Excerpt
A KNIGHT TO CALL HER HOME
CHAPTER ONE
London, England 1067
Hugh Fitzsimmons liked his women to have passion.
But this cursed woman wouldn’t stop crying. She’d been at it for the better part of an hour, all because she found out she was getting married. To him.
Hugh tried not to let that sting. Instead, he blamed the King. William had grown soft to pretty women and their tears.
Not that Hugh could tell if his future bride was attractive. What Emma of Wakefield’s linen headrail didn’t hide, her hands certainly did as they covered her sobbing face. Probably for the best anyway, Hugh thought, shifting away from her hiccupping frame, watching the King rub her shoulder. He wasn’t marrying Lady Emma for her beauty. He was marrying her for her land—her luscious, rich, thriving land. And because the King was ordering him to.
The King was gifting Hugh the estate—and the woman that came with it—as thanks for helping him finally quell the Saxons and take his rightful crown. The Duke of Normandy, now King of England, had instructed Hugh to plow both land and wife and make them fruitful in his name. Initially, Hugh had been upset. Actually, bloody furious. The burden of more land and a wife to manage hadn’t appealed to his adventurous sensibilities. Money would have sufficed. Another war in another land would have been even better. However, Hugh had never disappointed his King before and didn’t intend to start now.
“My sweet girl. Don’t you understand the enormous honor I am giving you? Please stop crying. It does me much pain to see this,” the King said, his great hulking figure pulling the young woman in for a sympathetic embrace.
Hugh rolled his eyes, glad they were alone in the King’s private chamber. He didn’t think he’d have the stomach to witness his monarch acting as wet nurse to the ungrateful woman with his fellow knights watching. Although they could probably hear. Her incessant sobs were loud enough to wake the dead.
Finally managing to control herself, she took pains to wipe her face with the flowing sleeve of her light-yellow gunna.
The King relaxed in relief. “There now, that’s better,” he said, slightly mollified. “I understand this time has been difficult for you. It’s been difficult for all of us. But I am making a better England and need you to do your part.”
“But my King,” she began, her forceful, steady voice surprising Hugh, “I’ve brought most of the coins we have. I was told my sisters and I could pay a tax to keep our estate, like the other Saxons who did not fight against you.”
Hugh had to bite his tongue to stop from speaking out. It’s true her father, Lord Godric, a middling Saxon thegn, had not fought against the Normans at Hastings. But that was only because he’d had an attack of the chest and had fallen off his horse, dying instantly on the way to the battle, leaving his men in disarray. Hugh had heard that half of the thegn’s soldiers had gone on to fight, and the others had fled back to Wakefield, Godric’s largest estate. Nay. No longer Godric’s—now Emma’s.
William made a tsking sound. “No, my dear. I summoned you to London not to take your money, but to give you the wonderful news. You will keep your estate and gain a husband as well. It is true your father did not fight against me like so many others, but he is still gone, and I cannot leave his lands in the hands of his daughters—whether he willed them to you or not. They will be your dowry.” He patted her hands, as if trying to imprint her good fortune into her. “What you need is a husband with a strong arm who will keep your estate safe. These are uncertain times. There are men still roaming these lands, intent on undoing all I have done. You and your new husband will safeguard my kingdom. Truly, I am only thinking of your well-being, my child.”
And the money and men that estate will provide to William’s crown, Hugh thought. He’d fought for William a long time and had lived under his roof even longer. He knew him to be a just ruler… and a ruthlessly pragmatic one.
Emma stuck out her chin, clearly not knowing she was beaten. “There’s also my fiancé, my King,” she returned. “My father had an agreement with Lord Rixon, that I would marry his son, Leofric. I understand Lord Rixon is dead now… but the arrangement still stands.”
The King was shaking his head before she finished speaking. “I have already spoken to the young lord. He is here staying at the castle as my guest. Lord Leofric has released you, my dear; he understands my goals.”
William glanced at Hugh—who was beginning to feel like an intruder to the conversation—and pulled the woman around, waving a meaty arm in Hugh’s direction. “You must forget about Lord Leofric now. Do you not see the blessing I am giving you? He even learned your rough language out of respect.”
Hardly respect, Hugh thought. More like expediency. It was so much easier ordering people to lay down their weapons when they knew what you were saying.
Hugh stood up straighter, although for the life of him he couldn’t understand why. He was not a prized horse at auction. He was Hugh Fitzsimmons—one of King William’s most feared and loyal knights. He’d been known to make men piss their pants just by raising his sword and curling his lip.
But this woman—his woman—stared at him like he was no better than a flea on her dog. Well, she was no prize either. Mottled and red, her face was not the kind that inspired lust. She was not displeasing, so much as just common. The crying had made her brown eyes brighter and her thin pink lips plumper, but he doubted he would be kneeling at her feet any time soon. Hugh had always preferred a thicker woman. He liked something to grab onto in the bedroom. If this female had hips, he couldn’t see them through her shapeless gunna. She was tall and lean and, from the hard look in her eyes, would be a pain in his ass. Still… bedding her wouldn’t be a hardship. He’d had prettier women, but he’d also had worse.
As she continued to look at him—not look, glare—Hugh realized it was his time to speak. He moved closer to take his bride-to-be’s hand, pressing his fingers firmly in her palm when she tried to yank it away. Hugh forced a smile. “My lady…”
His mind searched for the perfect words. He was no courtier; he was a warrior. Thirty years old, Hugh could barely remember a time when he hadn’t held a sword in his hand. And this wasn’t the easiest audience. His future bride scrutinized him with an unyielding expression mixed with a heavy dose of despair and disdain, and his thoughts came up woefully short. The King moved to their sides, clasping his large paw over their joined hands, willing Hugh to continue.
Hugh cleared his throat. “We will…” Fuck, she could freeze hell with those haughty eyes. “… we will do… fine.”
Emma’s dark brows slammed together, and she wrenched her hand back to her side. Clearly, those weren’t the words she was expecting to hear.
The King broke up the awkward atmosphere with a booming laugh and his eyes twinkled. “Ha! Well said, Hugh. Fine, indeed.”
Hugh ran his fingers over his forehead, and they came back wet. When had it got so hot in here? It was certainly not from Emma’s love-struck gaze.
“Good. Now that it’s settled, we’ll perform the ceremony tonight, before the evening meal. Then we’ll celebrate,” the King announced.
Damn it! Hugh could hear her sniffles start up again.
“But my King!” she wailed. “So soon? My sisters aren’t even here. Now that my father’s gone, they are the only family I have. I cannot get married without them!”
William took her shoulders, squaring them towards him. “You have one hour to prepare yourself,” he told her sternly, his patience for the tears nearing an end.
Hugh noticed Emma’s shoulders stiffen, broadening under the King’s touch. She hesitated a moment before her voice came out meeker and softer than before. “Two hours would be better for me, my King. I would like to look beautiful for my husband on this day.”
Hugh bit back a scoff. Who is this woman to think she can barter with a King? But William did not sense insolence and only smiled benevolently. He studied her for a moment before focusing on Hugh. “What’s one more hour?” he said with a shrug. “My Matilda kept me waiting for more years than I am willing to admit. We will give the child what she asks. Take my advice young man, marriage is best when the couple learns to compromise.” The King’s charitable expression returned to Emma, and he hauled her in for a kiss on the cheek. “Two hours it is and then you will help me unite my kingdom.”
* * *
Sir Geoffrey took a long drink and wiped his mouth with his sleeve before narrowing his eyes at Hugh. “She cried the entire time?”
Hugh echoed his friend and finished off the wine in his goblet. He thought about having another but decided against it. He’d been drinking with Geoffrey ever since his audience with the King and didn’t want to be slurring his vows during the ceremony, which would be starting any minute. “Not the entire time,” he muttered.
Geoffrey slammed his goblet down on the wooden trestle table and laughed. The great hall was teeming with knights and servants readying for the evening meal and more than a few rose their eyebrows at the boisterous sound. The huge knight wasn’t known for his laughter. “Your ugly face scared her, huh?” Geoffrey asked.
Hugh rubbed a hand over his smooth chin. Had it? To be honest, Hugh had been so wrapped up in what he thought of her he’d never stopped to think about what she’d thought of him. Did it matter?
Hugh sighed, unsettled by the notion. “No, apparently she thought she’d been summoned to court to pay William a fine for staying unmarried. She’d heard some of the other Saxon women were doing that.”
Geoffrey arched a brow. “Naïve girl.”
Yes, Hugh thought. Naïve and young. Not for the first time, the differences in their ages struck him. He wasn’t certain but figured there were at least ten years between them. True, that wasn’t so odd for a man and wife, but those extra years had been ones of war and bloodshed for Hugh. What did he know about being a husband? Taking a wife hadn’t even crossed his mind until the King had ordered the marriage. Until then, Hugh had assumed he would go back to Normandy, richer than before. The second son to a minor lord, Hugh had little land and no title of his own. His older brother had three young sons, making the Fitzsimmons line strong. The family had no need of him nor his progeny. He’d always relished his freedom, riding on William’s campaigns, making a name for himself. And now that was all at an end. Because William was indeed going back to Normandy—but leaving Hugh behind. To be a baron. In an odd land with unfamiliar people who spoke a funny language and wanted to kill him every time his back was turned. He couldn’t help but think he was getting the raw end of the bargain, no matter how lush and lucrative the land was.
“When will you leave?” Geoffrey asked, breaking him from his thoughts.
“Tomorrow,” Hugh stated. “William wants my men stationed at Wakefield as soon as possible and a castle put up immediately. There is talk rebels are gaining strength nearby.”
“Rebels are always close by.”
Hugh humphed. Yes, and now one was in his bedroom.
Geoffrey pierced him with a knowing look. “What’s wrong, my friend? Are you going to start crying like your bride? Do I have to remind you what an honor your King has bestowed on you?”
Hugh bristled at his friend’s words, remembering how William had said something eerily similar to his ungrateful bride-to-be an hour earlier. He massaged his fingers over his forehead, knowing it was useless to lie. He and Geoffrey had been pages and then squires together at William’s court, providing the family the other desperately needed. No one knew him better.
Despite his earlier concern, Hugh motioned for the servant to fill his goblet to the rim. He took a long drink, letting his thoughts coalesce. “I don’t know how to be a husband.”
“So?” Geoffrey shrugged. “Who does? Things take time. I didn’t know how to strangle a man either but…” He raised his hands in approval. “… now I am a master.”
Hugh smirked at his friend’s well-meaning, albeit unusual, analogy. He paused a moment, feeling the heat rise to his temples again. “She was already engaged. She hates me. I could see it in her face.”
“I thought you said she was crying?”
“I could still see it.”
“So do as William. Stay away most of the year. Give her a new baby in her belly whenever you must go home. She will be too busy to hate you then.”
“But will that make her happy?”
“Does it matter?” Geoffrey shrugged his wide shoulders. “You’re asking the wrong person, anyway. I know nothing of happy families.”
They shared a look. Hugh knew nothing of happy families either. That was the problem.
With a resigned sigh, he got up from the bench and slapped his friend on the back. It was time. There was no point in ruminating over a past he couldn’t fix. He had a wife now. Or would have one soon. His life would change, but perhaps not as much as he assumed. He would do as he always did and then improvise. He would train his men. He would defend his land against William’s enemies and create strong sons to carry on after him. He would be fair and keep his wife content. And his wife… his wife would do as she was told.
Wasn’t that the right of it? No one was free. William pledged himself to God and England. Hugh pledged himself to William, and now Emma would pledge herself to Hugh. It was the way of things. William had brought order to this wayward, barbaric land and Hugh would see it out. The sooner his wife came to terms with that, the sooner his life could get back to normal.
If she stopped glaring at him in any of that time, that would be welcomed too.
Hugh’s steps grew lighter as he left the hall, traveling down the palace corridors in search of Emma’s chamber. He wanted to be the one to lead her into the hall. Begin as he meant to carry on, he concluded smugly. He would lead and she would follow. In all aspects of their life. There would be no more tears. No more glares. No more talk of old fiancés. Why is that bothering me so much? No more disdain. He would only have peace in his life. Was peace such a bad thing? Hadn’t he earned it? Wasn’t it time? Time to rule from his own castle. His wife would offer comfort, and he would accept it.
Hugh was so caught up in this euphoric vision he didn’t notice the women standing outside Emma’s chamber. Two servants tutted nervously as he came closer, both avoiding his eyes. He stopped outside the door. “Tell Lady Emma her time is up. Her new husband is here to bring her to her wedding ceremony.”
Still not looking at him, the older servant took a deep breath and whispered to the floor.
“What?” Hugh asked, trying to keep himself from growing annoyed or alarmed. Emma wouldn’t hurt herself, would she? She didn’t seem the type. But Hugh knew enough about desperate women doing desperate things…
The servant spoke again. “She won’t answer the door.”
“Knock harder,” he returned tightly.
“We’ve been knocking for the last few minutes, my lord. She refuses to come out.”
He frowned at the door. “Is it locked?”
“No.”
“Then open it.”
“We didn’t want to intrude. A lady needs her time before getting married to a—” Her words broke off. Hugh looked down his nose at the old woman. She didn’t need to finish her sentence. He already knew what she was going to say: “Norman.” The servants were clearly Saxons and still harboring resentments over their new way of life.
Hugh took a deep breath, motioning for the women to move away from the door. Fine. They didn’t want to intrude. Well, he did. Without knocking, he barged into the chamber, closing the door behind him. A scene was probably going to happen and the last thing he wanted was for the castle servants to spread the gossip before the wedding took place.
But there was no scene. Because there was no Emma. The room held no trace of his future bride. Bed made and area tidy, no fire in the hearth, it looked like no one had stayed in it all day.
No, that wasn’t true. Someone had been there.
On closer inspection, Hugh noticed a small wool bag sitting primly in the center of the bed and knew exactly what it was and what it meant.
Coins jingled against one another as he lifted the substantial sack that Emma had left behind as payment for her freedom. What a stupid, foolish woman.
A stupid, foolish, brave woman.
Hugh smiled and pocketed the bag of coins. He’d be keeping it, considering it part of her dowry. Time would tell if Lady Emma was worth this much, but Hugh was suddenly anxious to find out.
