Defiance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 2)

by Anna Markland

  Anger flashed in Renouf’s eyes, then he glanced quickly at the priest, who had an expression of curiosity on his ill-shaven face. He spoke for the first time. “A boon, child?”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes, Father, I would ask my future husband to allow my sisters and my grandfather and mother to continue living here, at the manor. It would break my heart to be separated from them.”

  “Well, child, I’m sure Sir Renouf—”

  Renouf glared at the priest, who stammered on, looking at the house. “I mean—it’s a large manor.”

  He cowered as Renouf strode towards him. “Oui, priest, I’m a benevolent man, and I give leave for Lady Devona’s family to remain on the grounds of the manor. Now, be done with your ceremony so I may take my bride to our solar.”

  Relieved she had won the concession, the prospect of becoming this brute’s wife still terrified her. “Sir Renouf, my chamber, it’s very small and the bed—”

  He grunted and elbowed past her into the house, climbing the stairs two at a time. She followed nervously. He threw open the doors to all the bedchambers, saying nothing after a cursory glance, until he came to the large chamber where her parents had slept, and where Devona’s mother lay in her stupor.

  “Get this woman out of here,” he roared. “I want fresh linens on this bed by the time I return with my bride.”

  Devona protested. “But this was my parents’ room, and my poor mother—”

  “It’s the best room. Put your mother in a smaller chamber. Now, where’s that priest?”

  Later that night, when the door slammed behind Renouf, Devona quickly retrieved her torn nightgown from the floor, curled her shivering body into a tight ball in the bed where she had been conceived in love, and wept. She muffled her sobs, afraid he would return if he heard her. He’d tie her hands as he’d done before and the beating would begin again.

  She did not understand why he had hit her. She had tried to comply with his every wish. That was a wife’s duty. But she had gagged involuntarily when his male part thrust deep into her throat as she knelt at his feet, her hands bound behind her. Enraged, he had smacked her across the face.

  Though an innocent, she had seen animals mating on the farms of their tenants, and had a basic understanding of how it happened. Nothing of the sort had taken place in their bedchamber.

  She had no will to recall the events that had led to the degradation she felt. She found consolation in the knowledge that her family had not been cast out, though Renouf had insisted her grandfather be given only a pallet in the stables.

  The Lord of Melton, thane of Edward the Confessor, sleeping in a stable.

  Renouf was shouting in the kitchen below, demanding ale and food, though it was well past midnight. She hoped the wail of the winter wind moaning through the nooks and crannies of her home had prevented Bemia and Aediva being awakened by her sobs.

  Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she feigned sleep.

  Renouf entered noisily, slumped down at her side and shook her.

  She wrinkled her nose at the reek of his sweat. He chewed noisily on a chicken leg. “I know you’re not asleep, wife. On the morrow, your mother is to be removed from the chamber where we put her. A person who contributes nothing to the household will not occupy one of the finest bedchambers.”

  “But, my lord, she’s ill. She’s never recovered from—”

  He glowered at her, his straggly beard coated with chicken grease, his eyes glazed with intoxication. “I’ve decided she’s to be moved. Do you wish to argue with me?”

  “Where will they put her?” she whimpered.

  Renouf belched. “I don’t care. She can sleep in the hall with the other servants and serfs.”

  “She isn’t a ser—”

  With one greasy hand Renouf grabbed her hair and pulled her face to his, grasping her breast with the other. “Kneel, wench. You must be punished for your insubordination. Open your mouth.”

  Pray for me, Mother. Pray I don’t retch this time.

  He Won't Be Interested

  Domfort, Normandie 1068 Second Year of the Reign of William the Conqueror

  Did you see him, Agnes?”

  “Who?”

  Victoire huffed impatiently. “Milord, of course.”

  Agnes elbowed the scullery maid out of her way. She had things to do. “Oui. I took his meal to him as usual.”

  Victoire persisted. “What’s he like?”

  Agnes stopped, an unpeeled apple in her hand. “You’ve never seen him?”

  Victoire shook her head. “Non, I’ve worked in this castle a year and I’ve only ever seen him in the distance, riding off somewhere.”

  Agnes resumed her task. “Well, Milord Hugh is a private person.”

  Victoire cupped her copious breasts and grinned. “Has he ever tried—you know—anything?”

  “Absolutely not. Milord Hugh isn’t that kind of man.”

  The corners of Victoire’s mouth edged down. “What kind of man isn’t interested in women? Is he queer?”

  Agnes sliced a sharp knife through the apple, wiped her hands on her apron, then fisted them on her hips. “Non, and watch that tongue of yours, before it gets you into trouble. You don’t know what it was like here at Domfort before Lord Hugh came. We were treated like slaves by the monster Guillaume de Valtesse and his bastard son after him. Hugh de Montbryce treats us well. It’s much easier to work for such a master.”

  Victoire took up an equally challenging stance. “But he must have a mistress?”

  The impudence of this nothing of a girl amazed Agnes. “If he does, it’s none of your business or mine. I admit he’s a handsome blue-eyed devil, and I wouldn’t be averse to the feel of his hands on me, and mine on that muscular chest, and those long powerful legs wrapped—”

  She paused to fan her reddened face with her plump hand. “Phew, it’s hot in this kitchen. But Hugh de Montbryce is a gentleman, and if he has no need of women, what do we care?”

  Victoire picked up one of the unpeeled apples and held it to her lips. “Seems like a waste, if he’s as juicy as you make him sound.”

  Agnes laughed. “Oui, ‘juicy’ is a good word for Hugh de Montbryce.”

  Victoire bit into the fruit. “I’ve heard he spends all his time in the new apple orchards.”

  “Oui, his brother’s castle at Montbryce produces a famous apple brandy, and Lord Hugh wants to try the same thing here. We’re only a day from Montbryce.”

  Victoire chomped on the apple. “Is that where he rides off to?”

  “Sometimes, but his brother Rambaud, Comte de Montbryce, is in England. He’s an earl. The stewards, the Bonhommes, take care of Montbryce Castle, though poor Madame Bonhomme succumbed to the same pestilence that claimed Lord Hugh’s father.”

  “I remember it well.” Victoire made the sign of her Savior. “Seems like a lonely life for milord.”

  “Oui, but he likes it that way. Prefers to be alone. And his other brother, Antoine, is master at Belisle, so he often goes there as well.”

  Victoire squared her shoulders and pulled her chemise more tightly over her breasts. “Do you suppose you could let me take his food to him on occasion?”

  Agnes smirked. “It will do you no good. He won’t be interested.”

  Hugh sometimes wished he could find a woman to take away the constant ache for release he had felt since Hastings. But fear held him in its thrall.

  He found it ironically amusing whenever a new servant girl brought his repasts to his chamber. He wondered if there was some kind of wager going on in the kitchens to see which wench could tempt him. But no matter how brazenly they thrust their breasts and fluttered their eyelashes, they left him cold with dread. If he let down his guard, the bloodlust that had surfaced at Hastings would rear its ugly head, and he might—

  They don’t know the monster lurking within.

  He sought release at his own hand, though it brought no satisfaction. It seemed the right thing to do, and he became resigned
to his fate never to bed a woman he loved, or any woman.

  He thought often of his older brother. It was easy to see the sparks of passion that flew between Ram and his wife, Mabelle. He longed for that kind of love, but could not take the risk nor allow passion to rule him.

  How strange life was. He had been the devil-may-care brother, the carefree family clown. Who would have suspected the dark side that lurked beneath? It would destroy him to find a woman he loved, only to hurt her in some way, unable to control himself.

  He had grown fond of Domfort and had ambitious plans to make it a better holding. He enjoyed the back-breaking labor involved in planting an extensive apple orchard, and his tenants seemed to appreciate that he worked alongside them. Many of them shared his enthusiasm about the prosperity a successful orchard would bring, and an air of purpose pervaded where lethargy prevailed before.

  In his darkest moments, he considered becoming a monk, but ordinary monks were not allowed to involve themselves in war and politics. At heart he was a warrior and sensed turbulent times ahead.

  As soon as the Conqueror had been crowned King of the English, his enemies had taken advantage of his absence and begun attacks on Normandie. As a Montbryce it was Hugh’s responsibility to defend his homeland against any foe, and Domfort was not far from the territory of the treacherous Angevins. His duke depended on him to defend the border area.

  But it was a lonely life.

  The Duke Visits

  Domfort, Normandie, 1071

  In the fifth year of his reign as King of the English, William the Conqueror, still Duke of the Normans, came to Domfort. Hugh greeted him in the courtyard, remembering fondly the duke’s visit to Montbryce before the invasion. On that occasion William had informed Ram he would be in charge of building the fleet. Only five years since, yet how long ago it seemed now.

  Hugh reached for the reins of William’s horse. “Majesté, we at Domfort are honored by your presence in our humble castle. It’s good to have you in Normandie again.”

  William leaned heavily on the servant who came to help him dismount..

  “Thank you for your welcome. I’m glad to be back in my homeland and I had to come to Domfort. Ram’s been telling me about the improvements you’ve made here in a relatively short time. This is an important strategic holding, as you know. The Montbryce family shines as always. Like Ram, you have brought gladness to my heart.”

  Hugh was well aware of the importance of Domfort to his king and appreciated the praise. He wondered if his monarch had any notion of how often he had thought of abandoning the castle and going off to a monastery.

  William fisted his hands on his hips and stretched his back as he looked around. “I’m not as fit as I used to be,” he lamented. “Domfort is not as grand as Montbryce, but a good castle nonetheless, don’t you agree? And Ram and Mabelle are thankful for your able administration of it.”

  Hugh noticed the king had become considerably fatter. “Oui, Your Majesty, it’s a solid construction. I’ve found contentment here. Please, I bid you enter and I’ll show you to your chambers.”

  William seemed in an effusive mood as he entered Domfort, casting an approving eye at the well maintained interior. “What a family you Montbryces are. Antoine is successful at Belisle, and keeps a tight rein on Guillaume de Valtesse at Alensonne as well. No mean feat. Your lands are ones I never worry about. Being King of the English and Duke of the Normans at the same time isn’t easy. All kinds of factions—as you know.”

  Hugh nodded. “Our father was a good teacher.”

  William put a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “A great loss for Normandie. Antoine tells me you don’t often eat in the Great Hall with your people? I hope you’ll join us this evening.”

  Hugh tamped down his annoyance that his brother had been discussing him with his king. “We’ve planned a feast I’m confident you’ll enjoy. La Cuisinière, the cook at Montbryce, sent me a woman she trained. We’ve tried to maintain the same high standards.”

  William’s eyes widened. “To this day I well remember the banquet I enjoyed at Montbryce just before the invasion. La Cuisinière was responsible for that. If only I could get someone in the royal kitchens in England to understand how to prepare food the Norman way.”

  Hugh laughed. “La Cuisinière could find someone for you. I’ll arrange it, if you wish.”

  “Excellent.”

  As they entered the king’s chambers, Hugh asked, “Do you see much of Ram, Your Majesty?”

  William kept his eyes on the comings and goings of his servants as they brought in his baggage. “Not as much as I’d like. Ellesmere is a long ride from Westminster. He’s proving to be a very effective Marcher Lord. He’s a good administrator, and knows when to use diplomacy and when to use military force. I’ve decided to reward him with a gift of manors and estates in Arundel.”

  “Arundel, Your Majesty?”

  “Sussex—Harold’s old lands on the south coast—very important for the defense of England. Oui, Ram is rapidly becoming one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in England. He and his beautiful wife are turning Ellesmere into a miniature Montbryce. They have a Norman cook as well, and one of the Montbryce steward’s sons.”

  Hugh’s heart swelled with pride. “Oui, Mathieu Bonhomme. I miss Ram—and Mabelle. Are they happy, do you think? I know they’re often homesick for Normandie.”

  William swept his cloak from his shoulders and flung it at a servant. “Happy? They can’t keep their hands off each other. What about you? Not betrothed yet? No young bride to tell me about?”

  Hugh clenched his jaw. “Non, I’ll probably never marry.”

  William frowned. “Never marry? Why not? You’re a fine catch for some young maiden. This castle needs a woman’s touch. I’ll find someone for you.”

  “Well, perhaps someday,” Hugh said, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. The idea of having to wed a bride picked by the king filled him with dread. Refusal would be deemed treasonous. He sought to redirect the conversation. “I understand some of the building at Ellesmere was delayed?”

  William sat down heavily in the massive oak chair before the hearth. “Oui, one of the other Marcher Lords, my dear friend William Fitz-Osbern, is an accomplished castle builder and he was assisting Ram with Ellesmere. But after I named Fitz as co-Regent with my half-brother, a rebellion broke out in his region and he had to abandon Ram to go quash it.”

  Ram never put any of his sentiments about politics in writing but, reading between the lines, Hugh sensed his brother’s dismay at the barbaric tactics Fitz-Osbern had employed.

  The king had apparently been even more brutal in his harrying of the northern regions of England after various rebellions there. William’s scorched earth tactics would ensure no one survived on the land for years.

  Bloodlust was indeed a dangerous thing that could turn the best of men into monsters.

  Ram's Gift

  Not long after the king’s visit, Hugh received a letter from his brother Ram in England.

  Ellesmere Castle, England.

  In the year of Our Lord One Thousand and Seventy-Two and the Fifth Year of the Glorious Reign of King William the Conqueror.

  To My Dear Brother, Hugh de Montbryce,

  His Majesty King William has afforded me an enormous honor in granting oversight of four score and three manor houses in Sussex.

  In my view, this is a reward for the Montbryce family. I therefore intend to deed ten of these manor houses to you and ten to Antoine.

  I have in mind to cede to you responsibility for the manors of Patcham, Melton, Withdean, Portslade, Angmering, Wick, Rustington, Ferring, Worthing and Lancing.

  Your presence will be required in Ellesmere so the necessary documents can be drawn up and signed, and perhaps you can visit some of your new holdings.

  I confess I haven’t had time to inspect any of them personally, especially now that Mabelle is with child. Yes, you’re to become an uncle—at long last.

  With great af
fection,

  Your brother Ram, Comte de Montbryce, Earl of Ellesmere

  Ram and Mabelle had hoped for a child for years. Hugh was aware of his brother’s worry he might have to set his wife aside if she proved to be barren. He also knew such a decision would break Ram’s heart.

  And the gift of ten estates!

  This was all good news indeed.

  He resolved to ride to Belisle to celebrate with Antoine.

  His brother greeted him warmly when he strode into the Great Hall. “I’ve been expecting you. It appears the king was serious about the Sussex lands. I received a similar letter. It’s very generous of Ram.”

  Hugh chuckled. “It’s also a daunting responsibility, and embroils the two of us further in the power struggles of both England and Normandie. Ram is wily, he knows now that we’ll have a vested interest in seeing England prosper.”

  A servant brought a flagon of ale. Hugh was thankful Antoine took care not to fill his tankard too full.

  Antoine raised his tankard. “A toast to Ram and Mabelle and their happy news about a child, the long awaited Montbryce heir.”

  Hugh touched his tankard to his brother’s. “Let’s hope it’s a boy.”

  They took a long drink, then relaxed in chairs by the hearth. “Your fields and forests are looking fertile. I noticed as I rode in.”

  “Oui, it’s amazing how serfs and servants will work if they’re treated well. Some of them still can’t believe they’re no longer under the yoke of the Valtesses. In the years I’ve been here the yield has doubled.”

  Hugh raised his tankard for another toast. “Now if we could only gain full control of Alensonne.”

  Antoine echoed the gesture. “Guillaume de Valtesse isn’t a healthy man. It’s hard to believe that our beautiful sister-by-marriage is the daughter of such a madman. By the way, how’s the apple orchard progressing?”