Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms (26 page)

At the breaking of the fast that day, Melville mentioned his intended journey to Avis. He finished with an invitation.

“Will you accompany me?”

Melville had been sure that Avis would jump at the chance to visit her fellow Anglo-Saxons, but he was surprised.

“I am sorry, my lord,” Avis replied with a cheery but hollow smile, “but I have business of my own to attend to here. I wish you a pleasant journey.”

Turning resolutely to her other side, Avis began a conversation with Jean, pointedly turning her shoulder slightly so that Melville could not join in.

Faint anger rose throughout Melville’s body. He had waited too long for this woman, too long! No one, no man could be expected to be so patient. But as he gazed upon her, his heart softened. She was worth this wait.

Avis watched her husband saddle his horse, and ride off with Robert as his translator, sending Jean down to the kitchen to give out his new orders, and she shook her head. She should have gone with him. The strain between them should not have come between her duty as his wife. But he was gone, and she would not demean herself by catching up with him.

Avis wandered listlessly to the entrance hall. That stupid comment that she had made to Melville about ‘business of her own’! Avis was bored, once again, but this time it was a self-inflicted boredom. She had decided against going down to the kitchens, for fear of meeting Melville there, and so she had spent the majority of her time sitting in the entrance hall. This was the place that many of the servants exchanged their gossip, and she found that sitting quietly by the fire meant that she overheard much of the goings on of her own home. These tales and pieces of news livened her day, and more than once she had had to stifle her giggles at the most ridiculous scandals that were suspected of down in the kitchen.

Today, she wrapped herself in a luscious rug, and opened up her favourite book. Texts were incredibly valuable, and very few people had any. This one had belonged to her mother, and had been Avis’ sixteenth birthday present. Within moments, she was lost in the tale of warriors and great ladies, dragons and loot. But far off footsteps drew her attention, and she partially closed the book in the hope of hearing the next instalment of the saga between Jean, and young and pretty Edith.

But it was Edith herself who walked across the hallway, and a male servant whose voice Avis did not recognise that stopped her.

“Heard the news?”

“I can’t stop,” returned Edith. “I’ve got no time. I’ve got to take these loaves down to Ulleskelf. Master’s orders.”

Avis’ heart swelled to see that Melville’s concern for her people had not stopped after the danger of William’s army had ceased. But there was more to be heard.

“So you haven’t then?”

Edith sighed.

“You clearly have to tell me, so you may as well say it.”

“I heard tell that mistress is thinking of running away.”

Avis froze. The thought had certainly struck her mind when she had first come here as Melville’s new bride, but after all that had happened between them, nothing had been further from the truth. She had heard some strange gossip before, but this was the most ridiculous that she had ever heard! Who would believe such a thing?

But Edith laughed.

“Avis – run away? You must be joking. She knows that her place is here.”

Avis was relieved to hear that her friend would put an end to such fanciful rumours.

“Anyway,” Edith continued, “where would she go?”

Not a sentence that Avis particularly wanted to hear, but one that she could not deny. She prayed that the man would accept Edith’s response, but he pushed it further, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to talk to one of Avis’ few friends.

“Then how come they are how they are, eh?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Edith answered carelessly.

The man giggled.

“Of course you do. You’ve seen them, just as I have. How long have they been married? Months. And still separate bedchambers. If that’s not a marriage gone sour, I don’t know what is.”

“Hush with your talk,” Edith said crossly. “You speak of matters that do not concern you!”

“She’s one of us.” The man said proudly. “If she wants to leave the sorry Norman beggar, that’s fine by me.”

A loud clatter filled the room as Edith dropped the loaves that she had been carrying – but the man cried out in pain. Edith hadn’t dropped the bread then; she’d allowed them to fall as she attacked the man, with such force that Avis gasped. No wonder Edith had survived the coming of the Vikings and the Normans!

“You can stop your mithering,” Edith said angrily. “Whether you like it or not, we are one people now. Didn’t having the Norman lot around here with the Ulleskelf people teach you nothing? What happens to them, happens to us. Same for master and mistress. Now get about your work, can’t you?”

Edith stalked across the entrance hall, and Avis chanced a look. She saw her friend leave the room, head held high. The man muttered as he left, but had clearly been cowed by the passionate Edith.

Avis remained stock still on the chair. So this was what many thought of her. It was definitely a conceivable thought; not an unfair assumption. She herself had come into this marriage, and into this house, hating the very man that had brought her here. But all of that had changed, a long time ago. She had changed. She only wished that he had changed just as much as she had.

Another loud noise caused her to start, and Avis dropped her book. Turning around quickly to see what had caused such a bang, she noticed a man, dripping wet, who had come through the door out of the rain. He was evidently a messenger, and was looking around for someone to speak to.

Rising, she walked towards him, smoothing down her skirts and smiling.

“My lady,” the messenger bowed as he recognised a wealthy woman, and she acknowledged this courtesy with a nod of the head.

“Welcome,” Avis said. “Come, towards the fire. You must be cold.”

“Bone wet,” admitted the man, who was shivering. She led him closer to the warm flames, and beckoned him to sit.

“No, thank you my lady,” the messenger said in a grateful tone. “I have further business in York to complete before I can rest, and I will not take too much of your time. Is your lord presently here?”

Avis shook her head, almost embarrassed that she was not with Melville.

“I’m afraid you may have passed him on the road. He has not long left for Ulleskelf.”

The messenger bit his lip.

“I have an urgent letter for him. Would you be so kind as to take it for him?”

Avis smiled. “It would be my pleasure. And may I offer you some sustenance before you return into the bitter winds?”

“That would be most appreciated, my lady.”

Reaching into his leather satchel, the messenger handed over a large piece of parchment, folded over several times and sealed with a wax stamp that Avis did not recognise.

“Thank you,” she said. “I shall make sure my husband reads this as soon as he returns. And now, if you would follow me.”

Avis led the messenger to the kitchen, where Tilian was following Bronson around like a puppy.

“…and that is where the oil is kept. Make sure that no one steals it, worth its weight in gold during the winter months. And here we have – ”

“Bronson!”

Avis’ greeting stopped the man’s words in his tracks.

“My lady!” He came towards her with open arms. “I am instructing young Tilian here. He is to be my apprentice.”

Bronson beamed upon his new pupil, and Tilian nervously returned the smile. Unwilling to return to his destroyed home to see whether any others had survived, Tilian had remained with them, and had proved to be a wonderful addition to the household. His life and vigour had returned to him, and he had proved to be an excellent cook. Bronson grew prouder of him with every passing moment.

“I am glad to see so,” Avis replied with a smile. “Could you please feed and water this man, before he leaves for York?”

“It would be my pleasure, my lady,” Tilian stepped in, and ushered the messenger towards a table.

Avis nodded her thanks to Bronson, and then left the hustle and bustle that she loved, back to the entrance hall and her book.

The letter that the messenger had given her was still in her hand. Picking up her discarded book, she pondered. Who could the letter be from? Avis turned the letter over to have another look at the seal. The red wax had imprinted upon it the impression of two crosses, one overlapping over the other. As hard as she thought, she could not recall who used such a seal, although it was a common enough symbol.

At this moment, a terrible thought struck her heart. What if this letter was from King William himself? What if the King had once again changed his mind, or had another duty for Melville that he would not be able to talk himself out of? What if this letter contained vital news about an invasion by the Scots, and they were all once again in danger?

Avis could not wait for Melville to return. For all she knew, it could be hours and hours before he had finished at Ulleskelf – and even after that he may decide to travel on to York. If this letter did indeed carry bad news, there was no time to waste. She would have to open it herself.

But just as she was about to rip open the seal, she stopped herself. Another servant walked passed her, and nodded. She returned the courtesy. She could not open it here. Anyone could enter at any time, and she could not risk revisiting the horror and fear that for so long was the normal emotion here in the manor.

Avis picked up her skirts, and half walked, half ran to her outer chamber. Not until she could be sure that she was alone did she take her small knife, and carefully prise apart the seal from the parchment. With shaking hands, she opened the letter, and began to read.

Her eyes darkened as they moved down the page. The letter was in Latin, and was not from King William after all. It was from a papal legate in Rome. One particular paragraph caught her attention, and she read on, horrified.

We
have
considered
your
application
to
annul
your
marriage
carefully
,
as
marriage
is
a
holy
contract
,
entered
into
in
the
sight
of
God
.
However
,
the
circumstances
of
your
marriage
certainly
do
speak
of
a
couple
who
should
no
longer
be
forced
together
.
Her
inheritance
portion
,
though
small
,
is
nothing
compared
to
her
inability
to
support
you
as
her
husband
and
provider
,
and
her
resistance
to
consummating
the
marriage
speaks
of
a
wilfulness
unattractive
in
a
spouse
.
The
fact
that
your
wedding
has
been
unconsummated
leads
us
to
regretfully
accept
your
request
.
If
you
return
an
answer
to
this
letter
requesting
that
the
marriage
be
ended
,
we
consider
it
a
duty
as
your
spiritual
Father
to
accept
your
desire
,
and
consider
your
marriage
to
have
never
been
formed
.

Some of the inked words on the page were melting. Avis could not understand how, until she realised that she was crying.

And so, this was how it ended. Not with an argument for all to hear. Not with hissed bitterness across their plates. Not with one person storming off, and the other letting them go. No. Their marriage had ended with secret letters, and whispered lies to men thousands of miles away, who had never laid eyes on her.

How could he write such awful things? She re-read the last paragraph again, desperately trying to find something within it that did not tear at her soul. Inability to support. Wilfulness unattractive in a spouse. Avis bit her lip, and thought back over her time with Melville. She had certainly been wilful. She had told him on their wedding night that she hated him – had tried to spit at him. She had pushed him into a river, and mocked him about his prayers. Avis raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. The words hit home, and hurt her deeply, because they were just that much too close to the truth.

But then Melville had been no angel either. He had bullied her, taunted her, chased her in the kitchen and berated her, about everything that she was. He had thrown her heritage in her face, tried to keep her from those that would make her happy, and shouted at her when he should have comforted her.