Defiance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 2)

by Anna Markland

  Heat rose in Hugh’s face. “I suppose I don’t hide my feelings too well, do I? But I must do something. Renouf will eventually kill Lady Devona if I do nothing. I don’t know how she’s survived five years with that brute and his henchman. The other concern I have is for her sisters. Their future looks dire if we do nothing.”

  Antoine steepled his hands. “I understand your concern, Hugh, and I share it, but as I said before, we must tread carefully.”

  Hugh stretched as he came to his feet. “I agree. I’ll leave for home on the morrow and meet you at Montbryce in a fortnight.”

  Antoine beckoned a servant. “I’ll send a bird with a message to our men on the coast to ready the longboat for a large group.”

  Plans Laid

  The Melton family was enjoying a respite from Renouf’s reign of terror. He had gone to Normandie, just as he had four times a year since his marriage to Devona. He had never offered to take her with him, and his absences usually lasted about three sennights.

  He didn’t speak about whom he saw or what he did there, nor did they know what part of Normandie he visited. They didn’t care, only wishing he took Torod with him, but the monster was left behind to oversee the manor in Renouf’s absence.

  They tried to stay out of his way. Devona was not afraid he would touch her—that was more than his life was worth. However, he was increasingly showing interest in Bemia.

  Whenever possible, they sought refuge on their beach, though that sanctuary was dependent on tides and weather. High tides came in quickly. The girls kept a weather eye out and climbed back up the steps as soon as the tide turned.

  They were emerging from the top of the winding steps one sunny afternoon when Devona espied Hugh de Montbryce in the distance, riding toward the manor. There was no mistaking the broad shoulders, the long dark hair, the ease with which he rode, horse and rider moving as one.

  He has returned.

  The climb had winded her, but she wanted to run to him, throw her arms around his neck and kiss him a thousand times for returning. A wave of heat rolled through her body and she feared her trembling legs might give way. But men were men, and Normans were Normans. She would need to be wary. Perhaps his return had naught to do with her.

  Aediva touched her arm. “What is it Devona? Are you ill?”

  Devona fanned her face with her hand. “No, my sweet, I think I came up the steps too fast. That’s all.”

  Torod had also espied Hugh’s party approaching so she quickened her pace to arrive in the courtyard at the same time. Boden beat her to it and almost bowled Hugh over with his welcome when he dismounted. She wondered if the Norman guessed how badly she wished it was her hands on his chest, her tongue licking his face.

  When Torod opened his mouth, she cut him off. “Get down, Boden. Welcome, Lord Montbryce. Boden is happy to see you.”

  Too much enthusiasm will alert Torod.

  She stumbled on. “I’m afraid you’ve missed Renouf, he’s in Normandie.”

  She had to hope Hugh’s nod and the sparkle in his eyes indicated he had understood how glad she was to see him.

  He handed the reins of his stallion to the scowling Torod. “Lady De Maubadon, thank you for your welcome.”

  She prayed Torod didn’t notice her red face when the visitor kissed her hand.

  “Too bad I’ve missed your husband, but perhaps I can talk with Torod here regarding matters pertaining to the manor?”

  She smiled broadly at the Toad. “Torod is capable of filling that role. I hope you’ll dine with us this evening?”

  “It would be a pleasure. Perhaps he can also show my men where to bed down.”

  Torod grunted and strode off, Velox in tow.

  Devona’s sisters joined them.

  Hugh bowed. “Bemia, Aediva, how good to see you.”

  Bemia nodded. “Lord de Montbryce.”

  Aediva smiled warily.

  Devona itched to take Hugh’s hand and lead him into the manor, but Torod might look back and see.

  As soon as Hugh saw Devona hastening towards him he became aware of two things. Her more relaxed manner led him to believe Renouf was not at home. His body’s reaction told him he was in love, or at least in lust with her. That presented enormous problems, given his inability to experience passion without violence ensuing, not to mention she was another man’s wife.

  When she flashed her green eyes with the unspoken message that she was more than glad to see him, his heart thudded. He resolved in that moment to do everything in his power to free her from her life of cruel degradation with Renouf de Maubadon, no matter the consequences.

  Later, as they supped in the dining hall, he tried to convey his feelings without alerting Torod. He and Devona were seated at the head table, Torod below them with a number of boisterous men. Again, Hugh’s men sat apart, evidently not wishing to associate with the mercenaries.

  Devona kept her eyes on her food. “If we speak to each other,” she whispered, “I can’t look at you because Torod will report everything that happens here to Renouf.”

  Hugh clenched his jaw. “I came because I sensed you needed me, Lady Devona. I hope it doesn’t offend you if I use your given name?”

  She fought to quell the tears welling in her eyes. “I prayed for you to come.”

  He smiled inwardly at the memory of his body’s initial misunderstanding of her plea. He kept his voice low. “I heard your prayer. I dreamt of you. I still dream of you.”

  She struggled to maintain her composure, sipping her broth. “But the hopelessness of our situation is overwhelming. Renouf or Torod watch us all the time. We’re only alone when we’re on the beach below the cliffs.”

  Hugh nodded thoughtfully. “A beach? We must contrive to meet there on the morrow, so I can ascertain if it’s a means of escape.”

  She stopped breathing. A brief glimmer of surprise flickered in her eyes. “But even if it is, my grandfather and my mother could never make it down the steps to the beach. I can’t abandon them to Renouf’s wrath. We can only go there if the tide is out.”

  “We’ll find a way, Devona. I give you my word.”

  He raised his goblet in a mock toast. “Excellent wine, Torod. Compliments to Sir Renouf.”

  The Toad raised his goblet, his scowl malevolent.

  Devona frowned. “It’s excellent wine, at the expense of Melton Manor. My husband strips us of our wealth to satisfy his appetites.”

  Hugh thought for a while about what she had told him. “Tell me, where has he gone in Normandie? Has he been there before, since you were married?”

  She covered her mouth with a napkin. “He goes often, four times a year. I don’t know where. He doesn’t tell me. He’s usually gone about three sennights.”

  “Interesting.”

  He raised his voice. “Excellent chicken, Torod. Compliments to Sir Renouf’s cook. Not many kitchens in England can produce such fare.”

  Again Torod acknowledged the compliment with a silent lifting of his goblet.

  Through gritted teeth, Hugh asked, “Is he believing any of this charade?”

  She kept her eyes downcast. “I won’t know until Renouf returns.”

  The fear in her voice sent a cold chill racing up his spine. He needed to act quickly. “When will the morrow’s tide be favorable?”

  Devona’s shoulders tensed. “An hour before sunset, but no one must see us go down together.”

  Hugh wanted desperately to cradle her in his arms, to reassure her. “I’ll leave Melton earlier in the day. Antoine and I are at East Preston. I’ll find another way to meet you on your beach one hour before sunset.”

  She gave a barely perceptible nod. “I’ll be there, unless it proves too dangerous.”

  He bowed as he stood to take his leave. In a loud voice, he declared, “Bonsoir, Lady De Maubadon. I thank you and le capitaine Torod for your hospitality. I’ll see you on the morrow.”

  “Good night, Lord Montbryce.”

  Hugh turned back to the Toad.
“I’m sure all is in order, but the king will expect me to peruse the accounts for the manor. Meet me in the hall an hour after dawn, with the ledgers. I’ll explain about the new steward my brother and I have appointed to oversee our English manors when we’re in Normandie. Now I must attend to Velox.”

  Torod grunted.

  Once he arrived in the stable, Hugh sought out Gerwint from whom he received a cool reception.

  “You don’t believe it, old man, but I’ve come to help you and your family. I may be a Norman, but I can’t abide seeing a brute abuse a woman. That isn’t what I fought for at Hastings—to bring terror to a foreign people.”

  The old Saxon warrior had aged visibly in the short time since his first visit. He slumped onto a bale of hay. “It’s hopeless. The usurpers are ever vigilant, and Renouf knows he has the law of matrimony on his side. I’ve plotted all manner of escape plans, but they’re too dangerous, and none likely to succeed.”

  Hugh sat down beside the Saxon. “Devona mentioned the beach. I plan to meet her there to see if it’s a means of escape.”

  Gerwint looked at Hugh with obvious surprise. “Well, I’ve considered the beach, but the only way is—”

  He stopped abruptly and looked around furtively, then directly into Hugh’s eyes. “I’ve entrusted no one with this knowledge, not even my own kin. There’s a way down to the beach from the manor house used many, many years ago, when our ancestors were involved in—well—smuggling and the like.

  “It was the reason our forebears chose this cliff. The passageway was a bolt-hole in dangerous times. It mostly follows a natural fissure, unused for two generations. I myself was only in it once, as a boy. I don’t know if I should trust a Norman with the knowledge.”

  Hugh gripped the old man’s shoulder. “You have no choice, Sir Gerwint. I’m your only hope.”

  The Saxon looked at him curiously and was silent for several minutes before he spoke again. “The passageway begins behind the larder. Devona knows how to get into the false wall there, but she doesn’t know how to enter the passageway, nor of its existence. It leads down to a large cave under the cliff. But if I had got them all down there, I had no means of getting them off the beach.”

  Hugh stood, his hopes renewed. “If this is a feasible plan, I’ll devise a way of escape by sea. You must give Devona the instructions for entering the passageway.”

  Gerwint came to his feet. “Aye. The hardest thing will be getting her mother down there. Poor wretch. What a beautiful woman she was before—”

  Hugh struggled with his anger. The advent of the Normans, his own people, had devastated this family. “I intend to ride to East Preston on the morrow. I’ll procure a small boat and meet Devona on the beach an hour before sunset. I’ll locate the cave and we’ll plan from there. I won’t return to Melton myself, it would arouse suspicion, but you can trust a message from our steward, Barat Cormant.”

  Gerwint was pensive. “But, if we escape, where will we go?”

  “As far away from Renouf de Maubadon as possible,” Hugh replied.

  Gerwint nodded, choking back tears. “It will be hard to leave Melton. I love it so.”

  Hugh swallowed hard. “I would feel the same if I was forced to abandon Montbryce Castle.”

  “Aye. Well—my thanks to you, Lord Hugh de Montbryce. You’ve renewed my hope. You’re the first Norman to address me as Sir Gerwint.”

  It quickly became evident to Hugh that Torod could not read.

  “These tallies seem correct, but, in truth, I’m not a man of figures myself,” he lied. “I’ll send my steward, Barat Cormant, to examine your ledgers.”

  Torod scowled and rubbed his fingers back and forth over his mouth, his spine rigid. “I can assure you all is in order,” he said in his gravelly voice.

  “I’m sure, but it’s important Cormant become familiar with the revenues and expenses of the manor if he’s to administer it for me. I’m a greedy man. I want to make sure I’m getting my due. As a fellow Norman, you understand that surely? You and Renouf.”

  “Hmph.”

  Hugh pointed to a random entry. “Par example, these entries here for imported wines, they seem—excessive. Perhaps I have no sense of the cost of such things, and of course a Norman who fought at Hastings should be entitled to enjoy only the finest wines, but Cormant—now, that’s a different thing.”

  Torod shifted his weight and scratched the stubble on his pockmarked chin. “Sir Renouf will explain everything to your satisfaction.”

  Pulling on his gloves, Hugh resisted the urge to throttle the man. “Oui, I want to tell King William how grateful I am he has endowed me with manor houses that return a handsome revenue. When will Renouf be back?”

  The taut features of Torod’s ugly face tightened further, betraying his unease. “We expect him in a sennight.”

  Hugh feigned surprise. “Mmm. I’ll be back in Normandie by then. However, Cormant is nearby at East Preston. He can easily come over to Melton any time he wishes. You’ll be sure to let Renouf know of our arrangements? Does he visit family in Normandie? Perhaps he’s close to my castle at Domfort? I could call on him.”

  “Hmph! I’m—I’m not sure where his family is.”

  “You didn’t come from Normandie with him?”

  “Oui—but not from his ancestral home.”

  Hugh took off one glove and flicked it against Torod’s shoulder. “Make sure my men have Velox saddled. I’m bound for East Preston forthwith. Have you seen Lady De Maubadon? I’ll bid her adieu.”

  “She’s in the gallery.”

  “Merci. I’ll find my own way.”

  When Hugh entered the gallery, Devona’s heart thudded, as it did every time she set eyes on him. He was a beautiful man, handsome, fit, noble and compassionate. She touched the pulse at her throat, hoping its agitation was not visible. She could easily have fallen in love with such a man, before—

  Boden ambled over to sit at Hugh’s feet, looking up at him.

  “Devona,” he whispered, “I have but a moment to bid you farewell. Try to be on the beach in the hour before sunset. I’ll acquire a boat and meet you there. Your grandfather has told me about a cave. You must speak to him today.”

  She came to her feet, dropping her embroidery. “A cave? Yes there’s a large cave, near the end of the beach. But what—?”

  Torod strode into the room, his suspicious eyes darting from Devona to Hugh and back. “Your horse is ready.”

  The fine hairs on Devona’s nape stood to attention.

  Boden growled.

  Hugh tapped his gloves against his thigh. “Merci, Torod. Adieu, Lady De Maubadon. Thank you for your hospitality. Goodbye, Boden. Take care of your mistress.”

  He patted the dog’s head, bowed to Devona and departed.

  Hugh went back to East Preston by way of Kingston Gorse, where he arranged to borrow a rowboat.

  He enquired of the Norman lord of the manor how long he estimated it would take to row to the cliffs below the manor at Melton.

  Sir Stephen Marquand looked at him curiously. “Melton? Depends on the tides, and the wind, and how many rowers you have.”

  “Two burly men, at low tide.”

  Sir Stephen pursed his lips. “Perhaps a quarter of an hour.”

  Hugh bowed. “Thank you. I’ll return later. I will remember this favor.”

  He rode on to East Preston, where he explained his plan to Antoine. His brother was assisting Barat Cormant with setting rat poison, under the watchful eye of Isembart Jubert, Montbryce Castle’s one-armed rat catcher.

  Antoine straightened, rubbing his back. “These cursed rodents are everywhere. It will be weeks before the house can be occupied. I’ll have to return to Normandie and leave Jubert to it.”

  Barat chuckled. “Don’t worry, milord. No rat ever got the better of a Jubert, even one who has lost his arm in the service of his duke. We’ll have this place put back to rights in no time.”

  Jubert, a man of few words, nodded and grinned.
>
  Hugh felt guilty. “I’m sorry I’m no help at the moment, but I must do something about Melton. It’s as much my responsibility as what you’re doing here is yours. Renouf is draining Melton as well as abusing its people. Rats must be trapped and disposed of.”

  Antoine braced his hands on his hips, stretching his back. “I understand, but I worry about the whole enterprise. It won’t be good if you fall out of favor with the king for stealing another man’s wife. You know how maniacal he can be about such matters.”

  Hugh rubbed the back of his aching neck. “All we intend this night is to row to the cliffs to look at the cave Sir Gerwint told me about, and assess the possibility of a sea rescue.”

  Antoine stopped stretching. “We?”

  Hugh chewed his lip. “I’ll take two men-at-arms to row for me.”

  “You don’t need my help?”

  Hugh detected a note of disappointment. “If you want to come—”

  His brother resumed his stretching. “I’d better. Just to keep an eye on you, though you know how sea sick I can be, like Ram.”

  Hugh laughed. “Oui, I do know. I seem to be the only member of our family with good sea legs. Hard to believe sometimes we’re descendants of the Norsemen.”

  The Cave

  The tide had gone out far from Kingston Gorse, obliging the four men, barefoot and clad only in shirts and leggings, to carry the rowboat to the water. They shoved it into the surf and clambered aboard.

  The men-at-arms, natives of St. Valéry on the Normandie coast, chosen for their muscle power and seafaring knowledge, soon had the oars going in a steady rhythm.

  “Reminds me of my misspent youth, milord,” one of them jested, stowing a pack he had borne on his back. “A clandestine excursion in a rowboat to meet with a young maiden.”

  Before long, Antoine was as green as his eyes, despite the calm water and light breeze. The oarsmen took one look at him and winked at each other with a knowing grin.

  The manor came into view. “There’s Melton,” Hugh shouted.

  Again a feeling of homecoming swept over him. “Row in as close as you can. I don’t see anyone yet.”