Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms

  “I know.” Avis nodded. “I do not understand it either. All I know is that he left two days ago with several Norman men, left no message, and has not been seen or heard of since that day.”

  “But what could have happened to him?”

  Avis sighed, and clasped her hands together, trying not to give in to the temptation to bite her nails again.

  “I do not know. Sometimes I think that the rebels have captured him – taken him to Edgar. They could kill him. He is a Norman.”

  Edith sat there, listening to Avis pour out her worries and fears. She wished that she could say something of comfort, but they both knew that there was little to say.

  “Sometimes I think he has been captured by King William,” Avis confessed. “If so, he could be forced to ride against us. To fight against his very people. And then I think, perhaps he has fled, and been successful. By this time he could be near London, and soon on his way to Normandy.”

  “He would not leave us.”

  “He may.” Avis was under no illusions. She knew that even soldiers and expert men of war had fears. “He has left us. He has fought many terrible and bloody battles. It may be that he does not want to fight another.”

  Although it was partially relieving for Avis to be able to take Edith into her confidence, it did not stem the fresh terror that filled her every time she thought of Melville. Nothing could stop that.

  “He will be fine,” reassured Edith.

  “You do not know that!” cried Avis.

  There was silence as Edith searched the face of her mistress.

  “Not,” Avis said more calmly, “that I care.”

  She nonchalantly brushed her skirts, and fixed her eyes more firmly on the children that she was supposed to be watching.

  “My lady,” Edith broke into her thoughts. “I hope you do not take offence, but I have watched you. I have also watched him. I am not a clever woman, but I know people. I know the way that he looks at you, and I know that you are very much in love with my lord Melville.”

  Love. So that was the word that Avis had been looking for. The word sounded like a warm arm bringing her home. Of course, love. How could she have been so stupid? The rush of emotions and heat whenever she saw him; the desire that she could no longer deny when he came close to her; and the heartache now that she is without him, and he is in such danger. She was in love with him.

  Edith saw the smile in her eyes, and left without a sound. Avis did not even notice her leave. She was so enwrapped in her own emotions.

  Love. That was the word to describe the ache inside her very soul when she tried not to think of the possible danger that Melville could be in. That was the term to express that lurch when she saw him, and smelt him, and felt his strong arm supporting her. That was the way to tell that she was completely his. It was love.

  Avis had known that her parents were in love. She could always see it in their eyes, and the way that her mother would always prepare particular food for her husband, and the way that her father could never take his gaze away from his wife. And now she could see in herself all of the signs of that deep emotion. It was not enough to say esteem, it was not enough to say admire – it was love. The feeling that she had for Melville demanded so much more than those simple sayings. She was in love with him.

  As this realisation dawned on her, another thought crossed her mind, and the happiness that she had felt with the realisation of what she felt for her husband sank quickly into despondency. Melville clearly did not love her. He would not have left her if he had felt a tenth of what she felt for him. Her heart sank further, but she resolved herself. If Avis knew anything about love, it was that sometimes it was one-sided. Sometimes one person simply could not muster up such feelings for another person. Avis knew that regardless of what Melville felt for her, she could never stop loving him.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  There was not a sound. Melville’s head was bowed, so he could not see King William’s expression. He stared at the floor. The dried rushes that made up the covering swam in and out of focus as he tried to remain conscious, despite the exhaustion and his rumbling stomach. After what seemed like an age, William spoke.

  “Rise.”

  Melville stood up, and faced his King. William’s face was sceptical, but he did not look angry. Melville tried to breathe out a sigh of relief without being noticed, and tried to put the right words in order before he spoke.

  “My lord King – ”

  “Sit.”

  The order came harshly, and Melville paused. Perhaps the idea to come to William had been a bad one. He certainly did not sound particularly happy to see him.

  “Sit,” repeated William in the same tone. His eyes had not left Melville, and there was little kindness there. But there had never been much kindness there.

  Melville sank into the chair that was next to him, and his aching bones cried out in relief. But he could not relax now. He shifted himself forwards slightly so that he would not fall asleep. He needed to be as alert as he could be in the presence of this mighty man.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Melville said. “You may not remember me, but – ”

  “Of course I remember you. Lord of Copmanthorpe. Ulleskelf. You impressed me on the day of the beach landing. You married.”

  Every word was clipped and short, giving nothing away and wasting no energy. William was clearly a man of action, and did not appreciate his time being wasted.

  Melville nodded.

  “I have come – ”

  “I know why you have come.” William interrupted lazily. “Do you not think I am aware of young Jean’s betrayal?”

  Melville’s heart groaned. The beginnings of his fears were therefore confirmed. His fingers clutched the arms of the chair, but he continued.

  “Jean is no traitor,” Melville said firmly. “He returned to your side. He will fight for you. He is a good man.”

  William reached to his left and picked up a large red apple from the bowl on the wooden table beside him. He considered it, and spoke without looking at Melville.

  “He was a good man.”

  “My lord?”

  “I could not allow such a man to remain amongst my retinue. He was…disposed of.” William bit into the apple. Spit and tiny parts of apple flew around his mouth, and he chewed loudly, looking directly at Melville.

  Melville felt sick. He had known that Jean’s warning to him had been a horrific gamble, but he had never expected him to lose. Jean was a winner, a fighter. A man who had been full of life.

  “You question my judgement?” William had been watching Melville’s reaction with interest, and smiled cynically.

  “I do, my lord.” Melville knew at this point that there was nothing to be gained from false diplomacy. Honesty was his only option. “Jean was a good man. A good fighter, and loyal to you. You disadvantage yourself by ridding your party of such men.”

  The words hung in the air between them, and Melville swallowed. He knew that by speaking so rashly to William he signed his own fate – but then he had never believed that he was leaving this place alive in any case. It was for Avis’ safety that he had come. It was all for Avis.

  William considered his vassal carefully. When Melville swore total allegiance to his King, he became his vassal, a total servant. Melville was regarded for several moments, and then his spectator broke into a laugh.

  “Your loyalty to your friend becomes you, Melville.”

  “My loyalty is true to all,” Melville returned quickly. “Including you, my King.”

  “Hmmmm.” Another bite of the apple was taken. “Talk of loyalty is cheap, you know. It is action that I prize beyond all.”

  Melville nodded.

  “I know. That is why I have journeyed here.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I am here to plead for my people.”

  William’s hand paused halfway to his mouth. This, he had not expected. He placed the apple back into the bowl.

  “Your peo
ple?”

  “The people of Copmanthorpe. Of Ulleskelf, and my household.”

  “Your people?” repeated William. He looked stunned. “You are a Norman! You do not owe anything to these people, these peasants! Are they of Norman blood? They are Saxons, man! They are the ones that owe us. We have saved them from themselves.”

  Melville did not reply. The anger that had coursed through William had given him a blotchy complexion, and his hand flexed. But just as quickly as his fury had been roused, he calmed. William saw the internal battle, and saw it won. The King nodded, and picked up the apple once more.

  “I take no requests,” he said firmly. “You may join me if you wish, or you may return to your woman. I hear she is of uncommon beauty,” William stuffed his face with apple once more, “though she is but a Saxon.”

  It was not anger, but hatred that filled Melville’s body and drowned his mind. He rose to his feet and drew his sword, no thought to consequences. William’s eyes widened, but he made no move to retrieve his own weapon and did not call for his guards to come and kill Melville like a wild animal.

  “You dishonour me!” Melville spoke quietly through clenched teeth, but there was feeling in every syllable. “That woman who you so easily discount is one of the bravest people that I have had the privilege to know. She has faced death and she has faced fear and she has overcome. And despite the terrible life that she has lived – that we have inflicted on her! – she is kind, and caring, and delicate, and good.”

  Melville panted with the effort of not running through his King.

  “I may have been born a bastard, but even if I had the noblest blood in Normandy I would not deserve her!”

  He had run out of words to say, and stood, sword aloft, waiting for William’s judgement. He could not believe that he had said such things to his King, and he knew that the consequences would be terrible. Could this be counted as treason? A bead of sweat fell from his forehead, and William sat immobile. He stared at Melville for a very long time. Too long. Melville began to sway on the spot, his fiery emotion not dispelling the exhaustion that he had felt for hours now.

  “Sit.” The word that William first spoke to Melville was repeated again, and this time Melville obeyed immediately.

  William brought his hands together and swopped the apple from hand to hand, eyes never leaving Melville. He had neglected to sheathe his sword, which was still clutched by his right hand. More minutes passed in silence as the King contemplated his subject.

  “You say you are illegitimate.”

  This was not at all what Melville had expected William to take from his impassioned speech in defence of his Anglo-Saxon bride, but he nodded.

  “I spent my life proving that I was worth something. That is how I have come to be in England, under your orders. Because I know I am better than those who only see my birth expect me to be.”

  William froze. He stared now at Melville with wide eyes, apple in his left hand but not moving at all. And then he sighed.

  “Apple?”

  Melville was startled into rudeness.

  “What?”

  “Would you like an apple, Melville?” William picked up the bowl, and held it out.

  Melville gave a short, uncertain laugh. Nothing could have prepared him for this, and he was still not sure if he was about to be arrested.

  “Should I be giving in to such temptation, my lord?”

  William returned his laugh, and Melville took an apple. Biting into its sweet flesh, he almost groaned with pleasure. It was good to eat again. It was good to feel alive.

  “You know of my parentage.” William stated this, rather than expected Melville to respond, but he nodded. “I was unaware of yours.”

  Melville swallowed. The previously welcome apple now stuck in his throat.

  William’s eyes wandered from Melville, and stared at the ceiling.

  “I, too, have spent my life proving myself to be strong and bold. I too bear what some consider a disgrace, but I consider a badge of honour.”

  Melville’s heart began to thump loudly again.

  William stood up, and walked towards Melville, who dropped to his knees in front of his King. William reached down, and pulled him up. The two men faced each other.

  “Go,” said William gruffly. “Return to your woman. Hold her close, and tell her from the King that she is safe. I shall not harm your land, or your people.”

  Melville’s jaw dropped wide, and pieces of apple dropped out. He clamped his mouth shut in embarrassment. He tried to kneel again but William prevented him.

  “There is no need for such dramatics.” William smiled. “Take your men and depart.”

  Melville put away his sword, and walked towards the door like a man returning to earth after being given a chance to escape hell. But before he exited the room, he swivelled to once more gaze at his King.

  “Melville?”

  “My lord,” Melville began awkwardly. “I cannot go without asking you…without asking you the question that many of your people are already asking.”

  William smiled, but his smile had no warmth.

  “Ask.”

  Melville hesitated. Was this wise? He asked himself. Is this only going to get you into more trouble? But he could not in all honour leave the room without discovering the truth.

  “Why? Why destroy the North? There are many innocents there, and people who will not know what they have done to deserve such punishment.”

  William stared at his vassal, this Melville who had travelled miles upon miles to secure the safety of a few peasants and a woman of low birth. And his smile wavered, and then disappeared.

  “It is well for you,” he said gruffly. “That it is I that is King, and not you.”

  “My lord?”

  “It is by difficult decisions such as I have made that makes one a King,” William spoke in a tired voice that Melville had not heard before. “It is for Kings, and Kings alone that such decisions must be made. It is not for the likes of you, and it is the burden that I bear. And I bear it for my people, so that they do not have to bear such things. For it is a heavy burden, and I ask no one to carry it for me. Now take your men, and go.”

  Melville looked at his King, and he understood. He bowed to William, who inclined his head and gestured to the door. But Melville had not reached it before he heard his name once more.

  “Melville.”

  William’s voice halted his path, and he turned to look at his King again.

  “Take all of your men.”

  Melville nodded, but he did not understand. All he wanted to do was be away. William smiled, and gestured that he could leave.

  The same servant was waiting outside the door, and stared at Melville with a newfound fear and respect.

  “Well,” he said in shock. “It appears that my lord approves of you greatly.”

  The man must have been listening at the door, but even this act of rudeness could not dim the smile in Melville’s face.

  “Take me to my men,” he replied easily. “And be quiet.”

  The man snorted at Melville’s sudden bravery, but sullenly led Melville back to the entrance hall that he recognised. The majority of his men were standing around the fire, their clothes steaming, but Robert was pacing up and down. He had just thrown himself into a chair when Melville turned the corner and strode into the entrance hall.

  “We return home,” Melville called out to them.

  “What, immediately?” asked Robert, hauling himself out of a chair and looking disappointed at having his rest interrupted.

  “This very moment.”

  “My lord,” begged another man, “we are exhausted.”

  “And so is every single person that we left behind,” returned Melville in a strong loud voice. King William’s servants paused to listen to him. “Exhausted of not knowing whether they are to live or die. We must ride to give them the news.”

  Melville’s men exchanged glances with one another, unsure what the news was. br />
  “News?” ventured Robert.

  Melville smiled. Smiled at his brave men, who had undertaken so much with so little hope of success.

  “The King will not be taking Ulleskelf. We are saved.”

  There were no hurrahs or shouts of joy from his retinue. Just sweet relief.

  “Then home,” smiled Robert. “The sooner the better.”

  Footsteps behind Melville sounded, and his men saw a figure approaching behind him. With gasps, they threw themselves to the ground. Melville spun around to see King William once more, looking angry.

  “Did I not tell you to take all your men?” He asked furiously.

  “I…” Melville could not think what to say, but then cried out, “Jean!”

  A shape had appeared from behind the King, and Jean rushed towards Melville. After they had embraced, Melville remembered William’s words, and turned to him.

  “My King – you told me that you had Jean killed.”

  William smiled.

  “I told you that I could not allow such a man to remain amongst my retinue. I told you that I had disposed of him. Consider him at your disposal.”

  He swept his robes around him as he turned, and as he left the room shouted, “All of your men, Melville.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  The look-outs that Avis had stationed along the roof of the manor had not given a sound since she had put them there, and for that she was prayerfully thankful. Another day had gone past without a sign of Melville, and Avis had finally accepted that he had truly gone. Under no circumstances could he have been delayed for so long in York. He must have reached London by now, she thought dully as she pummelled some dough in the kitchen. Soon he shall be back where he always wanted to be. In Normandy.

  The days had passed in slow monotony, and Avis began to hope that the King had decided not to destroy the North. Perhaps any moment now, she thought as she ate in the Great Hall alongside a pack of children and a sweaty Norman, a messenger shall reach the gates with news that the King has changed his mind. Her imagination ran wild, including Melville riding towards her on a large horse, ready to sweep her off her feet and console her with news that everyone was safe…