Three Medieval Romances Read online

  ~THREE MEDIEVAL ROMANCES:

  BRAGGOT PARK, DANBURGH CASTLE & RHIANNON~

  By Catherine E. Chapman

  Published by Catherine E. Chapman at Smashwords

  Copyright 2014 Catherine E. Chapman

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  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 with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/FrinaArt

  Also by the author

  All the Trimmings

  Brizecombe Hall

  Clifton

  Collected Romances

  Elizabeth Clansham

  High Sea

  Kitty

  Miss Millie’s Groom

  Opening Night

  The Beacon Singer

  The Family Tree

  The Hangar Dance

  The Laird’s Right-Hand Lady

  The Office Party

  The Ramblers

  Three Romances

  DANBURGH CASTLE

  “How am I to know that your daughter didn’t conspire with her husband to overthrow me?” the Norman lord asked the old man.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, she is not my daughter. I am her grandfather. Her father died some time ago. But she is like a child to me and, if you just look at her, sir, you can see she is an honest woman.” The old man held out his hand, gesturing to the girl, who was held by two of Lord Robert’s men, at the back of the castle courtyard.

  “Bring the woman here,” Lord Robert ordered.

  The guards walked her forward. She came willingly, her head bowed. Her long, chestnut hair, worn loose ordinarily, had been arranged into two long, thick plaits by her mother that morning.

  “Raise your head, woman,” Lord Robert told her when she stood before him.

  Emma lifted her head and looked into Lord Robert’s eyes.

  But his gaze rested on her stomach. “She is with child,” he said.

  “Yes my lord,” the old man confirmed.

  “Is it the traitor, Alaric’s child?”

  “Of course, Lord Robert. No granddaughter of mine would bear a child out of wedlock.”

  “And you suppose that I will let this woman live to bring the son of a traitor into the world?”

  “I have heard you are a just man, Lord Robert,” said the grandfather. “I don’t believe you would put an innocent child –and its innocent mother– to death out of spite. The traitor Alaric is dead. I give you my word, Lord Robert, that if you spare his widow and child, they will remain under my roof, and be to the King subjects as loyal as myself and my good daughter, this girl’s mother.”

  Lord Robert was silent.

  “If you will permit me sir,” the old man continued, “I would ask you to consider how you would feel if your own wife were to be condemned to death, carrying, as she is, your child–”

  “You over-step the mark,” the Norman lord cautioned angrily. “The circumstances of my own lady bear no resemblance to those of this common woman.”

  “But they are both soon to have children,” the old man stated, unable to stop himself.

  Emma glanced anxiously at her grandfather, fearful that his plain speaking would be her undoing. For her part, she hardly cared whether she lived or died, so wretched had her life become since the death of Alaric. But for the sake of the unborn child inside her, she wanted to be pardoned. She could hardly bring herself to look at Lord Robert, but look she must to know her fate.

  Emma raised her eyes to Lord Robert’s face. He was looking her up and down. Emma surveyed the powerful man, in whose hands her future lay, in a confusion of fear and self-consciousness.

  Lord Robert lifted his gaze and looked piercingly into Emma’s eyes. “Very well, old man,” he said quietly, “she shall live.”

  Emma fell to the ground, faint.

  * * *

  Emma’s courtship had been brief and no sooner, it seemed, had she married Alaric than he’d been killed in the uprising against Lord Robert. Alaric had never told her he was a rebel but, if Emma was honest, she’d suspected it from the start. Nobody wanted the Normans here. Men like her grandfather, weakened by a life of toil and strife against the various invaders to their lands, accepted Norman rule out of fear and a desire for a peaceful existence. But Alaric, like many of his young friends, had wanted to regain power over his homeland. Emma couldn’t blame him. Secretly, she was proud of what he had tried to do – he died a hero, fighting to win back the land from Lord Robert.

  In public, of course, Emma went along with her grandfather’s story of her ignorance and naivety. She referred to her dead husband as a traitor and a fool, and she described herself and her son Oswald as victims of Alaric’s folly.

  It was only after Alaric’s death in the rebellion that Emma had discovered she was carrying his child. It had been a traumatic pregnancy, her fate uncertain throughout. She gave birth to Oswald a month after Lord Robert pardoned her at the castle, the birth brought on prematurely by the stress of her trial, her mother believed. Nobody thought Oswald would survive. Emma herself came close to death. But they both lived. Emma felt her life had been spared to care for her son. Oswald, like his father, was a fighter.

  Shortly after Oswald’s arrival, news was rife in the village that Lord Robert’s wife had died in childbirth at the castle. The baby had been saved. Emma’s mother remarked how strange the event was in the light of Grandfather’s words to Lord Robert. Emma felt a sense of pity for the Norman lord that she couldn’t quite explain. His hair was dark and very short, she remembered. Alaric’s had been long, fair and flowing.

  Still grieving the loss of Alaric, forced to live back with her mother, grandfather and younger siblings, in the cramped cottage of the family farmstead, Emma’s own future looked bleak. Having the responsibility of baby Oswald, she saw little prospect of a new suitor. Nor could she be of any help to her family – she only added to her grandfather’s burden.

  When Emma had married Alaric, her mother had told her that the joy of their union lessened the blow of the family’s recent loss of Emma’s father. After Alaric’s death the family had been left in a state of financial peril. Emma was the eldest of eight children, the youngest still a baby. Only her stoical grandfather remained optimistic about the future. Emma suspected his hope was misplaced and felt responsible for everything.

  * * *

  One morning in autumn, when Emma was beginning to feel strong again and baby Oswald was considered well enough to be taken outdoors, Emma decided to go foraging for nuts and berries in the woods that belonged to Lord Robert’s estate. Her mother was nervous about Emma going alone, but Emma insisted, pointing out that it was something she would have done without hesitation before Alaric’s death, and claiming she wanted to contribute to the household in some small way.

  Emma left the cottage, carrying the infant Oswald in a sling on her back. She felt instantly happier to be out in the open air with the child.

  When they reached the heart of the woods Emma quickly located bushes beside the path through it that were heavy with blackberries. She stepped into the brambles and began to collect the berries in a basket.

  After a few minutes, bending over to pick the fruit that was out of her immediate reach, Emma heard horses approaching. She turned to see who rode towards her. One of the faces she spied was unpleasantly familiar. Had she been able to move more quickly, she would have tried to
conceal herself but, stranded as she was in the clump of brambles, she returned to her task, hoping to go unnoticed.

  Upon first encountering Emma, Lord Robert’s party merely bade the young peasant girl good day and walked their horses on along the woodland path.

  Emma thought she’d not been recognised and felt relief.

  Moments later, however, Emma heard the horses come to a standstill up ahead. One rider returned.

  Emma glanced up to see whose horse approached. As soon as she saw the rider she looked away in dread, feeling her stomach rising.

  Lord Robert’s horse came to a halt on the path alongside where Emma stood. The rider asked her if she belonged to his village and what was her husband’s trade.

  Emma nervously explained that she was the widow of Alaric the traitor. There was no point in trying to conceal her identity from the Norman lord; his power was so absolute. Emma hung her head in fear of Lord Robert’s reaction to her introduction. Lord Robert said nothing but Emma sensed his gaze upon her. Feeling uneasy about Lord Robert’s prolonged silence, Emma raised her eyes to look up at the well-built man on horseback. She registered that he’d been surveying her figure, well-defined in the bodice of a dress that had been made for her long before her maternity. Emma was aware that the dress was now too small. She blushed, feeling ashamed of her appearance, but then she immediately felt annoyed – it was because of his oppression that she and her people found themselves in reduced circumstances.

  Emma drew herself up and looked Lord Robert straight in the face.

  Lord Robert raised his eyes to meet Emma’s and smiled at her.

  Emma scowled.

  “I remember you,” said Lord Robert. “The child on your back, is this the same child you were carrying when last we met?”

  “Yes my lord,” Emma said, avoiding his gaze once more.

  “Tell me, is it a boy or girl?”

  Emma hesitated, aware that a lie might protect Oswald but a lie discovered could be fatal. “A boy, my lord,” she said.

  “I too have a boy-child of similar age,” Lord Robert told her.

  Emma recalled Lord Robert’s widowed state and felt involuntary guilt that her treatment of him had been hostile. But he was a Norman – she would give him no words of comfort.

  Lord Robert had taken out a purse. He stooped from his horse and offered Emma a coin of value – enough money to feed her entire family for a month.

  “I cannot accept such a gift, my lord,” Emma said, looking at the coin rather than the bearer.

  “It is for your child,” Lord Robert replied, holding the coin in front of her face.

  Emma knew that to refuse the token was rude and disrespectful but a sudden remembrance of Alaric prompted her to stand her ground. “I will not take your money, Lord Robert,” she maintained.

  For a moment Lord Robert seemed at a loss.

  Emma glanced at him and was pleased to see his face flushed with annoyance and embarrassment at her rebuff.

  Lord Robert put the coin back in his purse. He then lunged from his horse and caressed Emma’s cheek with his hand.

  Emma gasped in shock and drew back from Lord Robert but her skirts were caught fast in the brambles – she couldn’t move. Emma felt Lord Robert’s hand, warm and tender against her cool skin.

  “I will keep my money then, woman,” Lord Robert said softly, “and hope the opportunity arises for me to do you some service in future.”

  Emma raised her arm, intending to push Lord Robert’s unwanted hand from her cheek. But her own hand only came to rest upon his and, rather than fending it off, she found she had to fight the instinct to kiss the hated hand, held close, as it was, to her lips.

  Emma closed her eyes, so intense was the sensation of Lord Robert’s touch.

  The hand was abruptly withdrawn. “Until we meet again,” Lord Robert said, urging his horse away.

  Emma opened her eyes to see the Norman lord retreating. She felt strangely desolate to be left standing alone amid the brambles. “I remember you,” she whispered to herself as the noble vision disappeared.

  * * *

  Barely a week later a man came to the farm cottage and spoke with Emma’s grandfather. Lord Robert had requested that Emma come to the castle to be nurse to his own boy-child.

  Without consulting his granddaughter, the old man agreed, negotiating that Emma would receive, in addition to the board and lodging offered to her in the castle, a sum for her services that was sufficient to keep the rest of the family.

  “When yer grandad told me, I couldn’t believe they’d said yes to it,” Emma’s mother informed her excitedly.

  Emma was fully aware that she had no choice but to accept a fate that would ensure, not only her own security, but that of her whole family. “And little Oswald, he can come with me?” she said.

  “Ah,” her mother replied sadly, “that won’t be possible, lass.”

  Emma began to weep.

  “But, rest assured, my love, I will bring young Oswald up like one of my own.”

  * * *

  Within days Emma’s new life was upon her. “I will send money each month,” she told her mother, as they stood outside the cottage on a grey but mild autumnal afternoon.

  “And news of how you get along.”

  “Yes.”

  Lord Robert’s man was waiting with his horse and cart. He was eager to get on as the sun was already beginning to set and the black-blue skies over the coast signalled rain was on its way.

  “Goodbye Mother,” Emma said, kissing the older woman on the cheek and trying to resist her firm embrace, for fear she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to leave. “Give my love to Grandfather and kiss little Oswald for me,” she added tremulously, as she turned her head away from her mother to hide her tears.

  Emma climbed up beside the man on the cart, on the back of which her few belongings had been loaded. The horse pulled away. Emma looked back and saw her younger sister emerging from the door of the cottage with baby Oswald in her arms. Upon sight of her child, Emma wept unashamedly.

  The man paid her no attention and continued towards the coast, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. If they kept up a decent pace, they should get there just before dark.

  As the cart journeyed on, along the track that led from the village, through the woodlands of Lord Robert’s estate, towards the east coast and the exposed, cliff-top grounds of the castle itself, Emma thought miserably about the misfortunes of the last year. She also relived the events of the fateful day when, in the forest, she and Lord Robert had met. It was dark in the woods now; there was no sunlight. The leaves had fallen from the trees – it felt like winter was coming.

  Everybody had said how lucky she was to be going to work for Lord Robert and live in the castle. Everybody said how charitable the lord was to have overlooked Alaric’s crime and asked her to be his nurse. Emma had told no one about the nature of the exchange between her and Lord Robert in the woods. Partly, she didn’t want to spoil her family’s happiness over the income her work would bring. Moreover, she was embarrassed by what had happened and remained confused about the Norman lord’s intentions. And then there was the feeling she could barely admit even to herself: desire for a man who was not only her new master but also her sworn enemy.

  Emma’s dreamlike concerns became scarily real when she saw Danburgh Castle, her destination, looming large up ahead. As soon as the cart emerged from the forest and they caught a first glimpse of the fort in the dwindling light, the rain started to pour. The man pulled the hood of his tunic over his head. Emma had nothing to protect her from the rain. She felt the large, cold drops running in rivulets down her neck.

  The castle was an imposing stone keep, located on the edge of a rocky promontory, looking out to sea. Emma was too young to have seen the wooden castle that had been quickly erected when the Normans had first arrived and taken control of the land, but she had heard of it from her grandfather.

  The power of the Norman lord had been streng
thened by the gradual replacement of the timbers with masonry. Now built completely from stone, the castle and surrounding wall looked impenetrable. But what Emma feared, as the horse and cart rumbled along the track that wound up the hill towards the castle’s drawbridge, and she became increasingly soaked by the heavy rain, was that, once inside its walls, she might never leave its confines again.

  * * *

  On arrival at Danburgh, Emma was greeted by a woman-servant in the courtyard. The woman was alarmed to find Emma drenched, fearing that she would catch a cold and pass it on to the baby. But instead of taking her to the kitchens, she escorted Emma directly to the nursery, saying she could dry herself there. It was as though the servant didn’t want others to see Emma.

  Making her way to the nursery, climbing the spiral staircase with the servant-woman, Emma caught a glimpse of a huge, bearded man standing in the middle of the great hall of the castle. His massive figure, framed in the doorway leading off the staircase, was an impressive sight, but so striking was the young woman standing beside him –with her long, straight, black hair and her fine, vivid blue gown– that Emma stopped still on the spiralling stairs, transfixed. The serving-woman whispered to Emma not to tarry and took hold of her hand, pulling her on, up the next flight of steps.

  The nursery was on the floor above the great hall. Emma was to sleep in a small bed that stood on the opposite side of the room to the crib in which her charge now lay sleeping. The woman left Emma, to fetch her some means of drying herself. Emma dared not go over to look in the cot. She stood uncomfortably in the centre of the room, cold and damp from her journey. She could hear loud voices from the hall below; she imagined it was the large man who laughed. Emma suddenly felt scared of this new world she had entered into; she was tempted to try to run away.