Lord of My Heart Read Free Page A

give her father a smile. In his way he loved her and would not want to think her unhappy.
    He rewarded her effort with a smile of his own and patted her head. “That’s my girl. This is the best place for you, Maddy, believe me. The world’s a harsh place. God bless you, daughter.”
    Madeleine curtsied. “Godspeed,” she said softly, hopelessly.
    But at the door Marc turned back. “It’s a hard life out there, sister. Are you sure you want it?”
    Sure was a strong word, and Madeleine hesitated, but then she nodded.
    “Hold off your vows, then, for a while. This English business will soon be in hand, I’m sure of it. If we end up with English riches, I’ll come and buy you out.”
    With this careless promise he left. The tears Madeleine had dammed began to fall. Marc’s talk of riches was just a dream; her longing for freedom was a dream, too, and a foolish one, as her father had pointed out.
    Madeleine wiped the tears from her cheeks. But a dream could not be wiped away so easily. She stared at the picture on the wall, silk worked on silk showing Christ in the desert being tempted with worldly delights. As she was tempted.
    She ached to experience all the wonders of life, not just to read of them. She longed to travel to the frozen lands of the white bear, and to the burning sands of the Holy Land . She wanted to dance and gallop a horse. She wanted to see if dragons really flew in the skies above Scotland , and what it felt like when a man touched his lips to a woman’s . . .
    As she left the room and made her way to the chapel for the singing of nones, Madeleine clung to the sliver of hope offered by her brother’s careless words. She would put off her vows and hope that perhaps he would ride up to the Abbaye one day, rich and come to set her free.

    Westminster , England
    January 1067

    “ I’m staying in England .”
    Aimery de Gaillard faced his father unflinchingly, but there was tension in every line of his body.
    “You will do as I say,” replied Count Guy flatly, but his jaw ached with the effort of keeping his voice steady. They had been sidling around this confrontation for two months, ever since the battle at Hastings, the one everyone now called Senlac—the Lake of Blood.
    Harold Godwinson and most of his family were dead. The victorious Normans had marched to London against little opposition, and there William had received the acceptance he was demanding at sword point; the Witan had named him king, and on Christmas Day the Archbishop of York had crowned him in Edward’s magnificent abbey.
    Now it was time for many of the Normans to go home.
    William had granted lands and power to those who had fought for him—Guy had received a fine manor called Rolleston and territory near the Welsh border— and a few great lords would stay to be the cornerstones of the new kingdom. Most, however, only wanted to be back in their own lands before some opportunistic raider moved in on property or wife. It was mainly the hungry younger sons and mercenaries who would stay permanently to snarl over the spoils—and pay for them with military service, putting William’s mark on every corner of the land.
    It was no place for Aimery, already racked by honoring his allegiance to William. In a few short months he had toughened and hardened in a way no father ever wants to see. He’d had a wound, of course, and been close to death . . .
    “No.”
    The word dropped like lead into the fraught silence of the small room. It was the first time Aimery had ever used it to his father in such a way.
    Guy’s fist clenched reflexively. It would be so easy, so comforting, to use it, but there was more at stake here than his absolute authority over his son.
    He turned away, ignoring the negative as if it had never been spoken. “Tomorrow we leave for the coast,” he said briskly. “There is work to do in Normandy since William will be much absent. I will need you at Castle Gaillard while I am assisting the duchess with