Terri Brisbin - The Dumont Bride

He put his hand out on the wall to steady himself.

She had cuckolded him. She had given herself to another man and now bore proof of her sin. Humiliation and dishonor would once more be his and his family’s to bear because of her. Everything within him screamed for vengeance.

Unanswered questions burned through his mind. Then the plan behind this struck him. Queen Eleanor had definitely plotted this. Her words on their wedding night came back to him. There will be no repudiation of this marriage by either of you.

But Emalie. What had been her part in this? Who had she lain with? Whose baby did she carry now?

He almost laughed at the irony. He had sold his soul to regain his honor and now stood to lose it anyway, once the truth was known….

“A lavish historical romance in the grand tradition from a wonderful talent.”

—New York Times bestselling author Bertrice Small on Once Forbidden

“A welcome new voice in romance…you won’t want to miss.”

—USA TODAY bestselling author Susan Wiggs

“Terri Brisbin writes with her own unique, sweet, lyrical style.”

—Romantic Times

“…lush narrative, crisp dialogue and powerful descriptions. Medieval Scotland comes to life under the skillful storytelling of Terri Brisbin.”

—Rendezvous on A Love through Time

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Dumont Bride #634

This book is for Walt and Rose—the real Sir Walter and Lady Rosalie—for the years of friendship and support and more things forgotten than I can remember now! Hey, it’s almost like a ride….

The idea for this story came to me while listening to the music and words of “My Own Prison” by Scott Stapp and Creed. My thanks for their inspiration!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Greystone Castle

Lincolnshire, England

May 1194

Eleanor Plantagenet, Queen of England, by the wrath of God, watched as pride and anger stiffened the spine of her young ward. Although she wanted to scream out her own anger and cry tears of sorrow for the way she suspected this child had been ill-used, she did not have the luxury of either. Only action on her part would save the kingdom and possibly this girl’s life, as well. Since it was her son’s actions that had caused the damage, and since it would be that same son who would continue his pursuit until his desires were satisfied, only she could step in and circumvent his plans.

“So, Emalie,” she said, “I will ask you only once more. Give me the name of the man who has dishonored you.”

“I know not of what you speak, Your Grace.” The girl would not meet her gaze.

“I am not a fool and do not expect to be treated as one by you!” Eleanor snapped, trying to break Emalie’s calm demeanor to get to the truth. Other than a slight trembling of her clasped hands, there was no change in her expression or in her willingness to answer.

As Eleanor walked closer to the girl and prepared to ask another question, a commotion began outside the door of the solar. Rising voices and scuffling feet soon gave way to the door being thrown open as her private bodyguards made a valiant attempt to keep her son from the room. At her signal, their efforts ceased and the soldiers instead took up places on either side of the open door.

“Madam,” John said, with an arrogant nod of his head as he sauntered to where she stood. “You are looking well this fine day.” John tilted his head down and touched a cool kiss to her cheek. She fought the urge to shiver at the dangerous, slippery tone of his voice and look in his eyes. ’Twas at times like these she wondered how she had ever birthed and raised a viper like this.

“I gave orders not to be disturbed. Those orders were intended to give us some measure of privacy for our discussion.” She rose to her full height and faced him with her truth. “Those orders were to keep you out until I bade you enter.”

“Ah,” he said, reaching out to Emalie and grasping her hand. “The ever-fair Lady Emalie Montgomerie…” John leaned over and pressed his lips to the girl’s knuckles. He purposely allowed Eleanor a glimpse of his tongue touching the top of Emalie’s hand. Not quite as practiced at ignoring her son’s vile habits as she herself was, Emalie recoiled from his grasp and tucked her hands tightly at her side. The girl turned an even paler shade of white as John smiled his oily, toothy smile—one that did nothing to hide his intentions. “With one so lovely awaiting me within, not even two full companies of your bodyguards could keep me from this room, Mother.”

Eleanor wondered if the girl knew she was moving herself ever so slightly in Eleanor’s direction, as if claiming protection from John. John clearly noticed, for he stepped quickly into Emalie’s path.

“John! Enough of this. Stop toying with the girl and tell me your reasons for interrupting my discussions.” Eleanor made her way over to one of the two tall straight-backed chairs near the windows. With a wave of her hand, she directed Emalie to the other one and watched in sympathy as the girl sank into it. She was clearly an amateur in the ways of conniving men.

“I am here on behalf of my friend, William DeSeverin,” John began. He, too, walked to the window and looked out it, affecting his favorite disinterested expression. Nothing good could come from this situation. Nothing.

“And what has that man to do with Lady Emalie?”

“He has come to regret his overzealous behavior toward you, dearest Emalie,” he said, glancing first at Eleanor and then turning his attention away from her and toward his true target, “and wishes to come forward and save you from disgrace.”

“Your Grace, I am not in need of being saved from any dishonor,” Emalie answered in a soft voice.

“Nonsense, lady, all in the castle and village know of what I speak.”

Eleanor could not let this go any further—she must take control before all was lost.

“I, too, have found no reason for Sir William to save Emalie,” she boldly claimed.

“Mother, as I told you in my message that summoned you here, William has confessed to carnal knowledge of the countess and is now willing to marry her to prevent her dishonor.”

“And I repeat, I have found no reason for that marriage to go forth.”

“Her servants know—”

“The lady’s servants have sworn on their immortal souls that she is an innocent.”

“They are lying then, for I—”

“You, John? Had you something to do with trying to dishonor the Countess of Harbridge? ’Tis bolder a move than I thought possible for even you. And brave, considering the love and esteem that your brother had for her father before his untimely passing.” Eleanor met her son’s gaze and read the truth there. Emalie had been his goal, William his puppet, and the girl’s disgrace the tool to bring her into his power.