country.”
“That you took from us.”
“That has been taken.” Melville reluctantly withdrew his gaze from the window to scowl at her. “And the way that William will perfectly and completely conquer this land is by marriage. Norman and Anglo-Saxon marriage. Such as our marriage.”
“And so, I am a prize?” Avis spoke, less in anger than in wonderment.
“No.” Melville stared at her, expressionlessly. “You are a punishment.”
Avis’ jaw dropped. How could he offend her so openly?
“I did not want to marry you.” Melville spoke darkly. “If I could have chosen, I would not have married you at all. But now we are married, and so my obedience to the King cannot be besmirched.”
There was a silence. Avis could not take all of this in, and Melville was tense, waiting for the tirade of her anger to attack him.
Avis began to laugh.
Melville’s scowl turned to puzzlement.
“You mock me, my lady?”
Avis smothered her mirthless laugh. “No. I laugh merely because I too am unwilling in this ridiculous charade. I too am married against my will. I was given the choice of yourself or my lord Richard.”
Melville was horrified.
“Your actions at the riverbed would have suggested otherwise, my lady!” He said accusingly.
“I have honour,” Avis declared haughtily. “Once I have made my promise, there is nothing that can prevent me from breaking it. From the moment of our betrothal, I was to become your wife.”
Melville’s head was reeling. To think that both of them had been individually despairing at this marriage! That neither were willing, that both had separately and unknowingly desired freedom!
“Do you mean to say that if both of us had made our causes known, we could have worked together to prevent this?”
Avis shook her head, sadly. “I know not the King personally, but from what I have heard of him and his character, I do not believe he would have allowed two people’s personal preferences to interfere with his goal.” Her voice spoke of bitterness and hardship, but Melville ignored it. Whatever sob story this Saxon girl had, he would not be taken in by it.
“I must admit, I am relieved.” Melville spoke slowly, taking this new knowledge slowly into his plans. “In that case I will have no fear in applying to our father, the Pope for an annulment.”
He had expected her to be relieved, to be grateful that he was to spare her the marriage bed and free her from her promise – but as soon as he mentioned the idea of annulling their marriage, Avis started up where she sat in the bed and shouted, “my lord!”
“Quiet, girl!” Melville returned fiercely. “Or do you want the household rushing to our chamber?”
“I will not be quiet!” Avis rose from the bed, walking towards him, dress slightly slipping on her shoulder revealing indulgent skin. “This marriage is not one that either of us would have chosen, but it is done! And what is done is done, and must be dealt with.”
“You would choose a marriage of apathy?”
“This is a marriage of hatred!” Avis’ clear eyes had darkened to a deceptively brilliant green, and she had once again unconsciously clenched her fists as she moved towards him. “You are Norman! What makes you think that I can feel only apathy in your presence? You disgust me.”
She drew closer and made to spit at him, but Melville rose swiftly and clasped her arms to her side.
“Woman!” He whispered deeply, with venom in his tones. “I swear by God if you cross me you will suffer, my wife though you be.”
Melville and Avis stood there, in the middle of the room, clasped in a wedding embrace unlike that of any other newly married couple. There was anger and resentment deepening between them, an almost palpable tension that could not be resolved. Avis knew that he was stronger than she, and that she was tired. This would not be the time to begin her fight against this man. As much as she wanted to throw him off her, to release herself from
“That you took from us.”
“That has been taken.” Melville reluctantly withdrew his gaze from the window to scowl at her. “And the way that William will perfectly and completely conquer this land is by marriage. Norman and Anglo-Saxon marriage. Such as our marriage.”
“And so, I am a prize?” Avis spoke, less in anger than in wonderment.
“No.” Melville stared at her, expressionlessly. “You are a punishment.”
Avis’ jaw dropped. How could he offend her so openly?
“I did not want to marry you.” Melville spoke darkly. “If I could have chosen, I would not have married you at all. But now we are married, and so my obedience to the King cannot be besmirched.”
There was a silence. Avis could not take all of this in, and Melville was tense, waiting for the tirade of her anger to attack him.
Avis began to laugh.
Melville’s scowl turned to puzzlement.
“You mock me, my lady?”
Avis smothered her mirthless laugh. “No. I laugh merely because I too am unwilling in this ridiculous charade. I too am married against my will. I was given the choice of yourself or my lord Richard.”
Melville was horrified.
“Your actions at the riverbed would have suggested otherwise, my lady!” He said accusingly.
“I have honour,” Avis declared haughtily. “Once I have made my promise, there is nothing that can prevent me from breaking it. From the moment of our betrothal, I was to become your wife.”
Melville’s head was reeling. To think that both of them had been individually despairing at this marriage! That neither were willing, that both had separately and unknowingly desired freedom!
“Do you mean to say that if both of us had made our causes known, we could have worked together to prevent this?”
Avis shook her head, sadly. “I know not the King personally, but from what I have heard of him and his character, I do not believe he would have allowed two people’s personal preferences to interfere with his goal.” Her voice spoke of bitterness and hardship, but Melville ignored it. Whatever sob story this Saxon girl had, he would not be taken in by it.
“I must admit, I am relieved.” Melville spoke slowly, taking this new knowledge slowly into his plans. “In that case I will have no fear in applying to our father, the Pope for an annulment.”
He had expected her to be relieved, to be grateful that he was to spare her the marriage bed and free her from her promise – but as soon as he mentioned the idea of annulling their marriage, Avis started up where she sat in the bed and shouted, “my lord!”
“Quiet, girl!” Melville returned fiercely. “Or do you want the household rushing to our chamber?”
“I will not be quiet!” Avis rose from the bed, walking towards him, dress slightly slipping on her shoulder revealing indulgent skin. “This marriage is not one that either of us would have chosen, but it is done! And what is done is done, and must be dealt with.”
“You would choose a marriage of apathy?”
“This is a marriage of hatred!” Avis’ clear eyes had darkened to a deceptively brilliant green, and she had once again unconsciously clenched her fists as she moved towards him. “You are Norman! What makes you think that I can feel only apathy in your presence? You disgust me.”
She drew closer and made to spit at him, but Melville rose swiftly and clasped her arms to her side.
“Woman!” He whispered deeply, with venom in his tones. “I swear by God if you cross me you will suffer, my wife though you be.”
Melville and Avis stood there, in the middle of the room, clasped in a wedding embrace unlike that of any other newly married couple. There was anger and resentment deepening between them, an almost palpable tension that could not be resolved. Avis knew that he was stronger than she, and that she was tired. This would not be the time to begin her fight against this man. As much as she wanted to throw him off her, to release herself from
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