The Conqueror's Lady Read online

  “Why do you insult me so? Do you think I hold my honor, and that of my father, with so little respect that I would succumb easily to the desires of the flesh?”

  Giles was out of the chair in a second. He watched her eyes widen as heat grew between them and within him until he burned from it.

  He bent his head, forcing Fayth to tilt hers more. When he moved his lips so close to hers that he could feel her breath against his skin, he paused.

  “Desires of the flesh, lady?” he asked, dipping even closer. “But there is much to commend those desires.”

  The aching deep inside Fayth grew into a throbbing need she could not understand or ignore.

  “Does your body not hunger for more, lady? Is there not an aching within to be touched in places you cannot speak of?”

  The Conqueror’s Lady

  Harlequin ® Historical

  Praise for Terri Brisbin

  Possessed by the Highlander

  “Brisbin’s nicely crafted romance beautifully renders its characters’ growth and powerful emotions.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

  Surrender to the Highlander

  “Rich in historical detail, laced with the perfect amount of passion, Ms. Brisbin continually delivers highly satisfying romances. Don’t miss it.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  Taming the Highlander

  “Taming the Highlander is a lively, frolicking tale of life in the highlands; truly a must read.”

  —Historical Romance Writers

  The Earl’s Secret

  “Terri Brisbin is an historical romance author of note and a shining star within the Harlequin Historical writers. The Earl’s Secret is highly recommended!”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  The Maid of Lorne

  “With her usual superb sense of characterization and exceptional gift for creating sizzling sexual chemistry, Brisbin fashions a splendidly satisfying medieval historical.”

  —Booklist

  The Duchess’s Next Husband

  “This is a quintessential tale of both love and emotional growth—in other words, the perfect romance.”

  —The Best Reviews

  The King’s Mistress

  “[Brisbin’s] bold, vivid writing beautifully captures the flavor of medieval castle life and the intrigue-rich Plantagenet court. Passionate and romantic, The King’s Mistress is a rare delight.”

  —Booklist

  TERRI BRISBIN

  The Conqueror’s Lady

  To Melissa Endlich, my editor for the last seven years

  and thirteen romances for Harlequin Historical.

  Thanks for your support and advice and help in making

  my books stronger and in making me a better writer!

  It’s been a pleasure to work with you

  and I wish you the best in your

  new editorial position

  with Harlequin!

  Available from Harlequin ® Historical and

  TERRI BRISBIN

  The Dumont Bride #634

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  Conventional lady…uncommon thief!

  Author Note

  Although the 1066 invasion of Duke William of Normandy brought about huge changes in the politics and society of England, some of those changes were already underway. Normans had become an integral part of England during Edward the Confessor’s reign, many gaining lands and titles long before the Conqueror set foot there. So, the Saxons had some experience with Norman ways before this major invasion force landed in Pevensey in October 1066.

  Many Saxons held their lands after William’s arrival—those who pledged their loyalty to the new ruler were permitted to retain them—but many were supplanted by those who’d fought for William. Important Norman nobles gained more property and often Saxon heiresses.

  Though ruthless and not hesitant about using force to implement his rule, William did not employ it fully after the Battle of Hastings until the revolt three years later in the north of England. Then he unleashed his anger in what’s still called “the Harrowing of the North,” destroying everything in his path and effectively wiping out what was left of the Saxon way of life.

  In my story, one of Harold’s sons, Edmund, appears as the possible rescuer of Fayth and as leader of the rebels. “My” Edmund is really a composite of several real people who lived in the aftermath of the Battle of Hastings and continued to fight the Normans as they moved from the southeast of England northward and westward to take control of the whole country.

  It is believed that at least two of Harold’s sons did survive (or avoid) the battle that killed their father and that they and their mother joined in the efforts of some of the others opposing the Normans. The earls of Mercia and Northumbria, Harold’s brothers by marriage, switched sides several times during this conflict and were part of this struggle that led to William’s Harrowing of the North.

  So, any resemblance of Edmund to the real protagonists of history is intentional!

  Contents

  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 Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Hastings, England

/>   October 14, 1066

  T he Duke of Normandy surveyed the rolling fields before him and nodded to his commanders. Satisfaction, much like that of a well-fed cat, filled him as he realised that he would now be king of all he could see and more, much, much more. Anticipation surged through his veins and he smiled at the thought of seeing the faces of the Witan now, now that he’d defeated their anointed king and his forces. The clearing of several throats reminded him of the tasks still ahead. The battle for England, though advancing and in his control, was not a thing accomplished yet.

  William turned and met the gazes of his commanders, who stood a short distance from him and his tent. These men and those who fought in their companies of foot soldiers, mounted knights and archers waited on his orders. And they waited for the rewards promised for a successful invasion. Already, the vultures of war were flocking to the battlefield, prepared to scavenge amongst the dead and dying.

  ‘It will take days to clear the fields, my lord,’ Father Obert, his clerk said.

  ‘They—’ William paused and nodded at the growing number of Norman, Breton, Poitevin, French and even Maine nobles approaching his tent ‘—do not seem to have the will to wait several days, Obert.’

  William placed his goblet on the table and held out his hand for the parchment Obert had prepared for his review. A list of crucial English properties and fortifications along with the names of the men who would be the benefactors of his largesse. If he approved. Studying it, he recognised several names immediately, and others that were not the expected ones of his closest advisers or commanders.

  ‘Who recommends such rewards to the nameless warriors here?’ William suspected he knew, but before he gifted anyone with lands and titles he would understand the other motives in place.

  ‘As usual, sire, the Bishop oversees that which is vital to your concerns.’ Obert did not meet his gaze, but instead bowed his head.

  Odo. Half brother and Bishop of Bayeux. He should have recognised the handiwork of the man in this.

  ‘Ah, he is ever-vigilant on my behalf.’ The words, true though tinged with a slight bit of mockery, drew a sharp snort from his clerk. Obert missed little in the intrigues that were court life, in Normandy and now here in England. It was part of his value. ‘These will anger some who have laboured long on my behalf, risking lives and fortunes, only to see the choicest morsels go to others,’ he observed.

  William took note of three names and knew that even their fathers would object. Those objections, of course, would be couched in the politest terms to avoid mentioning the reason for their anger—they would want such lands to go to themselves or their legitimate offspring and not their bastards. His smile must have been a dangerous one for Obert backed away and waited without saying a word. Certainly not his usual response to such an open invitation to speak his mind.

  ‘You must have some counsel to offer, good brother,’ he said, encouraging, nay goading, him into saying the words he now held behind his teeth.

  ‘My lord, the taking of those particular lands is in no way a certainty. They are probably the most dangerous that need to be claimed in your name. Mayhap, some will not even survive. ’Twould be a pity for some of your most loyal subjects to risk their heirs in such endeavours.’

  William rose to his full height, nearly touching the top of his battlefield tent, and nodded. ‘An interesting perspective, Obert,’ he said, walking to the flap and lifting it higher, giving those outside the signal to approach. ‘And a persuasive argument that will satisfy, at least for the immediate time, some of those who would be most vocal.’

  ‘As you say, my lord.’ Obert stepped to his side and they waited for the most noble, the richest and the most powerful of his supporters to enter. ‘Why waste an heir on such a dangerous task when a perfectly good bastard will do?’

  Another man would be dead on the ground for uttering such words to him. Indeed, many had lost much in doing such a thing in the past, but Obert spoke in understood irony as only one bastard could to another. Their own lives and positions had been based on such decisions. William caught sight of the bodies being piled all over the battlefield and nodded. His men were already calling this place Senlac, the blood lake. And there would be much more blood spilled before he controlled the length and breadth of England.

  It did not matter to the ground beneath him if the blood soaking into it was noble or not. It did not matter to the clay if the man leaking his life held a title or even a name. It did not matter to the earth at his feet if his cause was right or wrong.

  And it did not matter to him, William, Duke of Normandy, the Bastard, and now the Conqueror. Only success mattered now and, if those on Odo’s list had much to gain and little to lose, so be it. He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded to Obert, who began to read out the declarations.

  In war, success mattered, blood did not.

  Chapter One

  ‘F inish the words and you will be a widow before you are a wife,’ Giles Fitzhenry, knighted warrior of William the Conqueror, promised in a harsh whisper.

  The blood from the gash above his eye flowed down his face and dripped on the lady’s shoulder, but still he did not relent in his crushing hold. It would take but a moment’s pressure to crush her throat and he swore to himself and then aloud that he would do it if she spoke the words of the vow. Giles turned to face the now-quieting crowd in the small chapel and revealed the dagger he aimed at her ribs, another assurance that the lady would die if anyone tried to intervene.

  His intended moved with him, gripping his hand as though she could stop him. Lady Fayth of Taerford should have thought about the repercussions of her actions before he arrived. Before his men and hers had been killed in the battle for the keep…and for possession of her. Giles nodded to Roger and his man held his sword to the neck of the lady’s comrade in this crime, waiting for her response.

  ‘The keep and lands are mine now, lady, as are you. Your choice of words will simply bring his death more slowly or more swiftly.’ Giles watched as the woman in his arms exchanged glances with the man held a few yards away.

  He felt her body relent before she spoke the words of surrender. Trying with all his determination to ignore the soft, womanly curves beneath his arm, he lessened his grip a tiny bit and lowered the dagger to give her the opportunity to make the choice. ‘Do you take him to husband instead of me?’ he asked aloud.

  ‘I do not,’ she whispered hoarsely into the deathly silence that had covered the room.

  With her capitulation, his men surrounded her people and began to force them from the chapel. Without letting go, he nodded at his second-in-command and then at the man who she had chosen as husband. ‘Kill him.’

  The priest protested loudly, but his men ignored the old man and prepared to follow Giles’s orders. It was her quiet voice that stopped him.

  ‘My lord,’ she began, trying to face him in spite of his grasp. Her movement simply made his blood drip and smear more over her cloak. It wasn’t until he lessened his grip on her that she could speak louder.

  ‘I beg you, my lord. He is not to blame. Truly. Mercy, my lord. Mercy.’ She leaned her head back, offering herself as a sacrifice to his anger.

  He would tell himself later that it was his need to put an end to the bloodshed that made him relent. He would tell himself that he had never planned to kill the man cajoled or ensorcelled by his betrothed into this foolhardy plan to interfere with his rights to her and the land. But Giles only knew that at the moment when his gaze met hers he wanted to grant her whatever she asked of him. He let out his breath and nodded.

  ‘Take him and his men to the edge of my lands and release them,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘And if, from this time forward, they step back onto my lands or try to contact my wife, kill them without hesitation.’

  After Roger dragged his prisoner from the chapel, Giles released his hold on her. She gasped for breath as he pushed her to another of his men. There was much to do and he needed her out of his wa
y.

  ‘Find a place and secure the lady.’

  Reaching up to touch her throat, she turned as though she would speak, but said nothing. His bloody handprint marred her neck and he knew that the armour gauntlets he wore would leave bruises on her fair skin where he’d held her. Any measure of sympathy he began to feel for her was extinguished when he saw that two of his men lay dead in the back of the chapel.

  Giles met her gaze once more and the hatred burning there in her dark green eyes said more than her words would have or could have. Giles smiled grimly at her, accepting the challenge made silently.

  ‘Nothing is to happen to her, except by my word or by my hand,’ he called out.

  ‘Aye, my lord,’ his soldier answered as he dragged Fayth from his presence.

  After surveying the chapel and making certain that his dead and wounded were cared for, Giles strode to the keep to see what his new home looked like.

  She smelled the metallic odour of his blood on her and felt its stickiness on her skin where his gauntleted hand had clutched her. It was as though he had marked his possession of her where all could see it. Fayth’s throat burned and her chest ached from his crushing hold. As his men dragged her across the yard, she saw Edmund and his men being chained together. Pulling against her guard, she managed to come to a stop, but she feared the cost of calling out to Edmund. When their captors finished chaining them, they were hauled across the yard and out of the gate.

  Would she ever see him again? Would her new lord and master keep his word and see them released? Fayth fought back tears at the thought of never seeing her childhood friend alive again. At least she’d been able to save his life, but now that everyone who had protected her was gone, she alone was left to face this invasion.