A Love Unveiled

Chapter One

All Rights Reserved © 2012 Emmy Alexander

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the writer.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE*** This story is in dire need of editing. If you can overlook the errors (until editing) then happy reading.:)

England, 1066, Senlac Hill

The massive black beast beneath him snickered uneasily, shaking its sleek head as the stallion paced sideways, its large hooves treading the muggy earth.

Fallon Macaulay tightened his hold around the reins to steady Thor, cursing the animal for his uncanny sensibilities to impending danger.

Beneath his steel helmet, he cast a fleeting glance to the lingering gray sky, noting a thickness of clouds brimming with what appeared to soon be a downfall of heavy rain accompanied with brisk winds.

He smirked inwardly for the shaded weather was as disagreeable as the current King sitting on the English throne.

Allegedly the crown had been promised to William by his cousin and former King, Edward the Confessor, but upon his deathbed, believed in a form of desperation after having produced no children during his lifetime, Edward had announced Harold Godwinson, brother to Queen Edith, as heir to the throne.

When informed of Harold's coronation, William became furious for an oath between the two had been violated. Harold had once pledged his allegiance to William after being rescued by the Duke when shipwrecked but the day after Edward's death, the crown was claimed by Godwinson and their treaty was broken. William was not to become successor to the English crown.

Fallon slid a glance sideways, studying the man intently to his left. He and a thousand others, equipped in battle armor waited atop a steep slope for one purpose alone; to ensure that William the Duke of Normandy, rightful heir to the English throne, seized his legitimate crown from Godwinson.

William's fierce expression revealed naught but instead implanted a deep crease across his forehead, his brooding countenance as stoic as granite, and a sharp gleam flared with intensity as his dark eyes swept along his army.

The time was nearly at hand. Fallon felt that familiar rush of adrenaline; anticipating a drawn out battle that would undoubtedly leave a monumental spread of fallen men and a certain effect on the English throne.

Harold and his army traveled from York as William had stationed his men in East Sussex, waiting patiently for the enemy.

The chain of warriors arranged on either side of him suddenly tensed in readiness and an abrupt hushed silence fell among them as the hum of a thousand men broadened the rolling hills. As if on queue, Harold appeared, marching his soldiers forward and positioning them atop the hill. Harold Godwinson, a burly man of size with long shaggy hair and an equally thick beard, aligned his men of household troops on either side of him, placing supporting troops at the rear.

William had chosen a different tactic by taking the rear himself with his armored cavalry on each side of him, the infantry placed within the center and a number of archers planted directly front line.

Fallon's eyes swept the crowd of men around him, all painstakingly familiar, much alike kin but there was one face in particular he sought and failed to find.