Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms (4 page)

Melville walked across the courtyard below whistling, and she watched him. It was but small recompense that her future husband was nothing like Richard. Energetic and enthusiastic about the outdoors, she had noticed his penchant for riding and admired it. Her horse had been taken away from her when the Normans had invaded, as had all of her worldly goods, and she missed the freedom that it brought. Gazing down, she absentmindedly brushed and untangled her hair, humming a folk song that her mother had sung to her.

As he walked, Melville could feel someone watching him, but was convinced that he had risen early enough to get a quiet ride to himself. He could not shake the feeling of being watched and halfway across the courtyard towards the stables, stopped. He turned slowly, but could see no one behind him. Then he looked up, and saw Avis.

By God, she was beautiful. She stood there at the open window, allowing the sun’s meagre rays to illuminate her. He could feel her beauty affecting even him, a man who had decided that he would not desire this woman, and felt traitorous to his finer feelings. To have such a wife, to hold her, to know that none other had touched her in the way that he had – but no. She would be his wife in contract only, not in act.

Avis had seen him. She looked down at him with no shame, or affectation of pretending that she had not noticed him. They gazed at each other, and the power of their mutual look stunned Avis. She had never expected to find a man who was so willing to match her, and yet this man obviously felt no shame in gazing up at her. Just as their look at the betrothal had taken her breath away, almost causing her to faint when she thought that he was going to reject her, so again his eyes snared her in a trap which she almost enjoyed. An emotion tugged at her heart that she did not recognise. The power of this feeling stunned her, and she withdrew, unsure why her heart was beating so powerfully.

He was the enemy, she reminded herself. He was one of that army who came and destroyed everything you knew, everything you cared for. He will destroy you. If he doesn’t marry you first.

Chapter Six

A flurry of excitement filled and seeped into the manor. Today was the day that Avis and Melville were to be married. Excited preparations by the servants had culminated in an elegantly decorated Great Hall, covered in flowing silks and rose petals, with trestle tables buckling under platters and platters of lovingly prepared meats and glazed vegetables. Different sauces and stuffings were dotted about, and there was an abundance of fruit cascading down from red glazed vases. A variety of wines and ales were ready in caskets at one side of the hall, and goblets enough for all were stacked beside them. A man was tuning a gittern, a stringed instrument that was incredibly intricate and needed a highly skilled player. The musician had been brought in from the nearest town to play at the wedding. Three jugglers rehearsed near the top table, throwing small balls over the chairs in which Melville and Avis would be seated at the feast that evening. All was prepared. Richard nodded appreciatively as he crossed the hall. His servants had surpassed themselves. Everything was ready, and everyone was in their place. All except one.

Melville was missing. The man who tended his horse had readied it extremely early in the morning as was his custom, but neither horse nor rider had been seen since. Richard was trying not to panic, but he knew that the King would not look well on him losing the groom. The servants had been doing their best to keep the fact that Melville had not been seen for hours from Avis all morning, who was wandering around the place in her bridal gown, unsure as to why her morning wedding had been postponed to the afternoon. After searching for her along the many corridors and chambers in the manor, Richard eventually caught up with her in a passageway.

“Flaunting your wares this early in the morn?” He remarked snidely, grinning at the smooth skin on her shoulder that was just about made visible by the speed at which Avis was moving.

She could smell his stale sweat, and she leant away from him – difficult in the confines of the corridor, but necessary if she was not going to gag.

“Good morrow my lord,” she said stiffly. “And when will these bridal trappings be put to use?”

“When we can find your husband, I suppose.” Richard spoke viciously, and was pleased to see Avis’ countenance drop.

“Find my husband?” Avis looked confused. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Just what I say.” Richard relished in her discontent. “Melville is missing.”

Avis clenched her fists. It was bad enough that she was being made to marry this man, but did he need to continually insult her? No wonder the wedding ceremony had been postponed this morning. She had been waiting all day for an event that may never happen.

Richard smiled at her, enjoying her discomfort.

“Who knows,” he said carelessly. “He may not return. He may not have liked what he saw.”

A pale hand moved faster than he could, and a resounding slap filled the corridor. Richard’s cheek smarted and began to colour red. He stared, shocked, at Avis. She was breathing deeply, trying to regain control of herself, but could not.

“Filthy man!” She spoke calmly but with real hatred in her tones. “You have attempted to make my life a misery since you arrived here, but you do not own me. This Melville may be a swine of a Norman, but if marriage to him means escape from you then so be it!”

Turning wildly she strode away from him, but Richard followed her, calling out.

“Avis! Avis, how dare you!”

But Avis didn’t care. Years of anger and resentfulness had finally burst upon the unsuspecting Richard, and Avis did not care how violently he was offended.

She shouted behind her shoulder. “Where is he?”

“Melville?”

“Of course Melville!” She snapped. “You are a very stupid man Richard.”

The very stupid man was panting, trying to keep up with the fuming girl.

“He went riding.” He gasped, sweat dripping from his brow. “Towards the north.”

Reaching the end of the corridor, she threw open wide the wooden door with both hands, and turned the corner into the stable yard.

“Horse!” Avis shouted.

Stable boys and groomsmen stood up hurriedly from their game, counters scattering across the cobbles, and began yelling further orders. In but a short moment, a horse had been prepared for Avis, but her impatience overflowed. Ignoring the helpful arm of the man beside her who was attempting to help her mount the horse, she kicked back her heels and vaulted onto the box beside the horse. In an elegant leap, she mounted the huge beast.

Accompanied with cries of, “my lady!” she forced the horse into a gallop. As Richard watched her expertly turn her steed northwards, he thought about the unsuspecting groom.

“God help him,” he muttered as he turned back inside, away from the stares of his servants. “God save him from her wrath.”

Chapter Seven

The cooling ride and time alone gave Avis the ability to collect her thoughts. She felt slightly embarrassed about the way she had behaved. She had always sworn to herself that she would never let her temper control her, but the last three years had been a torturous lesson in keeping one’s comments and thoughts to oneself. Without a friend or confidant, it had been a relief to finally strike back at the man who had continually insulted her since he had taken her house from her. But as she slowed the horse that was breathing heavily after the intense exercise, she reflected on what lay before her. Gazing around the land that she had known from birth, she saw piles of dead leaves lining the road. Autumn was here. It marked the end of a glorious summer, and an unknown winter was approaching.

Avis looked around her, but could not see another rider, or any evidence that a horse had passed by here. Where could he be? Closing her eyes, she pictured the local landscape and tried to guess where he could have gone. The woodland was too far away, along a treacherous road. She had already passed the small village, and it would have been obvious if a horse had been there – there were few buildings tall enough to hide a horse. The houses here were partially dug into the ground, giving them a huge amount of space, but not challenging the natural landscape for space. A horse would be high above the roofs of the village, but she could not see one. Snapping her eyes open, she glanced to her left, where the river was. That was the perfect place to relax. She would try there first.

The horse snuffled, enjoying the experience of being ridden by a gentle but firm hand. Avis dismounted, slightly sore from the reckless journey that she had undertaken. She slipped her shoes off, and smiled at the glorious feel of the grass underneath her toes. Meandering slowly down towards the river, as she turned a corner another horse became visible. A horse carrying a livery that she recognised.

Lying on the bank was Melville. His eyes were closed, and he was humming quietly to himself. It was not a tune she recognised. The horse was untethered, but was happily grazing around his master. As Avis came closer, the horse looked up, startled. His gentle whinny alerted his owner, who languidly spoke.

“Yes?”

His voice sounded bored, and he didn’t bother to open his eyes. Avis did not trust herself to speak until she was much closer – she did not want to begin the conversation shouting. Although it was not the custom of her people for two betrothed people to talk before the wedding, she had had enough. Something had to be said.

When she had reached Melville, she sank down beside him without a word. Melville spoke again.

“What is it?” he asked testily, eyes squeezed shut.

He thinks that I am a servant, Avis thought. Come to summon him. Her rage grew again, and before she realised what she was doing, she had aggressively pushed him over and started pummelling his chest with her fists.

“Where have you been?” she shouted. “Why have you not returned?”

Melville opened his eyes in shock under the onslaught from this unseen woman. He had been pushed away from his assailant, so he could not identify her, but her punches were not tender and her shouts were unabated.

“Have you no honour? Keep you not your promises?”

Melville forced himself up and tried to pin the thrashing arms to the sides of the strange woman. He could feel the tension in her delicate limbs. She continued to scream at him, and he shouted over her desperate voice.

“What do you want, woman? I have no quarrel with you – ”

And then he saw her face. Her cheeks were covered with a deep blush and her eyes flashed with anger, but it was definitely her. It was Avis.

Melville stopped protecting himself. Before Avis could realise his weakness, he stood up and took a few paces back, thrown by the fact that it was not a random peasant but his betrothed. Avis did not follow him, but raised herself up also, panting slightly but holding herself up high.

The two of them gazed upon each other. The river slowly continued behind Melville, lending its sweet tune to the atmosphere. Melville could not believe that once again, the calm and meek girl that he had seen on his first night in this horrible land had given way to such a passionate woman. Despite himself, and despite the bruising that he could already feel under his linen shirt, he was impressed.

“My lady,” he managed, in a voice that he wished was a bit stronger.

“I am not your lady!” Avis countered violently, tossing her head to shake her hair behind her. She scrunched her nose at him, and scowled. “Perhaps if you had bothered to attend our wedding I may have allowed you to address me in that manner.”

She drew a lock of hair back into the confines of her veil, which she had managed to keep on during the scuffle.

Melville swore under his breath, and stared upwards into the sky, looking for the positioning of the sun. He had not realised how late it was in the day. His wish to be free of this constraining marriage had led him to take what he considered to be his last free ride, but the enjoyment of the open space and the restfulness of the river had clearly kept him away for hours. The chaos that he had probably left behind was unimaginable.

He shuffled from foot to foot, unsure as to how to placate this livid lady standing in front of him.

“My lady…” He began again, awkwardly, but Avis would not allow him to speak.

“No,” she said, the heat in her voice lessening. “Listen to me, my lord. Either this marriage takes place today, or it does not take place at all. No,” Avis’ interjection prevented him from speaking again, and he bit his tongue furiously. “You made me a promise. A promise amongst witnesses. If you are truly a man of honour, you would keep to that oath.”

Avis looked strong, but she had never felt so weak. For the Anglo-Saxons, an oath was something that bound two people together forever. It was stronger than birth-brothers, and lasted beyond death. For this, this
Norman
to make an oath to her and then break it…it was unthinkable. It did not happen. It would not happen.

Melville looked at her determined face, still flushed, and then looked down at her hands. Although they were clenched into small fists, they were shaking. It must have taken her much effort to come here. And probably the loss of much pride, he thought to himself.

Avis turned away from him, and Melville took his chance to speak.

“My lady, I swear, if I had realised the hour – ”

She pivoted to face him once again. He broke off, hoping for reconciliation – as much as he hated her, he would rather enter into an apathetic marriage than an acrimonious one. He could hear the song of a bird in the tree behind her. She began to walk towards him, and Melville took a step backwards. As much as he would like to mend the disagreement, such intimate physical contact was not something he had expected or wanted. But then Avis began to run, and raised those fists, and Melville suddenly realised too late what her intentions were.

Avis reached Melville at speed and pushed him backwards, straight into the river. The loud splash resounded around them, and caused the two horses to revolve around, looking for the source of the noise. Melville sat on the shallow riverbed, weeds rushing around him and mud seeping into his clothes. He was soaking wet, and Avis looked disdainfully down at him from the bank.