If Love Dares Enough: The Montbryce Legacy, #3

By Anna Markland

"The amber rays of the dying sun reflected off his sculpted wet body. He was like a statue cast in precious metal emerging from the mold.
My golden god!
At the sight of his long toes curled into the wet sand, an urge swept over her to drop to her knees and trace his footprints."

 From medieval romance author Anna Markland comes the third book in the series, The Montbryce Legacy. This is juicy historical fiction at its best.

Praise for If Love Dares Enough

"I love this series. Great historical setting and beautiful romance. I love the fact that the heroines are not simpering misses but have troubled pasts." English PH -Amazon reviewer.

"Hugh and Antoine de Montbryce are my kind of hero and I was kept enthralled by their adventures and their willingness to risk everything for the women they fell in love with. Hugh has additional appeal because he's a virgin hero! Not too many of those in historical romances! The book is rich in historical detail. I couldn't put it down. And those dogs! You'll fall in love with the Melton family's mastiffs, Boden and Brigantia." Roberta -Amazon reviewer

Overview:
Violence arouses Hugh.
He avoids women.
But he cannot turn a blind eye to the abuse Devona suffers at the hands of her husband, even at the risk of angering his King.

If you love well researched historical romance full of adventure and intrigue, you'll relish If Love Dares Enough. If you enjoy the richness of Ken Follett, you'll love Anna Markland's books. Follett with a female touch.

Looking for more Anna Markland?If you like stories with medieval breeds of dogs, you'll enjoy If Love Dares Enough, Carried Away, and Wild Viking Princess. If you have a soft spot for cats, read Passion in the Blood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna Markland
• Release date: Aug 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386064275

Book preview

IF LOVE DARES ENOUGH

The Montbryce Legacy Book 3

by

Anna Markland

©Anna Markland 2011

Cover Art by Kim Killion and Steven Novak

Love will find its way

through paths where wolves would fear to prey,

and if it dares enough,

‘twere hard if passion met not some reward.

~Lord Byron

For my mother Alice Syddall

~One in a million

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

All fictional characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

Copyright © Anna Markland 2011

ISBN-13: 978-0-9878673-8-4

All Rights Reserved

I

En route to Domfort, Normandie, January 1067

Hugh’s hand trembled uncontrollably. He hoped Antoine had not noticed, but suspected his brother was aware the tremor had plagued him since the eve of the Battle of Hastings.

That fateful October night, his elder brother, Rambaud, had sensed his turmoil. Hugh, there’s no shame in fear. I’m afraid, as is Antoine. Any man who tells you he isn’t afraid of what we face on the morrow is a liar. The important thing is not to allow the fear to control you. Bravery is born of fear.

His brother’s advice had both reassured and annoyed him. Ram, I can’t stop shaking, but I’m not a coward.

Now, three months later, riding the frost-rutted route to Domfort, Hugh recalled his outburst the night after the horror of the battle. Why is it the thing a man feels most compelled to do after courting death is lie with a woman? The survivors in my brigade are hobbling round with tree trunks at their groins.

His shaking hand had gone to his rigid manhood. Look at me. I can’t help myself.

His confession had caused his brothers to shift nervously on their camp stools. The three were gazing into the dying embers of a fire they had hoped would dispel the October chill and warm their hearts after the sickening slaughter. He knew their discomfort was not caused by embarrassment at the uncharacteristic remark from their baby brother, but because they understood.

Into the dark memory of those terrible days, when the future of England and Normandie hung in the balance, Antoine’s voice penetrated. Let’s hope Ram and Mabelle reached Westminster in ample time for the Coronation of our Duke William as King of the English on Christmas Day.

When Hugh looked back on events since they had received news in England of the pestilence in Normandie that had scythed down their father, he could scarcely believe how far they had travelled in a short time.

Within a sennight of receiving the tragic news of their father’s death, they had crossed the Narrow Sea between England and Normandie and were galloping into the courtyard of their family castle at Saint Germain de Montbryce. Then it was on to retrieve Mabelle after discovering she had fled to her father’s castle at Alensonne. Time was of the essence if Ram and Mabelle were to be married in time for them to sail to England to attend the Conqueror’s Coronation.

Hugh glanced at his brother. They’ll have arrived, if the tides and winds were favorable. After the Coronation, I suppose Ram will have to leave Mabelle in Westminster. He can’t take her to live in Ellesmere Castle, given the dilapidated state it’s in.

Antoine nodded his agreement. "Oui. Ram didn’t admit it, but I know he was disappointed with the condition of the castle Duke William granted him. Compared with Montbryce, it’s a ruin."

Nothing more than an earthwork, really, Hugh added.

Antoine chuckled, his thoughts evidently on the same events. I’m sure no one has ever been wedded and bedded as speedily as Mabelle!

If Ram failed to show up at Westminster, he would probably lose his promised earldom, but he was willing to risk it to bind Mabelle to him, Hugh replied. While Ram may not yet realize it, she’s his soul mate.

In his heart, Hugh doubted he would ever find his soul mate. Indeed he knew he would not because he had resolved never to look. Hastings had changed him forever. The happy-go-lucky Hugh was gone, ground into the blood, muck and gore.

Antoine nodded. I hope our elder brother comes to appreciate Mabelle more. She’s the woman he’ll need as he tries to establish his Earldom in England.

"Oui."

Especially in the dangerous Welsh Marches.

"Oui."

Antoine chattered on, pulling his cloak more tightly around him in the chilly air. After the sickening brutality of our army’s victorious crossing of the Thames at Wallingford, I was glad of the chance to get away from the never-ending bloodshed and accompany Ram on his journey to inspect Ellesmere Castle. He certainly deserves the earldom granted as a reward for the building of our fleet for the invasion, but he and Mabelle will have their work cut out for them in Ellesmere.

"Oui."

But Mabelle is strong. She’s survived on her wits for many years.

"Oui."

Antoine frowned. "Is that all you can say, Hugh? Oui? What happened to the talkative baby brother I used to know?"

Hugh shrugged. He’s no more, Antoine. I’m sorry, I don’t feel like talking.

Antoine shook his head and sighed. "Look, mon frère, memories of Hastings are painful for us all. I’ll never be the same. The horror will always be with me, but I will not allow it to ruin my life. We were lucky all three of us survived and we should celebrate that.

You fought well at Hastings, distinguished yourself in fact, and we were fortunate to serve under Ram’s command, helping the Conqueror take Dover and Canterbury.

His brother was right and yet Hugh’s dark mood refused to leave him. I suppose I’m lucky to have survived with a gash on my arm from a Saxon sword. I’ll try not to be so sombre.

He rubbed his bicep. The wound had healed well, but the muscle ached still.

Good! I’ve no wish to be talking to myself all the way to Domfort. Ram was concerned about you after Hastings, and I’m beginning to see why. He’s appointed us overseers of Mabelle’s dowry holdings at Domfort and Belisle, so we must live up to his expectations.

Hugh’s shoulders tensed. Of course we’ll live up to his expectations. We’re Montbryces, Antoine. I haven’t forgotten that. I won’t let either of them down. You’ll help me get established at Domfort, then ride on to Belisle.

They rode in silence for a long while before Antoine spoke again. Hasten the day when Mabelle’s father, Guillaume de Valtesse, no longer holds Alensonne in his manic grip, then we can turn our talents to sorting out that castle as well.

Hugh sensed Antoine’s discomfort with his silence. Don’t worry, brother. I’ll be fine. It will just take a while to get over Hastings.

How to confess to Antoine the killing had aroused him?

It was certain that Ram had kept a mistress before he met Mabelle, though he had been discreet about Joleyne. Antoine’s reputation with the ladies was legendary. But Hugh had never pursued women, never felt the same rush of need he often felt now. It was dangerous. If violence aroused him, he might kill a woman in the throes of passion.

~~~

Seated in the chair next to his brother, Antoine’s worries for Hugh had increased in the sennight they’d been at Domfort. The Steward had been summoned, and Antoine sensed a confrontation was about to take place.

Bileaud, Hugh began before the man had a chance to look up from his bow, I’ll require your services all day on the morrow. I want to meet with the tenant farmers. In the sennight I’ve been here, I’ve ascertained that Domfort is not productive. I want to know why.

The steward fidgeted with the collar of his tunic. "Milord?"

Hugh rose from his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Do you have any opinions in this matter?

Bileaud cleared his throat. "Far be it from me to criticize, milord."

Hugh stroked his chin. Bileaud, I never met your previous master, Arnulf, but I know his father, Guillaume de Valtesse.

The steward’s shoulders seemed to lose some of their tension. "Well, milord—enough said, perhaps."

Hugh smirked, nodded and sat down. We’ll ride out at dawn. Make sure the stable master has Velox saddled. And since Lord Antoine is leaving today, I’ll sup in my own chambers this evening. In fact, I’ll dine there every evening.

Bileaud’s mouth fell open. "Alone, milord?"

"Oui. But the men-at-arms may still sup in the Great Hall. Have the meal served there as usual. I’ll take all my meals in my chamber."

Antoine had said nothing during this exchange, but now his worry for his brother intensified. When the steward left, he looked intently at Hugh. Why do you plan to eat alone?

Hugh shrugged, avoiding Antoine’s gaze. I prefer my own company.

Antoine rose and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. But supping in the Hall with the men and the people of the castle is a way to get to know them, for them to get to know you, to inspire their loyalty.

Hugh got up abruptly and walked away. They’ll come to know me soon enough.

Antoine shook his head. This is so unlike you, Hugh.

That’s the way of it now, Antoine.

What is it you’re afraid of?

Hugh whirled to face his brother. I’m afraid of nothing. Leave it be.

Antoine exhaled, frustrated. Fine. There’s enough daylight left for me to make it to Belisle. Go with God, little brother.

They embraced, but Antoine was alarmed by the stiffness in Hugh’s shoulders. He strode out, reluctant to leave his troubled brother alone, but not knowing what else to do.

II

Melton Manor, Sussex, England

Lady Devona Melton had never known greater fear in all her seven and ten years. She could scarcely believe the brutish Norman soldiers had not killed her grandfather after his challenge to their menacing, pock-faced captain, Torod.

In the months since the Norman invasion, they had heard rumors of many other Saxon families being evicted from estates the length and breadth of Sussex. So far they had escaped attention, isolated on their rocky promontory overlooking the sea.

Life had not been easy, but Melton Manor allowed them to be self-sufficient, as the bleak winter of the year of Our Lord One Thousand and Sixty-Seven ground on.

Now Normans had come, the steam rising from their warhorses mingling with the soldiers’ breath in the frigid air. Her grandfather had coolly stood his ground, the normally gentle Boden and Brigantia growling at his side. Incredibly, Torod had backed down and the gang had ridden off, the massive dogs on their heels.

Sir Gerwint Melton spat as he strode back into the house. Norman scum! They’re gone. You can come out now.

Devona and her two younger sisters emerged, shivering, from their hiding place in the false wall behind the larder.

Will they come back? five year old Aediva asked timidly.

Gerwint stroked her hair. Perhaps yes, perhaps no. They seem to want to harass us because King Harold himself was our overlord.

Devona’s widowed grandfather had become resigned to the Norman victory, devastated by tragedy even before the disastrous Battle of Hastings. His son, Devona’s father, had been killed in King Harold’s decisive victory over the Norwegians at the battle of Stamford Bridge. The only thing keeping him going now seemed to be the fate of his granddaughters. Anger oozed from him after his encounter with the Normans.

This manor is your birthright since none of the sons your parents sired survived past their fifth birthday. We shall fight to the death to keep it for you, Devona. You’ll need this holding as your dowry.

Devona shook her head. But who will I marry now? Most of the gallant young knights of England were cut down or maimed by the Conqueror at Hastings with our good King Harold, or at Dover, Canterbury or Wallingford.

It seemed that in the blink of an eye the coming of the Normans had changed the future she had thought was predestined. Her doting parents would have found a suitable Saxon noble for her to wed and she would have lived happily ever after. Now—

Gerwint took her hand. We’ll find someone for you, Devona. You’re a beautiful, intelligent girl, and many men will want you for wife. It will be my last duty to you. Then you must take care of your sisters—and your mother.

Recognizing the hint of despair in her grandfather’s voice, Devona looked sadly towards the stairs that led to her mother’s bedchamber. Lady Wilona Melton had not risen from her bed since the news had come from Stamford Bridge, had not spoken, just stared blankly at the wall or ceiling.

They had lost so much since the arrival of the hated Normans. Fear seemed their constant companion, their future insecure. If the Normans put them out they had nowhere to go and would likely starve or freeze to death.

~~~

A sennight later the Normans came again, this time so swiftly Sir Gerwint Melton did not have time to conceal his granddaughters. Now a swarthy, bearded knight led them, Torod at his side. Gerwint motioned the girls to stay behind him at the door of the manor. Boden ambled up to stand by his master, his massive head raised, body poised.

The knight reined his snorting steed to a halt. "Bien! There is more to this manor than we first thought. Well done, Torod. You were right. This wily old Saxon has been hiding something."

Gerwint stood firm, arms folded across his chest. State your business, Norman, and then be gone!

The knight smirked, smoothing his moustache with his thumb and forefinger. You and this manor are my business Saxon. It’s to be mine, and everything in it.

Gerwint’s voice remained icy. This manor has belonged to my family for generations. You can’t simply steal it.

The Norman dismounted and strolled over to where Gerwint stood shielding his granddaughters. Perhaps you’re not aware, old man, that you’re a conquered people. We can take what we like.

Boden growled at the intruder and moved towards him.

The knight flicked his glove at the dog. Curb that hound, Saxon!

Gerwint hooked his hand into the jewelled collar around the mastiff’s neck, making a clicking sound. The dog sat immediately, but remained alert.

The Norman beckoned Aediva, his eyes on Devona. Come here, little one.

Gerwint’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. Boden barked and growled. The knight’s jaw clenched. My men will have you and your spawn cut down before you can blink.

Gerwint took his hand from the weapon, mumbling a curse.

Come here, little one, the bully repeated, his voice more threatening, eyes still fixed on Devona. Aediva let go of her grandfather’s leg, and crept forward. The Norman crouched down and took her by the arm. You have a very beautiful sister, little one. I’m sure she wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you, would she?

Aediva made no reply.

He squeezed the child’s arm more tightly. Would she?

Aediva sobbed. No—my lord.

Devona stepped forward despite the protestations of her grandfather. Please don’t hurt her, my lord. She’s a child.

The man stood, towering over her, his foul breath assailing her nostrils. His nose was red from the cold, his face pinched. His grey eyes darkened as he stared at her breasts. I am Sir Renouf de Maubadon. Your name?

Lady Devona Melton, she whispered, averting her eyes.

He took her hand and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. His beard prickled her skin. "Well, Lady Devona Melton, you haven’t seen the last of me. I think I’ll be very happy with this manor house. For the moment, I bid you adieu. I’ll leave Torod and some of my men here—to make sure you’re protected, you understand?"

He remounted and rode away. Torod scowled at the Meltons as he pulled his horse to the stable.

Gerwint choked out a ragged breath, sagging with relief. It’s a reprieve, but they’ll be back, and we’ll be evicted.

Aediva and Bemia cuddled into their sister as Devona knelt to hold them more tightly. Where will we go?

Gerwint was pensive for a while before he spoke again. I don’t know. Perhaps to the Downs. Gather together your most precious things, no more than you can carry—and warm clothing. Be careful not to let Renouf’s Toad see what you’re doing.

~~~

Renouf de Maubadon returned to Melton Manor a sennight later, accompanied by a contingent of armed men who bore no uniform, no device on their surcoats. The Melton family had found no opportunity to flee, thanks to the ever watchful Torod.

Gerwint blocked the doorway. You’re not welcome here, Norman.

Are all Saxons as inhospitable as you, old man? Renouf replied icily. I merely come to court your beautiful daughter, Devona. You should be glad I find her pleasing.

Gerwint stood firm. She’s not interested in Normans.

Renouf pushed past him, almost shoving the old man over. I’ll be the judge of that. Instruct her to meet me in her solar forthwith.

Gerwint pursued him into the house. She’s an unmarried woman. You can’t shame her by being alone with her.

Renouf turned and smirked. Don’t worry, old fool. She won’t be unmarried for long. Now, go find her.

Gerwint hesitated, then skulked away. Renouf strode off, a smile on his lips.

When Devona entered her solar a short time later, head bowed, Renouf sensed her fear.

Good!

She curtseyed, then straightened to stand before him. He walked around her, his eyes fixed on her full breasts. You’re very pleasing to look at, Lady Devona. I find green eyes appealing.

Devona was silent as Renouf blew on his hands then rubbed them together. He put his face close to hers. Have you nothing to say in reply?

Devona kept her eyes downcast. What—would you have me say—sir?

He lifted her chin. Ah! You speak my language. Educated as well as beautiful. You could say you find me pleasing too.

Devona remained silent.

Without warning, Renouf grasped her tightly by both wrists, twisting her arms behind her back, crushing her breasts against his chain mail.

She winced. Sir—you’re hurting me.

He tightened his grip on her wrists. "Then