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Homecoming
Terric had never visited Château Montbryce before, though it was the patrimony of the powerful family from which he was descended. He was a de Quincey by name, but his blood ties to the Montbryces had saved his life. “It lives up to its reputation,” he told Roland and Adrien when the enormous castle came into view.
His cousins puffed out their chests. “I admit it’s impressive,” Roland replied. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known but it never fails to fill me with awe every time I return.”
Terric’s delight faded. Roland’s words reminded him of his loss.
“That was thoughtless of me,” his kinsman said.
Terric didn’t want Roland to think he was ungrateful. “Not at all. One day, we’ll reclaim Melton.”
“I know I speak for my father when I say the Montbryces will aid in any way we can,” Roland assured him.
Terric inhaled deeply to calm his agitation. “We may have to wait until John dies.”
“Or is deposed,” Adrien added.
“Either way,” Terric affirmed as they rode into the inner bailey, “Adelina cannot wait. If the king believes I am dead, there is no telling what he might do.”
* * *
For Roland, coming home to Montbryce, especially after facing danger, was balm to the soul. Given its strategic position atop a promontory, the castle’s solid walls provided safety, security and protection. The château had been a refuge for the Montbryce family for generations.
Its interior was crammed with souvenirs, banners and tapestries attesting to the family’s glorious military history. The Montbryces were true Normans with an ancestry they could proudly trace back to the Vikings who had abandoned a harsh life in Norway in the hopes of starting a new one in the fertile lands of the Frankish empire.
Roland knew that both his brothers, and many of his forebears, felt the same pride in their home. However, for him, there was always an added boon. Innumerable ladies eagerly awaited his return, many of them anxious to share his bed. Having no desire to sire bastards, he’d never planted his seed inside any of them, but nothing compared to a few hours spent giving and receiving pleasure of a sexual nature. Many men felt compelled to rape and pillage when they were victorious in battle. A sweet-smelling, willing woman was the best way for Roland to assure himself he’d survived to fight another day.
As he rode into the inner bailey and acknowledged the welcoming cheers of the crowd, he admitted inwardly that the philandering had lost some of its appeal. The seductive smiles and fluttering eyelashes of pretty women in the crowd normally stirred his male interest. Today, he felt—bored.
He blamed Becket. If his older brother hadn’t become so besotted with Marguerite and been so sickeningly happy in his marriage, Roland would perhaps not be experiencing the jealousy that plagued him. Suddenly, the rogue who intended never to marry wanted a love like Becket’s. He’d always scoffed at the oft-repeated jest that the Montbryces were cursed. For generations the men had been unashamedly smitten with their wives—a rare circumstance among the nobility.
For the first time in his life, he felt absurdly lonely. It was unlikely the curse would ever fall on him.
His parents were already waiting at the door of the keep to welcome home their sons, as were Becket and his wife. His older brother frowned upon first espying the man riding at Roland’s side. A broad grin quickly replaced the uncertainty. He hurried forward to clasp arms with Terric as he dismounted. “Cousin! I didn’t expect to see you come riding into Montbryce.”
“I’m here in the flesh only thanks to Roland,” Terric replied. “I was captured by the French in the battle for Angers. Your brother secured my release.”
Becket clamped a heavy hand on Roland’s shoulder. “Good man. Well done.”
As the second son, Roland had always known his life would be lived in Becket’s shadow. He loved his brother and would lay down his life for him. However, he had to admit that, on occasion, the notion of being simply the spare to the heir rankled. It was a paradox since he didn’t want the responsibility of the title. Today, the admiration in Becket’s gaze humbled him. His older brother loved and respected him as a valued and contributing member of the family.
Tears of gratitude welled in Marguerite’s eyes as she reunited with Terric. Roland’s sister-by-marriage had always blamed herself for Adelina’s abduction. He hoped there would now be an opportunity for Terric to set matters straight.
Marguerite wasn’t the only one shedding tears. Roland’s mother wept as she embraced him and Adrien. Their father could barely hold back his emotion as he embraced them. “The older I get, the more sentimental I become, it seems,” he rasped.
Becket introduced Terric to his parents. “Comte Barr de Montbryce and Comtesse Hollis,” he announced. “Our valiant cousin, Terric de Quincey.”
Terric bowed. “It’s an honor to finally meet the head of the family, Lady Hollis, Comte Barr,” he declared.
“A hearty welcome to you,” Roland’s father replied. “We are anxious to learn more about what is happening in England. Our cousins at Ellesmere Castle keep us informed about events in the Marches, but you are closer to the goings-on at court.”
“He has much to tell us,” Roland interrupted, sensing Terric’s reluctance to speak of troubling matters while standing in the bailey. “Perhaps later, in your solar, Papa.”
Steward Bonhomme stepped forward. “A bath awaits, my lords, and I have dispatched servants to prepare a chamber for Sir Terric.”
Men and women of the Bonhomme family had served as stewards at Montbryce for generations, but it suddenly struck Roland he’d never really appreciated their loyalty and the unexcelled service they provided. Indeed, they were like members of the family. A branch of the Bonhomme clan had served the Earls of Ellesmere in England since the time of the Conqueror. Montbryces without Bonhommes would be unthinkable. “My thanks, Bonhomme,” Roland said. Though he’d expressed gratitude for the man’s service before, this time it came from the heart.
* * *
Adelina spent every waking moment praying for her brother. He was courageous, but it had been many a year since he’d gone to war.
King John’s campaign to regain Anjou and Normandie had gone badly. Everyone at court hinted at it, but none dare speak openly.
When the furious king returned to England to lick his wounds, she prayed every day to see Terric come striding through the halls to visit her.
When he didn’t appear after weeks of waiting, she accepted the inevitable—he was either dead or a hostage.
She wore herself out worrying about how to raise the money for his ransom if he was a prisoner. The heartless King John had announced he wouldn’t pay ransom for any of his captured soldiers. It was their families’ responsibility to pay for their release. Adelina was the only family Terric had, and she was helpless to aid him.
