by York, Ashley
The Saxon Bride
by
Ashley York
The Saxon Bride
Ashley York
Copyright © 2014, Ashley York
Edited by Scott Moreland
Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Designs
All Rights Reserved. No part or the whole of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or utilized (other than for reading by the intended reader) in ANY form (now known or hereafter invented) without prior written permission by the author. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal, and punishable by law. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and or are used fictitiously and solely the product of the author's imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my very first reader, Kathleen. I will never be able to think of this story without remembering our Sunday afternoons at the Brewery with the wonderful sounds of Banish Misfortune surrounding us as we went through every chapter I brought you. What a sweetheart! Your words of encouragement carried me through to the end and your belief in me is more appreciated than you will ever know. Thank you, my dear friend. You are a blessing in my life I never saw coming.
Acknowledgments
I want to thank the HHRW Critters for their immeasurable help in bringing this story to print. You made my story even better. And thank you to my beta readers: Nicole Laverdure, Melba Solis-Zuniga, Deborah Trickey, and Merry Farmer. I also want to thank Rae Monet, Inc. Designs for the beautiful cover.
A very big thank you to my amazing editor Scott Moreland who charged in to save the day. I look forward to many more projects with you.
As always, my most important acknowledgment is to the love of my life, my husband of thirty five years. You are my hero - always.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Prologue
Essex, England 1071
A Norman. I have been given to a Norman to wife.
Rowena Godwinson, daughter of the late Earl of Essex and the last living member of that powerful Saxon family, stood before her reflection in the polished brass. The wedding gown passed down through three generations of Godwin women before her, draped softly across the shoulders, skimming down her waist and falling over the tips of her deerskin slippers. She blinked back with vacant eyes.
Fear tripped up her spine and her stomach clenched. She had lived among the victors for nigh on five years now. Their disdain for her people was quite obvious. Now the man who had usurped her own uncle as rightful king at the Battle of Hastings had ordered her to marry. With both parents dead, she was his ward.
Rowena clenched her teeth and turned to the window. She glimpsed the slate roof of the chapel beyond the trees where the nuptials would take place this very day. Her family's chapel. Countless celebrations with uncles, close friends, and more cousins than she could name, had taken place there. Those were happy years.
"My lady?"
Rowena looked at the drawn face of her handmaiden, Joan. The blonde sheen of her hair, long gone with the stress of the circumstances and occupation they were all forced to live under.
"Yes?"
Joan gulped. "Do you think he will be kind to you? Tonight, I mean?"
Rowena's breath caught in her throat. The marriage bed. How would her husband treat her? With kindness? As her husband, he gained much by this union. A lot of responsibility, yes, but also power. Some men loved power.
She tipped her chin up.
"I believe he will be kind as I will give him no reason not to be."
Joan's eyes rounded. Rowena smiled tightly.
"Fear not, Joan. I will be amicable."
"My lady, would that I could impart upon you my own knowledge, but I have none. Your mother's death before she prepared you leaves you in a bad way."
"Perhaps he will be a gentle man. John." His name was all she knew.
"Yes, my lady. He is one of William's most trusted knights."
"A warrior." Rowena's tone was flat and for an instant she saw again her father. Cold and dead. Blood all around. She forced the memory aside. "Then he will be a good protector."
"Yes, but of whom?"
Norman soldiers had been in the castle and beyond ever since. They had no need for Saxons. If they did have needs, they took what they wanted. When Rowena tried to voice her objections to such ill treatment, it fell on deaf ears.
"I will be by his side now. I will win him over to our cause." Despite her own misgivings, Rowena attempted to reassure her.
Joan sighed her relief. "Then we will pray you please him."
The knock on the door echoed in Rowena's chest. She nodded her consent. Joan opened the door to reveal a burly Norman soldier, his pointed helmet still in place on his head, its shield hiding his face.
"I've come for the Lady Rowena." His voice was muffled but understandable.
He pushed his way past Joan and grabbed Rowena's arm. She jerked away without thinking, and he shoved her back against the wall. Joan's shriek filled the small space. His pungent breath assailed her nostrils as he moved in close.
"Silence!" He threw the command over his shoulder then focused his attention back on Rowena. His helmet dipped as his eyes took in every aspect of her body."I look forward to your joining with Lord John."
Rowena fought to control her outrage. And her fear.
"Do you know what Normans do with their lord's wives?" His voice was quiet, menacing.
She shook her head.
"The lord has first use but then he allows his most loyal soldiers a taste as well."
"What?" Rowena gasped. Why would any man treat his wife so? He must be lying. "What if a child is begotten? How does he know it is his?"
The man threw back his head and laughed. She could see his dark eyes through the slit in the metal when he lowered his head to her. "Don't you know King William is a bastard? He believes it is better to father your heir with your mistress than your wife."
"But...but I heard he loves his Queen."
"Theirs was a marriage of love. Not by proclamation. And not to receive title to the lands."
Without warning, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her through the doorway. Joan's shrill cries followed her down the hall. Three more soldiers came up alongside of them.
"Did you tell her?" one of them asked.
"She knows the way of it."
&
nbsp; Rowena yanked against their firm grasp but they shoved her from behind. Along the road, the onlookers gawked at the treatment of the last Godwinson. She refused to hide her head in shame. In her attempt to keep her dignity, she stopped her struggling and fought to keep up with their long strides. Outside the chapel door, they halted.
"And I look forward," the first guard ran his hand up her side, grabbing her breast as she struggled anew, "my lady, to getting a piece of you for myself."
Rowena spat at him. "Don't touch me!" she screamed. The moisture dripped down his visor.
The man jerked the helmet off, his face a dark scowl. "I'll do even more."
The guards all laughed but when they pushed the door open and she saw the dark-haired man turn towards her, she groaned inwardly. Her new lord and master glowered at her. He had the face of any angel.
Oh, God, what will become of me?
§
The musty smell of incense filled the windowless structure and threatened to suffocate Sir John of Normandy waiting before the altar. Despite his outward appearance of calm, John's insides were tightly wound, his nerves stretched as tight as an archer's bow. Armed guards dragged the struggling woman through the tall wooden doors toward him. John held his breath, his body strained in sympathy with the force of her effort.
"I will never marry that Norman scum!" Rowena screamed, her voice shrieking back in echoes like a curse from the hard stone walls to the small, somber group standing between the unlikely couple. The Norman soldiers gathered as witnesses to the impromptu nuptials shifted uncomfortably. Understandably, they preferred not to look directly at the dark-haired Saxon woman, but toward their leader. John hoped he succeeded at appearing to wait patiently for his bride to be. Damn.
Her silver eyes flashed as she jerked against the firm hands. A shiver passed down his spine. She had her father's eyes. Those eyes haunted his dreams. When she spat on the ground, the guard raised his hand to her but John stepped forward, stopping him from slapping her for such a show of disrespect.
"Enough."
The scene did not sit well with him. Her body was small and delicate beside his six-foot frame. She looked much younger than her sixteen years of age. Her attempts at resistance were futile, as had been his own. This marriage would take place. King William himself had ordered it. Her excess of stubbornness was another trait John remembered from her father, Earl Leofwine Godwinson. Common sense seemed a foreign concept to both father and daughter. Rather than accept defeat and come to terms, Leofwine had been determined to fight to the death.
And now five years later, John recognized the same crazed look. Her eyes darting wildly around the tiny church like a trapped animal, desperately searching for escape. The king must be obeyed.
"Please, my lady." John spoke gently as he would to a wild mare. Reaching toward her, he stopped short at the fury in those narrowed eyes. She will kill me in my sleep. John could see his death at her delicate hands. His life meant nothing to her. She would prefer him dead. His jaw clenched. There was not a chance in hell he could consummate this marriage.
With a guard on either side forcing her to stand and respond, John of Normandy was wed to Rowena, orphaned daughter of the Saxon Earl of Kent, Essex, Middlesex, Hertford, Surrey and Buckinghamshire and ward of King William. John was now one of the most powerful men in England…and he had no desire for any of it.
After the exchange of vows and the blessing from the French bishop, an awkward silence was mercifully interrupted by the muffled jingling of the hauberks worn by the dust-covered soldiers who entered the chapel.
"Lord John?"
Trying not to notice the woman who trembled beside him with her sobbing, John sighed in relief to see one of William's own messengers rushing toward him.
"Is there a problem?" he asked.
The man handed John a letter. Quickly breaking King William's seal, John read the orders. A new battle had broken out to the north and the king needed reinforcements immediately. Although John's presence was not specifically requested, here was his chance to separate himself from his new bride. Breathing a sigh of relief, there was no reason to delay his departure. Pulling on his leather gloves, he turned away from the brown-haired woman.
"Prepare yourselves. The king needs your assistance," he ordered as he walked away without a word to her. He would live to see another day.
Chapter One
Normandy, 1074
Greetings Lord John,
I bid you come at once to the castle at Montreuil. The King of France wishes to see me well located here for the irritation of my enemies. You and I have much to discuss and plans to make. King Malcolm overwhelms me with skins and vessels of gold and silver, seeking my friendship. He will come to me here. Across the sea, enemies surround me, threatening to undo all I have accomplished. I have shown the utmost care and regard for my subjects but find only deceit and subterfuge.
I have granted you gladly the shires of Essex, Surrey, and Buckingham for your continued loyalty. My hope in giving you the lovely Lady Rowena to wife was only to add to your pleasure as Lord there. I bid you return with me full armed against those who durst move against me. I seek the fealty of your castlemen there by spring next.
William, King of England
Tossing the letter onto the desk, John sighed. The low candle sputtered, spraying small drops of blood-red wax across the parchment. Of course the king wanted their fealty. Nigh on eight years had passed since he'd won the day. Why shouldn't they accept him as their rightful king? And yet they fought...tooth and nail, they resisted.
Having been with the man since the age of eight, John knew William's strengths. Tenacity. Persistence. Mercilessness. Even after being crowned as king, William was met with battle after battle as he made inroads throughout the small island. There needed to be a patient Norman presence in each area if William was to keep England as his own. That was the crux. John was to be that presence.
With a heavy heart, John planned his return to England and to his wife. Lady Rowena. The girl he'd been forced to wed three years earlier wasted away in her bitterness toward everything Norman, no doubt. She'd called him Norman scum. Now John would face her again. What epithet would she throw at him?
He'd tried to convince the king to wed her to another but all he'd wanted to talk about was their great conquest over the Saxons. John's memory of that conquest was of the last man who'd fallen by his sword, the father of the very woman he was forced to marry. The sight of the young Lady Rowena sobbing over her father's body had sent a spear of guilt through his heart. He'd lost many a good night's sleep with those memories.
"Do you yield?" John had shouted the question at him, nigh begged him, for the third time while the rest of the Saxon men were rounded up and disarmed by the Norman soldiers. They had already surrendered. The Earl did not seem to understand his words although John spoke perfect English. Instead, the man turned on him.
"I will never yield to you, Norman scum!" Godwinson ran at John with a crazed look in his silver gray eyes, his heavy battle axe raised at the ready. Trying to avoid him, John had been tripped up in his attempt to side-step the man's attack. The Norman broadsword found its mark in the man's heart, pushed through by Godwinson's own impetus as he fell against John.
John's moan filled his small room, bringing him back to the present. Now, after so much time, what would he find at the castle…the castle that was rightly his? The Saxons had resisted their presence then and they would resist their presence now. The girl's rage was probably doubled. No—she would be a woman now. John hissed through his teeth in irritation. He should have already taken care of this. He just didn't know how to do that short of forcing himself on her. He was not going to accept that role for anyone. Instead he'd kept his distance. He wasn't even sure he remembered what she looked like.
"Do you have to leave now?" So deep in his own thoughts, John hadn't heard Abigail enter the small room. She sauntered toward him, a smile playing on her full, red lips. Always playing the s
eductress. Did she think she could actually get him to disobey the king’s orders? He suppressed a smile at the thought. She thought far too much of herself.
Outside, the sun was already casting dark shadows on the stone floor. Damn. He'd meant to be gone by now. No doubt his men waited for him as he sat reminiscing. He snorted and the dark-haired woman frowned in confusion. Without answering, he strode out the door and into the courtyard. Much to his embarrassment, she followed him.
"I'll make it worth your while to stay." Abigail said, grabbing at him when he stopped beside his destrier, causing the animal to pull back. Her ample breasts pressed against him and her green eyes sparkled with lusty promises. His men shifted as they stood around him, avoiding his gaze.
"Abigail." His irritation was rising. He'd explained to her in detail that he had a wife, maybe not a wife of his own choosing, but a wife nonetheless. His own reluctance to go only added to his impatience. A horse whinnied behind him. He would not go against the king. He pulled her away from him, firmly holding her at arm's length.
"Do not make me send you away from here," John directed, his jaw tightened in anger.
Pouting. Ah, yes, her favorite ploy. There had never been any promises between them. He allowed her to play the lady of his manor, and she took charge very well. John was so seldom in residence that it was convenient to have her see to things. Although she enjoyed pretending there was more to the relationship, he'd learned at a young age to live without affection and intimacy. It may be a lonely life to some, but it was the one he desired. He snapped his gloves against his thigh impatiently.
"Go back to your sewing, woman." His voice was menacingly low, but easily heard above the whinnying of the horses that stood saddled and ready, as anxious to be back on the road as his men. "I will have no more of this."
Releasing his arm, she backed away. Her gaze lowered. "I'm sorry, m'lord. Please forgive my insistence at your expense."
He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. This shift from aggressor to victim did not sit well with him. She was truly a master at manipulation.
