Conquering Passion (5 page)

She’d lain awake, worrying she knew nothing of this man to whom she’d been given. Consequently, she’d arrived late for the ceremony, much to her father’s chagrin. No one had asked her opinion. Hard as life was with her father, few paid her much attention most of the time. She was a person of no consequence. There’d been a chance, with her birthright regained, that she could return to her beloved Alensonne. Now another man, a stranger, would control her life. His brothers, Antoine and Hugh, had been warm and welcoming, but what was he like? She and her dead half-brother Arnulf were very different from each other.

At the celebratory banquet, she teased her father. “Now, Papa, the
jongleurs
will sing a different
ballade
about the Valtesse family.”

“And now, daughter, we’re seated
above
the salt.”

The dark red wine and ale were plentiful, the courses many. They dined on roasted pheasants flavoured with tarragon from the herb gardens, pigeons sprigged with rosemary, and suckling pigs. The woman who reigned supreme in the kitchens, known simply by the name of her calling,
La Cuisinière
, had roasted the piglets on spits. Mabelle, used to wandering in and out of kitchens, had seen her shooing away, with a large wooden spoon, anyone who tried to steal the crisp crackling of the succulent meat.
La Cuisinière
used her secret recipe to produce a memorable dish with trout caught by the steward’s men. There was yellow cheese in wedges, the famous
fromage cremeux
de Montbryce, and coarse black bread.

Guillaume’s voice dominated, and Mabelle was content her father was happy, enjoying the honour he felt was his due. But she worried about her betrothed. Why had he failed to appear in the Great Hall the night he’d been home?
Comte
Bernard had apologised for his son’s absence, obviously irritated. Antoine had muttered some excuse about an appointment. She had an idea of what that meant. Ram was evidently not in a hurry to meet her.

She should be relieved her father had given her to a wealthy family. Life would be much more comfortable. She would be the wife of a liege lord when her future husband inherited the title of
Comte
. Wasn’t it everything she’d wanted for a long time?

***

“A messenger has arrived from Montbryce
, milord
.” Cormant handed the missive to Ram and turned to leave.

“A moment. I may need to send a reply.” Ram unfurled the letter, scanned it, and swore.

“I trust it’s not bad news from home
, milord
?”

Ram scratched his head. “I’m betrothed, Cormant. To a girl I’ve never met. I’d hoped it would come to nought, but my father has signed the betrothal documents.”

Cormant, seemingly ill at ease with this moment of familiarity, offered, “It’s often the way,
milord,
for the sons of great families.”

Ram shrugged. “I wish I’d at least met her. You know her perhaps? The daughter of your lord.”

Cormant looked at him with surprise. “Mabelle de Valtesse? I remember her as a child, before her father’s ouster brought us Arnulf.”

“So, you have no knowledge of her upbringing, her education? I’m not sure about her—suitability.”

He felt uneasy. Perhaps he’d said too much to this servant already. He made an effort to explain. “I’ve met your lord—my future father-by-marriage, it seems.”

Cormant remained silent. Ram looked him in the eye. “I don’t envy you the task of dealing with Valtesse when he returns.”

Cormant’s face gave away nothing. “
Milord
.”

Ram read the missive again and rolled it up. Holding it in one hand, he tapped it absent-mindedly against his thigh. “Send the scrivener to me. I’ll dictate a reply. I might remind my father this isn’t the time to be marrying.”

“Is there ever a right time to marry,
milord
?”

Ram smiled. The man had mistaken his meaning. “I’ll be off to war with our Duke.”

Cormant looked impressed. “You’ll be accompanying his Grace in his quest for the English throne?”

Ram squared his shoulders, proud he could slap Cormant on the back and declare, “
Oui
, of that I’m sure.” Then his thoughts went back to the news of his betrothal. “We must redouble our efforts to secure Alensonne now it’s part of my betrothed’s dowry. Seems I have no choice. My inevitable wedding is in a sennight.”

***

Mabelle wanted to explore the castle Montbryce, where she would live when she and Ram were married and rule as the
Comtesse
in the future. “Perhaps if I can find my way around, it won’t seem so overwhelming,” she suggested to
Comte
Bernard.

He instructed the steward, Fernand Bonhomme, to conduct a tour. Mabelle was grateful for a knowledgeable guide to the immense place. They viewed halls, galleries and chambers. Mabelle had spent the last six years in one castle or another, but she’d not seen such beauty, nor felt such comfort and warmth, since she’d been a child in Alensonne.

“It’s beautiful,” she kept saying to Bonhomme. “Everything is beautiful.” It was hard to believe it might one day be hers.

They arrived at a chamber with a stout oaken door. “And this,
milady
, is the chamber of your betrothed.”

Mabelle entered nervously. It was a man’s room. Red predominated in the hangings and furnishings. Weapons and shields adorned the walls, wolf skin rugs warmed the floor. A woven Flemish tapestry depicting a battle covered one wall. She ran her hand over the rich brocade of the bed coverings, snatching her hand away when she became aware of the tall steward’s eyes on her.

The thought of sharing this bed with a man she’d never met was overwhelming, and her stomach turned over. She had little knowledge of men, despite the harsh life they’d lived. Her father was a difficult man, but he had protected her. Would Ram be patient? Would he treat her well? The room seemed so masculine, with no place for a woman. Would he expect her to keep to a chamber of her own?

“Shall we continue,
milady
?”

They toured the kitchens, the smithy, the chapel, the stores, the larder, the smokehouse, the herb garden, and even the chicken coop, though Bonhomme carefully avoided the manure pile. In the stables she found her mare.

“Sibell will love her own clean stable,” she confided to the steward, who was also stroking the horse. “I used to bring her morsels from the tables. She’ll be well taken care of here.”

“
Oui, milady
. The Montbryces take good care of their horses.”

He assisted her to ascend the stone steps to the ramparts, from where they looked down on the vast stretches of land surrounding the castle. “This is the Montbryce
demesne
,” he declared, spreading out both his arms expansively. “As far as the eye can see.”

Mabelle smiled. “You’re proud of it.”

“
Milady
, I’ve been the trusted steward of the Montbryce estate for many years, taking over from my father before me. One of my sons will succeed me when the time comes.”

“Oh, look!” she exclaimed, pointing out to the west. “Over there—a patch of bluebells, at the edge of the forest.” She closed her eyes, remembering the warm springs and summers of Alensonne, tucked away in the south west corner of Normandie, on the river Sarthe. She heard again her mother’s tinkling laughter as they gathered armfuls of bluebells in the open fields surrounding the castle. Now the bluebells were a dim and distant memory, like her mother. “Is it safe to go there?”

“
Oui
,
milady
. Provided you don’t go too far into the forest. There are wild boar.”

“I’ll be careful. Has there been any word from my betrothed?”

Bonhomme shook his head. “Not that I know of,
milady
. But don’t worry, he’s very punctual.”

Punctual? I suppose that’s a good thing. Unless he expects it of me!

Fernand took her hand and helped her descend the steps.

“
Merci,
Fernand. I appreciate your taking the time to show me everything. It’s a big castle, and you run it well.”

Now came his turn to blush. “
Merci
,
milady
. My pleasure,” he gushed as his wife joined them. She bowed to Mabelle. “
Milady
, the seamstresses are waiting for you in your chamber.”

Madame Bonhomme accompanied her to the fitting. The servant seemed friendly as she chattered on. “The dressmakers have never worked so hard. They’ve been plying their needles from morning till night, preparing shifts, nightgowns, wimples, hose, chemises and dresses for you. The
pièce de resistance
will be the gown for the ceremony itself.”

Madame Bonhomme was seemingly unable to take small strides, and Mabelle had to run to keep up with her.

“I’ve never worn anything as fine. There have been so many fittings, pinnings, twirlings, and adjustments, I’m beginning to feel like a pincushion. Is there word from my betrothed?” It bothered her she seemed driven to ask about him.

“Not that I’m aware, but
milord
Rambaud is always—”

“I know—punctual. But what is he like?”

“Oh, he’s a handsome devil. A great soldier, counsellor to Duke William, despite his youth.”

Was he kind, thoughtful, or a tyrant? She couldn’t voice these questions aloud to this loyal Montbryce servant.

When they reached the chamber, Mabelle submitted once more to the ministrations of the dressmakers, and the steward’s wife took her leave. Mabelle looked down at the peasant woman adjusting her gown. Again, curiosity got the better of her. “Tell me, Bette, what is my betrothed like?”

Bette blushed and giggled. “Oh,
milady
, forgive me for saying, but
milord
Rambaud has eyes that could make women do foolish things.”

“Ouch!”

“Sorry,
milady
, just a pin.”

The pit in Mabelle’s stomach widened further. She’d been chewing her nails—a new habit. She hastily curled her fingertips into her palms. Doing foolish things with a man was something beyond her comprehension. Such a man would want to dominate her. Would she grow to love him? She had to meet him first.

CHAPTER FIVE

The day before the wedding, a message had come from Ram with assurances to his father he was on his way home, and would arrive in time for the ceremony.

“He expresses frustration at being delayed in Alensonne. He wanted to ensure all was as it should be, now those lands and titles will be part of your dowry, Mabelle,”
Comte
Bernard told her as they dined together in the Great Hall. “He received the message of the betrothal two days after we signed the document. He needed to investigate any lingering threat from the Giroux family but has heard no rumours of this. He sends you greetings.”

“Greetings,” she mumbled, struggling to control her disappointment that she wouldn’t meet him until their wedding. These nagging doubts hadn’t left her as the interminable night dragged on, and she woke from a fitful sleep before dawn on her wedding day, feeling tired and irritable, bemoaning the state of her fingernails.

She needed fresh air. Suddenly, she remembered the field of bluebells espied from the battlements. Bonhomme had assured her it was safe. Perhaps that was what she needed—an hour alone to recall happier days.

She leapt to her feet and dressed quickly, as she’d done for years, in a homespun chemise and sage green surcoat, with ample skirts down to her feet. She tied the braided woollen belt at her waist, pinned up her hair and stole out of the bailey, carrying a basket from the kitchens. Peasant garb had proven to be the surest way to pass unnoticed among servants already up and busy around a castle. They’d be looking for her soon enough to prepare for the ceremony.

She followed the path across the meadow. The fragrance of the apple blossom from the nearby orchard filled the air. Tension melted from her body as her bare feet touched the dew-laden grass. Turning to face the rising sun, she caught a glimpse of a lark high in the sky, filling the air with its tribute to the dawn, and shielded her eyes. Then, in a whirl of feathers, the bird had disappeared, snatched from the air by a sudden silent hawk. A chill swept over her, and her shoulders tensed. She blinked rapidly and hurried on.

She reached the carpet of blue and stooped to pluck the squeaky, hollow stems of the wildflowers, humming as the bunch grew in her basket. She tried in vain to think of something other than her impending marriage. Wandering in penury, she’d longed to be free to make her own decisions. Now that seemed unlikely, but at least she would no longer be sleeping on stone floors or working in kitchens.

Bees buzzed busily among the bluebells. She became flushed as the unseasonably warm April sun rose higher, and soon sought the shade of the white-barked birch trees at the edge of the forest, lured by the cooling sound of the warm gentle breeze rustling the leaves.

The basket became unwieldy. She set it down and bent to resume her gathering. She’d strayed far into the forest and was on the point of turning back when a glint of sunlight caught her eye. Venturing a few steps further, she smiled at the sight of a shimmering lake.