Once Upon a Historical Christmas, page 16
Two children, also in night attire, clung to her, their faces pinched with cold. This woman was no servant, and certainly not what he’d envisioned when Axel had mentioned de Moreville’s sister was a spinster. She was no longer a girl, but a man could do worse than wake each morning tangled in those golden tresses.
His body’s betrayal of Belinda’s memory stuck in his craw and quickly put paid to the pleasant stirrings at the base of his spine. He’d become reconciled to a life of celibacy. Male urges were something he’d trained himself to suppress. His desire to sire children had resulted in his wife’s untimely demise.
“What’s amiss, milord?” Axel asked.
“Naught,” he replied too abruptly, turning Trogen. “We’ll sleep in the stables at Bures and wait.”
The Holly Bears A Berry
Anna Markland
FIRST MEETING
Saturday, December 26th 1170
It was still dark when a rooster crowed, but Barr was already awake. The stables at Bures were warm and the straw clean, but he’d spent most of the night revisiting the events of the previous evening and come to one inescapable conclusion. Hugh de Moreville and his companions had taken the king at his word and truly believed he wanted them to solve the problem of Archbishop Thomas Becket. What’s more, they might not be the only knights to pick up the gauntlet Henry had thrown down.
It was possible the monarch had intended to stir action against Becket, though he thought Henry more politically astute than that. More likely it was one of his usual fits of rage. However, intimidating Becket might turn out to be a successful ploy. It was well known the king had tried everything else to convince the archbishop of the monarchy’s jurisdiction over the church.
He hoped intimidation was all de Moreville had in mind. Anything more drastic would bring the wrath of Rome down on Henry’s head.
He crossed his legs at the ankles and put his hands behind his head, aware of a rustling in the straw nearby. “I’m not asleep,” he assured Axel.
Trogen nickered at the sound of his voice.
“Your steed knows you, Sir Barr.”
He stretched, not looking forward to another cold day in the saddle. “Indeed.”
The youth yawned. “Forgive me for asking, milord, but I’ve often wondered…”
Barr chuckled inwardly, ready for Axel’s question.
“Your name, milord, er, it’s not French, nor English, nor…”
“It’s a nickname,” he explained. “A sobriquet, if you will. It’s short for Bernard Alexandre Rambaud Robert—the names of four generations of my ancestors. Alexandre is my father, of course, but Barr was my mother’s idea. She’s a Scot.”
“Oui, I met her. She came to Alensonne once with your father when I was a boy.”
“You said your uncle is the steward, but I suppose you and your family have lived there many years too?”
“Only me,” Axel replied. “My parents died when I was a child. My uncle took me in. He’s like a father to me.”
Barr was moved to offer condolences, but the distant sound of jangling harness caught their attention. They got up quickly and hurried to the door of the stables.
“It’s the de Morevilles,” Axel confirmed, peering into the first grey streaks of dawn.
“I must be getting old,” Barr muttered to himself, only able to make out a dust cloud on the horizon. It was a sharp reminder that he was no longer a keen-eyed youth. A sudden surge of loneliness washed over him. When he succeeded to the title of Comte de Montbryce, his responsibilities would increase tenfold, and life would be even lonelier—without a partner.
He should heed the call to join the Templars and pass his inheritance to his brother. But, despite his determination to remain celibate, the life of a warrior-monk held no appeal. What’s more, Stephen was more interested in jousting and carousing with his friends than in the day-to-day responsibilities of running a large castle and overseeing many far-flung estates. Barr had already assumed many of his father’s duties, but Stephen avoided work like the plague.
Their father had admitted to his sons that for many years he’d been determined never to wed—until he met Elayne Dunkeld. Now, Alexandre de Montbryce constantly extolled the advantages of having a loving wife to share the burdens.
Barr had been married, although loving wasn’t a word that came to mind when he thought of Belinda. Dutiful, hard-working, serious; all fine qualities, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing her with her hair down. Even when they were abed, she wore a nightcap.
He’d wager Hugh de Moreville’s sister didn’t wear a bonnet to bed.
Dieu! He’d set eyes on the woman once and couldn’t seem to get her out of his head. He didn’t even know her name.
“Milady Hollis is beside the man driving the wagon,” Axel said, jolting him out of his reverie. “The children must be inside with the baggage. Your cousins are sharing a horse. Four other riders.”
Hollis! Another unusual name, reminiscent of the English word holly. She was probably just as prickly, although the evergreen shrub was resilient and bore pretty red berries, hard, like…
Fyke!
He straightened his shoulders and peered into the gloom, stupidly disappointed Hollis de Moreville had bound her hair up in some sort of turban affair. It actually added an allure, an elegance that Belinda had lacked…
Arrête!
“What’s our plan?” Axel asked.
Barr leaned back against the wooden wall, struggling to get his mind off rigid nipples. “If we follow at a distance, there’s always a chance they’ll see us. It would be better to find out where they are going in the first place.”
“Your relatives might know,” Axel suggested. “I think Lord Westmorland is sending them into the castle.”
Barr looked out. The lady still sat beside the wagon driver. The knights had dismounted and were milling around. William and Martin were striding towards the entry to the castle kitchens. “They’re going in for provisions. Follow and find out where they are headed. I’ll speak to Hugh, and his sister.”
Axel hesitated. “But won’t that…”
“Go.”
~~~
The wagon had traveled a scant three miles, and already Hollis was exhausted after a sleepless night spent fuming over the unexpected turn of events. Not to mention she’d been obliged to pack all her own belongings and those of the children. Hugh had been stingy with servants since they’d left England, claiming not to trust Norman peasants. It was more likely he was content to let his sister do all the work of running a household.
It was a blessing the boys had fallen back to sleep in the wagon. If, pray God, they slept until the Narrow Sea was behind them, it would be a Yuletide miracle. She shuddered at the prospect of the voyage, having managed to hold on to the contents of her belly on her first crossing to Normandy, but only just. The children had both been violently ill. The one selfish consolation was that Hugh had been equally stricken.
Inconvenient as this journey was, she would be in England before the end of December. The hope was they would celebrate Epiphany at home in Burgh.
She’d worried about sustenance for the journey. The Norman cook had stormed out of the house in a huff, refusing to provide food for the excursion. Hollis suspected her brother had neglected to pay the woman’s wages. His decision to send the FitzRam boys to the castle kitchen in search of victuals was welcome.
She noticed two men leave the stables and greet the twins. One carried on walking with the FitzRams; the other seemed to notice the wagon and turned in her direction.
He was tall, older than she was, probably married—the handsome ones always were. Or they lay in a distant grave, like her betrothed—killed in a meaningless skirmish with Scots who’d invaded Cumbria yet again.
The approaching knight obviously knew the FitzRams. Perhaps he was another of her brother’s cronies, though Hugh’s clenched jaw and frowning scowl seemed to indicate he wasn’t pleased to see the newcomer.
When Hugh and his friends formed a barrier between him and the wagon, he must have sensed he wasn’t welcome, yet he strode on without hesitation, hand outstretched.
Her brother braced his legs. “Montbryce! It’s a surprise to see you up and about so early.”
Despite the winter chill, a wave of heat rolled up Hollis’ spine. The dark-haired knight belonged to the Montbryce clan—one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the combined kingdom of Normandie and England. Even in faraway Burgh, folk knew of their extensive holdings and their noble reputation throughout Henry’s realm.
Montbryce forced his hand into Hugh’s, shaking it heartily. “I could say the same for you, my Lord Westmorland. Where are you off to at this hour, and who is this lovely lady?”
Hollis was tempted to laugh when Montbryce nigh on elbowed Hugh aside to get to her, but her brother would later find some means to retaliate if he thought he was being mocked. In any case, she was preoccupied with tucking wayward strands of hair beneath the silly turban she wished she hadn’t worn.
He reached up to help her down from the wagon. “Sir Barr de Montbryce, milady,” he said softly, his blue eyes full of mischief.
She glanced at Hugh and in a fit of lunatic rebellion decided to ignore the shaking of his head. Sir Barr was taking delight in annoying her brother. She didn’t know the reason, but why not play along? “Lady Hollis de Moreville, Hugh’s sister,” she replied in a seductive voice she didn’t recognize when he put his hands on her waist and lifted her down. It was easier to wear most of what she owned rather than pack it. His warmth penetrated the layers of woolen clothing.
She gripped his broad shoulders, holding on when her feet touched the ground. The sheer height of the man made her dizzy.
“You’re English,” he said with a smile, apparently unwilling to take his powerful hands off her body. Not that she wanted him to.
She’d enjoyed discreet kisses and hugs with Gareth of Hexham before his untimely death. There was nothing unseemly about Sir Barr’s actions and yet she was suddenly in the grip of a fever the like of which she’d never felt with Gareth. She dragged her gaze away from his chest and looked up at his face. His eyes said he liked what he saw. For the first time in years, she was a beautiful, desirable woman. “Yes,” she murmured in reply. “We’re going home.”
Hugh stalked to her side, took her hand and pulled her away. “Have a care. My sister is unmarried. You will sully her reputation.”
Montbryce kept his eyes locked with hers. “Such was not my intent,” he assured her. “I am a widower.”
Her spirits soared.
“Your reputation is safe,” he continued. “I intend to join the Templars.”
A child’s cry from within the wagon saved her from swooning with disappointment. Sir Barr de Montbryce had toyed with her in order to annoy Hugh. She might have known he wouldn’t be genuinely interested. “I must see to my charges,” she muttered, noticing William, Martin and the third youth returning from the kitchens laden with baskets.
“Safe journey to Burgh,” Montbryce called as she climbed into the back of the wagon.
She was surprised he knew the name of the remote de Moreville family castle in Cumbria but, in any case, they weren’t going there first. She paused, wondering why Hugh’s voice had suddenly taken on a friendlier tone as he replied, “Aye. It’s a long trek.”
Unable to see what was transpiring, she listened. Sir Barr bade the FitzRam twins farewell. She detected a note of hesitation in his deep voice, as if there was something he wanted to say, but…
They were on the point of departure when he asked Hugh, “You’re all bound for Cumbria?”
“No,” one of Hugh’s comrades replied. “I’m for Bovey Tracy, my home in Devon. We’re all tired of the never-ending drama of Norman politics and there’s safety in numbers on the road.”
“You’ll go by way of Ouistreham, I take it?” Montbryce persisted. “My family always uses that route. We maintain a boat and crew there for the crossings.”
“As do we,” Hugh answered, now sounding more like his cantankerous self.
Hollis stroked her young nephew’s hair as he fussed, encouraging him to go back to sleep, all the while wondering why Montbryce was so interested in their journey and why Hugh had lied.
~~~
“They’re lying,” Barr said to Axel, regretting he’d not insisted the FitzRam boys remain with him. But, so far, he only had suspicions as to what Hugh was up to. “The de Morevilles have never kept a boat manned and ready at Ouistreham. It’s likely they are headed for Le Havre. What did the lads say?”
Axel nodded. “You’re right. They’re bound for Barham.”
“I don’t know it.”
“According to William, Barham Court is a manor house near Canterbury.”
Barr drove his fist into his palm. “My suspicions may be well-founded. Becket is in danger.”
A faint trace of a scent he couldn’t name drifted into his nostrils. He touched his fingertips to his nose, remembering Hollis’ slender form beneath the layers of clothing. “Mayhap I am wrong,” he told Axel. “Surely Hugh wouldn’t involve his innocent family in such a dire plot.”
“I doubt they know of his intentions. Whatever he’s about, the plan has been hastily hatched. William and Martin are perplexed at the abrupt departure but I don’t think they sense danger.”
Barr was perplexed. “They perhaps think it’s another instance of de Moreville’s erratic behavior.”
“Should we follow them?” Axel asked.
“No need. We’ll make our own way to Canterbury to avoid rousing suspicion. The archbishop must be warned.”
His servant grinned. “Finally, I get to see England. Will you join the Templars after our mission?”
It came as a surprise to Barr to realize he wasn’t even considering such a thing any longer. “Non. It’s my duty to take up the mantle of Montbryce from my father.”
It sounded onerous even to his own ears. Montbryce had always been his birthright, his proud destiny, though he admitted to an uneasy feeling of dread in recent years as the enormous responsibility loomed closer. Perhaps his father was right—a comte needed a worthy comtesse. He was expected to sire heirs. His gut clenched at the memory of what had happened the last time he’d impregnated a woman.
Axel shrugged. “I thought you told Milady de Moreville…or was that simply to put her off?”
The question took him aback. He truly didn’t know why he’d mentioned the Templars to Hollis. “Why would she be put off?”
“She seemed taken with you.”
“You evidently haven’t learned to keep such observations to yourself, young man,” Barr chastised, suddenly feeling as randy as an untried youth who’s been told a demoiselle with warm brown eyes is interested in him.
“Your pardon, milord,” Axel replied. “Mon oncle always says it’s important to be honest.”
There was no good answer to that, so Barr set off for the stables. “Pack your things and meet me in an hour. Do you have a horse?”
The Holly Bears A Berry
Anna Markland
CROSSING
Hollis spent the hours in the back of the wagon napping while the children slept, or staggering to secure baggage that threatened to topple over, or explaining patiently to her whining nephews that cold meat pie was indeed all there was to eat, or calling a halt while the boys saw to nature’s call in the bushes.
On one such occasion, she was surprised to discover two of Hugh’s friends were no longer with them.
Martin FitzRam apparently took note of her frown. “Sir Richard and Sir William left us a few miles back. It seems they intend to cross the Narrow Sea from another port.”
She climbed back into the wagon somewhat reassured. The uneasy feeling Hugh and his friends were plotting nefarious deeds began to ease. They were bound for different parts of England, as William de Tracy claimed.
Darkness had fallen when they arrived in Le Havre. Her limbs were stiff with cold and she appreciated Martin FitzRam’s help climbing out of the wagon. She felt sorry for the redhead. The winter chill had stolen the color from his normally ruddy complexion, leaving his nose a beacon on his pale face. “I suppose my brother will find us a place to stay overnight,” she said.
“No, my lady,” he replied. “He and Sir Reginald have gone to find a boat.”
Exactly fifty years before, hundreds of Anglo-Norman noblemen and women had drowned when their galley struck a rock during a night crossing and sank. Among the dead was the Crown Prince of England, the son of Henry I. The monumental tragedy was never far from the minds of anyone who crossed the Narrow Sea, especially at night. There wasn’t a prominent family in England and Normandy unaffected by the losses. Hollis was aware that a FitzRam ancestor had drowned in the disaster. “We can’t sail in the dark,” she protested. “The White Ship.”
Any trace of color remaining in Martin’s face quickly drained.
“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Your grandfather, wasn’t it?”
Martin shook his head. “My great-grandparents, Sir Caedmon and Lady Agneta. I understand your fear, but Lord Hugh insists it is still early evening and many of the captains prefer to sail at night.” He looked out at the water. “The sea looks calm.”
She got the feeling he was trying to reassure himself as much as her, but it was pointless to challenge Hugh. He was evidently in a big hurry to get to England. “Even if he drowns us all in the process,” she muttered to herself.
~~~
“I’ve traveled this road back and forth to Caen a hundred or more times,” Barr told Axel, “but yesterday I had little idea where I was most of the day.”
“At least the snow has stopped,” Axel replied.
“I don’t recall encountering a single soul, but today things are back to normal—busy as ever.”
The increased traffic had helped forge a path through the drifts, but the going was still slow and treacherous in places. Barr had confidence in Trogen’s ability to navigate the terrain, but Axel’s mount had turned out to be a cantankerous donkey named Marguerite. The animal made no secret of its dislike of cold weather, braying constantly and balking at every patch of ice.
