“Do you want me to accompany you to Ellesmere?” Agneta asked on the eve of Caedmon’s departure.
“No, I prefer you stay here. It will be difficult to be apart, but I don’t know what to expect there. I’ve been told the earl is a fair man, but you might be safer here. I’ve sent Tybaut ahead to inform them of my intention to visit.”
“I’ll miss you in my bed,” she murmured coyly.
He hoped she would add and in my heart, but it was a forlorn wish. He took her by the hand and led her to their chamber.
There was a hint of melancholy about their lovemaking. It would be the first separation since their marriage. He slowly kissed her mouth and tasted her lips, then feathered kisses down her neck. He spiraled his tongue around the whole globe of her breast in teasing circles until he reached her nipple, repeating the ritual with the other breast.
Agneta writhed in pleasurable anticipation. His tongue found her navel and he ran the tip of it round and round then pressed hard below her navel. Her moans of delight were music to his ears.
He sucked each of her toes in turn and then licked the soles of her feet.
She stretched, arched her back and opened her legs in invitation.
He kissed her thighs, beginning behind her knees and ending at the place where he knew she ached for him. He lifted her hips. His tongue pressed between her legs and suckled.
She rose to the challenge and pushed against him.
He lapped her, savoring her essence. He sensed her rising to a crescendo and she screamed his name in surrender. The notion passed through his mind that he could postpone yet again the journey to Ellesmere.
When her breathing had steadied, she motioned for him to lie on his back, climbed on top of him, cradled his engorged manhood between her breasts, and rocked.
“Feels good,” he crooned.
Then she engulfed him with her warm mouth and moved on him.
“I can’t wait any longer,” he rasped after a minute or two.
“Come inside me,” she whispered.
He turned her over onto her back and entered her warm wet centre, pounding into her, his loins on fire. His ecstasy reached its pinnacle and he filled her.
He wondered how he was going to survive a three or four day separation.
As Agneta drifted off to sleep, she acknowledged that she would miss Caedmon terribly, and not only in her bed.
She had to reluctantly admit yet again that she was in love with him. It confused her that she could trust Caedmon with her body and share the most intimate of touches and caresses with him.
He wasn’t a trustworthy person. He’d been partially responsible for the deaths of her family, but her heart knew he wasn’t an evil man. In fact, he was gentle and kind, strong and brave.
He deeply regretted his part in the Bolton raid.
She would never forget how he’d looked that day as she peered, with terrified eyes, through the chink in the planking of the barn. His heart had not been in the deed.
She resolved to tell him of her forgiveness, when he returned from Ellesmere.
Tybaut had already left to inform the earl of Caedmon’s imminent arrival. When the steward arrived at Ellesmere, he discovered the earl was away and wouldn’t be returning until later that night. He wouldn’t be available until the morrow—the day Caedmon planned to meet with him. Tybaut couldn’t wait until the next day. He’d made arrangements to meet with someone in Shrewsbury that same night, on his way back to Ruyton, to procure more ribbons for Lady Agneta.
He sought out his friend and fellow steward, Martin Bonhomme, and found him in the kitchens. “My friend, I need your help to convey a message,” he said as he swilled down the ale Bonhomme offered him.
His friend raised his own tankard to his lips. “I’ll see to it. Tell me.”
“I’ve been assigned to the manor at Shelfhoc for some time now.”
“Oui, lucky dog. Off the beaten track, not much work,” teased his easygoing friend, whose father Mathieu had procured the post for Tybaut.
Tybaut took another big gulp, smacked his lips and carried on. “It’s true there hasn’t been much to do there, but I’ve done my best to carry out the earl’s wishes. Anyway, out of nowhere, maybe a year ago, comes the thane, Sir Caedmon Woolgar and his lady wife, to take up residence.”
“Huh. A year ago?” was all Bonhomme could apparently say.
“I suppose I should have come tell the earl, but my strict instructions have been not to bother him with anything to do with Shelfhoc and all is in order.”
“Hmmm.”
“Anyway, be that as it may, he’s a pleasant fellow, albeit a Saxon. But he wants to see the earl on the morrow. Come to pledge his service, no doubt, and offer his thanks. I was supposed to tell the earl about his coming.”
Bonhomme slapped his companion on the back. “Leave it with me, Tybaut. I’m to meet with him early on the morrow. He plans to return late tonight and I’ll tell him about his visitor. I doubt the matter will take much time.”
“Probably not,” Tybaut replied, swigging down the last of the dark ale and swiping his sleeve across his mouth. “Obliged to you, my friend. I’ll be off now. Want to make it back to Shrewsbury before dark. There’s something bothers me about this Sir Caedmon. He reminds me of someone, but who?”
“Never met him, therefore I’m no help with your quandary. Sir Caedmon Woolgar. These strange Saxon names! I’ll remember it. Good journey, mon ami.”
As Tybaut left the kitchens he bumped into Robert de Montbryce. “Beg your pardon, milord Robert. It’s good to see you back from Normandie. I trust all is well at the castle there?” he asked, bowing deferentially.
“Tybaut, isn’t it? Things are relatively good in Normandie,” Robert replied, with a grin, walking away quickly. “I’m looking for Trésor and I can’t be deterred from my errand. She usually has something good to eat tucked away for me.”
In that instant Tybaut found the answer to the question that had nagged at him since he’d met Sir Caedmon. “I have it,” he murmured gleefully. “Sir Caedmon could be milord Robert’s twin brother—except Sir Caedmon is older. They look much alike.”
Ram was discussing mundane matters concerning the castle with Bonhomme when the steward smacked his palm against his forehead. “I’ve suddenly remembered a message Tybaut asked me to pass on. He wanted to inform you that the thane of Shelfhoc, Sir Caedmon Woolgar, and his lady wife, have returned to the manor.”
Not sure he’d heard correctly, Ram rose hastily from his chair, startling Bonhomme. “Sir Caedmon Woolgar? He’s dead. He died at Hastings. It can’t be him. His lady wife? Did he mention her name? Was it Lady Ascha?”
Bonhomme scratched his head. “No, milord, he didn’t mention the lady’s name. Anyway, Tybaut said Sir Caedmon is coming here to see you today—to thank you—for the manor and all.”
Ram’s heart raced. “Today? He’s coming here today? Is the lady of Shelfhoc expected?”
Bonhomme gaped.
Ram realized his reaction must seem peculiar.
“Not that Tybaut mentioned, milord.”
Ram paced, until the steward interrupted his thoughts. “Will there be anything further?”
“Non, Bonhomme, merci. I need to speak with my countess. Do you know where she is?”
“I believe she’s in the kitchen with Trésor, milord.”
Ram ran to the kitchens to find Mabelle, leaving a perplexed Bonhomme behind. He asked her hurriedly to meet him in their chamber as soon as possible. When Mabelle arrived, Ram paced the room nervously.
“What is it Ram? What’s wrong?”
He took hold of her hands. “I’m not sure. I’ve received a message that Sir Caedmon Woolgar has returned to Shelfhoc Manor and is coming here to see me today.”
“But you said—”
“Oui, Mabelle, Lady Ascha believed her husband died at Hastings. Perhaps he didn’t. But where has he been all these years? The news gets worse. Apparently, he didn’t return alone. His la
dy wife is with him. I’m sorry, Mabelle, but I don’t know if she’ll accompany him.”
“Ram,” she replied calmly. “We’ll receive them together. You’re the earl and I’m the countess. They are vassals for whom you’ve done a great deal. They can only be grateful. If Lady Ascha is coming here she’s probably more worried about it than you are. Her husband may not be aware of your interlude with her.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he confessed.
Facing The Truth
Impatiently cooling his heels in the courtyard garden of Ellesmere Castle, Caedmon rehearsed over and over what he would say to the earl.
Anxious to return to his beloved Agneta, he wondered how much longer he would have to wait.
A young Norman nobleman sauntered by, evidently looking for someone.
“Robert de Montbryce,” the young man introduced himself, bowing his head slightly. “I’m the earl’s son.”
“Sir Caedmon Woolgar,” Caedmon replied. “I’m waiting to speak with the earl.” There was something familiar about this nobleman. “Have we met before, Lord Robert?”
“I don’t believe so—though—there’s something—my father is in the Map Room with my mother. He sent me to fetch you. I got the mistaken impression you were an older man. And you have a Scottish burr. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the way.”
Caedmon Woolgar entered the room and Ram saw him.
Robert started to introduce the visitor, but stopped when he saw the shocked look on his father’s ashen face.
His mother’s hand went to her mouth and she let out an involuntary startled cry, grasping the arm of a chair.
“What is it, Papa? Are you ill?” Robert asked worriedly.
Ram had to sit down, as did Mabelle. Neither of them took their eyes off Caedmon.
“What is it, Papa, Maman? I’m sorry, Sir Caedmon, I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m embarrassed.”
“I admit this isn’t the reception I envisaged,” Caedmon muttered.
Ram was the first to get hold of his emotions. He could see no point in denying or avoiding the truth that had slapped him in the face. He stood. Bitterly aware of the hurt he was about to inflict, he said to Robert, “You can’t see it, can you?”
“See what, Papa?” Robert followed his father’s gaze to Caedmon and turned to look fully at the man he’d escorted into the room. He gasped and his jaw fell open. “You look like my father,” he exclaimed. “Who are you? Are you a Montbryce?”
Caedmon peered at Ram. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted to Mabelle. There was no mistaking his angry reaction to the compassionate and stricken expression on her face.
He felt Caedmon’s hostile stare as he turned to his wife and said, “I didn’t know there was a child, Mabelle. I swear I didn’t know.”
She nodded.
Had Caedmon heard? Ram recognised the moment the truth sank into the newcomer’s befuddled mind.
The young man drew his sword and strode angrily toward him. “How can it be, Norman beast, that your face is my face? You must be a rapist, a violator of women. Did you rape my mother? Now I understand why she didn’t want me to come here. You raped a defenseless widow. Was it not enough that Norman dogs slew her husband?”
Ram stood rooted to the spot, shaking his head.
Robert recovered from his shock and ran to stop Caedmon.
Mabelle moved calmly to stand between the enraged young knight and her husband. “Sir Caedmon,” she said quietly, “if you kill my husband, it’s likely you would murder your own father. I’m sure we can agree that wouldn’t be the best thing. You would regret it for the rest of your life, if you escaped the noose. My husband isn’t a rapist.”
Caedmon lowered his sword, but didn’t sheathe it. “You can hide behind a woman’s skirts, high and mighty Earl of Ellesmere, but that doesn’t change the fact you shamed my mother.” He spat out the words. “I came here today to thank you for taking care of my estate. Hah, I often wondered why you were so generous. Now I know it was guilt at work. You shamed my mother and you’ve shamed me. I came into this room a proud Saxon knight, the son of a war hero who gave his life in defense of his country. I’m leaving as the bastard of a filthy Norman pig.”
He hurried from the room, sword still in hand.
Robert went to follow, but his mother stopped him. “Let him go, Robert. You need to stay here. We must talk. Go find your brother and sister.”
Robert looked angrily at his parents. “I sense whatever we’ll talk about won’t be good.”
He left to find his siblings.
When they were alone, Mabelle turned to Ram who had slumped into the chair, pressing his fingertips into his forehead. “He’s a fine boy, Ram. In truth, he’s not a boy. He’s a man. He’s your son and you mustn’t be ashamed of him or make him feel ashamed. It has obviously been as much of a shock for him as for us.”
“Why didn’t she tell me? I had no idea. I would have acknowledged the boy. I would have supported them.” He shook his head. “He won’t wish to see me again, he made that clear.”
“He’s angry and confused. So is Robert. Baudoin and Rhoni will be too. But they love you. They’ll come to understand. You must reach out to Caedmon. We must both reach out.”
Slowly, he came to his feet to embrace her, and rested his chin on the top of her head. “All those years ago when I watched in disbelief as you threw my sword into the lake, the thought ran through my head that you were stronger than you looked. Little did I know. You’ve proven to be the strongest half of our union. I thank you for your strength.”
Caedmon wasn’t sure how far or in which direction he’d ridden, but as he rode his fury grew to encompass not only the Norman who’d sired him, but the woman who had birthed him. He went over and over the events of the fateful meeting in his mind, recalling the countess saying her husband wasn’t a rapist. To his confused brain that must mean his mother had consented. She was a strumpet, a whore, bedding a Norman before her husband’s grave had gone cold.
Head pounding, he slowed Abbot to a walk then reined the horse to a halt. Sliding dispiritedly from the saddle, he barely noticed he was in a clearing in a copse. He tied the reins to a tree, sank to his hands and knees in the rustling carpet of dead leaves and twigs and sobbed until he retched.
Everything he’d believed was suddenly not true. It would have been better if he’d never recovered after Alnwick, or, better still, why hadn’t he died on that field?
“I’m nothing,” he cried to the uncaring trees. “Less than nothing. As a bastard, I don’t have a right to the manor I claimed as my own. I can offer Agneta nothing.”
His wife’s name on his lips intensified his pain and he sobbed until he lay exhausted on the forest floor, full of loathing for himself and the man and woman who had sired him. When he could cry no more, he struggled to his feet, found a blanket in his saddle bags and curled up in it. He lay awake, watching as darkness fell and stars appeared in the sky.
“What do the stars portend for me now?” he wondered aloud. “I can’t live off the income of a house I’ve no right to. I can no longer take money from my whore of a mother. I’ll have to make my living as a mercenary. It’s no life for a woman. I will lose Agneta.”
It was more than he could bear. “But where will she go? I’m all she has, and I’m nothing. How can I tell her I’m base born? She hates me already. She will despise my bastardy more.”
Exhaustion claimed him and he slept fitfully beneath the winter canopy.
By the time Robert returned to the Map Room with Baudoin and Rhoni, he’d told them about the events that had occurred there and his suspicions that the unknown knight was their father’s bastard.
“You both seem rather calm,” Robert said to his parents with some irritation.
Ram clutched the wooden arms of his chair and squared his shoulders. “Mes enfants, I’m sincerely sorry you had to find out about this in such a manner. I take full responsibility for what has happened.
I didn’t know of the young man’s existence. I was unaware my indiscretion many years ago had produced a child.”
“Mon père,” Robert replied, “you need to tell us what happened.”
Ram sighed, noticing his son had addressed him more formally than usual. He told the story, deciding to leave out nothing, to tell the whole truth about his fears during the battle, his emotions, his stupid bravado with Rhodri and his resulting humiliation, his frustrations, his worry for his brother, Hugh, Ascha’s pain and longing—all of it. They were surely mature enough to understand about fears and emotions. He hoped so.
He remained seated in his chair and Mabelle stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders, indicating, he thanked God for it, that she still loved their father, that she’d forgiven him, that this painful experience wouldn’t destroy their family.
Robert paced as the silence dragged on.
Baudoin sat on the edge of a bench staring at his feet.
Rhoni fidgeted with her braids.
Ram watched his children struggle with their new-found knowledge. Finally, he spoke again. “I intend to recognize him as my son. You all need to be aware of that.”
Robert stopped pacing and looked at his father. “Mon père,” he managed to say, “What to say? This is a lot to digest. I’m not sure what Rhoni and Baudoin think.”
“I think,” the soft-spoken Baudoin interjected unexpectedly, “that this family has undergone some terrible ordeals, but we’ve survived because we’ve faced them together. Today, we have learned things about our father. About our mother, too.”
Ram was moved by the maturity of his youngest son, and the compassionate look in his eyes.
“Papa,” Baudoin continued, his voice strong, “I know you to be a loving father and husband. Discovering I have a half-brother doesn’t change that. While I may not approve, it’s evident Maman has forgiven you and I can’t find condemnation in my heart. You are still my father. Some noblemen sow their seed at random and sire bastards with impunity. You’ve never been that sort of coward. You’re the kind of man I’ve aspired to be, and still aspire to be. You are my liege lord and I am your loyal man.”
Redemption (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 3) Page 13