Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He did. Dropping Phaethon’s reins, he carried Regal inside the dark, musty hut as the woman went over to a small cot that was propped on end against one wall. It was wood and rope framed, with no mattress, and she pulled it down from the wall and set it down flat. It hit the ground and a cloud of dust rose as she tried to wave it out of the air.

  “You stay here with her,” she said, coughing away the dust. “I will return.”

  Cullen simply nodded, standing aside as she rushed from the hut. It was cold and dark, but the hut had a small hearth and he could see pieces of kindling in a dusty pile beside it. The lure of warmth was great because it seemed like they hadn’t had a fire in days, months, or even years. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had been warm. Setting Regal down on the rope that was strung across the bed frame, he went to work starting a fire in the hearth.

  Unfortunately, the chimney was blocked and even as he sparked a fire with a flint and stone he had in his saddlebags, the smoke had nowhere to go, so he quickly had to decongest the chimney and work out the dead leaves and other debris that had filled it. Once that was done, the smoke began to escape properly and a blaze began to build. Listening to Regal cough heavily, he threw more wood on the fire, building it up to heat the room for that poor old woman who had endured so much. The least he could do was warm her fragile bones.

  Just as he threw the last pieces of kindling on the blaze, the red-haired woman returned and she had a small army of helpers with her, all of whom were carrying something – a mattress, blankets, and other things. Cullen was pushed aside as this army of do-gooders gently moved Regal from the bed so they could put the mattress on the frame, and once it was on, they stripped the damp cloak off of her and anything else they could remove that was wet or dirty.

  It filled Cullen’s heart with relief to see that Regal was finally being helped. He stood back by the door as another man entered, carrying an armload of wood, while still another man entered carrying a big, iron pot of steaming water. Given that the hut was so small, Cullen was virtually pushed right out of the door because the hut couldn’t hold more than six or seven people at a time. He ended up just outside the hut, watching everything going on inside.

  People kept coming in and out, bringing things and then leaving, and he watched it all with great curiosity and great concern. When it was clear he wasn’t needed, he sighed heavily and backed away from the door, planting his bottom on an upturned stump as Phaethon munched grass a few feet away.

  “Don’t worry about her. My wife will take care of her.”

  Cullen looked over his shoulder to see Owen and the man with the dirty beard, standing a few feet behind him.

  “Your wife?” he asked.

  Owen nodded. “Delaine-Navarre of Guillaume is her name and a more pushy, stubborn woman you will never meet,” he said. “But I adore her. In truth, the moment she discovered your wife was sick, there was never the chance that I would send you away. She would not have allowed it. But I hope you know that it was my intention to do so only so my people would not become ill. I have seen illness wipe out villages half this size, so it was for their protection. It was nothing personal.”

  Cullen nodded wearily. “I know,” he said. “And she is still not my wife.”

  Owen grinned, a reluctant gesture. “I do not judge,” he said. “If you really did marry her for her fortune, you can admit it. But, then again, if she is near death and you simply married her to get her money, it makes no sense why you would seek help for her. You would want her dead.”

  Cullen smirked. “I do not want her dead,” he said. “As I explained to you last night, she is my last link to the lady I loved. I cannot lose her as well.”

  That seemed to sober the mood quickly. “Well,” Owen said quietly, glancing to the man with the dirty beard as he tried to lighten the situation. “If you are going to stay with us, big man, then introductions are in order. This dirty beast of a man beside me is one we call Big Jerald. My name is Owen.”

  Cullen nodded. “Owen the Black,” he said. “I was told.”

  Owen lifted his eyebrows. “And you are?”

  Cullen looked away, a heavy sigh emitting from his lips. “I thought I knew,” he said. “I do not know who I am any longer. Whoever I was is lost. It is ruined. Now I must figure out who I have become.”

  Owen understood a man’s need for anonymity. He had lived that way for the past year; men with no real names or titles, no past and no future. Just existence. He recognized that look of defeat in Cullen’s eyes because he’d had it once himself.

  He understood that kind of sorrow.

  “Then you will tell me your name when you decide to,” he said. “Meanwhile, we must call you something. You are as big as a mountain, so mayhap I will simply call you Monty for now.”

  Cullen looked at him, the smirk returning to his lips. “Monty?”

  “Unless you wish to tell me your name.”

  Cullen’s smirk faded. “As soon as I decide, you will be the first to know.”

  Owen didn’t push him. He sat down on one of the big rocks that lined the stream that ran by the hut and through the village in general.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “What is the old woman’s name?”

  “Regal.”

  Owen’s eyebrows lifted. “An elegant name,” he said. “At least tell me where you have come from, Monty.”

  Cullen thought the sound of that nickname was rather funny. “I was born in Hampshire,” he said. “But I have spent a good deal of time in London and in Cambridgeshire, where my liege’s seat is located.”

  “But you said you killed one of the king’s men,” Jerald said. “I heard you say that last night. Did you kill him in London?”

  “I did.”

  “Then you realize that by harboring you and your wife, we would be in great danger if the king tracked you here.”

  “I realize that. But he did not track me here, I assure you.”

  Jerald’s gaze lingered on him a moment. “Then tell me why you killed the king’s man.”

  Cullen didn’t see any harm in telling them the truth. He’d asked for their help, after all. It wouldn’t do to be rude to those who were helping him, and a bit of honesty might help forge a bond of trust.

  “You want to hear the entire story, do you?” he said. “Bring me some food and drink and I will tell you. I would be grateful for anything you can provide me. I’ve not eaten since early yesterday.”

  Jerald found a couple of men nearby and sent them off with a few words. As he returned to Owen and Cullen, he pulled leaves and twigs out of his beard, throwing them onto the ground.

  “Something will be brought to you,” he said. He fixed Cullen in the eyes. “Now – why did you kill the king’s man?

  Cullen thought a moment before speaking. He wanted to sound succinct and unemotional, but the truth was that it was very hard for him to take the emotion out of what had happened. It was something that had shattered his heart into a million pieces of pain and changed his life forever.

  He wasn’t sure he could be unemotional at all.

  “I killed him because he was attacking my lady,” he said quietly. “The situation is this – my lady was demanded by the king. If you do not know what that means, I will tell you. John has an eye for women and when he sees one that arouses him, he demands that she be brought to him. It does not matter if it is a man’s wife or daughter or sister – that is of no concern to the king. My lady was brought to the king and when I went to save her from his lust, another man attacked me and I killed him. The man was a friend of the king’s. And that is why I am a wanted man.”

  It was fairly heady information and, given the expressions on the faces of Owen and Jerald, probably unexpected. Cullen averted his gaze at that point, running a weary hand through his dirty hair, his gaze moving to the hut and wondering how Regal was faring. As his focus lingered on the hut, Owen spoke quietly.

  “Given that you even had access to the king, I will hazar
d to guess that you are an extremely high caliber knight,” he said. “Your horse, your sword. I could tell that just by looking at you. If you are not a titled lord, then you certainly serve one.”

  “Served,” Cullen muttered.

  Owen and Jerald exchanged glances. “And your lady? Did she serve your lord, as well?”

  Cullen sighed faintly. “She was his wife. But in my heart, she is mine.”

  That brought about a good deal of clarification and surprise to the situation. Jerald’s eyebrows lifted, clearly astonished, while Owen seemed a bit more subdued in his reaction. He peered more closely at Cullen.

  “You loved your liege’s wife?” he asked, disbelief in his tone.

  Cullen looked at him. “It was an arranged marriage,” he said. “My liege hated her and he was abusive to her. She did not deserve the fate a contract marriage brought her so before you judge me over something that sounds subversive, know that my liege had no interest in her from the start. What happened between us… it simply happened. It was not planned.”

  Owen and Jerald looked at one another again, still rather astonished with what they’d been told. But when Jerald opened his mouth to question Cullen further, Owen shook his head at him. The man closed his mouth.

  “We have all had unexpected things happen in our lives,” Owen said. “I, myself, had a most unexpected thing happen when I was accused of thievery by a favorite of the king. A neighbor, in fact, who coveted my lands. I was charged with stealing a herd of his fine cattle but I did not. They were false charges and everyone knew it. However, to save my life and the lives of my people, I was forced to flee my property, a home and title that had been in my family for over one hundred years. If I remained to fight, John’s armies and the armies of Fitz Hammond would have overcome Geddington and there would be nothing left but ruins. I know what it means to have unexpected and terrible things happen, Monty. You are not alone.”

  Cullen looked at him in surprise. “Geddington Castle is your home?”

  “It was,” he said with a hint of bitterness. “My name is Owen de Mora, Lord Geddington. At least, that is who I used to be. Now, I am Owen the Black, called that because my men always operate in darkness. In the black, as it were.”

  Lord Geddington. This was the cousin Sudeley spoke of, the exact man Cullen had been looking for. In truth, it had never occurred to him that he would find the man living as an outlaw, so the news was something of a surprise. But even as he realized who Owen was, he made the quick decision not to mention Godfrey.

  Sudeley had suggested he tell his cousin of their association, but Cullen didn’t want to open that door. If Owen knew he and Godfrey were acquainted, then he might be able to piece together where Cullen had come from and who he served.

  And Cullen didn’t want him to know.

  He didn’t want Owen to know anything.

  On another note, realizing that Owen the Black was actually Lord Geddington explained a good deal about the man, including why he had a finer manner than most. Owen was, indeed, a nobleman, evidently greatly wronged by the king in a situation that was not a new story. Cullen had heard similar things in the past, perhaps the reason why so many were against John and his barbaric rule. Just one of a thousand reasons why the youngest son of Henry and Eleanor was so hated, especially among his own.

  “And you said Fitz Hammond’s armies threatened you?” Cullen asked.

  Owen nodded. “Aye,” he said. “Barric Fitz Hammond is the Lord Justice of Rockingham, you know. Rockingham Castle is still a royal residence, but he has command over it. He is my neighbor and our lands adjoin. A more corrupt and nasty individual you will never find.”

  That was something Cullen was well-acquainted with. “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “I was just at Geddington. Is that why I saw Fitz Hammond men at the castle?”

  Owen nodded. “Unhappily, it is.”

  “I knew that the king had given over command of Rockingham Castle to Fitz Hammond, but I’d not heard about the annexation of Geddington.”

  Owen snorted rudely. “And I was polite to the man when I first met him,” he muttered. “I thought we could be allies. If I had known he was going to run me off my own lands, I would have killed him the day I met him.”

  Cullen was quite surprised by what he was hearing, in more ways than one. In all of England, he picked the one place to hide where people such as himself existed, those wronged by the very same men. He’d known that Rockingham Castle was nearby, and he further knew of Fitz Hammond’s association with it. But until today, he thought he’d simply be passing by the place and nothing more on his quest northward.

  But now…

  Cullen had never been a big believer in fate, but rather that men made their own fates. But at this moment, he couldn’t help but wonder if some greater forces weren’t at work, bringing him to this place where there were men with whom he shared such a common bond. Men who shared the same enemies as he did. Perhaps he needn’t look any further for a place to stay. But before he decided, there was something Owen needed to know.

  He took a deep breath.

  “I told you that I killed the king’s man,” he finally said.

  Owen nodded. “You did.”

  “That man was Barric Fitz Hammond.”

  Owen’s eyes widened. “Fitz Hammond?” he repeated, aghast. “You killed him?”

  “I ran him through with that sword Big Jerald is holding.”

  Both Owen and Jerald looked at the sword, utterly shocked. Owen even reached out to touch the blade, as if to behold the very steel that had ended the life of his nemesis, the man who had taken everything from him. The man who had assured he’d been driven into hiding, into this very forest, into a life devoid of honor and full of vengeance. There was a reverence in his expression that suggested the knowledge of Barric’s death was relief beyond measure.

  He was stunned.

  “God’s Teeth,” he said after a moment. “Is it really true? You really killed him?”

  Cullen nodded. “I ran that blade through his belly and he fell to the ground. Shortly thereafter, I was running for my life.”

  Owen turned to look at him and for as long as he lived, Cullen would never forget the look of astonishment on the man’s face.

  “I have prayed every day for his death,” Owen said, his voice trembling. “I have prayed long and hard for it. And now, God has sent me His answer. His answer is you, Monty. You are now my champion – the Champion of Thieves.”

  Cullen wasn’t sure what to say, but it certainly sounded like his terrible failure had been an answer to Owen’s prayer. At that moment, he knew he’d found a kindred spirit in Owen de Mora, Lord Geddington.

  He was here to stay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Was it a nightmare?

  Was any of this even real?

  Teodora had asked herself that question every single day for the past thirty days. Every morning, noon, and night brought grief beyond words, sorrow she was unable to digest. Life had no joy in it any longer, no color, and no contentment. Everything was dark and black, and she wished daily that she had joined Cullen in death.

  She was a woman unable to function.

  Even now, as she sat astride a white palfrey, dressed in fine silks and shaded from the intermittent rain by an oiled canopy held over her by four riders, two in front of her and two behind her, she didn’t care if she lived or died because, certainly, her life was over.

  It had been over the minute Godfrey and Hamilton had told her of Cullen’s death. That was the moment they had slit her throat, but the moment that all of her blood drained out of her was when Sean de Lara had come to tell her that the king had gifted her to Barric Fitz Hammond, who had miraculously survived Cullen’s goring.

  De Lara had proceeded to tell her that it was the king’s wish that she become Barric’s personal attendant and companion, and that she help nurse the man back to health by granting his every wish, no matter what it was. Every sick whim, every disgusting reques
t, she was required to fulfill. Given that it was her fault he had been injured, it was the very least she could do.

  Aye, this was all a nightmare, one she would never wake up from.

  This was her new, fresh hell.

  One month after Barric’s injury, his physic, named Chadwick, had given permission for Barric and his army to travel north, back to Rockingham Castle, so that Barric could continue his recovery. That meant taking along his new prize, Lady Barklestone, and Teodora was lavished with all manner of clothing and finery because it pleased Barric to see her well-dressed. He’d ended up with the much-coveted Lady Barklestone, though it had nearly cost his life. At this point, seeing her well-dressed was the only pleasure he received because his injury was so great that any physical activity was out of the question.

  But Teodora knew that would come, eventually.

  It made her sick to think about it.

  Sick as she had been since news of Cullen’s death had stripped everything out of her. She barely ate, and barely slept, and even now as she headed north with Barric’s army, she was weak and listless, watching the scenery go by and hardly caring.

  She just wanted to die.

  Unfortunately for her, Sean de Lara had come along to potentially prevent such a thing, among his other duties. He was riding north with Barric as a personal guard on loan from the king, and he had stayed very close to Teodora since they’d departed London and she was quite certain it was to prevent her from doing anything stupid. He was there to ensure her compliance and behavior. De Lara had intense deep blue eyes and he kept those eyes fixed on her, silently gripping her like an iron vise so she couldn’t move one way or the other. It was difficult to even think with him staring at her the way he did, but she was learning to ignore it.

  She had little choice.

  Another person in their escort party was a man named Sloan de la Roarke, a man that Teodora had seen at Cerenbeau visiting her father from time to time. He was a small man with stringy hair, very politically entrenched, and he had a rather devious quality about him. It was something she’d heard Father comment about, once.