and content. Again, many eyes followed their progress. Had they been told of the betrothal of their Master’s son? As the bride of the future Earl, she would one day be the Countess. These would be her people. It was a nerve-racking and surprisingly pleasing notion.
Her heart lifted a little. She would become a Countess after all! Certainly an improvement on serving as Maud’s chamber-pot-maid.
The church, with its Norman tower, was large and well-appointed. She held her breath as they passed through the imposing barbican gate into the wide bailey. There was no turning back now. Geoffrey would never find her in this godforsaken place.
~~~
Carys de Montbryce stood with her daughters, Fleurie and Isabelle, in the windswept bailey of the castle she loved, awaiting the arrival of the woman who was to wed her son.
“She will think it strange Gallien is not here to meet her,” Fleurie said.
Carys inhaled deeply, contemplating the untruth she was about to utter. “Perhaps, but it was unavoidable that he and your father and brother not be here. She will meet them later.”
Fleurie looked at her curiously. Had she guessed that Carys had contrived the men’s absence? She had not wanted Gallien’s brooding animosity to cloud her future daughter-by-marriage’s first opinion of Ellesmere and the Montbryce family.
Her embittered son had been only too happy to go off on a trivial errand rather than greet his betrothed. Baudoin had understood and complied with the plan.
Carys knew nothing of the girl she awaited, except that she was an Angevin of good family, a former lady-in-waiting at Henry’s court. She prayed to the goddess Arianrhod that this woman had been sent to rescue Gallien from his bitter despair.
She had not liked Felicité at their first meeting. Indeed, strange nightmares had presaged her arrival. Carys’ Celtic blood made her a believer in the power of dreams and visions, but she had held her tongue, afraid to challenge the marriage of her son and Felicité. She had regretted it a thousand times over, but Gallien had been taken with the woman, and her credentials had seemed impeccable.
Carys longed for Gallien to regain his good humor. She ached to see once more the teasing glint in his eye when he plotted some mischief. She wanted her son back.
Dreams had revealed nothing of this newcomer. Carys would have to rely on her own first impression.
Isabelle squeezed her arm. “I’m excited. Another sister.”
Fleurie chewed her bottom lip. “Let’s hope she is an improvement on the last one.”
Carys’ heart ached for the damage wrought upon her family by Felicité’s duplicity. Gallien was not the only casualty of that war, though he had suffered the most.
As the cavalcade entered the bailey, her heart sank. The carriage was closed. She would not see Peridotte de Pontrouge until she descended from the conveyance.
Two men dismounted, one with King Henry’s devise on his surcoat, the other Fulk’s man. Both bowed deeply, each in turn brushing a kiss on the knuckles of her proffered hand. She hoped they would attribute her trembling to the chill in the air.
“ Milady Comtesse of Ellesmere, I am Gaston Malnorm, in the service of his Majesty King Henry.”
He turned to the other man, his face full of scorn. “This is Dollard Ballustre, emissary of Comte Fulk d’Anjou.”
Carys nodded in acknowledgment.
Ballustre cleared his throat. “I am the official escort for Demoiselle Peridotte de Pontrouge. With your permission I will assist her from the carriage.”
Isabelle rocked back and forth on her heels.
Fleurie folded her arms across her breasts.
Carys flirted with the notion of refusing to welcome Gallien’s new bride. Better to spare him the risk of more heartache. “Of course,” she murmured. “She must be frozen to the bone in that contraption.”
The crude wooden door creaked as Ballustre yanked it open. An older woman took his hand and stepped down with some difficulty. A
Her heart lifted a little. She would become a Countess after all! Certainly an improvement on serving as Maud’s chamber-pot-maid.
The church, with its Norman tower, was large and well-appointed. She held her breath as they passed through the imposing barbican gate into the wide bailey. There was no turning back now. Geoffrey would never find her in this godforsaken place.
~~~
Carys de Montbryce stood with her daughters, Fleurie and Isabelle, in the windswept bailey of the castle she loved, awaiting the arrival of the woman who was to wed her son.
“She will think it strange Gallien is not here to meet her,” Fleurie said.
Carys inhaled deeply, contemplating the untruth she was about to utter. “Perhaps, but it was unavoidable that he and your father and brother not be here. She will meet them later.”
Fleurie looked at her curiously. Had she guessed that Carys had contrived the men’s absence? She had not wanted Gallien’s brooding animosity to cloud her future daughter-by-marriage’s first opinion of Ellesmere and the Montbryce family.
Her embittered son had been only too happy to go off on a trivial errand rather than greet his betrothed. Baudoin had understood and complied with the plan.
Carys knew nothing of the girl she awaited, except that she was an Angevin of good family, a former lady-in-waiting at Henry’s court. She prayed to the goddess Arianrhod that this woman had been sent to rescue Gallien from his bitter despair.
She had not liked Felicité at their first meeting. Indeed, strange nightmares had presaged her arrival. Carys’ Celtic blood made her a believer in the power of dreams and visions, but she had held her tongue, afraid to challenge the marriage of her son and Felicité. She had regretted it a thousand times over, but Gallien had been taken with the woman, and her credentials had seemed impeccable.
Carys longed for Gallien to regain his good humor. She ached to see once more the teasing glint in his eye when he plotted some mischief. She wanted her son back.
Dreams had revealed nothing of this newcomer. Carys would have to rely on her own first impression.
Isabelle squeezed her arm. “I’m excited. Another sister.”
Fleurie chewed her bottom lip. “Let’s hope she is an improvement on the last one.”
Carys’ heart ached for the damage wrought upon her family by Felicité’s duplicity. Gallien was not the only casualty of that war, though he had suffered the most.
As the cavalcade entered the bailey, her heart sank. The carriage was closed. She would not see Peridotte de Pontrouge until she descended from the conveyance.
Two men dismounted, one with King Henry’s devise on his surcoat, the other Fulk’s man. Both bowed deeply, each in turn brushing a kiss on the knuckles of her proffered hand. She hoped they would attribute her trembling to the chill in the air.
“ Milady Comtesse of Ellesmere, I am Gaston Malnorm, in the service of his Majesty King Henry.”
He turned to the other man, his face full of scorn. “This is Dollard Ballustre, emissary of Comte Fulk d’Anjou.”
Carys nodded in acknowledgment.
Ballustre cleared his throat. “I am the official escort for Demoiselle Peridotte de Pontrouge. With your permission I will assist her from the carriage.”
Isabelle rocked back and forth on her heels.
Fleurie folded her arms across her breasts.
Carys flirted with the notion of refusing to welcome Gallien’s new bride. Better to spare him the risk of more heartache. “Of course,” she murmured. “She must be frozen to the bone in that contraption.”
The crude wooden door creaked as Ballustre yanked it open. An older woman took his hand and stepped down with some difficulty. A
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