“We were dancing,” he muttered sarcastically as he headed towards the open portcullis, “but she likes tae lead. I willna dance with a woman who leads.”
It made no sense to Tobias, who looked at Havilland curiously. Havilland, however, was looking at the massive Scotsman as he slogged through the mud towards the gatehouse of Four Crosses. There was malice in her expression but there was also something more, something that might have been interest but she kept it well guarded. Her gaze lingered on the redheaded warrior.
“Who is that man?” she asked. “And why do you have Scotsmen serving in your ranks?”
Tobias turned to glance at the hulking figure of Jamison as the man began shouting orders to his men. “They call him The Red Lion,” he said, a hint of awe in his tone. “Have you never heard of the man before?”
“I have not. Should I?”
Tobias shrugged. “His name is Jamison Munro, son of the chief of Clan Munro,” he said. “He is a great warrior, fostered and trained with the House of de Lohr. In fact, he is part of a group of Scots that fostered at Lioncross several years ago, placed there by King Henry. Sons of clan chiefs, they were, and they called themselves the Lions of the Highlands. Jamison was their leader. I remember looking up to them, so very much. They are men I both admired and feared in my youth.”
Havilland’s gaze moved from the big Scotsman near the gatehouse back to Tobias. “Scots fostered at Lioncross?” she repeated. “I had not heard this. They did not stay there, did they?”
Tobias shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “When they came of age, they went their separate ways. Jamison was a squire to my Uncle Arthur and when Arthur went to fight in France, Jamison went with him. I think he spent more time there than in England. And the others – there were three more – returned to Scotland, although I have seen them at Lioncross from time to time. My father still considers them his vassals. They were a fearsome pride, the four of them. They scared us young squires and pages to death. Munro, Sutherland, Ross, and Mackay… funny, I’ve not thought of the Lions of the Highlands in many years.”
Havilland’s gaze moved from Tobias back to the big Scotsman, now waving an impatient hand at men who weren’t moving fast enough. “Were they brutes, then?”
“Nay, simply intimidating young knights.”
Havilland cocked her head. “Munro,” she muttered thoughtfully. “A chief’s son, you said?”
Tobias shook his head. “Indeed,” he said. Then, he eyed her curiously. “Clan Munro breeds fearsome warriors, you know. Why was he chasing you? Did you make him angry?”
Havilland turned to look at the young de Lohr brother. She had known him for a few years but she didn’t know him well. He had come to Four Crosses on occasion, on business for his father, as had the other de Lohr sons from time to time. A few times, they had even sent de Lohr knights, who were not a part of their family, to conduct business but she had never seen the big Scotsman. She would have remembered. Although she counted herself fortunate in that she’d never encountered him before, in the same breath, she wasn’t hard-pressed to admit that the man was rather handsome. His red hair and pale skin was rather beautiful. But it was a thought she hated herself for; any man who would threaten and then spank her was no one she should be wasting her thoughts on.
“How many men are you sending into my bailey?” she asked, changing the subject. “We cannot feed more than a few hundred should we get boxed in.”
Tobias shook his head, not unaware that she had shifted the focus. “Jamison has about four or five hundred under his command,” he said, glancing over his shoulder towards the south. “The Welsh are moving in with ladders from the south. If they are able to mount the walls, you will be happy to have those men inside and you will be happy to have Jamison in command of them. Where are your sisters, by the way?”
Havilland was already moving back towards the gatehouse. “On the wall,” she said, turning to Tobias even as she walked. “Madeline and Amaline have command of the gatehouse and the wall. I have command of the bailey.”
Tobias simply shook his head. “I will never understand why your father allows you three women to fight with his men,” he said. “He has enough competent men in his army. Where is Roald, by the way?”
Havilland gestured towards the castle. “Inside,” she said. “Although he is quite ill. He does not see visitors these days.”
“He has been very ill as of late.”
“I know.”
Tobias didn’t push the subject of Roald, which had become a rather odd subject recently, as if the sisters did not wish to discuss him. They would mention he was ill and quickly change the subject, just as Havilland was doing. But that was something for Tobias’ father to deal with, not him. He was focused on other things in his life, in particular, the eldest de Llion sister. He thought she was rather special, which brought him back to the subject of her taking up arms.
“Then you will give your father my best wishes for his health,” he said, “and tell him that my father thinks it is a travesty that he allows you and your sisters to fight.”
Havilland grinned, a very lovely grin on her grimy face. “What does your mother say to that?”
“She smacks him every time he says it.”
Havilland burst out laughing before racing back to the gatehouse, unwilling to discuss her father any further. She didn’t want the conversation to turn into something she couldn’t control. She made it inside just as the de Llion men began to close the fanged iron grates, disappearing into the darkness beyond.
As Tobias headed back to the remaining de Lohr men still maintaining a perimeter around the walls of Four Crosses, his thoughts lingered on the three beautiful de Llion sisters who fought as men because their father had never had any sons.
A travesty, Chris de Lohr had said repeatedly. A travesty because those three lovely young women would make my sons excellent wives, but no man wants a wife who can best him in a fight.
Frankly, Tobias didn’t care if Havilland could best him or not.
He’d take her, anyway.
CHAPTER THREE
*
“A ghost of a
once-great man….”
*
“Who was he?” a dark-haired young woman with her hair tied in a knot atop her head demanded. “I saw him strike you! Who is he, I say?”
Havilland had just entered the great hall of Four Crosses, followed closely by two young women who had latched on to her the moment she had entered the bailey. She was frustrated, embarrassed, and the least bit frightened by the news that the Welsh were coming with ladders.
But it was more than that. There were many emotions she was feeling at the moment. She’d come into the great hall, with its smells of dogs and smoke and dirty bodies, with the intention of collecting her thoughts and summoning her father’s commanders. They needed to know what was happening. It just so happened that two of those commanders were her own sisters so she grabbed a cup half-filled with old ale, sitting out on the cluttered table, and downed it in one swallow before facing the young women.
“He is a de Lohr knight,” she said, trying to brush off the embarrassing subject of having been spanked in public. “The Welsh are approaching with ladders with the intention of mounting the walls. De Lohr wants to put some of his men inside the bailey to help fend them off.”
The young women hovered around her, listening intently. “A de Lohr knight?” the one with the knot on top of her head spit in outrage. “But… but I do not understand! Why did he strike you?”
Havilland cocked a dark eyebrow, displeased that her sister wasn’t changing the subject. “Did you hear me?” she said. “The Welsh are approaching with ladders. We must summon our commanders and inform them.”
The woman with the dark top knot nodded impatiently. “I heard you,” she said. “But why did the de Lohr knight strike you, Havi?”
Havilland was quickly coming to realize that she couldn’t avoid the subject, much as she wanted to. Madeline,
her middle sister, and Amaline, the redheaded youngest, would push until they had answers. It was simply their nature. Therefore, the best she could do was downplay what had happened so she didn’t look completely foolish to her sisters. Her pride, a formidable thing, was difficult to get past.
“Did you not see the fight in the gatehouse?” she finally asked. “The arrogant swine… I intended to teach him a lesson.”
Both Madeline and Amaline looked at each other in confusion. “Nay,” Madeline, the sister with the dark hair, responded. “I only saw it when he knocked your sword away. Then he grabbed you and beat you.”
“You should have called for our help, Havi,” Amaline insisted. “We could have helped you best the man.”
Havilland shook her head. “I am not so sure about that man,” she said. “Any other man, I would agree, but that one… he is a Highlander. Tobias de Lohr told me that they call him The Red Lion. He is a leader of a pack of Highlanders, sons of clan chiefs, who call themselves the Lions of the Highlands. I can tell you that he is not like the men around here. He is stronger than an ox and more cunning than a fox. I doubt any of our men could have bested him so I suppose there is no shame that he disarmed me.”
Madeline and Amaline were looking at their sister in shock and outrage. “And de Lohr let him do this to you?” Madeline demanded. “He let one of his knights beat you?”
Now Havilland was growing uncomfortable, fearful that her sisters would not think so well of her now that she had been bested in a fight. In truth, that had never happened, not ever. Havilland was skilled and fast with a sword, so much so that no man in her father’s army had ever beaten her. Of course, deep down, Havilland knew that some of them could have bested her but chose not to because she was Roald’s daughter, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she had beat them for all to see. But now… now her record was in danger of being tarnished by the damnable de Lohr knight.
“De Lohr didn’t ‘let’ the knight beat me,” she said irritably. “I tripped. He disarmed me. It was only through pure luck on his part that he was able to best me. So let us not speak any more of it. I do not wish to discuss it. What we must discuss is the incoming Welsh; that is the most important thing right now. Agreed?”
Madeline was reluctant. “If that is your wish,” she said, although she didn’t mean it. With a heavy sigh, she shifted her slender body on her leather-clad feet. “Now what? Do you wish for us to summon Papa’s commanders?”
Havilland nodded. “Send the servants for them,” she said. “I have much to discuss with the two of you before the men arrive.”
Amaline glanced over her shoulder, off in the direction of Four Crosses’ massive keep. “Should… should I tell Papa what is happening?”
Havilland shook her head. “Why?” she asked, a hint of irony in her tone. “He would not remember, anyway. We would be fortunate if he even knew who you were, Ammie. He does not know any of us these days. He probably does not even realize the castle is under siege.”
For the first time since entering the hall, Madeline’s tough-as-steel demeanor seemed to weaken. “It is his castle,” she said quietly. “Papa will come back to us some day, I am certain. He will be angry if we do not tell him of things that concern his castle. God forbid, what if the castle falls to the Welsh? He will be angry at us for allowing it to happen.”
Havilland looked at her middle sister; with sickness in her soul that she couldn’t begin to describe. It was melancholy, resignation, and sorrow all rolled into one, which was always the case when discussing their father.
“Papa is never coming back to us,” she muttered. “His mind has been eaten away into madness. I do not even consider that man up in Papa’s chamber to be my father. I do not know who he is. He is not the man I recognize.”
“But he is still Papa,” Amaline reminded her softly.
Havilland simply shook her head. “He is a ghost,” she murmured, depressed. “A ghost of a once-great man.”
No one said anything to that because what Havilland said was essentially true. That was the great secret that Four Crosses Castle guarded so ferociously these days – the madness of Roald de Llion.
Over the past year, Roald had suffered a breakdown of his mind, so much so that the man couldn’t remember his own family or even his name. He had a servant who tended him these days, helping him to bathe and eat and dress, but even then, Roald lived in a terrible world, one that saw him weep daily and soil himself. It was a horrid state for the once-proud knight, one the physics could only describe as madness. They had no cure and no suggestions on how to help him, which meant the function of Four Crosses Castle had been left to his only children, three young women.
The three young women who had been raised as men, something that started long before Roald’s mind left him. Having no sons, he could not refuse the girls when they wanted to learn to fight like men. Selfishly, he had allowed it. They were tough, these three, but the truth was that they were, indeed, women and had all of the emotions and moods that women had, which made life around Four Crosses volatile at times. Not even Chris de Lohr knew of Roald’s state and to preserve the man’s pride, the daughters made sure to keep the true condition of their father a secret. As long as Four Crosses remained strong, there was no reason anyone should know.
At the head of the leadership was Havilland, an extraordinarily intelligent young woman. She was the one who made sure her father’s secret was guarded and her younger sisters helped to ensure the same. It was a heavy burden for the three but one they felt necessary. The burden also made them closer than most, united as they were, but it also meant they knew each other exceedingly well.
They knew and understood each other’s moods, like they did now. Madeline and Amaline wanted to return to the subject of the big Highland warrior but they refrained, knowing any further probing would not be well met. Still, they knew the crime could not go unpunished. They would have to do something about this big red-haired brute and teach him a lesson he’d not soon forget. Having been raised as knights, they fought very well, all of them, their egos fed by men who had willingly fallen to their aggression. It had given them all an inflated sense of pride, something that had been a rude awakening for Havilland.
But Madeline and Amaline hadn’t suffered that humiliation yet; even as Havilland spoke of the Welsh and of de Lohr’s men entering Four Crosses to bolster their ranks, and even as the Four Crosses commanders were summoned to discuss the situation, the two younger daughters of Roald de Llion were plotting the downfall of one particular Highland warrior. In punishment for their sister’s beating, he would soon feel their wrath.
The man would pay.
*
It was a miserable night.
As predicted, the Welsh came with their crude ladders, leading wave after wave of attack upon the army defending the walls of Four Crosses. As the storm surged and the lightning flashed across the sky, the Welsh were as plentiful as raindrops, all of them pelting the prize of the beaten fortress. The abuse was intense and when some sections of the de Lohr perimeter finally started to weaken, several of the Welsh managed to raise their ladders to the walls. They did it with glee, thinking they had overcome the English, but the truth was that they were heading into a trap.
Jamison and his men were waiting for them.
That’s when the battle truly turned desperate and ugly. If Jamison wasn’t physically throwing men off of the wall, he was using his broadsword to fend them off. Tremendously strong, he had been able to push several of the ladders away from the wall, sending a dozen men crashing to the wet ground below. But the fallen men occurred on both sides. The wall walk wasn’t more than a narrow, wooden fighting platform and, unfortunately, it was crowded with de Lohr men. So, in addition to the ladders crashing down, several de Lohr men had taken the unexpected plunge off the wall walk about fifteen feet to the bailey below. The falls resulted in more than a few injures.
It was dark, too, due to the cloud cover, the only real il
lumination coming when the lightning flashed. Most of the fighting had been in the dark because the torches wouldn’t stay lit in the pounding rain. But there were a few about on the wall, near the gatehouse mostly, as men tried to light their path to prevent them from goring a comrade. That had happened a few times as well. In the darkness, there was confusion.
But there was also great danger.
Jamison had discovered that his first hour upon the wall. In addition to the dark-haired lass he’d tangled with, there seemed to be two more just like her. He’d seen one of them when he’d first mounted the wall walk, a girl with her dark hair knotted up on the top of her head and wearing a heavy mail coat on her skinny body. Jamison could only presume she had seen the beating he’d given the other girl because she had glared at him ferociously. He swore he could feel the shards of steel coming out of her eyes, aimed right at him. Then, she pulled an index finger across her neck in a garroting gesture. He’d simply chuckled.
But the chuckle had been a cover for his heightened sense of protection. Considering how rabidly Havilland had fought, he wasn’t taking any chances with the other warrior woman. He found himself watching his back as he positioned himself on the wall, guarding against that steel-glaring lass and also against another woman down in the bailey with wild red hair that made her head look gigantic. She, too, was wishing hate upon him; he could see it in her pale face. Jamison, therefore, knew that the enemy wasn’t only outside of the walls of Four Crosses.
It was all around him.
They moved like wraiths, those women, in and out of the shadows of the castle, but Jamison eventually lost track of them as the Welsh mounted the walls and he found himself throwing men over the side. In fact, he forgot about the women completely in the chaos of the fight until shades of dawn began to appear on the eastern horizon and the Welsh attack died down.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 64
