Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “B-But I do not understand,” she whispered, her throat tight. “Y-Y-You are a great and noble knight. I-I am… I am no one. I-I have no great family ties, no prestige to bring you. I-In fact, I cannot even speak without sounding like a dullard, so I do not understand why you would… why anyone would….”

  In that stammered statement, Garret came to understand a great deal. In fact, it was a rather heartbreaking realization. He began to think back through the evening, thinking to the moments when she’d grown moody or quiet, and each time it had been because he had given her a compliment of some kind.

  Did the woman truly believe she was unworthy of them?

  “So you believe no one would want to court you because you are not from a great family?” he asked. “Lady, you sorely underestimate yourself. In the short time I have known you, I have come to see a kind and joyful woman who clearly thirsts for life. I have never seen anyone laugh as openly as you have tonight. As those idiots put that stick on your head, you were thrilled to be part of it. I cannot remember ever having that kind of unbridled joy, not ever. It intrigues me. You intrigue me. I would take you over all of the finely-bred females England had to offer, even if it was only for this night. To me, it would be worth it.”

  Lyssa’s heart went from slowly breaking to taking flight. She’d never heard such sweet or lovely words, now directed at her. Could she even dare to hope? “E-Even with… with the way I speak?”

  His brow furrowed as if he didn’t know what she meant. “You speak like an angel.”

  “B-But I stammer my words!”

  “It is of no consequence to me.”

  Lyssa could hardly believe what she was hearing. She felt like she was living a dream because, surely, only in dreams would a man as powerful and handsome as Garret de Moray say such things.

  This didn’t happen in her world.

  As Lyssa struggled for a reply, Garret reached out and gently took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss, and she nearly collapsed. Lightheaded, Lyssa watched him as he flipped her hand over and kissed her palm. The expression on her face was nothing short of miraculous, but she could only think of one thing to say.

  “A-Are you deaf, then?”

  Garret burst out laughing, low and deep. He kissed her hand again. “I can hear you quite clearly,” he said. “And I can see you quite clearly. You are an exquisite creature and I would be humbled and proud if you will allow me to call upon you. Please do not deny me.”

  She shook her head, a smile on her lips because he was still chuckling. “I-I will not deny you,” she murmured. “I-I can only say that you honor me greatly.”

  Garret was about to reply when a shadow stepped out from behind the livery. In fact, several shadows stepped out and Garret was immediately on his guard, pulling Lyssa against him in his haste to remove her from the shadow that was coming up behind her. Very quickly, he realized that there were also men behind him. He couldn’t tell how many but he realized that this was not a good situation.

  In fact, it was a dangerous one.

  Years as a trained warrior told him that. He didn’t try to back up or move away other than to pull Lyssa against him, protectively, as the men began to come into the light of the livery lamps. Garret could see they were armed. He was, too, but Lyssa was without any weapons or protection, and if this turned into a fight, he was concerned for her. He knew that Zayin was in the livery and, hopefully, could see the situation. He was counting on it because he could see at least six men and possibly more behind him. If he was going to take them all on, then he at least wanted Zayin to protect the lady.

  “How romantic,” the dirty, round man who had come up behind Lyssa spoke, his tone crass and crude. “The lady is, indeed, an exquisite creature, knight. I don’t blame ye for wanting something from her.”

  Garret showed absolutely no fear. He took a step back, in the direction of the livery, but he could hear the sing of weapons as they were pulled forth from their sheaths. Having heard that sound many times in his life, he immediately stopped.

  “I have no quarrel with you at the moment. But if you and your men do not lower your weapons and go about your business, that will quickly change,” he said to the dirty man who had addressed him. “If your men attack, you will be the first one I kill so consider your next move carefully.”

  The dirty man stared at him a moment before breaking out into a grin. “Bold words, m’lord,” he said. “I am not sure if ye have noticed, but ye’re sorely outnumbered.”

  “I do not need increased numbers in order to defeat rabble such as you.”

  The men standing around chuckled, a nasty and guttural sound. The dirty man looked around, smiling at his colleagues, before returning his attention to Garret. “Ye have a grand opinion of yerself,” he said. “But, then again, I’ve never met a knight who didn’t believe he was invincible. Where do ye hail from, sweetheart?”

  More laughing and snorting from the men around them. Garret’s gaze lingered on the dirty man; he could see that his adversary had at least three distinct daggers on his body, probably more he couldn’t see. So, this man was well armed. He dared to take his gaze off of the man and glance to his right and to his left, counting seven men now. He wasn’t fearful for himself, but his concern for the lady grew. He could take on this group without a problem but he would have to get her out of the way first. His mind, sharp and wise, began to work quickly.

  “Where I come from is not your concern,” he replied after a moment. “But since you seem to want something from me, let us get on with it. I will not give it to you, whatever it is, so let us simply move to the next step. If it is a fight you want, then a fight you shall have.”

  The dirty man’s eyebrows rose but the smug grin never left his face. “I don’t want a fight.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  The man laughed. Then, he pointed to Lyssa, pulled up against Garret’s torso. “I just want to smell her hair.”

  His men burst into lewd laughter, filling the damp night air with their particular brand of filth and fear. Garret, his gaze still focused on the dirty man, leaned over and buried his face in the top of Lyssa’s head.

  “When I release you, run into the livery,” he whispered against her skull. “Do not hesitate. Run as fast as you can.”

  Lyssa was cradled into the curve of his big torso, never more terrified in her entire life. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so drunk or so happy. She was frightened as she’d never been frightened before. Men evidently intent on doing them harm had converged on them like vermin, something she’d never before faced. She had no idea what to do or what to say. But before she could respond to Garret in any way, he made a big show of inhaling deeply – and loudly – and pulled his face from her hair.

  “Her scent is only for me,” he told the men. “Now, are there any other demands I will not comply with before we began our deadly dance?”

  The dirty man’s smile began to fade. “Why are ye so eager to battle with me? I have made no demands of ye other than to smell the lady’s hair.”

  “Contrary to what you must think, I am not as stupid as you evidently believe I am. I know what you want and it is not to smell the lady’s hair. If you are going to attack me, then let’s get on with it. I grow weary of this conversation.”

  The dirty man cocked his head as if debating how to handle this very big knight who clearly had no fear of him or of his men. He scratched his filth-covered hair and opened his mouth to speak when, suddenly, an arrow landed right in front of him. As he jumped back, another one hit only a couple of feet away.

  Garret used the opportunity to shove Lyssa back into the livery as Zayin came charging out, tossing another crossbow to Garret, who quickly grasped it, steadied it, and fired at the men who were now fleeing into the darkness from whence they came. He could have easily hit them but that would have left him with injured would-be thieves, and he had no desire to deal with that this night. He simply wanted them to go away. Therefore, the
arrows sailed past the men who were running, lodging in the tavern wall across the street.

  “Are you injured?” Zayin said, running up beside him. He was looking around, making sure there were no more outlaws waiting to jump out at them. “I am sorry it took so long; the trigger on my crossbow jammed.”

  Garret shook his head; his gaze, too, was on the shadows, making sure the outlaws were not about to come running back out at him.

  “You came just in time,” he assured him. “But we must return the lady home, quickly. I do not want to chance that those fools return, and in larger numbers.”

  With that, they both turned for the livery only to see the old livery keep bending over a supine figure on the ground. As Garret and Zayin came into the light of the stable, they were both horrified to see that it was Lyssa on the ground, unconscious. Garret quickly handed his crossbow over to Zayin and knelt at Lyssa’s side.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  The old livery keep was blind in one eye and nearly deaf, but his mind was still sharp. He barely heard Garret’s question although it had been enough that he deduced what had been asked. He pointed to the doorway of the livery, with a big post just inside the door to support the thatched roof.

  “She hit her head, m’lord,” the old man said. “When she fell into the livery, she hit her head on the post. She has not moved since.”

  Garret sighed heavily, carefully rolling Lyssa over onto her back. Gently, he felt her skull, his fingers moving through her careful hairstyle, until he came to a lump on the left side of her head. He lifted both lids, watching her eyes react to the light, before scooping her up from the dirty floor of the livery.

  “I must return her home,” he said, some irony in his voice. “Zayin, get the horses. Quickly, now.”

  Zayin was already moving, pulling the big war horses forward. Garret was able to mount his steed while still holding Lyssa, a rather complex trick. But he settled himself in the saddle, holding Lyssa across his thighs as he spurred his horse out into the night.

  It wasn’t too terribly far to The Wix and he found himself praying that Lyssa would wake up before they got there. He wasn’t exactly sure how he could explain her unconscious state to his brother without looking as if he were lying about the situation. That is exactly what happened, Rickard. I took the lady to a tavern and we were set upon by bandits as we left. The lady hit her head when I tried to protect her….

  He was there and it didn’t even sound like the truth to him.

  His plan to give Lady Lyssa a lovely evening seemed to have ended on a low note.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Wix

  The Next Day

  His head was killing him.

  That wasn’t unusual, for he liked his wine and often drank himself into a stupor. But last evening at the grand party given by Prince John in honor of his wife’s birthday, there had been several different kinds of liquor and he’d delighted in trying all of them. Wine from Spain, Italy, and even Constantinople had different flavors and textures, and he’d drank so much that he didn’t remember much of the previous evening. He remembered arriving at Westminster, and speaking with some of the prince’s men, and finally the prince himself, but after that… nothing.

  Jago de Nantes, Duke of Colchester, had awoken in his bed this morning with a splitting headache. His wife wasn’t in bed next to him but a serving wench was, the pale and skinny girl that helped out in the kitchens. She was a mute and she had a tight little body, something he found immensely pleasing. She was a woman he took to his bed more often than his wife because she had no interest in the amount of sex he wanted. She really had no interest in sex, period, and she truthfully didn’t care if her husband took a servant to his bed. As long as she didn’t have to perform her wifely duties, she would leave her husband to his servant wenches and not raise a fuss. Her mother had done the same thing, so it was the silent suffering of her female line to endure the appetites of their husbands.

  The daughter of Odo FitzHerbert, descendant of Eudo FitzHerbert, the first Lord High Steward of Colchester Castle, Grace FitzHerbert de Nantes had been part of an arranged marriage as befitting the cousin of the king. But the woman was frigid, and ugly, and hated the fact that she’d been forced to marry at all. Therefore, Jago wasn’t surprised when he woke up to the mute serving wench curled up next to him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d awoken to Grace in his bed.

  In spite of his aching head, he thought he might have his way with the serving wench again, in fact, but his brain was pounding so terribly that he kicked her out of bed and demanded she bring him cold compresses. That had been an hour ago and only now was he starting to feel marginally better.

  But his head still felt like it was about to explode.

  High in his bower on the top floor of The Wix, a four-storied behemoth of a townhome that had been given to him by his cousin, King Richard, he could hear the sounds from the bailey below but also the sounds of the city from beyond the walls of the complex. The townhome sat next to the river, so the humidity was sticky and everything felt moist and clammy, and a major avenue ran out front, the road that led from Westminster into London. There always seemed to be a dull rumble of activity coming from the road because it was so heavily traveled and because of that, a fine coating of dust covered everything. Mixed with the moisture from the river, it made for warped wood and a constant musty smell. Jago hated it, but The Wix was an imposing home and his arrogance demanded such a thing, whether or not he was pleased with it.

  It was also a prime location close to Westminster, and that was important to him as well. He wanted to be in the middle of things. As Jago lay there, listening to the sounds of the city, his thoughts returned to the night before in a desperate attempt to remember it. His arrival had been announced and he’d entered the great hall like a conquering king. He still remembered the looks of admiration from those in attendance. And he surely carried the most impressive entourage of anyone there; he had several powerful knights, a wife who was of high social standing and, perhaps, the finest group of ladies accompanying her. Lady Rose de Barenton was well known and respected in social circles, and the other ladies carried names like de Nerra, de Moray, and de Leybourne. They were all from the finest families in England and if they weren’t, then they had beauty to make up for the lack of a fine family.

  Specifically, he was thinking of one lady in particular.

  Lyssa du Bose. Jago had never seen a finer beauty. With hair and eyes the color of bronze, she was a stunning example of womanhood. Oh, he knew his wife had kept her clothed in shapeless clothing so the girl would not attract his eye and he also knew that his wife kept the girl from his sight. Grace had no problem with her husband taking servants to his bed, but her ladies were another matter. It wasn’t that she felt protective over them. It was more that she felt threatened by them. Servants were no competition, but a noblewoman capturing her husband’s attention was a threat to her pride. Therefore, Grace kept Lady Lyssa away from her husband as much as she could.

  It had worked for the most part. He’d only seen enough of the girl to titillate his interest. But last night, Jago had finally seen the full blooming beauty of Lyssa du Bose. In a dress borrowed from one of the other women, she had been positively stunning, so much so that Hawisa, the prince’s wife, had noticed. She had asked to meet the girl. But Lyssa had suddenly taken ill, according to Lady Rose, and that was the last any of them saw of her. A pity, too. Jago had hoped to at least talk to her. To get to know her.

  To have her be the one he woke up to this morning.

  With thoughts of Lyssa du Bose on his mind, he smiled to himself as he lay in bed with a cold rag upon his head. Perhaps he was tired of trifling with mute servant girls. Perhaps it was time to finally have a mistress as befitting his station, the most beautiful woman in all of London, if not all of England. He already had the ugliest wife, high-born though she may be, so to have a beautiful mistress… he was worthy of such a thing.


  Perhaps it was time.

  But further thoughts of Lady Lyssa were cleaved when the door to his chamber opened and his wife appeared. Small, dark, and pale, Grace was dressed in black broadcloth, with her hair pulled back into a tight braid on the back of her head. It made her ears stick out and Jago cast her a glance before turning his attention to the open window and the sounds beyond. He was angry that she had interrupted his thoughts of Lady Lyssa.

  “What do you want?” he asked, sounding displeased.

  Grace had more cold compresses in a bowl in her hands. “I have brought you more cool cloths for your aching head, my husband,” she said. “How do you feel?”

  He eyed her as she took the compress from his head. “Terrible,” he said sarcastically. “Worse now that you are here. Set those compresses down and be gone with you.”

  Grace put the bowl with the compresses on the table next to the bed but she ignored his command to leave. She began wringing them out in the cool water. Her husband was in a foul mood, which wasn’t unusual with him. He was normally in a foul mood where she was concerned. She had spent their entire marriage dealing with his moods because she had no other choice; they were married and there was no way out for either of them. He’d married her for prestige and she’d married him because she’d been forced to.

  The hope for civility between them had died a long time ago.

  “I have been asked to thank you by those who attended the party last night,” she said politely, handing him a cold compress. “Everyone had a wonderful time and they are very grateful for your generosity.”

  Jago slapped the compress onto his forehead. “They ate and drank enough,” he said, disgusted. “I hope they do not think that I am going to feed them like that nightly.”

  “They do not.”

  “And the de Nerra girl drank more wine than I did.”

  “She does not feel very well this morning, I assure you.”

  “And the new girl – du Bose – is she really sick? Hawisa asked for her, you know. I had to make excuses about her being ill. It was most embarrassing.”