Finale
Anna Markland
FINALE
THE MONTBRYCE LEGACY
ANNIVERSARY EDITION BOOK 12
By
ANNA MARKLAND
Copyright © 2019 by Anna Markland
Contents
More Anna Markland
King In Waiting
Ramifications
Autumn
Inebriated Fools
Pilgrimage
Meddlesome Priest
Hasty Departures
Premonitions
First Meeting
Crossing
England
Restless Night
Grim
Aura
Slipping Away
Irreverent Kiss
Barham Court
Murder In The Cathedral
Flight
Every Ending
Unlikely Hero
Berries
Coming Home
An Important Test
Aftermath
A Wedding
Teasing
A Bedding
Epilogue
Postscriptum
Historical Footnotes
About Anna
FINALE by Anna Markland
The Montbryce Anniversary Edition Book 12
© 2019 Anna Markland
www.annamarkland.com
All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
For permissions contact: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Dar Albert
“The holly bears a berry,
As red as any blood.
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
For to do us sinners good.”
~Traditional medieval song.
A note to readers:
This tale features characters from previous books
in the Montbryce Legacy family saga.
However, it can still be read as a standalone story.
More Anna Markland
The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition (2018-2019)
I Conquest—Ram & Mabelle, Rhodri & Rhonwen
II Defiance—Hugh & Devona, Antoine & Sybilla
III Redemption—Caedmon & Agneta
IV Vengeance—Ronan & Rhoni
V Birthright—Adam & Rosamunda, Denis & Paulina
VI Star-Crossed— Robert & Dorianne, Baudoin & Carys
VII Allegiance—Rhys & Annalise
VIII Crescendo—Izzy & Farah
IX Infidelity—Gallien & Peridotte
X Jeopardy—Alexandre & Elayne
XI Forbidden— Bronson & Grace; Rodrick & Swan
XII Finale—Barr & Hollis
The FitzRam Family Trilogy
Carried Away—Blythe & Dieter
Sweet Taste of Love—Aidan & Nolana
Wild Viking Princess—Ragna & Reider
The Viking ancestors of my Norman families
The Rover Bold—Bryk & Cathryn
The Rover Defiant—Torstein & Sonja
The Rover Betrayed—Magnus & Judith
Novellas
Maknab’s Revenge—Ingram & Ruby
Passion’s Fire—Matthew & Brigandine
Banished—Sigmar & Audra
Hungry Like De Wolfe—Blaise & Anne
Unkissable Knight—Dervenn & Victorine
The Marauder—Santiago & Valentina
Knightly Dreams—Peter & Susie
Caledonia Chronicles (Scotland)
Book I Pride of the Clan—Rheade & Margaret
Book II Highland Tides—Braden & Charlotte
Book III Highland Dawn—Keith & Aurora
Book IV Roses Among the Heather—Blair & Susanna, Craig & Timothea
The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty (medieval Europe)
Book 1 Loyal Heart—Sophia & Brandt
Book 2 Courageous Heart—Luther & Francesca
Book 3 Faithful Heart—Kon & Zara
Myth & Mystery
The Taking of Ireland —Sibràn & Aislinn
Clash of the Tartans
Kilty Secrets—Ewan & Shona
Kilted at the Altar—Darroch & Isabel
Kilty Pleasures—Broderick & Kyla
The House of Pendray
Highland Betrayal—Morgan & Hannah (audiobook available)
Kingslayer’s Daughter—Munro & Sarah
Highland Jewel—Garnet & Jewel
Highland Rising—Gray & Faith
King In Waiting
14th June 1170, Westminster, England
Richly robed in white ceremonial vestments shot through with gold, Roger de Pont L’Évêque, Archbishop of York, settled the jeweled crown of England on Prince Henry’s mop of red hair and loudly proclaimed the freckle-faced fifteen-year-old the future King of England.
Standing with bandy legs braced at the front of princes, princesses, knights and barons assembled from every part of his far-flung realm, King Henry Plantagenet, garbed in an unadorned tunic and cloak he might have borrowed from a peasant, thrust his fist in the air and loudly cheered the anointing of his eldest son.
His joy was echoed by a deafening cacophony of Amens and Hurrahs. Clouds of incense choked the air. Trumpets blared. The Abbey bells clanged.
On his knees in the shadowed pews off to the side of the throne, Hugh, Bishop of Durham picked at a loose thread unraveling from the end of his sleeve. He deemed the king’s display most unseemly and irreverent in this holy and historic place. However, disgust wasn’t the main reason for his disquiet. Nor was the nagging pain in his joints. “We will pay for this with our immortal souls,” he whispered to Bishop Gilbert of London who knelt beside him.
Gilbert tapped a gnarled finger to his cracked lips. “Now is not the time to speak of it.”
Hugh looked across the chancel. Deep frowns furrowed the brows of Bishops Jocelyn of Salisbury and Walter of Rochester. They’d all been commanded by the king to assist with the coronation that would ensure the succession, but dread lay like a lead weight in Hugh’s gut. He suspected the other English bishops also knew they were playing with fire.
The Archbishop of York had no business usurping the absolute right of the Archbishop of Canterbury to crown England’s king.
Sumptuously garbed in the traditional tunicle, dalmatic and cope, the newly crowned King-in-Waiting rose slowly from the throne, scepter and ceremonial sword in hand. Henry and Giles, Bishops of the Norman dioceses of Bayeux and Evreux, hurried to hold up the trailing hem of his linen vestments.
The tall, broad-shouldered prince fell in beside his strutting father. Two kings with unruly red hair led the processional out of the abbey. Hugh and his fellow English bishops brought up the rear. The assembled nobility filed out behind them.
In what should have been the proudest moment of Hugh’s career, impending doom knotted his belly. When word of the coronation reached the ears of Thomas Becket, the exiled Ar
chbishop of Canterbury in France, there’d be hell to pay.
Feeling decidedly overheated and uncomfortable garbed in a long, belted tunic of Flemish wool that came down to his ankles, Sir Barr de Montbryce fidgeted with the familiar clan brooch at his throat that fastened the short red cloak.
On his feet for over an hour as the elaborate ceremony dragged on, he wished he hadn’t worn new boots. He’d allowed himself to be talked into the outfit as befitting the Vicomte de Montbryce on such a grand occasion, but couldn’t wait to change back into a short tunic, leggings and the well-worn boots he wore every day.
The Montbryce men—Barr, his father and two younger brothers—were among hundreds of noble Norman families obliged to cross the Narrow Sea to England to be present at the coronation of the Young King.
When their turn came, they followed the recessional out of the abbey. As they neared the crowd still standing near the exit, he noticed an attractive blonde woman staring at him. She stood out as a rare beauty amid a sea of anonymous faces. He smiled, but she averted her gaze when their eyes met. It came to him as the family members made their way to the banqueting hall of Westminster Palace that she was holding hands with two children. A widow, probably. His heart went out to her. He knew what it was to lose a spouse.
Barr was aware of his father’s misgivings about the ceremony, but Comte Alexandre had warned his sons to keep their opinions to themselves in the crowded hall.
It was doubtful Stephen and Gallien cared about anything beyond the pomp and splendor of the occasion—except the food and plentiful wine that was sure to flow—but Barr understood his father’s concerns.
They shared a table with their English cousins, Rodrick de Montbryce, Earl of Ellesmere, and Sir Bronson FitzRam from Northumbria. Bronson’s twin sons rounded out the family group. The Montbryce clan applauded and cheered as loudly as anyone when King Henry made a big show of serving his newly-crowned successor. He hefted the traditional boar’s head onto the table in front of his son and declared, “Few princes are served by kings.”
An awkward silence ensued when Young Henry replied, “It is not unusual for the son of a count to serve a king.”
No one was certain how Henry would react to this pointed barb. As the son of the Count of Anjou, he had no claim to royal blood or lineage except through his mother, Matilda, who had never succeeded in becoming queen. The cheering began again when the monarch guffawed heartily.
Barr hoped he might catch a glimpse of the striking woman he’d noticed at the back of the abbey. Something about her had drawn his attention, a rare occurrence since the death of his first wife years ago. Perhaps it was the wisps of blonde hair clamoring to be free of her veil. He wondered who she was, but there seemed to be no sign of her and the two little boys. It wasn’t surprising, given the hundreds in attendance, but he was strangely disappointed.
Bronson was taking advantage of the opportunity to spend time with his sons whom he hadn’t seen for several months. They’d been fostered with Hugh de Moreville in Cumbria, a decision Barr found hard to understand, but this wasn’t the time to get into a discussion about such matters.
Cousin Rodrick’s clenched jaw and stern countenance were an indication to Barr the English side of the family was equally worried about the coronation. However, it wouldn’t be wise for a Norman comte nor an English earl to express their concerns to a king well known for his volatile temper. If there was one thing sure to send Henry into high dudgeon, it was the mention of Archbishop Thomas Becket’s name. It behooved them to be wary. The ceremony had not only made Prince Henry a king-in-waiting, the youth was also now the titular Duke of Normandie.
Standing on tiptoe beside her nephews at the very back of the abbey, Hollis de Moreville still couldn’t see the historic events taking place in the chancel. The eye-watering clouds of incense didn’t help matters. When cheers resounded and trumpets blared, she assumed Prince Henry had been crowned.
“Do we have two kings now, Aunty Hollis?” seven-year-old John asked in a loud voice over the strident din of the church bells. His question earned a glare from a pock-faced woman in front of them.
Hollis bent close to his ear. “King Henry wants to make sure his son becomes king after him.”
“I can’t see,” five-year-old Arthur whined. “Why can’t we go near the front with Papa?”
“Because your father is one of the king’s favored knights,” she replied.
Or so he claims.
“But we’re his sons,” John retorted.
“Children aren’t allowed alongside knights,” she improvised, hoping her nephews hadn’t paid attention to other sons and daughters who’d accompanied their noble parents.
And your father cannot be bothered with you while he’s posturing with his friends.
Arthur frowned. “But…”
Hollis clamped a hand over his mouth and curtseyed deeply as King Henry and his newly-crowned son processed past them, followed by the bishops who’d officiated. “Bow,” she hissed.
The boys executed the homage exactly as she’d taught them.
“Your father would be proud of you,” she whispered after the royal personages had passed and members of the assembled nobility began to file out.
It was impossible not to notice one richly dressed knight in the first group to join the recessional. He stood a head taller than the rest, probably a Scot if the clan brooch at his throat was any indication. He scanned the crowd and she averted her gaze when his eyes met hers. A Northerner herself, she was acquainted with many noble Scottish families, but this strapping knight wore no identifying plaid and he was gone before she could think on it any further.
Not far behind came a knight she did recognize. Sir Bronson FitzRam’s flowing red hair was hard to miss. He was from Kirkthwaite Hall in Northumbria, and was perhaps acquainted with the tall Scot. She smiled as Bronson’s twin sons came into view. Her brother was fostering the bright lads, though Hollis found it difficult to understand what had prompted the FitzRams to put their trust in Hugh de Moreville.
Given the hundreds of noble families from all over England and Normandie, it seemed to take an eternity for everyone to process out of the abbey.
It was of some satisfaction that her brother wasn’t among the first group to leave. Clearly, he hadn’t been as close to the front as he’d claimed.
John stood on tiptoe. “I think I see Papa coming now.”
Hollis put a protective arm around both boys’ shoulders as Hugh drew near. Knowing her brother, he wouldn’t take kindly to being bothered by his sons while he was playing the role of the king’s right-hand man.
As she anticipated, Hugh shot Hollis an angry glare without even glancing at his children. The message was clear. She was to keep them quiet and under control.
Her nephews’ shoulders sagged when their father failed to acknowledge them. Instead, he carried on an animated conversation with his cronies. She’d never liked nor trusted the trio who were Hugh’s constant companions. William de Tracy, Richard le Breton and Reginald FitzUrse all constantly craved royal attention.
“He didn’t see us,” Arthur murmured.
John remained silent.
Eventually, their turn came to leave the historic church. She’d expected Hugh to make straight for the banqueting hall. To her surprise, he was waiting outside.
“There won’t be time for you to attend the feast,” he said, pulling her away from the line.
Her heart lurched. “Why not?”
“We must pack up the London house. Their Majesties are sailing to Normandie on the morrow.”
She bit back her retort. There was little point creating a scene with hundreds of people milling about. Hugh would get his way, as he always did, and she’d pay later if she embarrassed him. It went without saying; wherever King Henry went, Hugh de Moreville was sure to follow like a faithful lapdog.
Ramifications
The interminably long coronation banquet saw both Henrys finally become exceedingly hoarse fro
m trying to outshout each other with ribald jests. The members of the Montbryce family from both sides of the Narrow Sea left Westminster Palace as soon as they judged their absence wouldn’t be deemed an insult to their royal hosts. There was safety in numbers, thus they travelled together to the clan’s secluded manor house in Hammersmith.
Two hours later, refreshed and changed out of their coronation finery, they gathered around the table in the dining hall, now free to discuss the ramifications of the king’s actions. The trusted servants who brought tumblers of apple brandy might overhear a word or two, but they’d proven themselves loyal over the course of many a year.
Barr had hoped to talk with Bronson FitzRam about his choice of Hugh de Moreville’s castle in Cumbria for William and Martin’s fostering. However, the lads were absent and Barr felt they should hear his proposal.
“Hugh de Moreville is leaving for Normandie on the morrow,” his half-cousin explained. “My boys are going with him. They’ve been tasked with helping to prepare for the journey.”
This news compounded Barr’s consternation. If the FitzRam boys were going to spend time in the land of their ancestors, why not foster them at Montbryce? From what he’d heard of de Moreville, the man probably intended to follow King Henry wherever he went. He’d spare little time for training William and Martin.
However, the general discussion had turned back to the implications of the coronation for the Montbryce-FitzRam clans. Unity had helped the family prosper for generations whereas other Anglo-Norman houses had fallen under the weight of never-ending intrigue and political turmoil.
Finale (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 12) Page 1