Captives: Kingdoms Rule Hearts

  Captives

  Emily Murdoch

  © Emily Murdoch 2014

  Emily Murdoch has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published by Endeavour Press Ltd. in 2014

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Epilogue

  Historical Note

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Extract from Conquests by Emily Murdoch

  To my husband, Joshua Perkins.

  No one could ever ask for a better man in their life.

  Prologue

  The prisoner had not spoken for weeks.

  None had expected it to last this long. The journey over the wide sea, back to Normandy, had been a troubled crossing. Of the five ships that had left England’s shore, only three had arrived safely, and even those had lost men to fear and sickness. Those that had not died or fled muttered underneath their breath.

  The prisoner had not complained.

  Dressed in clothes that had seen better days, the prisoner had been forced upon a horse, despite its protestations that it was not strong enough to ride. The cloak had become torn and stained over the fortnight-long ride to the castle of Geffrei, and the hood was pulled across the prisoner’s face, obscuring the night. Despite the cold, the prisoner was not offered a warmer cloak, or a kind word.

  The prisoner had barely noticed.

  As the sound of the horses’ hooves slowed, the prisoner looked up. Through bleary eyes, only a vague impression of the place at which the company had arrived could be seen, but it was imposing even in its vagueness. A stone building with several floors, and no light emitting from the few windows to pierce the darkness of the evening. No flags hung from the walls, and the door outside which they stood was bare, save for one small handle.

  The prisoner closed both eyes.

  “You awake?”

  The prisoner was dragged down from the horse, and made to stand, although every bone cried out for rest. The brim of the hood fell down over its eyes. The murmur that the prisoner attempted made no sense.

  “Walk, if you know what’s good for you!”

  There were almost a dozen knights that had ridden with the prisoner, but one was more splendidly dressed than the others. His cloak was lined, offering warmth against the bitter autumnal breeze, and it was only he who had been fed thoroughly during the journey.

  “My lord Geffrei!”

  The man with the lined cloak turned to face one of his men. The others were lowering themselves from their horses, and pulling up their belts over their empty stomachs.

  “Yes?” he replied bluntly.

  “Food is required,” said the man, pointing at the prisoner. “If you do not want it to die.”

  The prisoner fell.

  “Up!” shouted Geffrei, pacing towards the prisoner lying on the ground. “You’ll walk, not crawl, into my home, you dirty animal!”

  A hand reached up, cracked and sore, from the figure lying on the ground, but no hand went down to meet it. Eventually, the prisoner raised itself up from the ground, and hung its head.

  “Now,” breathed Geffrei with malice in every tone, “on you go. You’re the guest of honour.”

  Cruel laughs rang out as the prisoner stumbled forwards against the door, clutching at the handle. It turned. The prisoner leaned, exhausted, against the door.

  The room that the prisoner fell into was the Great Hall. A small brazier glinted at the far side of the room, and a medley of dogs unravelled themselves to meet their guests. Feet sounded around the prisoner as the men strode in, desperate for warmth.

  Geffrei threw himself by the fire into the only chair in the room. He turned his eyes to the prisoner, who had pulled itself up to stare into his face.

  “Well,” he said with a smirk. “Here we are. We have finally arrived. What do you think of your new home?”

  The prisoner stood up, and with a great effort, spat onto the rushes on the floor.

  Geffrei shook his head with a smile on his face. “Now, that’s no way to treat your new home,” he chastised. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  The prisoner pulled back the hood from her face, and shook her long hair and veil out from under the mud-splattered cloak.

  “Where is my daughter Annis?”

  Chapter One

  The room had fallen silent. None had seen such beauty, and yet such pain, across one face. The woman had long hair, but it had long since lost its youthful shine. It was now covered in mud, and a ribbon that could once have been blue was entangled in it.

  The woman ignored their stares, and the muttering that began at the edges of the room. She had eyes only for one man, and he grinned at her.

  “Your pups are none of my concern,” Geffrei said lazily, “but if this Annis did survive, you can be sure that it would not take many moments for her to wish that she had not.”

  The woman said nothing, but sank to her knees. A serving girl entered, bringing hot bread and ale to the men. They fell upon it quickly, desperate for sustenance. None was offered to the woman.

  “You lie,” she said, with a tremor in her voice. “If my girl lives, then she is well. I would know… would I not know?”

  Her belief in her maternal instinct had clearly been shattered. After so many weeks of travelling, it was a surprise to many that she was alive at all.

  “Enough,” Geffrei waved a hand. “I am tired of you. Someone take her to a room far from mine, and leave her there.”

  None of the men moved. Geffrei’s whims altered so frequently that it was often a grave mistake to act upon his first order. Not until he threw something at them did they know that he was serious. This time it was a goblet.

  “If that woman is not taken out of my sight,” he thundered, “you shall all spend the night with the pigs! The pigs, I say!”

  The droplets of wine slowly fell out of the goblet like drops of blood. The woman almost reached her hand out for it. The goblet was but inches away from her, and it would provide her with the only liquid she would have received for days – but too late. Rough hands once more dragged her to her feet.

  Two men pulled her out of the Great Hall into a corridor, lit with flaming torches. The woman could not take in much more of her surroundings. Before she could become aware of how long they had been walking, she was thrown into a room, which was locked behind her.


  The floor smelt terribly. As the woman opened her eyes, they met with a pest, slowly crawling through the rushes. It looked like a maggot. She pushed herself away hurriedly, bringing her knees under herself and clutching at her ankles.

  She was completely alone.

  *

  “Why is she even here?” one of Geffrei’s men called out, as they feasted on their first good meal for days. “Who is she?”

  Geffrei snorted as he reached for another piece of bread. “You did not recognise her?”

  The men shook their heads, except one that was more concerned with fitting more onto his plate than finding out the identity of the woman that they had dragged across Normandy for the past weeks.

  Geffrei smiled. “She is Catheryn, daughter of Theoryn, wife of Selwyn.”

  There were some understanding nods from men who had seen too much of the world, but the man who had previously been so consumed by his meal looked up.

  “Catheryn? Wife of Selwyn? And who is Selwyn to us?”

  Geffrei’s smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Do you know nothing?” he spat. “Did you not even think about the land that we went to take for King William, and for God? Idiot!”

  The man’s face faltered, but he continued. “My apologies, my lord. I merely wish to become better informed.”

  Geffrei’s frown softened, but there was still a harshness across his features. “Peace, Henri,” he said, begrudgingly. “Catheryn’s father was a rich man in England, and Selwyn hailed from a noble line. Their marriage was intended to create a dynasty – a dynasty that could prove very useful to befriend.”

  “Or befoul,” said Henri, slyly.

  Geffrei guffawed. “Well spoken!”

  A small gesture brought the same serving girl to pour more wine into Henri’s goblet. The other men relaxed, and began to murmur amongst themselves. The petty concerns of this woman did not worry them.

  “It is true, I cannot deny it,” Geffrei continued. “Being in control of Catheryn certainly offers her captors a certain amount of power in the new creation of England. Now that her husband is dead, she will control a large area in the South. Her daughter, too, would have been useful – but I have heard Richard of Bleu-Castille has taken her into his keeping.”

  He spat on the floor.

  “And so,” Henri spoke up once more, “you intend… to marry this Catheryn?”

  The men fell silent, and they turned to their lord. A marriage would certainly change things.

  Geffrei looked at his loyal followers. “Do you wish for a mistress?” he asked quizzically.

  None of them knew the answer that Geffrei was looking for, and knew that it would be dangerous to offer a remark that could so easily offend.

  “Hmmm,” Geffrei pondered. “I think not.”

  More than one man breathed a silent sigh of relief.

  “I do not consider her connections important enough. Perhaps if the Conquering of England had not been so absolute, so brutal… if there was a chance that the Anglo-Saxons could rise up, it would have been convenient to create a line with Catheryn.”

  Geffrei picked up a chicken bone from his plate, and considered it.

  “But England is no more,” he said softly. “It has been killed, and its finest feathers have been plucked. Now it will be consumed by William, and his family, and the rest of us can expect no better than the bones that slip from his table.”

  He flung the bone over his shoulder, which was immediately snapped at by one of his hunting dogs.

  “So why is she here?” returned Henri.

  Geffrei shrugged. “She is certainly a great prize. A prize to show the battles that we fought. And we should keep an eye on her; we may see no use in her, but that does not mean that no one else does.”

  Chapter Two

  When Catheryn awoke, it was not because of a gentle breeze, or a caring nudge, but instead because she realised that a grub was trying to burrow its way under one of her fingernails.

  She opened one eye, and carefully pulled it out of the cut that it had already made there. Flinging it across the room, she raised herself up into a sitting position, and thought.

  Annis. Her daughter, still left in their homeland, now defenceless. Catheryn had thought she had undergone the greatest sadness of all: seeing her beloved husband ride out to battle once more, and not seeing him return. When the news of his suspected death had come, she had cried out with a scream that had told the whole household the news. Words had not been needed. She had cursed the wind as it had fallen on her face, because it may not be falling on his. Every piece of food was ashes in her mouth, because it could not guarantee his return to her.

  But before there was time to grieve, to even consider organising a burial for the body that they had not yet found, or to recount his glorious deeds, the men had come. They had taken her away, and she had not seen Annis since.

  Catheryn put her hand to her hair, and absent-mindedly pulled out a few strands. Surely, she thought, she would know. She would know if her own daughter had died. But she had not known when Selwyn had gone, until that messenger brought such dark tidings.

  A scraping coming from the doorway told her that someone was outside. Struggling to her feet, Catheryn rose to meet the intruder.

  But it was only a girl – barely out of childhood. Her long blonde hair fell down to her waist, and she smiled hesitantly at the woman she had been told was their prisoner.

  Catheryn blinked tired eyes. “A… Annis?”

  The girl wavered in and out of focus, and the sunlight glinted on her golden hair.

  Catheryn fainted.

  *

  When she awoke, Catheryn lay where she had fallen. The only difference to the room was the softness beneath her aching head. Moving slightly to the side, she saw that a small rag had been placed underneath her face.

  Catheryn pushed herself up from the floor, and shuddered when her fingers brushed over things that she would rather not think about. Sitting upright, she tried to remember why she had fallen – forgetting that she had not eaten a full meal in days.

  The girl. She had thought that the girl was Annis. Catheryn shook her head, and instantly regretted it as throbbing pain swept across it. Her daughter was much older than the timid servant girl who she had clearly terrified.

  Catheryn leaned against the cold stone wall, and sighed deeply, trying to rebalance herself. There was no point in standing, and it was surely better to save her strength. After all, she had no idea how long she was to be in this place.

  Within moments, Catheryn had fallen asleep, exhausted.

  *

  The small window in the room that Catheryn was forced to live in was high in the wall, but it did give Catheryn the opportunity to gaze at the stars when the clouds were good enough to reveal them to her. It was through the same small window that she watched the moon wax and wane, wax and wane.

  The longer Catheryn spent in the room, the more every crevice became as known to her as the walls of her home in England. It was a square room, about three paces each side, and the rushes on the floor were never changed. The only furniture in the room were a small table, only large enough to fit a small plate on, and a chair that was made of wood, and had no softness lent to it by fabric or fur. It was not a room built for comfort.

  Catheryn’s health struggled on, but she did not lose any of her mental strength. She was determined to return to England, and to find her husband Selwyn and bury him with all honour, and reunite with her daughter Annis. Sometimes she would dream that she was there, and the dream would be so strong that when she awoke and found herself still trapped in the disgusting chamber, hot tears would fall.

  The servant girl, who Catheryn learned was called Lina, would bring an inconsequential meal to her each day, which largely consisted of a stringy broth with some sorts of vegetables in it. On good days, there was bread. Most days, there was not.

  One day, after the moon had changed completely three times, Catheryn managed to coax Lina into
conversation.

  “Thank you,” Catheryn said softly. “For the food.”

  Catheryn’s Norman was not as good as it had once been, but she had always tried to keep the languages that she had learned, and she was pleased to see that Lina had understood her.

  “It is nothing,” Lina whispered, her face turning red.

  “It is good of you to bring it.”

  “No,” Lina shook her head, her feet unconsciously moving her back towards the door. “I am ashamed to bring it. I would not feed it to the pigs.”

  Catheryn smiled bitterly. “And yet I thank you.”

  Lina paused, obviously wrong-footed by the kindness from the woman she had been told was a wild beast, and should be ignored.

  “How long do you think I will be here, Lina?”

  Lina began backing to the door again, keeping her eyes fixed on Catheryn’s feet, seemingly unable to look at the prisoner properly.

  Catheryn realised that she had made a mistake. “I only ask, Lina, so that I can understand why my lord Geffrei keeps me here. I want to go and see my daughter.”

  Lina stopped. Her hand was on the door, but she could not move any further.

  “Tell me… tell me about your daughter.”

  If Catheryn had not heard Lina’s timid tones, she would not have realised she had spoken; her lips had barely moved.

  Catheryn moved from the wall where she was standing, and went to sit in the chair.

  “Her name is Annis,” she said quietly, her voice full of love. “She would be a couple of years older than you, I think.”

  She paused, waiting until Lina said something.

  “I am but twelve summers.”

  Catheryn smiled. “Annis is nearing sixteen. She has beautiful blonde hair, and she loves to cook.”

  Lina’s mouth fell open. “But – but she must be a lady!”

  “She is indeed,” Catheryn laughed, “but that does not mean that she cannot enjoy herself.”

  Lina’s mouth was still open. It was clear that she didn’t consider working in a kitchen to be anything close to enjoyment.