She wished heartily that the drum beating in her ears would cease. “Off?”
The countess had reached them, her face strained. “Peri, my dear.”
The earl put an arm around her shoulders. “They left at dawn. For Flandres.”
* * *
Peri blinked. She did not recall being carried to her chamber. For that matter she had no recollection of swooning, but supposed she must have. It was becoming an unwanted habit.
She felt something cool on her forehead. A familiar voice spoke her name. She closed her eyes again. Better to remain in a stupor than awaken to the reality that Gallien had left without a word of farewell.
“Peri.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she did not open her eyes. She remained silent, not trusting herself to speak.
Her mother-by-marriage persisted, squeezing her hand. “Peri, wake up.”
A lead weight crushed her chest, making it hard to breathe. “Leave me, please,” she rasped.
“Gallien will return safely,” the countess whispered, but Peri heard the fear in her voice.
“He did not say goodbye. I did not know he was leaving.”
“Perhaps he wanted to spare you the sadness. He asked us to remain silent. We thought he would break the news to you.”
“Non. He cares nothing for me. I am a burden he would rather do without.”
The countess put an arm to her back. “Let me help you sit up, daughter.”
The chamber was still spinning. “I only want to lie here. Please leave me be.”
Her mother-by-marriage insisted. “I do not know why my son left without farewell. It is inexcusable, but he does care for you.”
Peri groaned, curling up on her side to relieve the bile rising in her throat. “I am going to be sick.”
She was grateful for the bowl thrust under her chin as she retched, unable to control the trembling shaking her from head to toe. She flopped back onto the bed, appreciative of another damp cloth that cooled her forehead and cleansed her mouth.
“Rest, child. We embark on the long journey back to Ellesmere on the morrow.”
Peri spent the day in bed. Her tears had long since dried up, but her nose was plugged, and her breath persisted in catching in her throat. Her head was stuffed with feathers. She had heard of people dying of grief. Perhaps death would end her agony.
The countess cosseted her, feeding her broth, uttering soothing words.
Guilt crept into Peri’s heart. “You have sent your sons off to war, maman, and I have offered you no words of comfort.”
“They will return safely. Henry wants a show of strength. It is unlikely Clito will join battle.”
A vision played behind Peri’s eyes—Gallien lying on some faraway battlefield, bleeding to death. She reached hastily for the bowl, retching again.
Her eyes watered and the trembling began anew. “I’m sorry. I must have eaten spoiled food.”
The countess shrugged. “No need to apologise. I am a healer. How long have you been feeling sick?”
Peri lay back against the bolster. “A few days, but only first thing in the morning.”
The countess looked at her curiously. “Gallien said nothing?”
Peri felt her face redden. “He is an early riser. Usually he is gone before I awake.”
“When were your last courses?”
Peri had to think back. “November.”
“My dear, you are with child.”
Peri gasped. Of course! Fermentine’s courses had stopped. Peri had thought she was late because of the Yuletide festivities and the long journey. She gaped at her mother-by-marriage, a lead weight settling in her gut. Gallien had gone off to war leaving her with a child in her belly. But it was obvious he cared naught for her, nor for any offspring she might bring forth.
* * *
“Whoa, Gallien. I am not your enemy,” Étienne shouted as the broad side of his brother’s sword whacked his bicep. “We are training, not trying to kill each other.”
Gallien wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his shirt sleeve and threw his sword to the ground. “I’m sorry, Étienne, my thoughts were elsewhere.”
Dangling his battered arm at his side, Étienne used one hand to rub his wet hair with a linen. Despite the January chill, both men had perspired with the exercise. “Your thoughts have been elsewhere since we left Westminster. What ails you?”
Gallien picked up his muddied sword. “I am tired of waiting here in Pevensey for the ships that are supposed to take us to Boulogne-sur-Mer. It’s been three days of watching knights arrive from far-flung parts of England.” He picked up an oiled cloth and wiped his sword, examining the edge. “A man can only sharpen his weapons so many times.”
Étienne shook his head, his black hair a tangled mess. “Non, brother, you were a bear with a sore paw before that. It was hard to leave your wife—”
Gallien held up his hand. “Enough! I don’t wish to talk about Peri.”
As he and his brother had traded blows, he could not forget the bitter memory of Peri in Devlin de Villiers’ arms.
Étienne braced his legs. “You know what your problem is, brother?”
Gallien bit his bottom lip, glaring at his sibling. “Non, but I am sure you are going to tell me.”
Étienne backed up a pace or two. “You are the luckiest man alive to have a wife like Peri, but you refuse to see it. You’re determined to believe she is Felicité, when no two people could be more different.”
Gallien scowled. Hearing his wife’s pet nickname on his brother’s lips intensified his pain. Would he choke on the words if he told of his discovery? “I caught her.”
Étienne snorted. “Doing what?”
“With de Villiers. In the corridor below the west gallery. History repeats itself.”
Étienne gaped at him. “And what did she say when you questioned her?”
Gallien studied his boots. “I did not speak to her of it.”
Étienne poked Gallien’s chest. “Now I understand why she did not come to bid us farewell. You stayed away from your bedchamber. She did not know we were leaving, did she?”
Feigning nonchalance, Gallien shoved Étienne’s hand away, swiping the air with his sword. “I am sure of what I saw.”
“You are a fool, brother. You know Peri. By all the saints, anyone can see you love the woman. She would never betray you with anyone, especially de Villiers.”
“She knows nothing about him, nor Felicité.”
Étienne threw his hands in the air. “You’ve never told her? Christ, Gallien, did Felicité destroy your honor?”
Gallien bristled. “My honor is intact. It’s my wife who—”
“Arrête! Listen to yourself. She loves you, can’t you see that?”
Gallien sat down on a nearby fallen log before his knees gave out. His heart was in knots. It was true he had not given Peri the chance to explain her presence in the corridor. “She said she planned to visit her friend Tandine.”
“Tandine Grisjaune?”
Gallien shrugged. “I suppose. She was a lady-in-waiting with Peri, but has recently become betrothed.”
“Aye. To Devlin de Villiers.”
Gallien jumped to his feet. “He’s already married.”
“His wife died—in childbirth.”
Gallien narrowed his eyes. “How do you come to know so much?”
“I have made it my business. One day, when he least expects it, I will take the opportunity to kill him for what he did to you and our family.”
For the first time it came home to Gallien how deeply his catastrophic marriage had hurt the other members of his family. He had never appreciated the depth of his brother’s love. He shook his head as he embraced Étienne. “Non, that is something I will do.”
Boisterous shouts caught their attention. They looked to the sea. Six ships were sailing into the bay, to the cheers of the waiting knights. Men scrambled to gather their equipment.
Étienne gripped hi
s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Promise me you will give Peri the benefit of the doubt. Your happiness lies with that woman.”
Gallien let out a long slow breath. “First, we must endeavor to survive this folly of Henry’s.”
Étienne grinned. “You watch my back, and I’ll watch yours.”
Alexandre
T he crossing from Pevensey to Boulogne-sur-Mer was rough. Roiling waves tossed the big boats around like corks. Squires tried frantically to calm frenzied horses. Gallien was seasick for the first time in his life. He attributed it to the constant tightening in his gut when he thought of his wife, which was every waking minute. Dieu! He missed her. He longed to run his hands through her long, long hair and bury himself in her warm sheath.
He saw the rightness of what Étienne had said. He had jumped to conclusions. Peri was not the kind of woman to betray her husband, though God knew he had given her reason enough to be unhappy.
He was glad now he had filched a sachet of Peri’s potpourri before his departure, though he’d deemed it sentimental foolishness at the time. He had it tucked into his gambeson, taking it out to inhale the perfume whenever he felt low.
In Boulogne, they camped on the cliffs overlooking the Narrow Sea. A gale blew up during the night, and Gallien and Étienne had difficulty keeping their two man tent pegged to the ground. It didn’t help that they dissolved into hysterical laughter, hanging on to the inside of the tent to prevent it flying off into the sea.
“It was good to see you laugh, brother,” Etienne remarked the next day as they broke camp. “It’s been too long.”
Gallien shrugged, but had to admit the laughing fit had eased some of his agitation.
The knights made their way first to Saint-Omer under the banner of Thierry d’Alsace, King Henry’s nominee as Comte of Flandres.
At Saint-Omer, Alexandre, Laurent and Romain de Montbryce joined the army of knights. Gallien and Étienne gave their Norman cousins a warm welcome. Laurent and Romain returned their greetings with laughter and hearty bear hugs. Alexandre shook hands and nodded in his usual shy way.
* * *
They sat for three rain-soaked weeks, camped in muddy fields outside Saint-Omer while Thierry negotiated. Gallien paced, fearing he might lose his wits or his fingers to frostbite.
With nothing much to do but converse about this and that, Alexandre became more talkative.
He and Gallien had never been close, or even friends. Gallien wondered how much his cousins knew of his disastrous marriage. Baudoin de Montbryce would have been obliged to tell his brother, Robert, since he was head of the family, but had Robert told his sons?
Gallien and Alexandre had one thing in common—each was destined to inherit lands and titles when their father died. Upon Ram de Montbryce’s death, the older, more prestigious title of Comte de Montbryce, along with the ancestral castle and estates, had gone to Robert as the eldest. Baudoin inherited the lesser title of Earl of Ellesmere, and English lands earned after the Conquest.
As Robert’s oldest son, Alexandre was sole heir to the lands and titles in Normandie. He would become the acknowledged head of the Montbryce family. Baudoin and Robert weren’t just brothers, but also close friends and allies, working together for the good of the family.
Gallien and Alexandre would have to do the same. The likelihood of conflict over Henry’s succession loomed large. It was past time to build relationships. “How do you feel about inheriting the mantle of Comte de Montbryce?” he asked Alexandre one night as they gazed into the flames of the campfire. Their brothers had gone off to visit with other friends.
Alexandre glanced up at him sharply, evidently surprised by the personal nature of the question. “It’s a daunting prospect, and an awesome responsibility. You must feel the same about the earldom.”
Here was an opportunity to find out where his cousin stood as far as Stephen of Blois was concerned. “I feel the weight of my inheritance, especially since King Henry betrothed his daughter to Geoffrey of Anjou.”
Alexandre grimaced. “That diplomatic revolution has led to mistrust and unease in Normandie. Areas near the border with France were already reeling from vicious raids by the French. Now, here we are attempting to disrupt Louis the Fat’s intrigues to gain control of Normandie through Clito.”
Gallien wanted to push him further, but Étienne and the others returned, stumbling into camp, giddy with drink. When they were successfully settled on their camp stools after several failed attempts, he switched to a safer topic. “How fare your parents? I have not seen oncle Robert and tante Dorianne for a long while.”
Romain and Laurent sobered immediately.
Alexandre narrowed his eyes. “Maman is ill.”
His brothers rose and left abruptly.
“Something serious?” Étienne asked as he watched them go.
Alexandre swallowed hard, staring into the fire. “She may be gone by the time we return from this campaign.”
Gallien would be devastated when his own mother died, but Alexandre had always been closer to his mother than his father. He reached out to lay a hand on his cousin’s arm. “I’m sorry. You will miss her.”
Alexandre’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “I will. More than I will miss my father, truth be told. You’re aware I was born during my father’s long incarceration at the hands of Robert Curthose.”
Gallien glanced at Étienne, obviously as surprised as he at this unusual confidence from their cousin. “It was a cruel torment.”
Alexandre peered over his shoulder into the darkness, as if to make sure no one listened before he continued. “It took an enormous toll on my father. He eventually regained his health and strength, but he and I never seemed to make up for time we lost.”
Gallien was at a loss as to what to say in response. He and his father did not always agree, but—
Alexandre frowned. “I sometimes grow tired of my father’s admonitions and ramblings about Norman politics. My mother assures me it is only because he loves me and wants me to be prepared.”
“I’m certain she is right,” Étienne offered.
Alexandre looked back into the night again, then hunched his shoulders. “But he cares more for Romain and Laurent.”
Gallien winced. He had been stupidly jealous of his own brother, but never as far as his parents’ affections were concerned. He recalled an observation his mother had made concerning Alexandre. “Perhaps it is because he was there when your brothers were born and feels that he failed you.”
Alexandre snorted. “It was not his fault Curthose imprisoned him. Besides, he dotes more on my sisters than on me. Maman says that during his imprisonment he had long hours to do naught but ponder. It came to him he had never paid his daughters much attention, intent on having a son. He has tried to make amends for it ever since. Marguerite and Catherine are spoiled.”
Gallien smirked, as did his brother. Both had experienced firsthand how domineering Marguerite and Catherine were.
Alexandre smiled. “You know how they are. They have opinions on everything I do. Papa should not allow that. They are married now. Let them worry about their own families.”
Gallien laughed. “They are bossy with everyone. It’s their nature. Don’t you agree, Étienne?”
His brother yawned broadly as he came to his feet. “I’m for bed. Too much ale.”
They bade him bonsoir. Gallien was tired, but sensed Alexandre wanted to talk. It was the first time they had ever had such an opportunity to share their true feelings.
After a long silence, Alexandre murmured, “I sometimes wish the mantle of comte would pass to another.”
Gallien shivered, despite the heat of the flames on his face. “I uttered the exact same words to my father not long ago.”
Alexandre shook his head. “What a fine pair we are. I suppose we are fortunate our fathers still live. We have the benefit of their advice. They learned from our grandsire.”
Gallien recognised the truth of that. “And our family
has the advantage of holding power and sway in Normandie, and in England, where my father is a powerful and respected earl.”
Alexandre tore his gaze away from the fire and looked directly at Gallien. He smiled. “I have no memory of the event, of course, but it was oncles Baudoin and Caedmon who rescued me and my mother from the Abbaye aux Dames after my clandestine birth there. They returned us safely to Montbryce.” The smile left his face. “It was they who found my father in the forgotten cell in Caen Castle and brought him home, a broken man no one recognised.”
They both knew the tale. Gallien had often listened proudly to his father’s emotional narrative of those long ago events. “My father also slew your mother’s treacherous brother, Pierre de Giroux, the root cause of your family’s ills.”
Alexandre rubbed his chin. “I wish my father would talk to me of those terrible months in captivity, but he has steadfastly avoided it. No one would suspect he underwent such a torment, but I often see the guarded sadness in his eyes.” He came to his feet. “I fear I must seek my bed.” He turned to leave, then came back, a frown on his face. “For some reason, cats are the other legacy of his cruel imprisonment. They abound at Montbryce Castle. I sometimes feel the cats are more important to him than I am. I know it sounds ridiculous.”
Gallien chuckled, trying to lighten Alexandre’s humor. “I know the story. My father and oncle Caedmon credited a cat’s mewling with their finding oncle Robert in his cell. Robert told them the tale of Espérance, the mangy cat who had kept him company in prison.”
Surely oncle Robert had shared that much with his son? Montbryce Castle had hounds aplenty, but Alexandre was right, it was the cats who ruled.
His cousin gaped at him. “I did not know of this. I hate cats.”
Campaign
When Saint-Omer finally declared for Thierry, his knights and foot soldiers celebrated for a day and a night with wine and ale given them by the grateful citizens of the town.
They moved on to Ghent. Hardly a word was spoken on the two day march, every man suffering the lingering after-effects of too much drink.
Infidelity (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 9) Page 11