Defiance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 2)

by Anna Markland

  “What do you think Renouf has done with our coin, Devona?”

  Devona gritted her teeth. “I think he takes it to Normandie. It’s a mystery what he does with it there.” She squared her shoulders. “Now, while Torod is occupied, I’ll try again to find the lever, and this time I’ll leave Boden with you.”

  Gerwint hooked his fingers into the dog’s collar. “I’ll set about preparing torches.”

  Confident no one was observing her, Devona pressed the wall sconce to reveal the hidden space behind the larder, stepped through quickly and closed the panel. The necessity of working in the dark—she dare not light a torch—meant she had to feel for a loose stone. This time she concentrated on the upper part of the wall.

  On the verge of giving up, her arms and shoulders aching, she suddenly felt a faint breeze on her fingers coming from one of the stones just above her head. She clawed at the rough edges, trying desperately to pry the stone loose.

  After what seemed like an eternity, it came away from the wall with a scraping sound. She strained to place it as quietly as she could on the floor beside her. Standing on tiptoe, she reached into the hole. Her hand closed on a long metallic object.

  She squealed, snatching her hand away, when something scurried across her fingers. Her heart pounded as waves of fear washed over her. She wondered if she would have the strength to pull the lever after so many years of disuse. If only it wasn’t so high.

  Reaching up again, she grasped the lever with both hands, praying whatever had run across her fingers was long gone. She pulled with all her might, but it refused to budge. She slumped to the floor with exhaustion, close to tears.

  I can’t give up now.

  She struggled to her feet and reached up again, took a deep breath and pulled. The metal groaned as it gave way. Sweat trickled down her spine. She stood stock still, listening intently for Torod’s footsteps. “Pray God he heard nothing.”

  She shivered as stale air rushed into the space. An opening had appeared to her right. It was barely wide enough to squeeze through and even Aediva would have to stoop to enter.

  Gathering up her skirts and bending low, Devona edged gingerly through the opening and looked down the passageway. It was dark, but she could tell that after a few yards it curved out of sight. Despite the stench of stale air, she sensed Hugh had been there and her heart lifted. For the first time hope rose in her breast.

  She stepped back into the hidey-hole behind the larder, reached up and pushed the lever back, then heaved the stone into place carefully. She listened for any sounds before exiting the hiding place then hastened off to tell her grandfather the good news.

  She found him in a state of high excitement which seemed to have spread to the dogs. In his hand he held a small sack.

  “Grandfather?”

  “You first. You look pleased. Did you find the lever?”

  She squeezed his hand. “It reveals a very small opening into a passageway. Hugh was there, I know it.”

  Gerwint frowned. “Have a care, child. Hugh de Montbryce may intend to rescue us, but he’s still a powerful Norman. Such men don’t give their hearts to Saxon women.”

  The look of discouragement on his granddaughter’s face alarmed him. She had feelings for the Norman.

  Devona looked at the ground. “I’m not in love with him. I’m a married woman. My husband is a monster, but I can’t commit the sin of adultery.”

  Gerwint wept inwardly for the pain she suffered at Renouf’s hands, and for his own helplessness to do anything to save her from it. Now they were depending on a Norman nobleman for rescue, a man who had obviously captured her heart. The relationship could only end in heartbreak, as long as Renouf lived—

  He held up the bag. “Barat has given me a means to render Renouf’s men-at-arms harmless during our escape. It’s set for the morrow.”

  Devona’s eyes widened as he continued. “We’re to mix this herb with their potage for the midday meal. It will make them sleep. We’ll then make haste to open the passageway. I’ll help get your mother down to the cave where Montbryce will be waiting. The tide will be full and the rowboat will take us to a longboat moored further out. It will transport us to Normandie.”

  She furrowed her brow. “You would consent to go to Normandie?”

  Gerwint had feared his perceptive granddaughter would find the flaw in the plan. He wrestled with his dilemma. He had no intention of going to Normandie, but if he told her she might refuse to leave. He sat down on a bale of straw and motioned her to sit beside him, taking her hand.

  “Devona, you’re too intelligent for your own good. You’ve perceived correctly that it would be impossible for me to go to Normandie. What would I do there, an old Saxon warrior? I intend to remain in England. I’d rather die in my own country.

  “I’ll go to the South Downs. A man can hide in forests and wild secret places aplenty. There are other Saxons living in hiding there. I’ll join them and keep an eye on Renouf.”

  Devona clutched his hand. “But I can’t go without you.”

  Gerwint put an arm around her shoulders. “You must. For my sake. I’ll feel much happier knowing you’re out of Renouf’s clutches. And what about your sisters? Do you want them to become Torod’s playthings? Or Renouf’s?”

  She sniffled. “No, of course not. Oh, grandfather. I love you. And I’ll miss you and Melton so much.”

  He embraced her. “I love you, child. There’s no other way. Lord Hugh will take care of you. All of you.”

  They clung together for a long while in silence, listening to the excited panting of the dogs at their feet.

  Panic

  Lady Wilona Melton noticed and understood much more than anyone thought. Upon first learning of her beloved husband’s death at Stamford Bridge, she had lost the will to speak, afraid if she attempted to do so she might begin to weep and never stop.

  The longer her self-imposed muteness went on, the harder it became to renounce it, to reassure her family she was not mad, as they no doubt thought. It was easier to be taken care of, to not have to think, especially when the monster Renouf came along. If she thought overlong on what he did to her daughter she would indeed go mad.

  It was cowardly. Did her father-by-marriage suspect she was not mad? Long ago, when Renouf first arrived, Sir Gerwint had given her a dagger and whispered, “For your protection, Wilona. Just in case.”

  Now, slumped in her usual place against the kitchen wall, she heard the edge in Devona’s voice as she drew the cook away from the kitchen, saw the anxious glances exchanged between Aediva and her grandfather. She watched Bemia surreptitiously pour something from a sack into the cauldron of potage simmering over the fire.

  She leaned over to whisper in Brigantia’s ear. “The weapon I’ve kept concealed under my skirts might soon prove useful.”

  One by one, the drugged mercenaries succumbed to sleep. The only part of the plan not going well was that Torod had not appeared for the midday meal.

  Devona ran to the stables to find her grandfather. “Where can he be?”

  Gerwint had been on the point of coming to the house, having retrieved his long-hidden sword from the rafters of the stables. “I don’t know, but we have to proceed. This is our only chance. I must get all of you down to the beach and make my escape to the Downs before these men awaken. Come, Aediva and Bemia are already behind the larder, lighting the torches. Boden is with them. I’ll assist you with your mother.”

  They entered the kitchen, astonished to see Lady Wilona on her feet, holding on to Brigantia for support.

  “Mother?”

  Lady Wilona looked at her daughter. “Let’s be gone from this place, Devona.”

  They were the first coherent words any of them had heard her utter for more than five long years.

  Devona rushed to her mother’s side. “You—you can speak!”

  “We must hasten,” Gerwint said. “There will be time enough for—”

  He could not continue, his heart broken by
the sight of Devona clinging to her mother, sobbing.

  “I’m a coward, Devona,” her mother cried, “but I won’t allow my cowardice to interfere with your escape. Tell me the plan as we go.”

  They made their way to the hidey-hole. After so many years of inactivity, Lady Wilona’s stiff joints made walking difficult. Devona indicated the location of the secret stone to Sir Gerwint. He removed it and pulled the lever. The opening appeared. Holding one of the torches aloft, Sir Gerwint led his family through it and into the passageway.

  Aediva and Bemia followed directly behind him.

  Devona helped her mother.

  Boden and Brigantia brought up the rear.

  Sucking on a sweet grass plucked from the roadside, Torod wondered idly why there was no noise coming from the dining hall. Usually, the men were boisterous after the midday meal. True, on occasion some of them ate and drank too much and had to sleep it off for a while, but still, it was uncommonly quiet.

  What could have happened in his absence? He had only been gone for a short while, collecting rents from the tenant farmers. Now he was hungry and there had better be food left.

  He stopped in his tracks when he entered the hall. His jaw dropped and the grass fell to the floor.

  By the saints! Are they all drunk? At midday?

  Where were all the servants—and the Saxon madwoman—and the dogs? Come to think on it, the old man was not in the stables, and, damnation, where was Lady Devona and the two brats?

  Dread snaked into the pit of his belly. He ran from the hall, taking the steps to the bedchambers two at a time, cursing each time he flung open a door to find no one.

  Sweat blurred his vision by the time he regained the main floor, panting heavily. As he ran by the larder, he noticed the door was open. He recoiled at the stale smell emanating from there.

  He discovered the opening and peered down the dank passageway.

  “Merde!”

  The Saxons had made their escape. He was a dead man if they succeeded. Renouf would skin him alive. Without hesitation he raced headlong into the darkness, sword drawn.

  Boden alerted the Meltons to pursuit. Wilona was trying unsuccessfully to make haste down the passage, with Devona’s help. “My legs refuse to respond,” she wailed. “My joints are stiff. I fear I might cause our escape to fail.” She stopped, clutching the wet wall. “Leave me,” she begged her daughter. “Take the girls and run.”

  Devona took her arm. “No, mother. I won’t go without you.”

  Wilona gasped, sinking to her knees. “For Aediva’s sake—for Bemia—I implore you.”

  With Brigantia’s help, Devona struggled to get her mother to her feet.

  Gerwint came to assist.

  Growling, his tail rigid, Boden turned in the direction of the house.

  Wilona managed to stand, just as a wild-eyed and breathless Torod burst upon them, sword flailing. Boden lunged at him and the sword caught the dog’s foreleg. The animal collapsed with a pitiful whimper.

  Torod grabbed Wilona by the hair and pulled her toward the house. Devona struggled to hold on to her mother’s skirts, but Torod raised his sword over Wilona’s head and she reluctantly let go.

  Gerwint had drawn his sword and was moving stealthily toward the Toad.

  Torod sneered. “I’ll slice off her head, old man.”

  Suddenly the color drained from the pockmarked face. His mouth fell open as his disbelieving gaze dropped to the dagger Wilona had embedded in his belly. The sword fell from his hand as he pitched forward. His head struck the rock with a sickening thud, his chain mail scraping against the slippery pathway.

  “Wilona,” Gerwint exclaimed. “All these years.”

  Wilona sobbed. “I knew I’d need it someday.”

  The echo of running footsteps alerted Devona to other intruders. Gooseflesh crawled up her neck, but then she realized the sound was coming from the other direction.

  Shadows cast by the flames of oncoming torches danced on the ceiling.

  When Hugh appeared, Devona collapsed to her knees at his feet. “Torod is dead. Boden’s hurt.”

  Hugh could scarcely take in the scene he encountered. Frustrated with waiting in the rowboat, his impatience had driven him to meet the Meltons as they descended.

  Now, here was Torod—dead by the looks of it. Sir Gerwint, sword drawn, stood with his foot atop the toad’s chest, a bloody dagger in his hand. Boden lay wounded and panting, a deep gash in his foreleg. The wretched woman who’d languished in a stupor in the kitchens wobbled unsteadily, a gleam of triumph in her green eyes. Bemia and Aediva held on to each other in fright. Devona clung to his legs, babbling incoherently, crying.

  He crouched to put his arms around her, nodding at Torod’s body. “He didn’t succumb to the potion?”

  Gerwint was wiping the dagger on the dead man’s tunic. “Nay, he was absent when we administered it. But it worked with the others.”

  Hugh tightened his arms around the shivering Devona. “He pursued you and you slew him?”

  Gerwint shook his head. “Nay again. Lady Wilona dealt the blow that ended his life.”

  Hugh peered through the murk at Lady Wilona, who now looked as if she was about to faint. Devona still clung to him, shaking, evidently in shock. He kissed her forehead and she seemed to gather her wits. “Devona, you must get hold of yourself. Take Aediva and Bemia to the rowboat. Your grandfather and I will bring your mother and the dog.”

  “Hugh—forgive me—I—”

  He helped her rise. “Go, mon amour. I’ll follow. The boat is waiting.”

  The three sisters fled down the passage, their slippered feet making hardly a sound. Gerwint assisted Wilona. Hugh hefted the dog. Brigantia never left his side as he struggled to keep his balance on the slippery slope, the mastiff in his arms.

  When the breathless assembly spilled out into the cave, the men from St. Valéry helped the three sisters into the rowboat.

  “We’ll come back for the rest of you milord, else the boat capsize.”

  Gerwint stepped back. “I’m not going to Normandie. We know that’s impossible. Devona knows it too. I intend to hide in the South Downs and keep an eye on Renouf.”

  Hugh glanced at Devona. She nodded sadly, tears streaming down her face as the boat bobbed in the waves.

  Gerwint looked with sadness upon his granddaughters, then smiled. “I give you my blessing. You are Meltons. Never forget that.”

  He turned to Hugh. “My Lord de Montbryce, I thank you and your brother. Take care of my ladies. I’ll dispose of the Toad’s body.”

  He touched his hand to his heart, bowed and left.

  “That still leaves two of you—and the dogs,” the oarsman said.

  Devona climbed out of the boat. “Take my mother and Boden. Brigantia’s a good swimmer. I’ll stay here with Lord Hugh and await your return.”

  Hugh objected. “Non, Devona.”

  She bustled her mother into the rowboat. “Hugh, I won’t leave without you—please.”

  The oarsman held up his hand. “Not the dog, milord. Too much draught on the swell.”

  Hugh trusted the man’s intuition. “Allez! Return for us as quickly as you can.”

  Is It A Dream?

  Devona tried desperately to maintain her courageous front, but five years of Renouf’s brutality had taken their toll. She had to pass the burden to someone else, had to seek some comfort, some succor.

  The moment Torod struck down Boden and raised his sword against her mother, her courage failed. She had nothing left to give and was close to swooning. Heedless it might be to grovel at the feet of a Norman nobleman, but touching him had given her strength.

  She sat in the warmth of Hugh’s comforting arms on the cold wet slab of stone at the foot of the passageway, her face pressed to his chest. She cradled Boden’s head in her lap as the waves slap-slapped below them. In this precarious place, she had never felt more secure, locked in the warm embrace of a brave man who had come to her rescue. She tucked
the words mon amour away in her heart.

  Dredging up the will to lean forward, she tore off the bottom of her chemise and handed it to Hugh. He padded it around the dog’s wound. It was as if everything was happening in a fog. She hoped it would still be reality when she wakened, if this were a dream.

  “Hugh,” she murmured.

  “Devona?” he whispered back.

  “Thank you. We are in your debt.”

  “Thank me when we’re safe in Normandie.”

  “Normandie,” she breathed. “I tremble at the thought.”

  He nuzzled her ear. “You need fear nothing with me at your side. What happened with your mother?”

  Devona bit her lip. “She suddenly came to life. But I fear for her. There’s a cast about her eyes I don’t like, especially now she has—

  “—oh God, Hugh, she plunged her dagger into Torod without any hesitation, five years of hatred in the thrust. I didn’t know she had a weapon. It seems my grandfather gave it to her years ago.”

  She sobbed against his chest. “It was horrible, but she saved us. Poor Boden succumbed to Torod’s sword.”

  Hugh rubbed Boden’s ear. “This faithful dog isn’t dead yet. He’ll live a long life, and so will you.”

  She chewed her lip. “Renouf will be so angry.”

  Hugh sneered. “Isn’t he always angry?”

  Devona laughed cynically. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve never known him not to be angry, no matter our attempts to please him.”

  He tightened his arms around her. “I will never let him hurt you again.”

  She relaxed in his arms and allowed the sound of the sea to lull her. “I wonder what it would be like,” she murmured as she drifted into sleep, “to make love to the sound of the ocean?”

  Hugh’s emotions were all at sea. He held a desirable woman in his arms—a woman he had dreamt of making love to. He was certainly aroused by her beauty, by her words, which he suspected she had uttered without realizing what she said as exhaustion took hold.