“Ascha—I shouldn’t have,” he said hoarsely. “My obligation to my betrothed—I shouldn’t have. You’re a widow. It was wrong to take advantage of you.”
But it had nothing to do with obligation. How could he have sacrificed what he wanted to give to Mabelle with another woman, no matter how great her need, or his? Mabelle was his destiny, brought to him through some miracle he didn’t understand, which he’d tried to deny. He’d betrayed her with this woman. What he’d experienced with Ascha was simply physical release.
Yet again I have betrayed Mabelle.
“You didn’t take advantage of me, Rambaud,” Ascha whispered languidly. “I took advantage of you. I know you’re a man in love. My husband didn’t love me, didn’t understand the importance of touch for a woman. I envy your betrothed. She’s a lucky woman. I thank you for the gift you’ve given me today. The memory of it will help see me through many difficult days. I don’t regret what we’ve shared. I don’t expect you to love me.”
Confusion whirled through Ram’s head. “Ascha—I must leave now. I’ll be your champion but I can’t be your lover.”
He dressed quickly, and prepared to leave.
She became agitated and knelt up in the bed, wrapping the linens around her body. “Rambaud,” she stammered. “I lied. I need you—please. Stay a few days.”
He shook his head, desperate to be gone from this manor. “I can’t.”
He strode out of the chamber. She would be safe under his protection, but he prayed she would find a good husband some day. She was a woman with a deeply hidden passion Caedmon Woolgar had been unable to ignite, and he silently thanked God for Mabelle and the erotic joys her touch and her kisses promised. A chill went up his spine when he thought of Mabelle finding out about his liaison. Had she been faithful to him? He wanted to believe she was still a virgin but, given the life she’d led, the odds were—
If there’s no love, if it’s only about passion, why not? What’s the harm?
His fury grew at the idea of Mabelle sharing another man’s bed, and he was dismayed he’d bedded this woman, and was now hurrying away. This wasn’t behaviour worthy of a Montbryce.
He left soldiers to guard Shelfhoc but the contingent that rode away with him was still a force to be regarded with respect. As he made for Ellesmere, he deliberately pushed away the tantalizing vision insinuating itself into his head of a maiden with golden hair, lying on a grassy bank. He’d denied his passion for Mabelle, but Ascha’s words echoed over and over—I know you are a man in love.
Through the window, Lady Ascha Woolgar watched until the Normans were completely out of sight, her fingers absent-mindedly rubbing the oiled window covering she held. From the moment she’d set eyes on the magnificent Norman Lord when he’d been brought to her home, feelings had stirred within her she’d never known with her husband. She’d tried to deny them but couldn’t. She sank to her knees sobbing, swathed in bed linens, feeling more fulfilled, yet more bereft than she’d ever felt. She would never see Rambaud de Montbryce again, but she would remember the feel of his touch, the fulfilment of his manhood inside her, forever.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The tragic news of his father’s death caught up with Ram as he stood surveying the crumbling Anglo-Saxon timber fortification that was Ellesmere Castle. It guarded the only dry approach to the town, which seemed to exist in a sea of mud. Anguish brought him to his knees as he grieved his loss.
His brothers were devastated. They had rejoined him at Ellesmere after hearing of his injury. All Ram could think of was returning to Normandie and his Mabelle.
How did she cope with this alone? Will she turn to someone else for solace, as I did?
Ram swore to someday build a magnificent castle for Mabelle at Ellesmere that would be warm and welcoming, instead of this abomination, and to return to her side as soon as he could. What more did he want in a wife? He set himself, his horse and his men a punishing pace to the south coast where they took ship for Normandie. A sennight after receiving the tragic news, he, Antoine and Hugh were galloping into the bailey of the castle Montbryce, long after sunset.
He’d expected Mabelle to come out and meet them, and was disappointed when she didn’t. He was anxious to tell her he was sorry, that they would marry as soon as possible. He longed to tell her about Hastings, about his promised Earldom.
Fernand Bonhomme appeared and grooms came to take their mounts.
“Fernand.” Ram embraced his trusted steward, who looked haggard. “We are all desolate at the news of your wife’s death.”
“Merci, milord. Vangeline was a good wife and helpmate. We’ll miss her sorely. And your father—It was a desperate time, but he succumbed quickly and didn’t suffer. Your betrothed nursed him night and day. He found comfort in her. And now you’re the Comte, milord.”
“Oui, Fernand, but I would prefer our dear father was still with us. The hour is late. I suppose my betrothed has retired to her chamber?”
“Non, milord. She’s gone.”
They’d walked as they talked, and were standing in the Great Hall. He noticed Giselle coming towards him, her face grim.
Dread tore at his gut. “Gone? Gone where?”
Not dead, please God, not dead.
“Milord,” Giselle cried, “I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. She was unhappy here.”
“But where would she go? She has no-one, only her father—Non! She’s gone to Alensonne?”
“Oui, milord.”
“Ram!” Antoine shouted, as his brother’s fist smashed into the wall. “Ram, be calm. You can go after her, convince her to return.”
Ram leaned his forehead against the stone. “There won’t be time. I have to go back to England for the Coronation. She’s left me, and no wonder. But I’m not a man to go crawling on my hands and knees.”
Hugh put his trembling hand on Ram’s shoulder. “Let’s go down to the crypt. I’m tired, and I want to pray by our father’s tomb.”
As Ram stood in the cold, candlelit crypt, flanked by his grieving brothers, his arm across Hugh’s shaking shoulders, a tear slid down his cheek. They felt their loss keenly, but his heart ached too for Mabelle, the beautiful refugee he’d done his utmost to alienate.
The three returned to the Hall, where they reminisced together until after midnight, then Ram decided to clear his head out on the battlements before retiring. If he slept at all, it would be from sheer exhaustion.
He came at last to his chamber feeling calmer, but as he slumped onto the bed, he noticed a parchment tucked under the bedcover.
A letter.
His hands shook as he removed the seal.
To Comte Ram de Montbryce
If you and your brothers yet live, you will have been devastated by the news of your father’s death. I found it difficult to bear. He was the only loving father I’ve ever had.
Montbryce is a place I have known only humiliation, unhappiness and now death. Will any of you ever return?
I must turn my attention to my beloved Alensonne, where by all accounts my father is making life difficult.
Now you’re the Comte de Montbryce, you must marry a bride more suited to you. I release you from your obligation. You will not now receive Alensonne, Belisle and Domfort in dower, and I don’t yet know how to resolve that problem, as I’m sure they are lands you covet.
Perhaps my diplomatic father will have a solution!
Mabelle de Valtesse (and d’Alensonne)
“Mabelle!” His fist pounded the bolster over and over in frustration, until he collapsed onto it. “I don’t want to be released. I don’t covet your lands, I covet you. I want you as my wife, the mother of my children.”
He must have fallen asleep, but felt exhausted when he went to break his fast.
Antoine and Hugh greeted him, their eyes wide with excitement.
“What scheme have you two plotted now?”
“If you leave immediately, you can reach Alensonne in two days. Two days to get
there, one day to persuade Mabelle to return with you, two days back, a day to wed her and bed her, three days to get to Westminster. Voilà, you’ll arrive a day early for the Coronation on Christmas Day.”
“Antoine, if I’m not at William’s Coronation, I can bid adieu to my Earldom. We could miss the right tides, encounter the wrong winds.”
“The choice is yours. The Earldom or Mabelle de Valtesse. Hugh and I are willing to ride with you. You may need some protection from Valtesse. Or perhaps from Mabelle.”
Ram hesitated. What if he went to Alensonne and she rejected him? But he had to try. If he didn’t go now he could be mired in England, possibly for years. “Tell Bonhomme to get provisions ready for the journey. I’ll get the horses saddled and the men-at-arms organized.”
***
“Normandie is abuzz with the news of the upcoming coronation of our Duke as the King of the English,” Guillaume de Valtesse announced to his daughter as they broke their fast. “It’s to take place on Christmas Day. His victory over the Saxons has earned him the name of Conqueror.”
His words sent Mabelle’s mind reeling back to the banquet at Montbryce, when she’d returned the Duke’s toast. “Ram foretold he would be known as the Conqueror,” she whispered.
“I’ll never understand why you broke the betrothal. You’re obviously smitten with the man, and we’ll be in great difficulty here if he comes to claim his dower rights.”
Her father shuffled out of the Hall, mumbling. They had argued long and hard when she’d come home to Alensonne. She’d thought to find peace here but all she could think of was Ram de Montbryce—the feel of his lips on hers, his strong arms around her, his hands fondling her hair, her breast—she couldn’t erase the memory of him at the lake, standing almost naked, his arousal obvious. She longed to run her hands over his thighs, his chest, his shoulders. She ached in places she’d never ached before. Her body tingled when she thought of him, and she longed to see him sans braies.
However, she’d made her decision. There was no going back now. He wouldn’t want her, never had wanted her. How angry he must have been when he read her letter.
The sound of raised voices disturbed her reverie. Her breathless father reappeared, steward Cormant with him. “I told you he would come for his due. Your betrothed is at the gates, demanding entry.”
He has come?
Her heart lurched when she heard her father giving orders for the men-at-arms to ride out against Ram.
“Non, Papa, I don’t want to see blood spilled. We’ll allow him entry, and perhaps negotiate some settlement for the lands. Leave this to me. You’re too apt to lose your temper. Cormant, pass the word the Comte de Montbryce is to be allowed entry. Show him to the Great Hall.”
She went to stand on the dais, hoping she looked like the Milady of the castle, in control. She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress.
Don’t bite your nails.
“He’s bigger even than I remember,” she murmured when Ram, Antoine and Hugh entered the Great Hall five minutes later. She could tell they’d ridden hard and fast.
What has he done to his hair?
She balled her fists, trying to still the wild beating of her heart. The sound filled her ears, and she was sure everyone else could hear it. She held out her arms to the three men. “Mon seigneur, Comte de Montbryce, my Lords Antoine and Hugh, welcome to my home. Welcome to Alensonne. I grieve with you on the loss of your father—I loved—” She could barely speak the words.
Antoine and Hugh moved quickly to her side and embraced her. “Mabelle,” Antoine whispered in her ear, “Be patient with him.”
She smiled and whispered back, “He looks like his blood is boiling because I’m whispering in your ear.”
Hugh laughed out loud.
Ram clenched his jaw. “Mabelle, I’ve come about our betrothal.”
“You wish to discuss the dowry?”
“Non!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t come to discuss the dowry.”
“What he means is he’s here to beg you to come back—” Antoine began.
“I haven’t come to beg,” Ram interrupted.
“He has come to ask you to return to Montbryce.”
“I’m capable of speaking for myself. Why not go to tend to our horses, dear brothers?”
“I’m sure the steward—”
“Go! Leave us.”
Antoine and Hugh shrugged their shoulders and left, scarcely able to contain their mirth.
Mabelle took a deep breath. “You seem comfortable giving orders here, but Alensonne isn’t yours yet.”
She fought to control the excitement flooding through her as Ram quickly crossed the space between them. Would he touch her? Take her in his arms? Cradle her to his chest?
He took her hands. “I don’t care about Alensonne. I want you to return to Montbryce with me so we can be married.”
She swayed as she struggled to control her voice and the threatening tears.
“You’ve decided this is the right time?”
“My father pledged me to you. It would dishonour his memory if I reneged.”
Her heart sank. She pulled her hands away from his grasp. “I told you, I’ve released you from that pledge. I have no desire to dishonour your father. I loved him. But I don’t want to be wed to a man who is marrying me for the sake of duty.”
She sensed his agitation at her words. He paced nervously for several minutes, running his hand over his short hair. She had to resist the impulse to rush over and tell him of her relief he was alive, that she would be his wife under any circumstances, that she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.
He turned to face her. “Mabelle, you’re the woman I want, the woman I need. I am sure of it now, after Hastings. You were my talisman. After the battle, I wanted to join my body to yours, to lose myself in you. I can be overbearing but I’ll try to—why are you crying?”
He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
“Ram,” she whispered.
He kissed her fiercely, and her body cried out for him. His hands were on her waist, pulling her to him. She felt his hard male length against her, and the pent up longing burst over her.
“Ram,” she whispered again, her breath catching in her throat as she reached up nervously to run her fingers lightly over his shaven head. “You’re alive—but what have you done to your beautiful hair?”
He laughed and put his arms on her shoulders. “Vaillon shaved it, for Hastings. It will grow back, but it feels strange.”
She leaned on him, her arms around his waist. They clung together for long minutes. She could hear his breathing, feel the beating of his heart. She’d never felt so safe.
“Return to Montbryce with me, Mabelle. Come be my wife, my Comtesse.”
She swallowed hard. She’d run away, denied her attraction to this man, but he was her destiny. “I’ll return with you. I invite you to rest here a few days. You’ve had a long journey and the grief of your father’s death. Enjoy Yuletide at Alensonne with me for a while.”
“It would give me great pleasure to see you enjoy your childhood home for a while longer, but I’ve been summoned to the Duke’s coronation in Westminster on Christmas Day. I want to take you there as my bride.”
“But that’s only a few days away!”
“William has promised me an Earldom in England, but if I’m not at the ceremony—”
“You risked it to come here—to get me?”
“You’re the woman I want to marry.”
He’d spoken no words of love but he wanted her enough to risk what was important to him—lands and titles. He would make sure she was safe. Alchemy drew them to each other. They would at least have passion.
“Then we must summon Cormant to prepare for our departure on the morrow. I’m used to travelling fast and light.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hugh and Ram walked together to the door of the chapel, and Ram took his place with the Bishop, and Antoine. The two brothers grasped each
other’s hand as their forearms crossed in a familiar gesture. Antoine slapped him on the back and smiled. Ram kissed the bishop’s ring as he bowed to the cleric.
He wished with all his heart his father still lived and regretted deeply he’d deprived him of the pleasure of seeing him wed. The trio waited a few minutes in nervous silence, then heard a rustling of gowns along with feminine whispers.
Ram’s breath caught in his dry throat when Mabelle came into view on the jaunty arm of her scowling father, who’d insisted on riding to Montbryce with them. He licked his lips. She seemed to be carefully examining the elaborately tiled floor.
Guillaume passed her warm hand into his, and Mabelle stole a glance at him as a jolt passed between them. As the long ceremony progressed, Ram became aware that the tall woman holding his hand tightly with her long slim fingers, was swaying. Was she going to faint? His head filled with images of running his hands over her breasts and hips—they promised fertility and many healthy children.
“Do you, Rambaud de Montbryce, wish to take this woman, Mabelle de Valtesse, de Belisle, d’Alensonne and de Domfort, to be your wedded wife?”
The bishop’s voice brought Ram back to reality. Immersed in his daydream, he’d lost track of where they were in the ceremony.
“I do so wish.”
Mabelle let out her breath.
She thought I might betray her again.
“Do you, Mabelle de Valtesse, de Belisle, d’Alensonne and de Domfort, wish to take this man, Rambaud de Montbryce, to be your wedded husband?”
This may be the moment she’s chosen for her revenge.
“I do so wish,” she whispered, her head bowed.
He’d been holding his breath and exhaled slowly.
“I now declare, to all present, they are husband and wife. Comte Rambaud de Montbryce, you may kiss your bride.”
They both stood perfectly still for a moment before turning to face each other. His heart racing, he lifted the veil and smiled, scarcely able to believe the erotic passion she provoked in him. Then the unhappy thought came again that he’d come cross his bride lying barely clothed in a meadow. Had she been expecting someone? It wasn’t Antoine, but perhaps another man? His smile turned to a frown. Why was she so cool? He bent his head to kiss her. At first she didn’t respond, but as he darted his tongue into her mouth, she opened to him.
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