Conquering Passion

by Anna Markland

  Giselle snorted. “She’s a woman, milord, a woman you rejected at the chapel door. How do you imagine she feels?”

  Ram bristled. “She’ll just have to get used to me. She’s wilful.”

  Giselle pressed the dress more tightly to her body. “How do you know that? You only spent five minutes with her, and she was in a swoon for most of that time.”

  He knew he’d slipped, and looked away. “I mean, from what I understand—from what Antoine has told me.”

  She frowned. “Antoine? He barely knows her either.”

  Ram hoped that was true. He’d been reluctant to broach the topic with his brother and didn’t like that this mistrust stood between them. Had she been waiting for Antoine in the meadow? He and his brother had always had a close bond, sharing everything. But he didn’t want to share Mabelle.

  Why does she rouse such strong feelings in me?

  He’d reacted badly at the lake, but her beauty and state of undress had taken him unawares. When he’d carried her to her chamber, an intense feeling of longing had swept over him. He’d wanted to cradle her to his breast, to protect her. Now he stammered on, driven by a need to justify his actions to this little maid who knew him well, who he knew cared for him. “I’m told she rides her mare all over the estate, mounted astride. This isn’t the behaviour of a future Comtesse. She must comport herself in a suitable manner, something she evidently hasn’t been taught. She must learn to be a Montbryce.”

  “But her mare is one of her few pleasures, milord.”

  “Nevertheless, when she recovers, I’ll speak with her. We’ll come to an understanding of whose wishes and desires rule in a marriage. I must have obedience.”

  Giselle stared at him, open-mouthed.

  “What? What’s wrong? Giselle!” he shouted to her back as she stomped off.

  I’ll never understand women!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A sennight passed before Mabelle would agree to eat in the Great Hall with everyone else. Ram cringed when he saw her unhappy face. The spark had left her eyes, and she chewed her bottom lip nervously. She looked tired and ill-at-ease, but his manhood hardened at the sight of her.

  This woman never fails to rouse me.

  He took her hand and indicated the seat next to him. “Mabelle, sit here by me.”

  She didn’t try to withdraw her hand, but her fingers were stiff. “That’s not my place, milord,” she replied coldly. “I’m not your wife. I have no right to sit at the head table.”

  He squeezed her hand, drawing her to the seat. “You’re still my betrothed, Mabelle. Please obey me and sit here.”

  She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. A flash changed the warm brown, rich as the earth of his homeland, to an angry blaze, and he remembered her reaction at the lake to the mention of obedience.

  Good, the fire is back in her eyes!

  She took her hand from his, sat demurely, back rigid, hands folded in her lap. He suddenly missed the warmth of her skin, but resisted the urge to grab both her hands, press them to his face and kiss the palms.

  Mabelle glanced over at Hugh and Antoine, seated further along the table, and smiled. Both returned the smile, but Antoine winked, sending pangs of jealousy searing through Ram. He wanted to leap up and pound his brother into the ground. Trying to control his temper, he turned to speak to Mabelle, ignoring Hugh’s barely concealed snorts of laughter. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered.”

  She shrugged her shoulders lightly and shook her head. “I’ll never recover.”

  There was no anger in her voice, only resignation, and he regretted he was the cause. Putting his hands squarely on his knees, he leaned towards her slightly and offered, “Let me explain my actions. Perhaps then you’ll not think so ill of me.”

  She looked up into the ceiling beams. “I’m all ears, milord.”

  Ram fought the urge to tell her she shouldn’t treat him with such sarcasm. “I requested a postponement, Mabelle. We will marry when I feel the time is right.”

  “And when might that be, milord?”

  She’s a feisty filly.

  The idea brought new blood rushing to his manhood. He cleared his throat. “I’ll be off to war to fight for the Duke in England. He is relying on me. Until then, you and I can come to know each other, perhaps repair some of the mistrusts, come to an understanding.”

  She turned to look at him. “An understanding of what?”

  She’s baiting me. She looks me right in the eye when she baits me.

  He coughed again, rubbing his forefinger briefly over his top lip. “Well, of certain standards, codes of behaviour for a future Comtesse.”

  She looked away. Even to his ears, his words sounded inane, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He waited, knowing, hoping she would turn those disturbing eyes on him again. When she looked back at him, he held her gaze, wanting to make sure she knew he was determined. Their eyes locked. Could she tell a wave of heat had rolled over him? He could drown in those brown eyes.

  “We must talk about your mare.”

  She lowered her long lashes and looked away and he felt her tense beside him. Still he pressed on. “I can’t allow you to go riding alone all over the demesne.”

  She looked back at him, her eyes boring into his. “Why not?”

  Again she questions me! Keep calm.

  He took a deep breath. “You ride astride. It’s not seemly. And it’s not safe.”

  She stood. “Excuse me, milord. As you’ve said, I’m not a seemly woman. You wish to deprive me of my only pleasure. I can no longer sit here.”

  He shoved his chair back abruptly, and it toppled and crashed to the floor. “Mabelle—”

  But she’d flounced off, head high, back rigid, and he didn’t intend to embarrass himself further in front of his grinning brothers.

  Her only pleasure.

  The challenge in those blazing eyes held the promise of passion, and he wanted desperately to be the one to introduce her to many other pleasures.

  ***

  “Milady, you seem upset,” Giselle observed a sennight later, as Mabelle stormed into her chamber yet again, slamming the door with both hands.

  Mabelle whirled around, shoulders heaving. “Giselle, you love my betrothed like a son, but he’s the most infuriating—”

  “He’s a man, milady.”

  Mabelle walked towards her bed, her fingertips pressed to her forehead. “But he wants to control everything I do. First he forbids me, forbids me to ride my mare. That’s not considered Comtesse-like behaviour. Then it was how I dress. Next he forbade me to express my opinion of the conflict with Anjou. When I dared to tell him what I overheard people saying about the Duke in the castle at Arques—what will be next?”

  She sank down to sit on the bed.

  Giselle sat down beside her, put her arm around her lady’s shoulders and took hold of her hand. “Rambaud wants to live up to what he sees as his father’s expectations. He believes his parents’ marriage was dominated by his father, and to the outside world it was. But I can tell you differently. The Comte loved his wife and never made a major decision without her. Rambaud’s view is women are for—well—obedience. And bedding—and the begetting of heirs, but he’ll change, as did his father.”

  Mabelle leaned her head on Giselle’s shoulder and blushed. “I don’t think the bedding will be a problem—I have to admit we seem drawn to each other that way. When he looks at me with those startling blue eyes, I want to surrender, to be obedient, to agree with everything he says. And he knows the power of those eyes to make a woman do foolish things. His voice is like the beat of a tabor drum rolling through me.”

  She blushed and paused, fiddling with the sleeve of her gown. Had she betrayed too much of her intense feelings? She rose from the bed and went to sit in a chair. “I long to bear a child I can love. But what Ram wants is dominance.”

  Giselle came to massage her lady’s shoulders. “He’s a soldier, milady. Above all else he’s a warrior. But he’
s ambitious and such men believe they have to control everyone. His life has revolved around discipline.”

  Mabelle leaned her head on her hand. “But I can’t sit all day doing nothing. If I’m to be a Comtesse, I need to learn things about the castle, the estates, the world. Ram will let me do none of that.”

  Giselle came to kneel in front of her mistress. “Rambaud is a good man, milady. Sometimes, men rebel when they think they’ve been forced into a marriage, though their hearts tell them it’s what they want. They feel they have to assert their authority. Rambaud has never been cruel, or unreasonable. He’ll come to see you’re not a threat, but you must make him see you can help him achieve his ambitions.”

  Mabelle moved her head from side to side as Giselle stood again and kneaded her tense neck muscles. “How did things get so complicated, Giselle? I want a husband who can love me for myself, let me be myself.”

  “Don’t give up hope, milady. Someday Rambaud de Montbryce will be that man. Help him grow.”

  Mabelle placed her hand atop the maid’s. “Thank goodness I have you, Giselle, I would feel alone here without your guidance.”

  ***

  “You seem upset, mon fils—again,” Comte Bernard remarked to Ram, who’d stormed into the solar, slamming the door, the second loud bang to reverberate through the castle that evening.

  Ram whirled around, his eyes wild. “This woman you want me to marry is insufferable. She’s wilful.”

  His father smiled. “I want you to marry? Sit down, Ram. What has she done now?”

  Ram sat, but on the edge of the seat. “You think highly of her, mon père, but she needs to learn to be more obedient.”

  Bernard rolled his eyes. “Don’t you find her pleasing, Ram?”

  She pleases me so much I can’t control my arousal whenever I’m near her.

  He stood again and paced. “Oui—er—she’s pleasing—I agree—but—”

  Comte Bernard stretched out his legs and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Don’t you think she’s intelligent?”

  “Oui—very—but—”

  “Would you prefer an empty-headed wife?”

  “Well—non—”

  “Is she not beautiful?”

  Ram sank back down into the chair. “She’s breathtakingly beautiful, but—for example—it’s my right to decide what should be done with Alensonne when her father dies, isn’t it?”

  Comte Bernard stood, walked to the hearth and stared into the flames. “Alensonne is her birthright, Ram. True, it’s part of her dowry, but she grew up there. She lost that childhood home when she was a girl.” He turned to face his son. “Why do you want to deprive her of a say in what happens to it?”

  Silence reigned. Ram got to his feet again, and resumed his pacing, his arms folded across his chest. His father waited.

  “I didn’t think of it that way.”

  Bernard put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Mabelle isn’t a threat to you, Ram, unless you turn her into one. She’s survived worse tyrants than you, and is wily. If you want her on your side, you’ll need to be more subtle, more appreciative of her talents and opinions. If you’re not, she’ll find a way to achieve what she wants, despite you.”

  Ram looked up at his father and their eyes met.

  “She’ll make a much better ally than enemy. She’s listened to gossip in castles the length and breadth of Normandie and may have a better idea of people’s sentiments than even our Duke. Mabelle is an exquisite rose and roses have thorns, but we tolerate the slight pain they may cause so their intoxicating beauty can enrich our lives.”

  Who is this man I thought was my father?

  “I suppose I could indulge her a little more.”

  ***

  That evening, in the gallery, Giselle curtseyed when she arrived for her appointment with Comte Bernard, whose family she’d worked for most of her life.

  “Please be seated, Giselle. How fares your lady?”

  Giselle made herself comfortable in the upholstered chair. Her feet swung free of the floor. “Just as she has for the last fortnight. She’s frustrated with milord Rambaud’s insistence on obedience.”

  Comte Bernard shook his head. “And my son is still complaining about her wilfulness.”

  “Milady has agreed to be less confrontational, to try to get him to understand she can be a support to him and not a threat.”

  Bernard chuckled. “And Ram has agreed to be more indulgent.”

  There was a silence between them, and Comte Bernard sensed Giselle’s hesitation, but he knew this diminutive woman well. Sooner or later she would say what had to be said.

  “I hope my advice to her is correct. I’m only a maidservant but I love milord Rambaud like my own sons and don’t want to see him destroy his prospects of marriage to this intelligent young woman.”

  Bernard nodded. “I’m glad she has you as a confidante, Giselle. My dear wife relied on your good sense, as do I. You’re much more than a maidservant.”

  Giselle inclined her head. “Merci, milord.”

  Comte Bernard stood, and offered his hand to Giselle to help her out of the chair. “I hope my son will soon understand that love and respect will bind Mabelle to him, not indulgence. She’s the kind of woman whose love and support Ram will need in the turbulent times ahead. You and I won’t always be here to guide them.”

  Giselle indicated her agreement. “Perhaps they’ll one day see how fortunate they are to have each other.”

  He chuckled. “We can but hope, Giselle, we can but hope—and perhaps continue our discreet meddling?”

  The maidservant was about to take her leave, but turned back to face him. “Do you ever get a sense there’s something else between them?”

  Comte Bernard frowned. “Such as?”

  “I’m not sure. I have the feeling something happened on the day they were to wed. Perhaps I’m imagining it.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  On the morrow, as the golden streaks of dawn lit the sky, Mabelle stole down to the stables, saddled her mare quickly, a skill born of necessity and learned early in life, and rode out into the fields.

  “Sibell!” she exclaimed gleefully as the mare tossed her head. Urging the horse to a canter across the meadow, she headed for the apple orchards. The wind caught her hair and ballooned in her cloak. Exhilaration swept over her. She too tossed her head and laughed with joy. “I’ve missed you, Sibell. Let’s gallop until we get to the trees. We can’t allow an overbearing nobleman to come between us and our fun, no matter how preoccupied we are with him.”

  Once in the orchards, she dismounted and led the horse by the reins, inhaling the scents of late spring, remembering ruefully the last time she’d been in the woods beyond the orchards. “I’m confused, Sibell. I can’t get my thoughts off Ram de Montbryce but I’m afraid to trust him with my feelings. I’m nervous whenever I’m with him, I can’t think properly.”

  Sibell whinnied and pricked up her ears. Mabelle looked around nervously. Had the horse sensed someone? Seeing no-one she became calm again. “It’s good to be out of the castle for a while. I feel Ram’s presence everywhere there. He’s a complicated man. Will I ever understand him? Will he ever understand me?”

  ***

  Ram had spent most of the night tossing and turning, the restful sleep he usually enjoyed in his own chamber eluding him yet again. Thoughts of Mabelle’s luscious breasts and beautiful hair kept intruding on his thoughts. If he’d gone ahead with the marriage, he would now be suckling her nipples, wrapping golden tresses around his body, held tight in the grip of those impossibly long legs, as he plunged deep—

  Abandoning any hope of sleep, he rose in the predawn darkness, donned a linen shirt, tied his hair back with a leather thong, and pulled on breeches and boots. He climbed to the battlements as the sun rose, hoping the fresh air would clear his head. Looking out over his family’s demesne gave him a sense of peace. But he tensed as an unknown rider trotted out of the bailey, waving to the guard.

 
It can’t be!

  He watched in disbelief as the mare cantered and then broke into a full gallop, heading for the orchards. Mabelle’s cloak ballooned behind her and the wind whipped her wheaten hair like a blazing banner, liberating her long legs from her skirts. He remembered the last time he’d seen her hair streaming behind her, down to her derrière as she fled him at the lake. She looked back over her shoulder for a moment and he saw the naughty grin on her sunlit face. Then she turned back and bent low, one with the horse.

  She looks magnificent.

  In less than five minutes he was mounted bareback on Fortis, pursuing her. Once in the orchards, he proceeded more slowly, following her trail. It led him into the woods and he suspected she’d gone to the lake. He dismounted and edged forward stealthily.

  She was perched on an outcropping, close to where he’d first found her, feeding something to the horse, crooning soft words. He froze. She looked peaceful and happy, her tangled tresses covering her cloaked shoulders. He longed to bury his face in her hair, inhale the intoxicating scent that was peculiarly Mabelle.

  She tucked a stray lock behind her ear and he imagined running his fingertips along the edge of that dainty ear, taking her head in his hands and drawing her lips to his. He stilled, afraid her horse would sense him. She pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders and glanced around, peering into the trees. Had she felt his presence? Did she know his scent as he knew hers?

  What is she thinking? How to be free of me?

  Why was he intent on denying her this simple pleasure? Why did he feel such need for control?

  She sat for a good while, laughing as the horse nudged her, begging another morsel. Ram wished he could make her laugh. He became rapt in his gazing and when she stood abruptly, it took him off guard. She saw him. He hated the flicker of fear that flashed across her face as she stopped, looking to escape him.

  “Don’t be afraid, Mabelle,” he said softly as he stood, holding out his hands to her. “I’ll never hurt you.”

  “Milord.” She bowed her head briefly and then looked directly at him. “You have a habit of watching me in the woods.” Her eyes raked over his linen shirt and tight breeches and her mouth fell open. He was being devoured and it excited him. Slowly, he rolled the loose sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, braced his legs, pulled the thong from his hair, and put his hands on his hips.