Love Letters

by Emily Murdoch

  To his utter surprise, Catheryn’s eyes were bright with tears.

  “Catheryn,” he said in confused wonder. “I haven’t even confessed yet! You cannot…why are you crying?”

  Catheryn sniffed angrily and brushed away her tears. “I am not crying! There is dirt in my eye. And what are you talking about – you have already said that you regret sending me those notes. What more is there to say?”

  Selwyn sighed, but did not relinquish his hold on her arm. He held it so tightly he could almost feel her pulse.

  “So much more,” he said softly. “But you have to remember that I did not know you then. I thought…”

  Catheryn looked at him. Selwyn was always so certain of himself, so secure in what he was about to say. This new Selwyn was just as endearing, but in a way it frightened her.

  “I didn’t write those letters because I cared about you – at least, that’s not how it started out!” Selwyn gabbled, hoping to get the majority of it said before Catheryn retaliated and broke the heart that he had only recently discovered that he had. “I just wanted to play another joke, like when we were children. I wanted to make you feel silly, and remind you what it was to be friends again. I never seriously considered how you might feel. And so I sent you those notes to…to…”

  “To belittle me,” Catheryn said flatly, finally disentangling her arm from his grip. “To embarrass me? To destroy me?”

  “No!” Selwyn said desperately. “No, nothing so cruel, if I had known you then – ”

  “But you didn’t,” Catheryn said with an air of finality that destroyed Selwyn’s every hope that this conversation would end well. “You didn’t know me, and you didn’t bother to get to know me, and you assumed. You thought that you knew me, and based on that, you decided to mock me.”

  Selwyn laughed, distraught. “It sounds terrible when you say it in that way, but – ”

  “Yes.” Catheryn took a step backwards. “It does sound terrible.”

  “I love you!” cried Selwyn, throwing all caution to the winds, knowing that there was no chance now anyway of redeeming himself in her eyes.

  “Love?” Catheryn rolled her eyes in the way that had become so endearing to him. “You know, I thought…but I was wrong, evidently, so terribly wrong!”

  “What did you think?” Selwyn said urgently.

  “It is of no consequence. I was wrong.” Catheryn turned away from him, but Selwyn reached out to stop her.

  “Catheryn – ”

  “But you know what?” Catheryn allowed herself to be turned around, but did not allow Selwyn to say anything. “If you really had found yourself…you know, falling in love with me, the least you could have done would have been to do something honourable about it. Because nothing,” she said with emphasis that dripped anger and sadness, “nothing you have done in this has been honourable.”

  Catheryn walked away, and Selwyn did not have the heart to prevent her. He had lost her; before he even had her, he had lost her.

  Chapter Eleven

  That evening meal was a rather muted affair. Ælfgard and Hilda had not received any news from the royal court, which was generally considered to mean that they had not made any sort of impression. And, as Catheryn heard Eorwine mutter when she thought no one could hear her, it was surely better to make a bad impression than none at all.

  Catheryn ate in silence. Everything inside her ached, and she could almost see the pain pouring out of her. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have thought that Selwyn cared about her at all?

  The man that had professed his love while confessing that he thought she was a joke had not joined them that evening. The Great Hall felt empty without him, although Catheryn was trying not to notice.

  “My lord?”

  Every head turned to see who had spoken so softly, and yet with such force. Necks craned to get a better view, and Hilda stood up to see past Deorwine, whose mouth had fallen open.

  It was Selwyn. He was wearing what could only be described as ceremonial clothes. His tunic was fastened with a gold brooch, intricately woven, and his cloth was a rich royal blue.

  He stood in the doorway, hovering as if nervous about his reception.

  Ælfgard recovered first.

  “Come in, Selwyn,” he said jovially, gesturing that those that had stood should seat themselves.

  Catheryn watched as the man who had always been so confident around her shuffled towards them, nervously. What on earth was he doing?

  “My lord,” Selwyn said, his voice ringing clearly throughout the Great Hall, “I would speak with you, with these people as witnesses.”

  The hush that had fallen after Ælfgard had beckoned him in was lost as mutterings and whispers surged around the room.

  Catheryn could not take her eyes off the man she was trying not to be impressed by.

  Ælfgard did not seem quite sure of what to do with himself. As much as he adored the royal court, he was not accustomed himself to such a high level of formality at his table. But he was not one to lose honour by not respecting the customs.

  “Speak, Selwyn,” he eventually said. “I offer these people, my servants, thanes, and family, as witnesses to your words and to your honour.”

  Selwyn nodded quickly, and stepped forward once more. Although his face concentrated on his lord, no one could miss the nervous glances that continuously worked their way to Catheryn.

  “My lord master,” said Selwyn formally, bowing low. “I wish to speak to you on the subject of my marriage.”

  Catheryn’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t be – he would never, not in front of everyone – could he?

  “Speak on, my loyal steward,” Hilda cut in, noticing that this topic was probably beyond her husband’s comfort. “We shall hear you, and bear witness.”

  Selwyn swallowed. From the moment that Catheryn had walked away from him, he knew that this moment would come, and he did not want to wait for several days to garner his courage to him. The sooner he formally, with honour, made his intentions known, the sooner he would be dismissed from this household – and could begin rebuilding his life in another place. Not forgetting; he could never forget. But he would have to move on.

  “My lord master, you are aware that as your steward, it is just as much to your interests as to mine which woman I choose to be my bride,” Selwyn began. “But I think it all the more important for honour to be kept to in this occasion, because my intended bride is under your protection.”

  Catheryn drew in a hasty breath to prepare herself for his next words, but nothing could ready her for his next proclamation.

  “It is your daughter, my lady Catheryn.”

  Catheryn let out her breath, but she was not the only one to be astounded by the sentence that Selwyn had just uttered.

  “Treachery!” shouted Deorwine, jumping to his feet and unsheathing his sword. “Base deception, within the very heart of the home you have been given! My lord – ”

  “That will do, Deorwine,” Ælfgard said firmly.

  Deorwine, however, was not finished. “But my lord – ”

  “Enough,” Ælfgard intoned. “And put away your sword. You dishonour my table by inviting battle here.”

  Deorwine flushed with shame, but sat down sullenly, sheathing his blade.

  Selwyn stared at his lord, desperate for any sign that he would be allowed to continue.

  Ælfgard looked at his steward; a good man, a man that he had known for five years. Selwyn had been trusted, and Ælfgard had rewarded that trust amply.

  “Continue, my steward,” he said finally.

  There were more mutterings now, but none of them were as jovial and intrigued as before. Most of them came from the thanes, and they were not friendly.

  But Catheryn almost didn’t hear them. She couldn’t wait for Selwyn to continue.

  “My lord master,” Selwyn said in a strong resounding voice, “I love your daughter Catheryn. She is wise, and beautiful, and would make any man a wife that he would be pr
oud to call his own.”

  Hilda was beginning to smile at this, and turned to her daughter to see her reaction. It was clear on her face that although she appreciated the courting of Catheryn, she was watching to see exactly how she would rebuff the elegant young suitor.

  Catheryn could barely breathe, let alone think. With every ounce of loyalty and honour, Selwyn was doing exactly what any man should do if he wants to win the hand of his beloved; he was being open and honest to all around them about his feelings.

  “I do not deserve her,” Selwyn continued, his eyes turning to Catheryn, “not only because I am shallow, and weak…but because no one deserves her. She is without peer, and I can only hope that, if she rejects me, that she only aligns herself with a man that can work tirelessly to, one day, be worthy of her.”

  No one spoke. Within Catheryn, a fight was struggling. She could not believe what he had just done. She was so proud of him, so amazed at his honesty and bravery in declaring his love for her so publically. And yet…could she ever trust him?

  “Catheryn,” Selwyn addressed her personally now, taking a step forward. Deorwine rose again, his right hand wandering to his sword, but Ælfgard shook his head decidedly.

  “Catheryn, I know that nothing I can say can make amends for what I have done.”

  At these words, the smile on Ælfgard’s face disappeared.

  But Catheryn was not looking at her father. She was looking at the man that she was in love with.

  “But I promise; I could never have known how much damage it would cause, and how deeply and irrevocably I would fall in love with you. And I promise, even if you want me to leave here and never return, you will always be for me the epitome of perfection. And I ask your honourable father,” and with this his gaze returned to Ælfgard, “to allow me the continuation of my suit.”

  All eyes that were fixed on Selwyn moved quickly over to their lord. Ælfgard brought a hand to his chin, and stroked his thinning beard. He looked at the young man, clearly besotted with his daughter. His daughter, the heiress to his entire fortune. Ælfgard’s eyes widened as he saw his daughter.

  Catheryn’s eyes were full of tears – but they were clearly not tears of sadness. The emotion that was pouring down her face was not hatred, or fear, or even loathing, which Ælfgard had almost expected to see painted across his young daughter’s face. It was love: love of a man that could never hope to marry so high above his station.

  Ælfgard rose. Silence fell as the household waited for Selwyn to be expelled from the house, Deorwine with a smile on his face.

  “My loyal steward, Selwyn, son of Harold,” Ælfgard said, keeping to the traditional reply that a father would give as a response to a man who had begged for the hand of his daughter. “I have heard your speech, and so have our witnesses. They can bear testament to your words, and to the answer I give to you.”

  Catheryn wanted to speak, to intervene, but there was nothing she could say.

  Selwyn’s mouth was dry.

  “I have heard of your love for my daughter, our lady Catheryn,” Ælfgard continued, “and now I call for a change in our traditions.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “I call for my daughter, the lady Catheryn, daughter of Ælfgard, to speak of her choice.”

  Hushed voices once again began to speak. In the majority of cases, women of Catheryn’s rank did not typically get a chance to make their own choice about their husband. That was the way that it had been with Hilda and Ælfgard – he had made his speech to her parents, and her father had decided on the spot that he was acceptable for her. They had been married within the fortnight, and Hilda had not been considered to possess an opinion, let alone asked for it.

  Catheryn rose.

  “I know, for our people, it is not usual for someone like me to speak,” she said, her voice quavering. Never before had so many people listened to her before, and this was probably one of the most important speeches she would ever make. The sheer number of faces staring at her made her swallow nervously, but she continued.

  “I…I think it is important that…”

  Catheryn swallowed again. Her words seemed to be sticking in her throat. She was looking down at her hands, but then she looked up. She saw Selwyn.

  His eyes were transfixed on her, and they were full of despair.

  “Those notes that you wrote for me were wonderful,” Catheryn said, with half a smile. “But why you wrote them was terrible. It broke me, Selwyn. And I need to know that you won’t do anything like that again.”

  Selwyn gave out a noise that sounded like a laugh and a sob at the same time. Striding across the Great Hall, before Catheryn could say anything else, he was in front of her. Pulling Catheryn into his arms, Selwyn lowered his mouth to hers.

  It was like fire, and ice, and wind, and sunshine. It was all of them and none of them. Catheryn lost all sense of her surroundings as her senses centred on one man, and one kiss.

  When they broke apart, it was with smiles, and with laughter.

  “I think,” Ælfgard’s voice broke over them, “that my daughter’s choice is clear. Selwyn: if she gives it to you, you may have my daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  Selwyn looked down at the woman that he had not yet released from his loving arms.

  “Will you?” He whispered. “Will you accept me?”

  “Selwyn,” Catheryn replied. “From now on, you do not lack me.”

  If you enjoyed Love Letters you might be interested in Conquests by Emily Murdoch, also published by Endeavour Press.

  Extract from Conquests by Emily Murdoch

  Prologue

  The village burned in the darkness. Anglo-Saxon women crawled in the ashes and blood, crying, but quietly. They did not want to be found. They knew what would happen to them if they were discovered. In the light of the flames only one building could be seen left standing; the great manor house. None dared approach it. They knew that if the men returned, that would be exactly where they would go to. In the courtyard of this house, a shadow wept.

  A young girl was crouched in a corner, sobbing. The stone wall behind hid her in its silhouette, and she tried to muffle the sounds of her cries. She did not want to be discovered.

  A noise startled her; the sound of hooves on wood. They were coming.

  Picking herself up and wrapping her long skirts around her, the girl ran – but she was not fast enough.

  “Hie there!”

  A whining man’s voice rang out into the darkness and broke through the silence. It was the rider of the horse that she had heard, but now many more horses had joined him. It was a whole host of men. The girl gasped and tried to run faster, but there was nowhere to run to. Nowhere was safe now. Before she could reach the other side of the courtyard, strong rough hands had grabbed her.

  “Bring her here!”

  The same gruff voice spoke, and the girl struggled. The man holding her had to drag her over to the horse of the speaker. The man had dismounted, and the girl caught sight of his broadsword. She gasped, and pushed backwards trying to stay as far away as possible from the blade. She had seen swords similar to that one. She had seen what they could do.

  “Hold her up.”

  The man was older than her, probably as old as her father. He stank of sweat, and his mean eyes bore down into her. When he gazed down upon his captive, he was surprised. The lonely figure that he had taken to be a child was much older. The girl must be verging onto womanhood.

  He leered at her.

  “Do you have a name, my sweet?”

  The girl stared back at him. Fear danced in her eyes, but also resentment. She knew why he had come to her home. She knew what he wanted.

  “My lord Richard asked you a question!” said the man holding her back, twisting one of her arms so she let out a yelp of pain.

  “Avis,” she breathed, her arms searing and tears brimming in her eyes. “My name is Avis.”

  Chapter One

  Avis leaned against the flint wall and lo
oked up at the magnificent sky, and forced a blonde curl back underneath her veil. The sun was setting, and she could feel the cool of night descending quickly. The long summer was starting to cool into autumn, and soon winter would be on its way. As she sighed, her breath blossomed. A loud voice behind her startled her.

  “Avis!”

  She turned to see Richard walking aggressively towards her, and instinctively took a step back.

  “Are you not coming?” The medieval Norman Richard stared down at her, panting slightly at the exercise. The running was unlike him, a man who spent his life swaggering from meal to meal. Rolls of fat were carefully covered by his tunic, but Avis knew that she could outrun him. A fact that had given her comfort over the long three years since he had first arrived. He sneered down at her, mentally undressing her in a way that was disgustingly apparent.

  “I follow you, my lord.” Avis attempted a smile as she spoke in the harsh Norman language that she had come to learn, and Richard seemed appeased. Offering her his arm, she draped her delicate blue velvet sleeve across and allowed herself to be led inside to the Great Hall. A feast had been prepared – in her honour, Richard had told her, but in the three years since the Normans had conquered England that she had been forced to share her ancestral home with Richard, nothing had ever been organised for her own comfort before. She was suspicious, and Richard knew it.

  “Come now, relax.” He sniggered, and she sat down gently at her normal place near the head of the table, and the knights and other men that now lived in her home sat down at various points along the trestle tables. Richard took the seat at the head of the table, where her father had once sat. He clapped his hands, and servants immediately began bringing in food. Sizzling meats and sweet aromas soon filled the Great Hall, and the large dogs that had been snoozing by the fire soon jumped up and positioned themselves around the tables, hoping for scraps. Men began pouring ale, and soon the Great Hall was filled with the scraping of metal on plates, swirling goblets and belching. Avis ate silently, and many men’s eyes flickered across to gaze upon her beauty.