Haunted Knights (Montbryce~The Next Generation Historical Romance)

by Anna Markland

  “Oui, but don’t be afraid. It’s a baby cat. A kitten. I think her mother has abandoned her.”

  Paulina gasped and reached out her arms. “Kitten,” she whispered. “Abandoned.”

  “Lean back on the wall of the well, and I’ll put her in your arms. Careful! She might scratch. Tickle her ears. Kittens love that. Hold the scruff of her neck like this at first. She’ll get used to you.”

  She held her breath as he passed the animal. The kitten quickly gave up her protests, settling into the swell of Paulina’s breasts, narrowing its eyes as she stroked its head. “She’s making a noise.”

  The innocently seductive smile that accompanied this observation sent blood rushing to Denis’ groin. “It’s called purring.”

  I’d be purring too if my head was resting on those lovely globes.

  Frantically he sought inspiration to make her smile again. “You should choose a name for her.”

  Naming cats! His brothers would suspect lunacy!

  She frowned, pursing her lips. “She’s many beautiful colours, golden brown, white, black.”

  Suddenly, her frown intensified. “How can you tell it’s a she?”

  He coughed as his erection bucked. In Normandie he had never heard of a male brindled cat, but perhaps in England, things were different. “We can check.”

  He took the kitten from her and cupped it in his hand, lifting its tail, then parting the fur below its belly. It wriggled, clawing at the air. No little penis or couilles, thank God. He might have erupted in his leggings. He breathed a sigh of relief. “She does not have male parts.”

  Paulina looked at him curiously as he handed the kitten back to her. “Male parts?”

  Dieu! How had this discussion come about? The woman had two brothers for God’s sake.

  He swallowed hard, feeling his face redden. “Males have male parts, whereas females have—female parts.”

  What an idiot!

  She nodded thoughtfully, obviously interested in learning something new. But she blushed as she added, “Just as I have breasts, and you don’t.”

  The light touch of her palm on her breast undid him. “Ou—oui,” he stammered, running his finger over the kitten’s belly. When our friend here bears kittens you will see little—”

  The word stuck in his throat. Instead he murmured, “Teats. We call them teats on cats.”

  “Teats,” she repeated in a whisper, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. “Why will she have teats?”

  Denis wished they were abed so he could lovingly stroke her breasts and discover the colour of her nipples as he demonstrated how babies suckled. “A mother cat’s body makes milk for her kittens. They drink it from the teats.”

  She looked down at her breasts. Her nipples were plainly visible, straining against the fabric of her bliaut. “Is it the same for people?”

  Christ! If ever he did sire children he would make sure they were better prepared for the world than this vulnerable innocent. He took a deep breath to steady his voice. “It is.”

  She remained thoughtfully silent for a few minutes, watching him tickle under the kitten’s chin. “She likes to be petted. I have much to learn from you, milord de Sancerre.”

  If only!

  “Paulina, it would be my honour to assist you as you make your way in a new world that can be difficult at times. But, please call me Denis. Milord de Sancerre was my late unlamented father.”

  She kissed the kitten’s head. “You did not love your father?”

  He shrugged. “I never met him. I was born after his death, but my mother assures me he would have done away with me as soon as he set eyes on me.”

  She grimaced. “I believe my mother wanted to do away with both Rosamunda and myself.”

  It was joy to converse with a woman and not have to crane his neck to look up. He put his fingers under her chin, gently coaxing her to turn her eyes to him. “That would have been a great loss for the world.”

  She blinked away tears. “I will take my kitten to the kitchen. What do they eat? She reminds me of a ring my father wore. He told me once the stone was a topaz. I will name her that. It was a beautiful ring.”

  “Perfect! Topaz it is!” he declared, his mind full of her wistful face, not the name she had chosen. “I will accompany you, if I may.”

  ~~~

  Denis and Paulina strolled often through the herb gardens of East Preston in the ensuing days, Topaz their constant companion. Hortense brought an old satchel, sliced off the flap and padded the bottom with straw. Paulina wore the strap across her body, the kitten riding inside like one born to royalty.

  “Topaz grows fatter and lazier by the day,” Paulina remarked one afternoon.

  “She enjoys the cool leather of her carriage. These last few days of September have brought some relief from the heat, but for a kitten, it’s still hot.”

  Paulina turned nervously to listen to far-off voices, tightening her grip on Denis’ arm. He put his hand atop hers. “No cause for alarm. Labourers are bringing in the harvest.”

  There was much to learn. “Har-vest?”

  “The fields here are fertile. In the spring, labourers plant seeds that grow with the rains and summer’s warmth. In the autumn, they reap the fruits of their labours. Then, here in the south where the climate is warm, they sow the seeds for the spring crop.”

  She had eaten apples and pears. “I like fruit.”

  Denis chuckled softly. “Most fruit grows on trees. Montbryce Castle in Normandie, family seat of Adam’s family, boasts an apple orchard that produces the finest apple brandy in the whole duchy. The rewards here in the spring are barley, vetches, oats, peas, and beans, and in the autumn wheat and rye. Cormant sells some of the wheat and rye, and the rest is used for bread. There is also flax for linen, and I believe one of the fields yields hemp which we use to make ropes.”

  “And the barley?”

  He laughed. “Aha! For making that most thirst quenching brew—beer!”

  “And the oats?”

  “Brevis and Nox love their oats, as does Rosamunda’s new palfrey.”

  She thought of her sister then. How odd she had not missed her for several days. Denis had filled her time and her mind. She looked forward to the hours they spent together. Denis was patient, kind, and understanding. Because he was her height, she did not have to crane her neck to speak to him. She did not feel beneath him. They looked into each other’s eyes when they talked.

  Adam had declared Rosamunda a natural horsewoman. Paulina was too terrified to go near a horse, though the reason eluded her. “I hope Adam and Rosamunda are faring well at Poling. I wish I had the courage to ride. I am a coward.”

  Denis took her hand. “You must not believe that. You and I are small in stature. Most horses tower over us. I am not afraid because I have been riding since I was a child, but I can understand your fear.”

  They walked in silence for a while until they came to the edge of the fields. “Are you a farmer, Denis?”

  He grimaced. “Non, ma petite, I am a warrior, a cavalry officer. But noblemen interested in the prosperity of their lands must understand farming.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, the sowing of the fields is on a three year cycle. Every field is sown for two straight years, and left fallow for the third.”

  “What does fallow mean?”

  “Nothing is planted there. This allows the land to rest, so it can produce more next time. Also, if you plant wheat in a field one year, the next year you plant something else.”

  “Why?”

  Denis smiled. “Land is like us. We get tired of the same old thing over and over. Do you understand?”

  She snorted. “I do! Rosamunda and I grew bored and cross-eyed doing nothing but needlework.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “What a horrible smell!”

  He pointed to a pile of muck. “Over there. It’s manure, from the pigs and chickens. After they finish the harvest the labourers will spread it on the fields. It’s
good for them.”

  Another mystery solved. “That’s what Vincent meant by muck-spreading.”

  Rosamunda was right, there were many interesting things to learn in the outside world. “Do they grow flowers here at East Preston? My mother grew roses.”

  He furrowed his brow. “I don’t believe so.”

  It was a disappointment. “I love roses. My brothers used to filch a few for me. When they faded, I used the petals and rosehips for all kinds of things.”

  Denis turned to look at her. “If I had my own lands, I would plant roses for you, acres and acres of them.”

  “These are not your lands?”

  “They belong to my stepfather, Antoine. He holds sway over many properties. Something will come to me, either when he dies—or when I marry.”

  Paulina’s world had consisted of chambers in the attic of Kingston Gorse. It was difficult to conceive of someone owning many properties in far flung places. She gazed around. “Would you want East Preston?”

  He shook his head. “Non, I believe Adam wants East Preston.”

  This was confusing. Vincent and Lucien had said Adam was the oldest son who would inherit Belisle Castle. “I believed Adam to be the heir to his father’s castle?”

  Denis turned away abruptly. A chill swept over her. She had said something wrong. but what? “I am mistaken. I’m sorry. I have confused the tale.”

  Denis turned back to her, his face bleak. “There has been a change in the succession. Adam’s brother Mathieu will take over Belisle.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why, but he took his leave without further ado.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  There was no censure in Rosamunda’s startled gaze, but she had evidently awakened at some point during Adam’s pleasuring. She took a deep breath, smiled, and fell back to sleep, cuddling against him.

  He dozed, strangely content. Was it possible to take her to wife? He had never felt as close to a woman, never been filled with this strong urge to protect, this overwhelming rush of possessiveness.

  But he would have to be honest with her, make it clear there would never be children. He shifted uncomfortably. It was one thing to admit he was deaf, quite another to divulge his male problem. Would she consider him less of a man?

  Locked away her whole life, she was likely ignorant of what went on in the bedchamber between men and women. She may not know how children were created. Perhaps if he kept her ignorant, she would never become aware of what she did not have.

  But then he would be imprisoning her as surely as her parents had.

  He barely knew this young woman who slumbered trustingly in his arms, even after he had acted in an untrustworthy manner. He had taken advantage, but only to bring her pleasure. Truth be told, it had brought him immense pleasure to arouse her.

  Should he confide in her? Would she guard his confidences if she did not agree to marry him?

  Dawn broke suddenly, its brightness heralding another warm day. Rosamunda yawned and stretched her arms above her head. She opened her eyes. His heart turned over in his chest. Would she despise him for what he had done?

  She smiled, the lazy, satisfied smile a woman might bestow on her lover. He basked in its warmth. He opened his mouth, but she touched her fingertip to his lips, then to hers. “Hush.”

  He sat up, drawing her on to his lap, and kissed her lips softly. She locked her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts to his chest. A need that had nothing to do with lust flooded his body. He nibbled her bottom lip, whispering her name.

  Her lips parted. He put his hand behind her head and flicked his tongue into her mouth. She opened wider and sucked him, a low growl emanating from her throat. She reached for his hand and put it on her breast.

  He withdrew it quickly. “Non, Rosamunda, we must talk.”

  She shook her head and put his hand firmly back on her breast.

  He brushed his thumb over the distended nipple. She arched her back, humming, beaming a radiant smile. He read her lips. “I like that.”

  He chuckled. “I know you do. I like it too. Your breasts are beautiful.”

  Her eyes widened. She put a fingertip on his chest. “I like you.”

  It was suddenly difficult to breathe. “I like you, Rosamunda, but we must talk.”

  ~~~

  Rosamunda did not want to talk, she wanted to touch, to be touched. Where had these wanton urges come from? She did not know, but she liked them. It did not feel wanton with Adam. It felt right.

  She hoped his desire to talk meant he would profess his love, ask her to be his wife. Her dream of being wedded to a member of the noble Montbryce family might yet come true.

  “You are aware I am deaf,” Adam began.

  She flicked her fingers in the air as if shooing a pesky fly and shrugged. She pointed to her mouth. “And I am mute. Do you care?”

  Relief washed over her as he shook his head.

  He stared at her for long moments, then exhaled loudly. “I have not always been deaf.”

  Her heart went out to him. She had been born mute, but Adam had been forced to accept an impairment.

  “A few months ago I became ill—les oreillons.”

  She cupped her hands over her ears, then pointed to herself.

  “You had it too. And Paulina and your brothers?”

  She nodded, pressing her palm low to the floor.

  “When you were small.” He raked a hand through his hair, imitating her gesture with his free hand. “I was big!” He raised his hand to the top of his head. “When grown men suffer this disease, they sometimes lose their hearing.”

  She sensed great sadness in him. But she knew he was deaf and surely he was aware by now it did not matter to her. There was something more, but what? She took hold of his trembling hand, pressing her fingers into his palm. “Tell me.”

  To her surprise he lifted her to her feet, then went down on one knee before her.

  Oh God.

  He looked into her eyes. “Rosamunda, I care for you deeply. I want you to be my wife.”

  She gasped, her heart soaring.

  He averted his gaze. “But I cannot ask it of you.”

  Something happened to her knees. She swooned towards him as the rafters crashed in on her. Adam put his arms around her hips and buried his forehead in the place between her legs that ached when she set eyes on him. He growled out something incoherent, his words muffled by sobs racking his body.

  She gripped his shoulders, willing the loft to stop spinning.

  Her head throbbed, but it came to her in the midst of her pain that he was suffering. He had something dire to tell her. She cradled his face between her hands and forced him to look at her. Despair darkened his gaze.

  “Tell me.”

  He put his hands over hers and squeezed his eyes tight shut. “I am not a whole man, Rosamunda.”

  A maelstrom of thoughts whirled through her head. What did he mean? If Denis had said the same thing she would have understood, but Adam? Not whole? Apart from his deafness, he looked hale.

  She tried to withdraw her hands from his to make him look at her again, but he held firm. Her belly roiled as she gasped for breath. She bent to kiss the top of his head.

  A sigh shuddered through him as he looked up at her. “I am impotent.”

  Silence hung in the air as Rosamunda desperately revisited conversations with her brothers, but impotent was not a word she remembered. She blinked away tears. How to help him if she did not understand his problem?

  He must have sensed her confusion. He opened his eyes. “You don’t understand, do you?” he said wearily.

  She shook her head, afraid to mouth the word no.

  He came to his feet to stand with his body touching hers. He swallowed hard. “Has anyone told you what happens between a man and woman in the bedchamber?”

  She felt her face redden as she shyly touched her fingers to her breasts and then to the intimate place he had pleasured her.

  He smiled,
but it was not a happy smile. “Oui, that is part of it, but there is much more. When I stand near you like this, what happens to your body?”

  Rosamunda and her sister had never discussed their bodies, and certainly the topic would have been unthinkable with her brothers. But she had felt the need for a man’s touch as her body developed. The man of her dreams was asking to share her most intimate secrets. She cupped her breasts. “Ache.”

  He brushed his knuckles against her mons. “And here?”

  Fire consumed her now. She pounded her fist into her palm. “Hot, wet.”

  He enfolded her in his arms. “Do you know why?”

  She frowned. “Because I like you?”

  ~~~

  She was too innocent. Adam cursed the mother who had abandoned her daughter to ignorance. “Oui, again that’s part of it. But when a man and woman wed, they join their bodies. The woman becomes warm and wet to welcome her husband’s male parts.”

  She had brothers. Surely she knew they were made differently? But they had not grown up together in the normal way of siblings.

  Her eyes widened as she glanced at his groin. He was in too deep to withdraw now. He took her hand and pressed it against his shaft. “I have a male part, Rosamunda, as you can feel.”

  Inquisitive as ever, she flexed her fingers over him, exploring. She smiled, obviously having no inkling his manhood had not responded as it should at her touch.

  “A man’s body makes seed. From that seed children grow in the woman’s womb when the man and woman join.”

  She blushed again, patting her belly.

  His head and his heart were pounding, his throat dry. He should stop now, walk away, tell her he did not love her. He was about to break her heart anyway. Better to keep his secret.

  But he did love her. She was his one chance at happiness, and she needed him, for all his problems.

  “Les oreillons stole that from me, Rosamunda. I can never sire children.”

  He held his breath, staring at her breasts. A bee buzzed somewhere in the loft. The roof had not fallen in, nor the floor collapsed beneath his feet. There had been no clap of thunder, no bolt of lightning. Yet the world was about to change profoundly.