Carried Away (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series)

by Anna Markland

  CARRIED AWAY

  by

  Anna Markland

  FitzRam Family Book I

  Kindle Edition

  ISBN 978-0-9879722-6-2

  What Readers Are Saying

  “This was a lovely, short read that had everything. A beautiful love story, battles, a kidnapping and a window into the politics and monarchy of the year 1113…you won’t be disappointed!”

  Mimi Barbour, author of My Cheeky Angel

  “Another great story.” Laurie Tomandl

  “I really enjoyed this book.” Johanna Armstrong

  Cove Art by Steven Novak

  Start Reading

  Dedication

  Other Books by Anna Markland

  Glossary

  Lexicon

  Family Tree

  Contact Information

  Copyright Information

  Nothing matters but being with you,

  Like a feather flying high up in the sky on a windy day,

  I get carried away.

  ~George Strait

  For my daughter-in-law, Samantha,

  one of the most creative people I know

  PROLOGUE

  Bolton, Northumbria, 1113 A.D.

  Caedmon FitzRam was more than distraught. Four years ago it had been a source of pride for his family when their fifteen year old daughter, Blythe, had been chosen to go to King Henry’s court as a lady-in-waiting to Princess Adelaide. Now Blythe had been commanded by the Princess to accompany her to Germany where she was to wed the Holy Roman Emperor.

  Caedmon had made the long journey south to Court and tried every diplomatic move he could think of to extricate his reluctant daughter from the obligation, but the spoiled Adelaide was having none of it.

  “I’m afraid, FitzRam, my little girl has dug in her heels,” Henry had drawled. “She insists Lady Blythe attend her in Mainz.”

  Blythe hadn’t blamed her father, but her unsuccessful determination not to cry at their farewell had made his gut clench. He might never see her again as a result of this dreaded journey. He’d failed her.

  Caedmon imparted this bitter news to his wife as she welcomed him home. He enfolded her in his cloak in the bailey of their manor to protect her from the biting east wind sweeping across the moorland on its journey from the North Sea. Agneta sagged against him, her last hope gone. “Blythe has been forbidden to marry as a lady-in-waiting to the Princess. She’s nineteen. What are her chances of marrying if they carry her off to the Holy Roman Empire? Adelaide is no doubt taking many ladies-in-waiting, surely she wouldn’t miss Blythe?”

  Once inside the shelter of the front hallway, Caedmon put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “There is no other recourse. I’m sorry. I did what I could. Adelaide is going to marry Heinrich and she intends to take Blythe with her. Henry is adamant about building alliances, as evidenced by his betrothing his ten year old son to the daughter of Comte Fulk of Anjou. Think of it. A Norman prince, grandson of the Conqueror, betrothed to an Angevin! William of Normandie must be turning in his tomb.”

  Agneta wiped her eyes and blew her nose as Caedmon escorted her into their solar. “You of all people should remember that old enmities can be put aside. Your hatred of Normans almost got you killed.”

  Caedmon chuckled as he handed his cloak over to his steward, Alain Bonhomme. “Ironic, isn’t it? When I discovered I was the illegitimate son of a Norman Earl, I despised myself and Ram de Montbryce. Now, here we are bearing a Norman patronymic and proud of my Montbryce heritage.”

  Agneta motioned to a maidservant hovering in the doorway with a jug of ale. She filled a tankard and gave it to her husband. “Your father was indeed a man to be proud of, Caedmon. I loved him. We wouldn’t have this beautiful manor house were it not for his influence. I was nothing to him, yet he saw to it my family home was rebuilt.”

  Caedmon slumped into a chair near the hearth and eased off his boots. “My father loved you, Agneta.”

  She stood behind him and put her arms around his shoulders, watching him drain his tankard. “I’m glad you’re back. I miss you when you’re away.”

  He smiled, swiped his hand across his mouth and belched. Stretching his legs out to the fire, he leaned his head back against her and pressed his hands atop hers. “It’s good to be home. You have the other children here to keep you company. By the way, where are they?”

  Agneta took the tankard and refilled it. “They don’t keep my bed warm, husband! Aidan is particularly upset about his sister’s move. He’s never lived in a different country to his twin. He fears he’ll never see her again. He’s gone to assist with repairs of a cottage in the village. He’ll be home soon. Edwin is with him.”

  “What about Ragna?”

  Agneta scoffed. “She’s the only person in the household green with envy. She desperately wants to go in her sister’s stead.”

  “She’s only thirteen! What makes her think—oh, wait, this is Ragna, our wild Viking princess!”

  Agneta laughed. “Exactly!”

  As they talked, Ragna burst into the chamber, her flaxen hair streaming like a banner. “Papa! You’re home. No one told me. I would have greeted you.”

  Caedmon came to his feet. She threw herself into her father’s arms and he kissed her. “I’ve missed you, my wild Viking princess.”

  Ragna pouted and pushed away from him. “Would you have me be anything other than myself? Maman is proud I remind her of my Danish grandmother. Papa, why can’t I go in Blythe’s stead? She doesn’t want to go.”

  Caedmon put his arm around his youngest child’s shoulders. “You are too young. It would break your mother’s heart if you went to Germany.”

  Agneta burst into tears. “We won’t even have Blythe home for Yuletide.” She fled the Hall.

  CHAPTER ONE

  On the Seventh day of January in the year of our Lord One Thousand One Hundred and Fourteen, Adelaide, the daughter of King Henry of England, married the Holy Roman Emperor, Heinrich the Fifth. The marriage took place in Mainz. Adelaide changed her name that day to Matilda, and was crowned Empress. She was twelve years old. Heinrich was twenty-eight.

  As the lengthy wedding and coronation ceremony of her mistress proceeded, Lady Blythe Lacey FitzRam stood in awe in the basilica, recalling the detailed history she’d been regaled with upon first arriving in Mainz. The voice of the young priest had choked with pride as he conducted Adelaide’s ladies-in-waiting through the Mainzer Dom.

  Only recently arrived after a long and cold journey and full of resentment because she’d missed Yuletide with her family, Blythe hadn’t appreciated the compulsory history lesson. Now, however, she looked with admiration upon the massive gold cross commissioned by Archbishop Willigis, the heavy bronze doors made by Master Berenger, and the stunning stained glass windows illuminated by the bright winter sunshine. She recalled the guide’s explanation that the cathedral wasn’t simply one church, but a complex among which were those dedicated to Sancta Maria ad Gradus, and Saint Johannis, the latter built five hundred years before. It was a most appropriate place for a coronation.

  A pang of jealousy and annoyance surged through her as the twelve year old Adelaide was bound to Heinrich. Some of her fellow ladies-in-waiting shared her resentment.

  “She’s twelve and getting married, but I’m not allowed to marry because I’m in her service. She thinks of no one but herself,” Blythe whispered to the widowed Lady Dorothea Le Roux. “I’ll die a spinster. My younger sister will probably be wed before I’m released from this obligation.”

  She’d felt isolated since arriving in this foreign land. Sharing conf
idences with other ladies-in-waiting was all very well, but could be dangerous. Whom to trust? While Adelaide’s entourage were French speaking, Heinrich’s courtiers spoke German, a harsh sounding language she’d never learned.

  Her parents had raised her to be tolerant. Her father, Sir Caedmon FitzRam, had participated in the First Crusade and experienced firsthand how intolerance led to needless bloodshed. Her mother often told the story of almost losing Caedmon because of her resentment of exiled Saxons who had helped the Scots slaughter her family. The FitzRams had come to terms with their prejudices and hatreds and had passed their belief in the power of love on to their children. Blythe was torn between wanting to be accepting of the foreigners in whose midst she found herself, and disdain for their alien tongue and temperament.

  As she watched the Emperor repeat his vows, she leaned close to Lady Dorothea’s ear. “Poor Heinrich, he looks so bored—a twenty-eight year old man marrying a child. He’s quite handsome, though his nose is too long. He’ll no doubt find solace with a mistress—as our own King Henry does—often!”

  Lady Dorothea gave her a conspiratorial grin, but put her finger to her lips.

  Blythe shifted her weight on the hard pew and recommenced her perusal of the historic surroundings, but her mind was on her discontent. Blythe’s parents were intensely loyal and faithful to each other. She longed for such a relationship for herself, but had discovered during her years at Court that most men were only interested in one thing from ladies-in-waiting. They knew the women weren’t allowed to marry and looked upon them as potential liaisons without entanglements. Blythe suspected the Germans would be no different. She would have to keep braiding her hair so tightly in crown braids it made her wince.

  I look like a harridan.

  She tightened her mouth into an unattractive pout and creased her brow, transforming her face into an ugly scowl. “This is the fraulein face I’ll present to the ogling Germans. They’re used to seeing the same expression on the faces of their own women!”

  The strident sound of a trumpet fanfare rent the air, rattling her from her reverie. “The end must be in sight!” Her long legs were stiff from standing and kneeling—up and down, up and down. She stifled a yawn, concealing it with her kerchief. “What a long ordeal! Adelaide will need a nap,” she whispered to Dorothea. “I suppose we must call her Queen Matilda now.” The thought sent a cold shiver creeping down her spine. She’d striven unsuccessfully over the years to find love in her heart for her mistress. Adelaide had been arrogant enough as a mere Princess.

  The rehearsals for this grand rite had been lengthy and tedious and Blythe fell into her assigned place in the long procession out of the cathedral, squaring her shoulders to face whatever lay ahead.

  As predicted, Queen Matilda fell asleep upon regaining the imperial chambers and before the banquet. Blythe was kept busy helping with the disrobing, preparing the bath and redressing her mistress. A worry nagged at her and she wondered if anyone had explained to the infant queen what might be expected of her on her wedding night. Had Adelaide’s mother prepared her? Would Heinrich expect his conjugal rights from a twelve year old? If so, she hoped he was a gentle and considerate man. Blythe’s mother had told her daughters what would be expected of them in the marriage bed, hinted at the exhilarating passion to be found there.

  “Not that I’ll ever need the knowledge,” she lamented bitterly.

  ***

  Emperor Heinrich was preoccupied with events within the borders of his empire that involved revolt rather than union. He faced a rebellion initiated by the citizens of the ancient city of Köln, along with allies from the Saxon nobility.

  While he waited for the summons that all was in readiness for the banquet, he met with his advisors. “I have naught but disdain for the rebellious upstarts in Köln. Is the army assembled to march against them?”

  The commander of his forces bowed. “Yes, sire, mostly Alemannians and Bavarians. It’s a grand army.”

  Heinrich rubbed his finger along his moustache. “Gut! I vow to reduce Köln to shame and insignificance. They think they are one of the great cities of the Empire. Be ready to march on the morrow.”

  “But sire, your bride?”

  Heinrich snorted. “She’s twelve! What am I supposed to do with her? I’ll come back when she’s grown up a little.”

  The assembled noblemen snickered with sympathetic laughter.

  ***

  Spring turned to summer, bringing sweltering heat. Queen Matilda whined constantly about the weather and Heinrich’s absence, though she didn’t seem concerned for his safety. The clothing Blythe had brought from England was completely unsuitable for the climate in Mainz, and she’d never felt so uncomfortable. Lady Dorothea had thrice mentioned nervously to their mistress the discomfort of all the English ladies-in-waiting, but nothing had come of it so far. The elderly woman was reluctant to bring up the subject yet again.

  Blythe’s tightly braided auburn hair was a crown of thorns that grew more painful when she was obliged to listen to Matilda’s regurgitation of the accounts of the campaign as they were brought to her.

  Matilda sat, dwarfed by her massive throne, boasting of her husband’s prowess. Though her Imperial robes touched the mosaic floor, the occasional bulge in the heavy fabric indicated the tiny Empress was swinging her feet. She paused, making sure everyone was paying attention. “It took His Highness two days to march with his army from Mainz to Tuitium, a fortified town on the opposite side of the Rhine to Köln established by the Roman Emperor Constantine eight hundred years ago.”

  Blythe resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Matilda was a scholar repeating her lessons as she prattled on. “A bridge connects Tuitium to Köln and His Highness planned to capture the town and from there lay siege to Köln. Tuitium is an important centre of learning and its Abbey home to several noted theologians.”

  Saints preserve me and rescue me from this child.

  Blythe had already learned Heinrich had captured Tuitium. It was common knowledge. Apparently Matilda was the last to be told anything.

  Oblivious to the uncomfortable shuffling around her, Matilda carried on. “Once he captured the town, he stationed a garrison there and was able to cut Köln off from all river trade and transportation.”

  She smiled and looked smugly down her nose at the assembled courtiers. “That should teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

  Pleased with her husband’s military success, she was apparently unaware of subsequent events. Blythe wasn’t going to be the one to tell her, and the nervous glances of her fellow ladies-in-waiting told her they too would keep silent. Lady Dorothea swayed and clutched Blythe’s arm.

  Everyone listening to the Empress was aware that Köln had amassed a sizeable army of young men who had crossed the Rhine with a strong force of bowmen. They had anticipated the Emperor’s attack. It was rumoured, and later substantiated, that Heinrich had met with his advisors and decided to draw out the battle until evening, thinking the enemy would withdraw, worn out.

  There were a few indecisive skirmishes, then suddenly a great cloud of arrows came showering in from the Köln side and a large number of Heinrich’s men fell dead or wounded. Because of the sweltering heat they’d removed their armour of horn.

  Let someone else tell the child Queen that!

  Heinrich had decided to yield the field and retreat behind the improvised military camp he’d set up. The next day he’d directed his army against Bonn and Julich, two fortified places belonging to Köln, and plundered and burned everything within reach.

  On his return, heavy fighting ensued and Heinrich was apparently gaining the upper hand, having captured several noteworthy prisoners. Then Count Frederick of Westphalia came up with heavy reinforcements. Heinrich was forced to give way and barely escaped the pursuing enemy. Reports were that he was exhausted. Taking Köln was proving to be more difficult than he’d anticipated.

  Blythe hoped someone informed the Queen of events before her
humiliated husband returned to Mainz.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The tension in the small chamber exhilarated Dieter von Wolfenberg. A cadre of young noblemen within the city of Köln, supported by journeymen and apprentices, were gathered to confirm details of their plot to take advantage of Heinrich’s absence from Mainz. They wanted to be free of the Empire and resented the Anglo-Norman child who’d been made Empress. They intended to kidnap Queen Matilda and hold her for ransom.

  They planned to make their way to Mainz, overpower Matilda’s guards and spirit her away. Dieter, a Saxon count, vassal of Duke Lothar von Süpplingenburg, was their leader.

  As the men prepared to leave on their mission Magnus Braunschweig approached him. “Can we trust Süpplingenburg?”

  Dieter owed allegiance to his Duke, a powerful new force in Saxon politics, but he had to be evasive. There was much he could not reveal about his overlord. “He’s been fortunate in expanding his own lands through inheritance.”

  Magnus eyed him suspiciously. “I know you are his man, Dieter. It was he who made you Graf when he extended his authority into the north and west. But isn’t he in the Emperor’s pocket?”

  Lothar had effectively transformed himself into the head of a Saxon nation, but Dieter knew he schemed to be perceived as a supporter of Heinrich. Lothar was in fact incensed by taxes imposed by the Emperor, and plotted secretly to free Saxony from Imperial rule. Dieter was ambitious and saw great benefit in being of service to his Duke. It was the reason he’d left his home in Saxony and come to Köln. The clandestine nature of his activities on the Duke’s behalf appealed to his darker side. It had been relatively easy to scheme his way into a position of trust among the disaffected noblemen.