Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I am not entirely sure it is safe to leave those three alone,” she said. “They seem to be having much fun and I am afraid they might disturb something in this lovely room.”

  Honey smiled as she watched her granddaughters play with the dog. All she could see were little legs sticking out from underneath her bed.

  “I fear they are quite fond of your puppy already,” she said. “Both of them like animals very much.”

  Jeniver glanced at the woman. “Do they have pets?”

  Honey shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “Of course, there are cats in the barn and dogs roam about the hall and bailey, but they do not have a particular pet to love.”

  Jeniver looked back to the girls, who were now completely under the bed and laughing loudly. “I see,” she murmured. “I am sure my dog is very happy for the company, then. It has been a long trip.”

  Honey smiled politely. “May I ask where you were traveling to?”

  Jeniver’s expression softened, saddened. “We were going home,” she said, her thoughts now returned to the unknown fate of her father. “We were returning home from Paris. My father took me there to celebrate my day of birth. The puppy is a gift from him, in fact.”

  Honey could see the sorrow in her face. Not knowing the details of the lady’s circumstances, she didn’t want to press. It was evident that something very bad had happened. Reaching out, she grasped Jeniver gently by the wrist.

  “Come along, young woman,” she said softly. “Let us get you comfortable. We will be able to hear the children should they require our assistance.”

  With a lingering eye on the children squirming underneath the bed, Jeniver allowed the older woman to lead her into a small chamber off the main room. This was a dressing chamber and was, in fact, shockingly luxurious, just like the attached chamber was. There were furs on the floor, not rushes, and rugs that were made from woven pieces of cloth. No part of the floor was uncovered, providing some protection against the wood for bare feet.

  The room contained clothing hung on pegs, a good deal of it in fact, along with a big, iron tub and, marvel of marvels, a chair with a hole cut in the center of it and a bucket beneath. As Honey had the servants fill up the tub with buckets of hot water, Jeniver was marveling at the privy inside the room. It was sectioned off by a painted, wooden screen and next to the chair was another bucket with a big, flat spoon in it, buried in flakey lye that was used to mask the odor of any contents of the waste bucket.

  In all, it was quite astonishing. Jeniver had never seen such a luxurious room, inside a military fortress of all things. The Earl of Coventry undoubtedly had a good deal of wealth and his family was kept most comfortably. As she turned towards the iron tub, now half-full with steaming water, the puppy bolted into the room, followed by the squealing girls.

  The puppy, tongue hanging out, was barking and growling playfully as it came to a dead-end in the room and turned around, now chasing the girls. The girls screamed as the little dog ran at them, clumsily, and Honey was trying to shoo them all back into the other chamber. Once they had funneled back into the lavish bower beyond, Honey turned to Jeniver rather apologetically.

  “Forgive the intrusion, my lady,” she said. “Shall I help you disrobe for your bath?”

  Jeniver didn’t want to be rude, but she truly didn’t feel like bathing. Her only concern was her father and it was difficult to focus on anything else. She had come with Lady Honey, thinking the woman was taking her to rest or perhaps eat, but it seemed as if Lady Honey had much more in mind. She had an entire toilette and bath planned, and Jeniver simply couldn’t think on enjoying herself, or even relaxing, while her father’s fate was unknown. Torn, she began to wring her hands.

  “Please, my lady, I do not mean to be unappreciative,” she said, “but I do not wish to bathe at the moment. I am very worried about my father and until he is found safely, I am afraid I cannot think on anything else, not even your kind hospitality. Would it be possible to wait for the men to return down in the ward?”

  Honey smiled faintly. “It would be better to wait downstairs where it is warm and sheltered,” she said. “Will you at least take some nourishment while you wait?”

  Jeniver wasn’t sure she could eat anything at all but she didn’t want to be completely rude. “Aye, my lady.”

  Honey’s smile broadened, pleased that she could provide the anxious, young woman at least some measure of comfort. “Then let us retreat downstairs to await your father’s arrival.”

  Jeniver visibly relaxed. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “As I said, I do not mean to be rude, but I am greatly concerned over my father’s welfare and the welfare of our men. You are kind to want to tend me but, at the moment, I am too distracted with the unknown.”

  Honey reached out and took her by the elbow, escorting her back into the lavish chamber where the little girls and the dog were back under the big bed.

  “You are not being rude in the least,” she assured her. “I understand that you are concerned for your father. We shall wait for him and when he arrives, I will be happy to provide warmth and shelter for the both of you for as long as you require it.”

  Jeniver was eager to return to the keep entry, as if somehow returning there would bring her closer to discovering her father’s fate. The earl had promised to return him and she would hold the man to his word. She had to, she couldn’t stomach the alternative. Edgy, she dropped to her knees beside the big bed and pulled the puppy out from underneath. Like a moth to flame, the little girls followed her, with the puppy in her arms, as she trailed after Honey back down the big staircase to the first floor.

  The small dining hall where the girls and Honey had been sitting to enjoy their morning meal was still just as they had left it. Bowls of porridge were on the table, cooling, as Honey encouraged the children to sit and finish their meal, but the little girls were still very much distracted by the puppy. When Jeniver sat, uneasily, the children were nearly on top of her, trying to pet the puppy. Seeing that their guest wasn’t quite comfortable enough to be sociable, Honey clapped her hands sharply.

  “Violet,” she said, softly but sternly, “sit down. Lily, you will sit, too. Finish your meal, ladies. Your father will return shortly and we must be prepared to greet the day.”

  Unhappily, the little girls moved away from the puppy and reclaimed their seats, spooning cooled porridge into their mouths as they gazed longingly at the puppy. Jeniver was relieved that Lady Honey had called the girls off but when she caught a glimpse of their sad expressions, she tried not to feel guilty about it.

  So she sat in silence, waiting with increasing apprehension for her father to be returned to her. Lady Honey and the girls resumed their meal silently with Lady Honey only speaking to ask Jeniver if she was hungry. Knowing she should accept something, as not to hurt the woman’s feelings, Jeniver agreed and Lady Honey immediately had servants in motion, bringing forth bowls of porridge with honey, fresh bread and butter, watered wine, bread soaked in sweet wine, and stewed apples with honey and cinnamon.

  It was quite a spread and one that made Jeniver rather nauseous as she looked at it. So much food and her stomach was in knots. But she accepted some watered wine, hot and spicy, and a slab of bread with butter. The puppy was hungry, however, licking at the butter on the bread, so she gave the dog the crust, which he happily chewed.

  Honey, seeing that the dog was eating most of Jeniver’s bread, had a servant bring forth some cold beef for the dog. As the puppy happily devoured the meat, Honey thought to engage her uncomfortable guest in conversation, if only to take her mind off the situation. She could read the woman’s angst in her features, her movements. Everything hinged on the safe return of her father.

  “What a wonderful time you must have had on your journey, my lady,” Honey said, simply to establish a dialogue. “What did you like best about it?”

  Jeniver appeared rather startled by the question, distracted as she was. But she forced herself to focus on a
polite reply.

  “Paris was quite entertaining,” she replied, somewhat hesitantly. “We visited a hall that provided entertainment by acting out different events throughout the course of history. We saw the entertainment three nights in a row. The first night, it was the resurrection of Christ. The second night, it was St. Columba, the Apostle of the Picts, and how he conquered the Irish. The third night, we saw the glorious battle at Hastings.”

  Honey could see that the young woman was struggling to carry on a conversation and not appear too preoccupied.

  “How delightful that must have been for you,” she said. “My father took me to Paris once, also. It was just the two of us at first, as my mother encouraged him to make it a special trip between us, but my Uncle David joined us once we arrived in Paris and brought his daughter and my cousin, Michaela, with him. We had a glorious time, especially when my Uncle David became drunk one night in a tavern near the Seine and then he was determined to fight every Frenchman in the inn. When my father tried to stop him, my uncle punched him right in the nose. It was a terrible sight until my angry father wrapped Uncle David up in a coverlet he confiscated from one of the sleeping rooms, tied the man up in it, and left him lying on the floor of the tavern to sleep it off. I have never seen my uncle so angry as he tried to free himself from the trussed-up coverlet.”

  Honey was giggling, which made Jeniver break into a smile. “Did he manage to free himself?”

  Honey shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “He eventually exhausted himself and passed out on the floor. We found him there the next morning, still tied up, sleeping peacefully.”

  She snorted at the humorous memory and she had also succeeded in distracting Jeniver from her anxiety somewhat. It was a very funny story the way Honey told it.

  “Did you come from a large family, my lady?” Jeniver asked.

  Honey nodded. “Very large,” she replied. “My father was Christopher de Lohr, Earl of Hereford and Worcester. There are quite a few de Lohrs in England.”

  Jeniver cocked her head thoughtfully. “De Lohr,” she repeated. “I have heard that name.”

  Honey nodded. “You should have,” she said. “My father was a well-known man in Wales as well as in England.”

  “And he has passed away?”

  Again, Honey nodded. “He did, about eleven years ago,” she replied. “My mother is still alive, however. She lives at Lioncross Abbey, which is on the Marches. That is where I was born.”

  Jeniver thought on the castle, and the family, that she had heard tale of. The House of de Lohr was a well-known one in England and she was rather impressed by the woman’s lineage.

  “But now you are here, in England,” she said. “Have you been here a long time?”

  Honey nodded. “Since I married my husband,” she replied. “Antoninus de Shera hailed from Cheshire, son of a very ancient family rumored to have descended from a lost Roman legion. The entire male line of the family had Roman names, as do my own sons. Fascinating, is it not?”

  By now, Jeniver was interested in their conversation and the fear she was feeling for her father had been somewhat eased. “Your husband was the Earl of Coventry?” she asked.

  Honey shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “The Earl of Coventry was a title held by my older brother, Henry, a title granted to him when he married a woman of royal blood. Henry was a very good knight, you see, and served King Henry well on several occasions. But Henry died unexpectedly, with no heirs, so instead of the title reverting to the crown, it was passed to me and, through me, to my eldest son, Gallus.”

  Jeniver was growing increasingly interested in the history of the House of de Shera. “I understand the little girls belong to the earl,” she said, “but does he have sons?”

  Honey shook her head. “Sadly, he does not,” she replied. “Unfortunately, his wife died last year from a fall from her horse. They only had the two daughters.”

  Now, Jeniver was starting to understand something about the great Earl of Coventry. Where she had once been unsure of the man and his motives, now she was starting to understand a bit of the man’s history. Honey seemed quite pleasant and coming to understand that the earl was a widower, she was starting to feel some pity for the man. He was human, after all. What a difficult thing it must have been to be a man raising two small girls without the benefit of their mother. However, given her own circumstances, Jeniver understood the situation well.

  “I am sorry for him, then,” she said quietly. “I lost my mother at a very young age as well. I am an only child so I understand what it is like for a father to raise a girl-child alone.”

  Honey smiled sadly. “Your father seems to have done a remarkable job,” she said. “You are an articulate and polite young woman.”

  That brought a smile to Jeniver’s lips. “You are kind to say so, my lady,” she replied. “And I thank you and your son very much for your hospitality and graciousness. I am sorry not to have said so before now.”

  Honey waved her off. “You have shown me your gratitude since the moment you entered Isenhall,” she said. “You did not need to say so as well.”

  Jeniver bobbed her head cordially, feeling comfortable enough with Lady Honey that she actually began to eat some of the food that had been brought to her. The puppy, having eaten all of his cold beef, was sleeping in her arms and becoming heavy. Jeniver shifted the dog so he wasn’t so much dead weight in her arms as she spooned some of the stewed apples into her mouth.

  As she was sipping her warmed wine, the earl’s daughters slithered off their chairs and came to her, petting the sleeping dog. Jeniver smiled at the girls, who were really being quite gentle now that the puppy was sleeping, but as a calming air settled about them, the door to the keep suddenly flew open and chaos was introduced into their midst.

  Terror had arrived.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Honey!” Gallus roared. “I need you!”

  Startled, both Honey and Jeniver shot to their feet and ran for the entry. As they emerged into the open entry foyer, they could immediately see bloodied men being carried by Gallus and his men, being laid upon the cold, stone floor of the entryway. In fact, Gallus and Maximus had a man between them, battered and bloodied, that Jeniver immediately recognized.

  It was Gaerwen.

  Jeniver shrieked at the sight of her father covered in blood and dirt. Still clutching the dog, she ran to her father, tears already spilling from her eyes as she reached out the arm that wasn’t holding the dog and grasped at her father’s barely-conscious face.

  “Tada,” she wept. “Beth ddigwyddodd?” Father, what happened?

  Gallus was in the process of lowering the injured man to the floor as Jeniver and Honey hovered over them.

  “As far as I can tell, he has taken two sword thrusts to the belly,” he said grimly. “I found him half-buried in mud on the road. It looks as if the wagon ran over him as well.”

  Jeniver was beside herself. With the dog clutched in one arm, she grasped her father’s hand, covered in mud and debris, and held it to her breast.

  “Tada,” she sobbed quietly, squeezing his hand. “Please, open your eyes and look at me. Tada? Can you hear me?”

  Honey slipped in on the other side of the supine man, looking at his injuries as Gallus pulled back the man’s soiled and wet clothing. When his torso was finally revealed, Jeniver struggled not to vomit. The sword wounds were not clean, making the entire area look like raw meat, and it was clear that he had several broken ribs. As Honey and Gallus struggled to assess the damage, all Jeniver could feel was grief. Her father’s wounds were great and she knew he was dead already. Somehow, she just knew. She lifted his limp hand to her cheek, kissing it, getting dirt on both her cheek and her lips.

  “Tada,” she whispered, tears dripping off her chin. “I am so sorry this happened. But the earl’s mother will heal you. She comes from a great and powerful family and I am sure she learned her healing skills from finished physics. Tada? Can you hear me?”


  Gaerwen remained silent, his eyes half-open, but he suddenly coughed and bright red blood spewed out and onto Gallus’ left arm. The man was struggling to breathe and he became more lucid, gripping his daughter’s hand when he looked up and realized she was next to him. His brown eyes appeared strangely intense upon his pale and bloodied face.

  “Jeni,” he murmured thickly. “I will not make it home, annwyl.”

  Beloved. He had always called her that. Jeniver’s face crumpled. “Do not say such things, Tada,” she whispered tightly. “Lady Honey will heal your wounds.”

  Gaerwen tried to shake his head, squeezing his daughter’s hand with an urgent edge. “Nay,” he said, coughing again and sputtering blood. “I will not long survive and there are things I must say to you.”

  Jeniver didn’t want to listen. God help her, she didn’t want to listen, but she was compelled to. The pain in her heart was already tearing her apart.

  “Please, Tada, nay,” she wept softly. “Do not say this is the end. It is not the end. If you leave me I will have no one left.”

  Gaerwen, weakened with blood loss, pulled her hand to his face, rubbing it clumsily against his stubbled cheek. It was a tender gesture, a sorrowful one, the significance of which was not lost on those observing the scene. Honey suspected the man was beyond help but she was trying anyway, sending the servants running for medicaments and bandages as Gallus held linen rags over the gaping wounds, trying to staunch the blood flow.

  Gallus was focused on his task, on making sure the other wounded ap Gaerwen men were tended, and he was trying not to look at his mother. They both knew that the man before them, the hereditary King of Anglesey, was a dead man no matter what they did to help him. But for his daughter’s sake, they could not, and would not, stop.

  “I will not leave you, not ever,” Gaerwen confided, a faint smile on his bloodied lips as he gazed up at his only child. “I will be the sunbeam upon your face or the kiss of the morning dew. How can I ever leave you, Jeni? It has only been you and me, all of these years.”