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

men-at-arms alone number more than a score.”
    “I hate to say it, but we may need every available man,” Alex said.
    “Do you really want to risk being stuck here with Marguerite if Geoffrey lays siege?” Romain asked.
    Alex laughed. “You’re right, but not a word of this to our dear sister. Now, what’s our plan?”
    They looked up sharply when Bonhomme entered abruptly after a brief knock. “Forgive me, mes seigneurs .”
    He opened the door wide to usher in two men, who by their appearance had ridden hard and far.
    The three Montbryce brothers came to their feet.
    Startled, Alex offered his hand to his cousin. “Bradick Ronan MacLachlainn! What a surprise to see you.” He frowned. “You’ve had a hard ride. Have you come all the way from Alensonne?”
    Bradick Ronan wiped his big hand on his tunic and accepted the handshake. “Aye! My son and I came as fast as we could.”
    Alex looked more carefully at the second man while Romain and Laurent embraced their cousin. “ Dieu ! I barely recognized the boy! How old are you now, lad?”
    “Four and ten, milord Comte ,” Bradick replied.
    Alex slapped him on the back. “Not only do you carry your father’s name, you resemble him a great deal. You’re almost as tall as he is; same black hair. And I see features of your grandfather in you.”
    The youth’s face flushed, but he said nothing.
    A maidservant entered bearing a tray of tankards filled with ale.
    Alex nodded to Bonhomme. “Where would we be without your efficiency, my good and faithful Steward?”
    Bonhomme bowed. “ Chambers are being prepared, milord , and a bath.”
    The travelers each took a tankard. Bradick Ronan drained his in one. His son took a hearty swig.
    Romain laughed. “I see the Irish branch of the family still love their ale!”
    Bradick Ronan wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, hooking an arm around his son’s neck. “Aye, the darker the better, and Bradick here loves it as much as I do, for all he’s still a lad.”
    Young Bradick pouted. “We’re not Irishmen, we’re as Norman as you are.”
    Alex was taken aback. He was proud of his own grandfather ’s glorious achievements at the time of the Norman Conquest of England and was dismayed the lad seemed ashamed of his Irish roots. “You should be proud of your Grandpère Ronan. He was a great warrior who overcame dire adversity, including the loss of his eye. My tante Rhoni was lucky to marry such a noble Irishman and blessed that her parents gave her Alensonne castle here in Normandie as her dowry.”
    Bradick Ronan nodded. “Aye, and our family has lived there ever since. My older brother, Conall is Master of Alensonne since father passed on. Though we do still benefit from the rents from Túr MacLachlainn in Ireland. We’ve a family of reliable stewards there.”
    Young Bradick pouted. “I only wish our family wouldn’t keep passing on the same Irish names. None of us has set foot in Ireland for years, and I certainly have no interest in going.”
    Romain laughed. “But with a family name like MacLachlainn, you can’t have a given name like Pierre, or Guillaume, or Laurent.”
    Bradick Ronan punched his son’s shoulder. “Pay him no mind. Youth is wasted on the young. Listen, a bath and a comfortable bed sound good, but you must hear our message first. Maud and Geoffrey will be here in a few days. They’re at Alensonne now.”
    A worm wriggled in Alex’s gut. “We’ve had no word.”
    Bradick Ronan held out his tankard for the maidservant to refill. “We thought as much. That’s why Conall and I agreed we should come. It’s no secret you are holding hostages for Maud. Why wouldn’t she send advance notice so you could prepare for her arrival? It’s only common courtesy to an ally.” He shrugged and took another swig of his ale. “Of course, Maud’s not known for her courtesy.”
    Alex looked at his brothers, his forefinger pressed to his lips. These visitors were family, but, for the