Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Havilland’s heart swelled at his words; to travel to London and Paris had always been her dream, but to travel with someone like Jamison Munro… he was handsome and educated, kind and well-spoken… he was everything a young woman would want. But a man like Jamison would want a fine and elegant woman for a wife, not a female who had lived as a man most of her life. There was no appeal in that. A backwoods, uneducated, scrub of a girl wouldn’t make anyone a good wife.

  Knowing he made the offer simply to be polite and for no other reason, Havilland held disappointment in her heart for reasons she couldn’t begin to understand. For the first time in her life, she wished she was something that she was not –

  A lady.

  “You are kind,” she said, fighting off extreme melancholy. “But I am certain that I am destined to stay at Four Crosses my entire life. I have never believed I would truly ever leave. But I know that some women travel with their husbands when they marry, at least I have heard of such things, so mayhap that is the best I can hope for.”

  He lifted his shoulders casually. “Are ye the marrying kind, then?”

  She grinned, embarrassed. “I suppose I must,” she said. “All women must, at some point.”

  He could see a grand opportunity to push her a little, to see what, exactly, her thoughts were on marriage. With talk of Tobias’ interest in her, and even Thad’s, he didn’t want her attention to turn to them. He wanted to keep it. Was he, in fact, the marrying kind? He didn’t even know. He’d never given it much thought. But perhaps with the right woman….

  “Ye dunna want tae marry, then?” he asked, sounding concerned. “Even if I promised ye a grand trip tae Paris?”

  Her head shot up, her eyes wide on him. “A trip to… you would promise me a trip to…?”

  He flashed that smile, the one he used to send women’s hearts a-flutter. “Ye must marry sometime,” he said. “Me da expects many sons and who tae be a better mother tae me sons than a lady warrior. If I have tae bribe ye with a trip tae Paris, then I’ll do it.”

  Havilland’s mouth popped open. “You cannot be serious!”

  “Why not?”

  She was even more astonished. “Because… because you cannot be,” she said, off-guard and fading fast. “It is most inappropriate to jest on such a serious subject. You do not know me and I do not know you, and this is not an appropriate conversation.”

  “But why?”

  “Because you jest about something quite serious!”

  With a heavy sigh, he stood up. As Havilland watched, he removed a very sharp dagger from his belt and put the sharp edge of the blade against his pale wrist. He looked at her, pointedly. “Are ye sure ye willna marry me? I am prepared tae show ye my sincerity but before I bleed all over this table, I must ask ye again.”

  She wasn’t entirely sure he was jesting, but in the same breath she couldn’t believe he was serious. She had no idea what to say, a thrill such as she had never known filling her heart. Never in her life had she had any suitors, not ever, so she had no idea how to play the flirting game with this man who was evidently quite adept at it. He was charming and persuasive. But he could very well be toying with her. She simply wasn’t sure so the best thing to do, as she struggled to reclaim her composure, was jest right along with him. Then, perhaps, if he wasn’t serious, it wouldn’t break her heart so much to pretend that she wasn’t serious, either.

  “Are you really going to cut your wrist?” she asked.

  He was firm. “I am.”

  She stood up and began looking around. “Very well,” she said. “But let me find something to stop the bleeding first. I want to be prepared.”

  His face fell. “So ye’d let me cut meself over ye?”

  He said it rather exaggeratedly and she fought off a grin. “Well, of course,” she said. “I have never had a man declare his undying love to me. Let me call my sisters so they can watch, also. Can you wait a moment before you do it? It should not take me long to find them.”

  He scowled. “Ye wicked wench,” he said. “Ye’d let me cut meself tae pieces over ye before ye’d agree tae a marriage between us? I willna cut meself over the likes of ye.”

  She was trying very hard not to giggle. “I am sorry,” she said, struggling to keep a straight face. “I know I am terrible. But truly, you do not want to marry someone like me. I am sure you will find a much better candidate someday.”

  She was pushing him to see how he would react and he fell right into her trap. Rather than him manipulating her, now she was doing the manipulating. But he didn’t catch on. Frustrated, he shoved the dirk back into its sheath.

  “I dunna want another candidate,” he said. Then, he pointed a finger at her. “Mark me words, Havilland de Llion. Ye’ll go tae Paris with me someday if I have tae drag ye every step o’ the way.”

  He seemed very serious but she could sense that he wasn’t. For someone who had never flirted with a man in her entire life, she took to it fairly easily. Truthfully, it was easy with him – from their very rough beginnings until this moment, she couldn’t even remember the spanking he’d dealt her. It didn’t even matter. The man she had tried so hard not to be interested in now had her full attention. She hoped he was serious about his intentions – she truly did – but it was far too early to know such things. Until then, she was enjoying the rapport developing between them.

  The entry door to the hall swung open, casting light from the morning in their direction and interrupting their conversation. Havilland caught sight of someone familiar entering the hall. It was Madeline, dressed in her mail tunic and strapped down with her weapons, including her small broadsword. Her messy, dark hair was knotted up atop her head as she approached the table, looking at Jamison as if beholding the enemy. She kept her eyes on the man as she approached her sister.

  “One of the de Lohr brothers is out there gathering a patrol,” she said to Havilland. “Who ordered this?”

  “I did,” Jamison replied evenly. “He is gatherin’ de Lohr men tae run patrols in the area.”

  Madeline stiffened. “It is unwise to send out any patrols right now,” she said, “or weren’t you told that we have lost eleven men to the Welsh in recent months?”

  Jamison wasn’t entirely sure he liked this girl. She was brash and aggressive, as he’d discovered when she’d confronted him those days ago. She didn’t appear to have the ability to ease her rigid manner the way her sister did. Something very arrogant glittered in her dark eyes.

  “I was told,” he said. “But we need information on the Welsh. We need tae know their movements. Staying inside this fortress will not help us discover what we need tae know.”

  “It is a risky operation.”

  “There are risks involved in any operation.”

  Madeline was frustrated that he didn’t seem inclined to take her advice. In truth, that infuriated her. She turned to her sister. “Our men should not be involved in anything they do,” she said. “In fact, our men should be kept separate from the de Lohr troops.”

  Jamison wouldn’t let her give such terrible guidance. “Hold, lady,” he said, his manner growing firm. “’Tis bad advice ye give. Yer men need tae be part of the de Lohr operation because they must learn what I am here tae teach them. Only a fool would isolate their men as ye have done and keep them blind tae what is going on around them. That is a sure sign of a bad commander and if ye keep on that path, ye’re going tae kill everyone in this fortress because the Welsh will overrun ye and ye’ll not know how tae stop them. Is that what ye want?”

  By the time he was finished, Madeline was red in the face, insulted and furious. “We do not need your help,” she hissed. “We do not want it.”

  Before Havilland could stop her sister, Jamison came around the table so their words wouldn’t be shouted for all to hear. “Ye have no choice,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. “Let me explain things tae ye, lass….”

  “You will not address me that way!”

  He cut her off, brutally
. He’d had enough of her haughtiness and Jamison wasn’t a man with great patience for such things.

  “Shut yer mouth and listen tae me,” he said. “’Tis obvious ye’ve gone through life thinkin’ ye knew everything there is tae know, so let me be the first tae give ye a true education – Four Crosses doesna belong tae ye. It belongs tae de Lohr and the men out there, the men ye think belong tae ye, really belong tae the Earl of Worcester. Nothing about this place is yers so yer grand illusion of being a battle commander is a dream. Nothing but a dream. Ye live here by Worcester’s good graces and if he says I must train Four Crosses men tae understand the Welsh threat, then that is what I must do. If ye want to learn, then ye’re welcome tae attend me, but if ye want tae continue tae live in ignorance, then go crawl intae a hole somewhere and take yer ignorance with ye. I willna tolerate it. Is that in any way unclear?”

  Madeline had never been cut down in such a way and certainly not so harshly. Deeply embarrassed and incredibly furious, she opened her mouth to say something but Havilland grabbed her by the arm and yanked her away from Jamison, pulling her sister from the hall. It was evident that Havilland was trying to prevent a fight because that’s where it was headed; Jamison could feel it. Therefore, he maintained eye contact with Madeline for as long as he was able, until Havilland forcibly pulled her through the hall entry.

  Then, and only then, did Jamison stand down somewhat, sighing heavily and shaking his head at the arrogant stupidity of the young woman. It was no wonder the Welsh had managed to hit Four Crosses repeatedly with an attitude like that. He wondered if that had been Havilland’s attitude, too.

  He was hoping that the conversation that just took place at this table had changed that.

  Already, he was missing talking to her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  *

  Nights like this drove the cold

  down to a man’s very bones….

  *

  Winter sunsets were early in the day, with usually no more than seven hours of sunlight in the dead of winter, so by the time night fell, it was cold and foggy and dreary.

  Torches were lit upon the battlements and the open gatehouse was heavily protected as the soldiers repairing the damage from the most recent attack wrapped up their work for the day. Sentries with big dogs patrolled the perimeter of the castle, moving through the coming darkness and the fog, making sure that all was well while the gatehouse was open. Men were working quickly to close it and bottle the castle up for the night.

  Four Crosses had a postern gate in the kitchen yard, built into the wall. It was a gate used by those who did business with the kitchens and instead of one gate, it was actually two – a fortified iron gate on the outside of the wall, a narrow passageway, and then a fortified gate on the inside of the wall. It was always very carefully watched to ensure no one tried to breach it and there was a path from the postern gate that led to a heavily wooded area and the River Einion. Farmers or servants usually traveled it but as the sun set on this night, someone else was traveling it as well.

  She knew the path well, as she was born at the castle. She knew it and the surrounding landscape as well as she knew the lines of her face. But this was different; this was no casual stroll in the fog. There was someone waiting for her at the end of the path and she didn’t want to be seen by the sentries on guard on the walls overhead. Even though there was a fog cover, someone might have seen her leave and she didn’t want to try to explain that. As she ran along the path, she kept looking over her shoulder, thinking she heard movement behind her. But it was water dripping from the leaves, she was certain.

  The path carved out a niche next to the river and the waters flowed beside her as she ran along the trail. It was muddy and cold, but she was heated in her heavy clothing. In fact, her forehead was sweating, but it had more to do with her own apprehension than it had to do with her exertion. She was frightened and she was determined, an odd combination, indeed.

  The foliage grew heavier, the thicket of trees dark now that night was falling. She still swore she could hear someone behind her but every time she stopped to look, there was no movement. It was her imagination, she was certain, but she kept her hand on the hilt of her dirk just in case. Certainly, if anyone had seen her, she would do her best to silence them.

  Now she was in a heavy cluster of bushes as she moved down the path. The ground was particularly slippery here and she did slip, more than once. The third time, someone reached out from the thicket to grab her. In a panic, she unsheathed her dirk until she saw who it was. Then, relief swept her as a man, darkened by the shadows, kissed her passionately.

  “Fy nghariad,” the man whispered in Welsh against her lips. Then, he switched to her language. “My darling. I have missed you so.”

  The woman fell into his arms, allowing him to do as he pleased with her. His lips kissed her face, his hands on her head to hold her fast. She whimpered softy as he kissed her, so very glad to be in his arms again.

  “I have missed you, also,” she breathed as his mouth came close to her lips again and he plunged his tongue into her mouth. He licked her, tasted her, before she pulled away gasping. “Are you well? Were you hurt in the most recent battles?”

  The man, dark-haired and dark-eyed, shook his head. “Nay,” he said, breathlessly. “Were you, my sweet Madeline?”

  Madeline shook her head, also breathless, thrilled to be in her lover’s arms again. “Not at all,” she whispered. “It is so good to see you. I have missed you desperately.”

  “As I have missed you.”

  More hugging and kissing, heated lips upon tender flesh. “So much has happened I do not know where to begin,” she said, her voice trembling. “There is much you should know.”

  He couldn’t seem to stop touching her face, running his dirty fingers across her lips. “I have been here every night since the end of the battle, waiting for you,” he said. “Why have you not come to me before now?”

  Madeline sighed, burying her face in his neck, inhaling deeply of his scent, before pulling back to speak. “I am sorry this is my first opportunity to come,” she said. “There are de Lohr troops at the castle now including four knights. The situation is much more complicated now, Evon. You must take great care.”

  Evon ap Preece smiled at his love. “I have nothing to fear so long as you protect me,” he said softly. “As long as you have survived the attacks in whole, I am satisfied.”

  Madeline smiled tremulously in return, her hands on his shoulders. “As am I,” she murmured. “But I do not have much time so I must tell you all that I know.”

  His brow furrowed. “What do you mean you do not have much time?” he asked, suddenly looking around suspiciously. “Have you been followed?”

  Madeline looked around also, just because he was. “Nay,” she replied. “But the changing of the guard will come soon and I must be present. I was only able to slip away now because men are growing weary at their posts and I was able to slip by. I will come back tomorrow night and I hope we can spend more time together.”

  He kissed her again, more deeply this time, before his hands began to roam. “Tell me all you can,” he said, fumbling at the belt on her tunic, loosening it. “Tell me while I touch you.”

  Madeline trembled. “You know I cannot think when you do such things to me.”

  He laughed, low in his throat. “Try, my darling. Try.”

  Madeline did. She was looking forward to his touch as much as he was; it had been a long time since they had last tasted one another and she missed the way he made her feel. As his cold, dirty hands snaked underneath her heavy tunic and immediately grabbed a small, warm breast, she struggled to think.

  “It was de Lohr who helped us fight off the Welsh,” she explained as he pulled her tunic over his head and began nursing hungrily at her naked breasts. “He… he left five hundred men behind to reinforce our ranks, including four knights. Three of them are de Lohr sons and of the highest order, but the fourth is a Scotsman. I have
never met him before. He is in command and I have heard rumors about him. The men are saying that he is called The Red Lion and that he is the best knight in all of Scotland.”

  Evon didn’t reply right away, as he was too busy suckling her nipples and unfastening her breeches. But he managed to pull his mouth away from her flesh long enough to speak.

  “What about him?” he asked as he dragged his tongue over her belly “Tell me what you know.”

  Madeline was having a terrible time holding a coherent thought as he managed to untie her breeches and pull them down around her thighs. Like a moth to flame, his hand went to her tender woman’s core and his fingers began probing her. She gasped as he forced her to stand awkwardly, her legs apart, and thrust his fingers into her.

  “He… Sweet Mary, Evon, when you do that to me….” she muttered.

  He cut her off. “Tell me, my darling. Tell me what you know.”

  Madeline was trying to but her eyes were rolling back in her head as he suckled her breasts and thrust his fingers inside of her body. “The Red Lion,” she breathed again because she forgot she had told him that already. “He… he is sending out patrols again. He spent all day gathering patrols and speaking to the men about the Scottish tactics that the Welsh are using.”

  Evon paused in his onslaught, thinking on her words. Scottish tactics. Then, his head came out of her tunic and he stood up, looking at her. “He said that?”

  “What?”

  “That we are using Scots tactics?”