“What good will that do?”
“My gut tells me Renouf has something to hide. If we can discover what it is—”
Optimism flickered in his heart as his brother continued. “I’ll try out one of the birds we brought from East Preston with a message. Next time Renouf leaves, we’ll have him followed. Devona said he goes four times a year, so we’ve a while to wait yet. He’s probably back from his latest journey now, ranting and raving. I expect a message from the Cormants soon.”
“How do you think he’ll react to Devona’s escape?”
Antoine shrugged. “He may have his suspicions, but there’s no proof we were involved, until it becomes known she’s in our castle. He may complain to his local bishop, or he may try to petition the king, or he may go to Ram.”
Hugh leapt to his feet. “Dieu! I hope not. I don’t want to involve Ram and Mabelle. This is my problem.”
Antoine came to his feet as well and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We knew when we embarked on this course of action there might be consequences. We’ll face them as a family. Ram will understand why we did what we did. The important thing is you love Devona, don’t you?”
Hugh exhaled loudly. “Oui, mon frère, I love her.”
Antoine smiled. “That’s all there is to say then.”
If only it were that simple.
The red-eyed Saxon women, Boden and Brigantia in tow, entered the Great Hall for the evening meal. Hugh supposed it was to be expected they’d been weeping, but his heart bled for the years of torment they’d endured.
He and Antoine stood to greet them. They were nervous and obviously unsure where to sit. Their arrival caused a stir among the castle folk, all agog to see the Saxons they’d heard about.
Antoine indicated seats at the head table. “Come, sit here with us.”
Devona held back, glancing around nervously. “It isn’t our place to sit with you and your brother. We should be seated lower. Your people will be offended. We’re Saxons, and—”
Hugh wanted to reassure them, but protocol demanded he defer to his older brother. He need not have worried.
“Lady Devona, we will be offended if you don’t sit with us. You’re guests here, and will be treated as such.”
It gladdened Hugh’s heart when anxiety left Devona’s face for a moment as she smiled and took her place next to him, but she frowned again when she saw her mother’s agitation.
“Lord Antoine,” Lady Wilona stammered, “I haven’t sat at table for many a long year—I—”
Antoine held out his hand. “I insist you take your place by my side.”
She nodded and sat beside him. Aediva sat on his left side and Bemia to Hugh’s left. The dogs trotted off to investigate the people in the hall, Boden hobbling on three legs. They made friends quickly.
As the meal progressed, Hugh felt he was sitting with his family. He longed to press his thigh against Devona’s and was elated when she inched along the bench so they were touching. Her warmth surged through his body.
She sighed happily as she licked the succulent juices of La Cuisinière’s roasted chicken from her lips. “This is the first meal I’ve enjoyed for five long years.”
Hugh remarked on the quality of La Cuisinière’s food as the subtle aroma of lavender tickled his nostrils, all the while wondering if Devona would taste of the herb if he licked her fingers, then her lips. Blood rushed to his groin and heat rose in his face when she glanced at his thighs, as if sensing he was becoming aroused.
She smiled. “Lord Hugh, my family and I can’t thank you enough for our rescue. I know things may become difficult for you as a consequence.”
He wanted to tell her that all would be well, that she would be his and no one would ever come between them, that he would shield her family, that he would love her passionately every day of their lives together, that he would cherish her—but all that came out of his mouth was, “Possibly.”
Devona’s face fell. Hugh clenched his fists below the table. He should bang his thick head on the wooden surface for such a perplexing answer. “What I mean is—oui, there may be repercussions, but the important thing is that you’re all safe, for the moment.”
He groaned inwardly at his own ineptitude when fear flashed in her jade eyes.
“For the moment?”
He swallowed hard, praying this time he would say the right thing. “You’re all safe, Devona. I won’t allow Renouf to hold sway over any of you ever again. Antoine has a plan to investigate his activities in Normandie when he comes here. It may be the key to his undoing.”
Lady Wilona interrupted. “If we could rid ourselves of Renouf, we could return to Melton.”
Aediva sighed. “Do you think we’ll ever go home?”
Devona had slept after their arrival, but she was still exhausted, her emotions confused. She desperately wanted Hugh to gather her in his embrace. She needed to feel his strength, the warmth of his powerful body. But he seemed nervous and unsure. Was he beginning to regret the impulsive rescue he had undertaken?
Despite the outward friendliness of the people of the castle, she felt like an outsider. What were their true feelings about her and her Saxon family? The sheer size and magnificence of the castle was overwhelming and brought home just how powerful and wealthy the Montbryces were. She was far below Hugh’s station, never mind that she was a Saxon.
She loved him, but she was another man’s wife. Going home to Melton would be for the best, and yet she never wanted it to happen, because then she wouldn’t be with Hugh.
She was a woman brutalized by her husband and had never known the loving touch of a man. Could she respond to a lover’s caress, or would she always be reminded of Renouf’s cruelty?
She had to reassure her young sister. “If we ever do go home to Melton, it won’t be for a long while, Aediva, and this is a beautiful castle.”
“But we don’t belong here,” Bemia whispered.
Sadness crept into Hugh’s eyes. She wanted to put her hand to his gentle face, to brush a kiss on his beautiful mouth, press her thigh more closely to his.
“It’s in God’s hands,” Lady Wilona affirmed. “This isn’t a day for sadness, but for elation. We’re free of the monster. We can live again as human beings instead of dogs.”
Antoine squeezed Lady Wilona’s hand. As if conjured by her words, the mastiffs reappeared, wagging their tails and barking.
Everyone shared the humor.
Wilona had drunk just a bit too much of the excellent Montbryce apple brandy, but did not care. Her beautiful children were safe, thanks to the incredible and unexpected humanity of two handsome and powerful men. “I fear I must retire, my lords. This old crone isn’t used to polite conversation and good table manners.”
She sensed Devona’s intense feelings for Hugh de Montbryce, and prayed her daughter wouldn’t be hurt again. She had already endured too much pain. There would be many difficulties ahead, but they could face them together with the help of these Norman nobles whose integrity she didn’t question. If the problems could be solved, they would do it.
Hugh stood, offering his arm. “I’ll see you ladies to your chambers. We’re all tired. It won’t be long before I too seek my bed.”
Wilona noted his blush as he and Devona gazed at each other.
I’m surprised they haven’t burst into flames.
Antoine left his seat. “I believe I’ll escort mesdames Aediva and Bemia, if you don’t mind, brother.”
“And I’ll come with you,” Wilona said hurriedly. “Lord Hugh can escort Devona.”
The women rose wearily from the table, leaving Hugh and Devona alone together.
Hugh took Devona’s hand from her lap and pressed it to his lips, not caring if the few remaining servants who were clearing tables noticed.
He bent his face to her ear. “Devona, I—there are things I want to say—and do.”
“I know,” she murmured. “It’s difficult.”
He placed her hand on his t
high, pressing her fingers into his muscles.
He did not want to frighten her, but his shaft had turned to granite. “I’m burning for you, Lady Devona Melton.”
Her face reddened and she tensed. “I feel your heat. This is torture. I need your strength. But—”
He took her hand off his leg, touching his forehead to hers. “I know. Come. We’ll get some air.”
After crossing the bailey, he helped her climb the steps to the battlements. The wind was warm but blustery. He gathered her in his arms as they stood surveying the demesne.
“This is a beautiful place,” she whispered.
“Oui, it’s ironic that none of the Montbryce sons live here now. My brother Ram is obliged to live in England as the Earl of Ellesmere, helping King William subdue the Welsh.
“Antoine administers Belisle and I’m the seigneur of Domfort. The next Montbryce to be master here will probably be Ram’s soon-to-be-born son. But this is where our hearts lie. You can understand that. If you’re never able to return to Melton, your heart will always belong there.”
She shivered. He brought her closer to his body, cupping her derrière with his hands, nestling his arousal into the warm place between her legs. He feathered kisses along her neck and she leaned her head on his shoulder, giggling.
“I’m ticklish,” she admitted.
His erection swelled. He had never experienced this overwhelming need to join his body to a woman’s. Could he be trusted not to unleash the violent side of his nature? How to explain his problem to this brave lady who had already suffered too much violence?
His heart was pounding. “Devona, I—I want you, but—”
She swayed against him. “We’re honor bound to be chaste with each other now, but someday I will be rid of Renouf, and then—”
She was thinking of the consequences for her immortal soul of committing adultery, whereas he—
“Hasten the day, Devona. Hasten the day.”
He resisted the urge to press her against the stone wall, lift her skirts and take her where they stood. That would cause more problems than it would solve. He turned her body so her back was to him and folded her in his arms, willing his heat into her.
She lifted her arms and trailed her fingers through his hair, sighing as he cupped her breasts. They filled his hands, and felt so—right. The nipples hardened against his palms. It took immense control not to squeeze and play.
“Your touch inflames me,” she whispered. “I never expected to want a man the way I want you. You must think me wanton for saying such things, but I’ve lived without love for a long time.”
Hugh was so overheated he feared he might have to jump in the nearby lake when he left her. “You’re not wanton, Devona. You’re a beautiful and desirable woman who deserves—”
The words lodged in his throat.
They remained locked in a tender embrace for a long while, listening to the wind rustling the leaves of the apple trees, until she shivered.
“It’s getting cool out here. I’ll take you inside.”
Outside her chamber door, he brushed his lips against hers, afraid to unleash the passionate kiss he longed to give her.
“À demain,” he whispered.
“Until tomorrow,” she echoed.
Antoine had a scowl on his face as he strode into the hall the next morning to break his fast.
“I have to leave today for Alensonne. A messenger arrived late last night. Guillaume de Valtesse has precipitated another crisis there and Michel Cormant needs my help. You stay here for a few more days until the women are more rested from their ordeal. Once the problem is sorted, I’ll proceed on to Belisle. It will be good to get back there. Feels like home now.”
Hugh judged this a good plan and agreed. “I know. I’m anxious to get back to Domfort, though I have confidence in my steward. I’ll stay with the Meltons, as you suggest. Did you send the message to East Preston regarding Renouf?”
Antoine took a long drink of his watered ale. “Oui, all taken care of. Hopefully that bird will be just as keen to get back to East Preston as I am to return to Belisle.”
In companionable silence they ate leftovers of the smoked jambon prepared by La Cuisinière the previous evening, along with black bread.
Hugh wished his brother good journey and they embraced.
“Thank you for your help with the rescue. I couldn’t have pulled it off without you. I’m in your debt.”
Antoine grinned, slapping him on the back. “Just be happy, little brother. That’s repayment enough for me.”
After three days of struggling to keep his hands off Devona, Hugh came to a decision. If he took the Meltons to Domfort, where he was lord and master, he would be unable to control his lust, and Devona would fall prey to his passions.
He could not bear the thought of the pleasure of his first possession of a woman being destroyed by the pain he might inflict. He would rather die than hurt or shame Devona. He sent a page to fetch the Meltons to the gallery.
He tried to keep his voice steady. “I have to leave for Domfort.”
“When will we depart?” Aediva asked excitedly. “I like it here, but I’m anxious to see your castle.”
“Unfortunately, you won’t be coming with me—this time,” he stammered.
“None of us?” Bemia queried.
Hugh clenched his jaw. “My men will accompany me.”
Devona’s eyes filled with disappointment.
“I have to travel quickly. There’s a problem, and I think you need to rest further. You’ve had an ordeal. I’ll send for you. It’s better this way. Preparations need to be made. This isn’t the time.”
Don’t cry, Devona, lest my resolve weaken.
She stood stoically, looking somewhere beyond him, shoulders rigid, small fists clenching at her sides. Brigantia came to stand next to her, as if sensing her distress. She looped her hand in the dog’s collar.
He babbled on. “Bonhomme will take good care of you here. He’s an excellent steward, just like his father before him. His son Mathieu is Ram’s steward in England. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
Stop talking now. You’re fooling no one.
“Perfectly safe,” Devona murmured, her green eyes full of doubt.
Lady Wilona came to his rescue. “We understand. You’re an important nobleman with heavy responsibilities and you can’t be burdened now with a gaggle of women. You’ve already sacrificed a great deal for us. We’ll be fine here until you can send word. Come girls, Lord Hugh no doubt has much to do before he leaves.”
He had an urge to shout that the only important thing was to peel Devona’s clothing from her body and make slow, passionate love to her. He had gone over and over every tantalizing step of the process in his mind.
Instead he rasped, “Thank you, Lady Wilona. I was confident you would all understand.”
Even the dogs gave him a backward glance of disgust as the Saxons left the gallery.
He clenched his fists, leaned against the paneled wall and banged his forehead against it several times before making his way to the stables.
The Bishop
Renouf had to plan carefully. It was imperative he regain Devona, but he was a man with secrets. Whatever action he took would have to be strategically plotted. He had much to lose if the truth were ever discovered.
Should he appeal to the elder Montbryce brother, the Earl of Ellesmere? Supposedly, he was a confidant of King William who would not want the embarrassment to reflect on him.
Should he petition the king directly? If so, was it advisable to do it in England, or appeal to the ducal court in Normandie? Or would the king dismiss the petition as frivolous?
Or, should he simply challenge the Montbryces in their own castle? That would take more manpower than he had at his disposal, and the mercenaries were already costing him too much coin.
He could appeal to the Church. After all, the abduction of his wife broke ecclesiastical law. He could speak to the bishop in Sussex, or bette
r still the bishop in Normandie, site of Montbryce castle. But had they gone there, or to some other bastion they controlled?
Oui, it would take careful consideration. Perhaps a combination of ploys would be needed. Whatever happened, he would have to make sure no word of this debacle reached Malbadon. Then he would be doomed.
The Bishop of Arundel was a good judge of character. The ability had helped him secure his position. He took an instant dislike to the belligerent Norman knight who had just kissed his ring in a most perfunctory manner.
“What can I do for you, my son?” he asked for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Audiences were tedious. People brought petitions about the most trivial of matters, believing he had the power to work miracles.
He smiled inwardly. It was true he did have power in King William’s England, much more than he would if he had remained an obscure cleric in Normandie. But he preferred to wield it cautiously. Too much power could go to a man’s head and trip him up when he least expected it.
It came to him he had not been listening to the bearded giant standing before him. He fixed his attention back on the knight’s scowling face. “Your wife?”
He recalled at least that much of what had been said.
“Oui, Your Excellency, my wife has been abducted.”
The bishop arched his brows. “Surely, Sir—er—” He looked askance at a clerk holding a ledger who whispered the name he sought. “—Sir Renouf, that’s a matter for the legal authorities?”
The knight shook his head. “She’s been abducted by a Norman lord and taken to his castle in Normandie.”
A knot of unease tightened in the bishop’s innards. “A Norman has stolen your wife? Who is this man?”
“Hugh de Montbryce, Your Excellency.”
The bishop’s blood ran cold. He was only too cognizant of the power and influence at both the English and Norman courts of the Montbryce name. He would have to tread cautiously in this matter. “You’re certain of this? Why would he do such a thing?”
Defiance (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 2) Page 10