Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms (7 page)

“Good morrow, my lord. What is happening?”

Richard looked amused.

“You are leaving.”

“Leaving?” Avis was hungry, and still tired from the day before, and not in the mood to be teased and bullied by this foreign man again. “Leaving to go where?”

“You and your husband, when he returns from his ride, are going back to his land and property.”

“Where is his land?”

“In the North.”

Avis had never been in the north. She had lived all of the years of her life in the South, and had never ventured far from her home. She had heard terrifying stories of painted men and women who could tell your fortune by looking at you. The land there was said to be barren and miserable, with constant rain and few people at all. But she had also heard about the wilds – huge amounts of land where no people lived and folk told stories about magical creatures and deadly caves in which demons lived. She had been told about mighty rivers, and deep forests. She shivered, not only with fear but with excitement. Finally she was leaving Richard. A tear rolled down her cheek as she surveyed the building that she would be leaving. This place had been her home for almost two decades, and with it she would be leaving scores of memories – not all of them happy.

Richard evidently was hoping that she would be overcome with fright, but she would not give him that satisfaction.

“I will await my husband in the Great Hall.” She stated firmly. “He can come to collect me when all is ready.”

Sweeping away decidedly, Avis walked away, not noticing the horses arriving with great noise in the courtyard behind her. Melville and two of his men were sweating and smiling after their ride – their hunting trip had been successful. A brace of pheasants swung down from a tight leather cord strapped to one of the horses. Melville’s face fell, however, when he saw the back of his new bride in the courtyard. It had been easy when away from this depressing house and miserable inhabitants to forget his concerns, but now he had returned he had a duty to return home and take his men back to their families – and to become accustomed to the new family that had been formed.

“Avis!” he called across the courtyard, his deep voice resonating over the noise, calling for silence. She stopped, and slowly turned, a smile plastered on her face. Melville could see that she was attempting to be brave and self-confident in front of his men, and he could not help but begrudgingly respect her for it.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Make ready a horse.” He spoke curtly. “We ride immediately.”

Avis bowed her consent, but turned seething. He had clearly decided to humiliate her in every way possible, beginning with not allowing her respite to eat before their long journey to the North. She drew herself up, and concentrated. She was a woman. She was an Anglo-Saxon. She smiled. She could do anything.

The journey was long and arduous indeed, and it seemed to last a month to Avis who had never travelled such a long distance in her life. Every muscle ached, and her shoulders kept dipping under the strain of remaining on a horse for hours on end. For Melville however, a man from across the sea, it was but a short time until they had arrived at what he resentfully termed ‘home’. Avis drew in a quick breath. The manor had been built near the bank of a deep river and was not only beautiful, but domineering. The manor dominated the landscape in a very powerful way – just as the Normans now own us, she thought angrily, lessening her appreciation for the structure.

“Where are we?” Avis had lost count of the names and locations of the towns and villages that they had passed, and many of the names had been changed since the Normans had come. Places that she thought she had known were no longer there, and they had passed the remains of many a village that had been destroyed, and whose inhabitants had not returned. Avis had not asked whether this had been out of choice. She was totally at a loss as to where she was.

“Just south of York. My village is Ulleskelf, under the jurisdiction of Copmanthorpe.”

“Copmanthorpe,” mused Avis, her nose scrunching as it always did when she tried to understand something. “I know that name.”

“Indeed you should,” Melville spoke carefully. “I believe that a man of your family once lived here.”

“Yes!” Memories were slowly dripping through into Avis’ mind, and she could picture her distant cousin now. “Gospatrick. He was the lord of Copmanthorpe – a brave man.”

Melville was silent. He knew that Gospatrick had died on the same field that he had fought on, but was not sure just how aware his bride was of the battles that had been fought over this land that she pined over so.

“He was replaced.” Melville was careful with his words. “I am lord now.”

Avis flung a look over her shoulder as her horse moved gently on the spot to counter the movement.

“You?”

Melville laughed indignantly at her disapproval. “Am I such a bad choice?”

“What was wrong with the original?” Avis countered. “From my meagre memory, Gospatrick was a good man. A loyal man, who took care of his people.”

Melville sighed. There was so much that she did not understand. It would certainly take a long time for Avis to accustom herself to the ‘new’ England.

Avis saw his disappointment with her, and flushed. It was not her fault that she could not comprehend the removal of a good man for a stranger. Melville obviously underestimated her. She knew full well what had happened to Gospatrick.

“You must be tired.” Melville cut across her thoughts.

“I am.” Avis was loathed to concede weakness, but was afraid that he would suggest another long ride as he had two days ago when she had tried to pretend that she was not exhausted. “I would appreciate a rest.”

“This is your home now.” Melville could not have sounded more unhappy. “Treat it as your own.”

She bowed her head in thanks, and they rode the last mile towards the manor at a slow pace. As they entered the large open courtyard, Avis brought the horse to a stop, and then slid off the panting horse with relief. Her old horse that had been plundered by the Normans had been so used to her that they had moved in one smooth stream, and she did not exactly agree with this creature’s understanding of a calm ride. Checking that her veil was in place – an object that she had refused point blank to leave behind – she strolled curiously into the manor.

As Melville watched Avis go, he let out a strangled sigh. It had been agony watching this delicate girl put herself through such pain in order to retain the appearance of strength before him. The conversation about her new home had been the first time that they had spoken openly since that wedding night when she had thrown the fact that he was a Norman back in his face. His hand tightened on the reigns as he remembered the hatred that was clear in her face, and then loosened his grip. She was but an Anglo-Saxon, he reminded himself. She could not understand.

Giving out instructions to the many servants that began teeming out to see their master’s return, he organised the removal of his new wife’s belongings and began to prepare himself for another ride. Anything to put space between him and that woman.

Chapter Eleven

Avis had been worried that she would not feel at home in this foreign land, in an odd manor, amongst strangers. After all, this was a land that she had only heard talk of in dark tales, around a smouldering fire from elderly men whose eyes flashed as they spoke. Avis was sure that there would be many customs and routines that she would not understand, and all who saw her would quickly mark her as an outsider.

But she could not have been more wrong. After she had explored parts of the manor, she realised that she would very quickly get lost in the passages and rooms that she was unaccustomed to. Having never lived anywhere else, she was unused to finding her way around a new place. All of the walls were bare, and the rushes on the floors were patchy and dirty in some places, and simply absent in others. Many of the candles attached to the walls had burnt out. It gave the corridors a dark and gloomy atmosphere.

After a quick lunch in the hall at which she didn’t see Melville, she began to venture outside the manor, to meet the people of whom she was mistress. She had been raised by her father to value and respect the people of her home, and she wanted to know these new people just as intimately as she had done the people in the south. Avis almost tripped on the uneven bridge, and she continued on painful feet.

The people in the village just across the river from the manor welcomed her as a friend, recognising in her the beauty and stateliness of an Anglo-Saxon noblewoman. They were all Anglo-Saxon, as she was, and she felt a familiarity with them that she had never felt with Richard. She chattered away to them in her native tongue, grateful to stop speaking the uncomfortable Norman that she had had no choice but to learn and speak with Richard and Melville. She learnt that the Anglo-Scandinavian village that was a thriving part of the area had been destroyed, leaving these Anglo-Saxons who were refugees from the south as the major group under Melville’s rule. Avis shuddered at the thought of an entire village being destroyed. It was not unusual, but it struck deep into her heart every time.

It was not until the evening of Avis’ arrival that she returned, as the sun went down behind the high manor. She began to feel the northern chill, and shivered. Summer was definitely fading, but she could feel winter more strongly here, far from the temperate climes of the south. As she entered the spacious entrance hall, she slid gratefully into a chair by the fire. It was threadbare and stiff, but anything that could hold her weight was a welcome relief.

A servant girl rushed to her side.

“Can I get you anything, my lady?”

“No, thank you,” Avis replied, grateful for a caring voice in her mother tongue. “Could you direct me to…my chamber?”

The question was asked awkwardly. Avis could not help but feel embarrassed that she did not know the way to her own room. But the servant girl brushed away the uneasiness with her chat.

“This way my lady.” She gestured forward, and began talking happily. “There are so many corridors, aren’t there? I remember when I came here from Ulleskelf, I didn’t know where I was going for weeks! And then when I did…”

Avis smiled as she followed the prattling of the girl. She was very similar to a friend from Avis’ childhood who she had not seen for many years. It was comforting to have somebody so friendly in such an empty, cold manor house.

The girl led her into a large chamber with an elaborate carved wooden bed taking centre stage in the room. A small fire was crackling, and the few trunks of her belongings that had survived the long trip sat beside it.

The girl made to close the door behind her.

“Your chamber, my lady.”

“Wait,” Avis spoke, and the girl paused. “Where are my lord’s possessions?”

Now the girl was overcome with mortification. Her cheeks blushed a deep red, and she moved backwards, wishing to leave the room without replying. But she could not ignore her mistress’ question.

“My lord,” she finally said, “does not sleep here. He has his own chamber. You are not required to share with my lord.”

Her last sentence finished, she closed the door with a creak as the rusting hinges moved at speed.

Avis sank onto the bed. Melville had organised two different sleeping chambers for them. His presumption evidently knew no bounds – but at least this did aid Avis in one way. The problem of consummating the marriage was therefore ignored by him, and she saw no reason to challenge him on the matter. She was relieved. On the road there had been no privacy, and therefore no expectations. During her travelling musings, she was unsure as to how she would have fought him off, here in his own home with no one else looking on to judge his actions either right or wrong.

She looked around her. This was her new room. There was little in the way of comfort anywhere, from the sparse blankets on the bed, to the lack of chests to place her clothes in. Avis sighed. There was much to be done here.

It only took one week for the lives of Avis and Melville to settle into a routine, but they were two very separate lives. Melville would rise early and go with his men riding and hunting, or preside over the local court, settling disputes between the peasants. Avis was pleasantly surprised. She could not help but be impressed at his dedication to justice and truth – though she probably would have been less impressed if she knew that his dedication had increased since her arrival in order to avoid her. Melville could not stand being in her presence for too long. She reminded him of his undesirable imprisonment in this country, and she was beginning to play havoc with his dreams. Despite all that his will told him, she was appearing more and more frequently in his dreams – with less and less clothing.

With her husband gone for most of the day, after two weeks and darker weather Avis began to despair. She had had no intimate friends before, but she felt the lack of one all the more strongly in a strange place. Boredom seemed to be her only constant companion. She missed performing her small culinary tasks, even though no one appreciated her input. Avis was unused to having nothing to do, and was growing frustrated. On a sunny day when spring was breaking, she was sitting on the bank of the river singing gently underneath her breath when she saw a man on horseback. His shoulder length dark hair framed his strong features, and the way that both he and the horse appeared to move as one made her smile. Her husband may be a Norman and a brute, but he was certainly skilled.

Avis sighed. Melville had such purpose here: as lord, he had responsibilities that she could not help but know that he did well. But she was alone, with nothing to do and nothing to be accomplished. Avis decided to meander down to the manor kitchens: just, she resolved to herself, so that she could see what they were like.

When Avis ducked her head under the door, she gasped, transfixed. She had never seen such large kitchens, with so many fires and contraptions for creating the most delicious food that had been brought up to her each of the seven days that she had been here with Melville. It seemed that his disdain to invest in the furnishings of his home did not descend to the kitchen. Contraptions that she did not recognise lay on tablets of stone, and herbs that she could not place hung from the ceiling. She longed to push up her lavish sleeves and experiment, and seemed to be unnoticed amongst the hustle and bustle of a working manor kitchen. Boys were roasting birds on one fire, while a pot on another was tended by a sullen girl, also seeing to a small toddler. Shouts and orders were thrown about, and she got a thrill of excitement. Every scent and every sound that she could conceive surrounded her, and it was painfully hot. This was where the heart and soul of a manor was! She began to move about, but was startled by a loud voice speaking her native Anglo-Saxon.