The Gentle Knight (The Norman Conquest Book 2)

by Ashley York

  PRAISE FOR ASHLEY YORK

  Praise for The Saxon Bride

  “A beautiful first novel to lead off the Norman Conquest series. I’m a big fan of medieval political intrigue, and this novel had plenty. Well done!” — National Best-Selling Author Kathryn Le Veque

  “...an intriguing read that grabs one’s attention from the beginning and doesn’t let go until the very end. Action-filled with danger, betrayal, lust, murder, political machinations, and love, this entertaining story is hard to put down!” — InD’Tale magazine

  “There are few things I love more than a spirited Saxon heroine fighting her attraction for an invading Norman knight. Ashley York never fails to deliver.” — Author Bambi Lynn

  “I love political intrigue, and this story has it in spades. Of course, the love story between John and Rowena doesn’t hurt the story either. Enjoy, all you fans of medieval-era stories!” — Author Kathleen Bittner Roth

  “A very intriguing read! I read this fast-paced, action-packed tale in one setting. The characters jump off the page. The storyline is realistic; you could almost feel the tension between the Saxons and the Normans. Ms. York is a wonderful storyteller.” — My Book Addiction and More

  “Ashley York’s new release, The Saxon Bride, is all I had hoped it would be. From the first page to the last, you will become absorbed in Rowena and John’s story.”

  “Ashley York has spun a tale of love, lust and conquering obstacles. The story of John and Rowena will take your breath away.”

  “Wonderful medieval romance…. Good, romantic, sexy love scenes; this story had me getting the tissues out a couple of times. Loved the intimacy between John and Rowena. First time reading this author’s books. I look forward to reading more of her work.”

  ALSO BY ASHLEY YORK

  The Order of The Scottish Thistle series

  The Bruised Thistle

  The Norman Conquest series

  The Saxon Bride

  The Gentle Knight

  The Gentle Knight

  Ashley York

  Copyright © 2015 Ashley York

  Excerpt from The Saxon Bride copyright © 2014 by Ashley York

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN (print): 0990864049

  ISBN-13 (print): 978-0-9908640-4-2

  ISBN (ebook): 0990864057

  ISBN-13 (ebook): 978-0-9908640-5-9

  Publisher’s Note: The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and or are used fictitiously and solely the product of the author's imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Rae Monet, Inc. Design

  raemonetinc.com/bookcovers.html

  Editing: Scott Moreland

  Print Formatting: By Your Side Self-Publishing

  www.ByYourSideSelfPub.com

  Ebook Formatting: LK Ebook Formatting Service

  No part or the whole of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or utilized (other than for reading by the intended reader) in ANY form (now known or hereafter invented) without prior written permission by the author. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal, and punishable by law.

  DEDICATION

  To my children, Lindsay, Nicole, and Jack,

  the greatest blessings of my life.

  And to my own gentle knight—my husband.

  If not for you, this would never have been possible.

  The Harrying of the North

  The King has stopped at nothing to hunt his enemies. He cut down many people and destroyed homes and land. Nowhere else had he shown such cruelty. This made a real change. To his shame, William made no effort to control his fury, punishing the innocent with the guilty. He ordered that crops and herds, tools and food be burned to ashes. More than 100,000 people perished of starvation. I have often praised William in this book, but I can say nothing good about this brutal slaughter. God will punish him.

  as recorded by Orderic Vitalis fifty years after the event

  Chapter One

  Drogheda, Ireland 1075

  The head of the once powerful MacNaughton Clan lay dying a slow, agonizing death. The great Padraig MacNaughton would be mourned by hundreds, some who knew him well, some who only knew of him, but none would miss him as much as his only daughter, Brighit. She stood beside the bed, willing him to open his eyes and acknowledge her presence.

  The darkened room reeked of sickness and putrefaction, adding to the malevolent sense of death-come-too-soon. Brighit couldn’t take a deep breath. Her lungs too tight with emotion, her senses clogged with noxious fumes.

  She was desperate to speak to her father one more time. To convince him not to send her away from her home, her family, her security. She leaned in close to his ear.

  “I love you, da.” She strained her voice to keep the whisper unheard by Aunt Ruth. Her bent shape milled in the shadows about the far side of the bed, straightening the covers, adjusting his bed cap.

  Idle hands.

  The older woman’s shoulders seemed to bend even more with the weight of caring for her last remaining brother. Her features froze into a permanent, disapproving scowl. Her eyes downcast as if always in a state of penance.

  Brighit kneeled beside the bed. “Father?”

  No response.

  Auntie tucked the blanket tighter around his emaciated frame without so much as a glance her way.

  Brighit felt certain she was being sent away out of fear. Fear of a forced marriage with the O’Brien. Her father had withdrawn his support, cut all ties, and broken the betrothal between Tisa O’Brien and Brighit’s brother, Tadhg, earlier. All were shocked by the decision but no one would gainsay him. Even when it made things so much harder for the MacNaughton Clan to be without the support of their more powerful neighbor, no one had said a word.

  Her mother might have been able to change his mind but she had just passed on. Brighit’s eyes rimmed with tears. The shock of having lost her mother was still so fresh and now this. Her entire family was being ripped away from her and her heart squeezed with the pain of the loss.

  At the recent suggestion of a new match between the two clans, her father had become incensed despite being given the pick of any one of the O’Brien’s five strong sons. He had refused the new match as if he’d been offered a deal with the devil himself. It had inflamed the ongoing hostility between the two clans. Once very close, the cause for the rift was known only to her father and he held fast to his decision to separate from the larger, stronger clan.

  The wind pressed against the thatched roof, shoving its way through the wooden shutters. The unrelenting desire to whip open the windows and let in the fresh air, the outside world, the life they used to have, clawed at her gut. She’d never have that life again.

  Dread snaked its way through her bowels. Now father had asked for her, wanting to talk to her about her future. Make his decree. He didn’t seem to even know she was there.

  Da’s chest rose with the sudden intake of air. Both women jumped at the sound of his raspy breathing.

  “Auntie?” Brighit began to reach toward the stoic woman before thinking better of the gesture. Her pathetic plea for assistance reverberated in that one word.

  Yes, her desperation had surely hit the lowest point of her life to seek the older woman’s guidance.

  Aunt Ruth’s hand paused just above the blanket then gently squeezed his hand. She dropped close to his ear.

  “Padraig? Brighit’s come to see you.” She finally looked at Brighit. “He hasn’t awakened since he asked for you last night.”

  Aunti
e Ruth’s voice was solemn and Brighit understood the implications. He might never awaken again.

  He drew in another deep breath, shifting like one coming out of a deep sleep.

  “Brighit?” He called her name, his eyes bare slits in his gaunt face, seeking her in the darkness. His clouded eyes probably saw very little so Brighit was quick to take his hand.

  “Yes. I’m here.” She regretted sounding so distraught.

  Auntie Ruth returned to the other side of the bed, fluffed his pillow, and picked up her needlepoint. There wasn’t much else for her to do, but she was determined to stay. She would stand as the only other witness to Padraig MacNaughton’s dying wishes.

  “Ah, Brighit, my lovely daughter.” Her father brushed her chin with his fingertips before he found her cheek and cupped it with his cold, weathered hand. Perhaps he didn’t notice the dampness from her tears.

  He shook his head slowly. “Sorry I am that I’ve not been able to find a good husband for you, Daughter.”

  He was about to decree her future fate. She struggled to breathe as if she were being shoved under water. She knew in her heart he would be wrong in what he was about to tell her.

  “Da, Sean O’Cisoghe would be a fine husband.”

  “That’s not what you said when your mother and I approached you with the match.”

  Sean was more like a brother to her and she had rejected the very idea a year ago. She worried what her father was about to propose now was even more abhorrent.

  “No, you can’t wed Sean.”

  She scooted closer to his face, inwardly begging him to hear her. “But I will, Da. I will make him a good wife and give him many children.”

  “’Tis not to be.”

  Dread gripped her heart at the finality of the statement. She imagined herself fully submerged. Her body just floating in the water’s current.

  “Your mother wanted you to take your vows at the Priory. She wanted you to be a bride of Christ.”

  “You’re not remembering it right.” Her voice pitched slightly higher. She fought to stay calm. “Maw said it would be better to have me a nun if there were no one else. But Sean is here. So there is someone else.”

  Her father drew her to him with surprising strength, urging her head to his shoulder. She obliged.

  “The decision has been made, lass. It won’t be undone. I will keep my own from that whoreson O’Brien Clan.”

  She bit her bottom lip to cease its quivering.

  “Your mother’s brother, Ronan, will be here by nightfall and see you to the Priory at Tanshelf.” His hold weakened. “He’ll see you’re met with no harm.”

  “On the other side of the water? To England? Please don’t send me away.”

  “It’s what your mother wanted.” His arm fell slack and she sat up. His eyes were closed again. He’d already fallen into a deep sleep.

  The tears washed over her face but she didn’t care. She’d dreamed of having a love like her parents. They had encouraged that dream since she was a small girl. Even promising they’d give her time and allow her to find a man she could love. But when her mother took ill last spring and quickly died, that dream had died with her. Her father’s despondency at the loss of his wife had sent the clan into turmoil. The unexpected break from the O’Brien Clan, and the turning out of his closest friend, Roland O’Brien, only added to their problems. Where they had once been their closest allies, they were apparently a threat to their well-being.

  Aunt Ruth came to her side and Brighit fell into her stiff arms. After a moment’s hesitation, the woman held her closer, caressing her long, brown hair down her back. “All will be well, love, wait and see.”

  “Please,” Brighit brightened, pulling back to search her aunt’s face, her voice imploring. “Can you say he offered me to Sean?”

  Aunt Ruth went rigid. “Your father did not work out a betrothal with the O’Cisoghe but he did send word to your uncle to escort you to the Priory. He’s already been sighted on MacNaughton land.”

  Brighit took a deep, shaky breath and turned to face the man she’d loved like none other. She’d wanted a husband as good and kind as her father. In her mind’s eye, she saw him again as he’d been, happy and smiling. She bent and kissed him on the lips.

  “Thank you for taking care of me, Da.”

  She turned toward the door without a backward glance.

  “Well?”

  Brighit turned quickly to see her brother Tadhg standing in the shadows farther down the hall. His tall figure easily filled the narrow space.

  “Uncle Ronan is almost here, ready to take me to the Priory.”

  “Aye. He comes with a contingent bent on seeing you safely across the water.”

  Tadhg took a step closer, his arms crossed about his chest and studied her face.

  She knew he’d be able to see every thought she had. He’d always been able to do that. It mattered little. He was not lord yet and couldn’t gainsay their father.

  “Will it be well with you?” His quiet voice intended to comfort but she rebelled against it.

  She stepped closer, nose to nose with him. Her mouth tightened. “What do you think?”

  He didn’t step back but held her gaze, his intense brown eyes so like her own.

  “You will make do as you always have.” He expressed a confidence in her that she certainly did not feel.

  She rolled her eyes and pulled away. “I will get by.”

  He took her arm with a gentle hand, forcing her to face him. The dark curls fell around his chiseled features, giving him the look of angel. “I’m sorry for this, Brighit. This is not what we had planned for you. All of us wanted to see you wed here, living close by. Now you must travel so far and me not able to accompany you.”

  “I know you have things to see to here.” She placed her own small hand over his much larger, stronger one. “I know you would come but there’s naught you could do.”

  “The O’Brien could take you, forcibly if need be, and we can’t allow that to happen.”

  “That I know quite well.” She fought to keep the bitterness out of her voice but failed. “Maw had never wanted that.”

  Tadhg’s jaw dropped. “Would you have us marry you to that... that warmonger?”

  “No!” A shiver of fear slithered down her spine. “That is not what I want.”

  Brighit had been warned about the treatment she could expect from the O’Briens. They no longer held the MacNaughtons in high regard. The bad blood had run deep since her mother’s death. And though it made no sense, the O’Brien did covet their land now. Brighit would merely be a means to an end. Surely life as a bride of Christ was a better choice.

  “Then you do understand?” His voice was hopeful but his gaze remained severe.

  “I prayed as hard as I could that this would not come to pass, that I would not be sent away.” She turned away before he noticed her quivering lip “God has other plans for me. I will get by. I never cared for children overmuch anyway.”

  “That’s a lie.” Tadhg’s tone was reprimanding. “You can tell the truth and still do the right thing, Brighit.”

  She turned back to him. It wasn’t easy for him either. He had been in love with Tisa O’Brien since they’d been very small, when the two clans had shared all things in common. After the troubles, he had to set aside his own desires for the sake of the clan. Out of respect for their father.

  “Yet I don’t hear you sharing the desires of your heart. Why shouldn’t I put on a brave face as well?”

  He tipped her chin with gentle fingers. “So long as you keep your heart pure. Don’t be filling it up with lies. Be true to yourself. You’re a gently-bred woman. You’ll have the strength you need whatever happens... but don’t have a false heart.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I won’t have a false heart, Tadhg. I promise.”

  There really was no other choice for either of them. Their father was the seventh son of the seventh son and as such, had a special anointing th
at all Irishmen respected. But their fate had been foretold long ago. Tadhg would take over as leader at his father’s death but being the sixth son, he’d have nothing but troubles. There had been no seventh son issued by their father. After Brighit, no more children came. The joy at having a girl soon faded by comparison to what power and favor the MacNaughtons would have received had she been born the seventh son. Better for them both to avoid any further duress by accepting the inevitable.

  “Keep your deepest desires close. Be watchful and see what is planned for you.”

  “And you as well.”

  Tadhg’s eyes rounded. He pulled her into a tight embrace. “I’ll miss you, little sister.”

  She etched the feel of his embrace on her heart. It would give her comfort when she was alone in the Priory.

  He released her suddenly. “Now go. Pack quickly.”

  He kissed her cheek and turned her from him, as if overcome with emotion.

  “You’re to leave at daybreak,” he tossed at her.

  She continued down the hall to retreat to the comfort of her own chamber.

  Chapter Two

  Peter of Normandy was dead. He just wondered why it was taking his brain so long to catch on. No blood. No visible wounds. No rushing need to get up and try to do something—like survive. But life was over for him. The blow from Jeanette’s unexpected death left him as broken as if he’d had an axe to the head. Truth be told, he couldn’t possibly live without her. He rubbed the dirt from his hands and turned away from Jeanette’s grave.