The Dumont Bride (22 page)

T
he next two days went quickly for him and a sense of calm filled him. For the first time in months, he felt as though he were in control. And he felt confident that he would prevail in this battle today.

The first surprise to appear in the tent that was erected near the field of battle for his use was his trunk of armor and his sword. This was surely a favorable sign. Fighting in his own mail and with his sword would give him an advantage over fighting in the borrowed armor he had planned on using.

The second surprise was not so pleasant. He turned to thank Luc for his efforts in retrieving his armor from Greystone and faced John Plantagenet instead.

“My lord,” he said as he offered a mediocre bow to the prince.

“Dumont.” John dropped the flap of the tent and walked closer to him. “I came to wish you well in the combat.”

“Did you, my lord? I would think you would wish me dead.”

John laughed. “I do hate to lose a man with your
sense of humor. Actually, yes, your death would assure my plans were successful. As they will be.”

John circled the small tent, examining his armor.

“DeSeverin told me of documents that would give you clear right to Harbridge. Why did you not use them and avoid this?”

“They were forgeries, just as the ones you provided to William.”

“You still believe that honor will prevail here?”

He did not answer.

“Gaspar thought the same thing and, try as I might to convince him to cooperate for the good of all, he refused on his honor. You see where he is now?” John laughed and the sound of it grated on his nerves. “Do you know what will defeat you this day, Dumont?”

“I am certain you wish to tell me, my lord.”

“You will defeat yourself this day. For you know in your heart that William fights for his child and because he loves the countess. You will not be able to kill him if you get the chance. You are your own worst enemy.”

Christian fought to remain calm, for he knew this tactic. He must remain focused on his battle and not be distracted by words, no matter how inflammatory they were.

John lifted the flap and stepped under it. “Mayhap the countess’s next whelp will bear his Plantagenet grandfather’s russet hair?” Laughing harshly, he left.

Christian stood in the center of the tent, opening and closing his fists, over and over again. Losing control would end in disaster. He knew that, but it was difficult to separate the words from the feelings.

“He is correct…you are your own worst enemy.” Luc entered behind him and drew the flap down.

“My thanks for your supportive words.” Christian made a rude gesture at Luc who laughed in reply.

“He goes now to visit DeSeverin to stir his resolve, like a puppet master pulling strings.”

“There is not much time and we have much to discuss. Here,” he said, lifting a gauntlet from the trunk, “help me dress.”

“Relegated to the duties of a squire? Will the disrespect never cease?”

The bantering stopped as they both focused on the preparations needed for the combat. Luc helped him slide his mail shirt on over the linen one and then distributed the weight of it over his heavy leather belt. Then he attached the metal segments meant to keep his arms and legs protected. Piece by piece, the armor surrounded him until he was ready for battle.

As Luc handed his helmet to him, Christian could wait no longer. “There is a small casket inside my trunk,” he said as he met his friend’s gaze. “If need be, you will find my instructions within.”

“I will not need instructions, my lord.”

“I intend to be here to burn them, but…”

Luc nodded. They both knew what was inside that casket. His will naming Geoffrey his heir to their Pontevin lands and titles. Instructions on his burial. A letter to Emalie.

“He feints to his left and likes to deliver the
coup de Jarnoc
from that side.”

Christian nodded. His friend had gathered some extraordinary information about Sir William’s fighting habits. DeSeverin liked the French maneuver of cutting his opponent’s hamstring.

“Kill him, Chris. Do not play. Do not show him compassion.”

“Is it arranged?”

Luc had discovered DeSeverin’s other weakness. His young sister had disappeared into John’s custody and was undoubtedly the instrument of his downfall. Luc nodded and handed him his sword. Sliding it into its sheath, he waited for Luc’s agreement.

“Aye, my lord,” Luc forced out. “Our men are on their way even now.”

“Regardless of the outcome.”

“Do you not see that unless you kill him, nothing will change for her? If William lives, John will simply snatch the girl back and use her and Emalie to continue his control. The raping will go on, of the land and of the innocents. Killing him is the only way. In that, at least you will save the girl and your lady.”

Luc pulled on some of the straps, making unneeded adjustments, and then he stepped away to check over the fit. When satisfied that all was well, he looked at Christian.

“Harden your heart, Chris. Stop fighting yourself and fight your real enemy. May the righteous prevail, my lord.”

Luc slapped him on the shoulders and left. Ready for battle, he walked from the tent and headed to the strip of land they would use as a battleground. A priest waited to shrive both men. Prepared, body and soul, Christian could not wait for it to begin.

DeSeverin fought like a madman. Christian had read stories of Viking berserkers and this must be what they looked like on the attack. Christian went on the defensive and simply tried to stay upright against this onslaught. Hoping that this initial strength would wane,
he met every blow and waited. He could only imagine what John had threatened to make DeSeverin fight so.

On and on it went, for almost an hour. Both helmets were long gone and their shields followed soon. He bled from a slicing blow to his shoulder, but managed to put a massive dent in DeSeverin’s chest plate, making it difficult for the man to breathe as heavily as he needed to. He seemed to come back to himself then and Christian felt the battle become more equal. He waited for his opportunity. Working with his sword, he forced DeSeverin to defend his weakened side and exposed his own leg as he circled.

DeSeverin went for it as he expected and Christian knocked him down with a blow to the jaw using the hilt of his sword. He spoke as his opponent rolled to his feet.

“I have your sister.”

If his words were heard, DeSeverin gave no sign. They fought on.

He did not know if he said the words to convince himself or to relieve William’s burden, but he repeated them.

“I have your sister. She is free of John.”

William stumbled then and it gave Christian the perfect opportunity.

Distracted.

He pulled a small dagger from under his chest plate and used it and his sword to send William’s sword flying away and into the dirt.

Disarmed.

After a stunned moment, William went running to retrieve it. Christian followed closely behind, waiting for that second of delay as he bent down to grab it.

The blow to his back sent William sprawling on the
ground. Christian walked over and shoved his sword into the exposed neck. Blood spurted from the wound, turning the ground below him into mud.

Destroyed.

Looking down on his enemy, Christian whispered, echoing Luc’s words of warning, “Killing you is the only way to save both of them.”

Dropping his sword next to the body, he turned to the stands where the bishop, the clerics, the prince and others watched the battle. He could barely move, but he forced himself forward. Until the bishop pronounced the words, it was not over.

He tugged off his gauntlets and tucked them under his belt. Wiping the sweat and blood from his face, he searched for Emalie in the stands. He had not let himself see her before or during the combat, for he knew the look of love and fear on her face would be his great weakness. Now he needed to see her.

Luc escorted her toward him and he watched as she approached. Her gaze kept going to the body on the field and he feared she would not forgive him for what he had done. When she would have embraced him, he held her away from the blood and dirt on his armor.

“I want to hear the bishop’s pronouncement.”

They walked together to the edge of the field. The bishop stood next to an obviously unhappy prince. When asked what to do with William’s body, John shrugged and strode away. He glanced over to Luc and nodded. Understanding his order, Luc went off to make arrangements for the body.

“In the matter of the claim of Sir William DeSeverin to a prior betrothal to the Lady Emalie Montgomerie, this court declares that the claim has been proved false.”

After a pause, the bishop continued. “In the matter of the validity of the marriage of the countess of Harbridge, Lady Emalie Montgomerie, to
le Comte de Langier,
Lord Christian Dumont, and in the matter of his rights to all titles, lands and properties as her lawful husband, this court declares that the marriage is valid and all progeny of that marriage are legitimate, with all rights of inheritance.” The bishop and the clerics left the stands quickly.

Christian grunted and Emalie smiled. The clerk of the court informed him that a copy of the court’s findings would be sent to him. He felt better having a copy, but prayed that it would never be needed.

The rest of the day was spent in packing and moving the countess to their lodgings. Then Christian finally was granted the pleasure of a steaming bath and a fine meal. Emalie would not leave him for a moment, so he was forced to endure her attentions in the bath and at the meal. When he had put up with the well-wishers for what he deemed an appropriate amount of time, he stood and demanded that they leave. Emalie began to argue, so he kissed her over and over until she was breathless, and then he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the room they would share.

The bed was not as comfortable as the one in her room at home, but it would serve his purposes this night. It would hold them both.

He placed her on her feet and stirred the fire in the hearth. Christian intended to keep her warm with his body, but the room was too cold for even his tastes. Then he turned his attentions to her. As he had done so many times, he unlaced her sleeves and then her tunic. Taking off everything but her shift and her
woolen stockings, he pulled back the covers on the bed and helped her in.

She frowned at him. “I do not understand.”

“Until Enyd tells me there is no problem,” he said as he tore off his clothes as was his practice and climbed in next to her, “we will not engage in that.”

His body told a different tale and it was not long before she noticed. Truly, all he wanted to do was hold her. He wanted to learn the feel of her again, for many weeks had passed since he had touched her like this. She pressed her back against his body until he wanted to scream.

“That?”

“We will not join. I do not want to cause you more injury, Emalie.”

“I am well, Christian. Even the healer at the convent said all was well.”

“The healer at the convent was not thinking of you engaging in sexual practices when she declared you well.” He shifted and turned to his side. “I just want to hold you, Emalie.”

“I am not comfortable this way.”

He waited and watched as she pushed the covers back, pulled her shift over her head and threw it on the floor. Then she slid back next to him and lay on her back, exposing all to his gaze. His erection pressed into her hip and he realized that she was torturing him. He pulled the covers over them and tried to enjoy the closeness.

“Did you know that a woman can sheathe a man in places other than between her thighs?”

He choked at her words. “How do you know such a thing?”

“Fatin. She said that a woman can use her hands…”

She used her hands around him to demonstrate her newfound knowledge. He could not breathe as she cupped him. He grew harder and thicker in her grasp. Then, as suddenly as she began, she stopped.

“Emalie,” he whined. “What do you now?”

“There was another place that interested me, Christian. Fatin said that a woman’s mouth can bring pleasure to a man by taking him inside.”

She pushed back the covers and studied him. Her gaze was like a caress, sliding over the length of him. She moved her face closer and closer to him. The tension grew and he waited for the touch of her mouth. She teased him unmercifully with the tip of her tongue and her lips until he groaned with his release.

It took him some time to regain his breath from her ministrations. His wife was still an innocent who did not know her own appeal. She would kill him with pleasure if this curiosity continued.

“Christian?” she whispered.

“Aye?”

“Fatin said…”

“I can see that I will need to speak to Fatin about appropriate subjects to be discussed in the solar.”

“Did you not enjoy that?”

“Oh yes, Emalie, very much.”

“Fatin said that a man can use his mouth…”

He turned and showed her exactly how many ways a man could use his mouth before she could finish the sentence.

She waited for him to wake. They lay like spoons next to each other and she could feel his breathing, deep and steady, against her back. She knew that he would wake and watch her very soon.

“Are you well?” His voice sent shivers through her, and his breath tickled her ear as he spoke so close to it.

“I was thinking about William.”

“Not what I would like you to be thinking about while abed with me, but understandable.” His understanding was one of the things she loved most about him. “What were you thinking about?”

“What made him follow John? Why would he do it?”

Christian did not answer and she felt as though he was withholding something. She would give him time to tell her in his own way.

“Did you know that William had a sister?”

“Aye. I have not seen her in many years. How did you know?”

“I sent one of my men to find out as much as I could about him before the proceedings. Knowing your enemies is more important than knowing your friends.”