Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Eleanor,” he repeated, disbelief in his tone. “How on earth did your good friend Erik have any contact with her? Last I had heard, she was still being held prisoner at Sarum.”

  Erik de Russe was yet another of Richard’s knights who had served with Juston. He and Gart had grown up together and were nearly the same age, although Erik had been knighted the year before. Mostly, Erik remained with Richard as one of his most dependable knights so the fact that the man had arrived at Bowes was astonishing to say the least. Richard was rarely without the powerful de Russe knight. As Juston pulled a warm, dried tunic over his head, Gart went to collect the man’s boots.

  “It is possible she has been moved,” Gart said as he handed a boot to Juston, who yanked it on his foot. “Henry moves her around with regularity, so it’s possible she has been moved. How Erik came into contact with her, I do not know. He would not tell me any more than what I told you.”

  Juston yanked on the second boot and grabbed the heavy fur-lined robe. “Then it must be secretive, indeed.”

  “Aye, it must.”

  Where is he?”

  “In the hall.”

  Juston was already in the stairwell, taking the spiral stairs down to the next level where the hall was. It was quite warm on this level from an overworked hearth, as servants had it full of peat, trying to stave off the icy weather outside. The hall was relatively empty of fighting men, however, with most of them either repairing the wall or tending other necessary things. Juston had very few wounded from the siege but he could see those men who had been injured were tucked into one corner of the hall and he could see his physic, an old man with very bad teeth, moving among them. But two figures by the hearth had his attention most of all. He moved quickly in their direction as Gart trailed after him.

  Erik de Russe was a young knight with deep blue eyes, dark blonde hair, and a muscular build. He was as serious and dedicated as a knight could be, deeply devoted to his king. Richard saw greatness in the young warrior, which is why he kept him close, but Richard was in France at this point in time… and Erik was not. Juston was, therefore, greatly concerned with the man’s appearance. Whatever it was must be important, indeed.

  “Erik?” his voice reflected his concern. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?”

  Erik’s handsome face was pale from exhaustion and the cold. “It has been a long trip, my lord,” he admitted. Then, he lowered his voice. “Is there somewhere we may speak privately?”

  Juston simply nodded, indicating for Erik to follow him but not before Erik looked at Gart and pointed to the boy, indicating that Gart keep the boy in his custody. While Gart took up position next to the trembling child who was trying desperately to warm himself by the fire, Juston took Erik into the smaller chamber next to the hall, cold and dark. In the empty room, Juston faced Richard’s knight.

  “What is happening?” he muttered. “Who is the boy?”

  Erik sighed heavily, a sign of his level of exhaustion. “We have been riding for weeks,” he said. “It all started a few months ago when Richard received a missive from Eleanor. She is at Sarum, you know.”

  “Still?”

  “Aye.”

  “Go on.”

  “Her missive to Richard was that he must send his most trusted knight to her on a matter of vital importance, so he sent me to Sarum. She has custodians, you know, but because I had a written request from Richard, I was allowed to see her privately.”

  “And?”

  Erik pulled off his helm, peeling back the coif beneath it and running his fingers through his short blonde hair. “And, she had something of an astonishing message to deliver,” he mumbled, his dark-circled eyes finding Juston. “It would seem that Lady Ida de Tosny, wife of the Earl of Norfolk, had some information for Eleanor that she would only deliver in person. When Eleanor asked for and was granted her visit, Lady Ida proceeded to inform Eleanor of something very shocking – that she’d heard her husband discussing the whereabouts of a certain child. She had come to provide Eleanor with the location of said child.”

  Juston’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What child could possibly be so important to Eleanor?”

  Erik sighed heavily. “A child who was the son of Henry and Princess Alys,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know that it has been rumored that King Philip of France’s sister, Alys, who is Richard’s betrothed, bore a child for Henry. We have all heard that rumor and we have all known that Henry took the young woman as his mistress. Now, the rumors of a bastard have proven to be true. Lady Ida gave the location of the child to Eleanor, who in turn sent a missive to Richard. She wanted the boy extracted from his location and hidden away. That is where I came in; Richard sent me to Canterbury where the boy was a page to Baldwin of Forde, the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  Juston’s eyes were wide with astonishment as he listened to the fantastic story. “And the archbishop turned the lad over you?”

  Erik shook his head. “Nay,” he said, “but one of the priests pointed him out to me. I had to bring the priest a young woman, if you know what I mean, before he’d tell me anything. But he finally revealed the identity of the boy and I was able to take the child from Canterbury. Richard told me that once I had him, I was to take him to you for safekeeping. He wants that lad with an army to protect him. And that, my lord, is why I am here.”

  Juston could hardly believe what he was hearing. Without a word, he marched over to the doorway between the great hall and the smaller chamber, his focus fixed on the young man by the hearth with Gart standing guard beside him. He was still staring at the lad when Erik walked up beside him.

  “That is the son of Henry and Alys?” Juston asked. “Are you certain?”

  Erik nodded. “As certain as I can be,” he said. “You will be certain, too, when you look at him – he resembles Henry to a fault. There is no denying who his father is.”

  Juston could already see the boy’s profile and it was familiar, indeed. It was all quite overwhelming. “Great Bleeding Christ… so the rumors of a royal bastard were true.”

  Erik’s gaze was on the boy as well. “Indeed,” he muttered. “We speculated for years about it, that Alys bore Henry a son, and now we know that it is true. His name is Philip Alexander Tristan, but he goes by Tristan. He’s actually a polite lad, well mannered. He gave me no trouble.”

  Juston’s focus was still on the boy. “Does he know his royal lineage?”

  Erik shook his head. “I do not believe so,” he said. “From what I gather, Alys gave birth and sent the boy to live with servants, who in turn put him in the cloister for his education. I’m assuming they thought it was the safest place for him. His identity has been kept secret for years, even from him, so he does not know that his father is the King of England. And he has no idea why I took him from Canterbury. He is upset, as you can imagine.”

  Juston let out a pent-up sigh, a sound of frustration. “So what does Richard want me to do with the boy?”

  Erik gave him a knowing look. “As I said, he wants an army to protect him,” he said. “That boy unites two kingdoms. I do not need to tell you how valuable that makes him.”

  No, he didn’t need to tell Juston just how valuable the lad was. The son of the King of England and the King of France’s sister made him a hugely valuable commodity to many different people.

  “Is Eleanor or Richard planning on using the lad against Henry?” Juston asked the obvious question. “Did Eleanor tell you anything to that regard?”

  Erik shook his head. “She did not,” he said. “But you know that is on her mind. It is an opportunity far too good to waste, now that Henry and Alys’ son is in her custody.”

  Juston could only imagine the greater implications of that. Being that Eleanor had custody of him, there was something very ominous about that. The boy was caught up in a deadly game, something bigger than he could possibly imagine. But men like Juston and Erik knew the stakes. They knew Eleanor and Richard.

 
The game could become deadly, indeed.

  “Then no one is to know who the boy is,” Juston said. “I will tell my knights, of course, but no one else must know. He will be watched and protected. You will tell Richard that.”

  Erik shook his head. “I am to remain here, under your command,” he replied. “Richard wants me to personally watch the boy.”

  “Then he shall be your charge.”

  “My new squire.”

  They understood one another. That would be what they told everyone else. A new squire from a good family. But nothing more than that. Resigned to the new element in his midst, Juston put a hand on Erik’ shoulder.

  “I can only imagine what great lengths you went through in order to find me,” he said. “You must be exhausted.”

  Erik nodded. “I went to Netherghyll and they told me you were seeing action at Bowes,” he said. “That is how I found you. How long have you been here?”

  “Over three weeks,” Juston said. “Richard sent word a few months ago that he wanted Bowes secured in his name, so here we are. I’ve not had a chance to send word to him about it yet. In fact, it seems that there is a good deal going on here, far more than we realized. Eat and rest and I shall tell you more when you have taken time for yourself. Meanwhile, I will take young Master Tristan in-hand. I think I should like to come to know this boy.”

  Erik thought a meal and a bed sounded very good. “He has already eaten this morning,” he said. “He also slept like the dead last night. I do not recall the days of youth when I could sleep like that. I am envious.”

  The corners of Juston’s mouth twitched. “As am I,” he agreed. “A three-week siege has left me believing I will never sleep again. Go, now. I will tend to the lad.”

  Erik nodded and wandered off while Juston headed to the hearth where Gart and the boy were. When he came upon them, he sent Gart away to continue his duties of securing food and a hot bath for his liege while Juston faced the young lad sitting by the fire.

  It was an interesting moment for him as he gazed upon the face of someone he was never really sure existed. It was like looking at a ghost. Once the boy looked up at him and Juston saw that he, indeed, had the shape of Henry’s eyes and mouth, there was no doubt in his mind who Philip Alexander Tristan really was. Truth be told, it was a bit of a shocking realization.

  “I am Sir Juston de Royans,” he told the boy. “I am told your name is Tristan.”

  The child stood up, a mannerly gesture. “Aye, my lord,” he said timidly.

  “How old are you?”

  “I have seen nine summers, my lord,” the child said.

  Juston studied the lad. He had red hair and freckles, much as his father did, and he was rather short. But the brown eyes were wide and curious, if not slightly fearful. Juston scratched his chin in a thoughtful gesture.

  “Well,” he said. “I understand that you are to be Sir Erik’s squire, but there is more you should know. Now that you are here, understand that this is a military installation. You must stay very close to the knights who will be watching out for you. Do not wander off and do what you are told. Is that understood?”

  The boy nodded apprehensively. “Aye, my lord,” he said. “But why… why am I here?”

  “I told you. You are to be Sir Erik’s squire.”

  “But why?”

  It was clear the child was very confused, as Erik had stated. Pulled from Canterbury and probably given very little information as to why, his confusion was understandable. Juston proceeded carefully.

  “What did Sir Erik tell you?”

  The boy looked like he was trying very hard not to cry. “That I was to learn to be a knight.”

  Juston nodded. “It is part of your education,” he said. “Don’t you want to learn to be a knight?”

  “I want to be a priest.”

  Juston resisted rolling his eyes, knowing how much that statement would have displeased Henry. “Mayhap when you grow older, you can make that decision,” he said. “But for now, it is important that your education is well-rounded. All young men must learn to fight. Sir Erik will be a good teacher.”

  Tristan blinked rapidly, trying to blink away his fear. He was trying to be brave. “Then what shall I do, my lord?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I… I had duties at Canterbury. Will you not give me duties here? I can work. I like to work.”

  That gave Juston a moment of pause. Work? He couldn’t exactly send the child out into the elements, out where men were repairing walls or dealing with prisoners. And there wasn’t much to teach him today about being a knight; that could wait for another time. But he could send the child to the vault to help with the wounded of Bowes. He thought perhaps it was a very good idea to send the boy down to assist Emera and Lady de la Roarke.

  Besides… it would give him the opportunity to see Emera again, that woman he was trying so hard not to linger on. With that thought, he put his big hand on the boy’s skinny shoulder.

  “Come with me.”

  Spending the night in freezing temperatures had brought more woes for the wounded than Emera could have imagined.

  That became evident when they’d managed to move the men back into the keep, forty-nine of them in all as the survivors of the venture out into the elements. All of the men were half-frozen but those who had touchy wounds, like belly or lower abdomen wounds, seemed to be holding their own better than they should have.

  Emera had seen belly injuries before and they were almost always fatal, but she was coming to think that somehow the cold had slowed down the progression of the wounds. Those with penetrating wounds to the torso seemed to be surprisingly stable until they moved them back inside and began covering them with hot compresses to warm them up.

  That was when the situation changed markedly.

  By late afternoon on the second day of conquest, she’d already lost two men with serious bowel injuries. For some of the men, moving them inside and warming them up had been a very positive thing, indeed, but to others, it had hastened death. It was difficult to know just who was benefitting from the warmth of the compresses and who wasn’t, so she and Jessamyn continued to work diligently through the day, keeping warm compresses on the men with the help of most of Bowes’ servants. There were eleven of them in all, those who had survived the siege, and they made an attentive workforce on the men who had been wounded.

  Somewhere towards the end of the afternoon, one of Juston’s men had brought down her possessions as well as her sister’s, clothing taken from their top-floor chambers that had all been shoved into two satchels, now overflowing with items. It looked as if someone had taken the bags and shoved everything they could into them without any thought of organization, but it didn’t matter. They had their things returned, including combs, two hand mirrors of polished bronze, and soap that smelled of rosemary. That was all that concerned them, that they had their things now, possessions that were important to them.

  The first thing Emera did when the clothing was brought down was seek out a place in the vault for her and Jessamyn to sleep. Neither one of them had slept much in the past few weeks, ever since the siege had started, so it had come to the point where exhaustion was playing a major role in their thought processes. They were slower to react, sometimes more emotional about things than they should have been.

  Emera discovered just how exhausted she was when she’d made a pallet for her and her sister to share, tucked into a secluded corner of the vault, and had promptly fallen asleep right on top of it. She’d only intended to close her eyes for a brief moment, but that had been her downfall. Next thing she realized, Jessamyn was shaking her awake.

  “Em,” she hissed. “Em, wake up. The commander is here to see you!”

  Emera sat up, groggy and still half-asleep. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “I have not seen you for the last hour.”

  She’d fallen asleep for a mere hour. She felt worse now than she had before she’d fallen asleep. Wit
h an aching head, she struggled to her feet and staggered after her sister.

  The vault of Bowes was mostly one wide open space, lit by a few scant torches shoved into iron sconces, and it had a few alcoves built into it to keep the stores separate. There were two full alcoves filled with turnips they’d recently harvested from one of the fields, turnips that were meant for a winter market. Since the goods were meant for sale, they had not counted it among their food stores. Had the siege lasted any longer, however, they would have had to dip into them.

  As soon as Emera emerged from her little alcove, stumbling past the mounds of turnips, she could see Juston standing over near the stairwell that led to the floor above. She kept her focus on him as she made her way through the minefield of wounded, stepping around men, her gaze on the knight with the shoulder-length hair. And she saw, very distinctly, when he caught sight of her.

  A little jolt popped through her, a curious leap of her heart that she was wholly unfamiliar with although ever since the commander had kissed her, she had been feeling that strange little sensation whenever he was around. She’d felt that same jolt earlier in the muddy ward. As she drew close to the knight, she noticed a boy standing behind him.

  The child couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years of age. Emera was curious but she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from Juston.

  That jolt….

  “My lord,” she greeted politely. “How may I be of service?”

  Juston almost choked on his reply because he immediately thought of that moment in his tent the previous night when he’d told her to service him. Demanded it, really. She’s refused and he’d been humiliated. Now, she was asking that question which he very much wanted to answer with what, exactly, she could do for him. But he knew she hadn’t meant that. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t quite keep his pride out of it.

  “I told you how you would be of service to me last night but you refused,” he said, watching her face turn red. “Yet you ask me again today. Do you think to taunt me, lady?”

  Emera was mortified. “Nay, my lord,” she said, realizing the boy was listening to their conversation. “I simply meant… I meant to ask if….”