Redemption
Anna Markland
REDEMPTION
THE MONTBRYCE LEGACY~ANNIVERSARY EDITION
BOOK THREE
ANNA MARKLAND
Copyright ©Anna Markland 2011,2018
Contents
Dedication
More Anna Markland
Norman Blood
The King Is Dead
Death And Destruction
Tempting Fate
Alnwick
Blood And Gore
Who Are You?
Deep Regret
Old Friends
A Dangerous Place
Daily Grind
New Rules
Flight
Wedding Night
One Last Time
A Long Journey
A Watery Grave
Shelfhoc
Settling In
Sickness
Confession
Robert Comes Home
Impending Visit
Facing The Truth
The Epitome Of All I Despise
Crusade
Pursuit
Desperate Flight
Birth
The Long Journey Home
Homecoming
Reconciliation
Epilogue
BOOK IV~Vengeance
ABOUT ANNA
Dedication
Try not to become a man of success,
But rather try to become a man of value
~Albert Einstein
For my father William Gaskell
A Lancashire lad through and through,
Honest, loyal and true
Redemption by Anna Markland
Book Three, The Montbryce Legacy, Anniversary Edition © 2011, 2018 Anna Markland
www.annamarkland.com
All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
For permissions contact: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Dar Albert
Praise for Anna Markland
“Late 11th century Europe is the backdrop for this beautiful, well told historic romance. Filled with interesting characters, a solid plot and colorful backgrounds this story reeled me in and kept me turning pages till the end. This is a very well written, well thought out and plotted story. I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a good story.”
~Susan-Goodreads Reviewer
“This sensual, bittersweet love story between Agneta and Sir Caedmon Woolgar is beautifully written.”
~Mimi Barbour, author of His Devious Angel
“I am so intrigued by the characters in these stories. I love the strong women who struggle to overcome their own demons, as well as the complicated men who likewise must discover their own self-worth. I'm absolutely hooked.”
~English PH -Amazon Reviewer
“Anna Markland weaves a fantastic tale of love, passion, raw emotions and inner conflict. The characters become real people and I was transported back to 11th century England, with all their trials and tribulations. Caedmon's experiences and realizations while on the Crusade are both raw and enlightening. The historic detail wound into their love story is simply brilliant! A fantastic read!”
~Lorrie A. -Amazon Reviewer
More Anna Markland
The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition (2018)
I Conquest—Ram and Mabelle, Rhodri and Rhonwen
II Defiance—Hugh and Devona, Antoine and Sybilla
III Redemption—Caedmon and Agneta
The Montbryce Legacy First Edition (2011-2014)
Conquering Passion—Ram and Mabelle, Rhodri and Rhonwen (audiobook available)
If Love Dares Enough—Hugh and Devona, Antoine and Sybilla
Defiant Passion-Rhodri and Rhonwen
A Man of Value—Caedmon and Agneta
Dark Irish Knight—Ronan and Rhoni
Haunted Knights—Adam and Rosamunda, Denis and Paulina
Passion in the Blood—Robert and Dorianne, Baudoin and Carys
Dark and Bright—Rhys and Annalise
The Winds of the Heavens—Rhun and Glain, Rhydderch and Isolda
Dance of Love—Izzy and Farah
Carried Away—Blythe and Dieter
Sweet Taste of Love—Aidan and Nolana
Wild Viking Princess—Ragna and Reider
Hearts and Crowns—Gallien and Peridotte
Fatal Truths—Alex and Elayne
Sinful Passions—Bronson and Grace; Rodrick and Swan
Series featuring the stories of the Viking ancestors of my Norman families
The Rover Bold—Bryk and Cathryn
The Rover Defiant—Torstein and Sonja
The Rover Betrayed—Magnus and Judith
Novellas
Maknab’s Revenge—Ingram and Ruby
Passion’s Fire—Matthew and Brigandine
Banished—Sigmar and Audra
Hungry Like De Wolfe—Blaise and Anne—Kindle Worlds
Unkissable Knight—Dervenn and Victorine
Caledonia Chronicles (Scotland)
Book I Pride of the Clan—Rheade and Margaret
Book II Highland Tides—Braden and Charlotte
Book 2.5 Highland Dawn—Keith and Aurora (a Kindle Worlds book)
Book III Roses Among the Heather—Blair &Susanna, Craig & Timothea
The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty (medieval Europe)
Book 1 Loyal Heart—Sophia and Brandt
Book 2 Courageous Heart—Luther and Francesca
Book 3 Faithful Heart—Kon and Zara
Myth and Mystery
The Taking of Ireland —Sibràn and Aislinn
The Pendray Papers
Highland Betrayal—Morgan and Hannah (audiobook available)
Clash of the Tartans
Kilty Secrets—Ewan and Shona
Kilted at the Altar—Darroch and Isabel
Kilty Pleasures—Broderick and Kyla
Norman Blood
Edwinesburh, Scotland, 1087
“The house seems quiet with Caedmon gone,” Enid remarked as she helped her lady prepare for bed.
“Aye,” Ascha replied with a yawn. Then she chuckled. “Listen to me. I’ve lived in Scotland so long, I’ve forgotten how to speak my own language properly.”
“More than twenty years,” the maid confirmed with a solemn nod.
Ascha didn’t need to tell Enid how much she appreciated her loyalty during those long and sometimes difficult years. She’d fled England with her mistress, and kept the secret safe. The only other person privy to the truth—her brother Gareth—had died years before. “And now the Norman monster responsible for our flight is dead. At long last. We can’t blame Caedmon for wanting to celebrate the Conqueror’s death with his friends. I expect there’ll be many a tankard raised in the alehouses this night.”
Scowling, Enid pounded the bolster. “Mark my words, w
e’re safer to stay here in Scotland. The Conqueror’s son will be just as cruel a king to the English. It’s in their Norman blood.”
The color drained from the maid’s face as soon as she realized what she’d said. “I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t think. I meant…”
Ascha lay back in bed. “I understand. You and I have convinced our fellow Saxons here in Scotland that Caedmon is the son of a martyred hero of Hastings. We ourselves tend to forget his real father is a Norman.”
She wanted to say more, to protest that not all Normans were cruel and callous. Caedmon was an intelligent, handsome, considerate young man, the living image of his real sire. She thanked God for it. The husband slain at Hastings had been an abusive brute.
“I’m sure if Caedmon had grown up aware of his real parentage, it wouldn’t have made any difference to the man he is,” she said.
Enid shrugged as she blew out the candles. “We’ll never know. Goodnight, my lady.”
“Goodnight.”
Ascha stared up into the darkness. It had been twenty years since she’d lain with Ram de Montbryce, but she still remembered every detail of the brief but fulfilling liaison with a man she’d known she could never have. Would he be angry if he ever found out she had borne his child and not told him? She would remember the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch, the fulfillment of his manhood inside her, forever. She had made the decision before Caedmon’s birth never to tell her son of his true father. Among her fellow Saxon refugees, it was a noble thing to be the son of a martyr of Hastings, whereas the bastard of a Norman—
She’d sworn an oath to devote her life to her precious child, and was unconcerned about his striking resemblance to the Earl of Ellesmere, finding comfort in it. She was confident the two would never meet.
The King Is Dead
Caedmon Brice Woolgar loved laughter.
Savoring the guffaws of friends already well into their cups, he gathered his long black hair into two bunches, and pulled back tightly. Sticking out his tongue and rolling his eyes, he continued his mockery. “They say William Rufus, the newly-crowned King of the English, wears his blond hair parted in the centre, and off his face, which is always red, as if he’s angry. That’s why they call him Rufus.”
Edgar choked on his ale. “Don’t let the fair Aediva see you grimacing that way,” he teased. “She’ll no longer love you.”
Caedmon shrugged. “Aediva doesn’t love me, though she thinks she does.”
“And what of the beautiful Audrey, and the voluptuous Coventina—and the well-endowed—”
“Cease! Can I help it if these women lust after my handsome face?” Caedmon replied good-naturedly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after taking a long swig of dark ale.
“It’s not your bonny face they lust after, my brawny friend,” Leofric Deacon commented sardonically, bending his long arm to his head and looking cross-eyed at his own bulging bicep. “It’s those impressive muscles.”
“Aye!” was the jovial agreement, as tankards clinked together and laughter rang out.
“I hear Rufus is a dandy who dresses in the height of fashion, however outrageous,” Edgar Siward cooed, prancing foppishly as the crowd in the alehouse parted for him.
Relieved the jesting had turned back to Rufus, Caedmon carried on. “Rumor has it the new king’s eyes are threatening, his voice strident, as if he’s trying to intimidate. They say he’s a bully who takes offense easily.”
Leofric imitated the features Caedmon described, giving rise to further fits of laughter.
Despite their levity, they were all wondering if the son of the hated Conqueror would be as ruthlessly cruel as his recently departed and unlamented father.
“The Normans have their problems with all William’s ambitious sons. Robert Curthose won’t be content to be the Duke of the Normans. He thirsts for Rufus’s throne,” Edgar opined. “Did you know that when they were boys, Rufus and his brother Henry once stood on a high balcony and dumped a full chamber pot on their brother Curthose’s head? Playing dice must have become boring.”
Expressions of disgust ensued.
“Perhaps, while they are busy trying to steal from each other, we can help our King Malcolm regain Northumbria?” Leofric suggested.
Caedmon slapped his friend on the back. “Pray you’re right. I too would like a piece of Northumbria to claim as my own.”
“As would any one of us,” Siward agreed. “It’s ironic we were all born in this barbaric country they call Scotland, yet we’re outcasts, the sons of Saxons who fled England after the Battle of Hastings.”
“Aye, and most of us fatherless, our heroic sires dead at Hastings, or Dover, or any one of the innumerable merciless skirmishes with the brutal Normans,” Leofric lamented.
“And listen to us. ‘Aye,’ Leofric says, as if he’s a Scot,” Caedmon remarked. “We sound like Scots, though we’re Saxons. We’ve had to learn the tongue of the Gaels to survive at King Malcolm’s court. Aye, we sound like Scots, though any Scot knows we’re not.”
“At least we haven’t been forced to learn the hated Norman French,” Edgar offered.
Eivind Brede strode over from a nearby group and joined the conversation. “Here we are, landless and powerless, but looked upon by our exiled forebears as the hope of the future, the pride of our race. We burn to liberate a country many of us have never set foot in.”
Caedmon’s thoughts went to his Saxon mother. Lady Ascha Woolgar took great pride in him. He’d always admired her bravery at risking the flight to Scotland after the death of his father at Hastings—a pregnant woman, with no one but her brother for sustenance. Even after Gareth’s death, she’d prospered in Scotland and become a respected pillar of the exiled Saxon community. Lady Ascha made sure everyone acknowledged him as the son of a martyr of Hastings.
“I wish with all my heart I could restore my mother to her own country, the land of her birth,” he declared solemnly.
His friends nodded in silent agreement, and not a word was spoken for several minutes.
They all seethe with the same longing, an England ruled again by Anglo-Saxons.
“We’re getting too serious,” he said finally. “We’ve sworn to help King Malcolm oust the Normans, at least from Northumbria. Let’s drink to that.”
He jumped up onto his seat. “King Malcolm Cenn Mór! Malcolm, the Great Chieftain,” he shouted, raising his tankard.
“Northumbria!” came the echo.
“Aye!”
Death And Destruction
Bolton, Northumbria, March 1093
Agneta Kirkthwaite crouched in terror in the abandoned hayloft, shivering, despite the clammy warmth of her mother’s arms clasped tightly around her. Her father, Sir Eidwyn, had hurried them into hiding as soon as outriders had raised the alarm.
“Make sure you have your dagger, Ragna,” Eidwyn admonished his wife, his voice strained.
The barbaric Scots had been increasing their murderous raids on Norman holdings in Northumbria. The Kirkthwaites weren’t Normans, but their manor in the tiny village of Bolton, more prosperous than most, might tempt raiders. Over the years since the Conquest, their isolation, as well as alliances with the Normans, had spared them many of the ravages experienced by other Northumbrians. In defense of their home, Eidwyn and his sons had armed themselves and the villagers and were ready for an attack.
Unholy battle cries heralded the arrival of the marauders, raising the hairs on Agneta’s nape.
Ragna Kirkthwaite pressed her eye to a crack between the old planks of their hiding place. “God save us,” she breathed, making the Sign of her Savior. “They’re naked!” She looked away, and dragged her daughter across the rough floorboards, further from the wall.
“Who are they, Mamma?” Agneta whimpered. “Why are they attacking us?”
“Barbaric Scots,” her mother spat. “Will they never give up their claim to Northumbria? Stay here.”
Ragna crawled to the chink, and peered out again. She
gasped, and scurried back.
Terrified, Agneta grasped her mother’s sleeve. “What is it?”
“There are Saxons with them.”
“But Papa is a Saxon. Why would Saxons attack us?”
Ragna took a deep breath. “I don’t know, but your father and brothers will fight them off, with the help of the villagers.”
The mayhem below continued for a long while. Agneta winced at the harsh sounds of metal on metal, screams of pain, and shouts of triumph. Then suddenly—silence. She clung to her mother for long anxious minutes, until the acrid smell of smoke wafted up to their hiding place.
Ragna inched closer to the crack. She choked back a whimper and her forehead slumped against the wood.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” Agneta whispered frantically.
When her mother didn’t reply, Agneta crawled over to the crack and looked.
The house is on fire.
She was about to look away when new shouts came to her ears, and she caught sight of her father. Sword drawn, he fought with two naked raiders whose bodies shone eerily. Were they covered in grease?
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