Passion in the Blood Page 12

  ***

  Robert was wakened one night by the sound of an animal in distress. His back was cold. A shiver of dread trickled through his veins. Where was Espérance? He knelt and felt for her. She was lying in the corner. As soon as he put his hand on her, he knew what was happening. Kittens! How could he not have known?

  He felt her belly contract. She licked his hand. He sat back on his haunches and sobbed, thinking of his wife and the son he prayed she still carried.

  Espérance was stoic. It probably wasn’t the first litter of kittens she’d borne. Robert could tell when each was about to be born—it was the only time the cat cried. He heard the rasp of her tongue licking each one dry and the gnawing sounds as she chewed the afterbirth, separating them from her body. Tears flowed as he thought of his little girls, Catherine and Marguerite. His obvious disappointment that they were not boys must have hurt his wife. Had he made her feel she was to blame?

  When the four new arrivals were licked clean and suckling hungrily, he reached out slowly and scratched the cat’s ears. “Well done, Espérance. You must take good care of your family. Better care than I took of mine.”

  She and the kittens purred.

  He lay for hours watching her with her brood, until the gaoler brought his food. Panic seized him then when he remembered this was the day for his straw to be replaced. He’d looked forward to it for days. What would happen to the kittens? How could Espérance protect four of them when the ice cold water was thrown into the cell?

  By the time the mute returned with the straw and bucket, Robert had devised a plan. But he would try to communicate first with the giant.

  “My cat,” he said, pointing to the kittens, slightly startled to hear his own voice.

  The man looked at the cats, shrugged and motioned for the straw.

  Robert was torn. What would happen if he refused? He desperately needed to feel clean. If he made a fuss, the mute might take the kittens and dispose of them. He removed his clothing and passed it to the guard, then gathered up the straw and pushed it out of the cell.

  Espérance arched her back and hissed. She picked up one kitten by the scruff of its neck. Robert hoped she would understand what he was about to do. Carefully he picked up the remaining kittens. Espérance struck out and clawed his hand, but he persevered. He cradled the squirming newborns to his breast. As the gaoler doused him he turned his back. Espérance screeched and darted out of the cell. The three kittens struggled, but he held them firm, elated he’d successfully protected them.

  He shook his head when the lye soap was proffered. Water would have to be enough. The gaoler shrugged and shoved the fresh straw under the grate. Robert kicked some into a pile in the corner, knelt, and laid the mewling kittens atop it.

  “There,” he sniffled, his arms across his chest, trying to hold on to the warmth he’d derived from their little bodies. Then he turned to reach for the clothing the guard held out to him. It was the first time he’d seen the mute smile. He smiled back.

  Within minutes, Espérance had crept back into the cell, still carrying the kitten she’d rescued. Her green eyes followed him as he dressed and hunkered down beside her, watching her suckle her brood once more.

  “You’re welcome,” he whispered.

  ***

  Dorianne chafed at captivity. While preparations were made for her to go to a nunnery, Pierre relented and allowed her to leave her room to eat in the Hall. She spoke to her parents, seeking their aid.

  “Papa,” she said softly, “I can’t believe you condone what Pierre has done. Robert is my lawful husband. You’ve broken God’s law by separating us. My children are without their parents. What has Pierre done with Robert? If he has killed him—”

  “It’s out of my hands, daughter,” her father replied angrily. “I can do nothing. You shouldn’t have married Montbryce. But he’s not dead. They won’t kill him.”

  He hurried away. Her mother sat with her head bowed, refusing to look at Dorianne.

  “Maman, you know this is wrong,” she begged.

  Her mother scurried away. Dorianne wanted to scream. If Robert wasn’t to be killed, did that mean torture? She pushed the possibility away as it threatened to rise up her throat. She made her way back to her chamber where she’d lie awake until exhaustion took her, and her sleep would be haunted by dreams of Robert’s hands on her breasts, his mouth on her sex, his manhood deep inside her. She would wake sobbing his name, her hands cradling her belly, protecting the child she carried within her—Robert’s child.

  “Be brave, Robert. Somehow we will be rescued.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  King Henry was furious when news of Montbryce’s abduction was brought to him soon after the event. Though the report spoke of the Giroux family, he suspected his brother was behind the plot. He itched to march into Normandie and put paid to the Duke of Normandie’s claims and aspirations. He was a much better ruler for the combined kingdoms than his brother. This vengeful abduction of a prominent Norman nobleman proved it. The time would come, but he couldn’t make his move too soon. He dispatched messengers to Ellesmere to inform Baudoin of his knowledge of the crime and summoned the Earl of Ellesmere to Court forthwith.

  Baudoin and Caedmon both rode to meet with the King. Henry laid out his plans for an invasion. “However, we can’t proceed yet. When the time is right we’ll take Bayeux and then Caen from the Duke. If he has your brother he’s doubtless in the fortress at Caen.”

  Baudoin hesitated. “Majesté, the Montbryce men stand ready to aid this invasion. But you can understand our desire to rescue Robert and Dorianne at the earliest, if they are still alive. What’s your estimate for your plan to commence?”

  Henry was pensive. “Six months from now I hope to be underway.”

  Baudoin and Caedmon opened their mouths to protest, but Henry held up his hand. “I cannot attack without success being assured.”

  ***

  As the months dragged by, Dorianne feared it would be impossible to hide her pregnancy much longer. When she undressed, the swell of her belly was unmistakable. She concealed it beneath many layers of loose clothing, relieved Pierre hadn’t allowed her the luxury of a maidservant. She feared her mother already suspected and was terrified Pierre would kill her baby if she did manage to survive long enough to deliver him. She was sure she carried Robert’s son.

  The more she remembered of the night of their abduction, the more convinced she became Curthose was behind the crime. She remembered her father’s words. They won’t kill him. Why else would her husband have been forced to wear a penitent’s garb?

  If Curthose has him, he’s in Caen.

  She sought out her mother—her only hope. “Maman,” she whispered, putting her mother’s hand on her belly, silently praying this was the right thing to do. “Can you feel it? Can you feel the heart of your grandchild beating within me? You must help me. You must convince Pierre to send me to the Abbaye aux Dames, the convent built by the Conqueror in Caen. The nuns will protect me and give me and my babe sanctuary.”

  A tear trickled down her mother’s face. “I’m afraid of Pierre,” she whimpered. “He’s full of hate.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Her mother seemed to be on her side. “Maman, we must protect my baby from him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s ruled by anger. Please, convince him, but don’t reveal I’m enceinte.”

  Her mother wiped her tears with her sleeve and walked away, looking around nervously.

  ***

  A sennight later, Pierre strode unexpectedly into her chamber.

  “Prepare yourself, Dori,” he ordered. “You’re to be taken to the Abbaye aux Dames in Caen. The nuns there have agreed. You will join the community where you can spend your life atoning for your sins. You may take nothing from this castle.”

  He left the chamber as abruptly as he’d entered it. Dorianne’s knees gave way and she slumped to the floor. She was elated she was being sent to a safer place for her baby, but devastated sh
e’d lost her brother forever to the madness of his hatred.

  “We’ll be in Caen,” she whispered to the child within her. “Nearer to your Papa.”

  Two days later, when she arrived exhausted at the Abbaye aux Dames she asked immediately for an audience with the Abbesse. She was ushered into the office where a tall, thin woman greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. “Welcome Dorianne de Giroux, our newest novice.”

  “Madame l’Abbesse,” Dorianne replied, clutching the woman’s hand. “You’ve been misled. My name is Dorianne de Montbryce. I am the wife of Robert, Comte de Montbryce, and I’m enceinte with his child. We were both abducted by my brother. I don’t know where my husband is. I seek sanctuary here within these walls built by our great Conqueror, and your help with the birth of my child.”

  The Abbesse was plainly shocked. “Dear girl. I had heard of the Comte’s abduction, but I had no idea—what an ordeal you’ve had. I grant you and your child sanctuary.”

  Dorianne fainted with relief.

  ***

  Robert wasn’t sure how long Dorianne had been pregnant when she’d told him—perhaps two months? By his straw tally he’d been in captivity seven months. He closed his eyes and saw her rounded belly swelling with his child. When he estimated the time for her delivery might be close at hand, he knelt in silent prayer for hours in the damp straw, day after day, willing his child to come into the world whole and his wife to be well. If she still lived. He had a persistent feeling she was somehow close by.

  As he knelt in prayer, Espérance rubbed against his hip. He took it as a good omen. He rarely saw her kittens any more. They could survive without their mother now.

  He’d become disgusted with his inability to control his burning physical need for his wife. He couldn’t get images of her naked body, her face, her hair, her smile out of his head. “Nothing of my body works properly any more except my cursed shaft,” he lamented, meeting his own needs time and again. “If I’m rescued, Dorianne will never look at me again. I’m nothing but an animal. I look like one, I smell like one and I behave like one.”

  ***

  He didn’t know it, but Dorianne wasn’t far away in the Abbaye where the sisters helped her deliver a healthy baby boy. She’d refused to send word to Montbryce. Isolated from the events of the world, she didn’t know who remained there, and she held firm to the belief she had to stay in Caen. Her baby had to be born there.

  “Your Papa is alive, mon petit,” she murmured to the child when he was brought to her breast. “He’s praying for us. I can feel it.”

  She turned to the Abbesse and made a request. “Ma mère, now we need to let Robert’s family know about the birth of this child. He’s the heir to the Montbryce lands. Please send a message to my mother-by-marriage at Saint Germain.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After their interview with King Henry, Baudoin and Caedmon had taken ship for Normandie and joined a distraught Mabelle at Saint Germain. They rode out on regular sorties with a contingent of their men-at-arms searching for any rumour or trace of Robert and Dorianne.

  “This isn’t the Normandie we love, you know, Caedmon,” Baudoin lamented one afternoon. “It’s become a land of danger and foreboding. Everyone knows war with Henry is coming.”

  Caedmon nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. It seems a very different place from when we were here with Father on our way back from the Crusade.”

  The two men smiled at the memory they shared.

  “We’d better turn back,” Baudoin suggested. “No use getting too close to the Duke’s lands. We don’t want to make it easy for him to get his hands on two more of the sons of Ram de Montbryce, if he indeed is the abductor.”

  They had entered the Hall at Montbryce when a monk was ushered in by Bonhomme.

  “Milady Comtesse,” he said hurriedly to Mabelle, who’d been waiting for Baudoin and Caedmon to return with any news. “This friar claims to have a message from our dear lady, the Comte’s wife.”

  Mabelle rose quickly from her chair. “Speak, Brother,” she commanded excitedly. “What news?”

  The monk hesitated, scratching his chin. “Madame, it’s taken me many days to wander here to your castle. These are not easy times for a pilgrim alone on the road. Perhaps ale, before I begin my message?”

  Baudoin glowered at him. “You’ll have ale aplenty, good friar, but first you’ll deliver your message.”

  The monk shrank back, licking his lips. “As you wish, milord. It’s from a woman at the Abbaye aux Dames in the Bourg l’Abbesse in Caen who claims to be the Comtesse de Montbryce. She’s given birth to a son.”

  Mabelle swayed. Baudoin rushed to her aid. She grasped his hand. “Baudoin, it’s our Dorianne. A child. A grandson. An heir. We must get her home. See to this kind friar.”

  Caedmon turned to the monk. “I thank you for your message. The kitchen will see to your needs of food and ale, and Bonhomme will find you a chamber for the night. The news you bring is welcome indeed.”

  ***

  “We’re clear on the plan, I assume?” Baudoin asked the group assembled in the Map Room of the castle de Montbryce. “We can’t go into the environs of the Abbaye with a large group of armed men. That would alert Curthose. We’ll ride to the outskirts of the town and then Caedmon and I will take the donkey and walk the rest of the way dressed as monks. We’ll bring Dorianne and the child back on the donkey and rejoin the main group for the ride back. Are there any other suggestions or ideas?”

  The plan was risky. “Sometimes, the simplest plan is the best,” Caedmon observed.

  Baudoin agreed. “They won’t be expecting intruders to the Abbaye. It’s the castle which will be heavily guarded.”

  ***

  The elderly nun charged with the gates of the Abbaye responded to the persistent ringing of the bell. Her eyes widened considerably at the sight of two handsome monks, obviously brothers, drenched to the skin. Baudoin forced a smile, despite the chill in his bones and the rain dripping from his hood. “We seek shelter, ma soeur, for ourselves and our donkey.”

  The nun opened the creaky gate and ushered them inside.

  Baudoin would do the talking. Caedmon’s accented Norman French might make people wary. “We would beg an audience with the Abbesse, ma soeur. We’re here to see the Comtesse de Montbryce and her child.”

  The woman scurried off without a word and came back a few minutes later with the Abbesse, who eyed them critically. “I assume you’re not monks?” she said derisively.

  Baudoin and Caedmon went down on one knee and each in turn kissed the Abbesse’s hand. Baudoin reassured her. “Non, ma mère, but we are good men who revere God and who seek only to protect and rescue our sister-by-marriage and nephew from a cruel injustice. I am Baudoin, Earl of Ellesmere, son of Comte Rambaud de Montbryce who fought alongside the Conqueror at Hastings, and this is my brother Sir Caedmon FitzRambaud.”

  “You’re welcome, sirs,” the Abbesse replied, softening. “Men who revere God are difficult to find these days. Come, I’ll take you to the Comtesse.”

  “On behalf of my family I thank you for the care you’ve taken of her and her child.”

  The Abbesse bowed in acknowledgement. “Perhaps a small donation as a token of your family’s gratitude?”

  Caedmon arched his brows and smiled a crooked smile. As they followed the nun, Baudoin asked him about it.

  Caedmon smiled again. “Reminds me of how I convinced the Abbey in Alnwick to give up Agneta. Every religious establishment has a constant need of money.”

  “Ah, oui, I forgot you told us that.”

  When Baudoin walked into her small but comfortable cell, Dorianne thought it was Robert and her heart soared.

  “Dorianne,” Baudoin exclaimed, embracing her as she trembled. “Dear sister, we’ve come to take you home. Where is the child?”

  Caedmon embraced her and she led the two men over to the corner where a tiny boy slept. “He takes after Robert,” she croaked as the tears trickled down
her cheeks. “Is there news of him?”

  Caedmon shook his head. “No, but we surmise he’s in the castle here in Caen.”

  “I’ve felt that too,” she said. “I’ve felt his presence close by.”

  She told them how she came to be at the Abbaye and why she stayed there to bear her child.

  Baudoin passed her a blanket and an oilskin. “Wrap the child. We plan to take you back to Saint Germain. Madame l’Abbesse, can we trouble you to give our sister a habit? In these dangerous times we must travel incognito.”

  Dorianne interrupted. “I still have the habit they made me wear when they captured me.”

  Caedmon’s eyes widened. “They made you wear a habit?”

  Dorianne felt overwhelmed by the memory. “Oui, they forced Robert to wear a penitent’s robe. It was my brother,” she gasped with sorrow. “But he did it for Curthose.”

  “We’re of the same mind, Dorianne,” Baudoin answered. “Quickly now, we’ve a long way to go before nightfall. Our men await us not fair off to aid our escape from Curthose’s lands.”

  Dorianne slipped the habit over the surcoat the nuns had given her, and the Abbesse brought a wimple. She gathered up her child and swaddled him. She kissed the Abbesse’s hand. “Ma mère, how can I thank you?”

  “Go with God, milady Comtesse,” the Abbesse replied. “I’ll continue to pray for the safe return of your husband.”

  Baudoin helped her mount the donkey and she clasped her son to her breast. They made their way slowly in the rain to the wood where the men-at-arms lay hidden. Tears flowed unbidden when she saw the ramparts of Caen castle in the distance in the Bourg le Roi.

  “Robert is there,” she whispered. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Aye! Keep faith, Dorianne,” Caedmon said. “King Henry plans to seize Caen when he invades Normandie to oust Curthose. We’ll save him.”

  There was nothing else they could do but wait for Henry’s help. They didn’t have the forces necessary to launch an attack on the fortress at Caen. But she worried what effect his long confinement would have on her proud husband.