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  The Black Knight’s Captive

  Anna Markland

  THE BLACK KNIGHT’S CAPTIVE

  by

  Anna Markland

  FitzRam Family Dynasty Book I

  ©Copyright Anna Markland 2012 & 2020

  Cover Art by Dar Albert

  Contents

  Introduction

  More Anna Markland

  A High Honor

  An Illustrious Visitor

  Liege

  Royal Meeting

  So Near Yet So Far

  Betrothal In Utrecht

  Empress

  Blissful Ignorance

  The Plot

  Split-Second Decision

  Black Knight

  Flight

  Welcome Home

  Interview

  Long, Hot Summer

  Assassin

  Andernach

  News At Last

  Conquering Hero

  Arrival

  Ask Her

  Truth Revealed

  Seeking Permission

  Johann

  A Wedding

  A Bedding

  War

  Aftermath

  Wolfenberg

  Epilogue

  Historical Footnotes

  About Anna

  Nothing matters but being with you,

  Like a feather flying high up in the sky on a windy day,

  I get carried away.

  ~George Strait

  For my daughter-in-law, Samantha,

  one of the most creative people I know

  The Black Knight’s Captive by Anna Markland

  Book One, The FitzRam Family Dynasty

  © 2012 &2020 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.

  Introduction

  The Holy Roman Empire was a multi-ethnic complex of territories in Western and Central Europe that developed during the Early Middle Ages and continued until its dissolution in 1806 during the Napoleonic Wars. The largest territory of the empire after 962 was the Kingdom of Germany, though it also included the neighboring Kingdom of Bohemia and Kingdom of Italy, plus numerous other territories, and soon after the Kingdom of Burgundy was added.

  On 25 December 800, Pope Leo III crowned the Frankish king Charlemagne as Emperor, reviving the title in Western Europe more than three centuries after the fall of the ancient Roman Empire in 476.

  More Anna Markland

  The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition (2018-2019)

  I Conquest—Ram & Mabelle, Rhodri & Rhonwen

  II Defiance—Hugh & Devona, Antoine & Sybilla

  III Redemption—Caedmon & Agneta

  IV Vengeance—Ronan & Rhoni

  V Birthright—Adam & Rosamunda, Denis & Paulina

  VI Star-Crossed— Robert & Dorianne, Baudoin & Carys

  VII Allegiance—Rhys & Annalise

  VIII Crescendo—Izzy & Farah

  IX Infidelity—Gallien & Peridotte

  X Jeopardy—Alexandre & Elayne

  XI Forbidden— Bronson & Grace; Rodrick & Swan

  XII Finale—Barr & Hollis

  The FitzRam Family Dynasty

  The Black Knight’s Captive—Dieter & Blythe

  Sweet Taste of Love—Aidan & Nolana

  Wild Viking Princess—Ragna & Reider

  * * *

  The Viking ancestors of my Norman families

  The Rover Bold—Bryk & Cathryn

  The Rover Defiant—Torstein & Sonja

  The Rover Betrayed—Magnus & Judith

  * * *

  Novellas

  Maknab’s Revenge—Ingram & Ruby

  Passion’s Fire—Matthew & Brigandine

  Banished—Sigmar & Audra

  Hungry Like De Wolfe—Blaise & Anne

  Unkissable Knight—Dervenn & Victorine

  The Marauder—Santiago & Valentina

  Knightly Dreams—Peter & Susie

  * * *

  Caledonia Chronicles (Scotland)

  Book I Pride of the Clan—Rheade & Margaret

  Book II Highland Tides—Braden & Charlotte

  Book III Highland Dawn—Keith & Aurora

  Book IV Roses Among the Heather—Blair & Susanna, Craig & Timothea

  * * *

  The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty (medieval Europe)

  Book 1 Loyal Heart—Sophia & Brandt

  Book 2 Courageous Heart—Luther & Francesca

  Book 3 Faithful Heart—Kon & Zara

  * * *

  Myth & Mystery

  The Taking of Ireland —Sibràn & Aislinn

  * * *

  Clash of the Tartans

  Kilty Secrets—Ewan & Shona

  Kilted at the Altar—Darroch & Isabel

  Kilty Pleasures—Broderick & Kyla

  * * *

  The House of Pendray

  Highland Betrayal—Morgan & Hannah (audiobook available)

  Kingslayer’s Daughter—Munro & Sarah

  Highland Jewel—Garnet & Jewel

  Highland Rising—Gray & Faith

  A High Honor

  Shelfhoc Hall,, Salop, England 1110 A.D.

  * * *

  Worry gnawed at Sir Caedmon FitzRam as Shelfhoc came into view on the distant horizon. Coming home always renewed his spirits but, on this occasion, he wasn’t looking forward to telling his wife the trek south to Westminster had been in vain. The return journey to the Welsh Marches was long and exhausting, but at least he didn’t have to brave the rugged terrain of Northumbria where the family’s summer residence was located.

  He thought wistfully of how he and Agneta boasted far and wide when their fifteen-year-old daughter was summoned to King Henry’s court as a lady-in-waiting to Princess Matilda. Now, a year later, the monarch had agreed to betroth his daughter to Heinrich, King of Germany, and Blythe had been commanded to accompany the child bride to Europe.

  He’d cooled his heels at court for days, waiting impatiently for an audience with King Henry. Finally, the mention of his kinship with the powerful Montbryce family had gained him admittance into the royal presence. He’d tried every argument he could think of to extricate his reluctant daughter from the obligation, but the spoiled Matilda was having none of it.

  “I’m afraid, FitzRam, my little girl has dug in her heels,” Henry drawled. “She insists Lady Blythe attend her. You should be delighted. When Heinrich becomes Holy Roman Emperor, my daughter will be his empress. It’s a high honor to be lady-in-waiting to an empress.”

  Blythe didn’t blame him, but her unsuccessful efforts not to cry at their farewell in Westminster constricted his throat. He might never see her again as a result of this dreaded obligation. He had failed his firstborn.

  He dismounted in Shelfhoc’s courtyard and enfolded his wife in his woolen cloak. He had only bitter news, but could at least shield her against the biting wind from the Welsh mo
untains sweeping across the snow-dusted moorland.

  Agneta sagged against him as soon as she saw the set of his jaw. “I suspect your news is not what I hoped to hear.”

  “No,” he conceded.

  “I cannot understand it,” she wailed. “Matilda has selfishly forbidden her ladies-in-waiting to wed. Blythe is sixteen. What are her chances of marrying if the child tires of her in a faraway land? The princess is no doubt taking many ladies, surely she wouldn’t miss our Blythe?”

  Once inside the shelter of the front hallway, Caedmon put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “There is no other recourse. I’m sorry. I did what I could. Matilda has to marry Heinrich and she intends to take Blythe with her. The eight-year-old princess is no doubt fearful of traveling to Germany. She can’t be censured for wanting familiar faces around her in a foreign court.”

  “But Blythe doesn’t even like the child,” Agneta lamented.

  “You and I know that, but I doubt Matilda or her father are aware of it. Henry is bent on building alliances, as evidenced by the betrothal of his ten-year-old son to the daughter of Comte Fulk of Anjou. Think of that. A Norman prince, grandson of the Conqueror, betrothed to an Angevin. William of Normandie must be twisting in his tomb.”

  Agneta wiped her eyes and blew her nose as Caedmon escorted her into their solar. “You of all people should remember old enmities can be put aside,” she said. “Your hatred of Normans almost got you killed.”

  Caedmon chuckled as he handed his cloak over to his trusted steward, Alain Bonhomme. “Ironic, isn’t it? When I discovered I was the illegitimate son of a Norman earl, I despised myself and Ram de Montbryce. Now, here we are, years later, bearing a Norman patronymic and proud of my Montbryce heritage.”

  Agneta beckoned a maidservant hovering in the doorway with tankards and a jug of brown ale. She filled a tankard and gave it to her husband. “Your father was indeed a man to be proud of, Caedmon. I loved him. We wouldn’t have our imposing manor house in Northumbria were it not for his influence. I was nothing to him, yet he saw to it my family home was rebuilt after marauding Scots destroyed it.”

  Unwilling to revisit and beg forgiveness yet again for a deadly raid in which he’d played an unwitting part, Caedmon slumped into an upholstered chair near the hearth and eased off his boots. “My father loved you, Agneta.”

  She stood behind him, leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders, watching him drain his ale. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”

  Smiling, he swiped his sleeve across his mouth and belched. Stretching his legs out to the fire, he leaned his head back against her bosom and pressed his hands atop hers. “It’s good to be home. It was a lonely trek, whereas you have our other children to keep you company.”

  Agneta refilled the tankard. “They don’t warm my bed, husband.”

  “Tonight, we’ll make up for my absence,” he promised, interest already stirring at the base of his spine. “I missed you. By the way, where are our children?”

  “Aidan is particularly upset about his sister’s fate, convinced he’ll never see his twin again. He’s assisting with repairs to a cottage in the village but should be home soon. Edwin is with him.”

  “And where is Ragna?”

  Agneta scoffed. “She’s the only person in the household green with envy. She desperately wants to go in her sister’s stead.”

  “She’s only ten! What makes her think—oh, wait, this is Ragna we’re speaking of.”

  Agneta laughed. “Exactly.”

  Without warning, Ragna burst into the chamber, flowing flaxen hair cloaking her shoulders. “Papa! You’re home. No one told me. I would have greeted you.”

  She threw herself into his arms when Caedmon came to his feet.

  “I’ve missed you, my wild Viking princess,” he replied, hugging her tightly.

  Ragna pouted and wriggled out of his embrace. “You tease me, but would you have me be anything other than myself? Maman is proud I remind her of my Danish grandmother. Papa, why can’t I go in Blythe’s stead if she doesn’t want to go?”

  Caedmon put an arm around his youngest child’s shoulders. “You are too young. It would break your mother’s heart if you went away.”

  Agneta gasped. “Blythe lives in Westminster now, but she was able to come home last Yuletide. We won’t even have that small solace this year.”

  She fled the solar in tears.

  Jaw clenched, Caedmon acknowledged there was nothing he could do or say to console her. “You’re making things worse, Ragna,” he scolded. “Try to be more considerate.”

  His pouting daughter nodded, but he held little hope she would comply.

  * * *

  Blythe had crossed the Narrow Sea to Normandie only once before. Her parents had taken their children to visit the tomb of their grandfather in the crypt of Montbryce Castle. She treasured the memory of a pilgrimage filled with excitement, anticipation and reverence.

  Tending and consoling an eight-year-old princess who was violently seasick held none of the appeal of her first voyage, particularly given her own queasiness as the crowded galley rose and fell on a rough sea. The placid, benign waters of her summertime voyage had turned into the devil’s wintry cauldron. The end of March clearly wasn’t the best time to sail. Preparations for the journey to Europe had dragged on interminably. Blythe had missed her family keenly over Yuletide—her first away from home. The FitzRams were always invited to celebrate the season with Oncle Baudoin’s family in nearby Ellesmere Castle—one of the advantages of spending the winter months at Shelfhoc instead of her father’s other estate in Northumbria.

  The pale, worried faces of the soldiers assigned to guard Matilda and her massive dowry betrayed their fear the vessel and the fortune in silver were doomed.

  Numerous robed clerics among the throng of attendants seemed unable to stop making the sign of their Savior across their bodies and mumbling prayers for safe deliverance.

  Blythe’s mind wandered. She was aboard Charon’s ferry crossing the Acheron. The vast Holy Roman Empire loomed like Hades itself. She didn’t speak German. The rumors she’d heard about King Heinrich’s ruthlessness and the resulting unrest among his subjects didn’t bode well for her mistress or her retinue. Not to mention the intended groom was in his late twenties.

  As the ache in her temples worsened, she winced, wishing she could let down her hair. The crown braids were plaited too tightly. She’d adopted the style, and an accompanying pout, in an effort to dissuade young men at King Henry’s court who deemed ladies-in-waiting fair game. Predatory men no doubt existed in Heinrich’s court. She shuddered at the prospect of having to always wear her hair in the unflattering braids.

  Had she been able to develop a fondness for Matilda, things might have been different, but the girl was arrogant and spoiled. Her ladies were forbidden to marry, a childish whim endorsed by a doting king. Most of her attendants were elderly widows but, for Blythe, the edict was akin to a death sentence.

  She was the daughter of a mother and father who were deeply in love, despite being married for many years. They’d done their utmost to spare her this obligation, hoping, like her, she might one day wed a worthy knight who would love and cherish her. Together they would raise a family.

  There was no prospect of those dreams coming true in the foreign climes where she was headed, even if Matilda did relent.

  “Hardly a high honor,” she muttered, holding her breath as she emptied the princess’s sick bowl once more.

  An Illustrious Visitor

  Wolfenberg, Saxony

  Count Dieter von Wolfenberg hurried into the chilly courtyard of his manor house to welcome Duke Lothair as he dismounted. He bade his illustrious visitor enter. “Let’s get you out of this wind, Euer Gnaden,” he said. “It looks like we’ll have to wait a little longer for spring.”

  His Grace stomped the snow off his boots, handing his fur hat, ermine-trimmed cloak and leather gloves to Dieter’s valet. “Ja,” he agreed, rubbing h
is hands together before accepting a tumbler of mulled wine. He swigged the warming liquid down in one. “Gut,” he exclaimed, his breath lingering in the frigid air of the entryway. “I am always assured of a genuine welcome at Wolfenberg. This isn’t the best time to be traipsing around Saxony, but we must discuss the latest developments.”

  From the outset of their relationship years ago, Dieter had been impressed by Lothair’s down-to-earth attitude and jovial nature. The duke was always willing to listen to the opinions of others and never made those of lower rank feel inferior. Dieter ushered the guest he considered a friend into the library and closed the door. “It’s safe to talk here.”

  The duke surveyed the collection of books and manuscripts. “You’ve added more since my last visit,” he remarked.

  “Ja, I was lucky enough to obtain chronicles by Adam von Bremen and Bruno of Merseburg.”

  “Impressive. Bruno’s accounts of the Saxon wars are essential to understanding the conflict. I take it you’ve heard the news?” the duke asked as he sat heavily in an upholstered chair near the hearty fire and stretched out his legs. Wisps of steam soon rose from his wet boots.