If Love Dares Enough (19 page)

Antoine caught her before she crumpled to the stone floor and cradled her against his body. Her maidservant rushed forward and glared at him. “Oh, my lady, my lady,” she sobbed.

“You are her personal maid?” Antoine asked the woman, resisting an urge to murmur reassurances into Sybilla’s ear that he wouldn’t harm her, would never hurt her. He wanted to tell her he was sorry he’d been forced to kill her husband, a man she obviously loved a great deal, despite the differences in their ages.

“
Oui
,
milord
. I came with her from Anjou. I’ve served her all her life,” the maid replied, her voice full of despair. “She’s but a child, and now—”

Antoine tightened his grip on Sybilla. “What is your name?”

“Oda.”

Antoine felt he should reprimand the surly peasant for her lack of deference, but there would be time enough for that. Now he held a vulnerable woman and, inexplicably, he wanted to proclaim himself her champion, to protect her. She was light in his arms, despite being heavy with child. His Duke would likely order her execution as the wife of an Angevin traitor.

“Where is her chamber? Show me.”

As he carefully mounted the narrow stone steps leading out of the crypt, the edge of Sybilla’s wimple caught and dragged, revealing her hairline. It was as though the sun had broken through into the dark recesses of the gloomy place. She was a redhead. Lust roared through him. Hugh might prefer his raven-haired, green-eyed beauty, but Antoine had never been able to resist the allure of red hair. He tried to keep his attention on the steps and not let his eyes stray to her breasts, rising and falling as she breathed irregularly.

“By all that’s holy, she’s a pregnant woman,” he chided himself. “And an enemy.”

Oda reached round him to right the wimple and they continued their journey through the smoke blackened hallways to Sybilla’s solar. The door was charred, but the furnishings had survived. He laid her on the large bed. He couldn’t explain the fury he felt at the idea she might have lain with her husband there. What was wrong with him? What did he care if an Angevin dog rutted with his child-bride in this very chamber? He needed to get control of his emotions.

“Does she have a weapon?” he asked Oda sternly.

The maid shot an uneasy glance at him, obviously trying to decide whether or not to lie. “I will search her,” he said, and felt his erection throb at the idea of touching Sybilla’s body.

The maid reached over and removed a dagger concealed in her lady’s sleeve. She handed it to Antoine.

“And you?”

The sullen maid turned away from him and tucked up her skirts to retrieve a dagger strapped to her thigh. She held it out to him, reluctant to let go. “What protection do we have now against your men?”

Antoine squared his shoulders. “Victorious Montbryce knights don’t celebrate by raping women. I’ll see to your lady’s protection. I expect you to take care of her needs.”

He left, wishing he could have stayed to tend her. But she would have only hatred in her heart for him. He was a Norman, a despised enemy who had killed the father of her unborn child. With bile rising in his throat, he went back to the task of organizing the defenses and re-establishing his conquered fortress. He would secure it for his Duke. Perhaps his success in this endeavour would soften William’s heart towards the Montbryces.

***

“I’m sending you to my castle at Belisle,” Antoine told Lady Sybilla two days after the fall of the fortress. “This is no place for a lady, especially one in your condition.”

He had summoned her to the Hall, having agonized over what to do with her. If he sent her as a prisoner to William, she would be executed. His gut wrenched when he thought of that probability. If he sent her to Belisle, William would be annoyed, and the King was angry enough with the Montbryce family. Antoine decided he would face that problem if and when it materialized. He had to keep Sybilla alive.

“I prefer to stay here, with my people,” she replied coldly.

Oda had accompanied her mistress, and Sybilla was leaning heavily on the servant. It seemed to Antoine that in only two days she had grown rounder, her burden lower. Her pale skin had taken on a sallow pallor and she looked like she might drop the child any minute. “If you don’t care for your own well-being, think of your unborn child’s. The kitchens here are still not fully repaired. Most of your servants are dead, or have fled, so there are few left to do the work of many. Everything reeks of smoke. This is an arena of war. There is no midwife.”

“But Belisle is in Normandie. You would send me there as a prisoner?”

“You are my prisoner, Lady Sybilla, whether you like it or not.” Erotic thoughts of what he would like to do with Sybilla if she was a
prisoner
in his bed ran through his head. He kept his voice stern, wanting to make her understand that his castle would be the best place for her. “You’ll be safer in Belisle.”

She snorted. “Safer than where? Here I am in my own land, with Angevins.”

Antoine arched his brows. Why was she being so difficult? Perhaps her stubbornness came with the red hair. That thought sent icy heat rushing up his spine. The brief glimpse had left him longing to see all of it. He cleared his throat. “You are in lands which belong to the Duke of the Normans, King of the English. You are his prisoner as much as you are mine. Would you prefer I send you to him in Le Mans?”

He saw her hesitate as the implications of what he had threatened dawned on her. “Or perhaps you would rather stay here and await his Majesty’s return with an occupying force? He has already taken Le Mans, and I’m confident he intends to return this way once that town is secured. This fortification protects the easiest ford across the Sarthe. He wasn’t happy about having to lengthen his journey to Le Mans before your fortress fell.”

Sybilla looked straight at him. “It would appear I have no choice, though my husband would not have wanted his child born in Normandie,” she complained.

Antoine bristled at the insult, and it was all he could do not to remind her that Sancerre had not cared about the child when he set fire to the keep. But he thought perhaps there was a hint of relief in her voice. He was about to reply when Sybilla interrupted him.

“Oda will accompany me.”

Irritating as her demeanour was, Antoine couldn’t help but be impressed with her courage in the face of her predicament. “I’ll allow your maidservant to go with you. Be ready to depart on the morrow.”

Sybilla gave him the barest of nods, seemed about to leave, then hesitated. “Will you also return to Belisle,
milord
Montbryce?”

“
Non
, I remain here to await my King. Some of my men will escort you.”

Was that a hint of disappointment in those mismatched eyes?

Sybilla took her leave.

“What’s to become of me, of my child, Oda?” she sobbed once she and her maid were alone in her solar.

Oda helped her mistress on to the bed, and set about removing her shoes. The maid had worked tirelessly to air the smoky linens. “
Milord
Montbryce is a merciful man,
milady
. For some reason he wants to protect you from the wrath of his King.”

Sybilla rubbed her swollen belly. “You’re right. I have no doubt the bastard William would have me executed as a traitor. I’m so tired of being the pawn of arrogant men. My back aches so.”

Oda went to kneel behind her lady on the bed and kneaded Sybilla’s back. “But a pawn can be a powerful piece,
milady
, if well played.”

Sybilla groaned as Oda’s fingers worked their magic on her aching muscles. She opened her knees and let her head fall forward as far as she could. “I begged my father not to sell me to Denis de Sancerre, but he insisted no one else would take me as a bride with my mismatched eyes.”

Oda made a disparaging noise.“Your father is a greedy fool. I think Antoine de Montbryce is taken with your eyes.”

Sybilla heart raced. Every time she’d looked at Antoine she’d experienced the same strange feelings. Something about him drew her. But he was a Norman who had killed her husband. She should hate him, but discovered she could not. What would his hair be like once it grew back? He had the most unusual green eyes, and his broad shoulders—

She shook herself out of her reverie. “Antoine de Montbryce is our enemy, Oda.” She let out a long sigh. “Do my feet now.”

The maid did as she was bidden, but stopped to look up at Sybilla’s face. “Sometimes, we have to make new alliances, if we want to survive. Your father and your husband didn’t have your best interests at heart. They thought only of themselves. The Norman is thinking of your welfare.”

With a sigh of exasperation, Sybilla removed her wimple and collapsed back onto the bolster, running her hands through her loosened hair. It was true Sancerre had not loved her. She had been his chattel, a means to an end. He had not allowed her to call him by his given name. Like most young maidens, she’d dreamed of the handsome knight she would one day fall in love with and marry. The reality of her loveless marriage had been a bitter gall to swallow. Her husband’s clumsy invasions of her body had left her feeling cold and defiled.

But Antoine was a noble knight. Sending her to his castle would indeed improve her chances of staying alive. But why would he care? She was his enemy, pregnant with another man’s child.

Pawns were not able to move backwards. Dwelling on the past was futile. She hoped the right moves would bring a brighter future for her child. She would play Antoine’s game, whatever it was.

The Montbryce and Domfort knights fought well under Hugh’s command, though he did his best to stay out of William’s way during the taking of Le Mans. He prayed that when the Conqueror left to return to Normandie with the main force, he would not choose Hugh as one of the barons to remain behind to secure the city. It was a forlorn hope. He was ordered to garrison his troops there for a month, and dared not anger the King by protesting too loudly that Domfort had been left poorly protected. He sent a message to Devona explaining his delay in returning.

He worried about her constantly and was preoccupied with devising ways to solve their dilemma. He was hard all the time, but now he knew the reason—he burned for Devona because he had discovered with her a world he had thought denied to him—a world of sensual pleasure and fulfillment in a woman’s arms. In her presence he felt whole.

Word had come from Antoine that he was mired in securing the ruined fortification at Grandegué, leaving Belisle vulnerable as well. Part of Antoine’s message detailed curious news concerning Renouf de Maubadon. After trying to gain access to Alensonne, Renouf had disappeared, and Jubert was certain the brute was heading in the direction of Grandegué when he lost track of him. Jubert had joined Antoine at Grandegué. The fire had dislodged many rats and Antoine jested about seemingly always being in need of a rat catcher.

Jubert’s presence, however, had turned out to be fortuitous. Able to mingle and fraternize with serfs and servants, he’d learned that Renouf was known at Grandegué, where he had apparently been a frequent visitor.

Antoine added a brief note about the lady of Grandegué, a pregnant woman who had been sent to Belisle, for safety’s sake. He mentioned he would be riding to Belisle for a brief visit, ostensibly to check on the defenses there, but in fact to ask Lady Sybilla Sancerre what she knew of Renouf de Maubadon.

Hugh wondered what Renouf was doing in enemy territory. The man wasn’t a warrior, so it was doubtful he was planning to fight for the Duke’s cause. He also wondered why Antoine had sent the Angevin woman to Belisle. By rights she should be surrendered to the Duke, tried and executed.

***

Riding for Belisle, Antoine pondered the perplexing situation until he was dizzy. He had told Hugh the motivation was to question Sybilla de Sancerre about Renouf, and though this mission was important to him, it was his heart pushing him to see her again—to be near her. He was a lover of women. They liked him and he liked them, but he had never been as obsessed with a woman as he was with Sybilla. It worried him.

He sensed tension in the air when he strode into the Hall at Belisle. As he was taking off his gauntlets, his steward, Alphonse Bretel, arrived.

“Bretel, what’s happening?”

The steward hesitated a moment. “It’s the Angevin woman.”

Antoine’s gut wrenched. “What about her?”

Again the steward seemed uncomfortable. “She’s labouring to bring forth the child. There are—difficulties.”

Antoine slapped his gloves against his thigh. Bretel was a forthright, trustworthy man and he wondered about his reticence. “What kind of difficulties?”

Bretel cleared his throat, his face reddening. “This is women’s business, and I only report what I’m told. The two midwives from the village are attending her, as well as her maid, but—”

“But what?”

“The women are not happy about the fact she’s an Angevin. And she’s having difficulty birthing the babe.”

Antoine felt his blood run cold. “Surely, they are women who will strive to do their best to help her, notwithstanding her allegiance?”

Bretel shifted his feet uneasily. “Again, I report only what I’m told,
milord
. She has laboured for many hours.”