He nodded in recognition. “Aye,” he said. “The aggressive one. She told me no one would beat her sister and get away with such a thing.”
Havilland lifted her eyebrows, half in agreement, half in embarrassment. “That would be Madeline,” she said. “I will speak with her but I cannot promise she will back off, at least not right away. If she tries to attack you again, then you have my permission to do what is necessary to defend yourself. But try not to hurt her if you can help it.”
Jamison was amused. “Can I spank her, then?”
Havilland’s cheeks turned a dull shade of red and she lowered her gaze, but she couldn’t quite manage to walk away from him. “If you must,” she said, listening to him laugh low in his throat. “Since you seem to like spanking women so much, I would not dare deprive you of the privilege against someone who truly needs it.”
His laughter grew. “When she attacks me again, I will remember that.”
Havilland fought off a smile. “Confident, aren’t you?”
His eyes glimmered at her, fingers of warmth reaching out to touch her, invisible tendrils causing her knees to wobble and her heart to race. “Aye,” he said in a soft, deep voice that caused chills to race up her spine. “That I am.”
“Of everything?”
“Of that which I know.”
“And what do you know?
He flashed that smile at her. “Women.”
It was a woefully cheeky statement, as he meant it should be. Havilland turned away then, fearful he would see just how much his laughter and charming presence had disarmed her. She didn’t want the man thinking he could use that charm against her when the truth was that he already knew. Damnation… he already knew!
Heading away from the wounded and back towards the door that led to the kitchen yard, Havilland couldn’t keep the smile off her lips.
The next few days with Jamison Munro were going to be rather interesting.
CHAPTER SIX
*
“I have lived my entire life in Wales,
but I am not Welsh….”
*
Four Crosses Castle
Brend de Lohr and Thad de Lohr were brothers, sons of William de Lohr, who was the Earl of Worcester’s youngest brother. There were three elder de Lohr brothers, including the current earl – Chris, Arthur, and William. Arthur, the brother with the wanderlust streak in him that some of the de Lohrs had, never married or had children, so that burden was left to Chris and William, both of whom had two sons.
All of these men were descended from the great Christopher de Lohr, Richard the Lionheart’s Defender of the Realm, and Jamison genuinely liked the de Lohr brothers. He had practically grown up with them, although at his thirty years of age, he was slightly older than they were. Becket and Tobias were both younger, but not by much, and Brend and Thad were five and seven years younger than Jamison, respectively. They both had a bit of wild streak in them but they were noble and honest men, and Jamison found a great deal of humor in them. He also found the strength of the de Lohr sword in them as well.
He found himself in command of these men after the de Lohr army took its leave. Three days after the Welsh rebels had finally withdrawn, the training of the de Llion army was in full swing. There were four hundred and eighteen men after the battle, men sworn to Roald de Llion, and with the additional five hundred de Lohr troops, it made for crowded conditions at the fairly large castle.
There was a stone troop house situated against the outer wall but that could only hold six hundred men at the most, which meant the rest of the men had to find lodgings where they could. The great hall was crowded with soldiers and their possessions as was the entry level to the keep where there was a small solar and a smaller dining hall, now crowded with more men.
Jamison kept the troops out of the small, cramped solar because he needed a place to meet with his knights that didn’t have multiple pairs of ears hanging about, listening to everything he said. It was the one place he could get away from the men and since Roald de Llion didn’t seem to be apt to show himself, Jamison figured the man wouldn’t care if he took over his solar. In fact, he was rather hoping the man did care so he would at least present himself. But thus far, de Llion had remained elusive.
So had Havilland. Three days after their conversation in the great hall, the eldest de Llion sister had kept her distance from Jamison – he saw her around the castle, frequently, but she would go the other direction when she saw him, sometimes with a nervous smile to acknowledge him and sometimes not. Sometimes, she would just turn away. When he and his knights gathered de Llion men together in groups to begin training them against the Scots formations, she and her sisters would watch from afar but never join in.
It seemed to Jamison that, in spite of their conversation and his apology, Havilland still wasn’t convinced of his sincerity. At least she wasn’t attacking him, nor were her sisters, but by the fourth day of his stay at Four Crosses, Jamison thought he should seek Havilland out again. Not only was she missing out on the training he had been asked to give her men, but he had questions about the surrounding area and even the local Welsh lords. There were things he needed to know that he’d hoped to learn from her father but since Roald seemed to be in hiding, he would learn what he needed to know from Havilland. But, deep down, that was just an excuse.
He simply wanted to speak with her again.
Therefore, on a cold February day shortly after sunrise, Jamison went on the hunt for Havilland. She and her sisters seemed to spend a good deal of time in the keep when they weren’t on watch, but he’d spent enough time at Four Crosses to know that Havilland was always in the gatehouse in the early mornings. She congregated with the de Llion men there, vigilant at dawn in the entry to the big castle. Even if she was trying to stay away from Jamison, she wasn’t shirking her duties.
Jamison and his knights had been sleeping in the solar, crammed into corners and against walls near the hearth that smoldered all night long with great peat slabs burning low and hot. Brend and Thad, who tended to be the messy ones, had their possessions spread out all over the floor, only to be kicked around by Tobias. One time, he kicked Brend’s expensive helm through the lancet window, sending it out into the mud of the bailey. Thad had laughed uproariously while Brend and Tobias had thrown a few punches about it. After that, Brend was more careful to store his possessions.
On this particular morning, Jamison had risen with the others, ordering hot water and using a bit of precious soap he’d brought with him to wash his hands and face. The wash was a prelude to shaving, which he carefully did with the edge of his extremely sharp dirk and the help of a small bronze mirror. It didn’t cut him too close, still leaving a bit of a pale red stubble on his face.
With a relatively clean-shaven face, he thought his hair looked a bit shaggy, like those great, hairy Highland cows that roamed the moors, so he ended up cutting some length off of the sides while leaving the top longer. He had waves in his hair and he fussed with them, trying to smooth them down or at least make them go in the same direction, but it was to no avail. His hair waved any way it pleased. As he tried to tame the unruly mass, a comb appeared in his face.
“Here,” Brend said. “Try this. Who are you grooming yourself for, anyway?”
Jamison took the comb, eyeing the big blonde knight with the dark-as-night brown eyes. “I canna look like an unruly mess me entire life,” he said. “And who says I’m grooming meself for anyone?”
“You may not be, but I am,” came a voice from across the solar. Thad de Lohr, Brend’s ginger-headed brother, was also shaving the stubble from his face. “There are three fine women here, or have you not seen them? They keep themselves hidden away, but I’ve caught glimpses of them. The eldest one is quite fine. Big breasted, slender of body… aye, she’s quite fine.”
Before Jamison could speak, Brend replied to his brother’s lascivious statement. “How do you know she is big breasted?” he asked. “She wears tunics that hang to her k
nees. You cannot see her figure through all of that.”
Thad, young and hot-blooded, grinned. “Trust me, brother,” he said. “I’ve seen the lass enough to know she has the body of Aphrodite. She’s long-limbed, too. Imagine those legs wrapped up around you as you have your way with her. Delicious.”
Brend snorted. “Careful what you say,” he said. “Tobias has already expressed interest in her. You may have a fight on your hands if you speak that way about her.”
Jamison remained out of the conversation until that statement. So Tobias is interested in Havilland? He wasn’t sure why he should be concerned with such a thing, but he found that he was. Tobias wasn’t nearly good enough for a woman of that quality. Nay, he didn’t like that thought at all.
“She is out o’ his class,” he said as he gave his hair a few final strokes with the comb. “A woman like that deserves better than the second son of an earl.”
Both Brend and Thad looked at him. “Like a clan chief’s son?” Thad teased, his eyes twinkling.
Jamison returned the comb to Brend, standing up from the stool he’d been seated on. “Mayhap,” he said evasively. “In any case, remember what I told ye about her and her sisters attacking me. I believe that is why they’ve been so isolated from what is going on; they are unsure of us. Of me, anyway. So watch yer step with them because they know how to use a sword and ye might come away missing something ye need.”
Brend shook his head. “They know us, Jamie,” he said. “’Tis you they do not know. Hearing your Scots accent made them panic and try to beat you down like an animal.”
Jamison smiled thinly. “Hearing me accent is enough tae soothe the savage beastie in any woman,” he said, collecting his big brecan, or length of Scottish wool, to swath around his body like a cloak. The temperatures outside were near freezing. “I intend tae seek the lady out this morning and again ask her if we can have a brief meeting with her father. We are four days at this place and still no sign of the commander. ’Tis most irregular and bad of manner.”
The humor faded from the two de Lohr brothers. “Becket had to leave without seeing the man,” Brend said. “In fact, no one has seen him in over a year. Do you know what I think? I think he is dead and the sisters are afraid to tell us. They are afraid my uncle will take the garrison from them and they will have nowhere to go.”
That was the thought that had been rolling around in everyone’s mind, Jamison included. He fussed with his cloak. “I have been thinking the very same thing,” he said thoughtfully. “I think it’s time we all knew what has become of Roald de Llion. I think, mayhap, we should start asking his men what they know. Sooner or later, the truth will be uncovered and I am sure yer uncle willna throw the women out of their home. But if Roald is no longer in command o’ the castle, then de Lohr needs tae know.”
It was the truth that none of them could dispute. “While you are speaking with her, ask her why there have been no patrols sent out from Four Crosses since the battle,” Thad reminded him. “The Welsh could be building up over the next hill and we would not know anything about it until it was too late.”
Jamison simply nodded his head, his thoughts now on the lack of patrols and Roald de Llion’s absence. It was an increasing mystery that needed to be discovered. As he finished securing his brecan, Jamison left the warm, stale solar and proceeded out into the freezing dawn.
The moisture on the ground had turned to ice overnight, creating a thin layer of it on the mud as Jamison headed for the gatehouse. Ice crunched beneath his big leather boots and his breath hung in the air, creating big puffs of fog as he went. As he passed through the bailey, his gaze moved over the gray granite walls of the fortress and the history of the place popped to mind. As told to him by Chris de Lohr himself, Four Crosses Castle, other than being a bone of contention between Welsh and English, had something of a dark and sinister past.
Nearly one hundred years ago, the castle had been part of the de Velt conquest that swept the Marches during that time. Ajax de Velt, a barbaric knight who fed on bloodlust, captured six castles along the Marches and put the occupants of those castles, and anyone resisting him, on stakes. Men and women alike were impaled alive, left to die of exposure and blood loss as de Velt stole their castles.
But twenty years after that, another bloodthirsty warrior came through and did the same thing, stealing the castle from de Velt. That man was a de Llion and the family that still manned the castle were his descendants, Havilland and her sisters included. Given the barbaric and violent history of the castle, Jamison wasn’t particularly surprised, in hindsight, that the de Llion women fought as men. Fighting was in their blood.
What these walls have seen, Jamison thought as he neared the gatehouse. If walls could talk, he supposed that Four Crosses would have a great story to tell. He was thinking on that story when he neared the guard room of the gatehouse and, coming around a corner, plowed into someone who was just emerging from the guard room.
Startled, Jamison stepped back, putting his hands out as a purely reflexive action only to see that he had Havilland in his grip. Startled green eyes gazed back at him but when she realized who held her, she pulled away, quickly. He lost his grip and she nearly lost her balance in her haste to step away from him.
“I did not see you,” Havilland said, having difficulty meeting his eye.
Jamison had no intention of letting the woman out of his sight now that he’d found her, unexpected as it had been. “No harm done,” he said. “Did I hurt ye?”
Havilland’s brow furrowed as if the question either offended or confused her; it was difficult to tell. “You did not,” she said. Quickly, she averted her gaze and tried to move past him. “If you will excuse me, I have duties to attend to.”
Jamison wouldn’t let her go so easily. “Wait,” he called after her, watching her come to an unsteady halt. “I was coming tae the gatehouse tae speak with ye. Can ye spare me a moment before going about yer tasks?”
Havilland didn’t seem too willing. Dressed in heavy woolen breeches, three woolen tunics, and a heavy cloak with a fur collar, her dark hair was braided and pinned to the top of her head. She looked every inch the soldier this morning but Jamison found himself wondering what she’d look like in a fashionable dress. He could only imagine she would be the most exquisitely beautiful woman in all the world.
“I… I suppose I can spare a moment,” she said. “But quickly. There is much for me to accomplish today.”
Jamison suspected it was a dodge. “Like what?”
She was surprised by the question. “Many things,” she said, scrambling to come up with a list of things but then realizing it was none of his affair. “Is that what you wished to speak with me about?”
Jamison shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Have ye broken yer fast yet this morning?”
Havilland nodded. “I have.”
Jamison simply wriggled his eyebrows. “I havena,” he said, moving towards her and reaching out, taking her by the elbow and politely pulling her with him. “Mayhap ye can spare me a moment or two while I eat.”
It wasn’t as if Havilland had a choice. He was pulling her along toward the great hall and, like a dumb animal, she followed. She kept eyeing the hand around her elbow, thinking that it was, perhaps, one of the biggest hands she’d ever seen. But it wasn’t the size of it as much as it was the sheer touch; it was as if she could feel his heat through her clothing, a heat that made her knees weak and her heart race. Sensations that were both curious and frightening.
Truth be told, that was why she had been avoiding the man since their conversation in the great hall. He had her attention; she didn’t want him to have her attention. She’d never had her attention on a man in her life. Therefore, she thought that if she avoided the man and kept her thoughts off him that she would soon forget whatever infatuation she seemed to have with him. It simply wasn’t healthy.
But here she was, being dragged along with him as they headed for the great hall. She didn’t wa
nt to go into the great hall with him. If she did, then she’d never get over this foolish interest she had in him because she’d be forced to sit and stare at him, drinking in that handsome Scottish mug. Heels dug in, she came to a halt and broke his grip on her elbow.
“Wait,” she said. “I do not need to go into the hall whilst you break your fast. You can tell me now what you wish to speak with me about so I may be along my way. What did you wish to say?”
Jamison came to a halt a foot or so away from her, his gaze moving over her in an appraising manner. He could see that she really had no desire to spend any more time with him than necessary and the thought rather shot holes in his male pride. He’d spent his entire life fighting women off but now there was one who evidently had no use for him. Was such a thing even possible?
“Ye can answer a question for me,” he said.
“And that is?”
“I thought we had made peace between us,” he said. “’Tis clear that isna the case. Will ye tell me what I did tae offend ye again?”
Off guard, Havilland eyed him. “You have done nothing,” she said. “I… I am simply busy, ’tis all.”
Jamison nodded his head as if he did not believe her. “I see,” he said. “Is there anything I can help ye with since ye’re so busy?”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “But I would appreciate it if you would come to the point.”
He cocked his head. “Ye dunna like speaking wit’ me, do ye?”
Now, she looked startled by the blunt question. “I… I do not know what you mean.”
He shrugged, averting his gaze in a somewhat resigned manner. “’Tis not tae worry,” he said. “I thought after our discussion in the hall… I thought we might be able to speak civilly. Since I have charge of the castle and yer father is the commander, I had hoped tae learn a great deal from ye about many things.”
Havilland was curious no matter how much she fought against him. “What things?”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 68
