Haunted Knights (Montbryce~The Next Generation Historical Romance)

by Anna Markland

  She paced, until a chilling truth kicked her in the belly. The only thing stopping her from seeking the king’s help was her muteness. If she was a woman with a voice she would be running across the bailey, screeching loudly.

  She must draw as much attention as possible instead of hiding in the shadows. Taking a deep breath, she peeled open the flap of the pavilion and ran into the night, flailing her arms wildly in the air, screaming a silent plea for help.

  ~~~

  Lounging on a chaise near the food laden trestles, Henry Beauclerc held a half eaten chicken leg in mid air, listening. The music and laughter had stopped. Unease skittered up his spine. Was some dire plot afoot, orchestrated by his brother?

  He followed the gazes of several people nearby who seemed to have been struck dumb. They stared at a woman, running across the bailey, waving her arms in the air. Her mouth was open but no sound emerged.

  What the devil?

  She was coming straight at him. Was he to be assassinated by a madwoman? His guards apparently thought the same thing. They encircled him, pikestaffs at the ready.

  It struck him as somewhat amusing. A squadron of armed men to ward off one shrieking woman! But she wasn’t shrieking. There was no sound.

  No sound.

  Of course! The Lallement child. “Hold. I know this woman. She is in distress.”

  The guards moved aside. The woman fell at his feet, looking up at him with imploring eyes. “Speak, child. Oh, no, you cannot speak.”

  This was frustrating. What had upset her? He had sent Guillaume de Terrence to watch over the two women in the absence of their betrotheds. He needed the smaller woman to help him understand the muette. “Where is your sister?”

  She shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

  “Is she missing?”

  She nodded so vigorously he feared her head might fall off.

  “Where is Sir Guillaume?”

  She frowned.

  The dread returned. There was mischief here. Henry abhorred mischief, especially at his favourite castle. Surely the strapping Guillaume had not made off with the tiny woman?

  He turned to the Captain of his guard. “Escort this woman to my pavilion. Extend her every courtesy. Do not leave her unprotected. Then take men and search for Guillaume de Terrence and the other Lallement girl.”

  He did not recall her name, and her sister could not tell him, so he added, “The dwarf.”

  ~~~

  Denis paced in one direction, Adam in the other. Each time their paths crossed they scowled, or shook their heads, or made some other exclamation.

  A strange foreboding had crept into Denis’ heart. He put a hand on Adam’s arm. “Something is wrong.”

  Adam snorted. “Indeed! Henry’s kingdom is at the mercy of a pompous official who—”

  “I don’t mean that. Something has happened. I sense Paulina and Rosamunda are in danger.”

  Adam frowned. “But Henry has provided a champion.”

  Denis scratched the stubble on his jaw, longing for a shave. “You are right. Yet still I am concerned.”

  The chamber doors were thrust open abruptly and the chamberlain flounced in. Denis rolled his eyes. “Well?”

  The fool held out the ring. “I have verified this as the King’s ring, and I am prepared to believe you have an important message for the Queen—”

  Relief had Denis’ heart racing.

  “—but Her Majesty is not here.”

  His heart stopped. “Where is she?”

  “She has gone on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint Alban.”

  “How far is that?”

  The chamberlain tapped his chin. “Half a day’s ride to the north. She will be back in—”

  Denis grabbed the ring and turned to his brother. “Come along. Saint Albans it is.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Denis and Adam rode north, following directions given them by an ostler in the royal stables. The indignant chamberlain had hastily assigned them two guards who followed close behind.

  Nox and Brevis had not fully rested from the journey to Westminster, thus preventing an all out gallop. Even at the slower pace conversation was difficult for Adam, and it was not until they were watering their horses in the Cyebourne at Kilburn that they had a chance to talk.

  “Who is this saint whose shrine we journey to?” Denis asked.

  Denis’ earlier warnings of danger had unsettled Adam. A lead weight lay in the pit of his belly, and something else, something that made him sweat. A faint tingling he had not felt for many a month tugged at the base of his spine. It would be foolhardy to get his hopes up. It was mayhap the urgency of his mission causing the feelings. He shrugged. “Alban. First English martyr.”

  “Martyr?”

  Adam was hungry. He broke apart the meager loaf the ostler had given them. “Hundreds of years ago. Executed by the Romans.”

  Denis accepted part of the loaf. “Why would the Queen go there on pilgrimage?”

  Adam chewed on the stale bread. “When Alban was beheaded, a miracle was reported. Can’t remember what it was. He supposedly parted the waters on his way to execution, and the executioner refused to behead him. Another man was ordered to do the deed. His eyes fell out at the moment he chopped off Alban’s head. Probably superstitious nonsense.

  “Anyway, rumour spread that miracles had happened there, and men and women have journeyed on pilgrimage since then. There’s been a monastery there for hundreds of years, and now there’s an abbey, begun ten years after the Conqueror’s victory at Hastings.”

  Denis eyed the remains of his portion of the loaf with distaste. “Mayhap we should pray for a miracle while we are there.”

  Adam’s buttocks tightened. There it was again, a faint stirring in his loins. Sweat broke out on his brow. “Mayhap we should.”

  ~~~

  King Henry was furious. Before him knelt the knight he had sent to guard the Lallement women. One eye was swollen shut, his lip split. A large goose egg on his forehead seemed to grow larger by the minute.

  Rosamunda Lallement hovered nearby, twitching like a nervous cat, her hair a wild mess of straw.

  “What have you to say for yourself?” Henry asked Guillaume de Terrence.

  “I was attacked,” he replied sullenly.

  Henry came to his feet. “I can see that. By whom? And where is Demoiselle Lallement?”

  Guillaume squirmed. “There were too many of them. Someone bashed me on the head while I was in—”

  He glanced up nervously from studying the floor.

  “Well?” Henry insisted.

  “—the latrines, Sire.”

  A murmured titter rose from the assembled courtiers. Henry glared at them and they fell silent. “What were you doing in—never mind. Did you ever get to the pavilion occupied by the Lallement sisters?”

  Sir Guillaume hung his head. “Non, Majesté. They dragged me off into the woods and beat on me. I regained my wits only a short while ago, a moment or two before the guards came upon me.”

  Henry pointed to Rosamunda Lallement. “This young woman’s sister has been abducted. The blame lies with you, Sir Guillaume. You had better hope we find her soon. I will not have my loyal subjects kidnapped from under my nose. Do you recall nothing?”

  Sir Guillaume rubbed his damaged eye, then winced. “I was strolling with Letyce Revandel. She had a cat. I excused myself to go to—”

  Rosamunda lunged forward with a grunt.

  Henry narrowed his eyes. “You have something to say concerning Mistress Revandel?”

  The mute took a deep breath, her face red with anger, and mouthed what he was sure was the word hore.

  Henry chuckled inwardly. The girl might be mute but she was not dumb. “Letyce Revandel is to be sought out and brought here to me forthwith.”

  ~~~

  Blindfolded, her hands bound before her, Paulina had clung to the doublet of the unknown rider with her fingertips during the terrifying ride in the dark, sure w
ith every twist and turn of the road she was about to tumble under the hooves.

  She had no notion of how long they rode, exhausted by the time she was hauled off the horse, shoved up against a tree and given a blanket. She had soiled herself for the first time in her life. Sore, ashamed, and terrified, she soon fell into oblivion.

  The raucous call of a seagull woke her. She smelled the sea, and her own body. She flexed her numbed fingers and wiggled her toes. Men shouted to one another. She thought she recognised one voice, but who was it?

  Bread was thrust into her hands. “Eat. We depart soon.”

  She gathered up her courage. “Where are you taking me?”

  No-one replied, though she heard movement. “My betrothed will search for me. He will come after you.”

  The man chuckled. “I sincerely hope so. I left enough clues.”

  She had heard the voice before.

  “I have need of a place to bathe and see to my needs.”

  A woman giggled.

  The cool air assaulted Paulina as the blanket was torn from her grasp. “Time enough to bathe once we reach Normandie. On your feet.”

  Normandie? They were taking her across the Narrow Sea? She had never known her grandfather, Sir Stephen, but she prayed to his spirit now as she faced a perilous journey to the land of her forefathers.

  ~~~

  Denis’ heart was in turmoil as he and Adam bowed before the Queen in the royal chapel of Saint Alban’s abbey. He felt uncomfortable under what must be the enormous weight of the soaring abbey tower they had seen on their approach. He stared at the icons of Alban holding his head in his hands and dread filled his gut. He barely recalled the details of the message he was to deliver.

  Relieved when Adam began the narrative, he set his mind on Paulina, for he had no doubt she was in trouble. He felt her fear and pain keenly. He was a pot left on the fire to simmer slowly.

  Matilda listened carefully to her husband’s message, then uttered a curt, “Thank you. I will see to it. Your loyalty will be rewarded.”

  She eased a signet ring off her little finger, replacing it with the ring they had brought. “Take this to His Majesty.”

  They bowed and were dismissed.

  Denis gazed at the tiny ring, but did not see it. “We need divine help, Adam. Come, let’s pray to this martyred saint. Then we must return quickly. Something is wrong. I feel it in my twisted bones.”

  ~~~

  Adam knelt, wondering at the sacrifice of a man hundreds of years ago. What had convinced this Roman Briton to provide refuge for a Christian priest, assume his clothing, and go willingly to his death rather than denounce the fugitive from Roman justice?

  Stranger still was the tale of the reluctant executioner who had also gone to his death rather than behead Alban.

  And eyes popping out? People believed anything in those days.

  Yet, miracles had taken place here. Discarded crutches hanging from the groin vaults bore mute testimony. Dare he hope for one? Was he worthy? Perhaps it was the will of God he remain impotent, and deaf.

  Denis rose from where he had been praying and made hurriedly for the door. Adam looked up at the altar. “The deafness I can bear. I love Rosamunda. She would be a wonderful mother. I want to give her children. If it’s your will.”

  He waited, aware of the impatient echo of Denis’ boots on the flagstones of the entryway. He bowed his head, crossed himself and rose, his gut in knots.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Adam and Denis rode like madmen. Nevertheless it took two days to regain Arundel. Denis’ agitation over his premonitions aggravated Adam’s confusion over his continuing inability to experience arousal, despite the recurrence of the occasional tingle at the base of his spine. Time and again, his hopes they would culminate in arousal were dashed. He was a piglet roasting on the spit. His entreaties to Alban had been for naught.

  They barely spoke during the ride, and Adam was glad of it. He could not have articulated his feelings and was relieved Denis was completely absorbed in finding out what had happened at Arundel.

  They reined in hard at the castle gates, only to be urged to the royal pavilion by the guards. A shiver ran up Adam’s spine. Denis’ jaw tightened further. Something was definitely wrong.

  They were quickly ushered into the King’s presence. Stripped to the waist, Winrod and Dareau Revandel knelt before their sovereign in shackles. Their father cowered at their side, sweat pouring off his brow.

  Adam scanned the crowded space. His eyes lit on Rosamunda, leaning heavily on the arm of a knight he recognised as Guillaume de Terrence, who looked away rather than meet Adam’s gaze. Had Rosamunda turned to another because of his impotency, or on account of his suspicions?

  A shiver of relief and burning jealousy surged through him. He gasped audibly as the blood rushed to his groin. His shaft stood to attention. He was on fire, his heart beating so loudly he was sure every eye would turn to him. He wanted to cry out his jubilation, rush to Rosamunda and take her on the rushes strewn on the hard packed ground. Then he would fall to his knees and vow his eternal devotion to Saint Alban.

  No one paid him much mind, their attention riveted on the cowering twins. Only Denis turned his head, his eyes coming to rest on Adam’s groin. His mouth fell open. He looked up at Adam, frowning.

  His knees trembling, Adam managed a smile, then whispered, “You could tether a horse to it.”

  ~~~

  Only the knight’s strong arm prevented Rosamunda from swooning when Adam strode into the pavilion. Relief buckled her knees. She wanted to run to his embrace, but doubted it would be deemed appropriate.

  What caused the grimace twisting his handsome face? Anguish? Anger? Sorrow? Did he regret his suspicions or did he still deem her capable of betraying him? Perhaps he would not welcome her in his arms. He had left without farewell.

  Even her sister had believed her capable of betraying him. It was an unbearable truth that anger had been between them the last time they were together.

  The King’s voice penetrated her confused thoughts. “The longer you hold your tongue, Revandel, the worse it will go for you. Where is your daughter?”

  Alphonse Revandel’s voice shook. He did not look up at his king. “Majesté, Letyce has ever been a wayward chit. I am ignorant of her comings and goings.”

  He pointed a trembling finger at his sons. “These two have more knowledge of her than I.”

  Rosamunda felt sorry for him. Three children and he had been unable to control any of them. She and her sister had been controlled to the point of incarceration. Was there no middle ground?

  Henry turned his attention to Winrod Revandel. “You are the older twin?”

  Winrod swallowed. “Yes, sire. Two minutes.”

  “Then you have exactly two minutes to tell me where your sister has taken Paulina Lallement and who her accomplice is, otherwise your brother here goes to the Tower.”

  Winrod glanced at Dareau. It took him less than a few seconds to apparently decide he loved his brother more than his sister. “They have taken her to Bretagne.”

  Without warning, Denis de Sancerre burst from the crowd and seized Winrod by the throat. “Bretagne? What mischief is this that my betrothed has been abducted and taken to Bretagne?”

  Hampered by his shackles, Winrod lost his balance and fell backwards. Denis leapt on top of him, his hands still locked on Revandel’s throat.

  A wave of shocked murmurs crested. Two guards pulled Denis off the choking man, holding him fast as he struggled to set upon Revandel once more. Dareau Revandel edged away from the fray on his knees.

  “Enough!” the king bellowed.

  Adam strode over to Denis. “Hold, brother. If you kill him we will not uncover the truth.”

  Denis calmed, shrugging out of the grasp of the guards. “I apologise, Majesté. I am distraught at what has happened to my betrothed. She is vulnerable.”

  Henry drummed his fingers on the arms of his massive chair. “Where in Bretagne
have they gone?”

  Winrod mumbled something. Rosamunda strained to hear. Adam frowned. The King’s face reddened. Denis, closest to Winrod, declared, “Carnac. They have taken her to Carnac.”

  Henry came to his feet quickly. “Now it becomes clear who the ne’er-do-well is at the bottom of this mischief. Guards, search the grounds for Malraux de Carnac. I doubt you will find him.”

  He turned to the Revandel twins. “You are a disgrace to your family name. You have aided and abetted a criminal act. In addition you have heaped calumny and rumour upon a member of an illustrious Norman family, the Montbryces.”

  Ice splintered in Rosamunda’s veins. She looked at Adam, standing proudly by his brother’s side—a magnificent man about to be shamed publicly. The King may have the best of intentions, but this would make matters worse.

  Henry carried on, the corners of his mouth edging up. “You have insinuated Adam de Montbryce is less than a man, but it seems to me he is perfectly capable of performing the functions of a lusty male.”

  All eyes turned to Adam. Rosamunda’s mouth went dry as she stared at the bulge in his leggings that the short doublet did nothing to conceal.

  Desire coiled in her belly, sweeping her off her feet as she swooned.

  Pandemonium broke out.

  ~~~

  Denis was unsure what to do first: rush to embrace his brother; help Guillaume de Terrence with Rosamunda; slice off Winrod Revandel’s head with his sword, then plunge it into Dareau’s heart; or fall to his knees weeping.

  He did nothing. His heart had broken into a thousand pieces. Malraux de Carnac had carted off Paulina. The malicious Breton had naught good planned for her. There would be no ransom demand.

  Indecision had never plagued him, but now he stood rooted to the spot, unable to act.

  The King demanded calm be restored. He consigned the Revandels to the Tower, thus removing them from the danger of certain death at Denis’ hand.

  Adam strode quickly to take Rosamunda from Guillaume’s arms. Scowling at the knight he carried her out of the pavilion to the cheers of onlookers.

  The only thing left was to weep. But weeping would not help Paulina. Suddenly he remembered the Queen’s ring. He extricated it from a pouch at his waist and bent the knee before Henry, holding out the ring. “Sire, I beg leave to pursue Malraux de Carnac.”