Unconquered

by Hannah Howell

Genres: Historical Romance; Medieval Romance; Paranormal Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

Left a bequest by a woman with rare psychic powers, Eada of Pevensey suddenly finds herself in possession of a box containing a mysterious document . . . and something even more extraordinary: the gift of second sight. Now she can actually "see" her chilling fate: a Norman invader with sea-dark eyes riding across the fields to claim her lands . . . and her love.



A reluctant soldier for William the Conquerer, Drogo de Toulon seizes the Pevensey lands as a right of conquest . . . and meets a woman who defies him at every turn—and arouses uncontrollable desire. Yet now, as war rages across a divided England, the two lovers must find the bond that joins body and soul . . . as they chart a course through battle and betrayal that could break their hearts—or seal their passion for all time.



Contains mature themes.

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

September 28, 1066—Coast of England

“Maman, come look! There are hundreds of ships,” cried the small boy as he stumbled into the house. “Come look, Maman! Never have I seen so many.”

Lady Vedette of Pevensey could feel all the blood drain from her cheeks, and she grabbed her excited young son by his thin shoulders and shook him slightly. “Calm yourself, and tell me, most carefully, what you have seen.”

“Ships. A very great lot of them,” the tousled-haired boy of eight replied, pushing his blond curls off his round, flushed face. “They are fine, strong ships filled with horses, men, and supplies.”

“The Danes?” she whispered, but a cold knot of fear had settled in her belly and she knew in her heart that it was not the Danes who now threatened England’s shores.

“No, Maman, ” the boy said, wriggling out of her hold. “ ’Tis not the Danes. I saw the banners and remembered what my father told me. ’Tis William the Bastard.” He cried out in shock and pain when his mother suddenly slapped him on the cheek.

“Never say that again, Ethelred. Never again. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Maman.”

She pulled the tearful child into her arms and hugged him close for a moment then gently but firmly pushed him away. Her heart in her throat, she peered out a narrow window toward the sea. Everything Ethelred had said was true. There was no time to soothe the child.

“Gather your belongings, Ethelred. Do it now. Gather only what you most need and what is most valuable.” As her son hurried away to do as he was told, Lady Vedette turned to her daughter, who sat at the table silenced by confusion and fear. “You must do the same, Averil. Gather together only what is most dear and necessary to you and what is most costly.” When the pale Averil stood up but did not move, Lady Vedette gave her thirteen-year-old daughter a light push toward her sleeping chamber. “Run, girl. There is very little time left to us.”

Even as Averil rushed off to obey her mother, Lady Vedette began to hurl commands at her frightened bond-slaves. One hurried away to prepare the cart while the other two helped her throw her belongings into sacks, baskets, and anything else they could find. All the while she gathered what she could, Lady Vedette prayed God would give them the time to flee safely. She concerned herself only with the things that would allow them to remain a family of means no matter where they went or who ruled England.

As they tossed all they had collected into a cart, Ethelred cried out, “What of Eada?”

Vedette grabbed her son when he tried to jump out of the cart and yanked him back in. “Eada must fend for herself,” she said, tightly gripping the rough edge of the cart and staring blindly in the direction she had watched her eldest child walk earlier in the day.

“Mother, we cannot just leave her behind,” Averil whispered, tears thickening her voice.

“We must. Look to the boats, children,” she said, pointing toward the seashore where the lead boats of the huge force were already cutting through the shallows. “If we wait or try to search for her, none of us will get away.”

As the cart began to move, Vedette looked toward the hills. “God protect you, Eada. I pray that those hills you so love can now hide and protect you.”

Eada laughed as she watched her hounds play together. They loved to escape the confines of the town as much as she did. Although Eada did not actually dislike living in Pevensey, every once in a while she felt a strong urge to escape from the people, the noise, and the smell. She also liked to visit with Old Edith, a woman who had been banished from Pevensey years ago and lived alone, although she never told her parents about that. They would never approve.

As she rounded a corner and cleared the trees, Eada saw the old woman in the doorway of her small cottage and waved to her. Edith’s return wave was weak for the pain in her joints restricted her movements. Eada sighed as she hurried toward the cottage, sadness weighting her heart and stealing some of the joy of being free for a little while. She knew that Old Edith would not live much longer. Even now, the knowledge of that was clear to see in the old woman’s eyes. What helped soften Eada’s grief was knowing how calmly Edith accepted it, had even begun to wish for it as it would put an end to her constant pain.

“You should not be standing out here,” Eada gently scolded Old Edith when she reached the woman’s side. “There is a chill in the air.”

Edith nodded, stepping back into her cottage, Eada close behind her. “Winter will soon be upon us. I feel a need to watch its approach for I know that I will never live to see another spring.”

“I wish you would not speak of it.” Eada sat cross-legged by the center hearth.

Wincing as she lowered herself to the hard, dirt-packed floor, Edith asked, “Why? Death is but a part of life. I am in the deep winter of my years, Eada. My body is worn and my soul begs release from its crippled, pain-ridden confines.”

“Does it hurt so bad?” Eada gently placed her small, soft hands over Edith’s gnarled ones.

“I weep from the strength of it at every dawning, wondering why God is so cruel and what I have done to make Him so angry that He forces me to endure for yet another day. Come, my pretty flaxen-haired child, you cannot truly wish me to linger when I suffer so.”

“No, I do not want you to suffer, but I shall miss you, dearest friend.”

“As I shall miss you. That is my only regret. Now, how fares your pretty family?”

“They are well.” Eada frowned, her full mouth turning down ever so slightly at the comers. “All save for my father. I fear for him, Edith. He went to join with King Harold to battle Harald Hardrada and Tostig.”

Old Edith shook her head. “Your father will gain naught from that save for the cold, bitter taste of steel.”

Eada shivered and wrapped her arms around her slim body. In all the years she had known the woman, she had never grown accustomed to the way Edith spoke so low and firm at times. It was as if the woman saw things no mortal could. The fact that her pronouncements almost always proved true only added to Eada’s discomfort. She could almost understand what had prompted the people of Pevensey to banish the woman.

“My father seeks to regain all he has lost by winning favor with Harold,” Eada explained.

A sad, sympathetic look settled on Old Edith’s wrinkled face. “I know, but he will fail. King Harold’s sun has set. He reaches for a destiny that can never be his. I am sorry, child, but Harold will pull your poor father Waltheof down with him. Did you not see what blazed across the sky just recently?”

Slowly nodding, Eada fought to repress a shudder of fear. The thing in the sky was all anyone talked of. The fear it bred in people could be smelled in the air. Everyone was certain that it was an omen. They were just not sure what it meant or how it should be read. There were theories, and each one had its believers and its doubters. The only thing Eada was sure of was that she did not like it, and she prayed that it would prove to mean nothing at all.

“Only the blind did not see that fire moving across our skies,” Eada said. “And even they must have known exactly what was up there because so many people spoke about it. In truth, many spoke of little else.”

Old Edith nodded. “And each man, woman, and child, slave or freedman, had a thought on what it was and what it meant. I suspect that even the heathen at heart fell to his knees, eyes raised to God for guidance and help.”

“That is the way of it. What do you think it meant?” she asked, a little reluctantly, for she knew she would not be able to ignore or push aside with scorn anything Old Edith said.

“Poor child. You want to know the truth yet, at the same time, fear it. Ah, me, there is good reason to fear, but do not let that fear steal away your wisdom and your strength.”

“Edith, you are beginning to afright me far more than the fire in the sky did.”

“Ne’er fear the truth. Ignorance holds the greatest threat. What you saw in the sky was Harold’s brief reign being swallowed up by the flames of destiny. Riding to victory upon the bright tail of that fire is a new king, a Norman, one who will end the Saxon rule in this land.”

“William the Bastard,” Eada whispered.

“It would be wise if you were to cease thinking of him so,” Old Edith suggested with a half smile that hinted at a beauty now stolen by age and hardship. “He will soon be your king.”

“So my father will lose yet again.”

“Poor Waltheof was ne’er destined to win. His line will survive and then rise above the weaknesses and failings of its forebears. Waltheof and those before him were only meant to plant that seed.”

“Do you see all this, Edith?”

“See is, mayhap, the wrong word to use. I speak what I feel and it has the strong taste of truth. I do not have dreams or visions, if that is what you think. I have ideas, thoughts, revelations. I call them sendings. Sometimes even I am surprised by the words that flow from my mouth for I gave no thought to them. Sometimes I was intending to say something else entirely. The truth just comes. I cannot stop it, so I have come to accept it.”

“I find what you say now hard to accept,” Eada said as she absently tugged her gray tunic around her legs. “You speak of war and of the conquering of our people.”

“That I do, and it saddens me. Howbeit, the Saxons were once the conquerors. They took all that they hold now away from someone else. Now comes their turn to be conquered, to have all they own taken away.”

“They will fight.”

“And they will die. God’s will can ne‘er be changed. We were blessed with a long reign in a fine land and we have built much that is good. God says ’tis now another’s turn.”

“Thus our people and all our ways must die?”

“No, child, merely change. You will be one of the ones who will fulfill that part of the prophecy.”

“Me?” Eada cried as she clenched her small hands into tight fists, resisting the sudden urge to slap the old woman and demand that she cease to speak such nonsense. “I am but a small, thin female of only eighteen years. ”

“You should be wed.”

The abrupt change of subject startled a laugh out of Eada, but she quickly grew serious again. “I was.”

Edith snorted with disgust as she poked at the fire with a blackened stick. “That? That drunken boy who got himself killed ere he could even bed and seed his new bride? You are still a maid, so you are still unwed. I see that you still wear your hair loose as a maid does.”

As she touched her thick, honey-blond hair, Eada smiled faintly. “As you just said—I am still a maid. It has caused some talk, however, for, still a maid or no, I am a widow.” She shrugged. “I kept my hair bound until my mourning was done. That should be enough to still the tongues.”

“More than enough. Your time is near though. Soon you will have a man, one worthy of you.”

“And will he be handsome, brave, and strong?” Eada asked in a playful tone.

“You think I but say empty words, the same words many must say to you; but yes, he will be all three.”

“And I will meet him after this war is done?”

“No. He rides with William.”

All of Eada’s good humor fled with a swiftness that left her chilled. She opened her soft lavender eyes wide as she stared at the solemn Edith in growing consternation. When Edith said such things, they carried the sharp sting of hard truth, but this time Eada did not want to believe it.

“A Norman?” she questioned, her voice soft and roughened by shock. “In one breath you tell me that the Normans will bring about the destruction of my people and wrest our lands away from us, and in the very next breath you dare tell me that I shall love a Norman. Am I destined to be a traitor then? Do you truly believe that such a weakness scars my soul?”

“Foolish, pretty child.” Edith scolded. “Did I not also say that our people will not die away nor will all of our ways fade into legend? How do you think such a thing will come to pass? Not through our men,” Edith said sharply, her colorless lips twisting with scorn. “They will just fight, cutting away at each other with their swords. They will plot, and lands will be won and lost. They will not be happy with some but will battle and bleed for more—only to see it all slip out of their hands. There is no Saxon future to be found in our men.

“The future is in our women, Saxon women,” Edith continued, her voice growing stronger as she spoke. “In the wombs of our women will lie the future of our people. Their husbands will be of Norman blood, but the heirs will have good Saxon blood in their veins and, if the woman is wise, they will also have Saxon lore in their hearts. The women will learn the Norman speech, as they must, but will be certain that their children know the Saxon tongue as well.” Old Edith smiled faintly at Eada. “I can see that you are fiercely fighting the truth of all I am saying.”

“It makes sense yet—to bed down with the enemy?” Eada shook her head and nervously plucked at the gold brooch holding her cloak on her shoulders. “I cannot believe that we Saxon women must play the whores to ensure a future for our people.”

“Not whores. Wives, ladies, the mothers of the future, and the guardians of the past. I see that you do not wish to listen to this, that you try to turn from the truth; but do not forget my words, Eada of Pevensey. Promise me that you will remember my words and think long and hard on all I have said.”

There was an upsetting desperation in Old Edith’s voice and Eada moved to gently hug the old woman, whispering the promise begged of her. “I have listened, Edith, and I will remember it all.” She moved back to her place by the fire. “My heart but needs to ponder such solemn and sad news. Now, enough of these dark thoughts. Come, see what I have brought for you.” Eada dug into the small sack she carried and cheerfully named each gift as she set it before her friend. “A pot of honey, sweet cheese, bread, and some very fine mead.”

“Fetch me my knife and drinking bowls,” Old Edith ordered with a smile. “We shall have ourselves a feast.”

Even as she obeyed Edith, Eada asked, “You have so little, old friend. Do you not wish to save this?”

“When you reach my age, child, you cease to save every little thing,” Old Edith murmured as she began to cut the bread. “ ’Tis indeed wise to put something aside for the morrow, but not when one is as old as I am. The morrow may ne’er come. That is when you begin to think Do it now, you old crone, for you cannot do it in your grave. ” She laughed softly. “Our Good Lord will not wait for me to finish these fine gifts when He finally decides to call me to His side.”

Eada forced herself to smile as she joined in the small feast Old Edith set before them. She dearly loved the woman, but she now wished she had not made this visit. All the things Old Edith had spoken of could not be pushed from her mind and ignored. The words lingered in the forefront of her mind, distracting and disturbing her. What Eada found even more disturbing was the small voice in her head that kept reminding her of how often Old Edith was right.

She was just about to take her leave, needing to get away to think clearly, when Old Edith suddenly went very still, staring with a frozen intensity into her battered drinking bowl. Eada shivered, and it took her a moment to subdue the strong urge to flee from the tiny cottage. There was, after all, always the chance that Old Edith was suffering from some kind of seizure and needed her help.

“Edith?” she called, but the old woman did not even blink. “Edith!” she called in a sharper tone. “Are you ill?”

Blinking rapidly, Edith lifted her head to stare at Eada. There was such a wealth of sadness upon the old woman’s face that Eada felt her heart begin to pound with fear. She knew she was about to hear more news that she had no wish to know, but she still could not leave for there was still the chance that Old Edith might need her help.

“You should not have come here today, Eada of Pevensey,” Edith whispered in a hoarse voice, but then she shook her head, a few dirty wisps of gray hair tumbling onto her deeply lined forehead. “No, I am foolish. There was naught else you could do. God’s will brought you here. Nothing can alter our fates, not even these accursed warnings of what is to come. All we can do is prepare. I just do not know if I have had the time to prepare you or even if you will allow yourself to be prepared for what is to come.”

“Edith,” Eada snapped, then groaned and rubbed at her temples in a vain attempt to push away a forming headache. “What do you speak of now?”

“William again, child. The Normans and the end of Saxon rule begins today.”

“Today?” Eada gasped and leapt to her feet. “Do you tell me that the war begins now?”

“And if I say yes, do you mean to run back home? Do you really think that one small woman can hold back an army? Can you make the ships turn and sail back to France?”

“I can see that my family is safe.”

“Vedette will see that they are safe. That one is a woman who knows well how to survive. She will flee at the first sightings of the ships, flee to some place that is safe until the war is won. Then she will step out and start again, finding someone to care for her. You need not fear for her, child.”

“She will not leave until I am with her. I must hurry so that she does not linger too long.”

“She will not linger, not even for you,” Edith said quietly as she followed Eada out of the cottage. “Beneath that sweet face, Vedette is a woman who has the strength to make a hard decision. She will see that if she flees without hesitation, she can save two children and herself, but if she waits for one errant child to return home, she could lose all chance of escape. It will hurt her to leave you behind for she loves you, but she will not wait for you. She will grab all she can and flee Pevensey as swiftly as she can.”

“Nay,” Eada whispered, but a voice in her head told her that Edith spoke the truth. “I do not even know if all of your warnings and prophecies are true,” she suddenly cried and ran from the cottage.

Eada ran as fast as she could, her two hounds keeping pace. She was desperate to get home and find that Old Edith was wrong. She did not slow down until she was able to see the village and the sea it faced. Panting, her chest aching from the effort needed just to catch her breath, Eada stared in horror at the scene laid out before her, desperately trying to deny what she saw and failing miserably.

Pevensey swarmed with men. Ships clogged the shallow waters by the shore and the landing was crowded with men, horses, and supplies. Despite the abundance of all three, the ships kept pressing forward to be unloaded. Occasionally there was a cry of fear or pain as some poor fool tried to defend what was his against indefensible odds. There was also the occasional chilling scream of a woman as her hiding place was discovered and she tried to protest her almost certain fate.

Falling slowly to her knees, her panting hounds collapsing at her side, Eada stared at the constant activity in the town below. She prayed fiercely that her family was no longer there even though it hurt to think that they would really leave her behind. Pevensey was no longer safe. It was filled to bursting with an enemy eager to conquer.

Suddenly, as if yanked from a dream, Eada became aware that not every one of the invaders was lingering in Pevensey. Small bands of men were mounting their own or newly stolen horses and riding away. She cursed as she realized what was happening and at her own stupidity for not considering the possibility the moment she saw the invaders. Soldiers would need to reconnoiter and forage. They could even be hunting down some of the people who had fled the town taking whatever was of value with them. Soldiers commonly lusted after the spoils of war, and if Pevensey had been stripped too clean, they would try to recapture that wealth.

Still cursing herself for staying so exposed upon the hilltop, Eada quickly searched out a hiding place. When she espied a heavy thicket, she ignored the sharp pull of the brambles and branches and plunged into it, urging her dogs to join her. She lay down on her stomach, ordered her pets to do the same, then placed a gentle hand on each dog’s muzzle, silently commanding them to be still and quiet.

Edith was right, she mused, as she peered through the tangle of branches and watched a small troop of men approach. She should not have raced home. The old woman had never been wrong before, and Eada knew she had been a fool to doubt the woman this time. There was nothing for her in Pevensey now, had not been since the ships had first been sighted. Her mother would have gathered as much as she could as fast as she could and then fled. In her heart Eada knew her mother had not wanted to leave her behind but had had the wit and the strength to see that she had to sacrifice one to save all the others, that any delay would be costly, perhaps even fatal. Eada knew she would have done the same.

Like some unthinking child, she had run home to her mother at the first hint of danger. Now, instead of being safe with Edith, she was caught in the middle of an invasion. Instead of having the time to flee or to choose an adequate, comfortable hiding place, she was stuck in a thicket and she would be stuck there until nightfall. Only then might she have some small chance of slipping away unseen and getting back to Edith. The old woman would need help to elude the enemy. As she cautiously shifted her body in a vain attempt to get comfortable, she prayed vigorously that whatever Normans raped her home would find little there to enrich or comfort them.

“No one is here, Drogo,” announced Tancred d’Ullack as he picked up a wooden bowl from the floor and set it on the well-scrubbed table.

“Are there any beds?” Drogo de Toulon asked as he adjusted his firm hold on the slender, ashen-faced man who sagged at his side, and stepped further into the great hall of the house he had chosen to claim.

“Yes, and some very fine ones, too. Go right through that doorway at the far end of the hall. The one on the left.”

Drogo picked his companion up in his arms, ignoring the man’s groaning protests. “Come, Garnier, my friend, you will feel stronger after you have rested. Tancred,” he called back to the younger man, who was just sitting down at the table, “have our belongings brought to this place and see if my man Ivo can find us some food.”

“I shall never return home, my friend,” groaned the man in Drogo’s arms.

“Do you plan to die here then, Garnier?”

“No, but I plan to never set my boots in a boat again and, unless I learn to soar like a bird, I am destined to rot out my days in this accursed land.”

Laughing softly, Drogo laid his slender friend down upon the first bed he found. A swift, but careful look around the small room told him that it had been hastily deserted. Clothes and the toys of a young boy were scattered around. His survey also told him that the room was extremely clean, and he began to relax.

“I should more closely study this bed,” said Garnier, his deep voice hoarse and unsteady, “but I am suffering the mal de mer too badly to care if these Saxon fleas eat me alive.”

“I would be most surprised, Garnier, if there are any fleas about. The people who held this house were very clean.”

“Some distant family of yours, mayhap?” Garnier teased, and he managed a weak smile.

Drogo briefly returned the man’s smile, accepting the gentle jest aimed at his own strong inclinations toward cleanliness, a preference that many found a little strange. “Rest, Garnier,” he murmured. “Rest is what you need.”

The moment Garnier closed his eyes, Drogo returned to the hall and found the central hearth already being tended by his man Ivo. Ivo was big, dark, and somewhat slow; but he tended to most of Drogo’s and his men’s needs as well as any woman. Displeasure tightened Drogo’s finely carved mouth, however, when he saw the young girl huddled close by Ivo’s side. A quick glance at Tancred, who was sprawled comfortably at the table, elicited only a shrug.

“Ivo, where did the girl come from?” Drogo asked his servant as he approached the man. “Was she here? In this house?”

Ivo shook his head, his thick black hair tumbling onto his face. “Outside.”

“Ah, then you have brought her to us for our amusement.” Tancred leapt nimbly from the bench he had lounged on and strode closer; but when he reached for the girl, Ivo suddenly placed his large, muscular body firmly between the much smaller Tancred and the terrified girl. “I see; you have not, then.”

“Mine,” Ivo growled as the girl huddled behind him. “I found her.”

“And were you the one who beat her?” Drogo asked, frowning as he studied the girl’s thin, bruised face.

“No. The others did. I stopped them and took her.”

“Oh, merde. ” Tancred sighed with a blatantly false dismay. “We shall have some deaths to explain away.” He again approached the girl, reaching out one slender hand, and said quietly when Ivo tensed, “I only mean to look at her.”

“I did not kill the men,” Ivo said, never taking his gaze from Tancred as he defended himself to Drogo. “I only hurt them.”

“She is a bond-slave, Drogo,” Tancred said and pointed to the earring the girl wore. “That earring is how the Saxons mark their bond-slaves. And it appears that she is a disobedient one,” he added in a soft voice when he saw the still-raw lash marks on her back revealed by her torn gown. “She could be more trouble than she is worth.”

“Mine.” Ivo put his arm around the wide-eyed girl’s thin shoulders and held her close as he fixed his dark gaze on Drogo. “You can give her to me.”

Drogo grimaced and absently rubbed his hand over his broad, mail-covered chest as he realized he could have a serious problem on his hands. “Ivo, she belongs to someone.”

Ivo nodded. “A Saxon. You will fight them soon and win. Then, everything will be yours and you can give her to me.”

“Such lovely simplicity,” Tancred drawled, his grey eyes bright with laughter.

“Enough of your jests, Tancred,” Drogo muttered as he frowned at Ivo. “Ivo, you may have her for now, but she must work and she must behave. We have no time now to waste upon a lazy or disobedient bond-slave. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Ivo replied, and he nodded slowly. “I will watch her.”

“And one more thing. Now, heed me closely, Ivo. The girl belongs to someone. That earring tells us so. We are here to fight the Saxons for William, but that does not mean that everything will then belong to us. If someone comes to claim her and there is trouble over the matter, she may have to be returned to her masters.”

“I understand. If someone comes to claim her, I will tell him that she is mine. We will talk on it.”

When Tancred laughed, Drogo briefly glared at him, then looked back at Ivo. He decided it would be easier to just wait and, if someone came to claim the girl, he would deal with the problem then. “One last thing, Ivo,” he said, as the big man moved to search the house for supplies, the girl close at his heels. “I will take her away from you myself if you hurt her too badly.” He did not really believe Ivo would hurt the girl for he was a relatively gentle giant, but he felt a need to give the warning.

“No, I will not hurt her. Her name is May,” Ivo added in a quiet tone as he took the girl by the hand and led her out of the hall.

“I am not sure it is wise to keep her with us,” Tancred said as he and Drogo. . .