Passion in the Blood Page 3
What are you thinking? Such men aren’t interested in girls like you.
She fidgeted with the end of her wimple, but jumped when someone stayed her hand.
“Demoiselle?”
Dorianne looked up into ice blue eyes. She felt the heat of his hand, and struggled to her feet, longing, for some inexplicable reason, to place his warm hand on her breast. Pray God she hadn’t bitten her nails so badly they were rough on his skin. She felt flushed. His masculine beauty took her breath away. Wetness pooled between her legs. What was wrong with her? Had the journey made her ill?
“Milord,” she managed to say, but further speech eluded her. She couldn’t take her eyes off his thick black hair.
The knight kissed the hand he held. “You are a beautiful woman, ma chère,” he drawled. “I haven’t seen you before.”
His deep voice echoed through her bones. He’d called her a woman. “Non, milord,” she said, finding her voice. “It’s the first time my father has allowed me to leave our castle.”
He laughed. “I’m glad of that. Such treasures shouldn’t be hidden away. You’re a ray of sunshine in this place. Permit me to introduce myself, I am Robert de—”
“Montbryce!” It was her father, rushing across the room, Pierre in tow, shouting at the top of his voice and glowering at the man who held her hand, his own on the hilt of his half-drawn sword. “Take your hands off my daughter.”
Oh God, he’s a Montbryce.
She couldn’t have felt worse if the oaken beams had crashed down on her.
***
When he’d entered the Hall with Denis de Sancerre in search of his uncles and cousins, Robert de Montbryce’s attention had been drawn to a lovely young woman in a red dress seated at a trestle table. He’d been immediately aroused. The end of her dark braid peeking out from beneath the wimple added to her uncommon beauty. Who was she?
She’d blushed when she’d noticed him staring at her, obviously uncomfortable sitting alone amid the noise and hubbub. He’d gone over to take her hand and introduce himself. After all, his parents insisted he find a wife. This girl certainly had no trouble arousing his sexual interest, though she was probably too young for him.
Her innocent beauty and shy response took him unawares. He licked his lips, wishing he could swirl his tongue over her enticing breasts. The girl mesmerized him with her hazel eyes. Touching her hand had sent the blood rushing to his groin and he’d toyed with the notion of sucking her fingers into his mouth. He’d uttered inanities like a lovesick fool until the strident voice threatening him broke the spell.
Now, he let go of the hand he held and backed away. What was happening? He then recognized the irate man as François de Giroux. He’d only seen him once before, but his likeness to his brother Phillippe was unmistakable. It was Phillippe who’d intended to behead Robert during the Montbryce family’s captivity in Wales. It was a face Robert would never forget. The heat he’d felt moments ago turned to ice in his veins. The beauty was a Giroux.
A curious crowd had gathered. Robert executed a clipped bow and was about to stride away when he noticed the angry expression François de Giroux fixed on his daughter. He looked directly into the baron’s eyes. “Don’t blame the girl, Giroux. I didn’t know who she was, and she didn’t know me,” he said coldly. “It was a mistake, not to be repeated.”
He glanced back to the young woman, whose eyes had filled with tears, bowed and said, “I humbly beg your pardon, Mistress de Giroux. I am Robert de Montbryce. I sought only to comfort you in your loneliness.”
***
He walked away and Dorianne’s heart broke. She’d fallen in love at first sight with a Montbryce.
The remainder of the evening passed as a blur. She was aware of where the man who’d beguiled her was seated—much closer to the salt than they were—but dared not look at him for fear of upsetting her father. He and Pierre glared at Montbryce. When she was able to steal a glance, she saw he was enjoying the company of two older men who resembled him, both of whom kept glaring back at her father. Soon three younger men joined them, one of them the dwarf.
Will I ever see him again? Is he watching me?
Pierre was upset with her. “What were you thinking, Dori?” he chided.
This censure exasperated her. “You shouldn’t have both gone off and left me alone. I didn’t know who he was. How could either of us have known who the other was?”
Her brother gave her a menacing look. “Be more careful in future,” he warned.
Pierre sounded too much like her father. She wanted to enlist his aid in convincing her father not to wed her to the pimply child, but now it seemed her only friend had turned against her. Hatred was a destructive force. She felt no hatred for the tall, ruggedly built knight with the dark hair and blue eyes, even when she discovered who he was. She hoped he didn’t feel hatred for her, though why it mattered she didn’t know. She’d never be allowed to see him again.
CHAPTER THREE
Emotions ran high among the noble families of Normandie as conflict loomed between the two surviving sons of William the Conqueror. All had a lot to lose. Discussions in the Grand Council dragged on as they weighed the merits of supporting each royal claimant to the throne of England. Some favoured Curthose, some Henry.
After listening to the wrangling for several hours, Robert decided to enter the fray. No matter his own views, his father was his liege lord and his uncles would support his father’s decision. He indicated to the Earl he wished to address the assembly and was given leave.
He stood. “Mes seigneurs, I would share with you the position taken by my father. You all know him as Rambaud, Comte de Montbryce, Earl of Ellesmere, a hero who fought with the Conqueror at Hastings, a strong supporter of the Dukes of Normandie, and a great Norman.”
He heard the snort of derision he suspected came from François de Giroux, but chose to ignore it. Everyone else nodded in acknowledgment.
“My father was rewarded by the Conqueror with the Earldom of Ellesmere in England, and, as you know, it’s been his life’s work to ensure the Conqueror’s legacy lives on in that country. There is no question as to his loyalty to Normandie.”
He paused, studying the faces before he continued. “He has supported Curthose in the past, only to find him lacking.”
He waited again, seeing many nodding heads and hearing murmurs of agreement. “Therefore, it’s the opinion of Rambaud, Comte de Montbryce and Earl of Ellesmere, that Henry is the person who will be a better monarch for the combined kingdom of England and Normandie. We can’t go on serving two masters.”
His announcement was greeted with a mixture of murmurs, nods, cheers, stares, thoughtful expressions and scowls. He hoped his father’s decision would sway some Curthose loyalists.
The argument raged on well into the afternoon. The chamber was rank with the odour of too many agitated men. Robert had to get out for a few moments of fresh air. He’d not slept well the night before, his dreams filled with visions of a beautiful girl with raven hair and hazel eyes naked beneath him, writhing with pleasure, calling his name.
He decided to sneak into the kitchens in search of some leftover morsel he could chew on to calm his frayed nerves, maybe an apple. He made a point of making himself known to the cooks in any castle he visited, and never failed to be rewarded.
As soon as he entered the hot, smoky kitchen he caught sight of the Giroux girl speaking with one of the cooks. Both women looked up. The cook smiled in recognition. Dorianne’s eyes widened and she stole a glance at the door as he approached her, but he was too fast and caught her by the wrist.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, drawing her to him and into the shadows behind the hearth, reassuring the cook with a wink and a smile. “I may be a Montbryce, but I won’t harm you. I’ve been unable to get you out of my thoughts since we met. What’s your name?”
“Dori—Dorianne,” she faltered. “Milord, please let me go—my father—”
“Dorianne,” he mur
mured, savouring her name. His body had responded as soon as he’d seen her. Desire flared in his loins. He leaned back against the warm chimney and pulled her closer, pressing her against his need. “Mistress Dorianne, you inflame me.”
He brushed his lips over hers, then pressed his tongue lightly against them. She resisted and her eyes widened, but then she opened to him. Her reaction and the intensity of his own desire stunned him. He had to have this woman, but not here in the kitchens.
“Dorianne, I want to see you again,” he rasped. “I’ll come to you.”
She shook her head and pulled away. “Non, Milord, my father will kill you. There’s nothing but enmity between our families.”
He held her firmly, both hands on her waist. “My name is Robert, and I’ve learned hatred and enmity lead nowhere except to more hatred and enmity. It’s time to put a stop to something my grandfather and yours began. Why should we allow our lives to be poisoned by their actions? I could be as full of hate if I wished to be, Dorianne. Your uncle Phillippe plotted to murder my father, poison my mother and decapitate me when I was four years old. But my parents have shown me forgiveness is a better path to follow. Can you follow it with me?”
What would his parents’ reaction be if he told them he’d fallen in love with a Giroux? If this was love. Could he have stumbled upon that elusive thing his parents had, an all-consuming, passionate love?
By the saints, why did she have to be a Giroux?
Dorianne stared at him, her mouth open. “Decapitate you? My uncle?”
He took a deep breath. “It’s a long story.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. He longed to tear off her wimple and loosen her braid. “I know more of it than you suspect, but I didn’t know my uncle had tried to kill a child,” she whispered.
They stood locked in each other’s embrace for long minutes. He was achingly aware they had a shared past that could destroy them both. He put his hands on her shoulders and held her away. “I won’t let the past interfere with our future,” he whispered.
She looked him in the eye. “Neither will I.”
He wanted to strip off her clothes, press her against the warmth of the chimney and make love to her. He kissed her again, but not as deeply. “Go now. I must return to the assembly. I’ll find you later.”
***
Not knowing what to do with her time when her father and brother had gone off to the assembly, and anxious to avoid a chance encounter with Alain d’Avranches, Dorianne had wandered into the kitchen out of curiosity. Perhaps she could learn something of use to the cook at home. She hadn’t slept, kept awake by fitful dreams of a black-haired knight kissing her, peeling the clothes from her body, his blue eyes burning into her.
Robert de Montbryce had appeared unexpectedly and taken hold of her wrist, drawing her into the shadows, pressing her against him. Was he toying with her? Was she a pawn in the game of hatred between their families?
She’d never been close to a man’s body. When she and Pierre were children she’d seen her brother’s boy part often, but didn’t recall it being large like the hard male length she felt pressed against her. She hadn’t meant to respond to his kiss, but had parted her lips as his tongue teased them open. She’d closed her eyes as an unfamiliar tingling hardened her nipples. If this was a game, she would play.
The future lay with a sulking, pimple faced brat—better to enjoy a few minutes of passion now. She reached up to touch the thick hair she’d longed to run her fingers through. The warmth of the chimney bricks he leaned against seeped through his body into hers.
Her reaction had plainly stunned him. It was a shock he’d remembered her.
Our future, he’d said.
***
When Robert re-entered the Hall he could see opinions were still sharply divided. He understood completely. Though he sympathised with his father’s point of view and understood his decision, his heart told him he should support his Duke. Antoine and Hugh de Montbryce felt the same way, but they would support Ram’s decision, and together the Montbryces were a force to be reckoned with.
The presence of Robert’s cousins, Hugh’s son Melton, and Antoine’s boy, Adam, didn’t hurt. Both were well regarded and known for their military prowess. That Antoine’s stepson, Denis de Sancerre, had attended added to their strength. The dwarf was the life and soul of any social gathering with his ready wit.
Everyone present acknowledged they faced a political mess. Each Norman baron would have to make his own decision. Robert was saddened that he could soon be at war with many of the men in this very room, fellow Normans. This was no time for love. It would be better not to pursue the bewitching Dorianne. Even as the thought entered his head he knew he would pay it no mind.
***
“Dorianne, you’ve scarcely eaten anything,” her father chided at supper that night, taking his attention away from a conversation with another nobleman. “The discussion regarding your betrothal to Alain d’Avranches is going well. It’s now a matter of agreement on a dowry,” he said loudly enough for all to hear.
She cringed and smiled weakly, rubbing her temple. “My head aches, Papa. May I be excused to go rest in my chamber?”
He shrugged her away with a nod and resumed his conversation.
Pierre watched her go. He’d seen Robert de Montbryce at a nearby table, laughing and drinking ale with friends and his cursed uncles, glancing occasionally in the direction of Dorianne. He suspected from her obvious discomfort that Dorianne had been aware of those eyes on her.
Montbryce rose from his place and left by the same door. Pierre decided to follow. He’d almost reached his sister’s chamber when he caught sight of the two of them. He hung back in the shadows. Montbryce held Dorianne’s hand, whispering in her ear. She didn’t pull away. Indeed, she was smiling. His sister, the whore, was smiling at the hated Montbryce. He pressed closer to the wall, listening.
“—the chapel—midnight—”
Then the unthinkable—his sister allowed Montbryce to kiss her, and not the kind of brotherly kiss he gave her. Pierre resolved in that moment to kill Robert de Montbryce in order to protect his sister’s honour. She was to be betrothed to the d’Avranches boy. He didn’t envy her fate, but that was of no import. They would have an unpleasant surprise when they held their clandestine tryst in the chapel. His father would be proud of him. He would have the blood of a hated Montbryce on his hands.
***
Dorianne timidly shoved open the heavy oaken door to the chapel a little after midnight. She’d dismissed her maid with the excuse she would prepare herself for bed, then had debated for hours whether to come. She seriously doubted Robert would show up. Why would he be interested in her?
Her breath caught when her eyes became accustomed to the gloom and she saw him kneeling before the altar. He turned, smiled and held out his hand. Her heart jumped into her throat. She took his hand and knelt beside him. As her knees sank into the plush blue cushion, the path of her future suddenly became clear.
This man will be my husband.
The idea filled her with exhilaration and dread.
The meagre light in the room came from two flickering candles on the altar. Robert and Dorianne remained motionless in silence for several minutes, their heads bowed.
“I feel I’m in the throes of a mystical experience, Dorianne,” Robert whispered. “I’m aware of the gulf between us, but none of that matters at this moment.” He squeezed her hand. “Look at me.”
She turned to look at him, a bolt of desire rocking her body as she gazed into his eyes. A faint trace of incense tickled her nostrils.
He smiled. “I am yours forever, Dorianne. I’ve never known such feelings as I feel for you. I pledge myself to you.”
His words were something she’d longed for. “Forever Robert, I’ll be yours forever. I give you my pledge,” she echoed, her voice shaking.
They gazed into each other’s eyes. He squeezed her hand again. “It is after all a man’s right to k
iss his bride,” he murmured. He leaned to kiss her on the lips and her mouth parted for him. She raised her hand to touch his face and he placed his hand over hers. It was a moment of deep contentment unlike any she’d known before.
Robert helped her rise. “Go now. We’ll arrange to meet on the morrow. I’ll speak with your father.”
Dorianne shook her head sadly and was about to tell him it would be futile, but suddenly Pierre appeared, flinging aside a heavy drapery that had concealed him. One of the candles guttered and went out.
Pierre brandished a dagger at Robert. “You force me to take action in a holy place, Montbryce. Take your hands off my sister. Tonight you will die. You intend to dishonour her and our family. She’s pledged to d’Avranches and will never belong to you.”
Robert moved to protect Dorianne, but she pleaded with her brother. “Pierre, please. Put the dagger away. Robert isn’t our enemy. I don’t want to marry the Comte d’Avranches’ son.”
Her entreaties gave Robert time to take out his dagger. “Get behind the altar, Dorianne, and stay there.”
She retreated. “Please don’t kill him, Robert, he’s my brother.”
The two men circled, eyeing each other warily.
“I don’t want to harm you, Pierre, and I won’t dishonour your sister. I wish to marry her, to make her my wife. She’ll be the Comtesse de Montbryce.”
“I’ll kill her first,” Pierre spat. He lunged, but Robert grabbed his wrist. The blade reflected the light of the lone candle as the two men struggled. Robert recognized he was the stronger man, but didn’t want to harm his opponent for Dorianne’s sake. He glanced away to make sure she was safe. It was a mistake. Pierre’s dagger sliced into Robert’s bicep. Dorianne screamed, ran from the safety of the altar and rushed at her brother. “Non, Pierre, I beg of you, please don’t kill him!”
Light suddenly filled the gloom. Everyone’s attention was drawn to the door as the castle guards rushed in, torches held aloft. D’Avranches followed. The guards forced the two men apart. The Comte was visibly angered. “What’s going on here, Montbryce?”