side and came to his feet. For the first time she noticed his misshapen spine and hips. They shared a lack of stature, but his deformities were more severe than hers. Yet he had apparently made his way in the world. Did she have the courage to do the same? Fear shuddered through her. She felt her face redden. She had been staring at him. “I thank you, Denis de Sancerre,” was all she could manage.
He bowed stiffly and walked away.
~~~
Denis clenched his fists. He knew better than to expose his heart. How foolish to imagine that because Paulina was small she would instantly fall in love with him. He was a monster. Sometimes he forgot, but her shudder at the sight of him had reminded him of it sharply.
He suddenly felt cold and very exposed without his shirt. No wonder she had been repulsed. The night air was chilly and the Lallement household had no roof over their heads. He hastened off to locate Adam. They had to get everyone to East Preston as soon as possible.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Paulina and Rosamunda clung together in silence for long minutes, Paulina’s head resting on her sister’s breast. Finally the tears fell.
Vincent brought blankets, then left quickly. They huddled together, watching Adam and Denis help their brothers organise the servants in preparation for departure to East Preston at first light.
Denis de Sancerre’s head came only to his brother’s chest, and his gait was an ungainly stride, but he was as commanding a presence as the taller men.
The servants obeyed his orders without question. Indeed many gaped more at the two women, obviously amazed they had lived in the chambers above them without their knowledge, one of them an obvious freak. Was this how life would be now they were free?
Paulina was relieved no one else had died, though several had to have burns salved, and some of the younger female servants stood together, whimpering. She suspected Denis and Adam had suffered burns, but neither had complained.
The stables had mercifully been spared. Horses were available for their journey. Neither she nor her sister had ever ridden.
The visitors had retrieved their belongings from the lower chambers which had suffered mainly smoke damage. Denis de Sancerre looked like a miniature knight, a sword that must have been specially made for him bouncing on his hip. He had donned a clean shirt and doublet, and somehow managed to wash his face and tie back his thick curly black hair with a leather thong.
Paulina sniffed her bliaut. “I stink, but our clothing is lost.”
Rosamunda rubbed her arms and face. “I want to wash.” She held her nose. “Dirty.”
Paulina pouted. “The servants have ignored us. I suppose they are wondering who we are, and Thomas and Agnès are avoiding us.”
Unexpectedly, Denis was beside them. He set down a bucket of water and put linen rags in their laps. “This will have to suffice, I’m afraid, until we reach East Preston. There you can luxuriate in a hot tub and wash away the smoke.”
Exhausted, Paulina inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, conjuring a vision of lying naked in a tub of hot water, Denis de Sancerre washing her hair, dripping water from a sponge over her breasts, trailing his thick fingers—
She peeled open her lids. In the darkness his eyes sparkled. He smiled, transforming his face into a thing of beauty. Had he read her thoughts? She felt her face redden and breathed a sigh of relief that the darkness hid her embarrassment.
“We thank you, Sir Denis,” she murmured.
He went down on one knee beside them. “Please, not so formal. Simply Denis. I wish I could do more. You have lost a great deal tonight, but at least you are free.”
Rosamunda squealed her delight.
Paulina kept silent. It remained to be seen if freedom brought what Rosamunda expected.
The linen still lay in her lap. Denis took it, dipped it in the water, and carefully cleansed her face. It was the first act of simple kindness anyone outside her family had ever done for her. She wanted to cry like a baby and rain kisses on his full lips.
He dipped the cloth again and moved closer to Rosamunda. Paulina reached up to take the cloth from him. For some reason she did not want him to wash her sister’s face. Their fingers touched. A strange tingling raced up the back of her thighs. “Thank you, Denis. I will take care of my sister.”
He came to his feet and shrugged. “As you wish.”
She trailed the wet cloth down her neck as she watched him walk away. Despite the chill of the night air she suddenly felt very warm.
~~~
Denis strode away, willing his insistent erection to subside. Someone was sure to notice the bulge in his leggings. Thank goodness it was dark. He should never have touched Paulina. It had not been his intention, but desire had swept over him when her eyelashes had fluttered closed. The vision of her perfect little body lying in a tub of soapy water had him hot and bothered. The brief touch of her fingers had been his complete undoing.
He was angry. Had he not learned years ago that he was destined to be a lifelong bachelor? Besides, Adam needed him now. His brother could never marry. This sudden infatuation with Paulina had to stop. Was it because she matched him in height that he was taken with her? Ridiculous! He was deformed, she was tiny. There was no reason on earth why she should have feelings for him.
And what of her sister? Why was Paulina protective of her? As far as Denis could see she had no deformity. Why had she been incarcerated? He had mentioned it briefly to Adam while they were hastily retrieving their belongings, but his brother had shrugged off the question and stalked out of the chamber.
~~~
Rosamunda chafed whenever she lost sight of Adam de Montbryce. The story of the rescue of Devona Melton had formed an image of the heroic Montbryces in her mind. Adam was its living embodiment.
She admired how he had immediately offered shelter at East Preston. It was a relief they would not be exposed to the elements for more than one night. She was at once filled with elation and apprehension—she was going to his home, or at least to the place he lived when he was in England. He was a true Norman. His father had apparently fought in the Battle of Hastings, but had returned to Normandie after the Conquest of England.
Rosamunda and her siblings belonged to the second generation of her family born in England. But she was a descendant of Normans, proud of the oft-told tales of the Conqueror and his people who had brought fine architecture, good government, culture and refinement to the Saxon people of England.
But she had never visited Normandie, only gazed out her window, longing to see its distant shores. Her brothers had been allowed to travel to their ancestral homeland and she and her sister had enjoyed the tales of their journeys.
As if conjured by her thoughts, Vincent touched her arm. “Let’s get you and Paulina into the stables.”
Exhausted, they made their way to an empty horse stall, where they curled up together in the straw. Vincent covered them with blankets.
Rosamunda dozed fitfully, dreaming of listening to Adam de Montbryce’s deep voice as they rode together through the green fields and forests of Normandie.
She was free at last.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Paulina pouted, feeling like a petulant child. “You can’t stay here, Vincent. You must accompany us. We are unused to people and at East Preston we will be among strangers.”
Her brother hunkered down and embraced her. “Lucien and I must see to the burial of our parents and make plans for rebuilding. Adam and Denis are honourable men. They will treat you as their sisters. We will join you in a few days.”
She had a sudden urge to blurt out that she did not want to be treated as Denis de Sancerre’s sister. His hungry gaze after the rescue had made her feel desirable, for the first time in her life. “We should stay for the burial.”
Vincent recogniz
ed this suggestion for the half hearted ploy it was. “That’s not a good idea. You would endanger your mortal soul by wishing maman consigned to hell.”
Paulina sulked, further infuriated by Rosamunda’s sly grin. She plucked straw from her sister’s hair. “What is funny?”
Rosamunda rubbed her hands together gleefully, then pointed to the sun peeking over the horizon. “Sunrise.”
Paulina’s mouth fell open. Fear held her in its thrall, whereas her sister was already enjoying the first taste of what freedom might mean. “It’s beautiful,” she admitted.
Lucien came up behind the threesome gazing at the dawn’s early glow. “I’ve made a space in one of the wagons for you.”
Paulina whirled around. “A wagon? With the servants?”
Her brother took a step back. “How else will you get to East Preston?”
Paulina stamped her foot again, tears welling. She would not feel comfortable sitting in a wagon full of gawking servants. “Why can Rosamunda and I not ride?”
Vincent rolled his eyes. “How can you ride, sister? You have no horse.”
Without thinking, she blurted out, “Non! But I could ride behind Denis de Sancerre.”
Rosamunda blushed.
Lucien groaned.
Vincent scratched his head. “Ladies do not ride astride, Paulina. You cannot ride behind him in a nightshift and bliaut.”
“In front then! I can sit on his lap,” she countered.
Red faced, Vincent and Lucien looked at each other. Lucien shifted his weight nervously. Vincent coughed into his fist.
Paulina gritted her teeth. “I will not ride with the servants, and neither will Rosamunda.”
~~~
A warm glow shivered its way from Rosamunda’s core to the tips of her toes and thence up her spine to the top of her head and back by way of her breasts. If Paulina rode with Denis, Adam might allow her to ride with him.
Haunted Knights (Montbryce~The Next Generation Historical Romance) Page 6