Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II

by Kathryn Le Veque

  But he had organized the games so he threw himself into his task, which at this point involved an archery competition they had set up in the arena. Including him and Jamison and Thad, Tobias had hand-selected several de Lohr men he knew were good archers and a few Four Crosses men who had come recommended to him as excellent archers. At the edge of the arena, there were two gambling tables set up and men going mad placing bets on the competitors. Already, money was changing hands at an alarming rate and the mood of the castle on this bright winter’s morning was electrified with excitement in complete contrast to the sullen, suspicious, and beaten mood that had filled the men and the castle for months on end.

  Because of this, the knights were realizing, more and more, that Jamison had been correct in his decision to have a day of morale boosting. It wasn’t simply about giving joy to two young ladies who had known little; this was about lifting the spirits of the entire castle. The men were happier already, alive with the excitement of the coming games, and as the two ladies and their escorts reached the makeshift arena, the noise was already loud with men excitedly shouting as competitors began to take the field for the archery competition.

  Increasingly, Havilland and Amaline seemed to be overcoming their shock at the unexpected festival and were coming to the realization that Jamison and his men had done a massive amount of work overnight. After the surprise wore away, the glee began to take hold and by the time Jamison and Thad lifted the ladies up onto the viewing platform that the men had constructed during the night, both women were smiling a great deal, thrilled at the spectacle. But no one was smiling more than Havilland was.

  And all of her smiling was aimed at Jamison.

  Once he lifted her to sit on one of the two chairs that had been placed on the viewing platform, she didn’t want to let him go. He was sweet and attentive, asking if she wanted a cushion, and then sending someone to fetch old Bethan to stand with the ladies and be a chaperone with them while he wasn’t able to stand at her side. It was utterly unnecessary to have the old servant as a chaperone to women who could easily handle a weapon, but in the civilized world, it was the proper thing to do. Jamison was being very thoughtful and kind, more than anything Havilland had ever experienced. If she had any doubts about the man and his feelings for her, his actions of the morning had dashed them.

  And her feeling for him were true, as well.

  Therefore, when Bethan arrived and was heaved up to the platform by two soldiers, Jamison turned to leave but Havilland grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let him go.

  “Why do you leave?” she asked anxiously.

  He smiled at her, pointing to the arena with the hand she didn’t have a viselike grip on. “I am going tae compete,” he said. “I know that Scotsmen aren’t known for their archery skills, but lest ye forget, I trained in England. I can handle a bow better than most.”

  Havilland turned to look at the arena, too, seeing how they had set up a row of targets by using the troop house for a backstop. The targets were of wood, cut square although they were of varying sizes, hastily done, and all of them held up by a wooden frame. Right in the center of the target was a circle made from lime mortar, the same mortar they were using to rebuild the walls of Four Crosses. It was a neatly-formed circle, white, that also gave off a strange glow-like quality because of the minerals in the lime. The targets were very easy to see across the arena floor.

  “Very well,” she said, letting go of his hand. “Best of luck to you. I… I will be cheering for you.”

  He smiled at her. “And I will hear ye,” he said. “But ye must give me a token for luck. I dunna have one.”

  In a panic, she began looking around on her body, trying to see if there was a spare piece of cloth from the dress that he could have. But there was nothing. She had no idea what to give him when she suddenly caught a flash of a blade. As she watched, Jamison unsheathed one of his dirks and used the razor-sharp blade to cut the end off of the scarf that ran through her hair. It was just a couple of inches, but it was enough for him. With a grin, he lifted it to his nose, smelling it, before tucking it into his belt.

  “That’ll do,” he said quietly, his eyes glimmering at her. “Now, watch the games. I think ye will enjoy them.”

  Havilland smiled at him, watching him as he deftly leapt off the platform and headed out into the field. In fact, she had eyes only for him as he moved to a crowd of men at the edge of the arena and pulled forth a bow from one of the de Lohr soldiers. There were plenty of yew-branch bows from the armory but the ammunition for them was rather scarce, so they had handed out what ammunition they had to the competitors to be reused. Jamison, inspecting the bow he was to use, was taller than even the tallest man, his red hair glistening in the weak winter sun. He was all she could see.

  Adoring. That’s the only way Havilland could explain her feelings about him at the moment because she had no context on anything greater. She’d never loved a man nor had she ever been in love. But watching Jamison made her feel like smiling. What he had done for her today, arranging this festival in her honor simply because he couldn’t stand to see her so disappointed, went beyond anything she had ever imagined. She thought, quite possibly, that she could grow to love this man. Wasn’t that what adoration was, anyway? Anyone who would do such marvelous things for her was surely worthy of her love.

  “Havi?”

  Amaline was tugging on her sleeve, distracting her from thoughts of Jamison. Havilland turned to her youngest sister to see distress on the girl’s face. She was instantly concerned.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Amaline was distressed, indeed. “Bethan has asked where Madeline is,” she whispered. “What do I tell her?”

  Havilland glanced at the old woman, standing on the other side of Amaline, watching the activity on the field. “What did you tell her?” she asked quietly.

  Amaline almost glanced at Bethan, too, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to make it obvious that she was talking about the woman. “I told her that I had not seen her yet today,” she said. “It is the truth. I have not seen her today.”

  Havilland knew it wouldn’t be the first time someone asked about Madeline today. As much as she and Amaline were, Madeline was an important and visible figure at Four Crosses. Her absence would be obvious and they simply couldn’t pretend as if she did not exist. As much as thoughts of this festival were meant to buoy her, now thoughts of Madeline were dragging her down.

  With a fresh day dawning, her anger towards her sister was just as strong as it ever was but there was also a sense of extreme hurt and disappointment that Madeline would so easily betray them. Now, the anger was starting to gain some momentum and she struggled to put it aside for she didn’t want to ruin this special day and everything Jamison had worked hard for. She refused to let Madeline ruin this day.

  “You told her what you could,” she said after a moment, her gaze on Jamison as he moved to his spot in the arena, which happened to be almost directly in front of her. “If anyone asks, we will simply say that she did not wish to be part of this day.”

  Amaline nodded, watching the men take position in front of the platform. There was Thad and Tobias and then Jamison in front of them, and then a host of other soldiers down the line, all of them with their bows, facing the targets across the arena. Amaline didn’t say anything more about Madeline but she was surely thinking about her middle sister. In fact, as the first round of arrows flew to their targets and the crowd cheered, including Havilland, Amaline found her attention pulled to the gatehouse and the vault beneath it.

  Now, she couldn’t stop thinking of her sister. Oh, Madeline… did you really do what they say you did? In truth, she had been wondering that from the start. Was it possible there had been a miscommunication or a misunderstanding? Madeline was bossy and aggressive, and Amaline had meant it last night when she said she hoped that Madeline would stay in the vault forever. But morning had seen Amaline’s stance wavering. She was afraid for her sister, afraid o
f what Lord de Lohr would do to her. Weren’t spies executed? Was it possible that Madeline would be put to death? The more Amaline thought about that, the more fearful she became.

  Perhaps she needed to hear from Madeline’s lips what really happened. Perhaps she needed to make her own judgement about her sister and not rely on Havilland and Jamison, the only two people who had witnessed Madeline’s treachery. Not that she believed they would lie to her, but perhaps there was another explanation. Somehow, Amaline didn’t truly believe that there was, because she was sure that Madeline was capable of what she had been accused of, but something inside of her demanded to speak with Madeline.

  She had to hear from Madeline’s own lips about her treachery.

  Lost in her thoughts of turmoil, Amaline stood up from her chair and Havilland immediately put her hand on Amaline’s arm.

  “Where are you going, Ammie?” she asked.

  Flustered, confused, and upset, Amaline struggled to come up with an excuse that Havilland would believe. She knew if she told her where she was really going, Havilland would deny her. Therefore, she lied.

  “I… I must use the privy,” she said. “I will hurry back.”

  Havilland had no reason not to believe her so she smiled at her sister and watched the girl leap off the platform, losing herself in the crowd of men that was standing around the arena.

  But that was as far as her attention for Amaline went. As her sister went off to relieve herself, Havilland turned back to watch Jamison take a second shot at the archery target and hit it dead center. The men cheered and she clapped loudly, proud of the man as she had never been proud of anything in her life. She’d never known what it was to be proud of someone who had shown her such affection, such attention.

  Having never had to protect her heart before, the only thing Havilland could do was give it over freely. Jamison, in her eyes, had proven himself. Perhaps they’d had a rough start, but Jamison had more than made up for it. The Scotsman known as The Red Lion had done the impossible… he had won her heart.

  So Havilland watched as Jamison continued to hit the center of the target as other men were eliminated. She had cheered louder and louder with each win until, finally, he was matched against Tobias for the victory. When it was just the two knights, the bets were flying fast and furious, and men were betting heavily on Jamison. He and Tobias drew straw lengths to see who would go first and it was Tobias, so Jamison stood back graciously and watched as Tobias set himself up for the first round. There would be three total and the man closest to the center target, or within the center target, would win.

  Jamison leaned against the platform as Tobias lined up his first shot, turning to wink at Havilland more than once. She smiled openly at him, so openly that the men watching the exchange were beginning to whisper. Many of the soldiers at Four Crosses had watched Havilland and her sisters grow up so to realize she was fond of a de Lohr knight sent gossip spreading through the groups of men like a wildfire. Not only was Madeline missing, as many had noticed and commented on, but now Havilland was evidently sweet on the big Highlander. Already, the day was quite eventful.

  Tobias launched his arrow and hit the target, but not dead center. Jamison collected his bow and arrow, planted his big feet, and fired off an arrow that hit dead center in the middle of the target. Tobias, not to be outdone, launched his second arrow and was slightly off center. Jamison shot his second arrow and hit his first one, splintering it. The crowd went mad.

  Inflamed, Tobias launched his third arrow and hit the center mark again, but at the edge of it. Jamison, with a grin on his face, launched his last arrow and landed it slightly below his other two, but still nearly dead-on center. The man that Tobias had appointed the marshal of the games declared Jamison the obvious winner and men cheered in response. Once again, Tobias emerged the loser and his mood was growing more foul by the moment. What he had viewed as a chance to win Havilland away from Jamison was turning into an embarrassment for him.

  Jamison wasn’t oblivious to Tobias’ shame but he had no idea what was truly behind it. After being declared the winner, he didn’t rejoice or shout his triumph for all to hear, but rather made his way over to the platform where Havilland was sitting. She was sitting straight in her chair, watching him eagerly as he approached. With a grin, he leapt up onto the platform, took her hand, and kissed it.

  “Yer favor brought me luck,” he said. “Ye have me thanks.”

  Havilland smiled up at him, her handsome victor. “You have a good deal of skill with a bow,” she said. “I wish I could have competed, too.”

  His smile faded. “Are ye not enjoying yerself watching the games?”

  She nodded quickly. “I am,” she assured him. “But… well, it seems strange to be sitting here and not participating.”

  He chuckled. “Fine ladies dunna usually participate in men’s games,” he said. “They watch from the lists and cheer on their men.”

  She wriggled her eyebrows in an ironic gesture. “I suppose that is something I must become accustomed to,” she said. “What will you be doing next?”

  Jamison looked out at the arena where men were removing the archery targets and gathering the arrows that had fallen or were loose. He could also see, at the far end, that the marshal and his helpers were bringing out a length of hemp rope.

  “The hammer throw,” he told her. “I’ve been throwin’ hammers since I was a wee lad. I will destroy these English who think they can best me.”

  He said it rather dramatically and Havilland laughed softly. “I look forward to it.”

  He turned to look at her, grinning because she was. “Of course ye do,” he said, “because I shall triumph again. Where is yer sister? She will want to see me triumph as well.”

  Havilland looked around. “She had some business to attend to,” she said, politely phrasing the nature of her sister’s absence. “She will return soon.”

  Jamison simply nodded, looking over to the edge of the arena where the men were gathering to begin the hammer throw. Tobias had confiscated all of the blacksmith’s hammers for this event and there were six of them, long-handled hammers with heavy iron heads. Jamison gave Havilland’s hand a squeeze before releasing it.

  “On tae the next event,” he told her, fingering the favor that was still in his belt. “Ye’ve brought me fortune, m’lady. I expect ye will bring me more.”

  Havilland could only smile in return. In fact, it seemed that she had been doing an awful lot of smiling at the man. She couldn’t seem to do anything else. As she opened her mouth to reply, a shout to Jamison stopped her. Both she and Jamison turned to see one of the gatehouse sentries coming towards them. Jamison was immediately fixed on the man.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  The sentry had to push through a group of men in order to reach Jamison. “Riders, my lord,” he said. “The commander on watch has asked me to summon you and Sir Tobias.”

  Jamison forgot about the hammer toss for the moment. He was already moving in the direction of the gatehouse. “How many riders?” he asked.

  “Three, my lord.”

  Jamison frowned. “That is not a great number,” he said. “I see no reason tae panic. Can ye make out any colors or standards?”

  The sentry nodded. “The commander on watch says to tell you that the men are wearing what you are.”

  Puzzled, Jamison cocked his head. “What is that?”

  The soldier pointed at his brecan. “That.”

  Jamison was running for the gatehouse without another word.

  *

  It had been a simple matter for Amaline to enter the gatehouse and descend the stairs leading to the vault because the direction of the entry faced the bailey even though the cells themselves were underneath the gatehouse. Therefore, she could avoid the men inside the gatehouse for the most part. More than that, the sentries on duty seemed to be watching incoming riders. She had heard their shouts and had seen their interest, and she had used it to her advantage. With the
m occupied, it was nothing at all for Amaline to slip down the narrow, slippery stairs into the vault that smelled like earth and rot.

  The vault of Four Crosses was a very large hole that had been carved out in the earth of Wales, a hole big enough for two tiny cells and little more. The floors weren’t even; they tended to slope and the ground was slippery and unstable in places. Water ran down the eastern wall and pooled in a green puddle.

  A single iron sconce had been hammered into that wall, holding a fatted torch that billowed up thick black smoke into the low ceiling. The air down here was bad, anyway, and the smoke didn’t help.

  Amaline was frightened to be down there, frightened of what she’d find. The torch didn’t light the area very well and she stood at the base of the stairs for a moment, her eyes growing accustomed to the light. Gradually, the cells became clear and she could see a figure in the cell closest to her, lying on a pile of fresh straw with a couple of heavy blankets over it. The figure had its back turned to the door but knowing it was Madeline, Amaline rushed up to the iron bars.

  “Madeline?” she whispered loudly.

  The figure jerked and suddenly sat up. Amaline found herself looking into Madeline’s red-rimmed eyes. When Madeline saw her youngest sister, she rushed to the iron grate and grasped Amaline’s hands.

  “Ammie!” she gasped. “You have come to me!”

  Amaline nodded uncertainly. “Aye… I wanted to see you.”

  Madeline squeezed her hands, hard. “Oh, Ammie, I am so frightened!”

  Amaline peered curiously at her sister; the woman had never uttered that word in her life – frightened. She didn’t even know Madeline knew what it meant to be frightened. Greatly puzzled, and a bit wary, she pulled her hands away from Madeline so the woman couldn’t grab her through the bars. She was squeezing so hard she was hurting her.

  “Havi told me what you did,” Amaline said, distressed. “How could you do it, Madeline? You have told the Welsh all about us and now they will destroy us!”