If Love Dares Enough (13 page)

Lady Wilona interjected, “If we could rid ourselves of Renouf we could return to Melton.”

Aediva asked, “Do you think we’ll ever go home?”

Although Devona had slept after their arrival, she was still exhausted and her emotions were confused. She desperately wanted Hugh to put his arms around her. She needed to feel his strength, the warmth of his powerful body. But he seemed nervous and unsure and she wondered if he was now regretting the impulsive rescue he’d undertaken.

Despite the outward friendliness of the people of the castle, she felt foreign and wondered what they were truly feeling about her and her Saxon family. The sheer size and magnificence of the castle was overwhelming and brought home to her just what a powerful and wealthy family the Montbryces were. She was far below Hugh’s station in life, never mind that she was a Saxon.

She loved him, but she was another man’s wife. She found the idea of going home to Melton hopeful, and yet she never wanted it to happen, because then she wouldn’t be with Hugh. But she was a woman who’d been brutalized by her husband, a woman who’d never known the loving touch of a man. Could she respond to a man’s caress, or would she always be reminded of Renouf’s cruelty?

“If we ever do go home to Melton, it won’t be for a long while, Aediva, and this is a beautiful castle,” she told her sister, wanting to reassure the child.

“But we don’t belong here,” Bemia whispered.

Devona saw sadness creep 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 put his hand on Lady Wilona’s and squeezed it. As if conjured by her words, the two mastiffs reappeared, wagging their tails and barking and everyone laughed.

“I fear I must retire, my lords. This old crone isn’t used to polite conversation and good table manners,” Lady Wilona quipped. She’d drunk just a bit too much of the excellent Montbryce apple brandy, but didn’t care. Her beautiful children were safe, thanks to the incredible and unexpected humanity of two handsome and powerful men.

She sensed Devona’s intense feelings for Hugh de Montbryce, and prayed her daughter wouldn’t be hurt again. She’d 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 solve them.

“I’ll escort you ladies to your chambers,” Hugh offered. “I think we’re all tired. It won’t be long before I too seek my bed.”

Wilona saw his blush as he looked at Devona and she returned his gaze.

I’m surprised the two of them haven’t burst into flames!

Antoine said, “I believe I’ll escort
mesdames
Aediva and Bemia, if you don’t mind, brother.”

“And I’ll come with you, Lord Antoine,” Wilona said hurriedly. “Lord Hugh can escort Devona.”

They rose wearily from the table and left, leaving Hugh and Devona alone together.

Hugh took Devona’s hand from where it lay on her lap and pressed it to his lips, not caring if the few remaining servants who were clearing up the tables noticed.

“Devona,” he whispered, “I—there are things I want to say—and do—”

“I know,” she murmured. “I know it’s difficult.”

He placed her hand on his thigh and pressed down on it with his palm, so her fingers were kneading his muscles.

Her face reddened and he felt her nervousness at the contact. “I feel your heat, Hugh,” she murmured.

He didn’t want to frighten her, but couldn’t hold his tongue. “I’m burning for you, Lady Devona Melton.”

“I—oh, Hugh—this is torture. I need to draw on your strength. But—”

He took her hand off his leg. “I know. Come. We’ll get some air.”

Out in the bailey he helped her up the steps to the battlements. The wind was warm but blustery and 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 and he gathered her closer to his body, cupping her
derriere
with his hands, nestling his arousal into the warm place between her legs. He feathered her neck with kisses and she pressed her head tightly to his shoulder, giggling.

“I’m ticklish!” she admitted. His erection intensified. He’d never experienced this overwhelming need to possess a woman before. Could he be trusted not to unleash the violent side of his nature? How could he explain his problem to this brave lady who had already suffered so much violence?

“Devona, I—” he began, his heart pounding. “I want you so much, but—”

“Hush,” she crooned, swaying against him. “I know we’re honour 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 wanted to press her against the stone walls, lift her skirts and take her where she stood, but 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 reached up with one hand to trail her fingers through his hair and he moved his hands to cup her breasts. They filled his hands, and felt so—right. The nipples hardened against his palms, and he had to resist the urge to take them in his fingers and play.

“Your touch inflames me,” she whispered. “I never thought to want a man the way I want you. You must think me wanton for saying such things to you, but I’ve lived without love for a long time. I don’t know if—”

Hugh was so hot he was thinking he might have to go jump in the nearby lake when he left her. “You’re not wanton, Devona. You’re a beautiful and desirable woman who deserves—” He couldn’t continue.

They remained locked in their tender embrace for a long while, listening to the wind rustling the leaves of the apple trees, then he whispered, “It’s getting cool out here. I’ll take you inside.” He kissed her goodnight outside the door to the chamber she shared with her mother, just brushing his lips against hers, afraid to unleash the passionate kiss he longed to give her.

“
A demain
,” he whispered.

“Until tomorrow,” she echoed.

***

Hugh could tell Antoine was unhappy 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. It has been an ordeal for them, I know. 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, Bileaud. 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 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 their meal, leftovers of the smoked
jambon
prepared by
La Cuisinière
the previous evening, along with black bread, then Hugh wished his brother good journey and they embraced.

“Thank you for your help with the rescue, Antoine. I couldn’t have pulled it off without you. I’m in your debt.”

“Just be happy, little brother,” Antoine replied with a grin, slapping Hugh on the back. “That’s repayment enough for me.”

***

After three days of barely being able 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 couldn’t 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 noticed Boden was hardly limping.

“On the morrow I have to leave for Domfort,” he announced, trying to keep his voice steady.

“What time will we be leaving?” 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 stuttered.

“None of us?” Bemia queried.

“Some of my men will accompany me.”

He saw the pain in Devona’s eyes and looked away. “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 start to cry, Devona or my resolve will weaken.

He saw that she was standing 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, and she put her hand on the dog’s head. She was swaying slightly.

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 disappointment.

Lady Wilona came to his rescue. “We understand, Lord Hugh. 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 felt like shouting that the only important thing he wanted to do was peel Devona’s clothing from her body and make slow passionate love to her. He’d gone over and over every tantalizing step of the process in his mind, but instead rasped, “Thank you, Lady Wilona. I knew you would all understand.”

He thought that even the dogs gave him a backward glance of disgust as the Saxons left the gallery. He clenched his fist, leaned against the wall and banged his forehead against it several times before making his way to the stables.

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 wouldn’t want the embarrassment to reflect on him. Should he petition the King? 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 better still the bishop in Normandie where the Montbryce castle was. But had they gone there, or to some other castle 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 considered he was a good judge of character. It was this ability that 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 could be tedious. People brought petitions about the most trivial of matters, thinking 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’d 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. He realized he hadn’t 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.”