If Love Dares Enough (6 page)

Antoine was scratching his head. “De Maubadon—De Maubadon—I didn’t hear of the name at Hastings. Perhaps he joined the invasion later?”

Hugh paced. “I think Renouf de Maubadon is the worst kind of Norman—an opportunist who has seen no battle action, but who has taken this manor and coerced the daughter into marrying him. Did you see her bruises and the welts on her wrists?”

Antoine perched on the edge of the bed and watched his brother pace. “Did you also see that the two serving wenches have green eyes?”

“Three sisters then, and a mother who is obviously ill, whom Renouf treats like a serf.”

Antoine put his hands on his thighs. “Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do about it. King William has turned a blind eye to, and even encouraged Normans to take over Saxon holdings. Renouf is a Norman. We need to be wary. He has his own men-at-arms and a rough bunch they are. Did you notice they paid no attention to his shouting? They’re evidently used to it. And Renouf’s henchman, Torod. He’s enough to make your skin crawl.”

“Probably mercenaries,” Hugh replied.

Antoine rose and examined the furniture in the room. “Trying to pay them and meet his own greedy needs could drain a manor such as this.”

Hugh stopped pacing. “In some ways, I hope that’s the case. It will give me an excuse to interfere. I’m all in favour of Saxon obedience to Norman law, but it turns my stomach when men abuse women.”

Antoine turned to look at Hugh. “Unfortunately, she’s his wife, if we can believe what he says. And a man has complete authority over his wife.”

“She may not have wed him willingly.”

Antoine shook his head. “Be realistic, Hugh, many women marry against their will, Saxon and Norman alike.”

They were silent for a few minutes before Hugh said, “Perhaps the old man in the stables can shed more light on what has happened here? I’ll go out to check on Velox.”

“I’ll come with you. Just in case.”

They found three of Renouf’s men-at-arms taunting the old man, shoving him from one to the other, Boden straining furiously, tethered to a stall, barking madly.

“Leave him be!” Hugh shouted.

“Who are you to order me about?” one of the men challenged.

“I am Lord Hugh de Montbryce, overlord of this manor on the authority of the king.”

The men let go of the elderly servant, shoving him to the ground, and skulked off to the other end of the large stables. Hugh proffered a hand but it was shrugged away and the old man struggled to his feet. Without a word of thanks, he made to go to the dog.

“A moment,” Hugh said. The Saxon stopped, raised his hand to quieten Boden and looked directly into Hugh’s eyes.

This man is no servant.

“What’s your name?”

“Gerwint,” the man ground out, spitting phlegm into the straw.

“You’re surly for a servant,” Antoine remarked.

“I am no—” Gerwint looked around apprehensively, then lowered his voice. “I’m not a servant. I am Sir Gerwint Melton, once thane of King Edward the Confessor, now the pawn of a Norman brute like you. My deepest regret is I was deemed too old to fight at Hastings where I might have slain more of your kind.”

Antoine bristled. “Not all Normans are brutes, Sir Gerwint.”

“This has not been my experience, Norman. Go, or my granddaughter will be punished for any transgression I may be thought to have committed.”

“You refer to Lady Devona?” Hugh asked. “Has Renouf wed her?”

Gerwint nodded, his eyes dark. “Aye, five years gone. Alas, that it has come to this.”

“Are Bemia and Aediva also your granddaughters?”

Gerwint’s shoulders drooped. “Aye.”

“And the woman slumped against the wall?”

The Saxon exhaled loudly. “Their mother. Now go! Leave us be. I’ve seen to your mounts. You’ll make it worse for us. At least we’re not cast out to starve, and we’re together. Go!”

He strode away, and the Montbryce brothers reluctantly left the stables to walk across the courtyard. Renouf was leaning against the doorpost, blocking the entry. “Seeing to your horses,
mes seigneurs
?” he asked with some belligerence.

“Montbryces are known for our dedication to our steeds,” Antoine replied, his tone light. “We fight as mounted knights and our lives often depend on our horses, as was the case at Hastings. Were you in the cavalry there?”

Renouf seemed to hesitate for a moment. “
Non
, I wasn’t in the cavalry, I mean—not the Norman cavalry. I fought with the Bretons.”

Antoine stood directly in front of Renouf. “But you’re a Norman, aren’t you? May we pass into the house by the way, Sir Renouf, it’s chilly out here.”

Renouf gave way.

Hugh turned to face him squarely. “If you fought with the Breton cavalry you were lucky to cheat death. You had a tough time on the right flank.”

Renouf looked at his feet. “
Oui
—I was lucky—as you say—now, I bid you
bonsoir!”

“
Bonsoir,
lying snake!” Hugh hissed under his breath to Renouf’s retreating back. “This man didn’t fight at Hastings. Anyone who was there knows the Bretons fought on the left flank.”

They climbed the stairs to their chamber, stripped, washed and climbed into bed.

“Five years she’s been married to that brute.” Hugh could barely grind out the words.

“Strange, isn’t it, there are no children?” Antoine mused. “Perhaps she’s barren?”

Hugh found it difficult to sleep. He tossed and turned, tormented by the image of a slender green-eyed woman with beautiful breasts lying beneath him, smiling. But the nebulous image changed and somehow the woman was dead. Had he killed her, overwhelmed by his need, his lust?

“
Dieu!”
he cried out as he woke sweating, his hand on his throbbing manhood, the scent of marigold in his nostrils.

Antoine sat up, rubbing one eye with his forefinger. “What is it, Hugh? A nightmare?”

Hugh struggled to sit on the edge of the bed. “
Oui
, sorry Antoine. Just a nightmare as you say. Go back to sleep.”

Shall I save her, only to kill her myself?

He hoped no one else in the silent house had heard him cry out.

***

Devona watched the Norman noblemen ride away with their men. She cursed that she’d allowed a flicker of hope to ignite when Hugh de Montbryce had looked into her eyes. She’d experienced a peculiar sensation of heat deep in her belly, terrified Renouf might notice something unusual about her reaction.

While both Montbryces were handsome men, it was Hugh’s husky greeting that had warmed her as his lips brushed her fingers. Had he noticed the marigold? Compared to the unpleasant body odours that accompanied Renouf and Torod wherever they went, Hugh had smelled—clean, wholesome, naturally male.

Last night, Renouf had collapsed in a drunken stupor, evidently not wanting to cause any unpleasant noises that might awaken the visitors. She’d dreamt of Hugh de Montbryce, of lying safe in his warm embrace.

But the Montbryces were Normans. She could expect no help from them. They would never oust a fellow countryman from an estate he’d stolen. In any case, Hugh dwelt in Normandie. How could he be of help? Her family was nothing to him, Melton Manor just a source of revenue. Not that there would be much wealth remaining with Renouf’s excesses.

Weary in mind and body, she didn’t know how much longer she could bear Renouf’s depraved brutality. She could do nothing to please him. The only thing that kept her going was the fear of what would happen to her family if they were left to Renouf’s mercies. She’d thought of killing him, but would never have had the strength to complete such an act. And if she did, Torod and his men would probably take great pleasure in slaughtering all of them.

Her once energetic grandfather had aged terribly since her marriage to Renouf five years before. Five years! It felt more like a hundred. Her mother had deteriorated further into the madness that consumed her and Renouf threatened daily to have her burned as a witch.

Bemia, now three years and ten, was beginning to develop, and Devona feared Renouf would, in the course of time, turn his depraved eyes on her. Aediva scurried around, trying not to be noticed, barely ever saying a word. Devona tried desperately to devise a plan to spirit her sisters away, but could think of no way to accomplish it. Torod was a constant unpredictable menace who brutally terrorized the remaining servants.

Renouf never allowed any of them to leave the Manor, except to climb down the long twisting flight of fifty steps, hewn from the rock, which led to the isolated beach below the cliffs where the house stood. It was their only time of joy.

The sisters went there with Boden and Brigantia a fortnight after the Montbryce brothers had visited. The weather had warmed considerably. They hoisted their skirts and paddled in the waves, watching the dark brown sand pool around their bare feet as the water receded. Devona loved the salty tang of the sea breeze on her lips. The girls squealed as the dogs emerged from the sea and shook the water from their sleek coats all over them.

“Boden! Brigantia! You’ve soaked us through!” Aediva laughed. It gladdened Devona’s heart to hear her sister laugh. There was little laughter left in their lives.

“Come on, Devona, stop daydreaming! Let’s walk along the beach and collect shells,” Bemia called.

Devona realized she had indeed been daydreaming, hoping, as she stared out to sea.

If you’re coming Hugh de Montbryce, come soon
.

***

A month after his return from England, Hugh was convinced he would never have another good night’s sleep. Nightmares beset him whenever he laid his head on the bolster. Hastings predominated. It had ever been so since that fateful day. He awoke cold and clammy, convinced that the violence he’d experienced had aroused him sexually, and he became more determined to never subject a woman to the fury that might be unleashed if he bedded her.

But since his return, another nightmare had begun to surface in the form of Renouf de Maubadon, who appeared with horns on his head and flames spewing from his mouth—the devil incarnate. In this dream, a triumphant Renouf dragged a screaming, naked Devona Melton by the hair into a cave. Hugh could never follow into the cave in the dream, but feared unspeakable things were going on there. He awoke feeling wretchedly powerless, often gasping for breath.

The third dream was the one he’d experienced the night he’d first met Devona. She was beneath him, naked. The smell of marigold filled his senses. He was suckling her lovely breasts, her legs parted in invitation, her mons arched to his aroused manhood, smiling, reaching up to touch his face, saying—

What’s she saying?

But the dream always ended with Devona’s death before he could discern what she was saying. This was the dream he preferred, at least there was some good in it. He wanted the part where they were making sweet love to go on and on. When he awoke from this dream he’d invariably spilled on the bed linens.

The maidservants must think I’m depraved!

“What is it she’s trying to tell me in the dream?” he wondered aloud.

Two days later the dream came again. This time the lovemaking was more intense, more vivid. The smile, the green eyes, the breasts, the impudent nipple, the parted legs, the arched hips—but now something more, his manhood sliding into her tight wetness, her screams of joy, her voice calling over and over, “Come! Come!”

His ecstatic reply, “I am coming, for you, my love, I’m coming!” He woke with a shudder to soiled linens once more, feeling like his heart would burst in his chest. He shook his head, tried to calm his breathing and ran his hand through his tousled hair. He drew his legs up to his chest, clasped his arms around them and rested his head on his knees.

She wanted me to come.

“I came all right!” he muttered cynically, looking ruefully at the bed linens. Then a thousand conflicting thoughts ran through his head. “She wanted me to come, she wants me to come—she wants me to come—could it be she wants me to come? Am I supposed to go to her, rescue her? How can I do that? Her husband is a Norman. Still—he’s a brute, a monster. She’s all that stands between him and her family, but she won’t stand forever. And I desire her! But my desire could kill her. Renouf will kill her anyway.”

As his racing heart calmed, he remembered Antoine had sent word he’d found a steward for their English properties. Hugh decided to ride to Belisle that very day to approach his brother with his problem. They’d always been close and trusted each other’s opinions. Dawn’s first rays were illuminating the horizon when he mounted Velox and was on his way to Antoine’s castle with a handful of bleary-eyed yawning men-at-arms.

***

Antoine and Hugh had enjoyed a fine dinner at Belisle, a castle that had prospered well under Antoine’s able management.

“Michel Cormant, the steward at Alensonne, has two sons who are more than capable of doing the job for us in England, and they’re keen to go. Michel has another son, Paul, who can take over for him at Alensonne when the time comes. Barat and Théobald Cormant can re-establish East Preston first and use it as their base of operations to oversee the other manors for us. What do you think of that plan?”