Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms (21 page)

“My lord is on his way.”

The servant exited the room, leaving Melville alone. He did not want to sit down before he had been invited to by the man that he had come to see, but tiredness ached along every bone. However, Melville was used to pain. He had fought many battles, and this may be the last he ever fought.

Trumpets sounded outside the door, and there was the sound of footsteps. Melville stood still and upright, ready. His heart pounded and the heat of the fire seemed to increase with every louder step.

The door was flung open, and in walked a burly man, tall and strong. His blonde hair was scattered with red and grey, and several scars crept up from his hands into his sleeves. He threw himself onto the slightly larger chair, and then looked straight at Melville, standing stiffly. He smiled.

“Melville.” The man’s voice was guttural and deep, and it threw Melville into greater fits of terror. But he knew what must be done.

Melville walked forwards and knelt on the floor.

“My King.”

Chapter Twenty Seven

It had been two days. Two days. Avis could not believe that Melville had been gone a mere two days. It felt like an age, and it felt like forever – and it felt like he was never coming back.

Our very lives are in the balance, she reminded herself. This is not the time to think about yourself, and your petty worries. Focus on the here and the now.

The here and now was the Great Hall. Avis was sitting on a wooden trestle, watching the children play and making sure that they did not hurt themselves. The first day in the manor had been a day of fear for the children, trying desperately to avoid the Norman men in the corridors, and prattling Anglo-Saxon to Norman children before they realised they were not being understood – but they had settled quickly into the new routine. Their parents had taken much longer to adjust, and there was still fear and distrust between them and the Normans that surrounded them.

Avis had thought that as each day went by, her longing for Melville to return would decrease, but she was wrong. With each passing second, her desperation to see him only increased. Not an hour went by when she did not think about what he could be doing, and who he was with; but it was difficult to picture him in his new home because she had no idea where he was. Was he hiding in a forest? On a boat travelling to Ireland? Did he make his way to Wales, or to Scotland? Was a Norman lord sheltering him in his manor? She could not even hope to guess which, if any of her guesses were anywhere close to the truth. In all of her thoughts about him, the images had no background, and the faces that surrounded him were hazy. The idea that Melville had left to see King William had not even crossed her mind.

Her fingernails had been bitten right to stubs, and some of them were bleeding. This bad habit had been beaten in childhood, but with the uncertainty of when the attack would begin, she had returned to old ways of dealing with such huge amounts of stress. Avis did not even realise that she was doing it again until a pale female hand reached over her shoulder, and batted her hand away from her mouth.

“I do not think so, my lady,” reproved Edith. “You must keep your beauty, even in this difficult time.”

Avis laughed as Edith clambered over the trestle table to sit beside her mistress.

“And what use will my looks be?”

Their smiles dipped. They knew what happened to attractive women when the soldiers had killed all of the men that would try valiantly to protect them. Edith shook herself.

“No use,” she said firmly. “No use thinking of such things. We do not even know if they are coming yet.”

Avis smiled again. Edith had become a source of strength and encouragement over the last two fraught days, but she could not help but wish Melville had remained to be that support for her. For all of them.

“Thank you,” Avis said simply.

Edith returned her smile.

“My lady.”

The two women sat in silence, watching the children. The small Norman boy was also watching them. He looked nervous, but eager to join in.

“Henri!” called Avis. The boy turned to her. “You can play if you want to.”

The children turned at the sound of Avis speaking such strange words, and looked at where her gaze was. They saw the boy. Henri turned red, and began to run away, but a friendly hand was put out and stopped him.

“
Tæfla
?” asked the Anglo-Saxon girl, a child called Sæthryth.

Avis translated for Henri. “Game?”

Henri smiled, and took the hand of Sæthryth. He nodded.

Within minutes, the entire assorted crew were screaming and running around the room. Edith smiled.

“See what you are doing?” she said to Avis. “You are creating a new people. Anglo-Saxon and Norman.”

Avis’s stomach lurched against those words. It was too close to what King William was trying to force throughout the land.

“Do not say such things,” she said darkly.

“I am sorry.” Edith was stunned to see such a violent reaction from Avis.

An awkward silence sprung up between the pair of them, until eventually Edith spoke again, more hesitantly this time.

“You miss him.”

Avis could not pretend that she did not know who Edith was talking about, and she could not lie when the truth was written across her face.

“Yes.”

Edith put her arm around Avis, shyly.

“That is not a crime.”

Avis broke into a short laugh.

“No. But it has been two days, Edith! Where on earth could he be?”

“Then,” Edith looked confused, “he is not on an errand?”

Too late, Avis remembered the half-truth that she had told her people. No one else had asked her where their lord had gone – they had simply trusted that he would not have left them unless it was for a reason that outweighed his desire to stay. Edith was the only one that she had felt close enough to accidently reveal the truth.

“No.” Avis had told no one else, but had to confide her fears to someone. “I do not know where he is.”

Edith’s eyes widened as she tried to take in the news that the one man who may have the knowledge and experience to help them…was missing.

“But…”

“I know.” Avis nodded. “I do not understand it either. All I know is that he left two days ago with several Norman men, left no message, and has not been seen or heard of since that day.”

“But what could have happened to him?”

Avis sighed, and clasped her hands together, trying not to give in to the temptation to bite her nails again.

“I do not know. Sometimes I think that the rebels have captured him – taken him to Edgar. They could kill him. He is a Norman.”

Edith sat there, listening to Avis pour out her worries and fears. She wished that she could say something of comfort, but they both knew that there was little to say.

“Sometimes I think he has been captured by King William,” Avis confessed. “If so, he could be forced to ride against us. To fight against his very people. And then I think, perhaps he has fled, and been successful. By this time he could be near London, and soon on his way to Normandy.”

“He would not leave us.”

“He may.” Avis was under no illusions. She knew that even soldiers and expert men of war had fears. “He has left us. He has fought many terrible and bloody battles. It may be that he does not want to fight another.”

Although it was partially relieving for Avis to be able to take Edith into her confidence, it did not stem the fresh terror that filled her every time she thought of Melville. Nothing could stop that.

“He will be fine,” reassured Edith.

“You do not know that!” cried Avis.

There was silence as Edith searched the face of her mistress.

“Not,” Avis said more calmly, “that I care.”

She nonchalantly brushed her skirts, and fixed her eyes more firmly on the children that she was supposed to be watching.

“My lady,” Edith broke into her thoughts. “I hope you do not take offence, but I have watched you. I have also watched him. I am not a clever woman, but I know people. I know the way that he looks at you, and I know that you are very much in love with my lord Melville.”

Love. So that was the word that Avis had been looking for. The word sounded like a warm arm bringing her home. Of course, love. How could she have been so stupid? The rush of emotions and heat whenever she saw him; the desire that she could no longer deny when he came close to her; and the heartache now that she is without him, and he is in such danger. She was in love with him.

Edith saw the smile in her eyes, and left without a sound. Avis did not even notice her leave. She was so enwrapped in her own emotions.

Love. That was the word to describe the ache inside her very soul when she tried not to think of the possible danger that Melville could be in. That was the term to express that lurch when she saw him, and smelt him, and felt his strong arm supporting her. That was the way to tell that she was completely his. It was love.

Avis had known that her parents were in love. She could always see it in their eyes, and the way that her mother would always prepare particular food for her husband, and the way that her father could never take his gaze away from his wife. And now she could see in herself all of the signs of that deep emotion. It was not enough to say esteem, it was not enough to say admire – it was love. The feeling that she had for Melville demanded so much more than those simple sayings. She was in love with him.

As this realisation dawned on her, another thought crossed her mind, and the happiness that she had felt with the realisation of what she felt for her husband sank quickly into despondency. Melville clearly did not love her. He would not have left her if he had felt a tenth of what she felt for him. Her heart sank further, but she resolved herself. If Avis knew anything about love, it was that sometimes it was one-sided. Sometimes one person simply could not muster up such feelings for another person. Avis knew that regardless of what Melville felt for her, she could never stop loving him.

Chapter Twenty Eight

There was not a sound. Melville’s head was bowed, so he could not see King William’s expression. He stared at the floor. The dried rushes that made up the covering swam in and out of focus as he tried to remain conscious, despite the exhaustion and his rumbling stomach. After what seemed like an age, William spoke.

“Rise.”

Melville stood up, and faced his King. William’s face was sceptical, but he did not look angry. Melville tried to breathe out a sigh of relief without being noticed, and tried to put the right words in order before he spoke.

“My lord King – ”

“Sit.”

The order came harshly, and Melville paused. Perhaps the idea to come to William had been a bad one. He certainly did not sound particularly happy to see him.

“Sit,” repeated William in the same tone. His eyes had not left Melville, and there was little kindness there. But there had never been much kindness there.

Melville sank into the chair that was next to him, and his aching bones cried out in relief. But he could not relax now. He shifted himself forwards slightly so that he would not fall asleep. He needed to be as alert as he could be in the presence of this mighty man.

“Thank you, my lord.” Melville said. “You may not remember me, but – ”

“Of course I remember you. Lord of Copmanthorpe. Ulleskelf. You impressed me on the day of the beach landing. You married.”

Every word was clipped and short, giving nothing away and wasting no energy. William was clearly a man of action, and did not appreciate his time being wasted.

Melville nodded.

“I have come – ”

“I know why you have come.” William interrupted lazily. “Do you not think I am aware of young Jean’s betrayal?”

Melville’s heart groaned. The beginnings of his fears were therefore confirmed. His fingers clutched the arms of the chair, but he continued.

“Jean is no traitor,” Melville said firmly. “He returned to your side. He will fight for you. He is a good man.”

William reached to his left and picked up a large red apple from the bowl on the wooden table beside him. He considered it, and spoke without looking at Melville.

“He
was
a good man.”

“My lord?”

“I could not allow such a man to remain amongst my retinue. He was…disposed of.” William bit into the apple. Spit and tiny parts of apple flew around his mouth, and he chewed loudly, looking directly at Melville.

Melville felt sick. He had known that Jean’s warning to him had been a horrific gamble, but he had never expected him to lose. Jean was a winner, a fighter. A man who had been full of life.

“You question my judgement?” William had been watching Melville’s reaction with interest, and smiled cynically.

“I do, my lord.” Melville knew at this point that there was nothing to be gained from false diplomacy. Honesty was his only option. “Jean was a good man. A good fighter, and loyal to you. You disadvantage yourself by ridding your party of such men.”

The words hung in the air between them, and Melville swallowed. He knew that by speaking so rashly to William he signed his own fate – but then he had never believed that he was leaving this place alive in any case. It was for Avis’ safety that he had come. It was all for Avis.

William considered his vassal carefully. When Melville swore total allegiance to his King, he became his vassal, a total servant. Melville was regarded for several moments, and then his spectator broke into a laugh.

“Your loyalty to your friend becomes you, Melville.”

“My loyalty is true to all,” Melville returned quickly. “Including you, my King.”

“Hmmmm.” Another bite of the apple was taken. “Talk of loyalty is cheap, you know. It is action that I prize beyond all.”

Melville nodded.

“I know. That is why I have journeyed here.”

“Indeed.”

“I am here to plead for my people.”

William’s hand paused halfway to his mouth. This, he had not expected. He placed the apple back into the bowl.