Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance) Read online

  CHAPTER NINE

  ALEX PONDERED WHAT TO DO with the dangerous knowledge he’d acquired. As a sworn supporter of Maud he should immediately reveal the deception perpetrated by King David. But Elayne and her children might suffer death or imprisonment. The latter was the more likely given that Maud would destroy any alliance with the Scottish king if she executed his grandchildren, even illegitimate ones.

  Maud might imprison them at Montbryce—an intolerable possibility. If she incarcerated them elsewhere, their departure would break his heart. They had filled his empty life with happiness and joy.

  He hadn’t slept after escorting Elayne to her chamber following her revelations the previous evening. At the morning meal in the Hall, Romain and Laurent had both remarked on his sullen preoccupation. Whatever he decided would affect them and the castle they all loved. It was his duty to include them in the discussions. He summoned them to the Chart Room, quickly explaining the true identities of the Scots.

  Romain folded his arms across his chest, leaning his backside against the heavy chart table. “I had a feeling there was more to that woman than met the eye.”

  Laurent slapped Alex on the back. “Now you know she’s a noblewoman perhaps she can be more than just your mistress.”

  Alex shrugged away. “She’s married.”

  “Married?” Romain exclaimed.

  Alex motioned them to the wooden chairs around the chart table. “Sit. We must decide on our course of action.”

  “But how can she be married?” Laurent insisted.

  Alex clenched his jaw, glowering at his siblings. “I didn’t summon you so we could discuss Elayne’s marital standing.”

  “But where is her husband?” Romain asked, drawing his chair closer to the table.

  Alex slammed his fist down on the table. “Enough. What is your opinion?”

  Romain came to his feet, braced his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I will give you my opinion, mon frère. I think you care deeply about Elayne and her children, and turning them over to Maud would destroy you.”

  Alex put his hands on his hips and looked up at the rafters. “My personal feelings don’t enter into the matter. We must consider the well-being of this castle and our estates and the people who dwell therein.

  “And let’s not overlook other Montbryce holdings. Geoffrey of Anjou is greedy. If he succeeds in getting his hands on this castle, he’ll want control of Domfort, Alensonne and Belisle.”

  Romain sat, shaking his head. “This is exactly why I have said before that King Stephen merits our support more than Maud and her husband, and Laurent agrees with me. I am not in favor of putting Elayne and her children in the hands of our dear Empresse. She’s vindictive, and we mustn’t forget Geoffrey’s role in Gallien’s near murder.”

  The more Alex considered breaking his father’s oath to Maud, the clearer it became he had to take that road. It was true that, driven by lust for Gallien’s wife, Peridotte, Maud’s husband had conspired to get rid of their cousin.

  “Gallien will help us protect Elayne and her children,” Laurent suggested. “We can hold Montbryce, but we should get them away from danger.”

  That jogged Alex’s memory. “At least Marguerite has decided to return home. She informed me this morning.”

  “Good,” Romain exclaimed. “One less thing to worry about.”

  Laurent scoffed. “You mean thirty less things. Her men-at-arms alone number more than a score.”

  “I hate to say it, but we may need every available man,” Alex said.

  “Do you really want to risk being stuck here with Marguerite if Geoffrey lays siege?” Romain asked.

  Alex laughed. “You’re right, but not a word of this to our dear sister. Now, what’s our plan?”

  They looked up sharply when Bonhomme entered abruptly after a brief knock. “Forgive me, mes seigneurs.”

  He opened the door wide to usher in two men, who by their appearance had ridden hard and far.

  The three Montbryce brothers came to their feet.

  Startled, Alex offered his hand to his cousin. “Bradick Ronan MacLachlainn! What a surprise to see you.” He frowned. “You’ve had a hard ride. Have you come all the way from Alensonne?”

  Bradick Ronan wiped his big hand on his tunic and accepted the handshake. “Aye! My son and I came as fast as we could.”

  Alex looked more carefully at the second man while Romain and Laurent embraced their cousin. “Dieu! I barely recognized the boy! How old are you now, lad?”

  “Four and ten, milord Comte,” Bradick replied.

  Alex slapped him on the back. “Not only do you carry your father’s name, you resemble him a great deal. You’re almost as tall as he is; same black hair. And I see features of your grandfather in you.”

  The youth’s face flushed, but he said nothing.

  A maidservant entered bearing a tray of tankards filled with ale.

  Alex nodded to Bonhomme. “Where would we be without your efficiency, my good and faithful Steward?”

  Bonhomme bowed. “Chambers are being prepared, milord, and a bath.”

  The travelers each took a tankard. Bradick Ronan drained his in one. His son took a hearty swig.

  Romain laughed. “I see the Irish branch of the family still love their ale!”

  Bradick Ronan wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, hooking an arm around his son’s neck. “Aye, the darker the better, and Bradick here loves it as much as I do, for all he’s still a lad.”

  Young Bradick pouted. “We’re not Irishmen, we’re as Norman as you are.”

  Alex was taken aback. He was proud of his own grandfather’s glorious achievements at the time of the Norman Conquest of England and was dismayed the lad seemed ashamed of his Irish roots. “You should be proud of your Grandpère Ronan. He was a great warrior who overcame dire adversity, including the loss of his eye. My tante Rhoni was lucky to marry such a noble Irishman and blessed that her parents gave her Alensonne castle here in Normandie as her dowry.”

  Bradick Ronan nodded. “Aye, and our family has lived there ever since. My older brother, Conall is Master of Alensonne since father passed on. Though we do still benefit from the rents from Túr MacLachlainn in Ireland. We’ve a family of reliable stewards there.”

  Young Bradick pouted. “I only wish our family wouldn’t keep passing on the same Irish names. None of us has set foot in Ireland for years, and I certainly have no interest in going.”

  Romain laughed. “But with a family name like MacLachlainn, you can’t have a given name like Pierre, or Guillaume, or Laurent.”

  Bradick Ronan punched his son’s shoulder. “Pay him no mind. Youth is wasted on the young. Listen, a bath and a comfortable bed sound good, but you must hear our message first. Maud and Geoffrey will be here in a few days. They’re at Alensonne now.”

  A worm wriggled in Alex’s gut. “We’ve had no word.”

  Bradick Ronan held out his tankard for the maidservant to refill. “We thought as much. That’s why Conall and I agreed we should come. It’s no secret you are holding hostages for Maud. Why wouldn’t she send advance notice so you could prepare for her arrival? It’s only common courtesy to an ally.” He shrugged and took another swig of his ale. “Of course, Maud’s not known for her courtesy.”

  Alex looked at his brothers, his forefinger pressed to his lips. These visitors were family, but, for the moment, the less they knew the better. Romain and Laurent both indicated their silent agreement with an almost imperceptible nod.

  A maidservant entered, seeking Bonhomme.

  Alex shook Bradick Ronan’s hand again, guiding him to the door. “I see your chambers are ready, cousins. Our Steward will show you the way and we’ll speak again when you are refreshed. Thank you for alerting us. Marguerite is here. I prefer you not mention any of this to her yet.”

  Both MacLachlainns drained their tankards and left, belching loudly.

  As soon as the door closed, Romain put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. �
�We must get our hostages away before Maud arrives.”

  Alex clenched his jaw, hoping the plan he had contrived was a good one. “Marguerite leaves on the morrow. Elayne and the children and I will depart with her. We will be absent when Maud arrives. I’m confident you two can keep her entertained, and the Maclachlainns if they’re still here.”

  Laurent frowned. “But what reason will you give that Marguerite will not become suspicious?”

  “Her route home takes her close to Bayeux. I will simply tell her of my wish to educate Henry and Claricia about our grandfather’s exploits at Hastings. I want to show them Bishop Eude’s famous tapestry.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  ELAYNE HURRIED ALONG THE CORRIDOR to Alexandre’s solar. Micheline’s knowing smile had left no doubt she thought this second summons meant Elayne had become the Comte’s mistress.

  She stepped tentatively through the open door. Alexandre stood gazing into the flames of the hearty fire in the grate.

  If circumstances had been different—

  He’d removed his doublet. Simply looking at his broad shoulders in the fine linen shirt sent her heart racing. He was kind, and drew her like a lodestone, an emotion she was unused to. She wanted to touch him, caress his bruised face, stroke his hair, press her body to the warmth of his.

  Dugald’s arrival into any chamber had usually filled her with dread, particularly when he had come for his marital rights.

  But her first loyalty was to her children. She must not get too close to Alexandre. There was no future in it. She had to trust he would keep her secret. If their true identity remained hidden and all went well with the subterfuge, she and Henry and Claricia would return to Scotland once King Dabíd had helped Maud invade England. Her monarch would expect it. He had probably already promised her to some ancient clansman. If the pretense failed, she couldn’t expect the Comte to betray Maud.

  Alexandre turned when he heard the rustle of her skirts. He smiled, but it was a sad smile, one that echoed her inner feelings of what might have been. He held out a hand as he came towards her. “Come, sit by the fire. We have a plan.”

  She accepted his hand, warmed by the transfer of heat. “A plan?” she asked, reluctantly letting go of his hand as she sat.

  Alexandre stood with his back to the flames, hands clasped behind him. He rocked back and forth. There was something he didn’t want to tell her. Foreboding gripped her vitals.

  “I don’t want you to be alarmed, but Maud and Geoffrey will be here in a few days.”

  She wanted to run then, to fly, to gather her children and flee. She gripped the arms of the chair. “A few days?”

  “They are at my cousin’s castle at Alensonne and we have had no word of their intention to come here. But servants gossip.”

  She shook her head. “I heard talk of their coming in the kitchens.”

  Alexandre arched his brows. “Indeed, servants and serfs usually know what’s happening before we do.”

  She struggled to slow her racing heart. “You spoke of a plan.”

  “You and I will leave on the morrow with the children and thus won’t be here when Maud arrives. She won’t meet the hostages, and Romain and Laurent will distract her.”

  He looked calm, yet she suspected his heart was heavy. It was his responsibility to be at Montbryce when Maud arrived. He intended to absent himself for her sake. “But where will we go?”

  “Have you heard of Bayeux?”

  She searched her memory. “Yes. It’s the site of a great cathedral where one can view a large embroidered panel of the Norman Conquest.”

  He smiled—genuinely this time. “Don’t you think that is something young Prince Henry and his sister should see?”

  “But, how can we—”

  Understanding dawned. “Marguerite.”

  Alexandre winked. “Oui. I’m afraid it means we must travel with my sister and her brood.”

  Elayne clapped her hands together. “Claricia will be overjoyed. She’s miserable because she thinks she has to say goodbye to Rosetta on the morrow.”

  Alexandre put both hands on the arms of her chair and leaned towards her, his blue eyes dancing. “Can you be ready at dawn? It’s a day’s ride.”

  Dawn!

  “Aye,” she replied breathlessly, her mind already seething with visions of what to pack. Claricia wouldn’t be the only one glad to delay their farewell to someone they loved.

  ~~~

  ALEX UNDERSTOOD why Elayne had to ride with the servants in the wagon, and she assured him she preferred it since Claricia and Henry were in the carriage. But he didn’t like it. He decided to lead the contingent of men-at-arms bringing up the rear, behind the wagon.

  Marguerite was flabbergasted. “But you’re the Comte. You must ride at the head.”

  “On the contrary,” he improvised, “most attacks come from the rear. That’s where we are the most vulnerable. My place is there.”

  She huffed, but said no more. Bonhomme assisted her into the carriage and they were off as dawn broke, Faol trotting along behind the carriage.

  Progress was slow, but steady. They stopped twice, once for an early luncheon and then later in the afternoon, enjoying cold roast chicken Bonhomme had packed. Alex never ceased to be amazed at the proficiency of his Steward. There was ample food for everyone, including the servants and men-at-arms.

  They arrived at Marguerite’s home as darkness fell. He was relieved the weather had cooperated, and the journey was uneventful.

  Since the Venestre holdings were close to Bayeux, it had been agreed everyone would stay there a day to rest, then venture as a clan to visit the Cathedral. Alex wanted to share the experience with Elayne and her children, but there was no reasonable argument to be made for denying the Venestre offspring the excursion.

  Marguerite took command as soon as they arrived. Alex had to admit to a grudging admiration for his sister. She had travelled for hours in a carriage full of children, yet she directed everyone with seemingly boundless energy. Though her husband’s manor was not big enough to be considered a castle, she was immensely proud of her home.

  Her children were obviously delighted to be reunited with their father. Jean Venestre was a mountain of a man, a gentle soul who didn’t seem to mind Marguerite’s bossy nature. Yet Alex knew he had a heart of gold and a will of iron. It had been a good marriage.

  It gladdened Alex’s heart to see the affection that Marguerite and her husband still shared. He felt a little jealous of his sister for the first time in his life.

  He dismounted, watching Elayne being helped over the side of the wagon by one of the Venestre valets. It irked him that the man had his hands on her waist. Once she was safely on her feet, he followed her gaze.

  She was watching Claricia and Henry being welcomed by Jean Venestre. Henry had his fingers curled around Faol’s collar.

  Marguerite bustled over, patting the Scottish children on the head. “I see you’ve met Prince Henry and Princess Claricia,” she said to her husband. “They will sleep in the children’s chambers tonight. Rosetta and Claricia have become such good friends. But that hound will stay in the Hall.”

  Claricia clapped her hands in delight and hugged Rosetta. Henry pouted as Faol whined. Elayne’s face fell. Alex’s heart lurched. He’d assumed Elayne would sleep with her children. Where did Marguerite intend for her to sleep? She would deem it odd if he asked about accommodations for a servant.

  The boisterous children disappeared into the house with Jean, his giggling youngest atop his broad shoulders.

  Alex hesitated, worried about Elayne’s welfare among servants of a strange household. Though she’d met many of them at Montbryce, peasants could be territorial on their own lands.

  Marguerite beckoned him. “Don’t worry about her. She can sleep with the other servants in the Hall. The dog will protect her.” She linked her arm in his and pulled him into the house. “I know she’s your mistress,” she whispered, patting the back of his hand. “Don’t fret. She can
come discretely to your chamber later, when the children are abed.”

  ~~~

  ELAYNE GATHERED her playd tightly around her, curling her knees to her chest. She supposed she should be grateful that the stone floor of Marguerite’s hall was covered with fresh, sweet smelling rushes, but she’d had no opportunity to bid her children goodnight. She was sure they were safe and warm and happy, but it was the first time in their lives she hadn’t tucked them in.

  She felt Faol’s shaggy warmth pressed against her back. The hall wasn’t large, but she had ample space to herself. Some of the servants who’d travelled to Montbryce were evidently glad to see others who’d remained. She covered her ears to block out the whispered endearments and sounds of rutting.

  Judging by the loud snores of others, they were oblivious to the amorous noises, but it conjured images of Alexandre in her mind. He was close, alone in a warm chamber with a big, comfortable bed.

  She sniffled back the useless tears. It was a cruel fate that she’d been married to a man for whom she felt only fear and dislike, yet her body heated at the mere thought of a man she couldn’t have.

  Was he thinking of her?

  “Psst!”

  She blinked open her eyes. The woman facing her whispered, “Go now. Everyone’s asleep.”

  Was she not allowed to sleep in the Hall? Where then? The stables? “Go where?”

  Elayne couldn’t see the woman’s face clearly in the darkness, but she sensed puzzlement.

  “To your Master’s bed.”

  The heat left Elayne’s body as ice crept through her veins. Even the servants assumed she was Alexandre’s mistress. Her honor lay in tatters on the cold stone floor of a hall in a foreign land. To her shame she wished with all her heart she was lying naked with him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SOMEONE KISSED ELAYNE’S CHEEK.

  She stretched, wondering absent mindedly how she had come to be abed with Alexandre after all. But a familiar smell wafted into her nostrils—the wonderful scent of her children.

  “Wake up, lazy maman,” Claricia whispered in Gaelic.