Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I appreciate your concerns, my lords, but you must trust me when I tell you that Lady Ryan will be perfectly safe and comfortable as my wife.” He looked pointedly at Thomas. “You will do me the honor, sir, of ceasing your attempts to back out of the marriage contract. I find your stalling tactics both insulting and unnecessary, for I have no intention of changing my mind, nor allowing you the indulgence to change yours. Should you persist, I shall be forced to bring the matter up before a papal council for their determination as to whether or not this contract is binding in my favor.”

  Richard stared at him before turning away, but not before both Dennis and Thomas caught a smile on his face. Dennis had no idea what was so funny, but Thomas thought, knowing the earl as well as he did, that perhaps Richard was enjoying the confrontation.

  “Let us cut to the heart of the matter, Sir Dennis,” Richard said in a tone that encouraged no foolishness. “No man enacts a marriage entirely for peace. You had other reasons, did you not?”

  “What other reasons do you suggest, my lord?”

  Richard sat down behind his desk once more, wrapping his elegant robes about him against the chill of the room. He gazed at Dennis, his droopy-eyed appearance concealing his razor sharp mind. He had no intention of letting this knight, however wise and persuasive, best him. He was determined to prove his theory.

  “I suggest that years of fighting have bankrupted St. Austell,” he said frankly. “I further suggest that you proposed this marriage to gain the capital to repair your fortress and salvage this derelict legacy your father has left you. Am I wrong so far?”

  Dennis did not falter. “You are, my lord.”

  Richard was enjoying this. “I am?” he cocked an eyebrow and chuckled. “I think not. Let me prove my point by saying that instead of the ill and resistant Lady Ryan, I shall commit to you one of my very own nieces with a sizable fortune attached. You will be related to the crown by marriage, a most appealing prospect, entitling you to crown support and other privileges. Am I still wrong in my assumptions?”

  “You are, my lord.”

  “Do you mean to say that a bride of royal blood with a substantial dowry is hardly as attractive as a mere woman of noble breeding with an average endowment?”

  “I am saying exactly that.”

  “God’s Blood, why?”

  “I have my reasons, my lord.”

  Richard sat forward sharply, the enjoyment of his game fading as he realized Sir Dennis was not conceding in the least. The man was stubborn as hell. “Then I shall take away Lady Ryan’s dowry and you will still have to marry her, you obstinate bastard,” he slapped his hand on the table. “Is she still more attractive than a royal bride?”

  “She outshines the sun, my lord. I would take her with absolutely nothing to her name.”

  Richard was growing a bit red in the face. He opened his mouth again, but this time Thomas stopped him. “A moment, please, my lord,” he said, looking at Dennis, who was far calmer than he had been earlier. In fact, his expression was almost kind. How could he not soften when Dennis’ opinions of Ryan were so flattering? He could not figure out why this knight was so determined to have her at first, but now, he was coming to understand it somewhat. It was quite simple, actually; Sir Dennis was attracted to Ryan and his resolve to have her was unwavering.

  In fact, Thomas seemed to remember a moment in time when his own resolve to have a woman nearly cost him everything. Ryan’s mother, the Lady Eliza de Moray, had caught his eye in the very same fashion many years ago in the midst of the king’s court. He would have done anything to have her, and very nearly did. Thomas had never shown more determination, so perhaps at this moment he understood Dennis d’Vant better than anyone.

  He stood in front of Dennis, his dark eyes studying the man; it was very true that he was not at all like his father. Thomas had enough sense to realize that. The knight before him was intelligent, far more in control of himself, and seemed to possess a gentleness that he tried desperately to hide behind his stoic expression. Thomas could only imagine that Rodrick d’Vant would not tolerate gentleness of any kind, especially from his own son. He felt himself relenting, ever so slightly.

  “You would take her without a dowry?” he asked.

  Dennis gazed back at him steadily. “I would, my lord.”

  “Why?”

  It was the first time since their conversation began that Dennis seemed to hesitate. It wasn’t so much his expression as the flicker in his stormy gray eyes. “Because she intrigues me, my lord.”

  “And if I refuse to turn her over to you?”

  “I lay siege to Launceston and burn it to the ground.”

  “All that for a woman?”

  “All that and more.”

  “But why?” Thomas wasn’t trying to be confrontational; he truly wanted to know. “What is it you see in my daughter that would make you do this?”

  Dennis gazed at him. He wasn’t sure how to answer, or where to begin for that matter. “I see strength in her. It is appealing.”

  “And she is beautiful.”

  “The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

  “She is the most headstrong woman you will ever see, too.”

  The corner of Dennis’ lips twitched. “Forgive me, my lord, but you simply do not know how to handle her.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It ’tis.”

  “And you would lay a siege for a headstrong, stubborn woman?”

  “I would do it gladly.”

  Thomas stared at him a long, long time. Richard thought there might be swords drawn at any moment. But after an eternal, uncertain moment, Thomas broke into a wide, dingy-toothed smile. He understood the man completely, and the arrogant statement was more than a challenge. He could not explain his sudden like for the massive, stubborn man. But the thought that perhaps Ryan had finally met her match filled him with delight.

  “Lad,” he said slowly. “If she survives this night, she will be yours.”

  The climax came so quickly that Dennis felt as if the rug had suddenly been pulled out from under him. No deals to be struck and no more argument. Thomas seemed satisfied, though he was grinning like an idiot, but the earl merely remained silent. Before they changed their mind, he excused himself from the solar. By the time he hit the corridor, his smile fairly split his face in two.

  He had someone to see.

  *

  The door was unlocked. Dennis lifted the old iron latch, listening to the door squeak on its hinges as he slowly opened it. The chamber beyond was dark but for the embers in the hearth, and there was a strange, pungent smell upon the air. Carefully, he took a step in.

  “Halt!” said a small, female voice. “You will not enter this chamber!”

  Lyla was standing beside a large, heavy-framed bed against the far wall. It took Dennis no time at all to see there was a figure lying upon the bed, covered in mounds of feather-filled linens. Ryan’s faced was turned away from him so he could not see if she was sleeping or awake; still, he held up his hands to prove he was no threat.

  “I come peaceably, my lady,” he assured her. “My only intention is to see how my bride is faring.”

  “Your bride?” Lyla sniffed. There was a small dagger on the stand beside the bed, a table laden with smoking bowls, and other strange things. Lyla wielded the dagger like a trophy. “Get out or you shall find this in your gullet!”

  Dennis put his hands to his sides, clearly not threatened by Lyla’s tactics. “Put the dirk down before you hurt yourself.”

  Her pretty brow furrowed. “Hurt myself, will I? I shall have you know that I am quite capable of using this weapon.”

  He shrugged. “Use it if you feel you must. But I am still determined to check on my lady’s welfare.”

  He took a step toward her, his intention obvious. A real bolt of fear shot through Lyla and with a shriek, she hurled the dirk directly at him.

  He caught it.

  Hilt in his massive hand, the blad
e was pointing at his heart. Slowly, Dennis opened his trencher-sized hand, revealing a calloused palm with nary a hint of blood or injury. His catch had been perfect. He gazed at the sharp edge a moment before glancing at Lyla, a look of casual disappointment on his face.

  “Now what if I had truly meant you harm?” he asked, his voice husky. “I would have killed you by now. Truly, Lady Lyla, you must be more accurate in your throwing.”

  Lyla was standing there with her mouth open like a fool. Dennis could not determine whether it was horror or admiration on her face. But she suddenly shouted, “Bute!” and almost immediately Dennis was hit from behind. His knees took the force of the blow and he staggered forward, catching himself from falling by bracing an arm against the stone wall. Before he had time to look and see what had hit him, he was hit again in the leg, far less forceful this time, and he put his hand down only to come away with a palmful of horn. The medium-sized white goat in his grip struggled furiously.

  He straightened himself but still held onto the bleating, twisting goat. “Pray, what is this?”

  Both of Lyla’s modes of protection had been thwarted. She backed up against the bed warily. “That… that is Bucephalus,” she said.

  Dennis cocked an eyebrow, looking between the goat and Lyla. “This goat is named after Alexander the Great’s horse?”

  “Aye.”

  “Unacceptable. My horse carries the same name. You must change this goat’s name at once.”

  “It is not my goat.”

  Dennis knew the beast could only belong to one other person. Certainly he could not fault the woman her good taste in names. On the bed, Ryan rolled onto her back and gave a heavy cough that sounded more like a boiling cauldron. It was harsh and wet, reminding both Dennis and Lyla just how sick she was. Dennis tossed the goat aside and marched toward the bed. Lyla immediately grasped her cousin’s exposed hand.

  “Ryan,” she whispered. “I am so sorry we woke you, dear. But… well, Sir Dennis is here and…”

  Ryan was flushed with fever. Her golden-brown eyes opened and she gazed first at Lyla and then at Dennis. Dennis was about to say something to her when Bute rammed him again and he grunted with surprise, trying to kick the goat aside without injuring it. But the goat would not leave him alone, butting his thigh, buttocks and knees, and he struggled not to appear as if he were struggling with the damn thing.

  “Sir Dennis,” Ryan muttered. “What are you doing here?”

  Dennis had to grab the goat by the horns again before it did permanent damage. “Aside from being pummeled to death, I have come to see how you are faring.”

  “I am not your concern.”

  “You are my primary concern.”

  Ryan glared at him. “I am not,” she refuted him. “And let go of my goat!”

  She coughed loudly, though she wasn’t having the same difficulty breathing that she had been a couple of days earlier. The inflammation was gone, but there was congestion in her lungs. Dennis watched her struggle with the cough as he let go of the goat, only to have it turn around and kick at him. He sighed, trying to sidestep the little flying hooves.

  “Where is the physic?” he asked. “He should be tending you.”

  “He was here,” Ryan said, trying to catch her breath. “He has gone for more medicaments.”

  “What medicaments?”

  “Willow bark for my fever,” she said. “He has eucalyptus for my cough. It’s very expensive, from the Holy Land. Lord Richard purchased it especially for me. It helps my lungs a great deal.”

  “Indeed,” Dennis said, already thinking on the merchants that passed through St. Austell harbor and wondering which ones could supply him with eucalyptus from the East. “Then I take it you are feeling better.”

  “Better,” she grunted. Bute was kicking at Dennis with a frenzy and she had had enough of his tantrum. “Bute! Stop this instant!”

  The goat bleated and immediately ceased his kicking. Jumping up on the bed, he lay down obediently next to his mistress. Dennis scratched his blond head, eyeing the goat.

  “Do not tell me this is your protector,” he rumbled.

  Ryan rubbed the white fur. The goat was incredibly clean, in truth, and apparently quite docile with Ryan. “I raised him when his mother abandoned him. Of course he protects me.”

  Dennis sighed wearily; he’d done enough battle in one day, with Richard and Thomas earlier, and now with a maniacal little goat. He glanced at Lyla, still standing next to the bed, her pretty green eyes focused on him warily. “I would speak with Lady Ryan alone,” he said. Lyla looked hesitant and Dennis increased the rumble in his voice. “And take the goat with you when you leave.”

  Lyla’s eyes widened. “But… I cannot!” she hissed. “I cannot leave you alone!”

  Dennis simply stared at her. The same man who had caught her thrown dagger needed no words to convey his insistence on the matter. Fearful and uncertain, Lyla snatched Bute and fled the room. When the heavy door slammed shut, Dennis focused on Ryan’s flushed, displeased face.

  She was eyeing him with a great deal of hostility. She did not have to utter a word in order for him to know her thoughts. “If you are thinking of taking liberties with me, sir knight, do not be so foolish to assume that no one will stop you,” she growled. “I can promise you at this moment that Lyla is calling hysterically for my father.”

  “I know,” he said simply. “And it is not my intention to take advantage of you.”

  “Then what?”

  “I would talk to you instead.”

  “Then say your peace and remove yourself. I am too exhausted for your foolishness.”

  He was unruffled by her hostile attitude. Lyla’s chair, placed next to the bed, was empty so he planted his massive body upon the wooden frame. His proximity was too close so Ryan slid away from him, across the mattress, none too discreetly. Dennis pretended not to notice.

  “What I have to say is not foolishness, I assure you,” he said. “So listen well. I will not repeat myself.”

  Ryan coughed loudly and rolled over so that her back was to him. It was obvious she was showing her indifference. Dennis’ expression did not fluctuate. “I would not advise doing that, my lady.”

  She made faces at the wall where he could not see them. She may have been stubborn and childish, even outright defiant at times, but she wasn’t so brazen that she would sneer to Dennis d’Vant’s face. She stuck her tongue out and twisted her lips at the darkened wall. “And why is that?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Pray, yes.”

  Ryan yelped as a trencher-sized hand landed squarely on her buttocks. Her flesh radiated with a sting and she sat up in bed, rubbing her bum and scowling fiercely. He simply gazed at her as if they had been discussing nothing more than the weather.

  “Why did you do that?” she demanded.

  “Because you need it,” he said. Then, with more animation she had seen from him since their introduction, he sat forward in the chair and gestured with his massive hands. “In fact, I would wager to say you weren’t spanked nearly as much as you should have been whilst growing up, else you would not act like a spoiled, petulant child. God only knows how such beauty hides a beast.”

  Ryan’s flushed cheeks darkened. “You are mad,” she hissed. “You storm into my room, abuse my pet, shout at my cousin, and then you proceed to beat me and tell me that I deserve it. Get out of here before I kill you!”

  There was a twinkle in his eye, though his expression was like stone. “I shall not hear that talk come out of your mouth again. No wife of mine is…”

  “Wife?” Ryan shrieked, cutting him off. “Do you think for one moment I am going to marry you? Why, you are as mad as a hare! You are raving! Any moment you are going to foam at the mouth and howl at the moon!”

  “I have your father’s blessing.”

  “You are a liar as well!”

  “Ask him.”

  “He would never allow it!”

  D
ennis sat back in the chair and crossed his arms. He was thoroughly enjoying her outrage. “He has and he will. I have already summoned a priest.”

  Ryan’s golden brown eyes narrowed to slits. “Never!” she hissed.

  “You shall like living at St. Austell.” Another first happened at that moment; Dennis actually smiled. By all rights, it was an incredibly handsome smile with big white teeth and slightly prominent canines. “In truth, I wonder how long it will take you and my sister to come to blows. I give it two days, maximum. ’Twill be interesting to see who emerges the victor.”

  Ryan was beside herself with indignity. “No de Bretagne will lose to a d’Vant, I promise you that. And I tell you again, I am not marrying you, nor am I returning with you to St. Austell. I shall commit myself to a convent first!”

  “Impossible. From this moment forward, I am never letting you out of my sight.”

  Ryan had had enough. She was distraught and furious, and she stumbled up from her bed with the intention of making it to the door. But she’d barely taken a step when Dennis was upon her, his big hand grabbing her by the arm. The moment she tried to struggle, and he knew very well that she would, he tossed her back onto the bed.

  Ryan kicked at him and he came up from the chair, throwing his big body atop her. Ryan grunted as his weight nearly crushed her. But Dennis had strategically shifted his body so that barely any weight was on her; he simply wished to contain her, not smash her. His big hands gripped her flailing arms and his body pressed her soft torso into the mattress.

  “Now I shall continue,” he growled, his lips beside her ear. “The first rule is no more tantrums. You will do as you are told, when you are told, without question or complaint.”

  She looked right at him and coughed loudly, spraying into his face. Whatever humor there happened to be went out of the confrontation at that moment and Dennis squeezed her wrists enough to bring a yelp from her.

  “The second rule,” he continued. “You will cease your foolish behavior. I shall not have my wife bringing shame to the House of d’Vant.”

  Ryan had stopped her struggle, gazing at him balefully. “I could do nothing to shame the House of d’Vant any more than generations of your ancestors have already done.”