Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms (3 page)

“And so be it. I shall send word to Melville and the King, and you shall be wedded.”

He made a movement away from the table, suggesting that he was leaving, but Avis swiftly put a hand on his arm.

“My lord?”

Richard lowered himself back down, startled at the fear and discomposure in her voice. He had never seen her so unsure of herself, not since he had first ridden towards the gates of this place to take residence after the invasion.

“My lord, I wondered…I wondered if we may have a betrothal, in the style…in the style of my people.”

Avis’ eyes looked up at his, clear and stunning but full of tears. He remembered that for the people who had once lived in this land, it was not merely the wedding but the betrothal that held great power and hope over people’s lives. It was a time when the families of each of the couple came to celebrate their joining together, with much feasting and joy. The Normans had spoken about it with both awe and derision. Richard was curious, and he knew that this would be the last step in Avis’ Anglo-Saxon path. When she married, she would be leaving that behind and become Norman.

He smiled. “Make your arrangements.”

Avis nodded. She was so grateful to Richard for allowing her this last rite of passage that she almost regretted not choosing him to be her husband. But she recalled the constant groping, the sweat that poured off his nose on a summer day, and shuddered. She would never have been able to keep her marriage vows to Richard, and for her a failed marriage was worse than death – even a marriage without love was kept. Melville looked a man that understood the power of an oath. He would be a more apt partner for her.

Richard continued speaking.

“Let this mark your entry into our society. Let no expense be spared, and arrange it for three nights hence. A week today you shall be married.”

Chapter Four

A flurry of busyness and organisation overtook the manor house as preparations were made for the wedding between Melville and Avis. Avis managed to avoid seeing her future husband by spending the majority of her time in the kitchen, supposedly watching others prepare food but also helping by baking and roasting along with the other servants. She threw herself into the work, hoping to forget that it was all for her wedding. Robes were ordered, candles delivered, foods that Avis had never seen brought from far and wide. As she decorated the Great Hall, she remembered the betrothal of her friends and family, back before the Normans had conquered in 1066. They had been such glorious affairs, full of laughing and merriment. The old days, those days that Avis ached and longed for every waking moment. The characters that filled these happy thoughts were no longer around her, and she ached for them. These recollections of her old Anglo-Saxon life made her all the more determined to avoid Melville. The only time that the two had to face each other was at meal times, but Richard carefully placed himself between them. He knew that for Anglo-Saxon nobility, prolonged dialogue between a couple intended for wedlock was not only frowned upon, but actively discouraged. He did not want to put Avis in the difficult position of having to ignore Melville’s conversation – though, he thought drily, she may even enjoy the chance to insult him.

Melville was not enjoying himself either. Stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do, he had taken to riding all day with a select group of friends. They did not stop teasing him about his marriage, but he was more inclined to allow them their mockery than to seriously consider the consequences of his actions. While he was riding, seeing the rolling downs of southern England burst slowly into reds and scarlet, it was as if nothing else existed. This part of the country held nothing of beauty for him: the land that William had given him here in England reminded him of his Normandy home, and Melville was surprised how much he missed his English manor. He knew that once he consummated his marriage with Avis, he was as tied to this country England as he would be with a chain. His greatest wish was to return to his homeland, back to Normandy, back to where he belonged. And he would take no wife with him, and allow no wife to prevent him from seeing his birthplace.

Before either of them realised, the day of their betrothal came. Haughty Melville sat at the head of the table for the first time during his visit, and looked out over the Great Hall. He had not really noticed the changes that had been made over the last few days, but was in awe of how warm and inviting it had been made. He was the guest of honour tonight, and was afforded every consideration, with spices and salts surrounding his plate, and each dish offered to him before all others. Musicians were carefully placed at regular intervals behind the revellers, and exotic incense was burning along the tables giving an air of mystery and suspense. He could smell lavender, and expensive frankincense. Melville inhaled slowly, drinking in the atmosphere: but his breathe caught in his throat as he remembered that this was to celebrate his betrothal to a woman that he had barely spoken to. Despite his irritation at the whole farce his appetite was not diminished, which meant that when Avis entered the Great Hall he had his mouth full of salted chicken and a handful of bread mopping his lips. The room fell silent, and Melville looked up.

Avis was standing there, in a cream gown that floated over her subtle curves. Long sleeves hid her hands, and her hair was loose. Gentle streams of blonde curls showered her back and her shoulders. The men and servants closest to her stepped back in awe. Melville realised that he was dripping chicken back onto his plate, and quickly snapped his mouth shut. He had not expected this. This woman was not the child he had seen on the night of his arrival. This was a lady: of noble or even royal birth. She exuded power and elegance, and Melville was intoxicated.

Richard walked forward to meet her with a smile on his face that made it clear to Avis that he had completely ignored the carefully chosen dress she was wearing and was seeing her naked. Avis begrudgingly gave him her arm as the highest ranking lord in the room. He walked her slowly towards the table at which Melville was eating. Melville stood up so quickly that he knocked his plate to the floor, drawing muffled guffaws from the men. Ignoring them, eyes transfixed on Avis, he walked around the table towards her, unable to remove his eyes from her, though she would not look at him. The three met in the centre of the room, and according to the Anglo-Saxon custom that Avis had explained to them all the day before, all of the others in the room formed a ring around them.

“I, Richard, offer this woman for marriage to my lord Melville.” Richard began in what he considered to be his booming voice, which always sounded weak and timid to Avis’ ears.

She sighed. It was not as she remembered her cousin’s betrothal; but then, how could the Normans understand? Their idea of a wedding and a marriage was one of convenience, and the bringing together of wealth and property. Love did not enter into their minds. For her family, marriage had always been a matter of the heart. She was the first in her line to agree to wed a man she had no compassion for, and she felt the dishonour strongly.

“…agree to give your consent to this man?” Richard finished, and turned to look at her. Avis had been so lost in her thoughts that she had not realised that he had finished his first portion of the ceremony. She met his eyes, and saw the hardness there, and the lust. Her soul recoiled at the thought of him becoming so important to her. She would do anything, anything to rid herself of this man who had taken everyone from her. Even if it meant marrying this stranger Melville.

“I agree to give my consent to this man.” Avis spoke clearly, but with no emotion. Richard now began to recite the male counterpart of the betrothal ritual, a ritual that Melville could not understand – and did not particularly want to. This old fashioned nonsense! It belonged to the Anglo-Saxon past: something that was dead and gone. No wonder William, his King, was discouraging the whole culture. It was enough to drive a man insane.

“…and protect her honour and her name?” Richard looked to Melville. He looked at his future bride, who was slightly perspiring under the gaze of so many people. Her full red lips were slightly open in expectation, and her clear eyes glanced up at him, waiting for his reply. Melville’s lip curled. This Saxon girl had no honour. She had no family name of repute. She had a Norman name anyway – chosen to convince this Richard to take her in as his mistress, no doubt. He shook his head, and looked down at the floor. He heard an intake of breath from around the Great Hall, and saw that Avis had almost stepped towards him, hand raised to strike him.

Richard moved violently towards him, shielding him from Avis’ menace.

“Goddammit man!” he uttered through clenched teeth. “You dishonour me by refusing her now, here, in this manner!”

All in the hall murmured, astonished at Melville’s response. Several heads were shaking, and he could hear tutting and clicking of tongues.

“I have not spoken.” Melville’s voice rose clear over the hubbub of sound, which died away instantly. He fixed his eyes on the person in front of him: his bride.

“I swear to take, marry, and protect this woman. To keep her as my bride, and tend to her as my wife.” He spoke clearly and loudly, and although the words that he had spoken were not the usual response, all could hear the power and determination in each word.

Melville stared at Avis with penetrating eyes, and Avis knew that he was speaking directly to her and to her only. She tried to look away, but could not. Those dark eyes swallowed her clear ones as a peat bog refuses to release its victims. She could hear that Richard was speaking, but it was a long way off.

Melville broke the moment between them when Richard congratulated him, and he looked away from her. When he turned back to look at and speak to Avis, she had gone. He swung around, looking at the crowds in the busy Great Hall to find her, but he could not see her.

“Custom.” Richard said matter of factly, slapping him on the back. “The woman doesn’t speak to her betrothed until after they are married. Anglo-Saxons. It’s their funny odd way of doing things.”

Melville felt disappointed, and then surprised. He did not want her – so why was he saddened that he would not have the chance to speak to her? The look that they had shared had gone beyond two strangers; had linked them in some way that he could not understand. He shivered. Melville did not like to be out of control, but Avis pushed him out of his self-control, preventing him from knowing exactly where he was.

“Come – sit, eat.” Richard seemed completely unaware of the inner turmoil that Melville was experiencing, and sat to begin tearing into his plate of food. “Plenty of time to tumble that slither of a thing.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Melville had drawn his silver dagger and pointed it at his host’s throat.

“Mind your words, sir! That is my intended wife of whom you speak, and you dishonour her!”

Men turned in astonishment, and Richard grew red. All knew that he should have held his tongue, but the bitterness of losing the prize of Avis to this young thing had bitten him too deep.

“I apologise, my lord.” He muttered. “I spoke carelessly.”

The blinding rage that had swept through Melville died instantly, and he felt just as embarrassed as Richard.

“Speak not of it.” He held out a hand. “I was rash.”

The two Norman men shook hands resentfully, and feasted long into the night – but Melville could not shake the feeling that Avis had affected him in some way that he would not be able to escape.

Chapter Five

The day that Avis lost her Anglo-Saxon identity and became Norman dawned early, and she stared at the sky from her bedroom. Winter was approaching: a new season. A season of coldness. This would be the last day she awoke in this room, the last day she would eat in her home, the last day she would retain that identity which she had learnt to supress. She stroked the familiar wall. Avis knew how every nick and groove that had been made, and smiled as her fingers brushed a small carving that she had once made herself – a small cross with the initials ANS. She had grown up in this room, and had thought at one point that she was going to die in this room. The invasion of English shores by the Normans had been long expected but badly prepared for, and when the Normans entered her village…

Avis shook her head, and her hair gracefully followed the movement. She could not dwell in the past. She decided against sorrowful memories. This was to be her wedding day, and even if it was a wedding she had not chosen, to a man she knew she would despise, it was still a triumphant day. For the Anglo-Saxons, the day a girl married was the day that she became a woman. She would now make decisions for households, and bear heirs, and have a significant amount of power in the local area. Avis did not know what marriage meant for these Norman men, but she could not imagine it was as important and as celebrated as it was for her. Men did not understand marriage.

As she dressed, a thought struck her: a painful one, one that seared through her. Children. She had always wanted children but now she was entering into what the Normans were laughingly calling a ‘mixed marriage’ it altered everything. Avis looked around the room that had sheltered and nursed her as a child, and knew that she could not have a child with Melville. She refused to bring children into a world that lived in a divided household, to dwell in a nation where hatred was the currency and spite was the language. Avis also shuddered at the thought of baring herself in the most vulnerable way to that man. No – she would not consummate the marriage, she thought wildly. He cannot force me. Surely taking me in marriage is enough for him.

As Avis made this decision, she wandered to the window to brush her hair before taming it behind her veil. Displaying it at her betrothal four nights ago had been reckless, and she regretted it. Never again will she so wantonly reveal herself, that inner part of herself.