Conquering Passion (17 page)

His hands shook as he removed the seal.

To Comte Ram de Montbryce

If you and your brothers yet live, you will have been devastated by the news of your father’s death. I found it difficult to bear. He was the only loving father I’ve ever had.

Montbryce is a place I have known only humiliation, unhappiness and now death. Will any of you ever return?

I must turn my attention to my beloved Alensonne, where by all accounts my father is making life difficult.

Now you’re the Comte de Montbryce, you must marry a bride more suited to you. I release you from your obligation. You will not now receive Alensonne, Belisle and Domfort in dower, and I don’t yet know how to resolve that problem, as I’m sure they are lands you covet.

Perhaps my diplomatic father will have a solution!

Mabelle de Valtesse (and d’Alensonne)

“Mabelle!” His fist pounded the bolster over and over in frustration, until he collapsed onto it. “I don’t want to be released. I don’t covet your lands, I covet
you
. I want you as my wife, the mother of my children.”

He must have fallen asleep, but felt exhausted when he went to break his fast.

Antoine and Hugh greeted him, their eyes wide with excitement.

“What scheme have you two plotted now?”

“If you leave immediately, you can reach Alensonne in two days. Two days to get there, one day to persuade Mabelle to return with you, two days back, a day to wed her and bed her, three days to get to Westminster.
Voilà,
you’ll arrive a day early for the Coronation on Christmas Day.”

“Antoine, if I’m not at William’s Coronation, I can bid
adieu
to my Earldom. We could miss the right tides, encounter the wrong winds.”

“The choice is yours. The Earldom or Mabelle de Valtesse. Hugh and I are willing to ride with you. You may need some protection from Valtesse. Or perhaps from Mabelle.”

Ram hesitated. What if he went to Alensonne and she rejected him? But he had to try. If he didn’t go now he could be mired in England, possibly for years. “Tell Bonhomme to get provisions ready for the journey. I’ll get the horses saddled and the men-at-arms organized.”

***

“Normandie is abuzz with the news of the upcoming coronation of our Duke as the King of the English,” Guillaume de Valtesse announced to his daughter as they broke their fast. “It’s to take place on Christmas Day. His victory over the Saxons has earned him the name of
Conqueror
.”

His words sent Mabelle’s mind reeling back to the banquet at Montbryce, when she’d returned the Duke’s toast. “Ram foretold he would be known as the Conqueror,” she whispered.

“I’ll never understand why you broke the betrothal. You’re obviously smitten with the man, and we’ll be in great difficulty here if he comes to claim his dower rights.”

Her father shuffled out of the Hall, mumbling. They had argued long and hard when she’d come home to Alensonne. She’d thought to find peace here but all she could think of was Ram de Montbryce—the feel of his lips on hers, his strong arms around her, his hands fondling her hair, her breast—she couldn’t erase the memory of him at the lake, standing almost naked, his arousal obvious. She longed to run her hands over his thighs, his chest, his shoulders. She ached in places she’d never ached before. Her body tingled when she thought of him, and she longed to see him
sans
braies.

However, she’d made her decision. There was no going back now. He wouldn’t want her, never had wanted her. How angry he must have been when he read her letter.

The sound of raised voices disturbed her reverie. Her breathless father reappeared, steward Cormant with him. “I told you he would come for his due. Your betrothed is at the gates, demanding entry.”

He has come?

Her heart lurched when she heard her father giving orders for the men-at-arms to ride out against Ram.

“
Non,
Papa, I don’t want to see blood spilled. We’ll allow him entry, and perhaps negotiate some settlement for the lands. Leave this to me. You’re too apt to lose your temper. Cormant, pass the word the
Comte
de Montbryce is to be allowed entry. Show him to the Great Hall.”

She went to stand on the dais, hoping she looked like the
Milady
of the castle, in control. She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress.

Don’t bite your nails.

“He’s bigger even than I remember,” she murmured when Ram, Antoine and Hugh entered the Great Hall five minutes later. She could tell they’d ridden hard and fast.

What
has he done to his hair?

She balled her fists, trying to still the wild beating of her heart. The sound filled her ears, and she was sure everyone else could hear it. She held out her arms to the three men.
“
Mon seigneur
,
Comte
de Montbryce, my Lords Antoine and Hugh, welcome to my home. Welcome to Alensonne. I grieve with you on the loss of your father—I loved—” She could barely speak the words.

Antoine and Hugh moved quickly to her side and embraced her. “Mabelle,” Antoine whispered in her ear, “Be patient with him.”

She smiled and whispered back, “He looks like his blood is boiling because I’m whispering in your ear.”

Hugh laughed out loud.

Ram clenched his jaw. “Mabelle, I’ve come about our betrothal.”

“You wish to discuss the dowry?”

“
Non!
” he exclaimed. “I haven’t come to discuss the dowry.”

“What he means is he’s here to beg you to come back—” Antoine began.

“I haven’t come to beg,” Ram interrupted.

“He has come to
ask
you to return to Montbryce.”

“I’m capable of speaking for myself. Why not go to tend to our horses, dear brothers?”

“I’m sure the steward—”

“Go! Leave us.”

Antoine and Hugh shrugged their shoulders and left, scarcely able to contain their mirth.

Mabelle took a deep breath. “You seem comfortable giving orders here, but Alensonne isn’t yours yet.”

She fought to control the excitement flooding through her as Ram quickly crossed the space between them. Would he touch her? Take her in his arms? Cradle her to his chest?

He took her hands. “I don’t care about Alensonne. I want you to return to Montbryce with me so we can be married.”

She swayed as she struggled to control her voice and the threatening tears.

“
You’ve
decided this is the right time?”

“My father pledged me to you. It would dishonour his memory if I reneged.”

Her heart sank. She pulled her hands away from his grasp. “I told you, I’ve released you from that pledge. I have no desire to dishonour your father. I loved him. But I don’t want to be wed to a man who is marrying me for the sake of duty.”

She sensed his agitation at her words. He paced nervously for several minutes, running his hand over his short hair. She had to resist the impulse to rush over and tell him of her relief he was alive, that she would be his wife under any circumstances, that she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

He turned to face her. “Mabelle, you’re the woman I want, the woman I need. I am sure of it now, after Hastings. You were my talisman. After the battle, I wanted to join my body to yours, to lose myself in you. I can be overbearing but I’ll try to—why are you crying?”

He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“Ram,” she whispered.

He kissed her fiercely, and her body cried out for him. His hands were on her waist, pulling her to him. She felt his hard male length against her, and the pent up longing burst over her.

“Ram,” she whispered again, her breath catching in her throat as she reached up nervously to run her fingers lightly over his shaven head. “You’re alive—but what have you done to your beautiful hair?”

He laughed and put his arms on her shoulders. “Vaillon shaved it, for Hastings. It will grow back, but it feels strange.”

She leaned on him, her arms around his waist. They clung together for long minutes. She could hear his breathing, feel the beating of his heart. She’d never felt so safe.

“Return to Montbryce with me, Mabelle. Come be my wife, my
Comtesse
.”

She swallowed hard. She’d run away, denied her attraction to this man, but he was her destiny. “I’ll return with you. I invite you to rest here a few days. You’ve had a long journey and the grief of your father’s death. Enjoy Yuletide at Alensonne with me for a while.”

“It would give me great pleasure to see you enjoy your childhood home for a while longer, but I’ve been summoned to the Duke’s coronation in Westminster on Christmas Day. I want to take you there as my bride.”

“But that’s only a few days away!”

“William has promised me an Earldom in England, but if I’m not at the ceremony—”

“You risked it to come here—to get me?”

“You’re the woman I want to marry.”

He’d spoken no words of love but he wanted her enough to risk what was important to him—lands and titles. He would make sure she was safe. Alchemy drew them to each other. They would at least have passion.

“Then we must summon Cormant to prepare for our departure on the morrow. I’m used to travelling fast and light.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Hugh and Ram walked together to the door of the chapel, and Ram took his place with the Bishop, and Antoine. The two brothers grasped each other’s hand as their forearms crossed in a familiar gesture. Antoine slapped him on the back and smiled. Ram kissed the bishop’s ring as he bowed to the cleric.

He wished with all his heart his father still lived and regretted deeply he’d deprived him of the pleasure of seeing him wed. The trio waited a few minutes in nervous silence, then heard a rustling of gowns along with feminine whispers.

Ram’s breath caught in his dry throat when Mabelle came into view on the jaunty arm of her scowling father, who’d insisted on riding to Montbryce with them. He licked his lips. She seemed to be carefully examining the elaborately tiled floor.

Guillaume passed her warm hand into his, and Mabelle stole a glance at him as a jolt passed between them. As the long ceremony progressed, Ram became aware that the tall woman holding his hand tightly with her long slim fingers, was swaying. Was she going to faint? His head filled with images of running his hands over her breasts and hips—they promised fertility and many healthy children.

“Do you, Rambaud de Montbryce, wish to take this woman, Mabelle de Valtesse, de Belisle, d’Alensonne and de Domfort, to be your wedded wife?”

The bishop’s voice brought Ram back to reality. Immersed in his daydream, he’d lost track of where they were in the ceremony.

“I do so wish.”

Mabelle let out her breath.

She thought I might betray her again
.

“Do you, Mabelle de Valtesse, de Belisle, d’Alensonne and de Domfort, wish to take this man, Rambaud de Montbryce, to be your wedded husband?”

This may be the moment she’s chosen for her revenge
.

“I do so wish,” she whispered, her head bowed.

He’d been holding his breath and exhaled slowly.

“I now declare, to all present, they are husband and wife.
Comte
Rambaud de Montbryce, you may kiss your bride.”

They both stood perfectly still for a moment before turning to face each other. His heart racing, he lifted the veil and smiled, scarcely able to believe the erotic passion she provoked in him. Then the unhappy thought came again that he’d come cross his bride lying barely clothed in a meadow.
Had
she been expecting someone? It wasn’t Antoine, but perhaps another man? His smile turned to a frown. Why was she so cool? He bent his head to kiss her. At first she didn’t respond, but as he darted his tongue into her mouth, she opened to him.

Oh yes. She definitely feels the passion.

“Mabelle,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

“
Milord
Ram,” she faltered. “
Milord
, you are—oh what a beautiful weapon!” she giggled, pointing to his sword, a naughty grin on her face. “Is it a family heirloom?”

The Bishop looked at her curiously. Ram suppressed a chuckle at the look of confused perplexity on the cleric’s face.
L’évêque
wasn’t a man who usually showed any emotion. Ram doubted the Bishop had ever known a new bride openly admire her husband’s weapon. He bent to whisper in her ear. “
Oui
, Mabelle, my weapon is a family treasure,” he replied with a smile. “It’s always ready to be of service.”

She reddened and averted her eyes.

None of the guests had heard the exchange. Ram and Mabelle signed the book of records and walked out of the chapel to the Great Hall. Ram gripped her hand, momentarily nervous she might loudly denounce him. Or perhaps he should accuse her, cast her off? But that would mean never experiencing the fulfillment of the passion she aroused in him. No, the die was cast. These were the confused ravings of a newly married man.