Conquest of the Heart

By Michele Stegman

Her people conquered his country. How can they overcome the distrust they feel to find love?
In 1067 England, Madeline, a Norman, wants a big, brash, never-defeated-in-battle, Norman knight. What she gets, by order of the king, is a wiry Saxon who once studied for the priesthood instead of warfare. But is this gentle man she is falling in love with entangled in the rebellion now sweeping the land?
Ranulf wants to marry the girl next door. What he gets, by order of the king, is a lush, strong Norman woman who just might be a spy reporting his every move. He wants her in every way a man can possibly want a woman. But can he trust his heart to a woman who might have been sent to root out the struggle for freedom his people are engaged in?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michele Stegman
• Release date: Jun 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310267758

Michele Stegman

Michele Stegman has loved history all her life. When she was studying history in graduate school, one of her professors quipped that she put too much romance in her research papers. She decided to put in more romance and write historical romances.Her Fortune series is following the adventures of the Fortune family through piracy and war in the 1700’s.Conquest of the Heart, her upcoming book, takes place in England in 1067, just after the Norman Conquest. It is quite different from most books that are set during the Conquest. For one thing, her hero is not a big, brash Norman conqueror. He’s a Saxon. It’s the heroine who is the Norman. Her people conquered his country, now she must conquer his heart!Michele was never interested in writing contemporary novels. But one day she was driving along, thinking of nothing in particular, when the entire plot for Mr. Right’s Baby popped into her head. She couldn’t stop thinking about it and finally decided it was a book that had to be written.Michele lives her history every day. She lives in an 1840’s log cabin, and sleeps in a 200 year old bed with her very own hero, her husband, Ron. She spins, weaves, makes her own soap, and bakes her own bread and crackers.Two cats, Chopstix and 5, demand lots of petting, but her two daughters, Kira and Shana, are the delight of her life.Michele also dabbles in art, and is a member of the Southeastern Indiana Art Guild.

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Conquest of the Heart

Michele Stegman

Copyright 2015 Michele Stegman

Smashwords Edition

Dedication:

To all those working for the cause of peace and to those helping the poor and defenseless, in particular, Doctors Without Borders.

Acknowledgements:

Thank you to Jennette Marie Powell, the cover artist, who also supplied a lot of help and support, and to Megan Martin, the editor.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for the recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

England, January 1067

It was harder than he expected, this business of surrender.

Ranulf of Etherby gripped the reins of his horse so hard Saracen stamped one hoof and shook his head. He forced himself to relax his grip, to unclench his teeth, and to take a deep, shuddering breath.

Where had all this pride come from? He thought it had been purged from him years ago by long hours of prayer, by obedience to his father superior, by acts of humility. Now here was pride raising its ugly head again just when he needed all the humility he could garner.

He knew his only recourse was to throw himself down at the feet of the conqueror. The responsibility for the welfare of the people of Etherby was on his shoulders, no matter how uncomfortably it sat there, nor how unexpectedly he had had to pick up that burden. He must do what was best for them, no matter the cost to himself. He had just never expected it to be this hard.

Ranulf listened to the sounds of the Norman tongue being spoken around him, a language he had learned when he studied in Normandy. But he had never expected these people to invade his country, nor that he would be forced by circumstance to bow to their duke, now king of England by right of conquest.

For the sake of his people he must do this. And they were his people now. He was responsible for Etherby, for its people, and for these five knights so newly loyal to him, sitting on their horses restively beside him as they awaited King William's pleasure.

The waiting was the worst. Waiting on the whim of a conqueror.

We could still ride to Scotland and join Malcolm, Utred growled between gritted teeth.

Ranulf sighed. They had chewed that bone more than once since the devastation at Hastings. What chance then would we have of keeping our homes?

We could raid from Scotland, drive these invaders from England...

Ranulf listened yet again to Utred's youthful tirade. Ranulf was only two years older but the weight and responsibility of his position as lord of Etherby pressed on him. He could not protect his people from an uncaring Norman if he was in Scotland. He could only pray that William would accept the oath of fealty he was prepared to give, especially since it would be accompanied by a weighty sack of silver, and allow him to keep Etherby.

Utred's grumblings were interrupted by an oversized Norman astride a warhorse even larger than Utred's. Where is this Ranulf of Etherby? he thundered, scanning Utred and the other knights.

When Ranulf nudged Saracen forward and said quietly, I am Ranulf of Etherby, he thought the Norman was going to laugh in his face. But the man shrugged and jerked his head to indicate that Ranulf, and Ranulf alone, should follow him.

He dismounted when they reached the king's tent, holding Saracen's reins in one hand, the horse snuffling at his back. There was a crowd of nobles, knights in chain mail, messengers hurrying to and fro, and priests scribbling at a large table.

In the center of all the bustle was a tall, forceful man, clean shaven with hair cropped close in the Norman style, striding back and forth issuing orders, setting his seal to various parchments the priests presented, listening intently to those who approached. There is no doubt that this man is a king.

Two other Saxon nobles stood waiting their turns with the king and Ranulf was surprised to recognize Waltheof and Earl Edwin. Had they come, as he had, to offer their oaths of fealty? What else could a Saxon lord do if he hoped to keep his land?

As Ranulf watched the assertive way William made decisions, how he listened intently to each question or plea, Ranulf began to feel that giving this man his oath was the right thing to do, for himself, for Etherby, for England.

Besides, who else could sit upon the throne now that Harold was dead? Who else could stave off the Danes, ensure the peace, and control the unruly thegns?

The guard who had escorted him was now speaking to William, directing the king's gaze toward Ranulf. The king turned fully in Ranulf's direction, taking in every detail of his appearance. Ranulf had never felt more thoroughly scrutinized, more deeply probed.

He met the king's gaze unflinchingly. There had been too many times in the past when he had met friends of his father's, taller men, heavily muscled, who had given him no more than a glance before dismissing him as insignificant. He was inured to scorn.

But the king did not turn away in dismissal. As he watched William's small nod of approval, it appeared the king had taken his measure and found him more than satisfactory.

Ranulf stepped forward to kneel, but before he could, William's attention was drawn to something behind him. Ranulf felt a nibbling at the back of his neck and knew instantly what had gained the king's attention. His horse, Saracen.

He tried to push the animal back, but the stallion was in a playful mood and nipped at his fingers, then nudged him, looking for the carrot he usually had with him.

Ranulf urged Saracen back, looking for some squire or underling to hold the horse. You're a good fellow, he told Saracen, but you are not the one the king needs to meet, no matter how friendly and fine you are.

Chuckles of derisive laughter began to swell around them. Only half the size of the huge destriers the Norman knights rode, Saracen seemed to think he had to show off, tossing his head and nickering.

Suddenly hands were there, taking the bridle from him, smoothing over Saracen's muzzle. Ranulf looked up, surprised to see King William himself holding the stallion's reins, moving to the side of the Arabian to run one hand critically over Saracen's head and neck. His eyes shining with admiration, the king ran his hand over the horse's chest, down his legs, over his rump.

A fine animal, William said. He has the look of some horses sent to me as a gift from Spain. Is he of Spanish stock?

No, Sire. I brought him home with me from the Holy Land.

William glanced up at Ranulf's use of the word Sire, cocking a doubtful brow at this Saxon. So, Ranulf of Etherby, you come offering me your fealty.

I do, Sire.

The king sifted the fingers of one hand through Saracen's mane. He is not large, but from the look of him, I would wager he is fleet and sure footed. The king looked at him over the back of the stallion, but Ranulf knew it was not just the horse he spoke of.

Both, my lord. And bred for endurance. He will not falter when others would fail you.

Saracen's ears flicked back and forth as he listened to the conversation between Ranulf and the king. He snuffled at one of them, then the other, finally choosing the finer fabric of the king's tunic to nip at.

A brazen fellow. The king laughed, pushing Saracen's head away.

Yes, my lord. But once his loyalty is given, he does not waver.

The king looked intently into Ranulf's eyes for a long moment. And will you give me your loyalty, Ranulf of Etherby?

Aye, my lord king, for I am convinced you are worthy of it.

And if I were not?

Ranulf shrugged. Then I would give it of necessity, but not as willingly.

The king laughed merrily, then once again scrutinized him, and, seeming to find favor in him, nodded. He handed Saracen's reins to a knight who, though he dare not refuse his king, still looked incensed at being asked to hold a Saxon's horse.

With a hand on Ranulf's shoulder, William drew him forward, toward the table strewn with documents. Have you a charter for your lands?

Yes, my lord, Ranulf answered. Hefting the bag he carried, he set it on the table with a reassuring solid clinking of coin. And a gift for you as well.

Again the king nodded in approval. Give both to my clerk. He will see that all is in order. Then I will take your oath. But first, there are two ahead of you.

While one clerk counted Ranulf's coins, another pored over the deed for Etherby, granted to his great-grandfather by King Ethelred. He checked its location on his own maps and in his own records, then wrote out a deed from William affirming Ranulf's right to Etherby. The documents were then set aside to await the king's signature and seal.

Ranulf turned to watch as the two other Saxon lords gave their oaths to William. Earl Edwin stepped forward first, and the look on his face told Ranulf clearly that Edwin was not happy about the oath he was about to give. But Edwin must bend to William or lose all, just as Ranulf must.

He shifted uncomfortably. At least Edwin could be comforted that William needed him as much as he needed William. Only by confirming his earldom could peace be secured in the North. The King would accept the man's oath but Ranulf was sure he did not trust the powerful Earl. There were few William did trust.

Earl Edwin, flanked by two of his knights, came forward and knelt. Placing his hands between William's, he swore to be obedient to the King in all things due him as his rightful lord according to the contracts drawn up.

I accept your oath, Earl Edwin, William said.

The earl started to rise but William held fast to his hands, forcing him to remain kneeling. Harold was to be the husband of my daughter but you gave him your sister instead. Therefore, your first duty to your king will be to replace the husband that was lost to her.

Edwin looked puzzled—and uncomfortable, still on his knees looking up at William. My lord, I will do my best to find a suitable husband for your daughter. The king lifted one brow and smiled sardonically. There is no need to look further than yourself, my lord.

A look of alarm crossed the earl's face and he opened his mouth to protest, but the king continued on. I shall be glad to have familial bonds with so powerful an earl. With that he released his hands, allowing Edwin to rise.

Sire, you do me too much honor, the earl began to protest. But Ranulf noticed a change in him, as if he suddenly realized that there was as much advantage as disadvantage to being married to the king's daughter. The earl bowed low to the king and his last words were spoken in a tone that, to Ranulf, seemed a bit calculating. It is no little thing to be the son-in-law to the king of England.

Waltheof then took his place, kneeling solemnly and making his oath. When Waltheof rose to his feet, William said, I would bind you to me with a marriage, also, my lord. You shall have my niece, Judith.

Waltheof's eyes grew round with surprise and he stood stunned for a moment. Then he fell again to his knees before the king. Sire, he said, looking up with surprised joy, I will endeavor to be a good husband to her and a faithful servant of my king.

William, looking very pleased with Waltheof's response, lifted him up and kissed him on the cheek.

The king then beckoned to Ranulf to come take his oath. Kneeling before William, he placed his hands between the king's, glad he was only a minor noble and no threat to be bound with a watchdog Norman wife. Etherby may not be much of a holding, but at least it would give him free choice in a marriage. In a clear voice Ranulf pledged to give to William, and to William only, his fealty and his service.

A priest handed over the documents he had prepared and stood ready with wax for the king to set his seal on them, granting Etherby to Ranulf. Scanning the documents, his brows knotted. Ignoring the wax dripping from the priest's hand, William laid the documents aside and pulled out a map of the area. His gaze swept the map, taking in everything with keen military insight.

Motioning Ranulf to his side, he pointed to the map. Etherby is very strategically located. His finger moved to the bend of the river where Ranulf's father, Thorkill, had wanted to build a castle. An army from the north would have to cross the river here to move on to London. I can well see the potential strength of the place were a castle built here. William looked at Ranulf with suddenly narrowed, suspicious eyes. It could either defend or betray the city depending on its lord.

Did the king fear betrayal from a Saxon lord at Etherby? Would this distrustful sovereign give his land to one of his own Norman knights after all?

I assure you, Sire, Ranulf said fervently, I have no intention of building a castle. I am a man of peace and want only peace for my people. I gave you my fealty because I think you are our best chance for that. As lord of Etherby I would serve you well, for it is in my own best interest to do so.

The king's expression was thoughtful as he gazed down at him. Cocking one brow he suddenly asked, Are you wed, Ranulf of Etherby?

Ranulf started in surprise. No, Sire, but I... He let the words trail off. He had started to say he was pledged to a woman, but he was not. It was only in his heart that he was bound to his neighbor, the fair Rosamund. There had been no banns posted, no words spoken between them, nor even any hints or promises.

I think, Ranulf of Etherby, that you are the best lord for Etherby.

Relief swept through him at the king's words. Now even if Rosamund lost her land, she could have security with him. He would not dally in asking her to become his wife. He would now be able to protect her.

However, you are wrong about that castle.

Sire? Ranulf looked up at the king questioningly.

I want you to build a castle here, William continued, pointing again at the bend of the river on the map. A motte and bailey with a strong palisade, moat, and ring of earth should do.

A castle? You want me to build a castle? Sire, I am a man of peace. I do not want to build a castle. A castle? Am I to be forced into my father's footsteps after all? I don't want to be a part of war in any way. I want only peace and quiet for Etherby.

Sometimes, Sir Ranulf, the king said, placing a hand on his shoulder and looking down at him with a rueful grin, the only way to ensure peace is to be prepared for war.

Laughing, William clapped him on the shoulder. Shall we do things in threes today? Before I would have a Saxon lord build such a potentially strong holding so near to my capital, I would also tie you to me with a marriage. I have a ward who has been much on my mind. It will relieve me to have her wed and to such good purpose. Three for the Holy Trinity, and may God bless the three marriages pledged this day.

Ranulf was aghast. Marriage to an unknown Norman when the fair Rosamund awaited him? Sire! I do not wish to marry your ward! As soon as he said the words, Ranulf realized how poorly he had voiced his thoughts, but there was no taking them back, even though the king's eyes seemed even more strongly suspicious than before.

Do you so soon recant the oath you have taken?

No, Sire! Ranulf fell to his knees. It is just that I had planned...that is...there is another, he finished lamely.

A Saxon?

Yes, Sire, but...

William jabbed at the map. You see how strategically placed Etherby is. I would have it strengthened further with a castle. You will either marry my ward or I will give these lands to one I am sure I can trust.

Ranulf felt the blood drain from his face. He could not lose his land now. The king was giving him a choice between Etherby and Rosamund, but what choice did he have? Without it, he could not have Rosamund anyway.

Shaken, he bowed his head. I am honored. I shall marry the king's ward. Ranulf forced himself to say the words. His heart hardened at the thought of the watchdog woman William had determined to saddle him with, for he was sure that was what she would be. A spy for the king, set to guard William's interests and ensure that if the Saxon pig got any ideas of rebellion, they could be reported and dealt with quickly.

William nodded to a clerk, who quickly penned a writ to build a castle at Etherby. A priest dripped wax onto both parchments, the deed and the writ, and William bent over the table to press his seal into the cooling wax. The king handed him the documents. You may begin building as soon as your bride arrives.

Ranulf gripped the documents hard, thinking of their heavy cost. His only hope was that in the bustle of conquest the king would forget to send the Norman woman.

He had hoped to ask Rosamund to marry him as soon as he returned to Etherby. Now all his hopes and dreams would have to wait. But he was determined it would not be long. Six months. If the woman did not arrive by summer, he would marry Rosamund, build his manor house, and deal with William's displeasure if it came. Kneeling, he kissed the king's hand, thus taking leave of his new sovereign.

Chapter Two

Madeline slid down from her horse and right into the arms of the man of her dreams. Sir Guy was blond, blue-eyed, and brawny, with a boyish grin and a hearty appetite for, well, for everything. He had never been defeated in battle and now that the king had granted him some land, he had everything a woman could want.

Unfortunately, he was not the man the king had ordered Madeline to marry.

Sir Guy held her easily, effortlessly. He lowered her slowly and, with an impish grin, let her body slide seductively along his until her feet touched the ground. Even through the thick layers of clothing and leather and chain mail she could feel his muscles, his flat belly, and lower down, his interest in her. She was not so naive that she did not know what he did when he pressed himself against her. It was enough to make a woman swoon.

Madeline was not the type of woman who swooned. However, she did feel a slight weakness in the knees. But with his great strength, Sir Guy would have no trouble holding her up.

You're a lush woman, Lady Madeline, Sir Guy said with a lascivious leer. Ripe. He squeezed her waist as if she were a piece of fruit there to satisfy his lusty appetite.

His hands were so large. Not since her father had she known a man who so dwarfed her, who made her feel so petite.

Father Robert cleared his throat loudly and Madeline jumped back guiltily. She felt the heat in her face and busied herself in shaking out her skirts and straightening her cloak after the long ride, studiously avoiding looking at the priest.

But Sir Guy caught her eye and raised one boyishly impudent brow at her before moving away to order the men where to set their watch.

He knew! He knew how enticing his advances were to her. It was not going to be easy being married to a stranger with Sir Guy a close neighbor.

Remember, my daughter, Father Robert admonished, you are promised to another.

Lifting her chin, Madeline turned to face him, not having to look up to meet his eyes. Yes, Father, well do I know it. To a Saxon. A stranger.

Ahh, as God wills.

As the king wills, Madeline snapped, and turned to take a hamper of food a man-at-arms had brought.

Father Robert laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. It has not been easy for you, having to leave your maid behind because of her sudden illness.

Madeline gave an unladylike snort. My 'poor maid' is better off than I. She found a way to stay in Normandy. She bit her lip and looked at him. It was not his fault that she was being sent to this unknown Saxon as a bride. Being my only chaperone has not been easy for you, Father.

He glanced over to where Sir Guy sat leaning against a tree, his legs stretched out before him. That is true. I will be glad to see you wed and settled. It is but three hours more to Etherby. It's best to have a cold supper and push on. We will arrive late, but 'tis better than spending another night on the road with snow threatening.

Madeline looked around at the clearing where they had stopped. Scattered flakes of snow drifted down through the bare oak branches and the wind was beginning to pick up. She would rather have stayed here in this inhospitable spot than continue on. But what would be the use of it? It would not change things, only delay them.

One of the men brought another basket of food from the pack animals and Madeline turned her thoughts to her work. She spread a cloth on the hard, frozen ground and set out the noon leftovers. There was a haunch of venison, several roasted chickens, cheese, bread, and some salt herring.

Father Robert and the men-at-arms began helping themselves, but Sir Guy awaited his meal beneath the oak. Madeline smiled at the huge knight and hurried to prepare his meal. She missed having her maid to help. But, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. She smiled at Sir Guy again. She could see to the cooking, and making sure that her things, as well as everyone else's, were in order and ready to go each morning.

Sir Guy's was a hearty appetite, suitable for a man his size, and she did not stint him. Taking a full loaf of the flat bread, Madeline cut it open and placed a thick, heavy, slice of venison in it. She added one of the roasted chickens and a round of cheese. She filled a huge leather flagon with mead and took the food and drink to him.

Ahh, my lady, you should not be performing the services of a maid, Sir Guy said, readily accepting his meal from her hands.

So you have often said since we left Calais, replied Madeline. But the work must be done and my hands are able and willing.

He had spread his cloak on the ground for them and she sat next to him to eat. Her own appetite, never small, was sharpened by the cold air and the long hours she had spent in the saddle. She fell to with as great a gusto as did her companion.

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Sir Guy plunged into a second chicken she fetched for him as soon as she saw him finish the first. He looked at her over the chicken, watching her eat, and grinned at her. I like to see a woman with a hearty appetite. Letting his gaze wander appreciatively over her, his grin widened into a leer and he added, And with a bit of flesh to her.

Tossing a chicken bone into the bushes behind her, Madeline sighed. She had tried so hard to emulate the dainty manners and sparse appetites of the good nuns who had schooled her. But her active, lusty body craved food too much for her to be an ascetic. Perhaps if she hadn't eaten so much when she was a child, she wouldn't have grown so tall. Wiping her hands properly on her kerchief, Madeline bent her knees and propped her elbows on them.

More? Sir Guy asked, holding out half his chicken to her.

She would have liked to have eaten a little more, but she shook her head. No, thank you, Sir Guy. I have enough 'flesh to me' now.

He gave a hearty laugh and punched her playfully in the arm. You're but a slip of a woman, Lady Madeline. Helping you down from your horse I swear my hands near circled your waist.

She looked down at the ample swells of her hips and bosom. That's because you have very large hands. But it is the only part of me his hands could circle.

She sighed again, wistfully, as she watched Sir Guy finish the second chicken, another half loaf of bread, and wash it down with great draughts of mead. If only the king had given her to him, she would have been forever grateful and content.

Sir Guy glanced upward at the falling snow and shuddered. 'Tis not a night to be camping in the woods. I will be glad to reach Etherby. Then on the morrow, I will at last occupy Craig Hill.

Madeline smiled indulgently at the huge knight. I am sure you are anxious to reach your new holding.

Sir Guy's chest swelled proudly. Aye. Then with a wry face he added, I just hope it isn't an armpit like some of the other English places we've seen.

The war has caused a lot of devastation.

Sir Guy snorted and scratched mightily under his arm. It's not just the war. These English are pigs. I pity you, Lady Madeline, for having to marry one of them.

When Queen Matilda told me I was to marry a Saxon, I could have wept had I not been so angry! Madeline hugged her knees tighter. Forgive my outburst, Sir Guy. It's just that I am tired of feeling like glue.

His brow wrinkled. Glue?

You men conquer, then we women must marry the Saxons to soothe them into keeping the peace. We are the glue that William hopes will help hold his kingdom together.

I would rather think of myself as a rock, Sir Guy said smashing one of his huge fists into a palm. I will crush any opposition these swine give me. The king will not be sorry he has rewarded me with Craig Hill.

I'm sure you will guard well the land the king has awarded you, she assured him,