Destined for Love
Page 1
Destined for Love
Medieval Runaway Wives
Book 3
Alexa Aston
© Copyright 2020 by Alexa Aston
Text by Alexa Aston
Cover by Wicked Smart Designs
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
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Produced in the United States of America
First Edition September 2020
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Alexa Aston
Medieval Runaway Wives
Song of the Heart
A Promise of Tomorrow
Destined for Love
King’s Cousins Series
The Pawn
The Heir
The Bastard
Knights of Honor Series
Word of Honor
Marked by Honor
Code of Honor
Journey to Honor
Heart of Honor
Bold in Honor
Love and Honor
Gift of Honor
Path to Honor
Return to Honor
The St. Clairs Series
Devoted to the Duke
Midnight with the Marquess
Embracing the Earl
Defending the Duke
Suddenly a St. Clair
Starlight Night
Soldiers & Soulmates Series
To Heal an Earl
To Tame a Rogue
To Trust a Duke
To Save a Love
To Win a Widow
The Lyon’s Den Connected World
The Lyon’s Lady Love
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Alexa Aston
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
Wakefield Castle, Devon—May 1333
Drake Harcourt stood in the late afternoon sunshine with his arms crossed as he watched the exercises in the training yard from the raised platform. Standing next to him was his father, Manfred Harcourt, the Earl of Wakeland. As captain of the guard, Drake constantly supervised the soldiers’ training, often walking through the pairs of men and taking the time to demonstrate small changes to them that would make them more effective fighters. Though the civil wars had ended and England remained stable with King Edward on the throne, Drake still wanted Wakefield’s knights and soldiers to always be prepared. Defending their home and protecting their liege lord’s family and tenants was only part of their role. He believed that trouble brewed between the Edward and France—which meant the Earl of Wakeland would need to provide soldiers for that fight. Wakefield men would go where they were needed.
And Drake would go with them.
Usually, tradition held that the captain of the guard remained behind whenever troops were sent to fight. Staying at Wakefield was the last thing he would do. As a knight, he was pledged first and foremost to king and country and would go into battle when called upon. Of course, that meant someone would have to see to Wakefield’s defenses during his absence. His father might observe training exercises every now and then but he was too old to lead the castle’s defense and certainly too old to fight in the king’s army.
That would leave matters in Baldwin’s hands.
While Drake was the apple of his father’s eye and had done everything Manfred Harcourt asked of him in his five and twenty years, his half-brother was the opposite. Baldwin had never achieved his knighthood, finding the demands too harsh. He’d left the castle where he fostered and returned to Wakefield before he reached a score. And did nothing. Drake was unclear how Baldwin spent his days. Sometimes hunting or fishing. Sometimes sleeping. Even whoring before their father thought it might help his older son mature and settle down if he wed.
Baldwin had married a shrew named Gunnora. While comely, Gunnora had a quick temper and even quicker tongue. She had no fondness for Drake or his mother, Matilda. He often caught his sister-in-law studying him with malice. If Gunnora had been a man, he would have challenged her to a fight and been done with it. As it was, she was female, meaning his hands were tied. So, he, too, watched and waited while she did the same. What they waited for was anyone’s guess.
“That one,” his father grunted. “To the right.”
Drake’s eyes swept across the right side of the yard. Immediately, he saw the problem his father indicated.
He turned to the earl. “His stance is too wide. I’ll see to it.”
His father touched Drake’s arm. “No. Let me. It’s not often I have the opportunity to teach something to a young pup.”
With that, Wakeland hopped from the platform and weaved his way through the pairs of fighters until he reached the squire in question. Drake watched as his father stopped the action and spoke to the young man, a lad of six and ten. He nodded several times and then adjusted his feet. The earl stepped back and watched the boy swing his sw
ord again a few times before he stopped the pair from resuming action again.
This time, his father borrowed the sword of the squire’s opponent and faced off against the boy. Drake watched with interest as his father parried and thrusted. Pride swelled within him to see how accomplished his father remained. Several men surrounding them stopped to watch the pair spar. They cheered as their liege lord landed several strong blows, backing the squire up.
“Fight back, Boy!” shouted the earl.
The squire swallowed, obviously aware of so many eyes upon him, and made an aggressive move. The two men fought for several minutes until the earl called a halt to their swordplay and handed the weapon back to its owner.
“Good lad,” the earl said, patting the boy’s shoulder, and starting back toward Drake.
He grinned at his father and caught the smile playing about his father’s lips, knowing the older man was pleased with himself and the progress the squire had made. Then an odd expression crossed the earl’s face and he froze as if his feet would no longer move. Puzzled, his gaze met his son’s and Drake saw panic forming. Suddenly, his father crumpled to the ground.
He leaped off the platform and rushed to the old man, rolling him face up. Dirt clung to the sweat along his brow. Drake shouted for a stretcher to be brought. Several stood available, as training accidents occurred often. Within a few seconds, one had been brought and placed next to the earl. Two knights lifted their liege lord onto it and carried him from the yard, which had fallen eerily silent.
Drake looked to a page. “Run to the keep. Tell the countess the earl collapsed and have the healer brought to the solar,” he ordered.
The boy took off running on chubby legs as Drake rushed to the stretcher. He clasped his father’s hand and accompanied him back to the keep. The earl’s eyes remained shut even as his son encouraged him.
“You’ll be fine, Father. You’ll see.”
His words rang hollow to his ears. His gut told him his father’s time on earth had drawn to a close. He couldn’t imagine his life without this man. His father was stern but loving and had taught Drake everything he knew. He was the man he was because of his father’s lessons and influence.
As they came in sight of the keep, he couldn’t envision Baldwin leading the people of Wakefield. His half-brother was nothing like his father—and yet if he died, Baldwin would become the new Earl of Wakeland.
His mother appeared at the top of the steps and rushed down them, her eyes on her husband. She took Manfred’s other hand as they brought the earl inside the keep and up the stairs to the solar. They crossed through it and into the bedchamber, where the two soldiers placed their liege lord on the bed.
By now, the healer and priest had arrived, followed by Baldwin and Gunnora.
“What happened?” his mother asked as she knelt at the bedside, holding her husband’s hand in both of hers and kissing it over and over.
“We were in the training yard,” Drake explained. “Father went to demonstrate a move to a squire and sparred with him briefly. He walked several feet away and then collapsed.”
“He never should have been out there,” Baldwin said sharply. “He’s too old to be fighting.”
Matilda’s eyes hardened but she said nothing. Though she had raised Baldwin from infancy, he’d always looked upon her with contempt.
The healer examined the earl carefully. Drake watched as a sick feeling spread through his belly. His father hadn’t opened his eyes since he’d collapsed and wasn’t responding to anything said to him.
Finally, the healer stepped away, sorrow blanketing her features, and said, “There is nothing I can do for Lord Wakeland.”
“Not even to make him more comfortable?” his wife asked anxiously.
“Nay, my lady. You should know. You have a great knowledge of herbs and healing, even more so than I.” She paused. “Say your goodbyes for he won’t last the night.”
Drake knew his mother possessed more knowledge than any healer he’d met and she’d passed down a good deal of that knowledge to him. Matilda had come to Wakefield Castle as a healer, accompanying her older sister, who wed the earl. When Lady Wakeland died after giving birth to Baldwin, Matilda had stepped in as the earl’s new wife. Though eventually another healer was engaged, Matilda cared for many of the tenants’ ailments, concocting various remedies from her herbs.
Baldwin sighed loudly. “If nothing can be done, so be it. The evening meal will occur soon. Come, Gunnora. It will be good for us to appear in the great hall and assure our people that nothing will change with the death of their lord.”
Drake’s hands balled into fists. It took all his willpower not to charge Baldwin and pummel him until he was a bloody heap. He watched as his half-brother and sister-in-law left the room. Neither had spoken reassuringly to the earl, much less thought to kiss him goodbye. The healer followed them, leaving Drake with his mother and the priest, and the deathbed vigil began. Drake retrieved a chair for his mother and went to the other side of the bed as they both held fast to the hand of the man they loved.
After a few hours, his father’s breathing grew labored. The priest announced it was time to perform the last rites. Wife and son stepped back in order for that to take place. Drake wrapped his arm around his mother’s shoulders and drew her close. Once the sacrament ended, they resumed their positions on either side of the bed. Less than half an hour later, the Earl of Wakeland passed away, his loved ones holding his hands.
The priest said a prayer over him and then spoke a few words of comfort to mother and son before he left.
“Why don’t you try to get some sleep, Mother?” Drake said. “I know how difficult this has been for you. I’ll stay the night with Father. He won’t be alone.”
“I loved him so,” she said, her voice breaking.
“Go rest in my old bedchamber,” he suggested. “I never use it anymore.”
She gazed at him with watery eyes. “I know you prefer sleeping in the barracks with your men. Manfred admired you for that. He loved you so very much, Drake. You were the light of his life.”
“As were you.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.” She kissed his cheek and drifted from the room.
He worried about her. His parents had been extremely close. A true love match. They spent many hours together, happy in one another’s company. He only hoped she would not despair at her husband’s death.
Drake sat all night at his father’s side, reminiscing aloud about everything and nothing. He recalled events from his childhood. Horses they’d trained together. Learning how to hold a sword properly. The eagerness he felt when his father came to retrieve him each time from the nobleman Drake fostered with. He spoke of holidays and the harvest. People who had come and gone. In the end, through his tears, he knew his father had led a good, satisfying life and prayed to the Virgin that they would one day be reunited in Heaven.
He now sat in the darkness, the candles long having extinguished themselves, praying to find peace and asking Christ Almighty for the strength it would take to deal with Baldwin in the months and years to come.
The door opened and his half-brother appeared, holding a candle. Gunnora followed him into the bedchamber, her features unreadable.
“Is he gone?” Baldwin asked bluntly as he came toward the bed, his eyes skimming over the still body.
Again, he restrained himself from reacting to Baldwin’s uncouth behavior. “Yes. Father went peacefully several hours ago. I sent Mother to get some rest.”
“What should we do?” Baldwin asked his wife, uncertainty in his voice.
With that one question, Drake understood just how weak his half-brother was—and that Gunnora was the true power in the family now.
“Servants will need to prepare the body for burial,” she said calmly. “I will also notify the steward. He will see that word spreads. We will delay morning mass until all of the tenants have broken their fast and the body lies in the chapel.”
“A coffin wi
ll need to be constructed first,” Drake pointed out.
Gunnora looked at him with contempt. “I gave word for that to be done hours ago,” she said pointedly. “There’s no sense delaying the inevitable. The funeral mass will be said and life at Wakefield Castle will go on.”
With that, she wheeled and left the room. After a few moments of hesitation, her husband followed her.
“Oh, Father.” Drake shook his head. “What will become of Wakefield?”
Chapter Two
Drake’s grasp tightened on his mother’s hand as the priest spoke the funeral mass. Many of the soldiers, tenants, and servants were in tears, visibly distraught at the death of the Earl of Wakeland. Manfred Harcourt had been a strong leader. A fair man. A good lord to his people. He would be sorely missed by all at Wakefield.
When the mass ended, everyone waited as Drake escorted his mother from the chapel. Baldwin and Gunnora followed them. The couple returned immediately to the keep, while Drake and Lady Wakeland stood outside and spoke to each person. They received condolences from all and warm handshakes and embraces from many. Drake knew his father was respected—even admired—but the depth of emotion that poured from the people of Wakefield touched his heart.
Once everyone had left, the priest came to them and said, “Are you certain you wish to witness the burial, my lady?”
Matilda nodded. “I will be with my husband to the end.”
“As you wish.”
The priest signaled several soldiers standing apart from them and they proceeded to enter the chapel again. Moments later, they emerged bearing Lord Wakeland’s coffin. Drake and his mother stood on either side and she placed her hand atop the wood as they slowly walked to the burial site. A fresh grave had been dug in the rich, dark earth and the men lowered the coffin into the hole. The priest said a prayer and then his mother knelt beside the graveside.
“I have loved you many years, Manfred. I will go on loving you until we are joined in Eternity.”
Her hands grasped clumps of earth and she tossed the handfuls of dirt into the grave, weeping softly. Drake took her elbow and raised her to her feet. He nodded solemnly at the men standing nearby and led her back to the keep, no words spoken between them.