If Love Dares Enough (5 page)

“There’s work to be done here for certain. Five years of neglect. I’ll send someone over from Normandie to re-establish it. It has good fields and could produce well if tended.”

Hugh rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “We’ll need someone to oversee all these manors for us, to collect and administer the revenues. We can’t keep crossing the Narrow Sea to solve every problem. Do you have anyone at Belisle capable of that?”

Antoine mimicked his brother’s thoughtful stance. “I’ll need to think on it.”

They had to camp out overnight at East Preston since the house had been overrun with rodents, and pigeons roosted inside and out. The brothers sat gazing into the campfire, rubbing their hands together after holding them to the warmth of the flames. Hugh’s memory went back to the campfire that had warmed the chilled spirits of the three brothers after Hastings. “Melton on the morrow, then back home to Normandie,” he mused.

“Let’s hope Melton isn’t the ruin this is.”

***

“Looks like a handsome property, Hugh. Best we’ve seen so far I’d say.” The impressive stone edifice that was Melton Manor sat on a cliff overlooking the sea. It was a fine house, though the grounds looked neglected and somewhat overgrown.

“I wonder if it’s possible to see Normandie from here on a clear day?” Hugh mused. A strange feeling of homecoming washed over him, yet he’d never set foot there before. He inhaled deeply. “Ah! Nothing like sea air.
Mon Dieu!
Look at the size of those dogs!”

“Let’s hope they’re friendly,” Antoine exclaimed as two mastiffs bounded up to them. “I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of those black jaws.”

Hugh dismounted, keeping a wary eye on the dogs, and braced himself as one stood on its hind legs and planted its massive front paws on his chest, licking his face. The other dog sniffed at Antoine, wagged its tail then lumbered off.

“Well, that beast certainly likes you, little brother,” Antoine laughed as Hugh struggled to remain upright.

An elderly Saxon came to take the reins of their horses and gave them a malevolent look. “Boden!” he snapped. “Heel!”

The dog went immediately to the old man’s side.

“Could be trouble there,” Antoine whispered. “He doesn’t seem very happy.”

Hugh faced the man. “I am Hugh de Montbryce, newly appointed by King William as overlord for this manor. Who is the master here?”

The elderly man glared at them for a few minutes, spat and then turned and walked away. The dog followed him.

Hugh and Antoine both clenched their jaws as they looked at each other, unused to such behaviour from a servant. They walked towards the manor house. “You’ll need to take that one to task, Hugh.”

Hugh paused. “
Oui
, perhaps you’re right, but did you notice something about him? His bearing? I don’t think he’s a stable hand.”

Suddenly the front door of the manor was flung open and a tall, bearded man strode out, sword in hand. “Be gone! Get off my property.”

The mastiff wheeled at the sound of the man’s voice and barked at the figure in the doorway. The old Saxon restrained the animal and pulled it away.

“He’s a Norman!” Antoine hissed. “Can’t he see we’re Normans too? And is he unaware of the armed men we have with us and whose devise they bear on their surcoats?”

“Greetings, friend. We too are Normans,” Hugh began, speaking their common language.

The giant folded his arms across his chest. “You’re too late. This manor is mine now. Move on.”

“We won’t
move on
since I’m entrusted by King William with the oversight of this manor, to make sure it’s properly run and prosperous. I am Lord Hugh de Montbryce, and I’m accompanied by my brother, Lord Antoine de Montbryce. I’m your overlord.”

Hugh noted with satisfaction that the name
Montbryce
registered with the brute as he lowered his sword. Shoulders hunched, his voice defensive, the man said, “All is well here. You can tell his Majesty that Melton Manor is in good hands.”

“I’m confident that is true, however, will you not offer us the hospitality of your home? After a camp cot yestereve, a warm bed in a friendly Norman home wouldn’t go amiss. On the morrow we return to Normandie.”

The giant hesitated before he agreed. “Very well, we’ll prepare a chamber. I am Renouf de Maubadon. Welcome!” he said without warmth. “Bemia! Aediva! Prepare a chamber for visitors,” he yelled to someone in the house. “
Mes seigneurs
, enter. Torod will show you where you can wait while your room is prepared.” Without looking round, he pointed with his thumb to a scowling fellow who had appeared behind him, a man whose face put Hugh in mind of an unripe lemon rind.

Hugh and Antoine followed Torod into the Hall, where preparations were being made for a meal. Hugh noted the high quality of the furnishings and tapestries, but then his eyes fell upon a dishevelled, wild-eyed Saxon woman slumped against the wall, mumbling incoherently. Her hand rested on the head of the dog that had sniffed Antoine. Two young Saxon girls scurried by, eyes downcast, carrying linens.

Hugh spoke to Torod’s back. “Was this a Saxon holding at one time, Torod?”

Torod didn’t turn around. “
Oui
, but it’s Sir Renouf’s now. He wed the daughter of the thane.”

Hugh arched his brow at Antoine, irritated the man had not had the manners to turn around to reply.

Antoine nodded to his brother. “I hope we’ll meet his wife then,” he said to Torod.

Hugh thought the man looked suddenly uncomfortable as he glanced first at them, then furtively towards the stairs. He seemed hesitant to reply, then said, “Lady Devona may come down and she may not. It depends.”

Hugh noticed that Antoine had also arched his brows. “I see. Is she unwell?”

“
Oui
—unwell.”

Unexpectedly, a tall, slender woman appeared at the head of the stairs and started down, her thin fingers gripping the banister. The dog rose, barked a welcome and wagged its tail, then returned to the crone.

Antoine had green eyes, but the ones Hugh looked up into were the greenest he’d ever seen. They were eyes full of pain and hopelessness, and his heart thudded in his chest, echoing the thump, thump of the dog’s tail on the stone floor. Renouf reappeared, seemingly from nowhere, and Hugh was glad his gambeson hid his arousal.

The lord of the manor rushed forward before the visitors could greet the woman and introduced her. “Lady Devona de Maubadon, my wife, these are
milords
Hugh and Antoine de Montbryce.”

The lady nervously proffered her hand, though the long, wide, sleeves hid all but the tips of her fingers. Antoine kissed her hand and Hugh followed suit. The aroma of marigold stole into Hugh’s senses. She didn’t smile, didn’t look directly at him, but his heart lurched again. The hem of her dress swished against the wood of the staircase and her dead eyes flickered for a brief moment when they rested on his trembling hand.

“My lords,” she whispered in a barely audible voice, effecting a curtsey.

Because the wimple covered her hair completely, Hugh couldn’t discern its colour. Though the head garb also hid a goodly portion of her face, he could see she was beautiful, though pale and gaunt. The shabby overdress she wore clung to her breasts and hips, accentuating her figure. It was as if she’d grown out of a dress she’d worn as a girl. Hugh was at once enthralled and offended.

I suppose times have been hard for Saxons. But she has a Norman husband
.

Torod reappeared, indicating their room was ready, and directed them to it. The two Saxon girls were just finishing their task. They seemed nervous and wouldn’t look at the Normans. Once they’d left and the door was closed, Hugh burst out, “Something odd is going on here, Antoine.”

“I agree. It’s a strange atmosphere.”

The brothers readied themselves for the meal, assisting each other with their chain mail since they hadn’t brought a valet. They descended to the Hall, where several men-at-arms were gathered, shouting loudly at the harried Saxon servants. Ram’s men sat apart, watching the others with an air of disgust.

Renouf gave no indication where they were to sit, but they naturally went to the head table as befitted their rank. They exchanged a glance of dismay at the lack of courtesy. The two Saxon girls, Hugh assumed they were Bemia and Aediva, waited on the head table. Lady Devona reddened when they served her food. He was somewhat taken aback when one of the girls carried food to the unkempt woman slumped against the wall, and shared it with her. The still recumbent dog looked on with interest, tongue lolling as it panted.

“Get that madwoman out of here!” Renouf bellowed. “Into the kitchens with all of you. Damn Saxons!”

Brigantia lumbered to her feet and barked at Renouf whose anger was evident. “Get rid of that hound before I cut its head off!”

Obviously agitated, Bemia and Aediva dragged the woman and the protesting dog into the kitchen. Hugh saw that Devona was close to tears, fighting for control.

“Peasants!” Renouf spat. “Saxon peasants.”

Hugh felt anger rise in his throat and clenched his jaw. No one at the head table spoke as the meal continued amid the raucous noise of the men-at-arms. Hugh and Antoine exchanged disapproving glances at the bad manners being exhibited. Devona seemed to be having difficulty eating.

“Eat something, woman!” Renouf shouted, tossing a piece of bread torn from his trencher at her. “You’re skin and bones.”

“I’m not hungr—”

“Eat, woman!” Renouf bellowed.

Devona cringed and leaned forward to eat. She raised a trembling hand to move her wimple aside. Her sleeve fell back to reveal angry red marks on her wrist. Hugh understood now why he had detected the scent of marigold. She must have used it to take the sting from the welts. She quickly withdrew her hand, but not before the wimple had shifted slightly and he saw the purple bruise high on her cheekbone. He stole a glance at Renouf who was engrossed in explaining something to Antoine. His blood boiled. The animal was abusing this fair lady. He remembered Ram’s observations.
No wonder we Normans are hated
.

He experienced a bone-deep desire to cut the man up and feed him to the dogs. He opened his mouth to accuse Renouf but then saw the pleading look in Devona’s eyes as she shook her head ever so slightly. He had an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and promise her she would never be hurt again.

Antoine was carrying on the conversation. “Tell me, Sir Renouf, what of the Saxon thane of this manor?”

“Dead!” Renouf said, his mouth full of food. “At Stamford Bridge.”

“That would be your father, Lady Devona?” Hugh asked gently, a feeling of relief sweeping over him that her father hadn’t died at Hastings thus his death couldn’t be laid at Hugh’s door.

“Yes,” she whispered. “He was slain by a Norwegian giant who took a stand with a battle axe on the bridge. It’s said he mowed down at least two score Saxon warriors before he was impaled on a spear thrust from under the bridge.”

“Well,” Renouf guffawed, “That was two score fewer Saxons for us to dispatch at Hastings, eh?”

Hugh bristled with anger at the brute’s callousness and caught the tension in Antoine’s voice. “My brothers and I both fought at Hastings, Lady Devona. If it’s any consolation I can tell you the Saxon warriors fought with tremendous skill and bravery. I’m sure if he’d survived Stamford Bridge, your father would have fought with honour. Hastings wasn’t an easy victory. It’s incredible to think that the Saxon army had fought that bloody battle against Norway’s King Harald Hardråda two hundred miles to the north just a few days before facing our forces.”

Hugh saw the haunted green eyes well with tears, but then she glanced at Renouf, a look of abject fear on her face. His anger intensified as the din from the now sated men-at-arms increased.

“You were without a man here to take care of the manor, before Hastings?” Antoine continued, almost shouting over the din.

Devona didn’t respond, her eyes fixed on her food.

Renouf took hold of Devona’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s as well I came along when I did, isn’t it,
chérie
?” Hugh saw fear deaden her eyes, and something else—loathing.

He could bear it no longer, afraid he might challenge his Norman host, and stood abruptly. “If you’ll excuse us, Sir Renouf, my brother and I must retire early. We’ve a long journey to Normandie on the morrow.”

“Of course,” Renouf replied coolly, remaining seated.

Hugh could not look at the lady as he left. He sensed she wouldn’t dare watch him leave, though he felt Renouf’s eyes on his back.

***

When they reached their chamber Hugh said urgently, “There’s something very wrong going on here, Antoine.”

“I agree. This is a fine manor, obviously a wealthy holding—at one time anyway. Look at these linens, and the tapestries. Though there’s evidence of neglect.”

“What did you make of the old woman slumped against the wall? Did you notice she too has green eyes, just like Lady Devona?”

Antoine turned abruptly to face his brother. “By the saints, Hugh, it isn’t like you to notice the colour of a woman’s eyes!”

Hugh blushed. “Devona is a beautiful woman, but she’s terrified of her husband.”