Of Love and Vengeance: Warriors in Love, #1

By Louise Lyndon

A Warriors In Love Novel - Book 1

 

Forced to marry Lord Aymon to ensure her young nephews survival, English Lady Laila vows undying hatred for the Norman she holds responsible for the deaths of so many innocents. Discovering Aymon has committed an act of treason gives her the chance to seek vengeance he deserves.  But can Laila let Aymon die at the hands of the king once she learns the truth?

A hardened Norman warrior, Lord Aymon has lived through atrocities no man ever should. With the invasion of England over, all he wants is a quiet life and a wife who will give him heirs and obey his every command. Instead, he finds himself wed to feisty and outspoken Laila. But when she learns the truth of his treasonous act, can Aymon count on her to keep his secret?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Louise Lyndon
• Release date: Jan 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645081916

Book preview

Chapter One

England 1070

H as the new lord arrived?

Laila wiped her sister’s heated brow and forced a smile. She’d been on tenterhooks for two weeks awaiting the new lord’s arrival. There was still no sign of him. And she prayed they would not be seeing him any time soon. Not yet, Ead.

Her sister fell back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Laila’s heart skipped a beat. She watched for the gentle rise and fall of Ead’s chest. It was still there. Only just.

Laila continued to mop her sister’s brow. Ead’s gaunt cheeks had long since lost their color. Her skin hung like an oversized bliaut on her bones. Laila picked up her hand and pressed it firmly against her cheek and prayed. Father Geoffrey had already given her the Extreme Unction.

The time was almost near. Laila wasn’t ready to let Ead go. She never would be.

Ead’s eyes, devoid of hope and sparkle, fluttered open. Laila?

Laila grasped Ead’s hand and held it firmly between hers. If she held on tightly enough, then maybe Ead wouldn’t slip away from her. She reached for a cup of water and held it to Ead’s parched lips. Ead coughed and Laila dabbed the spittle at the corner of Ead’s mouth.

I’m dying.

A single tear slid down her cheek. You would think she would be used to death, but death was something she could never get used to. It loomed around her like a low lying fog. Don’t talk like that.

However, Ead and Laila both knew the truth. The fever had hit Ead hard. It had ravaged her already weakened body. It had left her frail and gasping for breath. It had eaten away her spirit and zest for life. But still she clung on.

He’ll be here soon. Laila strained to hear Ead’s faint words. You must promise me you will not fight him.

She wiped her palms on her dress. She knew the words her sister wanted to hear would be so very simple to say. But they would be meaningless and empty. She couldn’t make a promise knowing she had every intention of breaking it. She couldn’t lie to her sister, especially on her deathbed.

Her hand shook as she gently brushed an errant strand of hair behind Ead’s ear. You know I cannot promise you that.

Laila, please... Ead seized her wrist, and Laila was stunned by her strength. Look around you.

And she did. The solar, once furnished with trinkets, rich tapestries, and beautifully carved furniture, was now sparse and damp; their possessions had long since been pilfered. They had had no defense to stop the mob on that fateful night seven months ago.

Laila shivered and closed her eyes. Possessions she could replace, her father, she could not.

The Normans had stormed her home and accused her father and Ead’s husband of treason. They had hurled them from their beds, kicking and screaming; their proclamations of innocence ignored by their accusers. Her father’s blood-curdling screams as he was dragged naked behind his judge, juror, and executioner’s horse still echoed in Laila’s ears. The desperate pleas of Ead, begging for the life of her husband, still sent shivers up and down Laila’s spine. Laila had offered herself to the mob in an attempt to spare their lives. But the Norman scum had merely laughed at her and had spat in her face.

This is his home now. Ead’s croaky voice dragged Laila from her dark memories.

She stood and crossed to the open window. A cool summer breeze wafted in and defused the heavy, acrid scent of impending death. She watched Hildred, one of only three serfs to have survived the attack, feed their chickens with what was left of their grain. The out buildings had been burned to the ground; the serf’s wattle and daub huts had been no match against the flames. The livestock had been slaughtered. She thanked God for her father’s foresight to build the manor house out of stone, a first in England, for if he had not had such forward thinking ways...She did not want to think of the consequences.

But she did think of the serfs. She could not stop fretting about them. What was to become of them under the new Norman lord? Her father had treated the serfs well, which is why they hadn’t run away when they had come under attack. Instead, they had stayed and fought; even though the battle had been lost long before it had begun. She knew enough of the new lord to know the serfs, and herself, would not show him such loyalty as had been shown her father.

It was a desperate situation, and if truth be known, she had no idea how she was going to survive this or how she was going to get those who depended on her through it.

I won’t simply hand it over to him. Lord Aymon will not step foot in our home.

Laila, no...

She continued to stare out the window and watched as a bird flitted from tree to tree. She always found it ironic how the outside world continued as normal while inside her world fell to pieces.

He’s a murderous tyrant. She felt her voice catch. Her heart beat rapidly, as it always did when she thought of how Lord Aymon had been given Tynte, her home, in exchange for his support to the king during the Norman invasion of her country. Her belly knotted. She inhaled deeply in a desperate attempt to remain calm. He kills everyone, especially the English who resist his conquering ways. He and his king, for I will not call him my king, have terrorized England and have left a path of destruction and a river of blood in their wake.

You cannot talk like that. Ead gasped. You can be hanged for treason. And then what will happen?

She glanced over her shoulder. Tears drenched Ead’s cheeks. Her body shook with fever. Sweat dotted her brow. She coughed, and Laila saw the pain it caused Ead in her big, beautiful brown eyes.

Drake...

Laila crossed to where her nephew was safely ensconced in his bassinette, asleep, oblivious to the havoc going on around him. Drool dribbled from his cute, cherub mouth. His waft of dark, curly hair, so like his father’s, had been flattened with sleep. She reached down and gently stroked his chubby cheek. His mouth turned up at the corners. Only seven months old and he was already fatherless; soon to be motherless.

If you’re executed for treason, what will become of my child? Panic edged Ead’s voice. Who will look after him?

Within two strides Laila was at her sister’s side. She sat next to her on the bed and held her hand tightly. I will not let anything happen to Drake.

He needs a home. Ead continued to panic. If you do not appease Lord Aymon, then what will become of you and Drake? He will force you from Tynte, if he doesn’t kill you first. How will you survive? How—

One thing I can promise you, Laila said truthfully, I will always, always, look after your child.

How will you do that if you are forced to leave Tynte?

She had been asking herself the same question. As much as she wanted to fight the new Norman lord and keep him out of her home, she also knew she very much depended upon him for survival. If it had been only her, she would not give a second thought to living in the forest. She was good with an arrow and had been hunting for as long as she could remember. And she could fish. She would be more than happy to live in a cave. But it wasn’t only her. She had Drake to think about. She would do anything in her power to ensure his safety and wellbeing, which included being benevolent to a Norman.

Laila shivered. How she was going to be amiable to a Norman she hadn’t a clue. They had been responsible for the death of Ead’s husband and her father. They may not have been killed by Lord Aymon’s sword, but it hardly mattered which Norman bastard wielded the blade.

Then there were the countless others who had been slaughtered in the Norman invasion. Men. Women. Children. Just how many of those had been cut down by a sword wielded by Lord Aymon?

She began to pace, which she always did when deep in thought. The movement helped her to focus her mind.

Ead signaled her to the bed. She went and lay beside her and rested her head on Ead’s shoulder and closed her eyes. How many times had they lain together on this bed, deep in conversation, speaking about anything and everything?

They allowed the silence to settle between them. Laila lay, clinging to her sister, knowing it would only be a matter of moments before she was left alone. She had never spent a day apart from Ead. She huddled closer.

Ead’s breathing became shallow. The death rattle filled the room.

Promise me...Drake...raise him as your own son...do not let Lord Aymon...

I promise. I’ll take care of him. Your son will always be safe with me. I promise.

Ead took her last breath. She died in Laila’s arms.

I didn’t know the king had a sense of humor, Hugh, Lord Aymon’s right hand man, mocked.

Yes. My brother appears to be risible, Aymon muttered as he sat rigid upon his mount. He took in the desolate surroundings of his new home.

Shells of burned out farm buildings surrounded the run down manor house, which Aymon noted with surprise, was built out of stone. But despite the surprise of a stone manor house, he was disappointed with what he saw. He had been promised a sprawling manor, full of livestock, fields full of crops, and serfs a plenty. The derelict manor in which he found himself was anything but sprawling. He’d arrived on the manor grounds five minutes ago, and he had yet to be approached by anyone. Not even a chicken had crossed his path! But the manor was his, and for the first time in his thirty-six years, he looked forward to finally having a place he could call his own. All he needed to complete his new life was a wife.

Does anyone actually live here? Hugh jeered.

Aymon caught a flicker of movement from a window on the second story. I think we’re about to meet the welcome party.

An arrow zoomed toward him and landed on the pommel of his saddle. A half an inch closer and he would no longer be able to sire children. As if in demonstration of his ability with the bow and arrow, the shooter fired again. This time directed toward Hugh. The second arrow too came within a half an inch of his friend’s manhood.

You missed! Aymon called toward the shooter. He questioned his stupidity for mocking someone with such a good aim.

You want me to show you how good an aim I really am? a woman’s voice echoed out across the yard.

Bloody hell, Hugh half cursed, half laughed. Where does a woman learn to shoot like that?

Aymon was shocked and admittedly a little impressed a woman had such remarkable shooting skills. He could use such a sharp shooter on his side in battle. After all, it was better to have someone so skilled firing for you than at you.

Aymon raised his black leather gloved hand in surrender. No. I’m firmly attached to my balls, thank you very much.

Who are you? the shooter demanded. And what do you want? There is nothing of value here for you to steal. Be on your way, man, and leave me in peace.

Some would say a female is of value, Aymon drawled sardonically.

A second arrow lodged firmly on the pommel between his legs.

I do not give third chances. I’ll give you to the count of three to leave. Or else you will find an arrow straight through your heart.

Aymon’s warhorse whinnied, and he fought to control the beast whose temperament was as black as his coat. Put down your weapon!

One!

We mean you no harm!

Two!

I am Lord Aymon, and this is Lord Hugh. I’ve come to claim what is rightfully mine.

Silence.

The two men looked at one another unsure what to do.

Should we storm the building and lay claim to what is yours?

Aymon shook his head. He dismounted but never took his eyes from the door to the manor. She will soon make her appearance.

Hugh, too, dismounted. How can you be so sure?

Aymon looked at his friend. We do not have arrows through our hearts.

Suddenly the door to the manor house swung open. Aymon shielded his eyes from the harsh, bright sunlight. In the doorway stood a pint-sized woman with long, brown hair that reached her waist. Her face was in shadow, so he couldn’t tell whether or not she was comely, but her figure was pleasing to the eye. In one hand she held a bow and in the other an arrow.

Aymon dislodged the arrows from his saddle and crossed to the woman. I believe these belong to you.

She thrust out her chin and took a step toward him. Aymon caught the slight tremble in her step. She snatched the arrows from his outstretched hand and narrowed her eyes. Well, you sure took your merry time getting here.

Are you the Lady Ead? Lord Aymon towered over Laila.

Mercy, he was a large man; at least six feet three of solid, intimidating muscle.

He stepped forward. Laila stood her ground and remained rooted to where she stood. Yet, she continued to hold her bow and arrow. Just in case.

She shook her head. No.

Lord Aymon pulled off his black leather gloves, one finger at a time, and tossed them to the man named Hugh. He exhaled deeply, his warm breath washed over Laila’s face. He had an air of boredom about him, as if he wanted to be elsewhere, anywhere, other than talking to her. The feeling was mutual.

Fetch her. I wish to speak with her.

Her eyes narrowed as she took in his large, bulky form. He wasn’t what she was expecting.

His hair, golden in the sunlight, was tied at the nape of his neck, the tail no bigger than a rabbit’s foot. Loose, wayward strands, which had escaped their leather tie, danced in the light, summer breeze. His face was ruddy, his chin covered in tawny stubble. His nose was slightly too big, and his cheekbones were high and angular. His eyes reminded her of the ocean, which she had only seen the one time, the color of which she thought she would never see again. Until now. Under other circumstances she would have called him handsome, but his murderous soul made him anything but.

She would have hated to be confronted with him on the battlefield. No matter how well armed a soldier was, Laila doubted it would be enough to be able to defend themselves against someone made of pure muscle charging directly for them.

How would she be able to defend herself against him?

She should have killed him when she had the chance.

But she was better than the Normans. She did not murder, no matter how evil the soul.

Her mouth suddenly went dry, and she clung tightly to her bow and arrow. She willed her knees to stop shaking.

I’m speaking your tongue, so I know you can understand what I say. Lord Aymon’s voice was deep. It rumbled through her like the crashing thunder of a summer storm. Do not make this difficult. Fetch the Lady Ead, and do not keep me waiting.

She’s not here. Laila had no idea how her voice managed to sound controlled and even. Her heart beat frantically, and she took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. It was a futile act. She died of a fever two weeks ago.

He smirked and placed his hands on his narrow hips. Your first mistake was to fire an arrow at me. Your second is to treat me like a fool.

Perhaps a word with Father Geoffrey will convince you I speak the truth. I’ll assume you’ll take the word of a man of the church?

The new lord glared at Laila; his deep, dark gaze seemed to go straight through to her very core. She couldn’t stop herself from taking an involuntary step backward.

And who are you?

I am the Lady Laila. Ead’s sister.

I am sorry to hear of your sister’s death.

He seemed sincere. But Laila doubted he was. After all, what was it to him the death of a mere Englishwoman? As far as he was concerned, England was a better place with one less English soul occupying it.

You continue to use the title, ‘Lady’?

I am a Lord’s daughter—

But Lord Aymon was no longer listening. He sauntered, with a limp she noted, toward the man called Hugh. He muttered something in French. She did not speak the Norman’s tongue, so she could not decipher what was said. But judging by the sniggers from the men, she didn’t need to understand their language to know it was their dislike of her they spoke of. Hugh gathered the reins of their mounts and headed toward where the stables once stood.

Then, without saying a further word, Lord Aymon strode past Laila and entered her home.

His eyes scanned the great hall, although, since the Normans had invaded her home there was no longer anything great about it. The tapestries had been torn from their fixings. The furniture had been destroyed. The glass in the windows smashed. Only the trestle table and chairs remained.

Laila watched Lord Aymon, lips pressed tight, as he surveyed his surroundings. His eyes narrowed, and she thought she caught a glimpse of confusion. Why he should be confused only baffled her, as his situation was simple. He was Norman. They had invaded her country. Killed her family. And now he was stealing her home. Lord Aymon did not strike Laila as a simpleton.

I understand your father is no longer with us.

How much did he know about her parent? Did he know her English father had declared his allegiance to the Norman King William, only then to be tried and executed for treason, a crime he was not guilty of?

He died several months ago.

As you well know. Did he die at your hands?

She wiped her palms on her dress and bit down on her lower lip as nausea bubbled up inside her. She cleared her throat and fought the urge to flee up the stairs to hide from this brute of a man.

I make you nervous.

It was a statement of fact, not a question. No.

Once again, he towered over her. Her hair fell back from her face as she craned her neck to look him in the eye. She held his gaze. Then his eyes focused on the deep, burgundy mark that blemished her skin from beneath her ear all the way down to her breastbone. It was a stain which repulsed everyone who saw it. As a matter of habit, Laila quickly rearranged her hair so he could not see the scar that had plagued her since birth. He did not seem sickened by her appearance. But then again, he was a man that gave very little away.

You should be nervous of me.

Because everyone is nervous of you? I am not like everyone else. You do not scare me.

He folded his arms across his broad chest. Those dark, stormy eyes of his unnerved her the way they stared at her. And he stood so close she could feel the warmth of him radiate through her. She could smell his earthy, masculine scent. He could so easily reach out and strangle her with his bare hands. Laila stopped herself from glancing up the stairs. She did not want him to know they were not alone.

I had been expecting you a month ago.

I had matters to settle.

He took a brief look in the kitchens, the buttery, and the pantry.

The storerooms are up there. Laila stood at the base of the kitchen steps. They are as empty as the buttery and pantry of course. The chapel is separate to the manor house.

He opened the door to what was once Ead and her husband’s solar and quickly closed it again.

He glanced around the perimeter of the great hall. Where are your torches and lanthorns? How do you light such a large space?

I daresay they, along with our candles, are lighting the homes of the Normans who besieged us several months ago. Laila bit down on her lower lip. If you do not appease Lord Aymon then what will become of you and Drake? She briefly closed her eyes. The fire provides us with all the light we need.

What’s up there?

Inconspicuously she moved to the base of the stairs to prevent him from climbing them. When she had seen Lords Aymon and Hugh approach, she had ordered everyone to her solar where they were to remain until it was safe to come out. It wasn’t the first time they had come under attack. It wouldn’t be the last, either. Laila was taking no chances with those who depended upon her to keep them safe.

My solar.

Where is everyone? The serfs? Your husband? I heard great things about Tynte, but as yet it is not living up to its reputation.

Laila swallowed hard, hoping to choke down the words which threatened to hurtle from her mouth in defense of her home. She inhaled deeply. And when she was sure she was not going to blurt the words she so desperately wanted to shout, she said simply, Only three serfs remain, and they are hunting. They will return shortly, she lied.

They dare leave the Lady of the manor unprotected? Laila would have been deaf not to hear the derision in his voice. Although, you hardly need protecting, do you? And your husband? Where is he? Is he hunting, too?

I do not have a husband.

He nodded his head in understanding. She was unwed; a lone woman with no one to protect her. She was at his complete mercy. She knew it. He knew it.

The rasp of his strong fingers against his day old stubble filled the silent great hall. With his mind seemingly made up, he strode toward the door. It’s too late to do anything about it today, but be ready first thing on the morrow.

Laila followed close on his heels. Ready for what?

Without missing a step, he threw over his shoulder, Our wedding.

Chapter Two

O ur wedding? I have no desire to marry you! I have no desire—

Your desires do not come into this.

He stopped and turned to look at his future wife. Wife. He almost choked on the word. He didn’t want a wife, had never thought of taking one since the oath he had made at twenty-one to never wed again. But when his half-brother, King William, had given him Tynte, he had also given him free choice to marry whomever he wished. And that had planted a seed in his mind. And it had begun to grow. And grow.

We cannot wed. You are Norman. I am English. I—I—

He looked down at her. At her full height, she barely reached his armpit.

She thrust out her chin and placed her hands on her hips. The swell of her breasts rose and fell as she breathed deeply. Her eyes narrowed.

You have clearly spent too long in the sun for it has muddled your brain to suggest such a notion.

True, however, that aside, I need a wife.

There is no reason to marry me. Tynte is yours. You do not need to wed me.

He had no desire to stand and listen to her protests. He didn’t like that she spoke so brazenly. He was used to having his orders followed. No questions asked.