Crescendo Read online

  Crescendo

  Anna Markland

  Contents

  Crescendo

  More Anna Markland

  Izzy

  Farah

  Exotic Visitors

  The Secret

  A Tale That Must Be Told

  The Dance

  Isolation

  Georges The Crusader

  Scars

  Drug For The Spirits

  Joy

  Fragrant Oils

  Spikenard

  The Sword

  Kismet

  Secret Mission

  Domestic Improvements

  Transformation

  Recuerdame, Mi Amor

  Intrigue

  Too Late

  Desperate Journey

  The Mighty Pyrenees

  I Won't Let You Go

  She Cannot Die

  New Roots

  Saint John Of The Rock

  Marriage

  Wedding Feast

  Cataclysm

  The Dowry

  Pilgrimage

  Compostela

  Begging For A Miracle

  Epilogue

  Postscriptum

  About Anna

  Crescendo

  The Montbryce Legacy

  ANNIVERSARY EDITION

  BOOK VIII

  By

  ANNA MARKLAND

  ©Copyright Anna Markland 2013,2018

  Crescendo by Anna Markland

  Book Eight, The Montbryce Legacy, Anniversary Edition

  © 2013, 2018 Anna Markland

  www.annamarkland.com

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  For permissions contact: [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Portions of this story appeared originally in Dance Of Love.

  Cover by Dar Albert

  More Anna Markland

  The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition (2018)

  I Conquest—Ram & Mabelle, Rhodri & Rhonwen

  II Defiance—Hugh & Devona, Antoine & Sybilla

  III Redemption—Caedmon & Agneta

  IV Vengeance—Ronan & Rhoni

  V Birthright—Adam & Rosamunda, Denis & Paulina

  VI Star-Crossed— Robert & Dorianne, Baudoin & Carys

  VII Allegiance—Rhys & Annalise

  The Montbryce Legacy First Edition (2011-2014)

  Carried Away—Blythe & Dieter

  Sweet Taste of Love—Aidan & Nolana

  Wild Viking Princess—Ragna & Reider

  Hearts and Crowns—Gallien & Peridotte

  Fatal Truths—Alex & Elayne

  Sinful Passions—Bronson & Grace; Rodrick & Swan

  Series featuring the stories of the Viking ancestors of my Norman families

  The Rover Bold—Bryk & Cathryn

  The Rover Defiant—Torstein & Sonja

  The Rover Betrayed—Magnus & Judith

  Novellas

  Maknab’s Revenge—Ingram & Ruby

  Passion’s Fire—Matthew & Brigandine

  Banished—Sigmar & Audra

  Hungry Like De Wolfe—Blaise & Anne

  Unkissable Knight—Dervenn & Victorine

  The Marauder—Santiago & Valentina

  Caledonia Chronicles (Scotland)

  Book I Pride of the Clan—Rheade & Margaret

  Book II Highland Tides—Braden & Charlotte

  Book III Highland Dawn—Keith & Aurora

  Book IV Roses Among the Heather—Blair & Susanna, Craig & Timothea

  The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty (medieval Europe)

  Book 1 Loyal Heart—Sophia & Brandt

  Book 2 Courageous Heart—Luther & Francesca

  Book 3 Faithful Heart—Kon & Zara

  Myth & Mystery

  The Taking of Ireland —Sibràn & Aislinn

  The House of Pendray

  Highland Betrayal—Morgan & Hannah (audiobook available)

  Clash of the Tartans

  Kilty Secrets—Ewan & Shona

  Kilted at the Altar—Darroch & Isabel

  Kilty Pleasures—Broderick & Kyla

  Link to Amazon page

  Where there is great love,

  There are always miracles

  ~Willa Cather

  Dedicated to all who suffer the debilitating pain of arthritis

  Izzy

  Giroux Castle, Normandie, 1107AD

  Izzy de Montbryce watched his cousin’s wife.

  Dorianne closed her eyes, but did not shed a single tear as the men-at-arms eased her father’s shrouded body into the stone sarcophagus.

  No one present thought less of her for it. She leaned heavily on her husband, one hand pressed to the small of her back, plainly feeling the weight of her fifth pregnancy in six years. No doubt she and Robert worried they might lose this babe, as they had the last.

  Izzy’s thoughts meandered. He moved closer to his older brother. “Remember the tale oncle Ram told us about the catastrophe of the Conqueror’s entombment?” he whispered.

  Melton winced. “Let’s pray François Giroux’s innards don’t burst in the same way. By all accounts it was an awful stench.”

  Arm linked with Melton’s for support, their father frowned. “That happened because they tried to stuff an obese body into a tomb that was too small.”

  Izzy’s belly roiled. He fervently hoped such a disaster wasn’t in store for the many members of his family standing shoulder to shoulder in the cramped crypt.

  In front of him, Dorianne’s brother-by-marriage turned around. Izzy expected a rebuke, but Baudoin had a wry smile on his face. “Caedmon and I crossed the Narrow Sea from England to be here to pay our respects. It’s a difficult enough journey. We don’t want to return home with a ghastly memory.”

  His half-brother turned, looking concerned. “There’s barely enough air to breathe in this fetid crypt as it is, and oncle Hugh looks like he needs to sit down,” he whispered.

  Izzy glanced at his father. His half-cousin was right. Hugh de Montbryce had aged considerably in the past few months. However, at least he had made the journey, whereas his brother was absent. Antoine was too frail to travel.

  Someone poked Izzy in the back. He turned quickly, but the censure died on his lips. Denis de Sancerre drew his fingers across his mouth, eyes ablaze. Antoine’s stepson, strangely dominant as usual, despite his stunted stature and his position at the rear of the gathering, had rightly indicated they were being disrespectful.

  Beside Denis stood his half-brothers, Adam and Mathieu. They had ridden from Belisle to represent their absent father.

  Izzy turned his attention back to the gathering, tempted to whisper to Melton that it was surprising Adam and Denis had managed to tear themselves away from their new wives. However, such sarcasm would only betray his jealousy. Denis was a fine man who delighted in boasting that his deformity rendered him less than attractive. Yet, he’d managed to wed Paulina, a beautiful woman who’d fallen in love with him. Rosamunda loved Adam despite his deafness. Yet for Izzy—

  He dragged his errant thoug
hts back to the ceremony. Few in his family had ever met Dorianne’s father, including himself. François de Giroux had devoted his life to pursuing a bitter feud with the Montbryces. A plot to murder members of the Montbryce family had cost François’ brother his life. Phillippe had died long ago in Wales after the failed attempt. Poisoned by François’ hatred, his son, Pierre, had conspired to imprison Robert and banish Dorianne to a nunnery.

  However, the only member of the Giroux family present at the funeral rites was Dorianne’s mother. Worn to the bone by a lifetime spent with a man consumed by hatred, Elenor’s skin was stretched thin across her cheekbones. “Milady Giroux looks like a cadaver,” he whispered to his father.

  Hugh shrugged. “Life is full of ironies,” he rasped. “I hope the bishop will soon end his long-winded eulogy for a man who never demonstrated a smidgen of Christian love.”

  Izzy flexed his aching fingers. The damp was playing havoc with his affliction.

  He glanced over to Pierre’s sarcophagus. The boy had died the previous year at the battle of Tinchebray, killed inevitably by the sword of a Montbryce. He wondered how his father would feel if he died. “I suppose François never recovered from his grief, never forgave Dorianne for marrying a Montbryce.”

  Hugh linked his free arm with Izzy’s. “And Phillippe’s tomb is empty. His body lies buried somewhere in the mountains of Wales. The mildewed In Memoriam engraved into the stone is the only indication he lived at all. So much sorrow caused by hatred and resentment. It’s no wonder Dorianne wants to be gone from the castle where she suffered at the hands of her father and brother.”

  Izzy agreed, but Dorianne’s loathing for Giroux Castle might bring him something he had thought would never be his. Robert needed someone to take care of his wife’s inheritance. He had asked Izzy to be Master, with a view to becoming the Seigneur, if he proved himself worthy.

  A piece of Normandie to call his own.

  As their father’s heir, Melton would inherit Domfort Castle; their mother’s rich estate in Sussex would go to his sister, Antoinette. Izzy might inherit another Sussex manor, but it was control of land in Normandie he craved. Unexpectedly, his heart’s desire was within his grasp.

  All that remained was for Dorianne to approve Robert’s choice. She would not be happy about it, but Izzy doubted she would naysay the proposal.

  * * *

  Dorianne pinched her nostrils. Trapped by the low arched ceiling, the musty odor of death and the reek of tallow candles threatened to resurrect the morning sickness she had kept at bay. The movement caught Elenor’s attention, but she quickly averted her eyes. Dorianne did not know if her mother grieved her loss. However, she was grateful that, in one rare moment of courage years ago, her mother had saved the lives of her wrongfully imprisoned husband and her son, Alexandre.

  What emotions dwelt in Elenor’s heart as her husband’s remains were laid to rest next to Pierre’s tomb? Her fixed gaze betrayed nothing. Would she come to Montbryce Castle to spend the last years of her life with her daughter and grandchildren, free of the edicts forbidding her to go? Robert had promised to ask her.

  The bishop droned on, then suddenly—silence. Feet shifted. Masons shoved the heavy lid of the sarcophagus into place. It sealed the tomb with resounding finality, causing a puff of limestone dust to dance in the air. A fit of coughing rippled its way through the mourners.

  Her husband’s husky voice broke the silence that followed. “It’s over, Dorianne. Baudoin will escort you out of the crypt. I will help your mother ascend the steps.”

  She swallowed hard and blinked, hoping that at long last her father’s death promised an end to the feud that had brought too much grief.

  Baudoin held out his hand.

  “Merci, mon frère,” she whispered gratefully, letting him lead her, but missing the warmth of her husband’s arm around her shoulders.

  Her brother-by-marriage smiled, his eyes full of concern. “De rien, ma soeur.”

  Gripping his hand tightly, she followed him to the Great Hall, where servants stood ready to serve the funeral banquet. They bowed to her. She recognized a few. Relief showed in their tired faces. Giroux had been a joyless place to serve. What would become of them now?

  The third Giroux brother, her oncle Georges, had never returned from the Crusades. She longed to leave this place of bitter memories and return home to Montbryce, a castle full of life, love, and laughter. Given his responsibilities as Comte, Robert could not be absent long.

  Baudoin made sure she was comfortable at the head table before taking his place beside Caedmon. Robert escorted his mother-by-marriage to Dorianne’s side. To her surprise, he winked.

  She was further astonished when her mother turned to her and smiled weakly. “Robert has asked me to come to Montbryce,” she murmured. “I don’t deserve happiness after allowing your father to almost destroy your lives, but I would like to get to know my grandchildren, if you’ll forgive me. I was a coward.”

  Now the pent-up tears flowed. Dorianne threw her arms around her mother’s neck, almost toppling both of them from their bench.

  “Maman,” she croaked.

  Robert steadied them, his arms around the shoulders of both women. Dorianne silently thanked God for the forgiving nature of her husband who had suffered so cruelly at the hands of her own family.

  * * *

  Robert de Montbryce had thought long and hard about the future of Giroux Castle. It now belonged to his wife and was thus his responsibility. But he needed a seneschal, someone he could trust to build Giroux into the prosperous demesne it could be. He approached his cousin, Izzy de Montbryce.

  Izzy had agreed to the proposal with his usual apparent lack of enthusiasm, though Robert knew he chafed at being landless in Normandie. It was often difficult to read Izzy’s thoughts, but Robert attributed that to his affliction. Pain and disfigurement could do strange things to a warrior. He worried about Dorianne’s reaction to the idea.

  Looking out over the assembly during the funeral banquet, he noticed Izzy watching him. He took a deep breath, and leaned close to his wife. “What say you to giving Izzy the job of Master?”

  Dorianne had just taken a small bite of roast chicken. Her mouth fell open. Hastily, she reached for a napkin and coughed into it. Robert caught the fleeting glance she cast at Izzy. His cousin shrugged one shoulder, but did not avert his gaze.

  Robert patted his wife’s back. Perhaps a more subtle approach would have been better. But the die was cast. “I can trust him,” he explained.

  Dorianne pressed her lips together in a thin line. “I do not question his loyalty, but what this dreadful castle needs is cheerfulness, humor, patience. Izzy has none of those qualities.”

  Robert squirmed under Izzy’s persistent sardonic glare. This should not have been so difficult. “I agree that sometimes he is impatient—”

  Dorianne snorted. “Impatient! He is too blunt, and stubborn.”

  Robert turned his body so his back was to Izzy. “It is true that when his affliction flares, he can be unpleasant.”

  Dorianne pouted. “Robert, I like Izzy, despite his abrasive nature, and I understand he suffers greatly. If you deem him the man for the role, I will not argue. If my mother comes to Montbryce, she will not have to contend with him. He has no time for women. Perhaps, that is why he has never married.”

  Robert nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent, grateful for the gift of this intelligent woman. He put his hand on the slight swelling of her belly and smiled.

  He glanced over to Izzy. His cousin raked a gnarled hand through his long, dark hair and nodded, his face expressionless. He rose, took his leave of his father and left the hall.

  * * *

  Gerwint Isembart de Montbryce took the steps to the battlements of Castle Giroux two at a time but was scarcely winded as he looked out over his new demesne. The Fates had brought him an estate of his own to run. Ideas that had sprung to mind when Robert had first approached him with the proposition whirled in his
head. He would plant an apple orchard, like the one at home started by his father long ago. If Montbryce and Domfort could produce a worthy apple brandy, so could Giroux. He would make sure of it.

  From his vantage point it was easier to see places where the rampart and ditch needed repairs.

  He had feared Dorianne would not agree. It was true he had never treated her with overt friendliness, but that was his way with women. The piteous looks of repugnance when they saw his hands for the first time tore at his gut. If they judged him a deformed freak, why not behave that way?

  It had not always been thus. He recalled a time, before his affliction had destroyed his hands, when ladies pursued him, anxious to wed and bed a well-muscled warrior. But no woman wanted a man whose caress was abhorrent. He had learned to cool his ardor. Few women stirred his interest now. He doubted he would ever marry. However, if he became the Seigneur, there arose the unexpected matter of heirs.

  The pain in his bones flared in the cool air of early evening. He flexed his stiff fingers, though doing so never alleviated the problem. He reassured a guard who eyed him with suspicion. “All is well.”

  Would these people accept him, despite his deformity? Would he be a good Master? The job needed patience, something he was not known for. But this land and its people cried out for a strong leader, and Izzy was capable of providing the nurture it needed. He closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrant air.