Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms (16 page)

“A stone cross!”

Avis dismounted from the sweating Skydancer, and walked slowly up to it. Kneeling at its base, she dipped her fingers in the stream that she knew would be there, and crossed herself with the dripping hand. As she rose, she could see that Melville was keeping several paces back, in reverence and confusion at her actions. Avis smiled to herself. For probably the first time in their marriage, she was the one in control, certain about their situation. It was a heady, powerful feeling, and she revelled in it.

“These stone crosses were placed here by our ancestors,” Avis explained. “There were many in the south also, but the Normans have destroyed them as unwanted remnants of our ‘barbaric’ past.”

Melville looked at the stone cross. At over six foot high, it cast a long shadow across the summit of the hill. It had been carefully engraved with intricate figures and what looked like words – but not in any language that he recognised. The entire effect was heightened by the peeling paint that gave a coloured vibrancy to the grey stone. He had never seen anything so beautiful caught precisely between nature’s hand and man’s intent.

“It is incredible.” Melville breathed.

Avis smiled, happy that he appreciated a part of her heritage. She had always been afraid of the stone crosses as a child and their majesty, but since they had been removed from her home, she had missed them terribly.

“Are there not such things in your land?”

Their conversation the night before had awakened Avis’ interest in the land that had raised her husband. Her home had had such a strong impact on her, it was difficult for her to imagine the landscape of Melville’s childhood.

“No, indeed.” Melville returned her smile. “Such a thing is unknown to me.”

Melville moved forward, and copied exactly the symbolic ritual that Avis had just completed in respect to the holy place. She marvelled at his attention to detail, and his ability to understand something so quickly. There was a reverence in his actions that she was beginning to care for. When he had finished, he turned back to Avis.

“Food?”

Avis nodded, and the two servants who had watched their master and mistress in awe immediately began laying out covers onto the ground. Although not beyond comfort, the temperature was not high, and so the servants laid out some furs for Avis and Melville to wrap themselves in as they sat down.

Once the ground had been prepared, the servants began to take out various packages of different foods. Once again Melville had acted to please her, ordering her favourite foods to be included in the picnic meal, and making sure that she had everything that she would have – or could have – desired. The scent of the food wafted in the warm autumn breeze, and Avis’ mouth watered. The moment in the morning when they had broken their fast seemed a long time ago.

Settling herself down, Avis spread her gown around her, brought a large fur over her shoulders, and sighed happily. For her, there could be no greater joy than this: food, and the little sunshine that winter afforded, and the company of…she could not exactly discern her feelings for Melville at this moment, but she knew that the hatred that she had been clinging on to was irrevocably gone. She could not hate this man, any more than she could hate the sun for shining, or the wolf for hunting. What he did was from his nature.

Melville could not take his eyes from Avis. The sun glanced down on her hair, releasing a light from it that dazzled his eyes. The small space between them seemed enormous, and he dared not cross it. He was still unsure about her feelings towards him, and did not want to undo the good work that had hopefully been done the night before. His self-control, then as now, would be essential. Melville wished that he knew her thoughts about what he said – the words that had been so difficult to say but so necessary for her to know.

As they started to eat, Melville asked her more questions about the stone cross.

“From whence did they come?”

Avis could only relate to him the stories that her mother had told her.

“They say that giants once moved stones across the land for their own amusement, but after they left this world man tried to make their huge lumbering into beauty.”

Melville looked up at the strange stone monument as Avis continued talking.

“They are now an expression not of power, but of devotion. Of our love for God, and His love for us. We claimed them for our own, as God claimed us to love. And just as love keeps us all together, so our love brings greater beauty to these stone crosses.”

Melville turned to look at Avis as she spoke.

“Love is a powerful force,” she finished. She gazed at him, delicate fingers absentmindedly curling around wisps of hair. Melville could not help but stare at her. She was so incredibly beautiful.

Avis saw a change in Melville as he looked at her intently. She dropped her eyes, unable to sit under such focus. She had never seen these sides of Melville – the carefree, spontaneous Melville, or the fascinated and intrigued Melville.

She looked away, and glanced at the people below. As she watched the children of the village at the base of the hill play in the sunlight, she shook her head gently. She should not have been so quick to judge him. No man is so simple as to be totally understood within a couple of months, and a couple of months at the most were all that they had had together. Avis knew that just as he had presumed to know her based on the stories and gossip told to him, she had assumed that she knew all about him from the fearful tales that she had heard. And they had both been wrong.

Turning to look around, she laughingly saw that Melville had kicked off his boots and was lying on his back, eyes closed, glorifying in the sun’s warmth that would soon be gone until the spring. He smiled at the sound of her laugh.

“And what is so amusing, my lady?”

“Why you, my lord!” She returned, smiling in return. “I do not think I have ever seen you in such a state of comfort.”

Melville’s lazy smile widened.

“Then you do not watch me often, Avis.”

“Do I not?” She replied. “Be so good as to tell me what I have missed!”

“This is how I always look when I’m with you.”

Avis’ smile faltered, and then broadened. She would never have thought that such words from such a man would give her such pleasure. Melville was still undoubtedly Norman – nothing had changed there. He was still abrupt, and rude, and at times completely incomprehensible. But something indeed had changed. Something was altered between them, and she was sure it was something within her. She could not find the feelings of anger, bitterness and resentment that she had grown up against this man.

Stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning backwards on her arms, Avis sighed. Her hands reached deep into the fur, and in doing so, her left hand brushed against something. It was Melville’s right hand: but instead of clasping it, he reached up to push her arm away. She fell backwards about to topple onto the ground, but he caught her in his strong arms.

“Melville!” Avis giggled.

He laughed at her mock scorn, and drew her in closer, eyes still shut. Avis struggled, but only to prevent an easy conquest. She settled down alongside him, revelling not only in the meagre heat of the sun, but in the pervading heat of his body. With one arm wrapped across his waist, she allowed her eyelids to dip.

Melville opened one eye to gaze down upon his wife. She was snuggled deep into him, and was totally at ease in his presence. He let out a controlled sigh of contentment. This was exactly what he had been hoping for. He wanted Avis to learn to trust him, to feel open in his presence. Perhaps, slowly, they could learn together.

“Melville?” Avis breathed.

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you.”

Melville’s heart sang. The thought that he had given Avis happiness flooded his veins with warmth and joy. Nothing could spoil this moment. Nothing could interfere with this intimacy. Nothing.

Chapter Twenty Two

The sound of a horse’s hooves became faster and louder, and eventually Melville had no choice but to pay attention to their approach.

“Avis darling?”

Avis shook her head, unwilling to return to society.

“Come on.” Melville gently lifted her up, and gave Avis enough time to pat down her flyaway hair before the horseman arrived.

Melville smiled at her wryly, acknowledging his displeasure that their time together was about to be interrupted – but he groaned aloud when the rider came into view, and he recognised the crest and livery. It was a messenger from King William.

“Melville?” Avis muttered quietly. His face had grown dark, and she was sure that he had recognised the loyalty of the man that approached them.

Melville answered briefly before the man was in earshot.

“The King.”

As Melville rose to greet the rider, he did not notice how Avis turned pale. She had not seen King William since that day, that day when her entire life had changed. Although it was obvious that this rider was not the King, she could not help but feel that her privacy was once again being attacked by that unwanted warrior. Would she ever be free of him?

The rider dismounted, and walked straight to Melville, who recognised him at once. His horse shook itself after a long and difficult ride, and began to lazily eat the luscious grass that surrounded them.

“Jean?”

The rider nodded, and then stumbled. Melville caught him, and immediately helped him to sit on the pile of rugs beside Avis, who shrunk back in fear. The man was clearly exhausted. Melville’s thoughts immediately exploded, imagining all manner of different scenarios, each with terrifying consequences. The King captured, the King in hiding, the King back in Normandy…

But then he noticed Avis. She was clearly uncomfortable with this man here, and it was unlikely that the rider would speak in her presence. General disdain for the intelligence of women led most men to conduct their business away from the gossiping ears of women. And besides, despite his posturing, he knew that Avis was still considered by most to be an Anglo-Saxon. Someone not to be trusted. Although Melville did not hold to those ideas – how could he, with such a mother – he knew that for both Avis and Jean, it would be easier if she were not here.

“Avis.” He spoke gently, and she turned to him, trying to ignore as best she could the panting man whose presence had put her so on edge. “Would you do me the courtesy of going to speak to the villagers below? I would know that they are being fairly treated, and want for nothing.”

Avis smiled at him. She knew that the request was merely a pretence to remove her from this difficult situation, but she was relieved. The presence of this unknown Norman had taken from her all of her calmness, causing tension to run throughout her body, and there was no other polite way for her to simply leave them. Avis was only just beginning to trust Melville – a new stranger, a Norman stranger, was too much.

Rising and smoothing down her skirts, she smiled shakily.

“It shall be my pleasure, my lord. I shall not be long.”

Avis did not want the rider to see her relief at leaving, but it was all she could do not to run down the hill towards the welcoming familiarity of the Anglo-Saxon village. Children scurried out to greet her, and chattered away in her own language. She agreed to join their game, and within moments was lost in the innocence of their cares and quarrels.

Melville watched her descend down the hill, making sure that she was out of earshot before he turned to Jean.

“My man!” He exhaled. “It has been many moons since I have seen you. What has happened to cause this rushed journey?”

Jean had caught his breath, and slowly raised himself into a sitting position, twisting to be opposite Melville. He spoke in a deep voice with a harsh Norman accent.

“Melville. I am so relieved that I have found you.”

Fear tugged at Melville’s heart.

“By God, man,” he said quietly. “Tell me what has happened.”

Jean and he had come across from Normandy together, two young men with nothing but everything to gain. He had saved Jean’s life on more than one occasion, and this had created a bond between them which was more similar to brotherhood than anything that Melville had ever known. To see Jean in such controlled panic was painful for Melville to see. He knew that Jean would not have ridden so fast and so hard unless a terrible event had taken place – and would not have come to him unless there was something, however unpleasant, that had to be done.

“It is the King.” Jean said dully. Melville drew in breath, but did not interrupt Jean now he had managed to begin.

“He has grown angry and tired of the actions of the ætheling Edgar.”

Melville heard the unusual Anglo-Saxon word, and tried to remember its meaning. He recalled that it described a prince that could inherit the crown. There had been many æthelings after the invasion, but not many now. With the name Edgar, he began to understand.

“You remember Edgar?” Jean asked.

Melville nodded. “He resided with our King at his court after the invasion. He is part of the royal line of this country. Young stupid fool, as I recall.”

Jean barked out a laugh.

“Young fool indeed. He has been rallying a group around him. An army. Anglo-Saxon noblemen and those traitorous to our people.”

Melville blew out of his teeth.

“More fools.”

“Fools gather.” Jean said darkly. “They are marching down to the South. Towards William, determined to depose him and take the country from us Normans.”

Melville was stunned. He knew that there were those that disliked the Norman presence. Avis’ reactions to him, and the stories that she had told him about the invasion were enough to tell him that there was a line of bitterness deep within these people, and it would take much time for that to be removed. If it ever was to be removed. He knew that William was a difficult master, demanding much and praising little. But he never imagined that they would be so stupid as to try and force William’s hand. From his understanding, it would take a whole nation to rise up to destroy William’s army.