Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance) by Anna Markland Read Free Book Online Page B

playmates for Henry and Claricia.”
    Alex snorted. “But six of them, brother. Six!”
    Romain sat down, crossing one leg over the other, wagging his finger at Alex. “May I remind you, all six of our nieces and nephews are well-behaved and polite.”
    Alex laughed. “They wouldn’t dare disobey Marguerite.”
    Romain tossed the letter onto another chair. “Our sister may be overbearing, but she rules her household with a firm hand, and the children are a credit to her.”
    “I’ll remind you of that when you’re seeking some place to hide from them. No doubt their father is looking forward to the respite.”
    “Listen, you’ve been insisting Claricia needs a noblewoman to learn from. Who better than Marguerite?”
    His brother had a point, but Alex felt a twinge of foreboding for Claricia, and her nursemaid.
    ~~~
    STANDING IN THE BAILEY awaiting the Comte’s sister three sennights after their own arrival, Elayne’s mind wandered. She watched Henry, standing with the Montbryce brothers, looking entirely at ease, despite the wind that threatened to steal his hat. She saw less and less of her son these days. When he wasn’t spending time with Fernand Bonhomme, he was studying Latin under the watchful eye of the priest, or out in the training fields with the sons of some of the knights and men-at-arms.
    She missed him and fretted about his well-being, though she trusted he would never betray their secret. He bubbled with excitement relating the details of his days while she prepared him for bed. She convinced herself she should be glad he was content and had found friends in this foreign land.
    Elayne still had Claricia’s company for most of the day, except when she too was studying Latin. Unlike her brother, Claricia did not enjoy the lessons and balked at repeating the monotonous verb declensions set for study by the elderly priest.
    A gust of wind buffeted her, stirring up dust and a sense of foreboding in her breast as Marguerite de Venestre’s carriage ground to a halt in the castle courtyard. It spilled its load of boisterous, excited children, all trying to hold onto their head coverings in the wind. They ranged in age from a toddler of about three to a lanky boy who she’d guess was in his early teenage years.
    They calmed as soon as their mother stepped from the conveyance, aided by Bonhomme.
    Marguerite tapped her foot impatiently as an open wagon trundled into the bailey. Seven servants, three men and four women, descended from the vehicle quickly and gathered behind the children, assisting with the hat and veil problems. Evidently there was a maidservant for each daughter, a lady’s maid for herself, and three valets for her sons. Not to mention a score of men-at-arms bearing the Venestre devise on their tunics.
    Marguerite had her brothers’ dark hair, though it was heavily streaked with grey. She looked more like Alexandre’s mother, though Romain had told her his sister was only five years older than he was.
    Elayne suspected she’d once been a beauty, but birthing six children had taken a toll. She was pear-shaped—plump hips, belly and derrière, with no bust to speak of. Her incongruous shape caused her to waddle when she walked.
    She scowled at the wind as if it too should obey her.
    It was evident, however, that she had complete control over her children. Each executed a perfect bow when presented to Alexandre. He bade them welcome, though there seemed to be little warmth in his greeting and the only physical contact with any them was a brief handshake with the boys.
    The three Montbryce brothers gave their sister a perfunctory embrace. Elayne itched to throttle them. She missed the strong reassuring arms of her teasing brother, but Beathan was far away.
    Her spirits soared with pride when Henry bowed and Claricia curtseyed politely as they were introduced, first to Marguerite, then to her offspring. The Norman woman immediately paired Claricia off with one of her daughters who looked