Defiance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 2)

by Anna Markland

  They brought the boat in closer, and Hugh caught sight of Devona halfway down the twisting staircase.

  “There she is.”

  He was about to wave when Antoine caught his arm.

  “Attention, Hugh. There’s a man standing at the top of the steps, watching. He’s probably wondering who we are and what we’re doing.”

  Hugh shaded his eyes and looked up. “Merde! It must be Torod. We can’t risk getting any nearer with him there. Pull us further away. He won’t make out who we are at this distance.”

  They waited what felt like interminable minutes, watching Devona on the beach.

  Antoine wiped his mouth after another bout of retching. “She must wonder why we’re not coming in.”

  Hugh gave his brother a sympathetic glance. “She can’t see the top of the steps, but she’ll know he’s there.”

  At last, Torod kicked at a stone and left.

  Hugh exhaled. “Good, he must think we’re fishermen. Pull in.”

  The oarsmen put their backs into it and soon had the boat close to shore.

  Antoine frowned. “Better not go right up on the beach, in case we have to leave quickly.”

  Hugh nodded, tore off his shirt and jumped into shoulder-deep water. He swam several yards then waded to the beach.

  Devona ran to meet him. His impulse was to wrap her in his arms as he strode from the water. “I want to greet you warmly, but if you return to the house with wet clothes, Torod will want to know why. He was watching.”

  She laughed, throwing her arms around him. “I shall tell him I fell into the sea.”

  Hugh’s knees trembled and his spine tingled. He pressed his needy body to hers and looked up as a raucous seagull swooped overhead.

  She too glanced up at the bird, then down at his chest. Her face reddened and she pulled away. “I suspected he was there,” she said shyly.

  She gasped when Antoine joined them on the beach. “I can’t believe your brother has talked you into helping with this dangerous scheme.”

  Antoine smiled weakly. “Well, Lady de Maubadon, we Montbryces must stick together.”

  She pouted. “Please, call me Devona. I hate Renouf’s name.”

  Antoine nodded. “As you wish. Now where’s this cave?”

  “Come, I’ll show you.”

  She took Hugh’s hand. Her warmth penetrated the chill of the water cooling on his body.

  “You can’t be long in wet clothing. The sun will set soon.”

  Hugh barely heard her words, his gaze fixed on the compelling sight of her bare feet and the glimpse of her slim ankles as she raised her skirts for the run across the sand.

  Devona had seen the rowboat turn into shore and known Torod must have left his post at the top of the steps.

  The sight of Hugh de Montbryce tearing off his shirt and jumping into the sea sent shivers up and down her spine. He strode on to the beach, rivulets of water running off his long black hair, down his perfect face, across his broad shoulders and over his well-muscled chest to his—oh my! Desire swept over her.

  He wasn’t even breathing heavily after his swim, but she was panting. He used his big hands to wipe the water from his eyes and comb back his hair with his elegant fingers. She wanted to lick each long finger in turn—slowly—and trace her finger along the jagged scar that betrayed where a weapon had torn open his bicep. She ached for the pain it must have caused.

  She rushed at him like a wanton. His arrival was such an overwhelming relief, she needed to feel him to make sure he was real. The hard reality of the maleness pressed against her allayed her fears.

  She was filled with revulsion whenever Renouf became aroused, but now her breasts tingled and she felt wet heat between her legs, and not from the seawater dripping off Hugh. The amber rays of the dying sun caused his sculpted wet body to glow. He was like a statue cast in precious metal emerging from the mold.

  My golden god!

  At the sight of his long toes curled into the wet sand, an urge swept over her to drop to her knees and trace his footprints. She almost swooned, but Antoine’s arrival brought her to her senses. She said something, but had no idea what. The word cave penetrated.

  “Come, I’ll show you.” She took Hugh’s hand without thinking. The warmth of his skin flowed through her. “You can’t be long in wet clothing.”

  Hugh blushed, obviously aware of the bulge in his wet leggings.

  “The sun will set soon. The cave is over here, at the end of our beach.”

  The three ran along the sand, scattering startled sandpipers, to the mouth of the cave. Hand in hand with Hugh, Devona had not felt so exhilarated and carefree since before the advent of the Normans.

  The narrow opening widened into a large cavern. The air inside was considerably cooler and the men shivered. She felt the chill of the water on her clothing. “We must be careful of fever.”

  Hugh squeezed her hand. “Did your grandfather tell you about the passageway from the house?”

  Devona’s heart was beating wildly. “Yes, but I haven’t had a chance yet to examine it. Torod has watched me too closely. He takes his duties seriously when he is in charge. He knows Renouf will kill him if anything happens to me while he’s away.”

  Antoine’s voice floated from further inside the cave. “I’d certainly like to know where Renouf goes so frequently in Normandie, and whom he visits.”

  The brothers had been examining the walls as they talked, looking for any sign of an opening to a passageway.

  Antoine called from somewhere deep in the recesses of the cave, his voice echoing off the glistening walls. “There are steps over here.”

  Hugh strode over, slowed by the slippery pebble-strewn floor of the cave. Smoothed by time and tide, ten steps led up to a heavy wooden door which was completely covered with barnacles and seaweed, the hinges rusted, parts of it rotted.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t know of this,” Devona exclaimed. “We’ve never ventured so far into the cave.”

  There seemed to be no handle, no means of opening the ancient arched portal.

  “Perhaps it opens outwards?” Antoine suggested.

  Hugh banged his fist against the wood. “But there’s no handle to grasp.”

  Devona shouted from the foot of the steps. “Is there space at the bottom to get a hold? The tide’s coming in. We must be wary. It’s unpredictable in this cove.”

  Antoine and Hugh knelt on the slick steps and curled their fingers under the narrow space beneath the door, then heaved with all their might.

  “It moved, Antoine, it moved!”

  “Again, once more, little brother.”

  Both men were perspiring now, despite the chill in the cave and their wet bodies. This time the door moved enough for Hugh to inch his fingers into the opening at the side.

  “Heave again, Antoine—this time—un—deux—trois—allez!”

  The stench that emanated from the long disused passageway almost felled them.

  Antoine held his breath. “Don’t open it too much. It will create a noticeable draught in the house above.”

  Hugh called to Devona as he peered into the murk. “You’ll need torches when you descend. It’s dark and looks slippery.”

  Devona nodded, but she was getting nervous. “My lords, the tide, come quickly.”

  Waves lapped at the edges of the cave.

  Hugh put his hands on her shoulders. “Go. We’ll come back on the morrow and investigate the cave further now we’ve found the passageway. You must look for the doorway at your end. We’ll send word with our steward.”

  He brushed his lips over hers. She placed her palm over his heart, felt its erratic beating and returned his kiss, shocking herself by thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Then she tore away and ran for the stone staircase, already awash, her bliaut and the smooth pebbles impeding her progress, her wimple askew in the wind.

  Antoine and Hugh splashed into the waves and swam out to the waiting rowboat. Their oarsmen pulled them aboard. />
  Halfway up the steps Devona looked back and saw Hugh waving to her. She wished she could escape with them, but wouldn’t leave her family. She raised her hand in a silent salute to her heroic saviors. She was sobbing by the time she reached the top of the climb.

  “What have we here, Lady De Maubadon? You seem to be wet.” Torod’s voice drenched her like a bucket of ice cold water.

  “I—I—fell—into the water,” she stammered.

  “What were you doing on the beach at this time in the evening? It’s dangerous when the tide comes in.”

  She cast a wary eye out to sea. No sign of a rowboat. She looked the Toad squarely in the eye. “I thought to drown myself, but my courage failed me. Satisfied?”

  “Hmph.”

  He strode off. She collapsed to the ground, abject fear and glimmering hope warring within her.

  Brigantia bounded out from the house and licked away her tears.

  The Passageway

  Hugh sat in the rowboat, panting, his heart beating a thousand times faster than it should, the touch of Devona’s palm still burning his skin. He grinned at Antoine. “She has beautiful raven hair. Green eyes and raven hair. May God save me.”

  Antoine patted him on the back. “God save you, indeed, with that idiotic grin. Put your shirt back on, little brother.”

  Hugh took the dry garment and pulled it over his head. The oarsmen threw blankets around their grateful shivering seigneurs.

  Antoine gasped. “I didn’t think to bring blankets. Thank you.”

  The sailor grinned. “You’re landlubbers, milords. We’re men of the sea who know the value of blankets. Now rest in the bottom of the boat, regain your strength and we’ll get you back safely to Kingston Gorse.”

  Hugh gazed up at the darkening sky as he lay huddled in the boat, teeth chattering, the blanket clutched tightly around him. He noticed for the first time in his life how many stars populated the heavens. Exhaustion claimed him and he dozed.

  The Norman family at Kingston Gorse soon had them sitting by a roaring fire, and outfitted with dry clothing.

  Antoine cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Sir Stephen, we’re obliged to you for your assistance. As your overlord, it’s incumbent on me to give you some explanation as to what we’re about at my brother’s manor at Melton.”

  The master of Kingston Gorse paced. “If it involves getting rid of Renouf de Maubadon, I’m in full support. The man is a disgrace to Normandie.”

  The brothers exchanged glances, then Antoine continued. “However, our actions against him will involve removing his wife and her family from his abusive control. This could put us at odds with His Majesty.”

  Sir Stephen was pensive for a while. “Sometimes men of true worth must follow their conscience. I’ll help you as much as I can, though I won’t put my family at risk.”

  Hugh grasped his hand. “Merci, we can’t ask for more. If we may impose upon your hospitality this night, we’ll need the rowboat again on the morrow.”

  Sir Stephen nodded. “Of course. My honor. There’s another low tide an hour after dawn. It would perhaps be easier than night-time reconnoitering?”

  “Again, we’re obliged to you, Sir Stephen.”

  The following day, the Norman provided Hugh and Antoine with torches of flattened saplings bound together and soaked in beeswax, as well as a tinderbox with flint, steel and charcloth. The oarsmen wrapped the materials in an oiled cloth and stowed them with the blankets.

  The first grey streaks of dawn were lighting the sky as the quartet set off once more for Melton’s beach. This time they had donned boots and gambesons.

  The heavy clouds did not bode well and the gentle zephyr of the previous evening had changed to a cold, brisk wind that whipped the waves into racing rollers. Antoine looked apprehensive.

  “It’s nothing to worry over, milord,” one of the oarsmen reassured him. “Just a bit of a squall.”

  Antoine retched several times before they pulled the rowboat up onto Melton beach. Once on shore, he recovered quickly and the brothers hurried across the sand to the cave. At the foot of the ancient steps they unwrapped the torches. Hugh crouched to set about creating the spark with their tinderbox materials. Several fruitless tries soon had him frustrated. “See what happens when you allow servants to do everything for you. I used to be adept at this.”

  Antoine hunkered down beside him. “Let me try. Voilà! Vite! Blow on the spark on the charcloth.”

  Once they had the torches aflame, they held them aloft and squeezed through the small opening they had made the night before.

  Hugh peered into the gloom. “It doesn’t go far before it turns.” His voice echoed off the rock.

  Antoine put a forefinger to his lips. “We should go silently, so our voices won’t echo into the house. It will probably twist and turn many times to compensate for the height of the cliff. What a feat to carve this into the rock, even with the natural fissure.”

  They set off up the slope. The passage did indeed wend this way and that, sometimes barely wide enough to pass. Here and there, two or three rough steps had been hewn into the rock. The walls were wet and the going underfoot slimy.

  The air, undisturbed for many years, reeked of brine and decay. The incline was not so steep that coming down the other way would be impossible—slippery, and in places treacherous, but possible.

  As they drew nearer to the manor, the odors changed to normal household ones, and abruptly they found themselves at the end of the tunnel.

  Hugh ran his fingers over the wall, trying to find a doorway or portal of some kind while Antoine held the torches. Suddenly they heard scratching and whining and then, “Woof.”

  “Merde,” Antoine whispered. “That dog loves you so much, he’ll give us away. We must go.”

  Hastily they retraced their steps, slipping and sliding their way down the narrow passageway. By the time they reached the cave they were as exhilarated as two small boys who have just perpetrated a successful prank.

  Hugh laughed, rubbing his backside. “I have bruises on my bruises.”

  Antoine brushed off his gambeson. “Reminds me of the time we raided the apple orchards, just before the harvest. Did you ever see serfs so angry?”

  Hugh snorted. “Never mind serfs, I thought Papa was actually going to whip us. It was only thanks to Ram’s quick talking that we escaped punishment.”

  Chuckling at the memory, they extinguished the torches and left them in the passageway, but took the tinderbox with them. The tide had carried the rowboat into the mouth of the cave, forcing them to take off their boots and wade. They clambered aboard and the oarsmen rowed them back to Kingston Gorse. Hugh had a feeling his brother was thinking as hard as he was to devise a plan to use the passageway to free the Meltons.

  The Lever

  Devona spent ten frustrating minutes in the bolt hole behind the larder, trying to find the means to open the portal that her grandfather had described to her. He had been a small boy the last time he was in the passageway.

  She had taken Boden with her for courage. So far the dog had obeyed her command for silence and was watching her intently. Suddenly the mastiff cocked his head and lifted his ears. A moment later he was scratching the stone wall and whining. The hairs rose on Devona’s nape as she tried to calm the excited dog.

  What does he smell?

  A current of air laden with the stench of stagnant seawater wafted into the confined space where she hid. Boden barked.

  Is that someone whispering?

  A prickly sensation swept over her skin. Hugh was on the other side. So near and yet so far away. She placed her palm on the wall, her heart beating wildly.

  “Hugh?” she whispered.

  The dog barked again and she thought she heard the faint sound of running steps and—laughter? Her elation turned to icy fear when she suddenly heard a footfall outside the larder that she recognized instantly.

  Torod had stopped and was also listening. Boden turned his enorm
ous brown eyes to her. The dog also knew who was there. She placed a trembling forefinger on her lips. The mastiff made no sound.

  After a few minutes she heard the Toad’s steps grow fainter as he walked away mumbling. “Always said evil spirits lurk in this cursed house. Now the ghosts are laughing. And what a foul stench.”

  Devona sobbed. “I can’t find the lever, grandfather. Tell me again.”

  The old man scratched his head. “Perhaps it isn’t a lever at first—perhaps a brick—or loose stone, then the lever. It was a long time ago and I was but a boy watching my grandfather. He was a tall man and I remember him reaching up. Or perhaps he just looked tall to me.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll try again. I’ll find it. Is there word from Hugh yet? Renouf will be back in a day or two.”

  Gerwint rubbed his knuckles against the stubble on his chin. “A man I judge to be the Montbryce steward arrived but an hour since and is with Torod now. I expect he’ll seek me out when he’s done. But we must be careful.”

  As he spoke, a stranger strode into the stable. “Sir Gerwint? I’m Barat Cormant.”

  He turned to Devona and bowed. “Milady, I have but a few moments to tell you I shall be here the rest of the day, working with Torod. The man has no head for figures and cannot read. I can toy with him to my heart’s content, unlike Sir Renouf who has done a masterful job of hiding corruption.

  “By the end of the afternoon I should have an idea of how much money he’s spirited out of the manor. I’m not sure why he would want to hide what he’s taken. If he’s the legitimate master of this manor, he’d have the right to do with it as he wishes, within the law. I’ve escaped Torod for a moment on the pretense of getting a forgotten item from my saddlebags, but will return later with details of milord Hugh’s plan.”

  Barat went to where his saddlebags lay on the low wall of the stall, removed a sheaf of documents and left with a nod.

  Gerwint and Devona stood dumbfounded, unsure what to do next.