Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms

  As they reached the door of her chamber, her only thought was confusion – how did he know where she slept at night? Little did she know that he had paced outside her room the last few nights, driving himself mad at the thought of Avis sleeping in there without the layers of clothing and trappings that he saw her in each day.

  He thrust the heavy door open with one arm, and pushed her onto the bed before slamming the door shut and bolting it. Towering over Avis, he gave a threatening aura of desperation and anger. She could not help but let out a whimper of protest and fear.

  “What?” Melville seemed distracted, and indeed he was. He could not help dwelling throughout the wedding ceremony and feast on his intense dislike of this woman before him – this woman who would by her blood and by her ring tie him to this land. He felt that she was purposefully trapping him. But the idea that he would hurt her, force her in any way, was repellent to him, and he could not ignore her heady scent of rosemary which had been taunting him throughout the feast.

  “Be calm.” Melville had little experience with women, but knew enough that his domineering height and masculine presence was probably not helping. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he attempted to disquiet her worries. “I am not going to hurt you.”

  Avis pulled herself up in the bed to face him.

  “You had better not,” she said angrily, adding a, “my lord,” at the end to appease him and to give the impression of feminine submission and obedience.

  A brief smile flashed across Melville’s dark features, and he almost chuckled.

  “I give you my word.”

  Throwing off his embellished jacket and belt, he dropped into a chair by the window – her chair – and looking out of it rather than at his bride, continued speaking. It was clear that he had no appreciation for her home as she did.

  “I feel that it is only fair and reasonable to explain to you, my lady, the circumstances of this marriage.”

  The circumstances of this marriage? Avis remained silent, unsure what this unpredictable man would say next.

  “I am a Norman.” Melville began. Avis scoffed silently. By aligning himself with the people that she hated, he sealed his own fate. I will never trust you, she vowed to herself.

  “As a Norman, I owe my life and allegiance to my King, William.” The monotone of his voice belied his boredom, but it was a soft voice and Avis against her will began to be reassured by it. He was certainly capable of great violence, but she believed that he would not hurt her – at least not purposefully.

  Melville continued speaking.

  “My King has requested – nay, required – his followers to support him in his efforts to colonise this country – ”

  “My country.” Avis could not help the interjection.

  “The new Norman country.”

  “That you took from us.”

  “That has been taken.” Melville reluctantly withdrew his gaze from the window to scowl at her. “And the way that William will perfectly and completely conquer this land is by marriage. Norman and Anglo-Saxon marriage. Such as our marriage.”

  “And so, I am a prize?” Avis spoke, less in anger than in wonderment.

  “No.” Melville stared at her, expressionlessly. “You are a punishment.”

  Avis’ jaw dropped. How could he offend her so openly?

  “I did not want to marry you.” Melville spoke darkly. “If I could have chosen, I would not have married you at all. But now we are married, and so my obedience to the King cannot be besmirched.”

  There was a silence. Avis could not take all of this in, and Melville was tense, waiting for the tirade of her anger to attack him.

  Avis began to laugh.

  Melville’s scowl turned to puzzlement.

  “You mock me, my lady?”

  Avis smothered her mirthless laugh. “No. I laugh merely because I too am unwilling in this ridiculous charade. I too am married against my will. I was given the choice of yourself or my lord Richard.”

  Melville was horrified.

  “Your actions at the riverbed would have suggested otherwise, my lady!” He said accusingly.

  “I have honour,” Avis declared haughtily. “Once I have made my promise, there is nothing that can prevent me from breaking it. From the moment of our betrothal, I was to become your wife.”

  Melville’s head was reeling. To think that both of them had been individually despairing at this marriage! That neither were willing, that both had separately and unknowingly desired freedom!

  “Do you mean to say that if both of us had made our causes known, we could have worked together to prevent this?”

  Avis shook her head, sadly. “I know not the King personally, but from what I have heard of him and his character, I do not believe he would have allowed two people’s personal preferences to interfere with his goal.” Her voice spoke of bitterness and hardship, but Melville ignored it. Whatever sob story this Saxon girl had, he would not be taken in by it.

  “I must admit, I am relieved.” Melville spoke slowly, taking this new knowledge slowly into his plans. “In that case I will have no fear in applying to our father, the Pope for an annulment.”

  He had expected her to be relieved, to be grateful that he was to spare her the marriage bed and free her from her promise – but as soon as he mentioned the idea of annulling their marriage, Avis started up where she sat in the bed and shouted, “my lord!”

  “Quiet, girl!” Melville returned fiercely. “Or do you want the household rushing to our chamber?”

  “I will not be quiet!” Avis rose from the bed, walking towards him, dress slightly slipping on her shoulder revealing indulgent skin. “This marriage is not one that either of us would have chosen, but it is done! And what is done is done, and must be dealt with.”

  “You would choose a marriage of apathy?”

  “This is a marriage of hatred!” Avis’ clear eyes had darkened to a deceptively brilliant green, and she had once again unconsciously clenched her fists as she moved towards him. “You are Norman! What makes you think that I can feel only apathy in your presence? You disgust me.”

  She drew closer and made to spit at him, but Melville rose swiftly and clasped her arms to her side.

  “Woman!” He whispered deeply, with venom in his tones. “I swear by God if you cross me you will suffer, my wife though you be.”

  Melville and Avis stood there, in the middle of the room, clasped in a wedding embrace unlike that of any other newly married couple. There was anger and resentment deepening between them, an almost palpable tension that could not be resolved. Avis knew that he was stronger than she, and that she was tired. This would not be the time to begin her fight against this man. As much as she wanted to throw him off her, to release herself from him, there was a magnetism about him that dwelt in the core of his being. She could not ignore it, and she fought against it with all of her soul.

  As they stood, Melville became aware of his breathing: deep and fast. But there was more – he could feel Avis’ ribcage moving in a fluttering motion as she attempted to catch her breath. He looked down at his wife. His Anglo-Saxon wife. Hatred flooded into his lungs, so that every breath that descended from his lips down onto the top of her hair covered her in his loathing. But then Avis looked up. Her eyes widened when she realised how close his face was to hers, and he was struck by her beauty.

  A desire to protect her rose unbidden from a deep place within him. This girl was his wife. He involuntarily began to lower his face down to hers – but then just as involuntarily released her and stepped back, almost pushing her away back onto the bed. This was not the time to lose control.

  Avis stood where he had left her, gradually catching her balance from the force that he had pushed her with as he moved away. Her gaze followed Melville, waiting for him to make another move – away from her or to bring them closer together.

  Melville swallowed, refreshing his dry mouth. His vision was blurred by the lust that had suddenly descended, and he needed to
create as much distance between them as possible.

  “We are tired.” He managed. “Rest.”

  “You lie not with me.” Avis spoke quickly and surely, determined to force her point across to this strange man. “Not tonight. Not any night.”

  She was sure that he would refuse this suggestion, and was prepared to fight him – physically if necessary – to prevent him from taking her innocence. But a small smile danced around his lips, and she felt embarrassed, as if he was privy to a joke that she was unaware of.

  “If that is what you desire, my lady.” Melville strode towards the bed, pulling off one of the ornate covers and began making himself a bed by the warm embers of the fire. Avis was surprised. She had not expected him to be so quick to agree with her, but was too tired to question him. Unsure that Melville would keep to his word, Avis crept into bed after quietly secreting a dagger under her pillow. No surprises.

  Chapter Ten

  Avis woke up with her left hand clasped around the handle of the dagger, the sharp metal clinking metallically when she moved her finger with her wedding ring. Wedding ring. She turned quickly towards the fire, and was relieved to see the covers were vacant. Melville must have risen early and left without stirring her.

  After dressing and moving towards the Great Hall, she could hear sounds of shouting and chaos emanating from the stables just at the side of the large room. Altering her course to discover what the disturbance was, she walked into what seemed to be every person of the house rushing around carrying chests and bags and completely unsure where they should be going. Weaving her way through the crowd, she eventually found Richard, watching all that was going on with a mocking laugh dancing across his features.

  After a short curtsey as greeting, Avis ignored all polite conversation and enquired immediately.

  “Good morrow, my lord. What is happening?”

  Richard looked amused.

  “You are leaving.”

  “Leaving?” Avis was hungry, and still tired from the day before, and not in the mood to be teased and bullied by this foreign man again. “Leaving to go where?”

  “You and your husband, when he returns from his ride, are going back to his land and property.”

  “Where is his land?”

  “In the North.”

  Avis had never been in the north. She had lived all of the years of her life in the South, and had never ventured far from her home. She had heard terrifying stories of painted men and women who could tell your fortune by looking at you. The land there was said to be barren and miserable, with constant rain and few people at all. But she had also heard about the wilds – huge amounts of land where no people lived and folk told stories about magical creatures and deadly caves in which demons lived. She had been told about mighty rivers, and deep forests. She shivered, not only with fear but with excitement. Finally she was leaving Richard. A tear rolled down her cheek as she surveyed the building that she would be leaving. This place had been her home for almost two decades, and with it she would be leaving scores of memories – not all of them happy.

  Richard evidently was hoping that she would be overcome with fright, but she would not give him that satisfaction.

  “I will await my husband in the Great Hall.” She stated firmly. “He can come to collect me when all is ready.”

  Sweeping away decidedly, Avis walked away, not noticing the horses arriving with great noise in the courtyard behind her. Melville and two of his men were sweating and smiling after their ride – their hunting trip had been successful. A brace of pheasants swung down from a tight leather cord strapped to one of the horses. Melville’s face fell, however, when he saw the back of his new bride in the courtyard. It had been easy when away from this depressing house and miserable inhabitants to forget his concerns, but now he had returned he had a duty to return home and take his men back to their families – and to become accustomed to the new family that had been formed.

  “Avis!” he called across the courtyard, his deep voice resonating over the noise, calling for silence. She stopped, and slowly turned, a smile plastered on her face. Melville could see that she was attempting to be brave and self-confident in front of his men, and he could not help but begrudgingly respect her for it.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Make ready a horse.” He spoke curtly. “We ride immediately.”

  Avis bowed her consent, but turned seething. He had clearly decided to humiliate her in every way possible, beginning with not allowing her respite to eat before their long journey to the North. She drew herself up, and concentrated. She was a woman. She was an Anglo-Saxon. She smiled. She could do anything.

  The journey was long and arduous indeed, and it seemed to last a month to Avis who had never travelled such a long distance in her life. Every muscle ached, and her shoulders kept dipping under the strain of remaining on a horse for hours on end. For Melville however, a man from across the sea, it was but a short time until they had arrived at what he resentfully termed ‘home’. Avis drew in a quick breath. The manor had been built near the bank of a deep river and was not only beautiful, but domineering. The manor dominated the landscape in a very powerful way – just as the Normans now own us, she thought angrily, lessening her appreciation for the structure.

  “Where are we?” Avis had lost count of the names and locations of the towns and villages that they had passed, and many of the names had been changed since the Normans had come. Places that she thought she had known were no longer there, and they had passed the remains of many a village that had been destroyed, and whose inhabitants had not returned. Avis had not asked whether this had been out of choice. She was totally at a loss as to where she was.

  “Just south of York. My village is Ulleskelf, under the jurisdiction of Copmanthorpe.”

  “Copmanthorpe,” mused Avis, her nose scrunching as it always did when she tried to understand something. “I know that name.”

  “Indeed you should,” Melville spoke carefully. “I believe that a man of your family once lived here.”

  “Yes!” Memories were slowly dripping through into Avis’ mind, and she could picture her distant cousin now. “Gospatrick. He was the lord of Copmanthorpe – a brave man.”

  Melville was silent. He knew that Gospatrick had died on the same field that he had fought on, but was not sure just how aware his bride was of the battles that had been fought over this land that she pined over so.

  “He was replaced.” Melville was careful with his words. “I am lord now.”

  Avis flung a look over her shoulder as her horse moved gently on the spot to counter the movement.

  “You?”

  Melville laughed indignantly at her disapproval. “Am I such a bad choice?”

  “What was wrong with the original?” Avis countered. “From my meagre memory, Gospatrick was a good man. A loyal man, who took care of his people.”

  Melville sighed. There was so much that she did not understand. It would certainly take a long time for Avis to accustom herself to the ‘new’ England.

  Avis saw his disappointment with her, and flushed. It was not her fault that she could not comprehend the removal of a good man for a stranger. Melville obviously underestimated her. She knew full well what had happened to Gospatrick.

  “You must be tired.” Melville cut across her thoughts.

  “I am.” Avis was loathed to concede weakness, but was afraid that he would suggest another long ride as he had two days ago when she had tried to pretend that she was not exhausted. “I would appreciate a rest.”

  “This is your home now.” Melville could not have sounded more unhappy. “Treat it as your own.”

  She bowed her head in thanks, and they rode the last mile towards the manor at a slow pace. As they entered the large open courtyard, Avis brought the horse to a stop, and then slid off the panting horse with relief. Her old horse that had been plundered by the Normans had been so used to her that they had moved in one smooth stream, and she did not exactly agree wi
th this creature’s understanding of a calm ride. Checking that her veil was in place – an object that she had refused point blank to leave behind – she strolled curiously into the manor.

  As Melville watched Avis go, he let out a strangled sigh. It had been agony watching this delicate girl put herself through such pain in order to retain the appearance of strength before him. The conversation about her new home had been the first time that they had spoken openly since that wedding night when she had thrown the fact that he was a Norman back in his face. His hand tightened on the reigns as he remembered the hatred that was clear in her face, and then loosened his grip. She was but an Anglo-Saxon, he reminded himself. She could not understand.

  Giving out instructions to the many servants that began teeming out to see their master’s return, he organised the removal of his new wife’s belongings and began to prepare himself for another ride. Anything to put space between him and that woman.

  Chapter Eleven

  Avis had been worried that she would not feel at home in this foreign land, in an odd manor, amongst strangers. After all, this was a land that she had only heard talk of in dark tales, around a smouldering fire from elderly men whose eyes flashed as they spoke. Avis was sure that there would be many customs and routines that she would not understand, and all who saw her would quickly mark her as an outsider.

  But she could not have been more wrong. After she had explored parts of the manor, she realised that she would very quickly get lost in the passages and rooms that she was unaccustomed to. Having never lived anywhere else, she was unused to finding her way around a new place. All of the walls were bare, and the rushes on the floors were patchy and dirty in some places, and simply absent in others. Many of the candles attached to the walls had burnt out. It gave the corridors a dark and gloomy atmosphere.