Lords of the Kingdom

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Sutton sighed faintly, as men usually do when recalling a beautiful woman. “Paget,” he said. “The Lady Paget de Clifford.”

  Amalie’s smile grew; she could see that he had a dreamy-eyed expression. “What does she look like?” she asked.

  Sutton shrugged, looking to her cup. “The most beautiful woman I have ever seen besides you,” he glanced up, winking at his grinning brother. “She has long brown hair and the most beautiful brown eyes. She looks like a goddess.”

  Amalie sipped at her wine. “Have you spoken to her?” she asked. “Does she know of your interest?”

  He half-nodded, half-shrugged. “I have spoken with her on a few occasions,” he said. “The last time I saw her was when I was heading out of town to go to Hedingham. She was shopping in town and I spoke with her briefly until her father chased me away.”

  Before Amalie could reply, Weston entered the conversation. “You must be persistent, Sutton,” he advised. “You must go after what you want. If I had not gone after Amalie, she would still be at the nunnery and I would be a very lonely man.”

  Sutton’s eyebrows lifted as his gaze moved between Weston and Amalie. “The nunnery?” he repeated, surprised. “Do you mean to tell me that you violated the sanctity of a nunnery to capture your bride?”

  As Amalie giggled, Weston shook his head. “I did not capture her.”

  Amalie leaned towards him. “You did, in a manner of speaking.”

  He looked at her, bordering on mock-outrage. “I did no such thing.”

  “You tracked me like a hound.”

  “Never did I track you; follow you, aye. Track you; no.”

  “You practically tied me up and carried me away.”

  His eyebrows flew up. “Is that so?” he huffed. “You ungrateful wench. The next nunnery we come across, I shall dump you off and leave you there.”

  Amalie laughed heartily, looking at Sutton. “Your brother came to the nunnery every day for four months, demanding to speak with me,” she told him. “I sent him away every time until one day, he grew wise and came to the rear of the nunnery where the garden was. He found me there and has been my shadow ever since. I believe the point he is making is that if you truly want Lady Paget, then you should not give up.”

  Sutton thought on that a moment, watching Amalie and Weston grin at each other as if enjoying some private joke between them. He wanted that, too. The more time he spent with his brother and his family, the more he realized he wanted the same thing for himself. He finished what was left in his cup and set it down.

  “There is a tournament scheduled in Keighley on the first day of November,” he said. “I am thinking on competing. Perhaps she will be there and perhaps I can ask for her favor then.”

  “The first of November?” Amalie blinked thoughtfully. “That is only two weeks away.”

  “Thirteen days,” Weston sat up from where he had been stretched out next to his wife. “Perhaps I will compete also. It has been a long time since I have gone to sport against my brother.”

  Amalie’s brow furrowed as she looked at him. “I do not think I like this idea,” she said. “Tournaments are dangerous.”

  Weston put his hands on her shoulders, kissing her cheek as he winked at his brother. “They are not dangerous to me,” he said. “Just everyone else who gets in my way.”

  Sutton snorted, rising wearily to his feet when he saw that Weston was doing the same and pulling Amalie along with him. The hour was growing late and they had a big day ahead of them on the morrow.

  “Not to worry, Amalie,” Sutton said. “Weston is invincible on the tournament circuit. There is not a man in England that can beat him, except perhaps me.”

  “We shall see, little brother,” Weston said, guiding his wife towards their tent. “We shall see.”

  Sutton merely grinned as he dipped his head in farewell towards Amalie, disappearing off into the darkness. Weston gently pulled her into their tent, closing the flap. The soft glow of the fire outside lit the interior of the tent, illuminating the shadowed features of the children as they slept.

  Weston lay down on their pallet, pulling Amalie down with him when she was finished checking on the children. Bundled up against her husband’s broad chest, she slept the sleep of the dead, dreaming of blond haired boys, lovely lord’s daughters, and a distant tournament field.

  Morning came with a loud clap of thunder and a vicious storm.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Amalie’s first glimpse of Netherghyll Castle had her very curious about it. On the rise in the distance, she could hardly see it through the rain, but as the column drew closer, the details of the dark and expansive structure gradually became clearer.

  The thunder rolled over head and the rain came down in sheets as they approached. Amalie’s attention was on the great dark gray walls of Netherghyll, encircling the top of an entire hill like the embrace of a great iron chain. There was a narrow road that led up the slick and muddy hill to the castle and nothing more than a great iron portcullis that opened wide at a hole in the wall to admit them.

  The wall was at least twenty feet high, an impenetrable shield, and the iron portcullis was a colossal thing that would hold steady if God himself tried to breach it. As the carriage passed into the massively expansive bailey of Netherghyll, Amalie’s gaze fell on the enormous keep.

  It wasn’t a keep liked Hedingham, a singular massive block reaching for the sky; Netherghyll’s keep was more like a complex of buildings nestled right in the middle of the bailey. Amalie could see at least three buildings pieced together with a central courtyard in the middle of them that had a lovely garden laid out in it.

  The building farthest to the west looked like an enormous hall with a pitched roof while the building attached to it on the east side was taller, about three stories, built heavy and squat. The building attached to the east side of that building, forming the third side of the cluster, was two stories, long and thick-looking. She could see small windows in the squatty keep and the long, thick building. All in all, it was an enormous complex that was now her home.

  Beside her, Aubria had awoken from her nap and was standing up, peering from the carriage door window just as her mother was. Amalie smiled at her daughter, hugging the child gently as they both observed their new surroundings of muddy ground and rain-soaked buildings.

  The column came to a halt and Amalie could hear Weston bellowing orders in the distance. Men began to move about and John, astride his big war horse, suddenly bolted by, spraying mud as he went. The commotion was enough to wake Colton, who rose with a wail and began rubbing his eyes.

  Amalie picked her son up and cradled him on her lap, comforting him as the little boy fully awoke. Sounds of the column disbanding were all around them and Amalie was increasingly eager to get out of the cab. She was tired of travel, slightly nauseous, and eager to explore her new home. But she waited patiently until Weston suddenly appeared at the door and the children squealed at the sight of him.

  Weston yanked the door open, kissing his daughter on the cheek as he lifted her into his enormous arms. The rain was misting by now and Amalie shook her head as Aubria’s blond hair began growing damp.

  “Put her back in the cab, West,” she admonished. “She will get wet out there.”

  He held out his hand to her. “We are going inside,” he took her hand and helped her maneuver out of the cab with Colton in her arms. “The hall is warm and dry, and there should be plenty of food. Are you hungry?”

  She wriggled her eyebrows at him. “Yes and no.”

  He grinned and kissed her hand as they began to move towards the hall. The mist wasn’t too bad but the black mud was awful. Amalie tried to keep her skirts up with Colton in her arms, trying not to slip in the bog.

  “I would sell my soul for a hot bath right now,” she muttered.

  He smiled at her, taking her elbow to help her and Colton through the muck. “No need,” he said. “We can provide one without such sacrifices.”


  Amalie glanced up at the pitched-roofed hall they were heading towards; it was big and dark-stoned with a heavily thatched roof at a sharp angle. The structure looked austere, cold and serious, as tall as two stories with a long, block-like shape. At the roof peak was a corbel carved like a gargoyle’s face, something rather eerie.

  “So this is where you grew up?” she asked.

  He nodded, looking around, reacquainting himself with his boyhood home. He felt a sense of comfort to be here but he also felt a strong sense of dread as memories of his father’s suicide swamped him. Before they could close in on him completely, he focused on answering his wife.

  “Until I was seven years old,” he replied, trying to mask his unease. “I was born here.”

  She held on to Colton with two hands as Weston helped collect her skirt. “When were you here last?” she asked.

  He helped her up onto the steps that led to the great hall, freeing her from the dark mud.

  “I went to foster when I was seven,” he said. “I spent my early years at Pembroke Castle before my master moved to Bolingbroke Castle. I was knighted at nineteen years of age, whereupon I swore fealty to Bolingbroke. I have returned home twice during all that time, both times because of Sutton.”

  Amalie looked up at him. “Why? What happened to Sutton?”

  Weston shook his head faintly. “Once because he had been badly wounded in a skirmish and it was feared that he was not going to survive, and the second time because he got into trouble with my grandfather and I had to intervene. I will say no more about that incident, so do not ask.”

  Amalie fought off a grin because he was wriggling his eyebrows as he spoke. She suspected it was something very naughty more than something very evil. Sutton was not the evil type. So she simply nodded her head as he pushed open the massive wood and iron doors to the great hall. A blast of warm, smoky air hit her in the face as she and Colton entered, followed closely by Weston and Aubria.

  The hall was vast and long, with an enormous hearth on the western wall that was taller than Weston. Huge plumes of smoke billowed from it, wafting up to the ceiling. There was a giant banqueting table in the center of the room, full of food and pitchers of wine. There was also a woman standing next to the table, rather small, with a tight wimple and well-made clothes. The woman was a distance away so Amalie couldn’t see much of her features, but she suspected who the woman was. As Amalie stood uncertainly, inspecting the room and waiting for direction from her husband, Sutton came in behind them and shut the door.

  Sutton went straight for the woman standing near the table, reaching out to embrace her. Amalie turned to look at her husband, silently asking for direction, but the expression on his face was one she had never seen before; his eyes were on the woman in Sutton’s embrace, but his features were hard and edgy. His jaw ticked faintly. She wasn’t sure what to say to him as Aubria interrupted the silence.

  The little blond girl put her hands on Weston’s mailed cheeks, patting him gently.

  “Dada?” she said in her sweet little voice. “I’m hungry.”

  Weston tore his gaze off the woman in the distance and looked at his daughter. “We shall get you something to eat, my angel,” he kissed her cheek, his eyes moving back to Sutton and the woman in his arms. He put his arm around Amalie’s shoulders to move her forward. “Come along.”

  Amalie followed Weston to the great table in the center of the hall, all the while watching Sutton interact with the small, tightly-wimpled woman. As Weston and Amalie came to the table, Sutton caught sight of them. He smiled broadly at his brother and his family.

  “Look at Weston’s children, Mother,” he ran a gloved hand across Colton’s white-blond head. “This is Master Colton de Royans and that beautiful young lady is the Lady Aubria. Are these not the most beautiful children you have ever seen?”

  Amalie watched apprehensively as the woman’s eyes filled with a lake of tears. She clasped her hands tightly against her breast as if fearful to let herself go, wanting to embrace her grandchildren but not knowing how her eldest son would react. She was a small woman with deep blue eyes and Amalie could see the resemblance between the woman and her sons; she seemed so small and frail, her features fine and angelic. Amalie couldn’t imagine what this tiny, delicate woman did to ever offend Weston so much that the man never wanted to speak to her again.

  “Aye,” she breathed. “They are the most beautiful children I have ever seen. I am so happy to meet them.”

  By this time, everyone was looking to Weston, who continued to stand like stone. Amalie would never dream of going against her husband, but she was coming to feel uncomfortable at his stony, brooding stance. More than that, he hadn’t even introduced her, which she thought very rude. She waited a few seconds for him to say something, anything, but when he didn’t, she could no longer keep silent.

  “My lady,” she greeted Weston’s mother. “I am Weston’s wife, the Lady Amalie de Vere de Royans. I am happy to meet you.”

  Weston’s mother fixed on her, blinking back a tide of tears. “Lady Amalie,” she repeated as if it was the most beautiful name in the world. “I am so glad you have come. I am the Lady Elizabeth de Royans. I… I did not know that Weston had married.”

  Amalie was starting to feel the least bit perturbed at the way her husband had treated his mother although she kept reminding herself that he had his reasons. Deep-seated family reasons that she would not dispute. Still, since Weston wasn’t speaking, she took the lead. She didn’t know what else to do.

  “We were married four years ago last April,” she said. “We have lived at Hedingham, my family’s home, since then. Have you ever been to Essex, my lady?”

  Lady Elizabeth was struggling; that much was evident. Amalie naturally felt very sorry for the woman.

  “I have not,” Elizabeth said, trying very hard to blink back her tears. “I have spent most of my time in Yorkshire, although I visited London as a young girl. I think I should like to go back some day.”

  As Amalie warmed to the conversation, Colton suddenly started kicking his feet. “Hungry!” he growled. “Mama, bread!”

  Elizabeth laughed with delight at the child, looking to Amalie. “Please,” she indicated the table, heavy with food. “Sit and eat. There is plenty of bread for Colton.”

  Amalie didn’t even look at Weston as she pushed past him, setting Colton down on the one of the carved wooden chairs. Then she turned to take Aubria from him, but he waved her off silently and sat the girl down next to her brother.

  Sutton plopped down next to Colton and tore apart a loaf of bread, handing the boy the soft white middle as Aubria reached for a hunk of yellow cheese. Colton, reunited with his best pal Sutton, chewed happily. As Elizabeth timidly moved up beside Sutton to better inspect her grandchildren, Amalie turned to Weston.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything to her?” she whispered. “You are making this extremely uncomfortable.”

  Weston’s jaw ticked as he looked at her. He couldn’t even reply, mostly because he wasn’t sure what to say. He was deeply torn with the old memories, the old hatred, flooding him. Finally, he just shook his head and pulled off his helm, setting it on the table as he took a seat on the other side of Aubria.

  Amalie watched him, understanding his manner but not agreeing with it. She could see what a difficult time he was having in spite of his stony demeanor. With Sutton feeding Colton, she moved to her husband and gently pulled back his mail hood, revealing his damp, cropped blond hair. She put her hands on his enormous shoulders, kissing him on the temple as he reached up and clasped her hand. He squeezed it tightly.

  “Has the rain been merciless, Lady Elizabeth?” Amalie asked politely. “The land seems very wet.”

  Elizabeth looked up from Colton, smiling. “This time of year it is always very wet,” she replied. “The snows will come soon enough and we will have more than our share. Last winter was particularly difficult. In fact, that was when my husband fell ill and….”

&n
bsp; She suddenly trailed off, almost choking on her words, realizing she had brought up the crux of all of the problems between her and Weston. They hadn’t been there five minutes and already she had brought up the subject of Heston de Royans. Her eyes widened as she looked at Weston, who was focused on the wine in his hand. He showed no reaction as he silently gulped his wine and Elizabeth refocused nervously on Amalie.

  “Well,” she shifted subjects quickly. “It was quite a bad winter so I can only hope that this winter is not so bad.”

  Amalie smiled, gesturing to the great hall around them. “Even so, Netherghyll’s hall is quite warm and lovely. We should be able to weather the elements quite nicely in here.”

  It was small talk, something to try and break the horrendous tension filling the room. Weston sat silently next to Aubria, drinking his wine and gazing off into the room as if remembering happier times within the old walls. Amalie wasn’t sure what more she could say, struggling to think of something else they could lightly converse on. But before she could think on something, Elizabeth unwittingly asked a question that only made the tension grow worse.

  “Please,” she begged softly, “tell me how you and Weston met?”

  Amalie’s warm expression faded, wondering how to tactfully and carefully explain that particular event. Before she could reply, Weston suddenly came to life and looked at his mother.

  “That is a conversation for another time,” he snapped in a low, steady voice. “Right now, I would like to settle my family into their chambers and my wife requires a hot bath. I would assume my wife and I are occupying the master’s chambers?”

  He sounded so cold; Amalie had never heard that tone from him, ever. She looked startled as Elizabeth seemed to quiver, shocked that her eldest son was actually addressing her. But she recovered quickly.

  “The servants are clearing my things from the master’s chambers right now,” she assured him. “We can put the children in your former chamber, Weston. Sutton, you will occupy your former chamber as well.”

  Weston abruptly stood up. “You can clear out your possessions at another time,” he said brusquely. “My wife requires a bath and she will not wait.”