It had seemed natural to cleanse her, something he had never been motivated to do for a woman before. As he looked at her now in the early light of dawn, sleeping peacefully, he tried to imagine what life must have been like for her before they met. It felt good to have her here, beside him, in the chamber he loved but had never shared with anyone. “I swear to you, Mabelle,” he whispered, “you’ll never want for a safe place to sleep ever again.”
He reached to fondle her hair when she stirred. She turned lazily and stretched. His need intensified and he gathered her into his arms, feathering kisses along her neck.
She blinked, seemingly disoriented for a few moments. Then she smiled. “Do we have time to do it again?” she asked.
His manhood reacted predictably to her sultry innocence. “We have time.”
A New Dynasty
The Saxons are to endure the humiliation of seeing the Conqueror crowned on the anniversary of Christ's birth,” Ram remarked as he and his wife and brothers were breaking their fast before the departure for the coast. “William has a strong feeling for form and law and he’s resolved to let no ceremony pass that might strengthen his claim to be regarded as King of the English.”
He turned to his brothers. “So we’re agreed? You’ll take care of things here and at Belisle and Domfort. I imagine you’ve had enough of England after Hastings.”
Both men agreed readily.
Mabelle smiled timidly at Ram. “I can tell you’re honored by the invitation from William, and nothing will keep you away. From the little you’ve told me, you played a large part in ensuring the victory.”
He had shared something of the details of the battle, though he had decided not to tell her about his near decapitation. “Are you sure you want to accompany me?” he ventured, not knowing what he would do if she said she would prefer not to. She had never travelled by ship before.
“Will it be safe?”
“It’s a short voyage, and, if we’re careful to pick the right tides, you’ll be safe with me. But the castle at Ellesmere isn’t like Montbryce; we can’t live in it yet.”
Why did he feel a compulsion to take her with him? It would be a difficult and dangerous life, perhaps for years, and there would be a lot of traveling back and forth to Normandie.
“I don’t want to be left behind, Ram.”
Encouraged by her loyalty, he admired the way she sat a horse as they journeyed to the coast with a contingent of his knights. Decorum dictated she ride her mare side saddle, but she eventually confided, “My back is broken. It would be more comfortable riding behind you on Fortis. Then at least I could feel your warmth. I’m frozen to the bone.”
He looked at her with a teasing smile and reined in his horse. Perhaps having a wife who had spirit wasn’t such a bad thing. “I would enjoy feeling your beautiful breasts pressed against my back.”
She flared her nostrils, causing him to chuckle, and soon she was mounted behind him. He patted her thigh. “I now see the advantage for me of your riding astride.”
The winds were with them and they took ship for the English coast. She weathered the crossing well, but Ram was seasick from the moment they cast off. He had reluctantly advised her of his ailment. “I’m sorry. I did warn you. When I think of the last time I sailed to England, with William, it seems a lifetime ago. I didn’t know if I would ever see you again.”
Mabelle huddled closer to him. “You thought of me?”
Another bout of retching prevented his response.
She wiped his brow. “I’m not a good wife. I have no idea how to help your malady.”
Her genuine concern touched his heart. “Nothing can be done about it. Believe me. I have to stay outside, but if you’re cold, you should seek shelter under the canvas they rigged for you.”
“Non, I love the tang of the salty breeze on my face, and I would rather be with you.”
Even in his misery, he believed she meant what she said. “This wind is filling the sail and should carry us quickly across the Narrow Sea. We’re fortunate.” He didn’t want to mention this stretch of water could be deadly if weather and tides turned against them.
They came ashore safely. “Welcome to England, Mabelle. I’m glad you’re here with me. This is our new country, the land of opportunity for us and our children.”
William had arranged for an escort to accompany them into London. When the long and tiring journey was finally at an end, they fell asleep in each other’s arms in the opulent accommodation at the royal residence next to the Abbey.
The next day, they woke early. “I have no yuletide gift to give you,” he whispered.
To his delight, she shyly curled her hand around his morning erection. “I can think of a gift.”
It was an exhilarating coupling, their first in England, but they couldn’t risk being abed when servants came to prepare them for the momentous event.
Later, as they made their way to the coronation in the church of Saint Peter, called Westminster, Ram thought he would pass on to her something of the Abbey, so she would know the history of the magnificent building. “Edward the Confessor chose Westminster as the site for his palace and church because it lay close to the famous and rich town of London. It was surrounded with fertile lands and green fields near the main channel of the river Thames, an important trade route. Of course, London isn’t the seat of government. That’s in Winchester.”
Mabelle gazed at the architecture. “I know the Confessor grew up in Normandie.”
“Oui, and he looked to Norman architects to build his abbey, because they were more advanced in their craft than the English. He was aware of the great abbey churches built at Caen, and of the development of our architecture. The Abbey was Edward’s great gift to the people of England, magnificent and innovative even by our standards. It was consecrated on Holy Innocents Day, in the year of our Lord One Thousand and Sixty-Five.”
Once again, his wife surprised him. “But Edward was too ill to attend. My father and I were in Arques, and the castle was full of rumors of his imminent death. Like Moses and the Promised Land.”
He squeezed her hand. “Oui, but, on this day, in the Abbey, William, Duc de Normandie, is to become the third man in this eventful year to wear the English crown. He will be king of his Promised Land.”
Ram’s chest swelled with pride as he escorted Mabelle into the Abbey. Her velvet surcoat dress was emerald green, trimmed with ermine, made for her by Bette, at Montbryce, before the terrible day of their intended wedding. Her girdle was of spun gold. The ruffled pleats of the sleeves of her satin chemise reflected the light of the thousands of candles. Over her dress she wore a voluminous semi-circular matching cloak, pinned in the center with a brooch bearing the Montbryce crest. The cloak too was trimmed with ermine. Her hair was closely coiled with a few curls at the forehead, and she wore a wimple wound about her golden hair and thrown over her shoulder. A snood of embroidered green silk held the wimple in place.
As they proceeded to their places, he whispered, “You look stunning. Even in this illustrious gathering you turn heads.”
There was a substantial guard of Norman men-at-arms and knights posted round the church to prevent any treachery on the part of resentful townsfolk.
In the presence of the bishops, abbots, and nobles of the whole realm, Archbishop Ealdred of York consecrated William as King of the English and placed the royal crown on his head. The Archbishop of Canterbury had refused to officiate. The coronation robe was ornamented with gold and costly gems. Hundreds of amulets of gold and silver hung from it.
“Each amulet contains a saint’s relic,” Ram whispered to Mabelle.
When Archbishop Ealdred asked the English, and Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances, asked the Normans if they would accept William as their king, all proclaimed their agreement with one voice, but not in one language. Ram shouted proudly with a resounding Oui, thrusting his fist into the air in salute to William, filled with conflicting emotions at the memories of the horrific battles, and
what the victory had cost him. His other hand held Mabelle’s tightly.
The Archbishop led William to the royal throne in the presence and with the assent of the bishops and abbots gathered there.
Suddenly, Ram smelled smoke.
Several voices shouted Fire!
Many in the crowd took fright, rushing out of the church.
“Ram?” Mabelle cried, clutching his arm as smoke billowed.
Her obvious terror tore at his heart. “I won’t let any harm come to you. Hold on to me. We must stay together.”
He led his trembling wife to safety, his arm firmly around her, sword drawn. He delivered her to his men-at-arms with instructions to take her back to the palace.
To their credit, the bishops and a few clergy remained in the sanctuary to complete the consecration. Ram decided his duty was to remain close by William in case the fire was a diversionary tactic.
After a quarter hour of anxious confusion, a Norman captain appeared from the rear of the church to inform William the fire had been extinguished. The new king reassured and thanked those who had stayed.
Ram elbowed his way through the phalanx of nervous clerics. William looked pale and seemed shaken by the course of events. “You will scarcely believe, my friend, that my own cavalry caused the commotion,” he explained hoarsely. “When they heard the harsh English accents, they believed treachery was afoot. They set fire to some of the buildings surrounding the Abbey, putting people to the sword.”
Ram shook his head in disbelief. “Majesté, you must make an appearance to the people, to reassure our fellow Normans you’ve been crowned.”
The new king regained his composure, nodded and walked regally to the door of the Abbey. The sight of him in his coronation robes calmed the largely Norman crowd.
He squared his broad shoulders and proclaimed, “I’ve sworn to maintain the Church, and all Christian people in true peace, to prohibit injustice and oppression, to observe equity and mercy in judgments, and to rule my people better than the best of kings before me, if they are loyal to me. I am determined in my heart to make England a country where something other than anarchy can reign. I will pursue the King’s Peace with warlike fervor.”
As cheers resounded, he turned to Ram. “With the help of the Confessor’s Norman advisors and allies like you, Comte Rambaud le Noir, I will be invincible.”
Having shed the cloak and wimple, Mabelle paced back and forth, biting her nails, frantic for Ram’s safety. She rushed to embrace him when he arrived back at the Palace.
“Everything is peaceful now. Our Duke is King William the First of the English, despite the best efforts of our own Norman soldiers to ruin the day for him.”
“I heard the tale,” she replied. “It’s the talk of the Palace.”
They looked at each other and laughed with relief.
“We shouldn’t let your beautiful ensemble go to waste, Comtesse de Montbryce,” he purred, undoing the girdle of spun gold, as he pressed her to his body. “This is a day for celebration.”
As soon as he touched her, she felt the clenching low in her belly. They disrobed quickly, his need to join their bodies apparently as urgent as hers. She called his name over and over as he knelt between her legs, draped them over his shoulders, lifted her hips, bent his head and kissed her place of pleasure. He held her firmly as he made love to her with his warm mouth, his tongue as deft as his fingers had been. It seemed natural. She trusted him with her body. Why could she not trust her heart to him?
“I savor every tremor of pleasure vibrating through you, Mabelle.”
He smiled the smile that made her quiver. Keeping her legs draped over his shoulders, he put a bolster under her hips and slid his manhood inside. She smiled back as their rhythmic dance inflamed her. Throbbing with release, her sheath welcomed his surging seed.
“Your hair’s getting longer,” she whispered later, as she twirled her fingers through it. “It smells of wood smoke.”
Long days and nights of celebration followed the coronation.
“The king wishes to formally name me Earl of Ellesmere at tonight’s banquet,” Ram told his wife on the third day. “Beforehand, he wants to meet to discuss the problems in the Welsh Marches, and how he perceives my role in dealing with them. There’s no definitive border between England and Wales, so we must establish our authority in the region.”
When they were ushered into the king’s antechamber, William strode to Ram and embraced him warmly. “Non, mon ami, you will not kneel. I wouldn’t be wearing this crown today without your help. I am desolate about your father.”
Turning to Mabelle, still in a deep curtsey, he took her hand and kissed it, pulling her to her feet. “My dear Comtesse de Montbryce. At last this fool friend of mine has had the good sense to marry you.”
“Merci, Majesté.”
“My dear friend,” the king turned to Ram, wasting no time. “I want to talk about these irritating Welsh rebels.”
“Sire?”
“You have time and again proven your worth, both militarily and in governance. The situation in the Marches requires such skills. You’ve been there and seen for yourself. I also need someone I can trust implicitly. I envision my Marcher Lords having more power than an ordinary earl. Rebellion is ever in the air. We need to consolidate our victory.”
Ram gritted his teeth. He itched to tell William what he thought of the castle at Ellesmere that he had indeed seen for himself, and fervently hoped rumor of the fiasco with Rhodri had not reached the king’s ear.
The monarch’s next words broke into his thoughts. “Ah, here come d’Avranches, Montgomerie and Fitz-Osbern, the others chosen for the job.”
I am indeed in illustrious company.
He wondered if the other men’s castles were as dilapidated as his. After the appropriate introductions of the lords and their ladies had been completed, and the social niceties observed, the women withdrew to a nearby alcove.
The discussion continued for several hours, with William outlining the powers he planned to give to his four Marcher Lords. Ram’s earldom of Ellesmere occupied an area close to Wales, between Chester and Shrewsbury, sites of two of the proposed earldoms. Hereford in the south was the other.
When time came for the feasting, Ram went in search of Mabelle. The ladies had long since left to prepare for the banquet.
“This is one of the proudest moments of my life,” he whispered to her as they were announced, and he entered the massive hall, his beautiful wife on his arm.
“I’m happy to be here to see you honored.”
“It’s your presence here that makes me proud.”
Why did I think she wouldn’t make a good comtesse?
“I have mixed feelings,” he admitted. “The king has indeed honored me beyond measure, but it’s an honor that’s not without its dangers. The Marches are not a safe place to bring my wife and start our family. It certainly won’t be the comfortable life we enjoyed at our castle in Normandie, at least not for a while.”
She leaned into him. “I don’t care, Ram. I would rather be with you.”
He touched his hand to her cheek. “I can’t envision leaving you alone in Normandie, Mabelle, I need you by my side.”
Before the food was served, King William called his four appointees to the dais and commanded them to bend the knee. “Mes seigneurs, Comtes d’Avranches, de Montgomerie, de Montbryce and Fitz-Osbern, I confer upon you the titles of Earl of Chester, Shrewsbury, Ellesmere and Hereford. You are hereby invested with greater powers than any noble has ever enjoyed before.”
During the feast that followed the long ceremony, Ram and William Fitz-Osbern began discussing the castles they had been granted. He was aware his fellow earl was an accomplished castle builder.
“Hereford is in reasonably good shape,” Fitz crowed. “If Ellesmere is in need of renovation, I would willingly give you aid with the task. We must work together to strengthen our position throughout the border regions.”
“I a
ccept your offer and I thank you,” Ram replied, his heart lifting a little.
Flight
While the Conqueror and his Marcher Lords were celebrating, Lady Ascha Woolgar spent a lonely Yuletide in the manor house at Ruyton, and by January suspected she had conceived. The possibility became a reality a few sennights later, and she was filled with elation one moment and dread the next. Morning sickness and worry wore her out. She was afraid the steward appointed by the earl would notice something was amiss.
She recognized her good fortune with Montbryce’s generous arrangements. Many Saxons had been thrown out of their estates by the Norman invaders. Her stubborn Saxon pride would not let her grovel to the earl now she carried his seed. He would probably reject her and the child. Even if he acknowledged the babe, it would grow up with the stigma of bastardy. She determined to survive the ordeal alone. At least a son or daughter would be a cherished remembrance of her brief liaison with Ram. It was ironic that in all the times her brutish husband had used her, she had never conceived. Indeed, she’d assumed she was barren.
Her faithful maid was the only person in whom she confided. “No one can ever find out, Enid. We must tell people my child is the issue of my late husband, Sir Caedmon.”
Enid shook her head vehemently. “That would be easier to accomplish if your tenants and servants didn’t know Sir Caedmon left here well before the Battle of Stamford Bridge, my lady. If he was the father of your child, the babe would be born by May, but you’ll not give birth until much later.”
Enid was right, but Ascha could see no way out of her dilemma. She fretted to such a degree about her pregnancy becoming evident, she worried she might fall ill. “Steward Roussel will soon start putting things together and spread word of my condition at Ellesmere. He may tell Lord Rambaud. I’m sure he already wonders why the earl is generous towards me. Perhaps I’ll just have to stay hidden in the manor house.”
Conquest (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 1) Page 16
