Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms (9 page)

“My lady?”

Avis stood up, smoothed down her green gown and smiled. “Yes?”

“My lady.” The messenger looked nervous. “I bring a message from my lord Melville.”

“Yes?”

“My lord Melville would remind you that his comrade and friend, Hugh le Blanc of Flanders will be visiting us.”

Avis had not heard such news, and was angry that Melville had neglected to mention it when he had brushed past her so cuttingly after they had left the church that morning.

“Visiting?”

“Yes, my lady. He will be arriving today, and staying but one night.”

Avis cursed under her breath, an old Anglo-Saxon curse which allowed greater vehemence and expulsion of feeling than these tame Norman phrases. Another Norman! Would she never be rid of these marauders?

The messenger was waiting nervously for her reply, and she realised that he would not leave until she had given him a missive for his master.

“Please thank my lord,” Avis said graciously. “Tell him I will see him later at the feast.”

After waiting for the messenger to leave, she rushed to the kitchen, shouting out orders in Anglo-Saxon and forgetting herself in her hurry to encourage the servants.

“Bread! We are going to need much more bread. Are there any chickens left? Good, kill them. We shall need everything we’ve got on the table; my lord is expecting a great visitor.”

People rushed around her, and further orders were given. As Avis threw herself into the task of baking as much bread as she could muster, she tried to remember who Hugh le Blanc of Flanders was. She knew that he had come across with the other Normans, but no more details could she recall. He was probably a man of low status, she gritted her teeth, and yet here I am, slaving away! But as she kneaded bread, wearing down the skin on her knuckles and causing her slender back to ache, she realised that she would gain nothing from impoliteness. The best way, she smiled to herself, to prove to Melville just how noble her blood really was – her Anglo-Saxon blood – was to be the perfect lady of the manor. She knew she had it in her. She would prove to him that the Normans did not have a monopoly on gentility.

Chapter Thirteen

Trumpets heralded the arrival of Hugh le Blanc of Flanders. Avis rushed out into the main courtyard, glad that she had had just enough time to wash the dough off her hands before coming out to greet their guest. Beside her stood Melville, silent as ever. As Hugh le Blanc dismounted, she rushed towards him and curtseyed low to the ground.

“May God find you well,” she began, “and bless you at our humble home.”

Avis smiled up at the man, and was surprised to find a smile in return.

“A welcome indeed!” beamed the man, whose blond hair and pale complexion explained his name immediately. “Melville, you had not told me your wife was so beautiful!”

Moving forward, he clasped his host into a large hug, which Melville returned gruffly.

“Hugh, if I had told, you would have married her yourself! Come, into the warm where food and entertainment in your honour awaits you.”

Arms around each other, the two laughing warriors were drawn into the hall where splendour and spectacle awaited them.

“Melville!” cried Hugh le Blanc, shaking his head in wonder as he surveyed the hall. “Everything is so altered! I am mightily impressed – what convinced you to finally add some life and space into this place?”

“It was my wife,” Melville was quick to pass the blame. “It has all been her doing.”

Hugh le Blanc turned to Avis. “My lady, I congratulate you. You have created a home.”

Avis blushed, and curtseyed once more. It was unusual for any of her hard work to be recognised in a positive manner, and it was heartening to hear – even if it was from a Norman.

As the three of them feasted, along with their servants and retinues, Avis turned the full strength of her charm on their visitor, who responded as if he had never known a woman before. Melville could only sit back, amazed, as the woman that he had considered cold and hard towards all Normans flared up into fire of joy. She laughed, she shared Norman riddles which had Hugh le Blanc in stitches; she listened to his war stories and gasped in all of the right places. She made sure that his plate was never empty and his cup always overflowing.

Melville watched her. He saw as she threw her head back in unashamed laughter how the light gave a perfect shadow onto her cheek, and how a wisp of refined gold hair gently rested alongside her ear. He noted the delicate and careful fingers caressing the table covers, and suddenly wished that he knew the touch of those elusive fingers. His gaze travelled upwards along her tight sleeves, perfectly encapsulating elegant arms, leading to her bodice, and a waist that –

“Melville?” Hugh le Blanc’s voice shook him back to concentration. “Can you hear me, old friend?”

Melville flung his head back, as if to loosen water from it.

“I am quite well, my friend.” He smiled weakly. “I was…distracted.”

He looked directly at Avis, who coloured. She knew exactly what had distracted him, and was suddenly very aware of her fitted gown and revealing cut.

“I am to bed,” she announced, in the vague hope of cutting short Melville’s predatory gaze. Turning to Hugh le Blanc, she spoke in a gentle tone with soft eyes. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“No forgiveness necessary,” Hugh le Blanc gave a wide smile. “It was my honour and joy to spend such a long time in your presence.”

Rising, he kissed her hand. Melville’s hand moved towards his dagger, but then stopped himself. With the little self-control he had gone, he would have easily killed Hugh le Blanc. It seemed ludicrous that this stranger had touched more of his wife than he had – but then he had organised separate sleeping quarters for a reason. He watched his wife leave the room, glorifying in the sway of her hips and the minuteness of her waist. As Hugh le Blanc seated himself, Melville let out a staggered sigh.

“You,” Hugh le Blanc raised his goblet, “are a lucky man.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it.” Melville replied in clipped tones. “She was not my choice.”

Hugh le Blanc’s eyes widened. “You cannot mean to tell me that you have ever laid eyes on better?”

Melville laughed, but without mirth. “I would choose not to marry at all, my lord. It is not my preferred path.”

Hugh le Blanc looked puzzled, but then comprehension dawned. “The King.”

“The King indeed.” Melville drained his goblet and slammed it down. “Our King. Long may he live.” He stood abruptly. “And if you will excuse me, I must go and see to my wife.”

“Oh.” Hugh le Blanc was startled by his host, but was too much a man of the world not to be surprised. He could see the lust in his host’s eyes, and knew that the display of affection for him from Avis was primarily directed at her husband. “I wish you a good night.”

“Not good enough.” Growled Melville, as he stalked out of the room.

Thrusting open the door, Melville stormed into Avis’ chamber. She screamed, unable to see the intruder through the curtain of her bed, but calmed slightly when he threw open the hangings to reveal himself.

“Melville!” Avis gasped, suddenly very aware that she was only wearing a linen shift, which threw into sharp relief the contours of her body. She clutched the nearest blanket to her breast, hoping that he had not noticed.

He had. Melville stared at her as if he had never noticed her existence, and his heavy breathing from running the length of the outside corridor did not lessen.

“What do you want?” Avis asked.

Melville knew that the honest answer to that would terrify her, so satisfied himself with, “to talk.”

“Talk?” confused, Avis brought her knees up, curling herself up into a ball far away from the threatening stance of Melville. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Let’s start with Hugh le Blanc!” Melville spat. “What do you know of him?”

“Nothing!”

“Liar!”

“I swear, I knew not of him before this day!”

Jealously bit through Melville’s veins, jealously that he knew was absurd because he did not care for this woman. He was sure that he did not.

Avis’ eyes were fearful, and he realised just how terrified she must be, seeing him burst into her chamber like a raging bull. He stepped away from the bed, and tried to steady his breathing.

“You must accept my apologies, my lady.” He muttered. “I did not mean to startle you.”

Avis looked at him properly for the first time since he had stormed into the room, and saw a man in torment. It was clear that little thought had gone into this bursting entry into her chamber, and he would very soon be regretting his decision. Warmth crept from her, towards him, and she reached out a tentative hand.

“My lord?”

Melville saw the smooth, soft skin move closer, and fought the instinct to take it in his rough hand, to caress it and luxuriate in her. He looked at her, and saw an openness that she had always hidden from him. Dropping to sit at the edge of the bed, he took her hand in his.

Avis gasped. Shivers of surprise echoed through her body as their skin touched. Nothing had ever been like this before, never had she felt so bare. His fingers gently traced the lines of her fingers, encircling her knuckles and resting for a moment on that slight part of her wrist where her pulse beat. She breathed an unwitting sigh of pleasure, and drew herself slowly towards him so they sat opposite each other, but side by side, on the bed.

Melville was looking down at their two hands entwined. He had never known a feeling of possession like this. He wanted to somehow remove the kiss that Hugh le Blanc had imparted on this perfect hand of Avis’, and did so in the only way he knew how: by lifting her hand to his lips and slowly imparting a chaste kiss into her palm.

Avis rocked slightly as emotion flooded her veins. Unbidden and untaught, she lifted her other hand to cup his cheek, forcing his face towards her. He looked utterly confused – and in her power. Neither of them thought, they just acted, moving closer and closer together until Avis could feel Melville’s warm breath on her cheek. She exhaled quietly.

“Melville…”

This calling of his name brought him to his sense, and he froze. How did he get to this place? The wine that he had drunk at the feast must have been stronger than he thought. Untangling himself from her willing arms, he stepped away and repeated his last words.

“My apologies, Avis.”

Melville left the room as quickly as he had entered it. Avis sat in shock, not entirely sure what had just happened. It had looked as if Melville was envious of her attentions to Hugh le Blanc – and they had come close to finally breaking that invisible barrier that always seemed to prevent them from understanding one another. And that was not possible, she reminded herself. He is a Norman.

Chapter Fourteen

By the time that Avis was ready to go to the hall the next morning, she discovered that Hugh le Blanc had already left. She was disappointed – despite being one of the enemy, as she had mentally labelled him, he had been a witty and enjoyable companion. Now she only had Melville, moody and mysterious, as her evening conversation. After a few quick words with a servant, she learnt that Melville had left as Hugh le Blanc had, but had travelled in the opposite direction.

Avis saw Melville at midday returning from business for a quick meal, and tried to fade into the background, unwilling to meet him again after the events of the night before. She cursed the blood red dress that she was wearing. It was one of her favourites and she had wanted Hugh le Blanc to see her wearing it, but it had never been more badly timed. It was completely impossible for anyone to avoid seeing her, and as Melville walked towards her he placed his hands around her waist and pulled her without speaking towards the corner of the room.

“My lord!” she tugged at his arm, hoping for release, but he only increased his grip.

Her back touched the cold stone of the wall behind her, and with the bulk of Melville before her, she was completely trapped. Her frantic eyes met his.

“Hugh le Blanc greatly enjoyed his stay here.” Melville told her, in the manner of relaying a bereavement.

Avis looked confused. Had she not done what was expected of her – as a gracious ‘Norman’ hostess?

“Is that not good my lord?”

“Good!” Melville spat. “I want to be left alone! I want to be left in peace! He has informed me that he will be telling all of our wonderful hospitality – and especially the regal manners of my manor’s lady! Soon half of Norman nobility will be here!”

Avis paled. “No.”

“Agreed!” Melville finally released her arm, but only to fix her more tightly in the corner of the room with his magnificent gaze. He could smell her scent of rosemary once again. “Do you not recall how I did not want this marriage?”

“Ha!” Avis laughed. “Do you not recall how mutual that feeling was?”

Her clear eyes bore into his, but he maintained the gaze, trying not to forget the speech that he had so carefully prepared while pacing up and down his room after his potent encounter with her in her chamber. An encounter which he wished he had not cut short.

“I want to be left alone.” Melville repeated.

“And I want to be free!” Avis’ lips broke into a smile: but a smile of anger. “I do not wish to be paraded up and down for Norman enjoyment, like a trophy prize – but sorry, my lord, I forget myself. I am a punishment, not a prize.”

Melville winced as his own words were flung back at him. He wished he had not been so hasty in speaking on that wretched wedding night.

“Can we at least agree to portray the couple that is enjoying a happy marriage?” He begged her. “If reports of our…disagreements reached the King – ”

“You are right.” Avis glared. “Best save your reputation at all costs. That is what you Normans are good at.”

She pushed at his shoulder, trying to break free, and was surprised when he gave way. Avis strode past him, the feeling of entrapment whilst in the corner that he had forced her into overtaking her better judgement. Without looking back, she marched out of the room.