Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance) (4 page)

ALEX HADN’T BEEN IN THE NURSERY FOR YEARS. There was a hint of mustiness in the air. He remembered it as a warm place filled with familiar reassuring scents. He turned to Micheline. “Find the Steward. Tell him I want a hearty fire in this grate for a few days.”

She bowed and left.

His gaze travelled around the chamber. Little seemed changed apart from the newer playthings for Marguerite and Catherine’s children. He and his mother had found refuge here from his father’s melancholy in the first years after his release from Curthose’s cells.

The ornate cradles he and his brothers and sisters had
slept in as infants sat empty, waiting for the next generation of babes. Melancholy swept over him. He swallowed the lump in his throat, very aware of the woman standing behind him. An aroma clung to her that reminded him of the apple orchards that surrounded his home. He struggled to get his mind off her green eyes. “There may even be some toys my father played with as a child.”

A
memory came to him. He turned to Henry who was leaning against Elayne’s thigh, looking around nervously. “In fact, I believe if we search hard enough, we may find the Welsh sword and shield my father was given as a child.”

Henry
brightened. “A sword?”

Elayne frowned.
“Welsh?”

Alex
scanned the chamber again, his heart filling with happy memories; squabbles with Catherine and Marguerite, wrestling with Romain and Laurent. What harm in sharing the story with these Scots in a place where his mother had told and retold tales of the Conqueror and the military glories of the Montbryces? “My father and his brother were kidnapped for ransom by Welsh rebels when they were small boys, along with their mother, my grandmother, Mabelle de Montbryce. Their captor, the chieftain prince, Rhodri ap Owain, had wooden swords and shields made for them so they could train with the Welsh boys while they were hostages.”

Henry
’s eyes darted around the nursery. “Was he a hostage for a long time?”

Claricia
sucked her thumb, clinging to Elayne’s skirts. Weapons were evidently of no interest to her.

Alex
glanced at the Scottish woman. She seemed torn between rebuking Henry for his curiosity and a desire to know the answer. After all, they too were hostages, though their freedom didn’t depend on ransom. A shiver ran down his spine. Maud was the person who would decide their fate, and she would base her decision on Alex’s actions. He tried to keep his concern out of his voice. “Months. My grandmother gave birth to my
tante
Rhoni in the Welsh mountains during that time.”

“King
Dabíd mentioned a catastrophe befalling your father,” Elayne said timidly.

Alex
hesitated. This servant had no right to know about his father’s true misfortune, yet he had an overwhelming urge to share it with her. He inhaled deeply, raking his hands through his hair. “Your King was probably referring to my father’s illegal incarceration by the Duke of Normandie.”

She
clasped a hand over her mouth. “Recently?”

Alex
shook his head. There was no avoiding it now. “
Non
. I was born while he was in prison. It was a cruel solitary confinement. He was hidden away in an
oubliette
. My uncles eventually rescued him, but it was hard on his body—and his mind.”

Her eyes filled with compassion. “It must have been
difficult for you and your mother too.”

“It was,” he rasped, “but my mother brought my father back from the pit of despair. They were deeply in love.”
His heart lurched. He had never spoken any of these truths out loud, and here he was confiding in a servant—a foreign hostage, a woman he’d just met. He was drawn to her. If he moved closer, he could kneel at her feet, rest his head on her thighs and let her stroke his hair.

“Found it,” Henry shouted.

Claricia pulled Elayne over to the far corner where her brother stood amid a jumble of old chests. Alex followed, caught up in Henry’s excitement. Propped against one of the chests was a small wooden shield, a miniature sword tucked into the worn leather strap. Both toys bore evidence of having been well used.

Alex
’s throat tightened. His father had played with these weapons in the far off mountains of Wales and brought them to Normandie when he became the
Comte
, no doubt as playthings for his future sons. Alex had played with them as a child, but he’d had no inkling then of their significance. His father had never shared anything of it. It was through his mother he’d later learned the history of the sword and shield. He hadn’t set eyes on them for years.

“Papa,” he
whispered, watching Henry proudly brandish the sword, his little legs braced, the shield clutched to his chest—a miniature knight.

He turned to look at Elayne.
Her face was wet with tears.

He took her hand
, feeling inexplicably proud of this boy he barely knew. “He’ll make a fine warrior.”

She
pulled away from him and ran to the door.

~~~

AS SOON AS ELAYNE CROSSED THE THRESHOLD, common sense forced her to stop and lean back against the cold stone of the wall, her face in her hands. Servants didn’t simply leave a chamber without permission. Nor should she have abandoned Claricia and Henry, who must be distraught at her sudden tearful departure. She’d urged them to be strong, yet her own inner strength had crumbled.

There would be a reprimand
. She must get her emotions under control. Fear was driving her actions, and the sight of her son armed and ready for “battle” had given her an unwanted glimpse into the future. If only he could remain a little boy forever.

Another perplexing problem was the unsettling effect of
Alexandre de Montbryce. His presence addled her wits. The touch of his hand had caused strange tinglings in unmentionable parts of her body.

In different circumstances, a relationship
between the daughter of a Scottish chieftain and a Norman Count might have been possible. He seemed to be attracted to her. But if he found out the hostages he held were not who they pretended to be, their lives would be forfeit. Maud’s displeasure might even fall on Alexandre. King Henry’s daughter was not reputed to be an understanding woman.

Her lies
would have to continue, though perhaps responding to his apparent interest might gain them greater protection. Honey caught more flies than vinegar. Smoothing out her skirts and readjusting her
playd
, Elayne stiffened her spine and walked back into the nursery.

~~~

LEFT ALONE WITH TWO SMALL CHILDREN for the first time in his adult life, Alex felt a twinge of apprehension when Elayne fled the nursery.

Claricia’s bottom lip quivered.
Henry stood stock still in mid thrust, his eyes darting from his fleeing nursemaid to Alex and back.

How long before Micheline returned, or perhaps a serf sent by Bonhomme to light the fire?

Then he sobered. He was an adult, a man who had faced death on more than one battlefield in the recent conflict in Flandres. Surely he could handle this campaign?

Claricia looked startled when he picked her up and sat on one of the chests, settling her on his lap.
Henry frowned but wandered over to join them, the point of his sword trailing on the stone floor.

“Don’t worry. Women
often weep for no good reason.”

Claricia
nodded in agreement. “
Mam
—Elayne does cry a lot, especially since—”

“Claricia!”
Henry scowled, interrupting his sister.

The little girl clasped both hands to her mouth, tears welling.
He drew Claricia closer. She smelled of rose-scented soap. “I seem to recall a game my sisters loved. Shall we try to find it?”

The child sniffled. “You have sisters?”

Alex chuckled. “I do. They have children of their own now and live far away. Anyway, I like you better.”

“Why?”

Her brown eyes widened, making him feel mischievous. “Because you’re not bossy like they are.”

Claricia laughed and put her arms around his neck. “I’m not bossy.
Henry is the bossy one.”

Henry
pouted. “Am not.”

Alex
felt as though he’d traveled back in time. The years had flown by so quickly since he and his siblings had carried on the same tit for tat argument. Regret washed over him.

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

H
is 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?

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
?”