“Perhaps in time we can convert them?”
“I cannot take the chance that they will corrupt our own people and lead them into apostasy!”
“At least talk with them,” Gwened urged. “What choice have you when their army stands at the gate?”
“One way or another, I will fight them,” Mateudoi vowed. Limping toward her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “But I cannot do it alone. I need your support, Gwened.” He eyes sought hers. “Do I have it?”
Mateudoi surprised her with his show of strength but his concern was only for the church. Never for her. He cared nothing about her needs.
She suddenly recalled their last night together when she had offered herself in the vain hope that they might have some semblance of a normal life together. In their six years of marriage, she had asked only one this one thing of him and he had heartlessly rebuffed her.
She responded with a bitter laugh. “You want my support?” She then flung his own earlier words back at him. “I’m sorry Mateudoi, you ask for what I cannot give you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Days passed at Poher in a tension-filled truce. Sullen and silent, Mateudoi barely left his study, while Gwened retreated to her own haven in hope of avoiding Bjorn. Thankfully, he made it easy by spending as little time as possible in the castle. As his brother’s emissary, he spent his days in Poher much as he had done in Vannes.
The three brothers had indeed succeeded in conquering the kingdom, an event that would forever change the fate of Brittany. Suddenly the tapestry she had spent six years on, had new meaning. With needle and woolen thread, Gwened began to record the turn of events. Reaching for a stick of chalk, she began sketching.
Working feverishly, she depicted an army of mounted Vikings, the hand-to-hand combat that killed Duke Rudalt, the wedding of the Viking chief to the widowed duchess, and then the violent assault on Quimper.
Her thoughts soon turned to Bjorn and her fingers followed.
After a time, she stared down at a rough outline of a Viking battling a boar. That day had marked a turning point in their relationship. At first she had been horrified by his Pagan sacrifice, but now she understood that it wasn’t so much an act of bloodlust, but one of contrition.
Once she was satisfied with the sketch, she searched her supply of wool for a particular shade of blue. She had just begun embroidering his tunic when Bjorn entered her solar.
“You invade where you are not wanted,” she replied icily. “This is my private place. Please leave.”
Ignoring her request, he knelt and took up a section of cloth. “What is this?” His gaze was wide with amazement as he took in the yards of embroidered cloth that stretched the length of the chamber.
“I told you before that I enjoy needlework,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“This is not mere needlework!” His brows pulled together as he studied the colorful pictures. “You are a storyteller, Gwened?”
“’Tis my family history, wrought with wool,” she replied politely.
“’Tis genius! I have never beheld such artistry!”
“I am gratified by your admiration,” she replied, ignoring the warm flush induced by his praise.
He rose and came to her then. “Tell me about this. I would know more. What compelled you to do it?”
“I wanted to ensure that the history of our kingdom would never be forgotten. Although the Church records everything, most of our people are illiterate. Pictures, however, are understood by all.”
He gazed down at her tambour and the sketch she had just completed of him battling the boar. Gwened fought the urge to snatch it from view.
“’Tis a good likeness,” he remarked. “But perhaps you could make me bigger?” he added with a grin.
“I will not humor your vanity with this,” she replied. “Besides, you are already one of the largest men I have ever seen.”
“You created this shade of blue?” he asked with a look of admiration. “’Tis even deeper than my tunic.”
“I had to experiment, but I am satisfied with the result.” She took up her needle and resumed her work, but to her dismay, he still didn’t leave.
“Why are you still here?” she demanded.
“Mateudoi told me of your refusal to join in an alliance with Neustria.”
“I saw little point in it,” she said. “Twould only result in needless death, and Brittany would be no better off under Neustrian control than under yours.”
“I am gratified by your good faith,” he replied.
“’Tis not so much my faith, as the simple facts,” she answered. “Neustria is no friend to Brittany.” She stabbed the linen and pulled the thread through it.
He unexpectedly laid his hand on hers. “Please, Gwened. I came to make peace with you. Can there be an end to this enmity between us?”
“We already have peace. I bear you no malice,” she said.
“No malice?” he shook his head with a scoffing sound. “Then what we have is nothing more than a truce between foes. ’Tis not enough.”
“Not enough?” She snatched her hand away. “What do you want from me? Why do you suddenly come back to me with sweet words? If your bed is too cold, surely there are servants willing to warm it for you.”
He stepped back with a sigh. “Why are you making this so difficult?”
Dropping her needle, Gwened stood to face him. “I have given the cooperation you sought. Why do you disturb my peace? Why not just let me be?” she asked in a choked voice.
He gripped her arms in a solid hold. “Maybe because I want more than just your cooperation.”
“You once had more,” she replied. “But then you acted like a…a…”
“A jackass?” he offered with a look of chagrin.
“Yes!” she hissed. “You are the biggest jackass I ever met.”
“Because I thought you betrayed me,” he said. “I thought you only came to distract me while Mateudoi worked against us… but now I know this isn’t true. Mateudoi told me that you refused to join him in an alliance with Neustria.” He cupped her face in his large, warm hand. “I’m sorry I mistrusted you, Gwened. I have guarded myself for a long time.”
“As have I,” she said. “But there can be nothing between us as long as I am another man’s wife.”
“What if Mateudoi was out of the way?”
Her throat tightened with fear. “Why would you ask me this? Do you intend to kill him?” She might not love Mateudoi, but she wished him no harm.
“Only as a last resort,” Bjorn replied with a smirk. “Happily for him, he wishes to renounce his title and leave Poher.”
“And you would let him do this?” she asked.
“I would allow it… if you give me a reason.”
“A reason?” Her traitorous heart skipped as she gazed up into his golden-flecked eyes. She hated that she still reacted so strongly to him. “What do you mean?”
“If your husband has chosen to become a priest, your church can have no reason to deny an annulment. Are not priests required to live in abstinence?”
“They are,” she said.
“Then I ask if you will have a savage Viking as your husband.”
She was growing too flustered to think clearly. “Even if I wanted to marry you annulment proceedings could take some time.”
His brow lifted. “Even if you wanted me?”
“I refuse to be your next conquest, Bjorn. You have taken Poher, but I will not marry you only to solidify your position here.”
“Is that what you think I want?”
“Of course I do and I refuse to enter another loveless marriage.”
“I have bedded no other women, Gwened. Ever since I lost my wife, I have desired no one but you.”
“Desire is not love,” she argued. “After the passion fades, there is only emptiness.”
“I too, have such a void for a very long time. There is something more you should know. ’Tis something I have shared with no one.”
/>
“And what is that?”
“When I was injured, the goddess Frigg came to me in a dream. She told me the wound in my heart would only heal when I met the one destined to be my life mate. I know now that she meant you.”
She snorted in disbelief. “Why would you think that?”
He took her hand and brought it to his chest, placing it under his shirt on his warm, bare skin just above his beating heart. Her own heart skipped a beat as she gazed into his earnest golden eyes. “Because I prayed and sacrificed but found no relief until I found you. Your very touch soothes the ache. Does this mean nothing?”
His words unsettled and confused her. She had once surrendered her body to him but now he seemed bent on claiming her heart and soul. “I don’t know what to think…I need time…”
“I am a patient man when I want to be, and I want you more than I desire lands and power and riches. All of these things would mean nothing if I cannot also have you.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“I told you before that a man loves a woman with his body. If my words cannot convince you, perhaps this will.”
He took her into his arms for a long, deep kiss that made her long for much more than a single night of passion. No. This kiss made her yearn for a lifetime of it.
Epilogue
Four months later
“I thought I would find you here,” Bjorn entered her solar with his long and easy stride. She was glad to see a smile on his face as he came toward her.
As always, her pulse raced as he bent his head to place a kiss on her lips.
“What has put you in such a good humor?” she asked.
He produced a rolled parchment from the folds of his tunic.
“What is this?”
“I have been given my heart’s desire this day. ’Tis notification of your annulment.”
Gwened’s breath hitched. It was the answer to her own secret prayers. “What does this mean?” she asked, her heart racing with anticipation.
“If you will have a savage Viking as your husband, I will soon make you my bride.”
“Sooner is good…given the circumstances.” Gwened licked her lips and glanced down at her tambour.
His gaze followed. “What is this new picture, Gwened?” He gently took it from her hands. His pupils widened as he studied the loving work of her needle. “Tis a babe wearing a crown?”
“Aye,” she whispered. “’Tis Brittany’s king.”
“Brittany no longer has a king.”
“’Tis not the past that I depict, but the future, when Brittany will once again be ruled by the line of Alain the Great.”
He regarded her quizzically. “King Alain was Duke Rudalt’s sire, but Rudalt left no heirs.”
“King Alain was also my father,” she reminded him softly.
His dark expression slowly transformed. “You cannot mean?”
“I carry your son, Bjorn. Our babe will be the only grandchild of the last king, and as thus, the rightful heir. He will be the next king of Brittany.”
He stared back at her in a stone-cold silence that made her heart sink deep into her belly.
“You are not happy?”
“No one must know this child is mine!”
She fought back a choking sob. “Why would you deny your child?”
“’Tis not by choice!” he replied with an anguished look. “You were still married to Mateudoi when it was conceived. The world must believe it is his. I will raise him as my own and guard him with my very life, but this must remain our secret. I will not have him tainted by bastardy.”
“But Mateudoi will know!” she protested.
“If he does not agree to silence, I will silence him.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
“Indeed, I would,” he replied darkly. His frown deepened. “There is something even greater at stake.”
“And what is that?” she asked.
“Valdrik,” he replied. “My brother is the Grand Duke of Brittany. Your child… our child… will eventually pose a threat to his claim. I love my brother and pledged my life to his service.”
Gwened’s chest tightened. Mateudoi had placed his devotion to God above all else. Would Bjorn also choose his loyalty to his brother? Did she mean so little to him?
“Are you saying you would support your brother over your own son?”
He knelt beside her and placed his large, warm hand on her belly. “Nay, Gwened. I can no longer uphold my vow to my brother. There is now another to whom I owe an even greater allegiance. Know this—there is nothing I will not do to protect you and the child you carry.”
THE END
Author’s Note
Readers who are familiar with early European history may recognize that many of the characters and events in my Wolves of Brittany books are either true or inspired by actual people and historical events.
Although THE BASTARD OF BRITTANY takes place about one hundred and fifty years before the Norman conquest of England, The Bayeux Tapestry (a fascinating 220-foot-long example of Noman embroidery depicting the event) was very much the inspiration for this particular story.
By the time of the conquest, Brittany was completely under Norman control, and many Breton nobles crossed the channel with Duke William to conquer England.
If you enjoyed this story, please check out my SONS OF SCOTLAND SERIES!
If you enjoyed this boxset, please subscribe to my New Release Newsletter or follow me on Amazon for new release notices and sneak peeks of upcoming titles.
Also by Victoria Vane
THE WOLVES OF BRITTANY
Breton Wolfe
Ivar the Red
The Bastard of Brittany
SONS OF SCOTLAND SERIES
Virtue
Valor
Vengeance (Late 2018)
THE DEVIL DEVERE SERIES
A Wild Night’s Bride (#1)
The Virgin Huntress (#2)
The Devil You Know (#3)
The Devil’s Match (#4)
A Devil’s Touch (#4.5)
Jewel Of The East (#5)
THE RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
A Breach Of Promise
A Pledge Of Passion
STANDALONE HISTORICAL ROMANCES
Treacherous Temptations
The Sheik Retold
The Redemption Of Julian Price
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCES
HOT COWBOY NIGHTS SERIES
Slow Hand
Rough Rider
Sharp Shootin’ Cowboy
Saddle Up
Hot Cowboy Holiday
HOTEL RODEO SERIES
Hell On Heels
Two To Wrangle
Beauty And The Bull Rider
About Victoria Vane
Victoria Vane is a bestselling, award-winning author of smart and sexy romance. Her books have received numerous awards to include a 2017 RONE award for BEAUTY AND THE BULLRIDER, 2015 Red Carpet Award for JEWEL OF THE EAST, 2014 RONE Award for TREACHEROUS TEMPTATIONS, 2012 Library Journal Best E-Book romance for THE DEVIL DEVERE series. Victoria also has a passion for historical fashion and lives in the beautiful upstate of South Carolina with her husband, two sons, a little black dog, and an Arabian horse.
Contact info:
Email:
[email protected]
Website:
www.victoriavane.com
Facebook:
http://on.fb.me/YVeXrf
Twitter:
@authorvictoriav
Pinterest:
http://bit.ly/1vONQZh
Amazon:
http://amzn.to/10QMKT5
Goodreads:
http://bit.ly/1sccsM4
YOUTUBE:
http://bit.ly/1yNtEMP
Dragon Fire
De Wolfe Pack
The Series
Christy English
For Hope, who loved it first
and
For Kathryn and Victoria, who brought me in
In the darkness three hours before dawn, Mati heard her mother weeping. She lay in bed for one long moment, terrified to get up without the rush light lit. But she could not lie still and let her mother cry.
Mati felt along the floor next to her trundle with one bare foot, searching for her clogs. Once she found them, she rose, stamping her clog-clad feet in case mice lurked nearby. As she stumbled toward the deerskin wrap that covered the door of her room, she grew brave, and stomped louder.
Her mother sat in the great hall, weeping by the fire. The fireplace was as tall as a man, but the blaze that night was small, and smoked. It caught the light in her mother’s long golden hair. Mati hid in the shadows, careful not to be seen, though no one looked up. The hall was empty, save for her mother, and her uncle.
Her uncle Unwynn stood by her mother’s chair, touching her arm and speaking low in her ear. Though he was quiet, his voice was resonant, and Mati could hear him still.
“He died well, Margaret.”
There was a long silence filled only by the sound of Margaret weeping, and a log of birch wood falling in the fire. Mati clenched her fists, feeling the pain of her nails digging into her palms. She welcomed that pain, for though it was sharp, and made her bleed. She preferred it to the pain in her heart, the new pain that stole her breath. For she knew that they were talking about her father.
“Tell me again.” Margaret gripped her brother’s hand, and he knelt beside her.
“He took the spear in his side. He used the sleeve of his tunic to staunch the blood while he led the retreat. We made it back with only two men lost and 50 head of cattle. A good raid.”
Margaret struck him on the cheek, and Mati heard the slap reverberate in the stone hall. Unwynn lowered his eyes before he spoke. “But the Prince will be furious. There will be hell to pay, from him and from the English, once word spreads.”
“You broke the peace, and my husband died for nothing.” Mati heard the sharp tone of her mother’s anger cut through her tears, and for a moment, Mati was proud of her fierceness.
The Wolves of Brittany Collection: A Romance Bundle Books 1-3 Page 31