The Jewel's Embrace: A Medieval Romance Novella

by Kathryn Le Veque

  River sighed sharply. “Do ye know what he told Falcon and me?”

  “About what?”

  “About our inheritance. He told us that the first one who marries will inherit the earldom. Have ye ever heard of such a thing?”

  Duchy blinked his eyes, appearing a little less sleepy. “So he did it,” he muttered. “I was wondering if he would.”

  River peered at him strangely. “Did what?” he asked, but even as he said it, understanding seemed to dawn on him. “Do ye mean to tell me ye knew about this?”

  Duchy hesitated a moment before nodding his head. “Something of it,” he said. “Roget has been lamenting what’s to be done with ye and yer brother. Yer father’s not well, River.”

  “I know that.”

  “He’s afraid that he’ll pass on before the new earl is named.”

  “So he is forcing my brother and me to marry? That hardly seems fair.”

  “What did ye expect him to do? Drumburgh must have its next earl.”

  River looked at him a moment before lifting his broad shoulders. A big man with a crown of dark blond hair, a bit of a beard, and an aggressive personality, River de la Haye was a son to make any man proud. He was brilliant to a fault but sometimes too arrogant for his own good. Duchy loved that particular trait, mostly because it could bring about humorous situations where River was forced to squirm, talk, or cheat his way out. River never disappointed in that regard.

  But now, he was facing a situation he couldn’t squirm, talk, or cheat his way out of.

  He had to face it.

  “I expected him to have my brother and me compete in feats of strength, I suppose,” he said. “Falcon is strong, but I’m stronger. I know I could best him.”

  “Are ye certain?”

  River eyed the man unhappily. “Of course I am,” he said. “Even now, Falcon is still in with our father while I am already off to find a bride. At least, I will be as soon as ye help me.”

  Duchy’s face screwed up. “Help ye? What do ye want me to do? Marry ye myself?”

  River’s eyes narrowed at the sarcastic old man. “Nay,” he said. “But as Father was speaking on brides and how the first of us to marry would become the new earl, it occurred to me that I had to find a woman who was desperate to marry. I cannot find one who I must take time to woo.”

  “And?”

  “And it reminded me of something ye spoke of a year or two ago,” River continued. “Back when my father would send ye to allies with messages or gifts, ye told me once that ye met a woman and her daughters who lived in the wilds of the borders. She was a shepherdess and raised some of the finest sheep on the border. Do ye recall?”

  Duchy was scratching his head. “I think so,” he said. “A shepherdess, ye say?”

  “Aye. Ye said she and her daughters were so desperate for a man that they set out traps, hoping to catch unsuspecting travelers. Do ye remember, Duchy?”

  Duchy’s tired, old face lit up. “Aye,” he suddenly exclaimed. “The woman with daughters as big and strong as men. I remember!”

  “Good, Duchy,” River said excitedly as he reached out and grasped the old man. “Where did ye see them? Try hard to remember.”

  Duchy squinted as he tried to recall. “To the east of Carlisle,” he said. “Near Chapeltown, as I recall.”

  “There are a lot of sheep to the east of Carlisle.”

  “True, true.”

  “I need ye to show me where ye found them, Duchy.”

  The old man’s eyes widened. “What’s this ye say?” he gasped. “Ye want me to find them for ye?”

  “Aye.”

  It was Duchy’s turn to grab his nephew. “But ye don’t understand, lad,” he said. “These are not women ye want to marry.”

  “If she’s got breasts and a seed cave, I’ll marry her.”

  Duchy shook him. “God’s Bones, lad, would ye really say that to a woman?” he said in disgust. Then, he spoke mockingly, as if asking a woman that very question “Do ye have a seed cave, lass?”

  In spite of himself, River started to laugh. “What do ye want me to call it? That’s what it is, ye know. I put my seed into her cave and my son is born, the heir to the Earl of Drumburgh.”

  Duchy grunted, disapproving his nephew’s rude slang for a woman’s miracle. “This is what happens when a man has not grown up with a mother.”

  “What happens?”

  “Ye’re not fit to be around a decent woman.”

  River didn’t have any time to argue. He grabbed his uncle by the arm and started pulling him towards the old ladder.

  “Show me a decent woman and I will act accordingly,” he said, “but according to ye, these are desperate women who are more men than women, so I don’t consider them decent.”

  Duchy wasn’t so sure he wanted to be dragged anywhere. “Behave like a barbarian and they may take yer head off for it,” he said. “Where are ye taking me, lad?”

  They reached the ladder and River braced his big legs on it, pulling his uncle towards him. “Ye are going to help me find these desperate women.”

  “I won’t!”

  River gave a tug, pulling the old man onto the top rung. “Ye will and ye’ll do it happily.”

  “Ye cannot make me, River. Let me go!”

  River stopped pulling and fixed Duchy in the eye. “It would do well for ye to cooperate,” he said in a low, threatening tone that the old man had heard before. “I am going to remove ye from Arcmare, by force if I have to, and I will bind ye so ye cannot escape. If ye don’t tell me where these women are, then we are going to ride in circles, forever and ever, until ye do. Is that clear? It would, therefore, behoove ye to tell me where to go so ye don’t waste my time. That would make me angry. If I find these women, I might leave ye with them if I’m angry enough.”

  Duchy frowned but he relented. Knowing River and how stubborn the man could be, he could very well do exactly as he said. Having no desire to ride around aimlessly for the rest of his life, or worse, left with those she-men he remembered, he reluctantly nodded his head.

  “Very well,” he snapped. “I’ll do it. But don’t say I didn’t warn ye about those women. They set traps for men, River. Is that the kind of wife ye want?”

  River was descending the ladder, half-helping and half-pulling Duchy along. “I don’t care,” he declared. “If she wants a husband, I’m willing to give her one.”

  Duchy knew that was a horrible idea, borne of desperation. All River was thinking of was gaining the earldom and not the means by which to gain it – a wife. He may not have cared at the moment, but once he saw those women, he might very well have a change of heart. That arrogant, aggressive man had no idea what he was getting himself in to.

  He was ruled by desperation.

  But Duchy knew. Or, at least, he’d caught a glimpse of what those women were capable of. Well, he’d done his best. He’d tried to discourage the lad, but River would not be discouraged. It would be justice served for him to marry a desperate woman because, most certainly, he would get more than he bargained for. That thought hadn’t occurred to him.

  But it would.

  Be careful what ye wish for, River…

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Scottish Marches

  Near the village of Chapeltown

  It wasn’t quite spring yet on the borders, but almost.

  The rolling hills were starting to show signs of greenery, the hope of the coming spring, but it was barely noticeable among the winter-dead fields. The rock walls that kept the sheep from wandering were damp, just like the land, green with the moss that had grown up over them.

  It was morning after a night of rain and wind, and the sky was overcast. River and Duchy were beginning their third day of travel after having left Arcmare Castle. The night that Roget had delivered his conditions to his sons, River actually considered remaining for the night and departing on the morrow, but his brother, thinking that River had already departed, had left in a hurry, meaning River had
no time to waste.

  He was on the hunt.

  “Duchy?” he called to his uncle. “Are we close yet?”

  Duchy, completely miserable and cold on the back of a shaggy brown pony, looked around with disinterest. “I suppose,” he said. “I cannot remember exactly where I found them, but we must be close.”

  “Ye had better remember exactly where ye found them or we are going to be wandering around until we do,” River said. “We will not cross through any towns until we locate them, meaning ye’ll be far away from drink until I find these elusive females. Now, I will ask ye again – are we close?”

  Duchy made more of a concerted effort to inspect their surroundings. All he saw were hills and dales, muddy fields, and trees without greenery on them. They looked like giant twigs as a cold wind whipped over the land.

  “I’m not for certain,” he said, tightening his cloak against the icy breeze. “We must go a little further. As I recall, I passed through the village of Chapeltown and came to a fork in the road.”

  “We passed a fork a little while back. Did ye see it?”

  “I was not looking.”

  River pulled his horse to a halt, turning to look at his old uncle. “I swear I’ll make ye walk if ye don’t pay closer attention,” he threatened. “Should we turn back?”

  Duchy looked around. “I don’t think so,” he said. “They weren’t at the fork in the road, but that’s where they found me.”

  “They found ye?”

  “Aye. I told ye, lad – they set traps for men.”

  River began looking around, eager to be trapped. “What do these traps look like?”

  “Ye’ll know them when ye see them.”

  That was good enough for River. He dismounted his horse, a big warmblood that his father had bought him when he’d fostered at Carlisle Castle in his youth. He slapped the big, gray neck affectionately, looking around at the barren landscape.

  “Well?” he said. “I am ready to be trapped.”

  Duchy just shook his head at his foolish young nephew. “Give them time,” he said. “Mayhap they don’t know ye’re here yet.”

  That gave River an idea. “Of course,” he said. “I must announce myself.”

  Duchy rolled his eyes as River launched into a loud song.

  “There once was an old whore named Rose

  With a wart on the end of her nose,

  She’d give ye her best,

  With the swell of her breast,

  And lick ye from yer bung to yer toes!”

  He was met with silence. No response, no crazed females rushing out of the landscape and falling at his feet. But River wasn’t discouraged; he sang the song again, more loudly than before, listening to it echo off of the dead trees.

  Nothing.

  Not one to be easily disheartened, he began to backtrack towards the fork in the road, which wasn’t more than a quarter of a mile back the way they’d come. Duchy turned to follow him. As River walked, he sang another song at the top of his lungs.

  “A young man came to Tilly Nodden,

  His heart so full and pure.

  Upon the step of Tilly Nodden,

  His wants would find no cure.

  Aye! Tilly, my goddess divine,

  Can ye spare me a glance from those eyes?

  My Tilly, sweet Tilly, be my lover so dear,

  I’m a-wantin’ a slap of those thighs!”

  He was met with the cry of birds but nothing else. Fighting off frustration now, he sang the song again, loudly, coming to a stop when they finally reached the crossroads, a muddy intersection out in the middle of nowhere.

  There was nothing.

  He turned to Duchy.

  “Ye go east and I’ll go west,” he said. “Between the two of us, we should find them, I would think.”

  Duchy, who hadn’t agreed with this foray from the beginning, nodded his head reluctantly. “Go, then,” he said. “If I find them, I’ll whistle.”

  River nodded firmly. “Get going, old man.”

  It was a dismissive gesture. As River headed off to the west, singing more of those bawdy songs, Duchy turned his horse around and plodded, very slowly, towards the east. When River was out of sight completely, he pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted.

  Finding a comfortable patch of grass on the side of the road, Duchy wrapped himself up in his cloak and took a nice, long nap.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Unaware that his uncle was shirking his duties, River continued along the road, singing his songs and hoping he’d fall into one of the alleged traps set by despairing women. But he wandered for several long minutes with no results. He was coming to wonder if his uncle hadn’t invented these women, a figment of his drunken imagination.

  Clearly, there were no women along this road.

  Desperation began to sink in. His brother was out there, perhaps having already found a woman, and here River was with his sad sack of an uncle, chasing down fictional brides. He supposed it was sweet justice for having tried to get a wife ahead of his brother. Falcon had probably chosen a much better path.

  River was going to suffer the consequences of his.

  As he turned around and headed back to the fork in the road, thinking on the earldom he would not be inheriting, he caught sight of a trail that led off to the south. There was a great forest to the south and the trail headed towards it, so on a whim, he began to walk the path, heading down through the winter-dead meadow, feeling some renewed hope that he might find what he was looking for.

  He began to sing again.

  “Alice, my sweet, what joys ye teach,

  With some wine and a good deal of piffle.

  My love for ye grew,

  Until the time that I knew

  That Alice had a phallus, ’tis true!”

  It was unfortunate that he didn’t know any romantic songs that he could sing in the company of fine women. He felt rather bad spouting off songs only suited for a tavern, but if these women were isolated and desperate, it probably wouldn’t matter to them, anyway.

  Into the forest he went, walking through the trees, trying to make as much noise as possible. He emerged on the other side into another meadow, immediately spying a rather large flock of sheep. He immediately headed in that direction, remembering that Duchy had told him that the desperate women were shepherdesses. In fact, he was becoming rather excited about it as his gaze fell upon a slight figure, wrapped up tightly in a cloak, following after the sheep along with a big, gray dog.

  Mounting his horse, he took off at a clipped pace after the figure. The dog saw him coming first and started to bark, which prompted the figure to turn to him. He could see, simply by the face, that it was a woman.

  And she appeared terrified.

  “Greetings, my lady,” he said before she ran off. “I will not hurt ye, I swear it.”

  The girl was looking at him with wide eyes. “Where… where did ye come from?”

  He reined his horse to a halt and pointed north. “The road,” he said. “My uncle and I are traveling together. But this is such a desolate land. I have not seen another soul.”

  The girl was still looking at him in shock but she wasn’t trying to run. She simply stood there as if rooted to the spot.

  “I thought I heard someone singing,” she said after a moment.

  He grinned. “That was me,” he said. “Did ye like my songs?”

  “I did not hear the words.”

  His smile faded and he cleared his throat, awkwardly. “That is probably for the best,” he muttered. Then, he spoke louder. “Do ye live nearby?”

  She nodded. “Near enough.”

  He looked around. “Ye’re not here by yerself, are ye?” he asked. “Yer… yer husband is not with ye?”

  “I am not married.”

  “Would ye like to be?”

  She cocked her head curiously. But as she did so, she peeled away the hood of her cloak, revealing dark blonde hair that was the color of honey. With her pale skin
and green eyes, she was shockingly beautiful, here in the midst of the wilds.

  “What… what did ye say?” she stammered.

  River climbed off his horse. “I asked if ye’d like to be,” he said, but he could see her fear and hastened to reassure her. “I’m not a madman, though I sound like one. My name is River de la Haye. I’ll be the next Earl of Drumburgh if I can find a wife, so if ye have a mind to be a countess, I can make it easy for ye.”

  Now, the girl was looking at him as if, indeed, he had lost his mind. “A countess?” she repeated. “Ye come out to the wilds to ask a lass ye don’t know to be yer wife? Ye’re indeed a madman.”

  He laughed softly. “I know it sounds like it,” he said. “But it’s the truth. Where are yer parents? Mayhap I can speak with them and explain.”

  The girl shook her head. “Ye don’t need to explain,” she said. “I’m not such a fool that I’d run away with a man offering me an earldom. Go find another fool, River de la Haye.”

  He pointed at her. “Ye are exactly the kind of woman I need,” he said enthusiastically. “A woman who won’t fall at my feet for such an offer. But it’s true, I swear it. The woman I marry will become the Countess of Drumburgh, but I must marry quickly and return to Arcmare Castle, my home. I have a brother who is on a similar search and if he marries first, then he will become the earl.”

  “Who says so?”

  “My father. He is dying. My brother and I are twins and he told us whoever marries first will become the earl. Now do ye understand? It’s as true as there are surely stars in the sky.”

  The girl looked at him dubiously. “So ye come to the wilds of Cumberland to look for a wife?”

  “I told ye why.”

  She looked at him a long while, enough of a pause that he lifted his eyebrows at her in the hope that she might give him the answer he sought. In truth, River didn’t blame her for thinking he was daft. He wasn’t daft, but damn impulsive, thanks to his father’s directive. He was going to beat Falcon if he had to marry an old hag.

  If this pretty lass rejected him, he’d simply go somewhere else.

  “Mayhap ye’re not daft,” she said after a moment. “But ye’re certainly taking a great risk.”