Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance) Page 4

  His heart leapt into his throat when Claricia pecked a kiss on his cheek. “I like you, Lix,” she whispered, hugging his neck.

  His knees threatened to buckle as he came to his feet. “I like you too. Let’s find the knight puppets.”

  The pout disappeared from Henry’s face. “Knight puppets?”

  Alex set Claricia on her feet, and threw open the chest he’d been sitting on. He rummaged around, quickly finding what he sought. “Aha! I thought they might be in here.”

  Both children had their heads almost in the chest. He retrieved the carved wooden knights and carried them over to a small table. Kneeling beside it, he placed the thin leather strings attached to the knights in Henry’s hands. “You stand at the end and hold them tightly. Claricia, you stand facing your brother.”

  He straightened the strings and put the other ends in her hands. “Now, if you both pull—oh, too hard, Henry. Patience! Pull gently, and you’ll see them battle each other.”

  The two giggled with delight once they got the feel of it. The miniature knights twisted and turned in mock battle with each tug of the string.

  Alex came to his feet, content he had helped them forget their sadness. He turned when he heard the rustle of skirts behind him. Elayne still looked ready to cry as she watched her charges, but now she was smiling. Dare he hope she too might come to like him?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THREE DAYS LATER, a little before midday, Elayne brought Henry and Claricia to the castle courtyard as requested for Laurent’s homecoming. She withdrew as protocol demanded and watched from a distance with the rest of the servants.

  Her heart swelled with pride at the sight of her children clad in the fine clothing Alexandre de Montbryce had provided. They did indeed look like a prince and princess, Henry in his red velvet doublet and black woolen leggings, Claricia in her warm cloak and gown fashioned of the same red material as her brother’s doublet. It galled that they would be denied their royal birthright because their father was the illegitimate son of a king.

  She smiled when Claricia curled her fingers into her usual wave, and was about to return the greeting until she saw the Comte’s curious stare. She straightened her shoulders and simply nodded her approval at Claricia. Behaving like a servant was difficult. Having her children remember to treat her as a servant even harder.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when the arrival of horses diverted the Comte’s attention. He reached for the bridle of a snorting steed. There could be no mistaking that the grinning rider was his brother. Alexandre, Romain and Laurent de Montbryce were three peas in a pod, thick jet black hair, blue eyes, long legs.

  Why weren’t they married? Each was a handsome catch for any young noblewoman—wealthy too. Laughing, Laurent vaulted from his horse and embraced his brothers. The trio matched each other in appearance, but it was evident that Laurent was more like Romain—outgoing, open, boisterous. Alexandre seemed to be the quieter, shier brother.

  But she mustn’t think of him as Alexandre.

  “Who is this pretty demoiselle?” Laurent asked when he espied Claricia.

  Her heart raced when the Comte picked up the blushing child. “May I present our guest, Claricia Dunkeld, granddaughter of King David of Scotland. Claricia, this is my brother, Laurent.”

  “Enchanté,” Laurent murmured, kissing Claricia’s hand. She giggled then wiped the back of her hand on her cloak, burying her face against Alexandre’s neck.

  The sight warmed Elayne’s heart and her body. She stifled a giggle, drawing the playd over her mouth.

  Chuckling, Alexandre turned to Henry, who looked rather annoyed at being left out, or perhaps it was that his sister had stolen the attention. “And this fine young fellow is Henry Dunkeld, Claricia’s twin brother.”

  Henry bowed stiffly, obviously not at all pleased at being introduced thus, but his irritation was probably only evident to his mother. “Mon Seigneur Laurent,” he intoned, exactly as Elayne had instructed.

  Laurent pursed his lips, apparently impressed by Henry’s polished greeting. If he was aware these children were hostages, he gave no indication of it.

  “Let’s get out of this chilly wind,” the Comte urged, setting Claricia on her feet. “Bonhomme has hot food prepared.”

  “Wait!” Laurent insisted, beckoning to one of the men-at-arms who had accompanied him. “Cousin Gallien has sent a gift.”

  The man came forward pulling a dog on a leash. It was a shaggy-haired breed Elayne recognized, Cù Faol, kept by King Dabíd for hunting wolves, but she’d never seen one so tall. Halting in front of Alexandre, the handler braced himself as the dog put its massive paws up on his shoulders, towering over him. The beast looked down lazily at the group assembled in front of him, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, as if to say, “See how magnificent I am.”

  Claricia crushed into the Comte’s legs and he put a protective hand on her shoulder. “What kind of dog is that?” he asked. “He’s a monster.”

  “A wolfhound,” the handler replied. “Don’t worry. He looks fearsome, but he’s an obedient dog. Wolfhounds are gentle, only becoming fierce when provoked.”

  “We have dogs like that in Scotland,” Henry asserted bravely.

  The dog lost interest in his handler and licked Henry’s face. The boy laughed, pushing the persistent hound away playfully.

  The soldier handed the leash to Laurent. “Seems he likes the young lad.”

  “I think the feeling’s mutual,” Romain observed.

  Apprehension skittered up Elayne’s spine when Laurent held out the leash to Henry. “Think you can handle him?”

  Henry beamed as he took the leash and led the dog with legs longer than his own to the doors of the Keep. Elayne let out a long, slow breath. Her son’s regal bearing reminded her of his grandfather.

  Smiling, Alexandre took Claricia by the hand. Elayne’s throat constricted. It seemed he really cared for her children. That augured well for their stay.

  As the group moved indoors, Henry grinned at a well-dressed boy standing at the open door beside Steward Bonhomme. He looked about the same age as Henry, and he returned the smile, gawking at the huge dog.

  It gladdened Elayne’s heart. Her son had made a friend.

  ~~~

  LAURENT LET OUT A LONG BELCH, wiped his mouth with a napkin and stretched out his legs. “I’m full. Everything was delicious, the swan, the goose, the carrots. The food at Ellesmere is good, but nothing compares to the kitchens here at Montbryce.”

  Romain, seated next to him, laughed. “I agree. Don’t forget the leeks with bacon—my favorite. Even in Normandie no other castle comes close.”

  Laurent leaned forward to look at the Scottish children seated at Alex’s left hand, the wolfhound asleep at their feet. “What say you, Henry and Claricia? I wager food is different in Scotland, but is this not the best you’ve ever tasted?”

  Alex wasn’t surprised when both children looked across the Hall at their nursemaid before replying. It was uncanny how they communicated, although the distance between them excluded the possibility of a verbal exchange. It was as if they had some secret means of sharing thoughts and feelings.

  “The victuals here at Montbryce are indeed excellent,” Henry expounded. Claricia nodded her fervent agreement, her mouth full of food. Elayne’s smile was almost imperceptible, but definitely there. How did she do it?

  Laurent chuckled. “The Scottish court must be a refined one indeed, young Henry. Your table manners and gracious speech are impressive. You’ve had good tutors.”

  Claricia shook her head. “Oh no. No tutor. Our Ma—”

  She shut her mouth abruptly, her eyes darting to Elayne.

  Henry scowled at his sister.

  The nursemaid frowned.

  Alex was beginning to think there was more to the relationship between these children and Elayne than met the eye. He stared at her to see if he could determine how she knew what the conversation was about. “Tell us then, Henry, who has brought you up
to be the fine young man you are today?”

  Elayne nodded at Henry, then averted her eyes.

  Henry’s chest puffed out. “Elayne has been our teacher since birth. No other.”

  It was incredible. She controlled these children just as Henry and Claricia had controlled the wooden string puppets. Only love could achieve such a bond. Why did Elayne, ostensibly a simple servant, care so deeply for these children who were not her own? What was her story?

  Laurent nodded towards Elayne. “Is that the woman of whom they speak?” he asked, jarring Alex back to the conversation. “You seem preoccupied with her.”

  Romain laughed, slapping Alex on the back. “Preoccupied? He’s smitten!”

  “Will you take her as your mistress?” Laurent asked, “Or perhaps you already have.”

  Alex glared at his younger brother, shaking his head. “You might watch what you say in front of—”

  He nodded at Henry and Claricia, mortified by their curious gaze.

  Laurent’s eyes danced as he tapped his forefinger against his lips. “Sorry. But will you? Because if not—”

  Alex rolled his eyes. How had he come to be cursed with two philandering brothers? And why did the idea of either of them touching Elayne make his blood boil?

  ~~~

  ELAYNE PLANTED A BIG SLOPPY KISS on Claricia’s forehead, then on Henry’s as she tucked them into bed. She had drawn the line at the wolfhound coming into the chamber, but it lay across the threshold outside the door. “I was proud of you both today. You did very well. I see you’ve made a friend, Henry.”

  Her son yawned. “Aye. I like dogs.”

  “No, I mean the young lad at the door.”

  “Fernand,” her son replied sleepily.

  “How did you meet him?”

  Henry’s eyelashes fluttered. “He’s the Steward’s son.”

  “I guessed as much.”

  Henry turned over onto his side, his eyes closed. “He and I practice together. With our swords.”

  That was noteworthy. A steward’s son, allowed to train with men-at-arms and knights.

  “What does smitten mean, maman?”

  Elayne’s head swiveled to her daughter, still wide awake beside her slumbering brother. “Smitten? Er, it means impressed.”

  Despite her determination not to care what the Comte thought of her, she asked, “Where did you hear this word?”

  Claricia fidgeted with the lace cuff of her nightgown. “Romain said Lix was smitten with you.”

  A cold tingling marched up and down her spine then settled in her breasts. “You cannot call the Comte by that name, and I’m sure you misunderstood.”

  She regretted her words when Claricia pouted at the slight rebuke. She thought of something that would smooth her daughter’s ruffled feathers. “You guarded our secrets well. What else did they say about me?”

  “Laurent asked if Lix intended to take you as his mistress.”

  Her heart thudded in her ears. She could not become the Comte’s mistress, or anyone’s mistress. She was of noble birth. But she couldn’t deny she craved the warmth of those well-muscled arms wrapped tightly around her, longed to rest her head against the wall of his chest. She needed his protection, his regard—things her dead husband had failed miserably to provide.

  “What’s a mistress, maman?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “HENRY, WHAT SHALL WE NAME THIS DOG OF YOURS?” Alex asked.

  Henry’s mouth fell open. “But he’s not my dog, milord Comte.”

  Romain laughed. “He may as well be. He follows you everywhere. He listens only to your commands.”

  Predictably, Henry sought guidance from the nursemaid breaking her fast at a servants’ table. Alex had the feeling that in the last two days the Scots had discussed the matter of the dog privately, and had already given him a name. “Have you a suggestion?”

  Claricia nodded. “We call him Faol.”

  “You’ve named him?” Laurent asked.

  Henry’s face reddened. “Faol in our language means Wolf.”

  “The perfect name,” Alex declared loudly, wanting Elayne to hear. All eyes in the Hall turned to him. He’d surprised them with his uncharacteristic outburst. He came to his feet, pointing at the wolfhound. “Let all be aware, this dog’s name is Faol, and he is Prince Henry’s dog.”

  Faol barked, eliciting howls of laughter. “Faol, Faol,” echoed around the Hall as the Normans tried to get their tongues around an unfamiliar language. The wolfhound barked all the more. Alex fixed his eyes on Elayne. She clutched the shawl that always covered her hair, her knuckles white. He smiled, wanting to reassure her. He rather liked the uproar in the normally subdued atmosphere of the Hall. Perhaps things had been quiet for too long after his father’s death.

  She glanced at him. Their eyes locked. Her mouth fell open. Her face reddened. “All is well,” he mouthed.

  She nodded. The panic in her eyes receded to be replaced by the warmest look of gratitude he’d ever been blessed with. He basked in it, feeling better than he had in a long while. This was how she communicated with the children—with those expressive green eyes.

  ~~~

  ELAYNE SMILED AT HENRY to let him know all was well. The Comte’s silent message had settled her racing heart. She’d feared he’d be angered by the uproar. It was important the children not put a foot wrong in this household. So far they had all been treated well, but things could change.

  Alexandre de Montbryce’s reassurance had also done strange things to her insides, sending winged creatures fluttering in her belly. Next she’d be drooling over him. The sensations he caused in her body were something she had no experience controlling.

  Henry and Claricia came down from the dais, the wiry hound loping at her son’s heels. When they reached Elayne, Henry commanded the dog to sit.

  Faol obeyed, then rested his chin on Elayne’s lap, gazing up at her with soulful black eyes.

  She stroked the dog, smiling in acknowledgment of the good natured laughter of other servants.

  “Faol seems to have a liking for Scots.”

  The rich humor in the masculine voice took her completely by surprise. She hadn’t noticed that the Comte had left his place on the dais and now stood beside her. The wolfhound growled when she tried to stand. “I’m sorry, milord, I didn’t see—”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “There is no need to rise, Elayne. We don’t want to disturb the dog.”

  The warmth of his hand penetrated to the very center of her body. “Milord,” she replied in a voice she barely recognized.

  People were watching, curious about what was happening. She was on fire. They could no doubt tell she was smitten with the man. They would judge her a brazen servant with designs on their Seigneur.

  “Please, call me Alex,” he said, kneading his fingers lightly into her shoulder.

  Alex! Not even his full given name! An endearing nickname she’d heard only on his brothers’ lips, as if they were familiar with each other. Close friends. Elation and confusion warred within her. She craved his friendship, his touch, his warmth, but did his actions mean he intended to take her as his mistress?

  What else could it mean? A Norman Count could never embark on any other kind of relationship with a female servant.

  Could he tell she had feelings for him?

  “You and I must be friends, Elayne, for the well being of the children. Agreed?”

  She had let her heart get ahead of her brain. He sought only to nurture his relationship with the children. She should be relieved. Why then did she feel bereft?

  ~~~

  RELAXING IN THE GALLERY, Alex heard his brother’s voice, but wasn’t paying attention, his thoughts preoccupied with Elayne. She was a mystery. It was becoming clear that she was no ordinary servant.

  “You’re not listening, Alex,” Laurent said.

  “He doesn’t want to listen,” Romain chided.

  It was true. Since his return home, Laurent had harangued him a
bout changing sides in the conflict between Stephen and Maud. What bothered him was that he was beginning to see the wisdom of his brothers’ and his cousin’s reasoning. “I will listen,” he said. “But your argument will have to be convincing.”

  Laurent paced, raking a hand through his hair. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

  “Our father swore an oath to support Maud.”

  Laurent stopped pacing and glared at Alex. “Everyone swore, but it was done under duress.”

  Romain pounded his fist into his palm. “If Papa were still alive, he would have switched his allegiance to Stephen. Maud has demonstrated by her actions and her manner she is not suited to be Queen.”

  Alex bristled. Being lectured as to what his father might have done didn’t sit well in his gut. “And what has Stephen accomplished in the six months he’s been king to warrant our support?”

  Laurent braced his legs, hands on his hips. “He marched north almost immediately after his coronation to fend off the attacks by King David of Scotland on Carlisle and Newcastle.”

  “But we’re allies of King David. We have his grandchildren as our guests.”

  Laurent rolled his eyes. “The point is, Stephen quickly organized a strong defense of the kingdom our Conqueror won for us.”

  Alex threw his hands in the air. “But the King of the Scots still holds Carlisle. He gave up only Newcastle, and will attack Northumbria and Cumberland again when Maud invades England. He has sworn it, and we hold Henry and Claricia as a guarantee. What will become of them if we change sides?”

  Dread filled his heart. The silence in the gallery was deafening. Maud would quickly take charge of the hostages if Alex changed allegiance. He would never see them or Elayne again.

  Laurent put a hand on his shoulder. “Therein, I believe, lies the crux of the problem. What would your decision be, brother, if King David’s grandchildren and their nursemaid were not hostages in our castle?”

  Alex pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fend off a pounding headache. His brother had spoken true. He was allowing his feelings for the Scots to influence his decision.

  Laurent talked on, his hand still on Alex’s shoulder. “I didn’t tell you this, but I accompanied Gallien to Stephen’s Easter Court.”