Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Rhys looked up at David, somewhat startled to see him. “Greetings, David,” he said evenly, nodding acknowledgement to Lawrence. “What are you doing here?”

  Lawrence ordered the men to spread out to keep an eye on the surrounding area as David dismounted his white charger. He removed one glove and then his helm, scratching at his sweaty blond scalp.

  “Looking for you,” David noticed Elizabeau standing on the other side of Rhys. The woman seemed to grow more beautiful by the hour. “Good morn to you, my lady.”

  Elizabeau nodded her head in his direction. “My lord.”

  David’s gaze lingered on her a moment before looking to Rod. “It’s been a long time, de Titouan. How are the Marches?”

  Rod grinned; he had known David for years as his liege’s brother. “Cold and wet, like always.”

  David smirked and returned his attention to Rhys. “I need to speak with you,” he lowered his voice. “Is there somewhere we may speak privately?”

  Rhys shrugged. “This is probably as good a place as any. There are people in the tavern that could overhear a conversation.”

  David nodded, apparently satisfied, and took a step closer to Rhys. “I came to warn you to be vigilant about Eleanor. We have reason to believe that not only did she capture Arthur, but that she was behind his death as well. If that is the case, then she will be after the lady as Richard’s heir. It is not only the king you must worry about; now it is the both of them.”

  Rhys absorbed the information without a reaction. But Elizabeau had heard it as well and she lowered her gaze, staring at the ground, digesting the fact that both her uncle and grandmother wanted her dead. Even though, in her heart, she already knew the truth, still, it was difficult to comprehend.

  “So it is true,” she murmured. “She killed my brother.”

  David and Rhys looked at her. “We do not know that for certain,” David said, somewhat gently. “But we believe it is the truth. We have information that suggests it.”

  She looked up, her attention between Rhys and David. “She will stop at nothing; you know this,” she said frankly. “If she is on my scent, then she will keep on and on until I am dead.”

  “Not if we can prevent it,” David replied steadily. “The key is getting you out of England. We must get you away from here.”

  “Her betrothed is at Whitebrook,” Rod stepped from between the chargers, knowing his brother was probably cursing him for divulging the information to David. “We are returning there this moment. Once they are married, we can escort them to the ports of Sudbrook or back to Caldicot and gain them safe passage out of England.”

  David looked surprised. “He’s at Whitebrook? What is he doing there? He’s supposed to be at Ogmore.”

  “He said that his ship was forced off course and they landed at Portsmouth,” Rod replied. “Once they became land-based, the king’s men tried to capture them and they were forced to flee. They went to London, found de Burgh, and he told them where the lady was. So they traveled to Whitebrook.”

  David stared at him a moment before shaking his head. “That was stupid,” he rumbled. “If John’s men were following him, then he would lead them straight to the lady. He put both their lives in jeopardy by going to Whitebrook.”

  “They have been there for two days and we’ve seen no sign of John’s men.”

  “Even so, it was foolish,” he snapped. “You will not go back to Whitebrook with the lady. Rhys and I will escort her on to Ogmore and you will return to Whitebrook alone and escort the prince on to Ogmore. We will have the priest waiting when he arrives.”

  Rod didn’t dare look at his brother. He did the only thing he could do; he acknowledged the command, mounted his horse, and made way for Whitebrook. David watched him ride off, oblivious to Rhys’ tense body language and the fact that the lady was staring at the ground. When Rod was nearly out of sight, he tossed his helm to one of his men.

  “I am famished,” he said to Rhys. “Attend me inside. I need something to eat before we continue.”

  Rhys’ jaw was ticking furiously as David walked past him, into the tavern. He took a couple of steps to follow before realizing that Elizabeau wasn’t moving with them. He turned to look at her, seeing that she was staring at the dirt. He knew what she was feeling without benefit of words. He could feel it radiating off her like rays off the sun. Silently, gently, he reached out and took her arm and pulled her back into the inn.

  David was already seating himself, bellowing for food, when they entered. Before they came within earshot of him, Rhys whispered to Elizabeau.

  “Ease yourself, angel,” he said softly. “You must not give anything away with tears or actions.”

  “I am fine, truly,” she murmured in return. “ ’Tis you I am worried about.”

  “No need.”

  She did look at him, then, her deep green eyes locking with his brilliant blue. “Are you sure?”

  His reply was to wink at her and escort her to David’s table. He helped her to sit before taking the chair next to her and lowering his bulk. As David tore into the food before him, odd sounds radiated from outside. There was grunting, a few bangs, and suddenly David and Rhys were on their feet. Startled, Elizabeau stood up quickly just as Rhys unsheathed the dual blades strapped to his back. Then the door flew open, men rushed in, and all was chaos.

  Rhys swung the blades with deadly precision, killing the first man who rushed at him with barely an effort. But his primary duty was to protect Elizabeau and he sheathed the sword in his right hand, grabbing her.

  “Come on,” he shielded her with his big body as they ran to the rear of the tavern. “We need to get out of here.”

  He took her through the kitchens, past the panicked barkeep and his wife. When he reached the rear door, however, he held Elizabeau back and kicked the door open, charging out with both swords swinging. A man rushed at him and he cut him down within three strokes. Sheathing one of the swords again, he held out his hand to Elizabeau.

  “Come on, angel,” he encouraged urgently. “We must run.”

  Elizabeau bolted out of the tavern, taking Rhys’ hand in the process. Together they sprinted through the yard and into the barn. There was a leggy warmblood there, more than likely belonging to one of the patrons of the inn, and Rhys grabbed the nearest bridle. It was too big for the horse’s long and narrow head and he had to take valuable time to adjust it. Just as he had it on the horse, the fighting entered the yard between the tavern and the barn and he heard someone bellow his name loudly.

  Rhys mounted the horse bareback, no mean feat without a saddle for ballast. Reaching down, he easily pulled Elizabeau up and seated her behind him.

  “Hold on tight,” he patted the hands that were wrapped tightly around his waist. “Keep your head down.”

  He spurred the horse forward but the animal was skittish and he almost lost his seat. But he kept firm, charging out through the open barn door and into a group of fighting men. But strangely, no one seemed to be fighting too much. In fact, he saw David standing with his sword leveled, staring off to the left. Rhys instinctively looked over his shoulder to see a soldier with a dagger to Rod’s neck.

  Rod was battered and bruised; he had been ambushed before he had even cleared the town. Whoever had tracked them had been well aware of Rod’s movements. But their brilliant blue eyes met, brother on brother, and Rod bellowed at him.

  “Get out of here!”

  Rhys didn’t hesitate; he jammed his spurs into the side of the gelding and the horse tore off. The animal wasn’t as bulky or strong as a charger, but he was faster. Rhys drove the horse from the tavern and back into the center of town. Once near the main road, he headed straight for the wharf.

  He had no idea if they were still being followed. He could not take the time to look behind him or the chance that they were. He could see the port in the near distance, the sea glistening as the morning sun rose in the sky. It looked peaceful and serene, with a few clouds far off on the horizon.
There were several ships in port; he could count at least five. He drove the horse faster.

  Rhys dodged in and out of alleys and between yards. If he was being pursued, he wanted to do his best to lose them. Erupting from a rear yard and onto a dirt street, he reined the horse sharply to the right and the animal slipped and fell, dumping both Rhys and Elizabeau into the dust. The horse scrambled to its feel and bolted off as Rhys picked Elizabeau up.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, hand against her head. Truth was she had smacked it when the horse fell and was seeing stars, but she would not tell him that. He was worried enough without thinking she was injured.

  Rhys took her hand and pulled her into another yard, this one being a metalworker. There was wood, peat and dung all over the yard for the hot fires. They slipped out the other side and ended up on the main wharf where three of the ships were docked. One of them was loading supplies and he could see lanky sailors in a line loading items onto the boat. Since it was the only ship with any activity, he assumed it was preparing to sail and made his way towards it.

  There were two sailors on deck and another two on the dock. Two men stood on the gangway, helping load up supplies. With Elizabeau in hand, Rhys walked up to one of the two men on the dock.

  “Is this ship leaving soon?” he asked.

  The man looked at him, startled; his skin was darker from the constant exposure to the sun and salt and he had very dark, long hair. His gaze moved between Rhys and Elizabeau.

  “Leave?” he repeated.

  Rhys nodded. “Aye, leave. Sail. Go out to sea.” When he realized the man didn’t completely understand him, he made little wavy motions with his hand in the direction of the water.

  The man understood what he was asking. “Vela, vela,” the man said. “Si, presto.”

  Rhys didn’t understand the language. It was the native of Rome. “Do you understand my words?” he asked, disheartened.

  “I do, sir,” said the second man on the dock, walking up to them and wiping off his hands. “What is it you want?”

  Rhys focused on the short man with the very deep voice. “Where are you going?”

  The man nodded out to sea. “First to the port of Bude in Cornwall and then on to Spain. Why?”

  “My wife and I would like to gain passage to Bude. Would that be possible?”

  The man looked dubiously. “We are loaded with goods and supplies. We do not have room for passengers.”

  “I will make it worth your while.”

  The man eyed him a moment before turning to the man next to him and conversing with him in Italian. There was a good deal of arguing going on as Rhys and Elizabeau watched. Elizabeau kept looking over her shoulder, waiting for the king’s men to come hurling out at them but, so far, the streets remained relatively quiet. She was as nervous as a cat while Rhys was quite calm. In fact, even in the face of his brother’s beating and murderers all around, he had been nothing but completely collected. As the two men argued in a foreign language, Elizabeau pressed up against Rhys for comfort and his left arm went around her tightly. She immediately felt better.

  After more arguing, the man who spoke their language turned to them. “All right,” he said. “But the price will be high. Five gold crowns. Each.”

  “What?” Elizabeau blurted. “That is robbery. It is piracy!”

  The man looked at her lazily. “Then find another boat.”

  She opened her mouth to retort but Rhys turned her around, away from the boat so they could converse in private. While she fumed, he put both hands on her arms and bent down to look her in the eye.

  “Not to worry about the price,” he said softly. “I am only concerned with getting you out of here. I would pay the Devil with my soul if I thought it would see you through to safety.”

  She lost some of her fury. “But we do not have any money.”

  His brilliant blue eyes twinkled. “Aye, we do.”

  She followed him back across the wharf to the area they had just come from. Elizabeau recognized the metalworker’s lean-to and they paused in front of it.

  “Stay here,” he instructed. “I’ll be right inside so if you see any danger heading our way, scream.”

  “Why can’t I come in?” she frowned.

  “Because I want you to wait here.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He unsheathed one of his swords, taking a long look at it. “See how much the man will give me for my swords.”

  Her eyes widened. “Nay,” she breathed. “You cannot do that. Those are beautiful weapons and….”

  He bent down and kissed her swiftly. “Just stay here. I will be right back.”

  She opened her mouth to dispute him but he ducked inside, away from any further conversation. He had wanted her to stay outside so she wouldn’t argue with him in front of the metalworker. Frustrated, she sighed sharply and turned to look at the sea, watching the men continue to load up supplies on the Italian galley. She had never been on the sea before and wondered fleetingly if she would become sea-sick. Her mother had told her a story once of being violently ill on a sea voyage. Lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the rising sun, she watched the seagulls as they rode the drafts against the sea. In spite of the harrowing circumstances, it was shaping up to be a surprisingly beautiful day.

  It was her last coherent thought before there was a sharp pain to the side of her head and the lights went out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Year of our Lord 1204, late February

  Lioncross Abbey, the Welsh Marches

  It was snowing heavily, a February winter that had seen days upon days of snow. A very pregnant woman with a thick, long mane of golden hair stood at one of the lancet windows in her husband’s solar, the oilcloth peeled back so she could watch the bailey below. She was petite and extraordinarily beautiful, with eyes the color of storm clouds. Lioncross Abbey Castle, her home, had once been a Roman military camp, then an abbey when the Romans finally left, and eventually the castle had been built on top of it, hence the name. It had an odd shape to it but a massive bailey that could accommodate an army. But it wasn’t an army that the woman was looking for.

  Sighing, she turned from the window and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. It was chilly. The Lady Dustin de Lohr was waiting for her husband, his brother and some of his men to return from a scouting expedition to the north. For almost three months they had been searching for the woman who would be the next queen of England, Richard’s heir and meant to replace King John. The Lady Elizabeau Treveighan had disappeared from Caldicot last November and de Lohr had been searching ferociously for her ever since.

  So had a number of other people, a Teutonic prince included. It seemed to be the most pressing thing that the country was facing, even more than the disgruntled barons who waged skirmishes against the king. All of the king’s opposition had been hunting for her and the king, if he knew her location, was not saying. Fear was that Queen Eleanor had the girl and had moved her to France; worse yet, had done away with her already. But Lady Dustin’s husband and his followers did not seem to believe that.

  Even now, they were following a tip from an informant to the north. They had been gone well over a week and Lady Dustin was growing uneasy not only for her husband’s safety but also for the fact that she was due to give birth soon. She could feel the child growing tight in her belly and she knew her time was near. She wanted her husband to be on hand at the birth, as he had promised.

  So she sat down by the fire and waited, as she had waited for over a week. It seemed that she was always waiting for her husband one way or the other. It was simply the way of things. Just as she was dozing off, soldiers on the walls of the castle began to shout. The next thing she realized, chargers were storming into the bailey, nearly obscured by the blanket of snow. Excited, Dustin left the solar and waddled to the front entry of the keep as fast as her swollen legs would carry her.

  She didn’t make it to
the door in time to open it. As she neared the foyer, the heavy oak panel flew open and men in armor began entering, covered in snow and heading for the great hall where a fire blazed. Her brother-in-law, David, was the first man inside and she caught him before he could move past her.

  “Where is Chris?” she demanded.

  David removed his snow-covered helm; his face was pinched with cold. “Out there, somewhere. He should be in shortly.”

  She kept her hand on David’s arm. “Did you find her?”

  David sneezed violently, removing one glove to wipe at his red nose. “We found where they are keeping her, at any rate,” he said. “We practically had to tie du Bois to his saddle to prevent him from storming the castle. Now that he knows she’s there, he’s like a crazy man.”

  Dustin’s beautiful face took on a sympathetic expression. “Where is she?”

  “Exactly where we had been told; Ludlow Castle.”

  “That monstrous place? Isn’t that is one of de Lacy’s holdings?”

  “The king confiscated it last summer and holds it still. It’s a massive place and we are going to need a lot of help breaching her.”

  David was obviously cold and wished to move to the fire, but Dustin held him still. “And Rhys? Is he at least somewhat better now that he knows where she is?”

  David sighed heavily as he faced his sister-in-law. “He borders on madness. I’ve never seen a man so crazed by his love for a woman.”

  Dustin lifted a well-shaped eyebrow. “That is because the woman you love has not been kidnapped by an enemy. You would border on madness just as much as Rhys if something were to happen to Emilie.”

  David half-nodded, half-shrugged. “Be that as it may, he needs to get a hold of himself. Above all else, he needs to remember that she belongs to Brunswick, not him. When we retrieve her, she will be married to the prince and sent back to Saxony.”

  “Is the prince with you?”

  David nodded, trying to pull away from her. “May I go now and warm myself? I’ve caught my death of a chill, I’m positive.”