Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms

Melville took a step forward towards his furious wife.

  “It was sent when you and I…it seemed like the best thing for you.”

  Avis scrunched her nose in confusion.

  “Since when did you consider what was best for me?”

  “Since…since…” Melville spluttered. “I cannot put a time on when you became such an important part of my life!”

  This was not something that Avis had expected. Melville was breathing deeply, clenching and unclenching his fists – but his face was serene.

  “Avis,” he said, and his voice seemed to caress her name. “You cannot know what it is to marry someone that you despise, and then to realise that you have fallen in love with them. My feelings for you…they are deeper than anything that I have ever known. Deeper than any ocean and farther than any land. You…you are everything.”

  “I cannot listen to this.” Avis turned and began to walk away. Melville was hurt, and he begged her.

  “Will you not stay?”

  “No.”

  Melville hurried around the trestle table to prevent her from leaving.

  “Why not? You begged me to speak the truth, and now I am! Why shall you not hear it?”

  There was hurt in his voice, and a confusion that tugged at Avis’ heart – but still she would not stay, she would not listen to this.

  Avis had almost reached the kitchen door when Melville cried out in agony.

  “Why are you trying to leave me?”

  The pain in his words had now reached a crescendo, and they stopped Avis in her tracks.

  Without turning to face him, she spoke. She could not speak and look at him – that would be too hard. And these words needed to be said.

  “I do not want to leave you. But it’s too much, Melville. Everything is crowding me, and I do not know what to believe and what part of you to trust.”

  A hand reached out. Melville touched Avis’ shoulder, and she recoiled at his touch. This apparent disgust spurred him on, forcing her to turn around, and pulling her violently into his arms. Avis struggled, not only against the strength and the warmth of his body, but against the emotions that welled up within her, crying out that this was right, that this was where she belonged. Melville’s hands were around her waist, and every breath that he took reminded Avis just how close they were.

  A loud resounding noise reverberated around the stone kitchen, and Melville’s face recoiled in pain. Avis’ violent slap began to colour his cheek, and she gasped at the force of her own anger.

  Melville looked down at Avis, his passionate wife.

  “I probably deserved that,” he whispered to her.

  Avis could not help herself. A slow but glorious smile spread across her red lips. Reaching up on her toes, she leaned closer and closer towards Melville – who could not believe what she was about to do.

  The kiss was long, and ardent, and unlike anything they had ever known. As soon as their lips touched, Avis stopped struggling in Melville’s arms, and he tightened his grip around her tiny frame. His lips parted, and she welcomed the new intrusion with a quiet moan of delight.

  After the kiss ended, Avis stared into her husband’s eyes with wonder. This man, this wonderful man. He was hers, and hers alone.

  “I suppose,” Melville spoke in a shaking voice, in a state of wonder at the hunger and desire emanating from his delicate Avis, “that I probably deserved that as well.”

  Avis laughed, awkwardly, suddenly aware of the very wanton behaviour that she had just displayed. Pulling away from the intimate embrace, she walked past Melville towards the trestle table where she had been working. She leaned down, and began to tidy the mess that he had made in his previous bout of anger.

  Melville smiled in wonder. It would take Avis some time to become accustomed to the affectionate manner that he intended to treat her with, but she would learn.

  He watched the elegant slope of her form as she leaned across the table, and admired her. Another rush of love flowed through him, and he slowly began to follow her. When he had reached her, an adoring hand reached up and moved away the wash of hair that flowed down her back. Avis stiffened at first, unsure as to what Melville was doing, but as he lowered his lips upon her neck, she shivered under his touch. Melville placed his arms around her waist while he continued to nuzzle at her neck, and before Avis could anticipate his plan, he turned her around to face him.

  The desire on her face told him exactly what he needed to know. Hungrily, their lips met, and abandoning all fear they gave themselves up to their mutual love.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Avis wriggled, delighting in the way that she felt. She and Melville lay in his bed chamber, drinking in the pleasure of finally truly understanding each other – in every way. After their fiery encounter in the kitchen, it had not taken Melville long to carry his bride to his chamber, past the servants who hurriedly pretended that they could not see them, and irreversibly make their relationship undeniable. They had finally consummated their marriage.

  Avis was lying on her side, with Melville’s arms around her. Neither of them had seen any particular reason to dress, and so they revelled in the feeling of their bodies as close as they could possibly be. Melville lay with his eyes closed, a contented smile on his face that Avis had never seen before. But then, she reasoned, I probably have the same smile. And why not? Now we are truly husband and wife. And he loves me.

  She sighed, happily. She could not have imagined reaching a point where she felt so at peace, so comfortable around this tall, dark man. But here she was, as vulnerable as she could possibly be, and yet he still loved her. It was a miracle.

  “Avis?”

  “Hmmm?” Avis did not want to break the exquisite moment with conversation, but Melville was determined to speak. She kept her eyes closed, though a cheeky smile spread across her face.

  “Avis!” Melville tipped her over onto her back, and clambered across her as she giggled with delight. “Are you listening to me?”

  “No,” she returned, luxuriating in his mock anger.

  Melville laughed, and slowly lowered himself towards her. Avis gave a sigh of happiness as the contact that had been lost was re-established, and she felt his hot skin against her.

  “Now I shall listen to you,” Avis smiled, and Melville shook his head at her.

  “You are a heedless one. A reckless woman.”

  Avis nodded, and leisurely moved her legs to encase him within her. As he smiled at the contact, she began to slowly writhe underneath him. He moaned, and with a shaking voice tried to stop her.

  “No, Avis, I want to talk – ”

  “But I don’t.”

  Her voice was hoarse, and full of desire. Melville tried to resist her, but he had no real wish to. This was what he had been longing for over the last few weeks – for a complete and happy marriage with this lady who had become his whole life. He surrendered to their mutual desire.

  It was almost an hour before their hearts beat slower again, panting at the effort and the intense pleasure. After calm had resumed, Avis was completely relaxed once more, and gradually falling asleep. But again, Melville tried to gain her attention. He was lying beside her, and whispered into her ear.

  “Avis.”

  She jerked back to consciousness, and smiling, rolled onto her side to face him.

  “Melville.”

  Melville loved the way that she said his name, and he could not help but smile in wonderment that he was married to the beautiful woman lying naked in his bed.

  “I think,” he said carefully, “that there are some things that we need to talk about.”

  Avis’ attention heightened as she saw how serious Melville was being.

  “Talk? About serious things? Now?”

  Melville chuckled to see her unwillingness.

  “Now.”

  Avis scrunched up her nose in a way that was becoming as familiar to Melville as his own face. She was confused as to what there was to talk about.

  “S
uch as?”

  “When did everything change?” Melville could see that Avis did not understand his rather oblique question, and so tried to clarify. “Your feelings about me. For me. When did they change?”

  He looked slightly bashful at the forward and direct question, but Avis smiled.

  “I suppose,” she said, thoughtfully, “the real moment that I realised I cared for you much deeper than I wanted to admit was when you returned after travelling to William’s court.”

  Melville raised an eyebrow, and Avis elaborated.

  “I was so concerned when you disappeared – ”

  “I didn’t disappear!” Melville protested. “I went to protect you!”

  “But I didn’t know that,” Avis replied calmly. “All I knew was that you had departed with some of your best men. The strongest men that could have protected us. You had left no message indicating where you were going. You didn’t even write a short note to tell me that you would return.”

  “I cannot write,” Melville confessed, with a sad look on his face. “If I had tried to leave you a message, I would have had to take another into my confidence.”

  Avis was stunned.

  “Truly, you cannot write?”

  “I cannot read,” pointed out Melville. “I never had the instruction that you were given as a child.”

  Avis considered this new piece of information.

  “I had not thought of that,” she mused.

  “But I interrupted you,” said Melville. “Please continue.”

  “It was when you returned,” Avis began again. “When I realised how terrified I was of losing you, and how proud I was that you had faced one of the most dangerous men in this land – all to protect myself, and the people of Ulleskelf. They are not your people, and yet you risked your life for them. I suddenly grasped the extent of your capacity to love, and…”

  Her voice trailed off, her embarrassment overcoming her.

  “There you are,” she said, confused. “Now you know.”

  Avis smiled nervously at him, and Melville drew her closer to himself. Kissing her on the forehead, he breathed a happy sigh. But Avis was not satisfied with this one-sided conversation.

  “And how has it taken you this long,” asked Avis, half-mockingly, “to admit your feelings for me? You must confess we could have reached this blissful understanding much earlier if you had been honest.”

  “I do not consider myself dishonest!” retorted Melville.

  Avis nudged him.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Melville stroked her hair with one hand.

  “I do.” He pondered her question before replying, and then answered hesitantly. “It was not that I had decided not to be honest. I did not believe you to return my love, and so did not want to place you in the uncomfortable position of knowing me to feel more than you did. Until I could be sure, until I had some sign from you that you considered me in a similar manner…I was not willing to risk the balance that we had created – even if it was a balance that was not as close and familiar as I had wanted. I could not risk losing you.”

  Avis nodded slowly.

  “And so we both loved, and did not know how to love.”

  “You are as eloquent as ever,” teased Melville.

  They lay in silence for several minutes, basking in the love that they could now openly express. But Avis was not completely ready to end the conversation. There was one more thing that she had to know.

  “Melville?”

  It was he that was falling asleep now, and she flicked him on the nose.

  “Ouch!”

  “Ah, I have your attention,” Avis laughed. “I have one more question for you.”

  “Is it a difficult one?” asked Melville, rubbing his nose in mock anguish.

  “I think it may be.”

  The seriousness of Avis’ tone brought him back to their conversation, and he began to look worried.

  “Do not fear,” consoled Avis. “I am not angry. I merely wish to know why you did not write to the Pope again, after your affections had changed, and to tell him that you did not require an annulment.”

  Avis was worried that she had overstepped the line with this question, as Melville fell silent and pensive. She berated herself. This was a new beginning for them, and here she was, already provoking him!

  “It does not matter,” she said hurriedly, “I only wondered – ”

  “To do so,” Melville interrupted quietly, “would be to admit that I could not…would not live without you. It seemed like weakness. I convinced myself that my letter did not bind me to an annulment and that when the reply finally came, I could burn it. You would never know, and I would never have hurt you.” Melville laughed sadly. “That did not happen. I did hurt you. The one thing that I have always tried to avoid, done by my own hand.”

  Avis reached her arm to encircle him, and nestled into Melville’s neck.

  “But all is mended now.”

  “All is mended.” Melville echoed her happy words, and the tension in his body released. She had forgiven him his stupidity, and he would never be so rash again.

  “You know,” Avis mused, “It is good to talk about these things. We have been avoiding them for fear of hurting each other, but now all is in the open.”

  “I shall never hurt you again,” Melville whispered to her, his emotions brimming over into his voice.

  Avis lifted her head to look into his eyes, and beamed, seeing passion there.

  “I know,” she replied, briefly caressing his lips with hers, and then settling down against his warm body.

  The warmth of the room and the happiness in their hearts gently pushed them towards sleep. As Avis’ eyes fought against the pull to slumber, she spoke again.

  “Melville?”

  He grunted, and she took that to mean that he was listening.

  “I have one last thing to tell you.”

  “It’s not that you have written to the Pope too, is it?” asked Melville lazily, one eye opening to stare at her quizzically. “I don’t know if I could bear that.”

  Avis giggled.

  “No,” she said. “But I have lied to you.”

  Melville started, and almost sat up in shock, and Avis rushed to calm him.

  “Not about anything important!”

  “What unimportant thing is not true then?”

  “My name.”

  Melville looked confused, and was still anxious that Avis had been dishonest with him. Avis quickly continued, trying to reassure him, trying to explain.

  “Avis is a Norman name. It means bird.”

  “I know,” Melville mocked her. “I am the Norman one in this bed.”

  “And I am the Anglo-Saxon one,” Avis agreed. “Did you not ever wonder why I did not have an Anglo-Saxon name?”

  Melville considered for a moment. Once more, his ignorance was so obvious to her!

  “To be perfectly honest, my love, I did not.”

  Avis smiled knowingly.

  “Just as I learned the Norman language, I adopted a Norman name.”

  “Why?” Melville asked. “I cannot understand why you would align yourself so profoundly with a people that you despised.”

  “For my protection,” Avis said. “It was safer for those who met me to consider me as almost Norman. Or as Norman as I could be.”

  Melville thought about this for a moment, and had to agree with her. Her name had probably protected her in moments of danger more than she knew.

  “Why Avis?”

  Avis tried to explain the complicated thought pattern that had led her to choose her new Norman name.

  “When I look at the birds,” she began. “They fly where they choose. They are completely free, and I envied them. In the new land after the conquest, I could not go where I wanted, do what I wanted, marry who I wanted!” She laughed. “Avis seemed appropriate. I felt like a caged bird, and I wanted to be free.”

  “So,” Melville said hesitantly, “what is your real n
ame?”

  “It’s Annis,” she said shyly.

  “Annis.” Melville rolled the name around on his tongue. “It is a beautiful name. It suits you.”

  Avis laughed.

  “So it should! It is my name.”

  “Does it have a meaning?”

  Avis smiled at her husband. Her glorious, Norman husband.

  “It means unity.”

  “Unity. It’s perfect. Which would you prefer?”

  After a short momentary instant of consideration, she replied.

  “Annis. I think it better suits me.”

  Melville drew his wife closer.

  “You know,” he whispered affectionately. “I may have conquered your country. But you have conquered my heart.”

  Epilogue

  The sun was shining, and no cloud blemished the blue sky. As a gentle breeze rustled the trees, the flags rippled from their posts and rope surrounding the village.

  Ulleskelf was decorated from the top of each house to the grass beneath the feet of the villagers. Branches of blossom adorned walls, and flowers were intertwined with luscious leaves around each doorway. The smith of the village had wrought small silver bells that jingled merrily in the lilting breeze. All of the villagers were wearing their best clothes, and the children ran round in small packs, tripping up the servants that were trying to set a delectable feast on the trestle tables brought from the house.

  It was a little over two years since the terrible winter that had become known as the Harrying of the North. Melville had declared that there was to be a feast held, and the guest of honour was currently toppling towards him.

  Melville laughed, and continued to give out the food and gifts to the villagers that had become his friends. Although they respected him, none feared him because his fairness and his love of the land had endeared him to each that he met.

  As he moved through the village, Melville found the musicians that were wandering about nibbling on sweet pastries and spilling ale from the tankards in their other hands.

  “Enjoying yourselves?” Melville smiled at them.

  The musicians hastily bowed, spilling even more of their beverages.

  “Yes, my lord!” One spluttered. “And we are but now to play for you!”