Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II

by Kathryn Le Veque

Long ago, these garments had been lined with fur at the collars or sleeves, and even embellished with precious jewels and gold to show off the wealth of the House of de Llion, but those adornments had been stripped after Lady Precious died, taken back by Roald for his coffers. As Havilland pulled the garments forth, she could see where the fur had once been or a gold belt; there were remnants of silk stitching left.

  “Do you remember Mother, Madeline?” she asked as she lovingly inspected a blue-dyed canvas dress, but a very fine weave and surprisingly soft. “Do you remember her wearing this dress?”

  Madeline had a green brocade garment in her hands. She glanced over at the surcoat Havilland was looking at. “Nay,” she said. “I do not remember. What I do remember is that she had dark hair, like us. I remember she used to hug us all of the time.”

  Havilland smiled faintly. “I remember that, too,” she said. “I suppose I remember more of her than you would. I was eight when he passed away. You were six years of age and Amaline was only three. Ammie, what do you remember of Mother?”

  Amaline had a dress in her hands, the color of yellow roses. “I do not remember much,” Amaline said. “I think I remember feelings more than anything. How she made me feel, comforted and safe.”

  Havilland sighed, leaning back against the trunk. “I always wondered if she would be proud of us,” she said. “I still talk to her sometimes, you know. I ask her about things. I ask her even more now that Papa is ill.”

  Madeline snorted. “Mother is about as apt to answer you as father is these days.”

  Havilland lifted her eyebrows, a reluctant agreement. “True,” she said, returning her attention to the garment in her hand. “I do not know if Mother would have been happy that we were never sent to foster, that Papa kept us here and let us fight as men. He always wanted sons, you know. Mayhap in some way, in the way he raised us, boys are what he ultimately received.”

  Madeline set the dress in her hand aside and dug into the trunk for something else. “I do not intend to be like this forever,” she said. “I want to marry someday and have children, and I will not fight alongside my husband. I will wear dresses all of the time and burn these breeches that we wear; that Papa forced us to wear.”

  Havilland looked at her sister, thinking on the conversation she’d had with Jamison the night before about Madeline and her Welsh lover. Her prideful sister was trying to kill them all and the more she looked at her, the more her anger and hurt and confusion returned.

  Something in Madeline’s comment made her think of Madeline’s motives for giving information to the Welsh. On the surface, Madeline was cocky and brash, but beneath, she was sensitive and resentful and afraid. Havilland knew her sister well enough to know that all on the surface was not the truth. She found it interesting that Madeline commented on the fact that their father forced them to fight as men.

  Perhaps that’s where all of this arrogance and resentment started in the first place.

  “You feel that Papa forced us to be what we are?” Havilland finally asked.

  Madeline nodded firmly. “He always wanted us to fight,” she said. “You know that as well as I do, Havi – he gave us swords and taught us to fight. Whenever we spoke of wanting to do the things that women do, because we are women, he would tell us how much he wanted us to live in his image. He would tell us how proud he was of us and make us feel as if we would terribly disappoint him if we did not do as he wished.”

  Havilland knew that. Her feelings were much the same, feelings she had expressed to Jamison. I am not a fine lady. It had been a horribly embarrassing admission for her.

  “So you are angry at Papa,” she said quietly. “You are angry at us all. You show me that every day. Not that I blame you, Madeline. We were never given a choice with Papa. But this is the life we live and we must make the best of it.”

  Madeline had a dress in her hands and she let it go, letting it fall back onto the stack in the trunk. “I will live my own life,” she said defiantly. “Papa is mad. He can no longer tell me how to live. I will do as I wish now.”

  With a Welsh lover? Havilland bit her tongue. It was so very difficult for her not to fight back but she didn’t want to give Madeline any hint that she knew of her treacherous activities. Sweet Jesú, Madeline! Do you know what you are doing? Do you think to kill us all with your selfishness?

  But no, Havilland couldn’t, and wouldn’t, say a word. Too many people’s lives were dependent upon it. If she thought Madeline’s folly had been an innocent mistake, that would have been one thing. She would have said something to her in that case. But she knew Madeline well enough to know that what she was doing was calculated. Selfish, but calculated. Havilland couldn’t even pretend to guess what was going through Madeline’s mind as she sought to betray her own family.

  Perhaps she was finally getting revenge on the father who forced her to dress as a man.

  “You have nowhere to go and no one to go to,” Havilland said after a moment, not looking at her sister, wondering how she would react to such a statement. “You must remain here with Amaline and me. This is our home and we must protect it.”

  Madeline’s jaw tensed as it so often did when displeased. “I hate this place,” she hissed. “It does not belong to me.”

  “But you belong to it. Remember that, Madeline. And you belong to us.”

  Madeline shook her head, looking at the dresses her sister had dug out. She was feeling sadness and angst and frustration, everything she could possibly feel. “I was born here but that is all,” she said. Then, she moved away from her sisters, heading for the ladder that led out of the loft. Havilland watched her go.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  Madeline was already on the ladder. “To the kitchen,” she said. “It… it is close to the nooning meal and I am hungry.”

  “Don’t you want to look through more dresses?”

  “Nay.”

  “But we must leave for the party soon!”

  Havilland received no answer. She found herself looking at Amaline as Amaline looked rather sadly at the dress in her hands. She knew Amaline wasn’t thinking about the dress. The youngest de Llion sister was the sensitive one and Madeline’s moods tended to affect her deeply.

  “And you, little chick?” Havilland asked softly. “Are you angry at Papa, too?”

  Amaline shrugged. “Nay,” she said. “He is Papa and we do as he says. But I wish Madeline would not be angry so much. She is very mean sometimes.”

  Havilland nodded. “She is,” she said. “Madeline is… unhappy.”

  Amaline looked at her sister. “What would make her happy?”

  A Welsh lover, perhaps? Havilland thought. But as she looked at her little sister, something more occurred to her. Madeline was heading to the kitchen yard where the postern gate was, the same gate she had left from yesterday to meet her lover. This morning in front of the gatehouse, much had been discussed in Madeline’s presence. Havilland had been surprised that Jamison had been so free with his thoughts and information. Now, Madeline had something more to tell her Welsh lover.

  Suddenly, she was headed to the kitchen yard.

  … the gate!

  Putting the dress in her hands aside, Havilland also made her way to the ladder. Amaline watched her go.

  “Where are you going now?” Amaline asked, concerned.

  Havilland didn’t want Amaline following her. She pointed to the trunks. “To see if the nooning meal is ready,” she said. “I will return. Meanwhile, you will select the three most beautiful dresses of Mother’s and bring them up to my chamber. We must see what needs to be done to the dresses so we can wear them. Also, see if there are shoes to go with them. I doubt my boots will go well with a fine silk gown.”

  Amaline had a task now and she was very good about following through, so Havilland didn’t worry about her sister trying to follow her. Amaline was easily distracted. Quickly, Havilland slipped down the ladder and made her way out of the stables, following Madel
ine’s path to the kitchen yard to see if her sister was really there as she said she would be.

  Havilland wasn’t particularly surprised to discover Madeline wasn’t anywhere to be found. When she asked the cook standing over the boiling pig if she had seen Madeline, the woman pointed to the postern gate.

  It was as Havilland suspected.

  She followed.

  *

  “Do you think this is a good idea, Jamie?” Thad asked. “This party, I mean. What if that messenger was really Welsh? What if it is a ploy to drag you away from Four Crosses so the Welsh can attack?”

  Standing in the armory of Four Crosses, which was set on the ground level of the northeast tower, Jamison had gone to there to select weapons for the men who would be accompanying him and the de Llion sisters to Trelystan. But Thad, who had been informed that he would be left behind and in command along with Tobias, wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. He was following Jamison around now, not at all convinced he would let Jamison leave this place without standing in the man’s way. But Jamison only grinned at Thad’s concerns.

  “Do ye think they are waiting over the hill, watching until me big red head leaves this place?” he asked the young knight. “Ye and Tobias will have command for two days. That isna a long time.”

  Thad was unhappy. He frowned, watching Jamison inspect a couple of spears. “I am going to wake Tobias up,” he said. “He must hear what is happening.”

  Jamison held up a hand. “Let the man sleep,” he said. “He was up all night and has only been sleeping for a few hours at most. Truthfully, I dunna know what ye’re upset over. Would ye rather go wit’ me?”

  Thad nodded almost instantaneous. “Why do you get to go to a party with the de Llion sisters?”

  Now the truth was out. Thad wanted to go with the women and Jamison began laughing, low in his throat, just enough to irritate Thad. “Why are you laughing?” he demanded.

  Jamison shook his head. “Ye hot-blooded little pup,” he said. “’Tis not that ye dunna want me tae leave Four Crosses; ’tis simply that I’m leaving and taking the women wit’ me.”

  He continued to laugh as Thad continued to frown. “It is not funny.”

  Jamison put the spears down. “Aye, it ’tis,” he said. “Ye ridiculous whelp, I’m leaving ye here and that’s the end o’ it. Go cry tae someone who cares what ye think.”

  Thad flinched. “Now you are becoming nasty.”

  “Not as nasty as I’m going tae be if ye dunna stop whining about this. Me mind is made up.”

  “Is that so? Let’s see what Tobias has to say.”

  Jamison gave him a wry expression. “I’m in command here, not Tobias. It doesna matter what he thinks. Now, go select about a dozen men tae accompany me tae Trelystan. I want them heavily armed and ready tae depart at dawn.”

  “I want to be one of those twelve.”

  “Get about yer task before I beat ye like a rug.”

  “I am going to tell my uncle about this!”

  “I hope ye do.”

  Thad rolled his eyes petulantly. That made Jamison stomp his big foot in Thad’s direction as if threatening to reach out and grab the man. The young knight, always unable to keep from flinching when Jamison did that, bolted out of the armory, heading off to do as he had been told. But he shook a balled fist at Jamison, his last stand to save his pride, and Jamison simply shook his head and brushed him off. Thad was an excellent knight but he was still very young. That youth was great fun to taunt, or at least Jamison thought so, especially when Thad began to whine. With a grin, Jamison was just turning back to the weapons in the armory when he caught sight of Madeline heading away from the stables and in the direction of the kitchen yard.

  Jamison faded back into the armory doorway, watching the woman from the shadows. The last he’d heard, the sisters were tracking down their mother’s old clothing, hoping to find something serviceable to wear to the de Lara festival. Now, Madeline was out by herself, heading into the kitchen yard. Jamison didn’t trust her where the kitchen yard or the postern gate were concerned, not after what he’d seen the day before. Therefore, when she disappeared from sight, he thought very heavily on following her just to see where she was going. He was just about to make his move when he caught sight of Havilland, also heading out of the stables and seemingly following her sister’s trail.

  Curious, Jamison watched Havilland cross the bailey towards the kitchen yard. She seemed to be on a mission, moving quickly and focused on the kitchens ahead. As soon as she passed from sight, Jamison came out of the shadows and, purely out of curiosity, began to move to the kitchen yards himself.

  It wasn’t as if he could be stealthy in the broad daylight. His red hair gave him away, a bright splat of color against colorless surroundings, so he casually moved towards the kitchen yards like a man who wasn’t tracking two women. He was simply walking. If he ran in to either one of them, he could simply ask them about the clothing and pretend he wasn’t following them. He would use the clothing for an excuse. But the truth was that he really wanted to see what the pair was up to.

  Passing through the gate into the kitchen yard, he immediately looked around for Havilland or Madeline, preferably both, but he didn’t see either of them. Puzzled, as he knew there was nowhere else they could have gone on the trajectory they were traveling, he made his way over to the cook in the middle of the yard.

  The round woman, with a red face, was standing over a big pot of boiling pork and beans. Wonderful smells wafted into the air but Jamison had to step back as the wind shifted and steam blew in his face.

  “Have ye seen Lady Havilland or Lady Madeline?” he asked the woman.

  Brushing stray hair from her face with her wrist, she pointed to the postern gate. “There.”

  Jamison turned to see what she was indicating. “The gate?”

  “Aye.” The woman went back to stirring her pot.

  “Both of them went through the gate?”

  “Aye.”

  With a sinking feeling, Jamison followed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  *

  “I am not afraid to die….”

  *

  Madeline wasn’t difficult to follow.

  Trailing her sister away from the castle and down the side of the hill into the foliage near the river, Havilland hung far back as she followed her sister along the water’s edge. She could see Madeline up ahead, walking quickly, moving as if she had a purpose. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what that purpose was and the more Havilland followed, the more distressed she became.

  Sweet Jesú, it’s true….

  The reality was that Havilland was feeling foolish that she hadn’t discovered Madeline’s treachery before now. She had suspected everyone else but Madeline. But now it was clear that Madeline had been playing her for a fool, evidently wrapped up in some kind of covert operation designed to bring down Four Crosses. In truth, she was playing everyone for a fool, not simply Havilland.

  With that understanding, it was difficult for Havilland not to run after Madeline and beat her, berate her for what she had done. Still, there was some small part of her that was hoping this was all a mistake. Perhaps Madeline had simply come out to the forest to collect mushrooms or winter roots. Perhaps she even wanted to hunt. Even now, Havilland was hoping it was something else.

  The alternative was heartbreaking.

  Quietly, she crept behind her sister, trying to stay low, ducking behind trees as she watched Madeline up ahead. The ground was soaked and icy, and more than once she slipped, trying not to make any noise as she did. Truthfully, she didn’t know what she was going to do when she caught up to Madeline. What could she say to a woman who had lowered herself to something despicable and shameful?

  Then, momentary self-doubt crept in. Was she to blame for all of this? Had she done something to drive her sister into the life of a traitor? Years of the competition between them had brought them to this point but Havilland couldn’t honestly think of anythi
ng she would have done differently with Madeline. There wasn’t a word or an action she regretted.

  Havilland had been able to tolerate her sister’s challenges and attempts at undermining, but if Madeline was truly intent on taking her rebellion to an entirely new level, then Havilland would have to do what was necessary in order to protect her people. She knew she wasn’t to blame for her sister’s behavior.

  “Dyna ferch cyfrwys.”

  A man grabbed her from behind, whispering those words in her ear. Startled, Havilland could feel something sharp against her torso and she immediately started to fight, using an elbow to try to ram the man but he jabbed her with what was most assuredly a dagger and she yelped as it poked through her clothing.

  Now in full-blown panic, she began to fight and slap and kick, trying to grab the man by the hair but he had wedged himself in tightly behind her. She wasn’t able to get a good grip on him but he, on the other hand, had an excellent grip on her. The two of them fell onto the forest floor, rolling around in the moldering leaves as Madeline, alerted by the sounds, came running.

  “Evon!” Madeline cried. “Stop!”

  Evon had Havilland pinned, her face in the dirt as he tried to suffocate her. Madeline, seeing that Evon was trying to kill her sister, screamed at him.

  “Stop!”

  Evon, winded from the fight, let up a bit, enough so that Havilland was able to pull her face out of the dirt. Gasping for air, she tried to hit him again and he came down on her, hard, but this time she was smart enough to turn her head so he couldn’t push it into the earth again. Madeline ran over and grasped Evon by the arm, trying to pull him off of Havilland.

  “Leave her alone!” Madeline yanked on Evon. “Get off of her!”

  Evon wouldn’t budge. He had Havilland pinned in a bad way, an arm twisted behind her back and his dagger still in his hand. “She was following you!”

  “It is my sister!”

  That caused Evon to falter. Curious, he peered down at the woman he had trapped beneath him. “Which one?”

  “Havilland!” Havilland grunted, twisting beneath him. “Let me go!”