Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “What goes on here, Jamie?” he asked.

  Jamison, still pale with rage and grief, turned a disinterested eye to the activities. “A festival tae build morale,” he said. “Four Crosses has suffered a good deal of warfare over the past several months and we thought tae….”

  He stopped, coming to a halt and gazing off towards the arena. His three friends looked, too, simply to see what he was looking at. It was then that the men saw a woman in a green dress emerge from the crowd and head in their direction. But it wasn’t just any woman; full-breasted and long of torso, she drew closer and they could see just how beautiful she was. A stunning beauty, in fact, and it was clear that Jamison’s attention was on her.

  When the woman saw that the attention was on her, she smiled hesitantly as she drew near. Although she looked at the three men she didn’t recognize, her focus was mainly on Jamison. In fact, she peered rather closely at him.

  “Jamison?” she asked, her voice sweet and deep. “Is everything well? Why did you leave? You know they will not start the hammer throw without you.”

  Jamison looked at Havilland, sick and torn. He’d never wanted to be held more in his life at the moment, held by her and comforted. God, he needed it badly, but pride kept him from collapsing against her. He knew his friends wouldn’t think poorly of him if he did, but he didn’t want the men of Four Crosses to see him. He’d already put on too much of a display as it was.

  “Lady Havilland,” he said, indicating the men standing around him. “I would like tae introduce ye tae men who are closer tae me than brothers. Sir Beaux MacKay, Sir Kendrick Sutherland, and Sir Caspian Ross. Lads, this is Lady Havilland de Llion, eldest daughter of Sir Roald de Llion, commander of Four Crosses Castle.”

  Havilland dipped her head politely at the men in turn. She would have tried to curtsy but she’d never really done anything like that in her life and she was certain that she would topple herself, so nodding her head had to suffice. But as Jamison introduced them, a recollection occurred to Havilland, one of the very first conversations she’d ever had about Jamison back when they had first met. Tobias had told her about Jamison and his three companions who used to terrorize the young squires and pages at Lioncross Abbey, back in the days when these men were young and in training. Munro, Sutherland, Ross, and MacKay, Tobias had said. It occurred to Havilland that she was looking at the very men he had spoken of.

  “The Lions of the Highlands,” she murmured, looking over the four of them. Looking at them, tall men with big muscles and an untamed look about them, she could utterly see why they earned that name. “I was told about you but I had no idea you were coming to Four Crosses. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

  The four men chuckled to varying degrees. “So our reputation precedes us, does it?” Beaux asked, looking at Jamison. “What did ye tell her?”

  Jamison shook his head, looking rather surprised. “I never told her about the Lions,” he said, looking at her curiously. “Someone else must have.”

  Havilland nodded. “Tobias did,” she said. “Back on the very first day we met. Do you recall? I tried to kill you and you spanked me. Then Tobias told me about you and your Highland brothers. He told me that the four of you were the most powerful clan sons in all the Highlands.”

  Kendrick and Caspian puffed up, taking pride in a reputation that had obviously spread, but Beaux was looking at the lady with a shocked expression. “You tried to kill Jamie?” he clarified.

  Havilland chuckled softly, eyeing Jamison, who was also grinning in spite of himself. “I tried,” she said. “It was a confusing day, in the midst of a battle. I mistook him for the enemy.”

  It wasn’t exactly the truth but Jamison allowed her that small little lie, perhaps to save her pride. Perhaps it was to save his. In any case, the more he looked at her, the more proud and pleased with the woman he felt.

  Introducing her to his friends had been a monumental moment for him because as he’d done it, he’d experienced feelings he’d never felt before. He was announcing to the world that she belonged to him and that made him feel whole, complete. This beautiful woman whom he wanted to marry so badly, whom he was coming to depend on. Reaching out, he took Havilland’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, a decidedly possessive gesture. He faced his friends.

  “Ye should know that I have asked Havilland tae be me wife,” he said, looking at the woman who was smiling openly at him. “Any woman who would attack me with a sword is a brave woman, indeed. She impressed me so much that I had no choice but tae marry her.”

  He expected congratulations. What he received was a myriad of blank and, in Kendrick’s case, shocked expressions. As if they didn’t understand what he had just said. But as he looked at the three, it began to occur to him that these weren’t expressions of shock. They were expressions of dismay. He frowned.

  “Have ye nothing tae say tae that?” he said. “I am telling ye that I have asked this woman tae marry me and she has agreed. Ye have agreed, have ye not?”

  He looked at Havilland when he asked the question and she nodded, smiling, completely oblivious to the meaning of the expressions on the others. Not knowing them, she had no idea that the lack of a congratulatory word wasn’t normal.

  “I did agree, although I doubt you would have let me refuse, in any case,” she said, jesting with him. “I do not suppose you would have let me think on it.”

  “Never.”

  She giggled and Jamison grinned, but he was concerned that his friends had said nothing about his impending marriage. In fact, they were now looking at each other in confusion and Jamison was rather hurt by their response. Hurt turned into disappointment and a little bit of anger.

  “Still no word of happiness?” he said, facing Beaux. “Why not? Because she’s not Scots? I dinna think that sort of thing mattered tae ye, Beaux. Ye, of all people.”

  Beaux quickly shook his head, seeing that Jamison was offended by their restraint. “’Tis not that at all, Jamie,” he said hesitantly. “What we told ye outside the gatehouse… there is more tae the story. We shouldna speak of it in front of the lady.”

  Jamison frowned, completely puzzled. “And why not?” he wanted to know. “She is tae be me wife. I will keep no secrets from her.”

  Havilland, coming to sense that there was something odd and even depressing afoot, put her hand on Jamison’s arm. “’Tis all right,” she assured him. “I… I will go back to the arena and watch the hammer throw while you speak to your friends. Shall I tell them you will not be participating?”

  Jamison was growing more inflamed by the moment. He held fast to her, not letting her leave, while he faced Beaux. He believed his friends were discriminating against her and he was deeply disappointed.

  “Ye will tell me why ye havena congratulated me on me impending marriage,” he said, “but know if ye say one bad thing about Lady Havilland, ye’ll not like me reaction. I wouldna think ye small enough tae denounce her for the country she was born in, Beaux.”

  Beaux found himself on the defensive. “I told ye ’tis not that at all,” he insisted. “I dunna care if the lass is from Wales. It makes no difference tae me. All I care for is yer happiness and if ye say she is the lass o’ yer dreams, then I’m happy for ye. But….”

  Jamison’s eyebrows flew up. “But what?” he demanded.

  Beaux sighed heavily, looking at Kendrick and Caspian, once again, for silent support in what needed to be said. Jamison wasn’t making it easy in the least and they didn’t want to speak of this in front of the woman he’d just introduced as his betrothed, but he wasn’t giving them much choice.

  “Please, Jamie,” he begged one last time. “In private, if ye will.”

  “Tell me now. I’ll not hide anything from her.”

  Beaux rolled his eyes, perturbed at the stubborn stance, when Caspian finally spoke up. “Jamie, it has nothing tae do with yer lass,” he said. “She’s a beautiful woman and ye deserve yer happiness. But with Georgie’s pass
ing, that means ye’re now the heir, and with that role comes responsibilities.”

  Jamison eyed Caspian. “I realize that,” he said, offended that they evidently thought he didn’t know his role. “I know me responsibilities.”

  Caspian shook his head. He lowered his voice, hoping that would stress what sensitive information he was about to speak. “George was betrothed tae Agnes MacLennan,” he said. “Did ye know that?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Then know that yer da expects ye tae fulfill that contract,” Caspian said, watching Jamison’s eyes widened. “The MacLennans are kin tae the MacKenzies. Yer da hopes tae end the blood feud by marrying ye tae young Agnes. The MacKenzies willna fight against their kin; they never have.”

  Jamison’s mouth popped open. “I canna marry that bairn,” he said in disbelief. “I have me own bride tae marry.”

  Caspian shook his head. “As the heir, ’tis yer duty tae marry Georgie’s bride,” he said. “Ye canna break the contract.”

  “I dunna care about the contract!”

  “It ’twill cost lives if ye dunna marry her.”

  That brought Jamison to a stop. He stood like stone, staring at Caspian as if incapable of moving. In truth, he was afraid to – afraid to breathe, afraid to move, afraid of what would happen if he did. It wasn’t even the fact that his father expected him to marry George’s betrothed; he should have realized that. He should have realized it before now but he was still reeling over his brother’s death and the greater implications of that event hadn’t occurred to him.

  But now… dear God, now the full impact was upon him and he was having difficulty processing it all. As the Munro heir, he was expected to marry an ally. He was starting to feel sick again.

  “Did me da tell ye that is what he expects from me?” he asked, his voice strained.

  Caspian nodded. “He did,” he said. “’Tis yer duty tae fulfill, Jamie. I’m sorry.”

  Jamison exhaled sharply, as if all of the breath had been driven out of his body. One giant, unseen fist to the gut and he couldn’t breathe any longer. But he tried; he forced himself to breathe – in and out. In and out. Only then did he turn to look at Havilland, who was standing beside him with a queer expression on her face. She was looking up at him, her eyes a bottomless pool of emotion and confusion.

  Jamison didn’t even know what to say to her. In hindsight, now he realized why Beaux and Kendrick and Caspian wanted to tell him all of this in private. But he hadn’t listened. He thought they’d held some kind of prejudice against Havilland and it had angered him. Now, he was feeling as distraught as he possibly could, searching for something to say to Havilland, who had heard everything. But she spoke before he could.

  “Your brother is dead?” she asked.

  Jamison realized his throat was tight with emotion. “Aye,” he replied. “That is why they have come, tae tell me of me brother’s death and tae inform me that I am now me da’s heir.”

  Havilland continued to gaze at him, processing the situation, absorbing what she had been told. “I… I am so sorry to hear that,” she said quietly. “How did he die?”

  Jamison went to grasp her hands, to hold on to her tightly, but she yanked them away, unwilling to let him touch her. He felt like vomiting again.

  “I told ye I had come tae de Lohr because I killed a man,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Do ye remember?”

  “I do.”

  “His family killed Georgie.”

  Now, a good deal was coming clear to Havilland and she began to tremble, realizing that the situation was serious, indeed. These three men hadn’t simply come to Four Crosses to visit; they had come with a purpose. A life-changing purpose. At this moment, Havilland could suddenly see everything slipping away, the joy she had known, the new emotions she had experienced. All of it was slipping away.

  Her life, as she had hoped for it to be, was slipping away forever.

  “What does that mean?” she asked, her lower lip quivering. “Are you going back to Scotland?”’

  “Aye.”

  “To marry your brother’s betrothed?”

  He had never felt so much pain in his life, distress and grief stabbing at him from all directions. “Nay,” he said. “I willna do it. “Tis ye I… Havi, ’tis ye I adore. I shall have ye and no other.”

  “But your father wants you to marry your brother’s betrothed.”

  “I willna do it!”

  “You will defy your father, then? For the trouble it would cause your clan, you would do that?”

  “I would!”

  “For me?”

  “For ye.”

  Havilland wasn’t sure she could believe him. She had heard what Caspian had said, how he had stressed that Jamison had no choice. That meant there would be no marriage between her and Jamison because, as clan chief, it would be his duty to marry to strengthen the clan. She knew that much. She understood how marriages in this age worked. Marriage was meant for political strengthening, not for love.

  Love.

  God, she loved him. But she couldn’t have him. She knew that even as she looked at him; something in his expression said that he knew it, too.

  It was over.

  “You heard your friend,” she said, voice quivering as she backed away from him. “Your father hopes to end a blood feud by you marrying your brother’s betrothed. It is your duty now. You can go back to Scotland and forget about the knight’s daughter you once thought you fancied. I am not a fine lady, anyway. These clothes… they do not belong to me. They do not suit me. I will get along as I have before, as I always have before. You needn’t worry about me, Jamison. Just… go home.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and ran off, so fast that the green skirt was hiked up around her knees, blowing behind her in a rush. Jamison took off after her but she was faster, so fast that she made it into the keep before he did. He was calling her name, yelling after her, begging her to stop, but she wouldn’t listen. Havilland reached her chamber and slammed the door, throwing the iron bolt so he couldn’t come in. Then, she stumbled to a corner of the chamber and collapsed, hands over her ears, as Jamison stood at the door and banged on it, begging her to open it.

  Havilland remained in her corner and wept.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  *

  “There will never be anyone else.

  Only you….”

  *

  Everyone was crying.

  The banging on Havilland’s door had gone on all afternoon as Amaline had kept to her chamber, the door locked, sobbing over Madeline and over the situation in general. Since fleeing Madeline’s cell earlier in the day she had come to her chamber, making herself scarce. In the meantime, however, something terrible had happened and Jamison had done something to upset Havilland, so much so that her sister had been locked in her chamber since morning, weeping steadily as Jamison begged her to open the door.

  Amaline couldn’t really hear what was being said but she thought it was something about another woman. He was supposed to marry someone else. Or wasn’t he? Amaline wasn’t entirely sure; all she knew was that Havilland was hysterical because Jamison had some involvement with another woman.

  He’d lied to her.

  That concerned Amaline deeply. She didn’t dare go out onto the landing where Jamison was banging on Havilland’s door, begging her to open it. She was frightened of all of the shouting and pleading and weeping. But as the afternoon progressed and Jamison begged so much that his voice grew hoarse, all Amaline could think about was the fact that he’d evidently lied to her sister. The same man who had called Madeline a traitor was now evidently a liar himself. At least, that was the way it seemed to Amaline.

  And with that realization, her doubts about Madeline grew. Perhaps her sister really was innocent. Perhaps she hadn’t done any of those things he said she’d done. How could any of them believe Jamison when he said Madeline was a traitor if he had, in fact, lied to Havilland about wanting to marry her? And now M
adeline was waiting for Lord de Lohr to arrive to cut her head off because of what Jamison accused her of.

  Was it true?

  Did she really spy for the Welsh?

  The more time passed, the more uncertain of the situation Amaline became. Indecision gripped her. She wept about it, prayed about it, and peered out of her window at the gatehouse, at the door with the steps that led down to the vault. Madeline was down there, awaiting her sentence because of what a man had said. Until just a few days ago, they hadn’t even known who Jamison Munro was. Now, he’d thrown Madeline in the vault and had bewitched Havilland. He’d done terrible things, in Amaline’s mind.

  He’d torn them all apart.

  Perhaps Madeline’s only chance would be to run for safety, to flee Four Crosses as she had said she would. Now it wasn’t sounding like such a terrible idea. Confused and frightened, Amaline didn’t want to be guilty of allowing her sister to be executed if Jamison had lied about her. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if that happened. Perhaps she should free Madeline and let her run off, never to return as she had promised. Perhaps that was the only way to save Madeline’s life.

  By the time sunset neared, Amaline had all but convinced herself that Jamison had lied and that Madeline was innocent. Listening to the man plead with Havilland all afternoon had fed that doubt, forcing her into a decision she wasn’t entirely certain about. But decide she had; she would set Madeline free because she didn’t want her sister’s head to be cut off. Jamison Munro was not to be trusted. With those thoughts in mind, she pulled a dark, heavy cloak off of the peg on the wall and timidly opened the chamber door.

  The landing was dark outside but she could immediately see a massive body sitting against Havilland’s door. Her eyes met with Jamison’s in the dimness and he simply looked at her. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed, but after a moment, he smiled weakly at her.