Conquest
Anna Markland
Contents
Conquest
More Anna Markland
1. A New Year
2. A Cursed Year
3. Homecoming
4. A Wrong Righted
5. Our Seigneur Is Dead
6. Who Will Weep?
7. Treasured Possession
8. A Betrothal
9. Exploring Montbryce
10. First Meeting
11. The Right Decision?
12. Ruffled Feathers
13. He Does Not Want Me
14. Regrets
15. Discreet Meddling
16. She Knows Her Worth
17. Duke William's Visit
18. Building The Fleet
19. Stamford Bridge
20. The Invasion Begins
21. The Patriot
22. Preparing For Battle
23. Carnage
24. Aftermath
25. The Healer
26. Farewell
27. Blindsided
28. Confrontation
29. Ascha
30. Dire Tidings
31. Alensonne
32. A Wedding
33. Allegiance
34. Wedding Night
35. A New Dynasty
36. Flight
37. Ellesmere Takes Shape
38. Rebellion
39. Morwenna
40. Sons
41. Accident
42. Recovery
43. Conspirators
44. Poison
45. In Need Of Protection
46. Normandie
47. Plans Laid
48. Abduction
49. Cadair Berwyn
50. Ransom
51. The Dream
52. A Perfect Match
53. Amber
54. No Future
55. Yuletide
56. Birth
57. Death
58. Negotiations
59. Don't Go
60. The Bridge
61. For Wales
62. A Fortunate Fool
63. Sequel
64. Postscriptum
65. Defiance ~ Book Ii
66. Anna's Story
Conquest
The Montbryce Legacy
ANNIVERSARY EDITION
BOOK ONE
By
ANNA MARKLAND
Copyright © 2018 by Anna Markland
The ruling passion conquers reason still
~Alexander Pope
For Don, my Conqueror.
Conquest by Anna Markland
Book One, The Montbryce Legacy, Anniversary Edition
(Parts of this story were originally published under the titles Conquering Passion and Defiant Passion)
© 2011, 2012, 2018 Anna Markland
www.annamarkland.com
All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
For permissions contact: anna@annamarkland.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Dar Albert
More Anna Markland
The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition (2018)
I Conquest—Ram and Mabelle, Rhodri and Rhonwen
II Defiance—Hugh and Devona, Antoine and Sybilla
III Redemption—Caedmon and Agneta
The Montbryce Legacy First Edition (2011-2014)
Conquering Passion—Ram and Mabelle, Rhodri and Rhonwen (audiobook available)
If Love Dares Enough—Hugh and Devona, Antoine and Sybilla
Defiant Passion-Rhodri and Rhonwen
A Man of Value—Caedmon and Agneta
Dark Irish Knight—Ronan and Rhoni
Haunted Knights—Adam and Rosamunda, Denis and Paulina
Passion in the Blood—Robert and Dorianne, Baudoin and Carys
Dark and Bright—Rhys and Annalise
The Winds of the Heavens—Rhun and Glain, Rhydderch and Isolda
Dance of Love—Izzy and Farah
Carried Away—Blythe and Dieter
Sweet Taste of Love—Aidan and Nolana
Wild Viking Princess—Ragna and Reider
Hearts and Crowns—Gallien and Peridotte
Fatal Truths—Alex and Elayne
Sinful Passions—Bronson and Grace; Rodrick and Swan
Series featuring the stories of the Viking ancestors of my Norman families
The Rover Bold—Bryk and Cathryn
The Rover Defiant—Torstein and Sonja
The Rover Betrayed—Magnus and Judith
Novellas
Maknab’s Revenge—Ingram and Ruby
Passion’s Fire—Matthew and Brigandine
Banished—Sigmar and Audra
Hungry Like De Wolfe—Blaise and Anne—Kindle Worlds
Unkissable Knight—Dervenn and Victorine
Caledonia Chronicles (Scotland)
Book I Pride of the Clan—Rheade and Margaret
Book II Highland Tides—Braden and Charlotte
Book 2.5 Highland Dawn—Keith and Aurora (a Kindle Worlds book)
Book III Roses Among the Heather—Blair &Susanna, Craig & Timothea
The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty (medieval Europe)
Book 1 Loyal Heart—Sophia and Brandt
Book 2 Courageous Heart—Luther and Francesca
Book 3 Faithful Heart—Kon and Zara
Myth and Mystery
The Taking of Ireland —Sibràn and Aislinn
The Pendray Papers
Highland Betrayal—Morgan and Hannah (audiobook available)
Clash of the Tartans
Kilty Secrets—Ewan and Shona
Kilted at the Altar—Darroch and Isabel
Kilty Pleasures—Broderick and Kyla
A New Year
Arques, Normandie, New Year’s Day 1066 A.D.
Lady Mabelle de Valtesse removed her grease-spattered apron with a weary sigh, rolled it up, and gathered a meagre blanket around her shoulders. Exhausted, she sank onto the stale rushes strewn on the hard stone floor, tucking the apron under her drooping head. Her snoring father, the exiled Seigneur of Alensonne, lay sprawled across the space allotted to them both in the Great Hall.
She had been careful not to step on the slumbering forms—human and animal—in the communal sleeping area of the castle at Arques, a task rendered more difficult by the half-light of the early morning hour. A pall of blue smoke from the long dead fire in the hearth hung in the air, irritating her tired eyes. She startled when her unpredictable father asked loudly, “Why are you so late to bed?”
Mabelle gritted her teeth and stiffened her shoulders. Waking him was the last thing she wanted. “I was not allowed to leave the kitchens until everything had been tidied. The banquet for the New Year was larger than usual. I’m tired to the bone.”
“It’s intolerable,” he replied, making no effort to keep his voice down. “The only daught
er of Guillaume de Valtesse working like a peasant in the kitchens.”
“Papa, please, not now,” she whispered. “The castle steward made it plain we must contribute if we want to avail ourselves of their hospitality.”
Her irritating father considered it beneath him to contribute anything.
“Hospitality,” he sneered. “Where is the chamber I should have, as befits my rank?”
“Hush there,” someone called. “It’s the middle of the night.”
Valtesse bristled and shouted back, “Don’t tell me to hush. I am Guillaume de Valtesse, the Seigneur d’Alensonne.”
The retort came quickly. “We don’t care if you’re the King of the English.”
This sentiment was quickly supported by the complaints of others awakened after a day spent toiling for their master. Dogs yapped. Startled cats scurried away, screeching displeasure at having their nightly foraging disturbed.
Mabelle well knew the potential for the argument to escalate. In their wanderings, she had seen her father thrown out of many a hall because of his inability to control his tongue and his temper. She squinted at him. “This is why we are exiled. If you hadn’t lashed out and blinded the Seigneur de Giroux during the argument six years ago, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
Her father spat into the rushes. “If your bastard half-brother had not aided the Giroux family in their quest for revenge, they would never have captured Alensonne and cast us out.”
Mabelle rubbed her weary eyes. “Well, Arnulf rules there now, while we—”
“I will not sleep with ignorant serfs,” her father began, fumbling to retrieve his sword.
A dull ache began in her temples. “Papa, hush, please. I must sleep. You never cease complaining.”
He sat up. “You are too impertinent, daughter. Young noblewomen don’t speak to their fathers so rudely.”
Mabelle rolled her eyes, itching to point out that her impertinence and resourcefulness had saved his miserable skin many times. She had told him often enough she believed the only person with the power to end their exile was their overlord, the Comte de Montbryce.
Muttering, Guillaume gathered his blanket over him, turned onto his side and seemed about to fall back to sleep, but suddenly rasped, “Be ready at first light. We leave for Montbryce.”
“Oui, Papa,” she murmured, trying not to sound surprised. It would be a mistake to get her hopes up. In the beginning, when she was three and ten, she had followed her father without question, learning quickly which servants to befriend. If she couldn’t coax leftover food from a kitchen wench when a lord’s hospitality was meagre, she filched it. She shared food with hungry stable boys and was rewarded with oats for their horses. Aiding laundresses in their tasks provided her with clean clothing. She listened to gossip, and used what she learned to her advantage.
Living by her wits had been easier when she was a young girl. There was always something to trade. Six years later, it was more difficult. The drab peasant garb she wore concealed the body of a woman, despite her efforts to hide it. Men now wanted something in return that she had no intention of trading. In a constant game of cat and mouse, Mabelle rarely felt like the cat any more.
For all his faults, her father had shown he was aware of the growing dangers and was quick to protect her, but his volatile temper often led to confrontations and a curtailing of some of her freedom. She appreciated his protection, but was afraid of his inability to control his temper. For the past year he’d repeatedly ignored her attempts to set him on the path to his liege lord. She sometimes fretted he was happier in his misery.
Now he had agreed to go. What had made him change his mind? Perhaps the rumors concerning the recent death of Edward, King of the English, had prompted him to take note of the winds of change blowing in Normandie. Every Norman knew their Duke William had been promised the Confessor’s throne usurped by Harold Godwinson. The Comte de Montbryce might be willing to be the instrument to help regain her dowry, lands lost to Arnulf, and now of strategic importance to the duke.
Her father’s loud snores indicated he was not lying awake worrying. She wrinkled her nose, pressing a finger and thumb over her nostrils, shutting out the unpleasant odors emanating from the rushes. Tucking her knees to her belly, she hoped sleep would come quickly and that on this night she would be too tired to dream of fine clothes, rich food and the comfortable bedchamber that had been hers at Alensonne—before Arnulf had usurped the castle.
Despite her exhaustion, sleep proved elusive as her restless mind thought of the journey to Montbryce. Would this be the means to at last regain the life of respected nobility to which she had been born? She pushed away the insistent notion that if her dowry couldn’t be won back, then marriage to a nobleman would be the only solution. How to accomplish such a thing? Did she truly want to exchange one overbearing noble for another? She could only pray the Year of Our Lord One Thousand and Sixty-Six would bring a change of fortune for her as well as their duke.
She curled into a tighter ball and covered her ears against the grunts of a peasant who had taken advantage of his unexpected awakening to rut with his bedmate.
A Cursed Year
Alensonne, Normandie 1066 AD
A thin sun heralded the first day of the year, its rays barely penetrating the hovel wherein Simon Hugo sat, staring at his daughter’s body. If he needed further confirmation that this would be a year cursed by God, he had only to shift his reluctant gaze to the tiny bundle lying atop his daughter’s lifeless frame.
“At least his soul is preserved,” the village midwife had muttered before wrapping the stillborn child in an old rag. “Such are the wages of sin.”
Then she’d left him alone with his grief and anger.
Estelle was the one precious thing he had, a living reminder of his wife, dead in childbirth fifteen years before. His daily life was a hard grind, ploughing a few acres with his ox, planting and reaping. His sole pleasure at the end of a grueling day, the only thing that sustained him, was the sight of his daughter’s angelic face.
Then his Seigneur, the greedy Arnulf de Valtesse, Lord of Alensonne, had filled her with a bastard.
He’d failed as a father. Why had he not paid heed to the whispers among his fellow peasants? Arnulf was known to prey on young maidens, yet Simon sent his daughter to the castle to deliver turnips, grown on the meagre plot of land he tenanted. Arnulf was debauched and decadent, though not cursed with the fiery temper of the father he had ousted from the castle. At least with Guillaume de Valtesse peasants had been able to prosper if they avoided angering him.
Simon’s gut twisted when he remembered the night his daughter returned to their hut, disheveled and sobbing. He had known the awful truth before she told him and had relived that night over and over, the words haunting him. Eventually he found his voice, averting his eyes from her dirty, tear-streaked face. “We’ll tell no one,” he muttered.
For a long while the only sound was Estelle’s sobbing. Simon clenched and unclenched his fists, his heart broken. “You’ll never have to go to the castle again. Arnulf is a pig.”
What words could he have uttered? How could he have comforted her? “It’s not your fault, daughter. I’ve failed to protect you.”
Her silence worried him more than her wrenching sobs. He wanted to rush to the castle and kill Arnulf, but could only pound the crude table with his fists, knowing such vengeance would result in his being hanged and Estelle left alone. He was a powerless cottar, a peasant. His lord owned the ox and plough. He could do nothing.
Eventually, it became evident she had conceived. Village gossips heaped censure on her, intensifying his anger.
Now she was dead. Coward that he was, he’d crouched outside the hut, pressing his cloak to his ears, unable to shut out her screams while the sour-faced midwife kept up a steady commentary of dire predictions.
He resolved now to make a promise of his own. Someday Arnulf would pay for his crime.
Homecoming
St. Germain de Montbryce, Normandie, April 1066
Rambaud de Montbryce stood in the stirrups and rubbed his hard saddle muscles. “After the years I’ve spent on horseback, my backside shouldn’t ache as it does,” he complained to his brothers.
Antoine and Hugh chuckled their agreement. They had ridden out from their father’s castle to welcome him home as he approached with a large contingent of Montbryce men-at-arms.
Ram smiled, always happy to see his siblings. “When did you arrive with your brigades? You must have been more anxious to get home than I.”
“Yesterday,” Antoine replied. “But we didn’t have as far to come. We were in Caen.”
Ram wiped the dust from his lips with the back of his hand. “I hope you have a tall tankard of ale ready. It’s been a long ride from Rouen.”