Conquering Passion (4 page)

“Rise, Cormant. I am Rambaud de Montbryce. I am accompanied by my brother, Lord Antoine de Montbryce. Your master was told of our visit. Have preparations been made for my men?”

“My son, Paul, will show them to their quarters, and I myself will take you to your chamber.”

The Montbryce brothers followed the steward into the keep, where they ascended winding stone steps to the second floor of one of the three towers. They were shown into a well-appointed, circular room with two large beds, heavy draperies and exquisite tapestries. Ram nodded his approval to Cormant, then asked, “How did your master die?”

“We’re not sure,” the steward replied, shrugging his rounded shoulders and shaking his head. “Perhaps some kind of fit.”

“We’ll need to see the body.”

Cormant hesitated a moment, then replied, “Of course,
milord
. It’s still in his bed. Follow me, please.”

Ram gave permission for two servants to enter, carrying trunks. “Leave us now, Cormant. We’ll send our chain mail, swords and gambesons with these servants to be dried. Return shortly, and we’ll go together.”

Ram didn’t want to hand over his sword. He felt naked without his
arme blanche
, a gift from his father, but it would rust if not dried. He’d dubbed it
Honneur
and pledged it to the honourable service of his Duke.

Cormant bowed and left.

“He hesitated when you asked to see the body,” Antoine remarked, bouncing on the edge of the mattress.

“
Oui
, but he quickly dismissed his misgivings. He’s no doubt relieved someone from the family of his liege lord has arrived at this time of crisis.”

They stripped off their wet armour and clothing with the help of the servants, who hurried off with it. Ram found two luxurious drying cloths draped over a chair and tossed one to Antoine, who tucked the long cloth around his waist and rubbed his legs. Espying a bone comb on a table by the bed, he tugged it through his wet hair, and then handed it to his brother.

“
Dieu!
I grow to look more like you every day!” he lamented.

“What’s wrong with that?” Ram retorted good-naturedly. “There’s less than two years between us, and we both look like our father. Good thing your eyes are green.”

Antoine shrugged. “Perhaps next time I shave my head, I’ll keep it that way, so people don’t keep mistaking me for you.”

Ram smiled. “Strange, I’ve never been mistaken for you.”

The friction of the cloth warmed him. He worked hard to keep fit, ready for battle. His body was all muscle, yet lean. He rubbed dry the smattering of curly hair on his chest and worked his way down the faint line, to the thick nest of curls at his groin.

“
Dieu!
I’m soaked through,” he said with a shiver. As he rubbed, Joleyne’s erotic comments came to his memory. “You’re so big,
milord
,” she would croon. “I never saw such a weapon.”

He was jerked from his self-absorbed reverie by the flick of a damp drying cloth against his buttocks, administered by his grinning brother. “Admiring yourself, Ram?”

Ram retaliated and they spent a few minutes indulging in their playful antics, chasing each other around the chamber, laughing, each with the glint of revenge in his eyes. Then they sobered as they remembered the unpleasant task they were to perform. “Better get on with it,” Ram muttered.

“You’re right.”

They took fresh hose, linen shirts and woollen doublets from the iron trunks and dressed quickly, each assisting the other since they’d brought no valet. Ram had no choice but to lace on his still wet boots.

A soft tap at the heavy door heralded Cormant’s return, and they followed the steward down the steps and across the hall to another tower, where they again mounted to the second floor. Cormant opened the door of this chamber after tapping.

“Why would he knock?” Antoine whispered.

“Habits of a lifetime,” Ram murmured.

Cormant bowed. “After you,
mes seigneurs.
”

Their chamber was finely furnished, but the one they strode into now was opulent. An enormous, heavily-curtained bed dominated the room from a raised platform. The drapery was open, a shape visible. The bedspread had been thrown back. The pungent odour of human excrement cut the air like a sharp knife.

Ram approached the body resolutely, aware of Cormant still at the door. “No overabundance of mourning family members,” he whispered sarcastically to Antoine, standing at the other side of the bed, his hand over his nose. Ram clasped his hands behind his back and looked at Arnulf’s ugly body, reluctant to touch it. “He looks surprised. Death came unexpectedly. But was it by natural causes, or at someone’s hand?”

Antoine kept his voice low. “No blood. No weapon in evidence.”

When a lord died suddenly and mysteriously, all were suspect. Ram was thankful they’d arrived after this death and sympathised with Cormant’s obvious nervousness. “Has a physician been summoned?”

“
Oui
,
milord.
He’s not sure what happened. An attack, he thinks. An apoplexy. The lord had enjoyed a rather heavy meal last evening, and so—”

Looking at the fat jowls and bloated stomach of the dead man, Ram could believe this pig of a man might have died from his excesses. It confirmed his low opinion of the whole Valtesse family. “It’s evident no one will miss this poor specimen of humanity,” Ram whispered to his brother, who had moved to stand beside him as they conferred. “Or be sorry he’s dead.”

“His unexpected death might solve problems for the house of Montbryce.”

“But what if someone murdered the wretch? In his own bed! Should an enquiry not be held?”

Antoine held his hand out towards the body. “You know as well as I the likelihood of finding the true killer, if one existed. It’s far more likely some innocent scapegoat would be punished for this instead.”

Ram turned to the steward, trying not to wrinkle his nose. “We must arrive at a decision as to our course of action and get this corpse cleaned up and buried.”

“
Oui, milord
. It’s that I don’t have the authority, I mean,
milord,
you’re the authority now. You are the highest ranking noble.”

“I don’t want to waste time conducting an enquiry into this death,” Ram confided to Antoine. “I’ve more important things to do for Father, and our Duke.”

He made a decision. “I declare his death to be of natural causes, in concurrence with what the physician has observed. We’ll bury him on the morrow. Cormant, you’ll see to the arrangements.”

He glanced over to Antoine, whose eyes indicated agreement.

“
Oui
,
milord
,” Cormant replied, relief evident in his voice.

Ram regretted what had to be said next. “Antoine, we’ve just arrived, and it’s a long journey, but I suggest you leave on the morrow, to take the news to Montbryce. I’ll stay to assist Cormant for a few days.”

Antoine agreed. “I’ll leave after the interment.”

***

At the funeral the next day, Ram wondered how a man of noble family could come to such a pass, that most of the people in attendance were the men of a baron’s sons who hadn’t come on a social call.

People from the castle were there—the steward Cormant, his wife and three sons, the cook, the chatelaine, the stable boys, servants, and village folk. All looked on with disinterest as Arnulf was interred with interminable solemnity by the incredibly obese Bishop of Alensonne. It took eight burly men-at-arms to lift the enormous lead coffin.

Antoine whispered to his brother, “I wonder where they managed to find that monstrosity?”

Ram shook his head. “I hope there are more to mourn my passing, when the time comes, and that they care about my death.” His father was aging and it wasn’t likely Ram would die first, unless he fell in the service of his Duke.

Who will weep for me?

He resolved to leave this castle as soon as possible. Shifting his weight, he looked up at the sky. “Praise be to the saints the rain held off. It’s good to be dry for a while. A few days here will ensure the steward has everything in place for the successful running of the castle until Guillaume de Valtesse can return.”

“Cormant seems a good man,” Antoine agreed. “Even with Arnulf as his master, the steward appears to have kept things running well. But it’s hard to tell whether he and the rest of the servants and serfs are looking forward to the probable return of their rightful lord or not.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Mabelle had never seen her red-faced father so excited, or for that matter, so happy. Antoine had brought the news of Arnulf’s death a few hours ago and Guillaume had ranted gleefully ever since. Despite her relief, this wasn’t the way to react publicly to news one’s son had died. She determined to behave with more dignity than her father. She barely remembered Arnulf and wasn’t saddened by his death, since it was he who’d cast her out. His convenient demise meant her dowry would be regained.

Her father calmed down sufficiently to have a conversation. “Didn’t I tell you, daughter, your accursed brother would get his comeuppance? Didn’t I tell you we would return to Alensonne in triumph and regain possession of our rightful lands? I can’t wait to see what that miserable miscreant has been squandering my money on.”

“Is it safe to go back? Is the castle ours again?” she asked, noticing he gave her no credit for pushing him to seek support from Montbryce. Would she always be a cipher as far as her father was concerned?

“Of course it’s ours,” her father roared. “The
Comte
de Montbryce has guaranteed it in writing. His sons signed the documents, confirming Arnulf’s death was from natural causes. I am the
Seigneur
d’Alensonne, without question—and of Belisle and Domfort.”

As if the mention of his name conjured him, the
Comte
de Montbryce appeared, and Guillaume bowed effusively. Mabelle curtsied, sinking to her knees.

Comte
Bernard proffered his hand to her. “Rise, dear child.”

Guillaume rushed to his side. “Ah,
Milord Comte.
I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your succour and support over this difficult time, and now you’ve guaranteed the return of my lands.”

“I’ve done nothing on your behalf, Valtesse. It’s a coincidence your son died as my sons were embarking on their attempts to arrive at a diplomatic solution.”

“But,
Milord
Comte
, honour dictates I thank you for your help,” Guillaume replied. Mabelle thought he was deliberately not listening. “I wish to repay you, by giving you my most treasured possession.”

Comte
Bernard’s eyes went wide. “And what might that be?”

Mabelle held her breath. With her dowry regained, she could pick and choose her suitors. Perhaps she could find someone to love and honour her?

Her father didn’t look at her. “Now that my beautiful daughter is the heiress to my lands and titles, she’ll be a much sought after bride. But I offer her to you, in betrothal to your son, Rambaud.”

Should she laugh or cry? Her father had never told her she was beautiful, yet now he was anxious to be rid of her.

“Papa—”

“
Silence
, child. I know what’s best for you,” he hissed. “So,
Milord
Comte
, do you agree to my proposal that we join forces? Mabelle will bring to the marriage a formidable amount of land, power and influence in Normandie and Le Maine.”

Comte
Bernard hesitated only a few moments. He walked over to Mabelle. Placing his fingers under her chin, he tilted her face to his view. “You’re a beautiful woman, Mabelle, and you’ll make an exceptional wife for my son. You have strength, pride, intelligence, and perseverance. The future
Comte
de Montbryce will need such a woman at his side in the turbulent times I foresee for Normandie and its Duke. There’s no doubt His Grace too will be pleased at the strategic lands that will come under our control. We must get some new gowns made for you.”

Mabelle had never heard such words of praise from her own father. She wanted to throw her arms around the
Comte
and kiss him. He’d seen qualities in her that her sire had never considered. Perhaps strengths she hadn’t seen in herself? She looked at her father and was suddenly afraid he might start strutting around the room crowing. He’d heard nothing of what
Comte
Bernard had said. She should have been happy but had a sinking feeling she’d quickly lost the long-desired control over her own life. Had she indeed exchanged one authoritarian for another?

***

Mabelle was thankful the next day for her mother’s insistence she be taught to read and write, but determined not to let anyone see her trepidation when the documents for the marriage contract were brought in by the scrivener. Wearing a new linen chemise and dark green surcoat, tailored hastily by one of the castle seamstresses, she signed her name with care. To
Mabelle de Valtesse
, her father insisted she add
and of Alensonne, Belisle and Domfort
. The intended groom hadn’t yet returned from Alensonne, and his father signed in his stead.