Finale (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 12) Page 5

  Arrête!

  “What’s our plan?” Axel asked.

  Barr leaned back against the wooden wall, struggling to get his mind off ripe nipples. “If we follow at a distance, there’s always a chance they’ll see us. It would be better to find out where they are going in the first place.”

  “Your relatives might know,” Axel suggested. “It appears Lord Westmorland is sending them into the castle.”

  Barr looked out. The lady still sat beside the wagon driver. The knights had dismounted. William and Martin were striding towards the entry to the castle kitchens. “They’re going in for provisions. Follow and find out where they are headed. I’ll speak to Hugh, and his sister.”

  Axel hesitated. “But won’t that…”

  “Go.”

  The wagon had traveled a scant three miles, and already Hollis was freezing and exhausted after a sleepless night spent fuming over the unexpected turn of events. Not to mention she’d been obliged to pack all her own belongings and those of the children. Hugh had been stingy with servants since they’d left England, claiming not to trust Norman peasants. It was more likely he was content to let his sister do all the work of running a household.

  It was a blessing the boys had fallen back to sleep in the wagon. If, pray God, they slept until the Narrow Sea was behind them, it would be a Yuletide miracle. She shuddered at the prospect of the voyage, having managed to hold on to the contents of her belly on her first crossing to Normandie, but only just. The children had both been violently ill. The one selfish consolation was that Hugh had been equally stricken.

  Inconvenient as this journey was, she would be in England before the end of December. All being well, they could celebrate Epiphany at home in Burgh.

  She’d worried about sustenance for the journey. The Norman cook had returned earlier to her hammock behind the kitchen chimney, and had refused to be disturbed when ordered to provide food for the excursion. Hollis suspected her brother had neglected to pay the woman’s wages. His decision to send the FitzRam boys to the castle kitchen in search of victuals was welcome.

  She noticed two men leave the stables and greet the twins. One carried on walking with the FitzRams; the other seemed to notice the wagon and turned in her direction.

  Winged creatures fluttered in her belly when she recognized the tall knight she’d seen at the coronation, months before. He was older than she was, probably married—the handsome ones always were. Or, they lay in a distant grave, like her betrothed—killed in a meaningless skirmish with Scots who’d raided into Cumbria yet again.

  The approaching knight obviously knew the FitzRams. Perhaps he was another of her brother’s cronies, though Hugh’s clenched jaw and frowning scowl seemed to indicate he wasn’t pleased to see the newcomer.

  When Hugh and his friends formed a barrier between him and the wagon, he must have sensed he wasn’t welcome, yet he strode on without hesitation, hand outstretched.

  Her brother braced his legs. “Viscount Montbryce! It’s a surprise to see you up and about so early.”

  Despite the winter chill, a wave of heat rolled up Hollis’ spine. The dark-haired knight was no Scot as she’d thought. He was heir to the Montbryce title—a member of one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the combined kingdom of Normandie and England. Even in faraway Burgh, folk knew of their extensive holdings and their noble reputation throughout Henry’s realm.

  Montbryce forced his hand into Hugh’s, shaking it heartily. “I could say the same for you, my Lord Westmorland. Where are you off to at this hour, and who is this lovely lady?”

  Hollis was tempted to laugh when Montbryce nigh on elbowed Hugh aside to get to her, but her brother would later find some means to retaliate if he thought he was being mocked. In any case, she was preoccupied with tucking wayward strands of hair beneath the silly turban she wished she hadn’t worn.

  He reached up to help her down from the wagon. “Sir Barr de Montbryce, milady,” he said softly, his blue eyes full of mischief.

  She glanced at Hugh and in a fit of lunatic rebellion decided to ignore his glare. Sir Barr was taking delight in annoying her brother. She didn’t know the reason, but why not play along? “Lady Hollis de Moreville, Hugh’s sister,” she replied in a seductive voice she didn’t recognize when he put his hands on her waist and lifted her down. It was easier to wear most of what she owned rather than pack it. His warmth penetrated the layers of woolen clothing.

  She gripped his broad shoulders, holding on when her feet touched the ground. The sheer height of the man made her dizzy.

  “You’re English,” he said with a smile, apparently unwilling to take his powerful hands off her body. Not that she wanted him to.

  She’d enjoyed discreet kisses and hugs with Gareth of Hexham before his untimely death. There was nothing unseemly about Sir Barr’s actions and yet she was suddenly in the grip of a fever the like of which she’d never felt with Gareth. She dragged her gaze away from his chest and looked up at his face. His eyes said he liked what he saw. For the first time in her life, she was a beautiful, desirable woman, except her nose must be as red as a holly berry.

  “Yes,” she murmured in reply. “We’re going home.”

  Hugh stalked to her side, took her hand and pulled her away. “Have a care. My sister is unmarried. You will sully her reputation.”

  Montbryce kept his eyes locked with hers. “Such was not my intent,” he assured her. “I am a widower.”

  Her spirits soared.

  “Your reputation is safe,” he continued. “I intend to join the Templars.”

  A child’s cry from within the wagon saved her from swooning with disappointment. Sir Barr de Montbryce had toyed with her in order to annoy Hugh further. She might have known he wouldn’t be genuinely interested. “I must see to my charges,” she muttered, noticing William, Martin and the third youth returning from the kitchens laden with baskets.

  “Safe journey to Burgh,” Montbryce called as she climbed into the back of the wagon.

  She was surprised he knew the name of the remote de Moreville family castle in Cumbria but, in any case, they weren’t going there first. She paused, wondering why Hugh’s voice had suddenly taken on a friendlier tone as he replied, “Aye. It’s a long trek.”

  Inside the wagon, unable to see what was transpiring, she listened. Sir Barr bade the FitzRam twins farewell. She detected a note of hesitation in his deep voice, as if there was something he wanted to say, but…

  They were on the point of departure when he asked Hugh, “You’re all bound for Cumbria?”

  “No,” one of Hugh’s comrades replied. “I’m for Bovey Tracy, my home in Devon. We’re all tired of the never-ending drama of Norman politics and there’s safety in numbers on the road.”

  “You’ll go by way of Ouistreham, I take it?” Montbryce persisted. “My family always uses that route. We maintain a boat and crew there for the crossings.”

  “As do we,” Hugh answered, now sounding more like his cantankerous self.

  Hollis stroked her young nephew’s hair when he complained of the cold, encouraging him to go back to sleep, all the while wondering why Montbryce was so interested in their journey and why Hugh had lied.

  “They’re lying,” Barr said to Axel, regretting he’d not insisted the FitzRam boys remain with him. But, so far, he only had suspicions as to what Hugh was up to. “The de Morevilles have never kept a boat manned and ready at Ouistreham. It’s likely they are headed for Le Havre. What did the lads say?”

  Axel nodded. “You’re right. They’re bound for Barham.”

  “I don’t know it.”

  “According to William, Barham Court is a manor house near Canterbury.”

  Barr drove his fist into his palm. “My suspicions may be well-founded. Becket is in danger.”

  A faint trace of a scent he couldn’t name drifted into his nostrils. He touched his fingertips to his nose, remembering Hollis’ slender form beneath the layers of clothing, and he suddenl
y knew where he’d seen her before. “Westminster,” he breathed, wondering if Fate had intervened to ensure their paths crossed.

  “Westminster?” Axel asked.

  “I’ve seen her before,” he replied, relieved when his servant merely shrugged. It gave him a chance to collect his thoughts. “Mayhap I am wrong. Surely, Hugh wouldn’t involve his innocent family in whatever he is plotting.”

  “I doubt they know of his intentions. Whatever he’s about, the plan has been hastily hatched. William and Martin are perplexed at the abrupt departure but I got the impression they don’t sense danger.”

  Barr was conflicted. “They perhaps think it’s another instance of de Moreville’s erratic behavior.”

  “Should we follow them?” Axel asked.

  “No need. We can travel faster. We’ll make our own way to Canterbury to avoid rousing suspicion. The archbishop must be warned.”

  His servant grinned. “Finally, I get to see England. Will you join the Templars after our mission?”

  It came as a surprise to Barr to realize he was no longer considering such a thing. “Non. It’s my duty to take up the mantle of Montbryce from my father.”

  It sounded onerous even to his own ears. Montbryce had always been his birthright, his proud destiny, though he admitted to a vague feeling of dread in recent years as the enormous responsibility loomed closer. Perhaps his father was right—a comte needed a worthy comtesse. He was expected to sire heirs. His gut clenched at the memory of what had happened the last time he’d impregnated a woman.

  Axel shrugged. “I thought you told Milady de Moreville…or was that simply to put her off?”

  The question took him aback. He truly didn’t know why he’d mentioned the Templars to Hollis. “Why would she be put off?”

  “She seemed taken with you.”

  “You evidently haven’t learned to keep such observations to yourself, young man,” Barr chastised, suddenly feeling as randy as an untried youth who’s been told a demoiselle with warm brown eyes is interested in him.

  “Your pardon, milord,” Axel replied. “Mon oncle always says it’s important to be honest.”

  There was no good answer to that, so Barr set off for the stables. “Pack your things and meet me in an hour. Bring your horse.”

  Crossing

  Hollis spent the hours in the back of the wagon dozing while the children slept, or staggering to secure baggage that threatened to topple over, or explaining patiently to her whining nephews that cold meat pie was indeed all there was to eat, or calling a halt while the boys saw to nature’s call in the bushes.

  On one such occasion, she was surprised to discover two of Hugh’s friends were no longer traveling with them.

  Martin FitzRam took note of her puzzled frown. “Sir Richard and Sir William left us a few miles back. It seems they intend to cross the Narrow Sea from another port.”

  She climbed back into the wagon somewhat reassured. The uneasy feeling Hugh and his friends were plotting nefarious deeds began to ease. They were bound for different parts of England, as William de Tracy claimed.

  Darkness had fallen when they arrived in Le Havre. Her limbs were stiff with cold and she appreciated Martin FitzRam’s help climbing out of the wagon. She felt sorry for the redhead. The winter chill had stolen the color from his normally ruddy complexion, leaving his nose a beacon on his pale face. “I suppose my brother will find us a place to stay overnight,” she said.

  “No, my lady,” he replied. “He and Sir Reginald have gone to find a boat.”

  Exactly fifty years before, hundreds of Anglo-Norman noblemen and women had drowned when their galley struck a rock during a night crossing and sank. Among the dead was the Crown Prince of England, the son of Henry I. The monumental tragedy was never far from the minds of anyone who crossed the Narrow Sea, especially at night. There wasn’t a prominent family in England and Normandie unaffected by the losses. Hollis was aware that a FitzRam ancestor had drowned in the disaster. “We can’t sail in the dark,” she protested. “The White Ship.”

  Any trace of color remaining in Martin’s face quickly drained.

  “I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Your grandfather, wasn’t it?”

  Martin shook his head. “My great-grandparents, Sir Caedmon and Lady Agneta. I understand your fear, but Lord Hugh insists it is still early evening and many of the captains prefer to sail at night.” He looked out at the water. “The sea looks calm.”

  She got the feeling he was trying to reassure himself as much as her, but it was pointless to challenge Hugh who was evidently in a big hurry to get to England. “Even if he drowns us all in the process,” she muttered to herself.

  “I’ve traveled this road back and forth to Caen a hundred or more times,” Barr told Axel, “but yesterday I had little idea where I was most of the day.”

  “At least the snow has stopped,” Axel replied.

  “I don’t recall encountering a single soul, but today things are back to normal—busy as ever.”

  The increased traffic had helped forge a path through the drifts, but the going was still slow and treacherous in places. Barr had confidence in Trogen’s ability to navigate the terrain, but Axel’s Marguerite had turned out to be a stubborn donkey. The animal made no secret of its dislike of cold weather, braying constantly and balking at every patch of ice.

  “Reminds me of my Tante Marguerite,” Barr quipped in an effort to hold on to his patience. He immediately regretted the unkind words about his father’s sister, although there was a certain similarity.

  “She’s usually more docile,” Axel claimed, “but the long journey has upset her.”

  “We’ll buy you a horse,” Barr replied.

  “But I can’t leave Marguerite,” Axel protested.

  Barr knew what it was to be attached to an animal, and the pained expression on the youth’s face betrayed his fondness for the stubborn beast. In the event, no opportunity arose en route to purchase another steed.

  They dismounted only once to water the animals, eat the victuals purloined from de Moreville’s provisions by the resourceful Axel, and see to their needs. Barr unexpectedly spotted a holly bush laden with bright red berries. Chuckling at the coincidence, he dusted the snow off its leaves and used his dagger to prune off a sprig. He fastened it to his gambeson with his mother’s clan brooch.

  Axel noticed it immediately. “I’m intrigued with your pin.”

  “It’s a talisman my mother insists I wear wherever I go, though, in truth, it belongs to my half-brother.” He saw from Axel’s frown he would have to explain further. “Henri Dunkeld is my mother’s son from a first marriage.”

  “I wish I had some keepsake from my parents,” the youth replied sadly.

  His words sobered Barr. He fingered the brooch with renewed appreciation. “My mother is a courageous woman.”

  “I know the story of how she came to Normandie with her children, claiming to be their nanny and not their mother. Everyone at Alensonne knows of the Scottish king’s trickery. It’s part of your family’s lore.”

  They remounted and continued sharing reminiscences about King David’s ploy to fool Geoffrey of Anjou and his wife Matilda by sending his illegitimate grandchildren as good-faith hostages. “It’s odd to think Matilda’s son is now our monarch,” Axel noted.

  Barr agreed. “My parents didn’t hold Geoffrey and Matilda in high regard, especially after the Angevin set fire to our orchards. The trees have recovered, but it has taken years.”

  “So, I’ll still get a cask of fine apple brandy?”

  Barr laughed. “I guarantee it.”

  At length, they arrived at the Ouistreham docks. After a great deal of ineffective coaxing and several near misses from vicious kicks, the donkey was loaded on to the Montbryce galley, one of three moored there.

  “Never seen such an obstinate creature,” a sailor muttered.

  The rest of the crew voiced loud agreement, earning a withering look
from Marguerite’s huge brown eye as she bared her teeth and brayed loudly enough to wake the dead.

  Barr gritted his teeth. He’d hoped to catch up on lost sleep during the voyage to England.

  “We’ve made good time, despite the weather,” Axel remarked as they shoved off and set sail into the sunset.

  “And despite the donkey’s best efforts to delay us,” Barr replied, hunching his shoulders against the wind. “Come on, we’ll take shelter under the canvas.”

  Axel shook his head. “I’ll stay with Marguerite. She’s never been on a boat before. She’ll be afraid.”

  The determination in the lad’s eyes indicated it would be churlish to insist. Axel obviously loved his donkey, and Barr had often gone to extreme lengths to ensure the well-being of his faithful Trogen.

  He found a spot out of the wind beneath the canvas. A sailor brought him blankets. “It’s calm, milord. We’ll have a peaceful crossing.”

  He tucked the wool up to his chin and folded his arms across his chest. His thoughts drifted to the FitzRam boys. If they were sailing the Narrow Sea, it was inevitable they’d be thinking of the great-grandparents who’d drowned in the White Ship disaster. Their bodies had never been recovered. The immense loss to the Montbryce-FitzRam clan was keenly felt to this day.

  His last thought before he dozed off was the hope that Hollis de Moreville was warmer than he was—the damp chill had penetrated even the layers of wool—and that she was enjoying a peaceful crossing. He’d never been a deeply religious man, but it was Yuletide after all, so he touched his fingers to the holly sprig and offered up a silent prayer. “Lord, keep her safe from her brother’s plotting.”

  For Hollis, the one advantage of being inside the wagon in the middle of the Narrow Sea was that she could tell herself she wasn’t aboard a battered vessel that had seen better days. This illusion would hold true provided the howling wind didn’t snatch the canvas from the wagon.