Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  By this time, Elizaveta had lost all hope and humor. She stared at him, knowing exactly what he was leading up to. She could just tell.

  “You killed her?” she asked.

  Drake nodded, though it was reluctantly. “She was executed,” he said quietly, “as was her husband. I sent the bodies back to Westleton with a clear message to the de Mandevilles that any aggression towards me or my family would be thusly dealt with. It is my sincere sorrow to tell you that the House of de Mandeville evidently did not abide my message. A scout returned a few minutes ago to inform me that an army, heavily armed, is approaching from the south and will be here in less than an hour. Elizaveta, I hope you understand that I had to make a decision – although I respect your opinion on how to deal with Lady de Witt, you must understand that if I did not deal with her offense in a firm and deadly manner, it would appear as a weakness. I had no choice as I saw it.”

  Elizaveta gazed steadily at him a moment before sighing heavily and climbing off his lap. Pensively, and perhaps with some sorrow, she contemplated his words as she moved to the lancet window that overlooked the southern portion of the bailey including the church and the village over the massive curtain wall. There were huge groves of trees so the view wasn’t particularly vast, but she could see some stretches southward.

  “How big is the army?” she finally asked.

  Drake was watching her very closely, fear in his heart that he was having difficulty describing. “The scout did not say,” he replied. “Your father said that the de Mandevilles have five or six hundred men, so I would imagine no more than that.”

  Elizaveta was still looking out of the window. “Although I understand that you had to make the choice that was in your best judgment, I must reiterate that I told you the de Mandevilles are quite aggressive,” she said. “What you did… it was probably like fanning the flames. If their family honor is involved, where it always is when it pertains to the House of du Reims, they will not back down. I fear you have invited a great deal of trouble to our doorstep.”

  Drake stood up, moving behind her as she stood at the window. “That is probably true,” he said quietly. “But I would rather invite trouble than run from it. That is not in my nature, Elizaveta. You may as well know that now.”

  She turned to look at him, leaning back against the windowsill. “I can understand that,” she said. “You are a knight. You fight with Edward. Aggression is what you know.”

  He wasn’t sure he liked the way she said it, as if it were something to be ashamed over. “I am very proud of my knighthood,” he said, crossing his big arms across his chest in a defensive gesture. “I am very proud of my accomplishments. There is nothing I have done in the course of my duties as a knight that I am ashamed of.”

  Elizaveta shook her head, sensing she had offended him. “I did not mean it the way it sounded,” she said. “I simply meant that war is your vocation. It is the way you think. But it is not the way I think. I was hoping for a more peaceful solution to the situation.”

  He could see that. Feeling uncertain, he wasn’t quite sure what more to say. He was afraid that the discussion might lead to an argument or, worse, anger on her part, so he thought it best to end the conversation at that point. He wasn’t any good in a serious conversation with a woman, mostly because he avoided them. It was difficult for him to be serious and to discuss things, especially his feelings, critically. There was a vulnerability in that, something he wasn’t ready to face.

  “Then I apologize if I have disappointed you,” he said, for it was the truth. “I have come to tell you that the keep must be prepared for a siege, so you and Daniella should see to it immediately. You will lock the keep up and remain here until the danger has passed. Do you have any questions before I leave?”

  He was being crisp and businesslike, and Elizaveta was sorry. She didn’t like to see that behavior in him where it pertained to her. She moved away from the window and went to him, putting her small hands on the forearms folded across his chest.

  “You did not disappoint me,” she said softly. “I doubt you ever could. We simply think differently, you and I, and I must become used to your way of thinking. I have never prepared for a siege before but I imagine I need to bring food in here and make sure our well is clear and plentiful. Is there anything else I should do?”

  He softened somewhat. “Nay,” he replied. “Except I would have you stay away from the windows. Projectiles have a way of finding them and I do not wish to see you injured.”

  “And I do not wish to see you injured, either,” she assured him, the light back in her eyes. “Stay safe, husband. I will pray for you.”

  He could feel the warmth from her again and he vowed at that moment that it was something he never, ever wanted to lose with her. It made all the difference in the world, lifting his heart as nothing had ever lifted it. He felt settled and calm, but fortified and powerful all at the same time. That was what her warmth did for him, the kindness and respect in her eyes. Perhaps there was even fondness there.

  God, he hoped so.

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely, patting her hands. “I am sending word to Thetford for reinforcements, just in case. I am sure we will not have any difficulty, but I want to be prepared.”

  Elizaveta nodded. He seemed confident enough but she was still fearful, having heard from her father what the de Mandevilles were capable of. It frightened her. But she did not want to show her fear because she didn’t want Drake to interpret her fear as a lack of confidence in his abilities as a knight. She forced a smile.

  “And I will prepare the keep,” she said. “Shall I send bandages or anything else over to the hall? I am assuming that is where you will put your wounded, since that is where they are from yesterday’s skirmish.”

  He shook his head. “The quartermaster is well supplied,” he replied. “Your only worry should be the keep and securing it. Lock up all of the gates and make sure you are safely behind them.”

  “I will.”

  There was nothing more to say. Drake was feeling better than he did when he had entered the room, pleased that his confession about Lady de Witt hadn’t damaged their new relationship. He was pleased that Elizaveta had handled it well, in the manner he was coming to see from her repeatedly. She was reasonable and calm as well as brave. He liked those qualities very much.

  Thank God she is a reasonable woman….

  Unwinding his arms, he wrapped them around her and pulled her close, capturing her lips with his own. Elizaveta caved into him, responding immediately by putting her arms around his neck. He’d kissed her before earlier and it had only served to whet her appetite for another kiss, something she was very quickly coming to like. It was a heated kiss, one of pure, liquid lust as Drake’s hands roamed, touching her body, feeling her firm flesh beneath his hands, but unlike the kiss in the eating room, he didn’t try to take her. He knew there wasn’t time.

  So he forced himself to pull away from her, setting her on her feet with a grin when she seemed unable to keep her balance. They both laughed at that. With a wink, he quit the room, leaving his flustered wife struggling to catch her breath. But once Elizaveta calmed her racing heart, fears for Drake’s safety were very much a concern for her. Going to peer from the window, she caught a glimpse of him as he came out of the keep and headed for the portcullis, of which she could see a tiny portion. The more she watched him, the more fearful she became and she murmured a prayer for his safety.

  St. Michael the Archangel,

  Defend us in battle.

  Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil.

  May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,

  and do thou,

  O Prince of the heavenly hosts,

  by the power of God,

  thrust into hell Satan,

  and all the evil spirits,

  who prowl about the world

  seeking the ruin of souls….

  …please protect my husband!

  CHAPTER
TEN

  One hour and thirteen minutes later, the incoming army arrived.

  Drake had been on the walls, watching their approach with a hand to his brow as he shielded his eyes from the sun overhead. The army came from the south road, through the village, looting it and creating havoc as they went. Fortunately, Cortez had managed to rouse the villagers and most of them were inside the walls of Spexhall, huddling near the keep for safety, so there was no real loss of life in the village but there was a massive loss of property.

  Heavy smoke from the burning village drifted over the castle as the southern breezes blew. Drake and the others watched from the wall as the incoming army nearly obliterated the village but stopped short of the church, unwilling to provoke eternal damnation by burning that as well. They moved around the church, literally, around the walls, and in doing so, enveloped Spexhall Castle on all sides as they closed in around it. Drake positioned his men accordingly as the bulk of the army came right up to the great iron portcullis of the castle.

  Drake calmly watched the mass of men, realizing they were making some very bold and very foolish tactical moves. Cortez, standing next to the man in silence as they watched the movements, was the first to speak on it.

  “Fools,” he muttered. “They have come right up to the walls, well in range of the archers. Do they not realize that?”

  Drake could only shake his head as he turned for the nearest soldier and told the man to spread the word to the archers to load their weapons. He returned his attention to Cortez, his gaze lingering on the army below.

  “Look at those men,” he said, some disgust and awe in his tone. “Have you ever seen such poorly outfitted soldiers? No protection, only basic weapons… and where are the knights? I do not see any knights.”

  Cortez was looking at the army rather strangely as well. “This does not look like any army I have ever seen,” he said. “They look like a gaggle of uncivilized savages. They wield clubs with studs protruding and the crudest of swords. God’s Bones, are these men even English?”

  Drake was watching them carefully, how they seemed to stand around in groups. No one was trying to position them or move them into a strategic area. They were simply milling about, yelling and acting very angry. It was all quite puzzling because neither Drake nor Cortez had seen anything like it. Where was the commander?

  “I cannot know who these men are,” Drake finally said. “Is it possible they are not the de Mandevilles and just some tribe of wildmen none of us have ever heard of before? Surely the de Mandevilles would not look or behave like this.”

  Cortez was increasingly baffled. He had been Drake’s commanding officer, once, and much like Drake, had spent years in serious and important battles, so he was more seasoned than most. He and Drake were among the elite knights in England. But he was just as puzzled as Drake at this point, facing an army of men who were seemingly aimless and commander-less. That sort of organization did not exist in their world.

  “There is one way to find out,” he said, looking to Drake. “Call down to them. See if they even speak our language.”

  He had a point. Drake cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled to the men below. “State your name and intention,” he shouted. “What do you want here?”

  Not strangely, that only seemed to bring more angry shouts and growls. Now the men below were simply yelling up at him, shaking their weapons, still milling about. There was a group several dozen yards away that Drake couldn’t really see too clearly, but men that seemed to be doing something most intently. They had something on the ground, beating at it, chopping at it, and as the men outside of the walls continued to bellow and slam their weapons against the portcullis, which was holding easily, the men in the distant group broke up and headed in the direction of the castle.

  There were things in their hands, things that Drake thought to be wood at a distance. He couldn’t get a good look at it. They drew closer and whatever was in their hands appeared to be dripping some kind of liquid but from the distance and angle of the sun, they couldn’t really tell. There was a man leading the group, a big man with a wild halo of gray hair, and he bellowed to the group of men standing near one of their wagons. The men, and the wagon, began to move towards the portcullis as well, all of them lumbering through the thick, tall grass in the direction of Spexhall.

  “Look, there,” Cortez said, his gaze on the approaching group. “Those men are coming near.”

  Drake was looking at the group, too. “I see them,” he said steadily. “What are they carrying in their hands?”

  Cortez shook his head. “I cannot tell,” he said. “Whatever it is, it seems heavy. They are carrying it oddly, as if it is a burden.”

  The conversation faded. As they watched, the men carrying the unknown pieces pulled forth what looked to be a slingshot apparatus of some kind. They were big, made of wood, and strung with leather straps. The men put the unidentifiable pieces in the sling shots and began swinging them over head. Drake bellowed for his men to watch their heads a split second before the projectiles came sailing over the wall.

  “Have him back!” the man with the crown of wild gray hair shouted up at the walls. He gestured in their direction. “Take him back and keep him. We want no part of a man who cannot protect his woman!”

  Puzzled, if not slightly horrified at what was perhaps being suggested, Drake and Cortez turned to the bailey where the projectiles had just landed. James was the closest; he ran up to the pieces to see what they were, only to realize that they were body parts, including a head. He peered closer, trying not to become sickened, before shouting up to Drake.

  “ ’Tis de Witt!” he shouted. “They cut him into pieces!”

  Shocked, Drake turned his attention to the men outside of the walls. “Great Bleeding Christ,” he hissed. “They cut up de Witt’s body and have brought it back to us.”

  Disgusted, Cortez was still looking at the body parts down in the bailey. “De Lohr,” he shouted. “Have them gathered up and put aside. Do not leave them there.”

  James nodded, already ordering a few soldiers to the unsavory task. Cortez watched the men gingerly pick up the horrific pieces before returning his attention to Drake.

  “Barbarians,” he muttered. “They would cut up the husband to one of their own? God help us; what else will they do?”

  Drake didn’t even want to entertain that thought. The stakes in this standoff had suddenly grown quite high, now seeing what this group was capable of. But Drake knew he had to take a very big stance against this kind of atrocity. Those body parts were a threat, just as he had delivered his threat with the bodies of Lady de Witt and her husband. It would seem that the de Mandevilles were doing him one better. They understood his message all too well and were responding in a language they could both comprehend.

  The language of Death.

  “I told you what would happen if you threatened me,” Drake shouted over the wall. “Do you know who I am? If you do not, then you should. My father is Thetford and my earldom will be East Anglia. Are you truly so stupid that you would openly attack me? I will send an army of ten thousand men to wipe you from this earth!”

  The men below began bellowing again. A few threw rocks but they couldn’t throw high enough to reach the top of the walls. It was like watching mindless primitives as they clawed at the earth and bayed into the sky, a truly appalling display in behavior. But over the shouting and yelling, the man with the gray hair went over to the wagon his men had brought forward and pulled forth a body. Drake immediately recognized the faded red hair as that of Lady de Witt.

  “Christ,” Cortez groaned. “He has brought Lady de Witt back, too? Is he going to cut her up and sail her over the wall as well?”

  Drake shook his head, appalled at what he was seeing. “I cannot know,” he said. “But seeing what these men are capable of tells me that we cannot let them breach these walls under any circumstances. God only knows what they will do to us if they do.”

  Cortez wasn’t har
d-pressed to agree as the two of them watched the gray-haired man lug the body of Lady de Witt towards the portcullis. He had her slung across his arms where her head hung wildly and her limbs flailed in a truly horrific sight.

  “Me Julia!” the gray-haired man screamed as he approached the walls. “Me Julia was slain by du Reims. Look what was done to her!”

  Drake couldn’t have imagined a more nightmarish situation. “So that is her father,” he muttered to Cortez. “We sent the bodies back to Westleton, which means that must be Edmund de Mandeville.”

  Cortez’s black gaze was riveted to the scene below. “Ask him.”

  Drake lifted his voice. “De Mandeville!” he shouted. “Are you Edmund de Mandeville?”

  The gray-haired man nodded. “I am,” he said. It sounded as if he were sobbing. “Who did this to me Julia? I would see this man!”

  Drake braced himself against the wall as he spoke. “Your Julia attempted to kill my wife,” he shouted. “I told you this in the message I sent back to you. She was punished for her actions. If you do not leave now, I will order my archers to unleash their arrows upon you. Do you understand me? Go back where you came from and never return!”

  Edmund de Mandeville was not sane; that much was clear. His anger turned to sobs and he dropped half of Julia’s body in the dirt, her head and shoulders, while he put a hand to his face and smeared it with dirt and tears. He walked straight at the portcullis, bellowing his sorrow.

  “You killed her!” he howled, banging against the iron grate. “Murder! Murder!”

  Drake and Cortez watched the man closely, Drake lifting a hand to his archers. When he dropped his hand quickly, that was the order to fire. He wasn’t sure what de Mandeville was going to do and that, in turn, made him edgy.

  “He does not hear a word I am saying,” Drake said to Cortez. “The man is either deaf or mad.”

  Cortez grunted. “I would say he is mad,” he said. “Look at his behavior and those of the men around him. He is insane and he has driven his men insane as well.”