Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Lyla heartily agreed. Since the incident between Ryan and Charlotte, that measure of fear had been removed from their lives, however temporary. Between the two of them, they managed to wash the chaff off and freshen up with the precious lemon soap. Within the hour they were dressed and combed, and making their way down to the great hall where Dennis was waiting for them clad in full battle armor.

  Charlotte was with him.

  *

  It was a silent ride into the port town of St. Austell. Ryan rode atop her palfrey rather stiffly, clad in a pale blue surcoat with a darker blue cloak over her shoulders with a hem that trailed over the back of the palfrey. Clouds threatened overhead but so far, no rain had fallen. Patches of blue sky streamed down upon them, steaming up the knights in their armor but warming the ladies nicely.

  Dennis and Charlotte rode at the head of the escort, with eight soldiers surrounding Ryan and Lyla, and with Clive and Riston bringing up the rear. The roads were still rather wet and slippery from the rains and the heavy chargers would slip on occasion. As they drew nearer to the town, they happened to come across the merchant avenue and the same smells of baking bread filled the air.

  Ryan and Lyla inhaled deeply, glancing hungrily at each other. Ryan would not be denied the allure of the smells.

  “My lord?” she called out to Dennis. He didn’t hear her, as he was speaking with his sister, so her voice grew louder. “My lord? Dennis? Dennis, darling?”

  He heard the last part because she had very nearly shouted it. When he turned around to look at her, she rubbed her belly in a silent gesture of hunger. She also had a rather pathetic look on her face. He flipped up his visor and grinned at her.

  “More oggies?” he asked.

  She nodded, smiling happily, and he sighed with good-humored resignation. “Very well,” he said. “You remain here with the escort. I will return shortly.”

  Her face fell. “But I want to go with you!”

  He shook his head. “You will eat everything in sight and we still have not reached our destination,” he told her. “Remain here. I will return.”

  Ryan watched him dismount and head off down the alley, his armor creating an echoing racket against the small stone huts. When he passed out of sight, she suddenly realized that he had left her alone with Charlotte. As a reflex action, she looked at the armored woman at the head of the column, seeing that she appeared more interested in what was going on around her in the streets. She wasn’t paying attention to Ryan in the least.

  Ryan slithered off her palfrey, keeping her skirts and cloak gathered up from the mud on the ground. Lyla was shaking her head furiously at her, silently telling her not to wander away, but Ryan waved her off as she made her way to the merchant’s stall at the intersection of the avenue and the alley. It was the same merchant shop she had ran away from at the moment she had been told of Bute’s untimely death. The man had a great many wears, mostly things to interest women, and she stood at the edge, peering inside at the goods hanging from the ceiling.

  People were bustling all around, going about their business, as Ryan found a particular piece of cloth that she found very beautiful. It was a shawl, made from iridescent red fabric with yellow flowers embroidered all around the edges. She fingered it, feeling the softness against her skin. Then she unfolded it to get a better look, letting it drape over her arm so she could see all of the colors within the fabric. It was a truly beautiful piece. As she was admiring it, she felt someone walk up next to her and naturally assumed it was Lyla.

  “What do you think?” she asked. “Do you like the color?”

  There was a short pause. “It is very… red.”

  The voice that answered wasn’t Lyla’s; startled, Ryan turned sharply to see Charlotte standing next to her. The woman was looking up at the fabric hanging from the ceiling. She wasn’t looking at Ryan at all. Ryan fought down her natural fright of the woman, realizing that Dennis wasn’t around to save her should this prove to be a mortal encounter. Summoning her courage, she said the next thing that came to mind.

  “I… I do like red,” she said, trying not to make it obvious that she was putting distance between her and Charlotte. “It… it is a very strong color. It implies strength.”

  Charlotte was still looking at the shawl. “It does?”

  “Aye,” Ryan said, feeling braver. “The royal house has tunics of red. My father told me once that Roman legions used to wear red capes into battle because they believed the color brought good fortune.”

  Charlotte’s gaze lingered on the red shawl a moment longer before focusing on Ryan. It was an odd and powerful moment as their eyes met. There was no real hostility in the air; mostly curiosity. Acknowledgement. Perhaps a measure of scrutiny.

  Ryan, seeing that she had the woman’s attention, thought to keep the conversation going. After all, it was the first real conversation they had ever shared, even if it had only been just a few words. Even if she truly never had a relationship with the woman, they should at least have a tolerable existence. Perhaps now was the opportunity to build it.

  “What color do you like?” she asked Charlotte.

  Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “Color?” she repeated, confused. “I have not thought on it. I do not have… I have no use for color.”

  Ryan cocked her head. “I can see you wearing red,” she said decisively. “You have your brother’s gray eyes and blond hair. Red would be striking on you.”

  Charlotte looked both resistant and curious. Before she could open her mouth, Ryan yanked down the red shawl with the yellow embroidery and handed it over to the merchant, who had come from the back of the shop to see if he could be of assistance.

  “Wrap this,” she told him. “We will take it and probably more. I have not yet decided.”

  As the merchant ran off to wrap the shawl, Ryan moved deeper into the shop to a table of pomades. She realized she was taking charge of the situation, and being rather strong-willed about it, but she thought perhaps she would just continue until Charlotte either walked away or told her to stop. The woman seemed rather stumped by her at the moment and she sought to take advantage of it.

  There were many pomades of different smells; ingredients such as flowers or pungent woods or herbs were steeped in tallow or wax, creating a sweet-smelling ointment that was then rubbed on the skin.

  “Do you like perfume?” she asked, turning to Charlotte as she smelled one of the pomades that had the scent of roses. “I like them very much, although with my breathing problems, sometimes the scents seem to make it worse.”

  Charlotte hadn’t moved from the front of the shop. She just stood there, watching Ryan smell the pomades.

  “I do not own any perfumes,” she said. Then, she seemed to stiffen. “Surely you cannot be foolish enough to mock me.”

  Ryan grew serious. “Of course I am not,” she said. “I would not do that. I was simply asking if you liked perfumes because I like them a great deal. I was simply sharing that with you and… well, I apologize if you thought I was mocking you. I most certainly was not.”

  Charlotte eyed her a moment before visibly relaxing. She began to look around disinterestedly. “I have no use for perfume,” she said. “I am sure you must realize that.”

  Ryan set down the rose pomade. “May I ask you a question?”

  Charlotte cast her a sidelong glance. “What question?”

  “You do not have to answer it if you do not wish to. You may also tell me that it is none of my affair. I mean no disrespect by asking.”

  “What is the question?”

  Ryan phrased it as carefully as she could. “Do you… what I mean to ask is, do you fight by choice?” she asked. “Were you forced to fight or did you choose to?”

  Charlotte just stared at her a moment. Ryan was sure she was going to tell her to mind her own affairs and walk away. But she continued to stand there, staring. Then, her gaze shifted to the surcoats that hung from one section of the ceiling.

  “I do not really recall
,” she said, shades of a wistful look coming to her features as she gazed at the fine ladies’ clothing. “I was the firstborn and I was supposed to be a boy. From my earliest memories my father treated me as a lad. When Dennis was born, he was the hoped for son, but I was already three years old and had been raised as a male child. My father always considered me a man. Whether or not I wanted to be one was not at issue. I am what you see; a knight.”

  Ryan was surprised by the honest answer. She didn’t take it lightly. “Your brother says you are a very fine warrior,” she said. “I do not know of any women who can make that claim. It would seem you are very unique.”

  Charlotte stared at her. It was clear that she was mulling over the reply and perhaps the entire conversation. She, too, was acutely aware that it was the first civil conversation she’d had with the woman from Launceston, her brother’s wife. After what had happened in the great hall when Ryan attacked her, she had grown intensely curious about the woman. Aye, there was a measure of respect for her, and for the courage she had shown, and respect bred curiosity. It was a genuinely odd sensation.

  Before she could reply, however, Riston appeared, quite obviously putting himself between Charlotte and Ryan. He was focused mostly on Ryan.

  “Dennis is returning,” he said. “He is heading towards us from the alleyway.”

  As Charlotte returned to her charger, Ryan quickly selected two pomades, both smelling of flowers, and had the merchant include them in the purchase with the shawl. She promised to send the man his money on the morrow and took her wrapped bundle outside to her palfrey about the time Dennis reached her. His hand held an enormous trencher laden with two big hunks of pie.

  “What is in your hands?” he asked as he reached her, nodding his head towards the wrapped package. “I leave you for a few moments and already you are spending my money?”

  Ryan grinned. “It is not safe to leave me alone with merchant shops to entrap me,” she teased. Then she pointed to the food in his hand. “What wonderful things did you bring me?”

  He took the package from her so she could hold the trencher. As Ryan made her way over to Lyla so she could share the pork and apple pie with her, Dennis handed the wrapped shawl over to Riston and followed his wife.

  “Dennis,” she said, her mouth full. “Would you ask your knights if they are hungry, too? That would be polite.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “If they want treats, they can use their own money to purchase them.”

  “Then at least ask your sister.”

  His mouth popped open. “My sister?”

  Ryan swallowed a big bite and shoved more in her mouth. “Ask her.”

  Now Dennis’ brow was furrowed. He almost refused her, but thought better of it. Things were calm with his sister now, and he was inclined to keep the peace with the thoughtful gesture. Charlotte liked to pretend she didn’t care about things like that, but the truth was she did. She just didn’t like to show gratitude. Dennis left his wife and her cousin stuffing their faces and made his way over to his sister.

  “My wife wants me to ask you if you are hungry,” he said. “Do you want some of that same pie she is eating?”

  Charlotte was already astride her charger. She gazed down at her brother, over to Ryan, and then back again. Without a word, she climbed off her horse.

  “Show me this place,” she said. “I will choose my own food. Clive, Riston! Keep the ladies secure until we return.”

  She bellowed orders like a battle commander and the knights took notice. As Dennis and Charlotte headed back down the alley, Riston and Clive watched them go. When they turned the corner and disappeared from view, Clive turned to Riston.

  “Does it not state in the Bible that in the last days of our world, the lion shall lay down with the lamb and peace shall unnaturally reign?” he asked.

  Riston turned to him, chuckling. “Do not upset anything with your foolish talk,” he said. “Charlotte is no longer screaming for Launceston blood. We can be thankful.”

  Clive grunted, looking over at Ryan and Lyla as they ate. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “The men are saying that she is afraid of Lady Ryan now,” he muttered. “Do you suppose that is true?”

  Riston shrugged. “You saw the beating. I did not. What do you think?”

  Clive was still watching the women. “I think someone has finally shown Charlotte a measure of what she has dealt out her entire life, and now she is confused,” he said. “Lady Ryan was fierce, but had Charlotte been given ample time to protect herself, I have a feeling Lady Ryan would not be with us. Dennis knows it, too.”

  “So… what are you saying?”

  Clive shrugged. “I think that either Charlotte is biding her time before retaliating, or she is genuinely wary of Lady Ryan, knowing the woman is unpredictable and will fight back without hesitation if she believes she is threatened. I suppose only time will tell.”

  Riston was watching the women, too, but he was mostly watching Lyla. He hadn’t seen much of her over the past week, but he was growing increasingly enamored with her. She was a little flighty, that was true, but she was also sweet and pretty. She was a welcome addition to St. Austell, as far as he was concerned. Clive saw where the knight’s attention was.

  “Can I assume you are not looking at Lady d’Vant?” he asked quietly.

  Riston looked away. “You would be correct.”

  Clive was looking at Lyla, now wiping juice off her mouth. “The cousin is lovely,” he said casually. “But take heed that Charlotte does not catch wind of your attention. Lady Ryan might be able to fight the woman off, but I doubt her cousin would be so lucky.”

  Riston looked at him. “If you would only make your wishes known to Charlotte, I would not have to worry about situations like this,” he said. “Make an offer for the woman, for Christ’s sake. You have been eyeing her for years.”

  Clive fought off a grin, embarrassed, as he averted his gaze. “She is not interested in me, my friend.”

  “She does not know that you long for her!”

  “Can we select a better subject to speak of?”

  Riston growled with frustration, taking his gaze off of her and finding other things to garner his attention. But his focus kept coming back to Lyla, the young lady he had been charged to watch over. It had been a very fortuitous order as far as he was concerned.

  He rather liked watching over her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Patrizia was surprised and thrilled to see Lady Ryan, a female companion, and four big knights, including her husband and eight foot soldiers, show up on her modest doorstep. Her dwelling was very tiny. In fact there was a main room with beds lining the wall, sectioned off by curtains. The main living area had a table with four chairs, an area for her to sew in, and a big hearth.

  But it was very neat and clean, smelling of fresh-cut sea grass that filled the mattresses and lined the floor to keep it cozy. Patrizia and her two small daughters, dark-haired and dark-eyed angels, ushered Ryan, Dennis, and Lyla into the house. Directly behind them came soldiers bearing the bundles of fabric, which were deposited onto Patrizia’s clean table. As Dennis stood back by the door like a massive, imposing sentinel to watch over his wife, Patrizia and Ryan began unfolding the fabric so Ryan could tell Patrizia what kind of coats she had in mind.

  “The merchant told me that this fabric came from Paris,” Ryan said as she held up a beautiful, sheer pale blue material. “I thought perhaps a surcoat with loose sleeves would be best. This fabric moves so beautifully.”

  Patrizia inspected the quality of the material. “It does indeed,” she said. “I shall make something so beautiful that surely the angels will be jealous.”

  Excited, Ryan moved to the second and third bundles; a pale yellow and deep green respectively. They were both of different weaves and different weights, and the women discussed what style of garment should be made. When they came to the fourth bundle, Ryan pulled Lyla out of the shadows.

  “This is my cousin, the Lady Lyla de
Bretagne,” she introduced her cousin. “This blue tartan shall be for her. Something that displays her figure nicely, I should think.”

  “Ryan,” Lyla hissed, shaking her head. “Do not say such things.”

  Ryan laughed. “Lyla is unmarried,” she told Patrizia. “We must make her alluring to a prospective husband.”

  As Lyla shushed her, Patrizia giggled. She had Lyla stand still while she measured her with her hands, passing a practiced eye over Lyla’s shorter but well-proportioned figure. As she unwound the fabric and held it up against Lyla’s shoulders, Ryan turned to her husband and gave him a sweet smile. Dennis, in turn, cocked an eyebrow and motioned her over with a big crooked finger.

  Ryan silent scooted over to him, standing very close. Her lovely face was upturned and expectant. “How may I serve you, my lord?” she asked softly.

  Dennis’ lips twitched with a smile. “I thought you said all of that fabric was for you.”

  Ryan blinked at the statement. “It… it was,” she said. “At least, it was until a moment ago. I have decided to give Lyla the blue tartan. We must make her very pretty so she can attract a fine husband.”

  He gave her a wry expression. “She is already pretty,” he said quietly. “And, in case you have not yet noticed, Riston seems to have his eye on her. I forbid you to dress her up for a man who is already lusting after her. If he wants her to look pretty, he can pay for it.”

  Ryan’s eyebrows flew up. “Lusting?”

  He could see she was both concerned and outraged. “I did not mean it to sound that way,” he said, downplaying his reference to Riston’s lascivious streak. “I simply meant she has already attracted him. She can continue to wear clothing she already has because he already finds her lovely.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Did you purchase the fabric for me?”

  “I did.”

  “Then I may do as I please with it.”