If Love Dares Enough (The Montbryce Legacy Medieval Romance) Read online

  IF LOVE DARES ENOUGH

  by

  Anna Markland

  The Montbryce Legacy

  Book Three

  Kindle Edition

  ISBN 978-0-9878673-7-7

  What Readers Are Saying

  “I love this series. Great historical setting and beautiful romance. I love the fact that the heroines are not simpering misses but have troubled pasts.” English PH -Amazon reviewer.

  “Hugh and Antoine de Montbryce are my kind of hero and I was kept enthralled by their adventures and their willingness to risk everything for the women they fell in love with. Hugh has additional appeal because he's a virgin hero! Not too many of those in historical romances! The book is rich in historical detail. I couldn't put it down. And those dogs! You'll fall in love with the Melton family's mastiffs, Boden and Brigantia.” Roberta -Amazon reviewer

  “...enjoyed every page because it seemed that something continuously happened to keep me involved. And the romance the author wove into each page? Well it was beautiful!”

  Mimi Barbour, author of His Devious Angel

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  Dedication

  Copyright Information

  Glossary

  Lexicon

  Other Books by Anna Markland

  Contact Information

  “Love will find its way

  through paths where wolves

  would fear to prey,

  and if it dares enough

  ‘twere hard if passion met not some reward.”

  ~Lord Byron

  For my mother, Alice Syddall

  “One in a million”

  CHAPTER ONE

  En route to Domfort, Normandie, January 1067

  Hugh de Montbryce couldn’t control the trembling in his hand. He hoped his brother hadn’t noticed, though he suspected Antoine knew he’d been plagued with the tremor since the eve of the Battle of Hastings.

  He’d been terrified that night, and his elder brother Rambaud had sensed it. “Hugh, there’s no shame in feeling fear. I’m afraid, as is Antoine.”

  Antoine had nodded as Ram continued to reassure his brother. “Any man who tells you he isn’t afraid this night is a liar. The important thing is to not allow the fear to control you. Bravery is born of fear.”

  “Ram,” he’d replied. “I can’t stop shaking, but I’m not a coward.”

  Now, three months later, as he and Antoine rode the frost-rutted route to Domfort, Hugh recalled his outburst the night after the horror of the battle. “Why is it the thing a man feels most compelled to do after courting death is lie with a woman? The survivors in my brigade are hobbling round with tree trunks at their groins.” His shaking hand had gone to his manhood. “Look at me. I can’t help myself.”

  His confession had caused his brothers to shift nervously on their camp stools. The three were gazing into the dying embers of a fire they’d hoped would dispel the October chill and warm their hearts after the sickening slaughter. He knew their discomfort wasn’t caused by embarrassment at the uncharacteristic remark from their baby brother, but because they understood.

  Into the dark memory of that terrible night, when the future of England and Normandie hung in the balance, Antoine’s voice penetrated. “Ram and Mabelle should have arrived in Westminster in ample time for the Coronation of our Duke William as King of the English on Christmas Day.”

  When Hugh looked back on events since they’d received news in England of the pestilence in Normandie that had scythed down their father, he could scarcely believe they’d travelled as far as they had in such a short time. Within a sennight of receiving the tragic news of their father’s death, they had crossed the Narrow Sea between England and Normandie and were galloping into the courtyard of their family castle at Saint Germain de Montbryce. Then it was on to retrieve Mabelle after discovering she’d fled to her father’s castle at Alensonne. Time was of the essence if Ram and Mabelle were to be married in time for them to sail to England to attend the Conqueror’s Coronation.

  Hugh glanced at his brother. “They’ll have arrived, if the tides and winds were favourable. After the Coronation, I suppose Ram will have to leave Mabelle in Westminster. He can’t take her to live in Ellesmere Castle, given the dilapidated state it’s in.”

  Antoine nodded his agreement. “Oui. Ram didn’t say anything, but I know he was disappointed with the condition of the castle Duke William granted him. Compared with our own Montbryce Castle in Normandie, it’s a ruin.”

  “Nothing more than an earthwork, really,” Hugh added.

  Antoine chuckled, his thoughts evidently on the same events. “I’m sure no one has ever been wedded and bedded as speedily as Mabelle!”

  “If Ram failed to show up at Westminster, he would probably lose his promised earldom, but he was willing to risk it to bind Mabelle to him,” Hugh replied. “While Ram may not yet realize it, she’s his soul mate.”

  In his heart, Hugh doubted he would ever find his soul mate. Indeed he knew he wouldn’t because he’d determined never to look. Hastings had changed him forever. The happy-go-lucky Hugh was gone, ground into the blood, muck and gore of Hastings.

  Antoine nodded. “I too hope our elder brother comes to appreciate Mabelle more. She’s the woman he’ll need as he tries to establish his Earldom in England.”

  “Oui.”

  “Especially in the dangerous Welsh Marches.”

  “Oui.”

  Antoine chattered on, pulling his cloak more tightly around him in the chilly air. “After the sickening brutality of our army’s victorious crossing of the Thames at Wallingford, I was glad of the chance to get away from the never-ending bloodshed and accompany Ram on his journey to inspect Ellesmere Castle. He certainly deserves the earldom granted as a reward for the building of our fleet for the invasion, but he and Mabelle will have their work cut out for them in Ellesmere.”

  “Oui.”

  “But Mabelle is strong. She’s survived on her wits for many years.”

  “Oui.”

  “Is that all you can say, Hugh? Oui? What happened to the talkative baby brother I used to know?”

  Hugh shrugged. “He’s no more, Antoine. I’m sorry, I don’t feel like talking.”

  Antoine shook his head and sighed. “Look, mon frère, memories of Hastings are painful for us all. I’ll never be the same. The horror will always be with me, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let it ruin my life. We were lucky all three of us survived and we should celebrate that. You fought well at Hastings, distinguished yourself in fact, and we were fortunate to serve under Ram’s command, helping the Conqueror take Dover and Canterbury.”

  His brother was right and yet Hugh couldn’t seem to shake his dark mood. “You’re right, Antoine. I suppose I’m lucky to have survived with what amounts to a gash on my arm from a glancing blow from a Saxon sword. I’ll try not to be so sombre.” He rubbed his bicep as he spoke. The wound had healed well, but the muscle ached still.

  “Good, I’ve no wish to be talking to myself all the way to Domfort. Ram was concerned about you after Hastings, and I’m beginning to see why. He’s appointed us overseers of Mabelle’s dowry holdings at Domfort and Belisle, so we must live up to his expectations.

  Hugh’s shoulders tensed. “Of course we’ll live up to his expectations. We’re Montbryces, Antoine. I haven’t forgotten that,” he replied tartly. “I won’t let either of them down. You’ll help me get established at Domfort, then ride on to Belisle.”

  They rode in silence for a long while before Antoine spoke again. “Hasten the day when Mabelle’s father, Guillaume de Valtesse,
no longer holds Alensonne in his manic grip, then we can turn our talents to sorting out that castle as well.”

  Hugh sensed Antoine’s discomfort with his silence. “Don’t worry, brother. I’ll be fine. It will just take a while to get over Hastings, and our dear Papa’s death.”

  How to tell Antoine the killing aroused me?

  It was certain that Ram had kept a mistress before he met Mabelle, though he’d been discreet about Joleyne. Antoine’s reputation with the ladies was legendary. But Hugh had never been very interested in women, never felt the same rush of need he often felt now. It was dangerous. If it was violence that aroused him, he might kill a woman in the throes of passion.

  ***

  Hours later, they rode into the windswept bailey of Domfort Castle, their horses’ hooves clattering on the cold cobblestones. The steward, Jean Bileaud, awaited them stoically. He didn’t have high expectations of the new overlord for whose arrival he’d been told to prepare. The two seigneurs for whom he’d worked before, Guillaume de Valtesse and his bastard son, Arnulf, were difficult men to say the least—the former an irascible mutilator and suspected murderer, the latter a dissolute pig. He hadn’t been saddened by Arnulf’s sudden death just before the invasion of England. Fortunately, because Arnulf had spent most of his time at Alensonne, Bileaud only had to endure his presence once in a while.

  Word had it that Arnulf had died of a fit, but there were rumours of a vengeance killing—and no wonder—Arnulf had surely made many enemies among his servants, serfs, and tenant farmers.

  Bileaud hoped this new master, Hugh de Montbryce, might be different, but the odds were he would be another selfish noble intent on his own greed. He was somewhat surprised, therefore, by his first impression of the two knights who rode into the bailey—brothers by the looks of things. One was young, perhaps a score and two or three, and the other not much older. Neither looked dissolute, indeed there could be no doubt they were both fit and seasoned warriors, despite their youth. They had the stern look of men hardened by war. He was further surprised when it was the younger man who spoke first as he dismounted.

  “Steward Bileaud?”

  Bileaud bowed. “Milord.”

  “I am Lord Hugh de Montbryce and I’m accompanied by my brother, Lord Antoine de Montbryce. Is all in readiness for our arrival?”

  “Oui, milord. The grooms will take your horses, and I’ll show you to your chambers.”

  ***

  “Bileaud, I’ll require your services all day on the morrow. I want to meet with the tenant farmers. In the sennight I’ve been here, I’ve ascertained that Domfort is not productive. I want to know why.”

  The steward fidgeted with the collar of his tunic. “Milord?”

  Hugh rose from his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Do you have any opinions in this matter?”

  Bileaud cleared his throat. “Far be it from me to criticize, milord.”

  “Bileaud, I never met Lord Arnulf, but I know Guillaume de Valtesse.”

  The steward’s shoulders seemed to lose some of their tension. “Well, milord—enough said, perhaps.”

  Hugh smirked, nodded and sat down. “We’ll ride out at dawn. Make sure the stable master has Velox saddled. And since Lord Antoine is leaving today, I’ll sup in my own chambers this evening. In fact, I’ll be supping there every evening.”

  Bileaud couldn’t hide his surprise. “Alone, milord?”

  “Oui. But the men-at-arms may still sup in the Great Hall. Have the meal served there as usual. I’ll take all my meals in my chamber.”

  Seated in the chair next to his brother, Antoine had said nothing during this exchange, but now his worry for his brother intensified. When the steward had left, he looked intently at Hugh. “Why do you plan to eat alone?”

  Hugh shrugged, avoiding Antoine’s gaze. “I prefer my own company.”

  Antoine rose and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “But supping in the Hall with the men and the people of the castle is a way to get to know them, for them to get to know you, to inspire their loyalty.”

  Hugh got up abruptly and walked away. “They’ll come to know me soon enough.”

  Antoine shook his head. “This is so unlike you, Hugh.”

  “That’s the way of it now, Antoine.”

  “What is it you’re afraid of?”

  Hugh whirled to face his brother. “I’m afraid of nothing,” he replied angrily. “Leave it be.”

  Antoine exhaled, frustrated. “Fine. There’s enough daylight left for me to make it to Belisle. Go with God, little brother.”

  They embraced, but Antoine could feel the stiffness in Hugh’s shoulders. He strode out, reluctant to leave his troubled brother alone, but not knowing what else to do.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lady Devona Melton had never known such fear in all her seven and ten years. She could scarcely believe the brutish Norman soldiers hadn’t killed her grandfather when he’d challenged their menacing, pock-faced captain, Torod.

  In the months since the Norman invasion, they’d heard rumours of many other Saxon families being evicted from estates the length and breadth of Sussex. So far they’d escaped attention, isolated on their rocky promontory overlooking the sea. Though life hadn’t been easy, Melton Manor allowed them to be self-sufficient, as the bleak winter of the year of Our Lord One Thousand and Sixty-Seven ground on.

  Now Normans had come, the steam rising from their warhorses mingling with the soldiers’ breath in the frigid air. But her grandfather had coolly stood his ground, the normally gentle Boden and Brigantia growling at his side. Incredibly, Torod had backed down and the gang had ridden off, the massive dogs on their heels.

  “Norman scum!” Sir Gerwint Melton spat as he strode back into the house. “They’re gone. You can come out now.”

  Devona and her two younger sisters emerged, shivering, from their hiding place in the false wall behind the larder.

  “Will they come back?” five year old Aediva asked timidly.

  Gerwint stroked her hair. “Perhaps yes, perhaps no,” he replied. “They seem to want to particularly harass us because King Harold himself was our overlord.”

  Her widowed grandfather had become resigned to the Norman victory, devastated three sennights before the disastrous Battle of Hastings by the death of his only son, Devona’s father, in King Harold’s decisive victory against the Norwegians at the battle of Stamford Bridge. The only thing keeping him going now seemed to be the fate of his granddaughters. She could see the anger gripping him after his encounter with the Normans.

  “This manor is your birthright since none of the sons your parents sired survived past their fifth birthday. We shall fight to the death to keep it for you. Devona, you’ll need this holding as your dowry.”

  Devona shook her head. “But who will I marry now? Most of the gallant young knights of England were cut down or maimed by the Conqueror at Hastings with our good King Harold, or at Dover, Canterbury or Wallingford.”

  It seemed that in the blink of an eye the coming of the Normans had changed the future that she’d thought was predestined. Her doting parents would have found a suitable Saxon noble for her to wed and she would have lived happily ever after. Now—

  Gerwint took her by the hand. “We’ll find someone for you, Devona. You’re a beautiful, intelligent girl, and many men will want you for wife. It will be my last duty to you. Then you must take care of your sisters—and your mother.”

  Recognizing the hint of despair in her grandfather’s voice, Devona looked sadly towards the stairs that led to her mother’s bedchamber. Lady Wilona Melton hadn’t risen from her bed since the news had come from Stamford Bridge, hadn’t spoken, just stared blankly at the wall or ceiling.

  They’d lost so much since the coming of the hated Normans. Fear seemed their constant companion, their future insecure.

  Where will we go if they put us out? We’ll starve, if we don’t freeze to death.

  ***

  A sennight la
ter the Normans came again, this time so swiftly Sir Gerwint Melton didn’t have time to conceal his granddaughters. Now a swarthy, bearded knight led them, Torod at his side. Gerwint motioned the girls to stay behind him at the door of the manor. Boden ambled up to stand by his master, his massive head raised, body poised.

  Reining his snorting steed to a halt, the knight crowed, “Well, well, so there is more to this manor than we first thought. Well done, Torod. You were right. This wily old Saxon has been hiding something.”

  Gerwint stood firm, arms folded across his chest. “State your business, Norman, and then be gone!”

  The knight smirked, smoothing his moustache with his thumb and forefinger. “You and this manor are my business Saxon. It’s to be mine, and everything in it.”

  Gerwint’s voice remained icy. “This manor has belonged to my family for generations. You can’t simply steal it.”

  The Norman dismounted and strolled over to where Gerwint stood shielding his granddaughters. “Perhaps you’re not aware, old man, that you’re a conquered people. We can take what we like.”

  Boden growled at the intruder and moved towards him.

  “Curb that hound, Saxon!” the knight spat, flicking his glove in the dog’s direction.

  Gerwint hooked his hand into the jewelled collar around the mastiff’s neck and pulled back. “Sit, Boden,” he whispered. The dog sat at Gerwint’s feet, but remained alert, bristling.

  The Norman beckoned Aediva. “Come here, little one,” he cajoled, his eyes on Devona.

  Gerwint’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. Boden barked and growled. The knight’s jaw clenched. “My men will have you and the children cut down before you can blink.”

  Gerwint took his hand from the weapon, cursing under his breath.

  “Come here, little one,” the bully repeated, his voice more threatening, eyes still fixed on Devona. Aediva crept forward, clinging to her grandfather’s leg. The Norman crouched down and took her by the arm. “You have a very beautiful sister, little one. I’m sure she wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you, would she?”