Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Christopher was on tricky ground at this point. He knew whatever he said would make it back to the bishop. So he wanted to convey the futility of trying to take back Bowes Castle without looking like he was siding with those who captured it.

  “I would not know,” he said. “But even if I had not seen his standards, no one brings more siege engines and tactics to a battle than de Royans. If you are a fighting man, it is impressive to watch. But we did not linger, fearful we might be pulled into it somehow.”

  The knight scratched at his bushy beard. Christopher and David watched as crumbs fell out of it.

  “God’s Bones,” the knight muttered, both awed and puzzled. “We have de Royans on our doorstep. I wonder if he’s coming for Auckland next?”

  Christopher could see the apprehension in the man’s eyes, which was exactly what he wanted. Now, it would get back to the bishop. Rather pleased with himself and the way the conversation was going, he was caught off-guard when a fifth knight, bearing the colors of Durham, suddenly rushed up to the group of four.

  “There is a party from Bowes Castle in the market!” he said. “Ilsby just told me! He knows the woman from Bowes but not the knights. They must be from the army that laid siege!”

  Suddenly, the situation turned in an unfavorable direction. The knight with the dirty beard went from relatively calm to the makings of a madman as he heard the news.

  “Here?” he boomed. “Are you sure?”

  The fifth soldier nodded his head. “They came with several knights, Ilsby said. At least six!”

  All eyes suddenly turned to Christopher and David, who continued to maintain their calm demeanor in spite of the fact that they were caught in a landslide of their own making. Everything was rolling downhill and they knew that they wouldn’t be able to maintain their web of lies for much longer.

  The knight with the dirty beard narrowed his eyes. “Who did you say you were, again?” he asked dubiously.

  It was a pivotal question. Christopher looked at David, who merely shrugged. He then returned his focus to the Durham knight. At this point, there was no use in denying the obvious. To continue the lie would be futile because, eventually, the truth would have to come out, especially now.

  There was no use in refuting it.

  “My name is Christopher de Lohr and I serve Juston de Royans,” he said. “We have brought six knights with us so unless you have a stable of fifty knights somewhere nearby, I suggest you let us leave in peace. If not, you will leave your share of blood on the ground. Is this in any way unclear?”

  The knight with the dirty beard stared hard and his eyebrows flew up in both shock and outrage. “You – you are with de Royans?”

  “I said I was. Are you hard of hearing?”

  The knight shut his agape mouth. “You bastard,” he hissed. “I should kill you right now!”

  Christopher put his hand on the hilt of his broadsword, sheathed on the left side of his saddle. “As I said, let us leave in peace,” he said, his voice low, “or you will be the first one to die.”

  The Durham knights began to back up, as did David, but Christopher remained where he was. The knight with the dirty beard was backing up as well but he was also unsheathing his broadsword. The weapon came out, gleaming in the weak winter sunlight, but he stopped short of actually engaging Christopher. Still, he wielded the sword in a threatening manner.

  “The bishop shall hear of this,” he declared. “Do not get too comfortable at Bowes for it shall soon be back in our hands!”

  Christopher watched the Durham knights as they continued to back away, with two of them suddenly whirling around and charging off down the road that headed out of town. The rest of them were huddled together as if waiting for the fight to begin.

  “Bowes is now held for Richard, Count of Poitiers, also known as the Lionheart,” Christopher announced. “It is my suggestion you tell the bishop who, exactly, holds Bowes. It is my sense that he will not want to tangle with de Royans. He would do well to understand that Bowes is lost.”

  “Not for long!”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  The knight with the dirty beard glared at Christopher but he didn’t reply. It was apparent that he had no intention of actually engaging the de Royans men in a fight, mostly because he’d heard that de Royans knights drank the blood of their enemies. At least, that was what some fool had once told him. He didn’t want to take the chance that it was actually true. Swiftly, he swung his mount about and followed the rest of his men as they tore out of town, heading back to Auckland Castle.

  As the bishop’s men raced off, David reined his horse next to his brother. “I thought we were going to have a fight on our hands,” he said, his gaze on the fleeing knights. “You know they are going to run right back to the bishop and tell him what you told them.”

  “I hope they do.”

  “They’ll come. You know they will.”

  Christopher nodded. “I know,” he said, finally looking away from the running knights and looking at his brother. “We need to get out of here, quickly.”

  David nodded, following his brother as the man spurred his horse back the way they had come. He, too, was thinking they needed to leave town quickly because he suspected the bishop’s army would come to Bowes sooner rather than later.

  And they needed to be prepared.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Durham is coming.

  A siege is coming.

  Gillem heard the discussions among the men as the party from Bowes quickly left Gainford and headed back home at a clipped pace. The knights were on alert, helms on, visors down, weapons ready to be drawn from their sheaths at any moment. The problem was that they were traveling with two wagons, empty wagons since the lady had managed to sell her produce to the Stainton buyer, so the wagons now carried the men-at-arms so they could move more swiftly.

  And they were heading back to Bowes with a vengeance.

  Gillem was covering their retreat along with the de Lohr brothers, while Gart and Erik were at point with Juston. The only reason Juston was at point was because he wanted to be near that la Marche woman, that black-haired vixen he was increasingly interested in.

  As Gillem cantered along the road behind the wagons, he kept his eyes on the woman seated in the first wagon. When they’d first arrived at the market, she had been groomed and lovely, but when Gillem saw her later after he’d returned from the baker, her hair had been askew as if someone had run their fingers through it and de Royans had lingered quite close to her as she negotiated with a buyer. Gillem had seen that look on de Royans’ face before.

  He’d had the same look before he’d bedded Sybilla.

  De Royans wasn’t merely tempted by the lady – he was lured by her, hearing her siren’s song. Whether or not the lady was deliberately tempting him wasn’t the issue – the fact was that the attraction de Royans had shown towards the lady was obviously growing. Gillem had thought once to remove that temptation, or blur it somehow, but he hadn’t been given the opportunity to do anything about it. He’d had his duties at Bowes and he’d never crossed the lady’s path, not once. His only thought now was that he had to remove the woman completely because when de Royans was on a scent, he didn’t give up. If Sybilla and her son had any chance of having de Royans return to their fold, then the la Marche woman had to be removed.

  Unfortunately, this wasn’t an infatuation that was going to pass, at least from what Gillem had come to understand. What he’d heard from the other knights, purely by eavesdropping on their conversations, had proven to him that de Royans had some manner of serious intentions towards Lady Emera. Therefore, there was no more time for him to delay.

  He had to formulate a plan.

  Gillem worked on that plan as the party made its way back to Bowes, bumping over the muddy winter road, concocting how he was going to get rid of Lady Emera. He kept thinking of his sister, of the scheme she’d had for de Royans that had ultimately left her with an illegitimate child.
Sybilla wasn’t a bad girl; she was actually quite kind and thoughtful. But she was also desperate for a prestigious husband and she was a social climber, so she’d set her cap for de Royans. The unfortunate part was that de Royans had no use for a wife and child. Now, Sybilla’s chances of finding a prestigious husband were dashed as she harbored the stigma of having a child out of wedlock.

  Which meant de Royans, somehow, had to see his way to doing the right thing with her and he could only do that if temptation was removed. Gillem was fairly certain he couldn’t force the woman away. He didn’t particularly want to kill her, but if need be, he would. But it stood to reason that it would be easier for all of them if she left of her own free will. If he could convince her that de Royans was merely a predator, then perhaps she would choose to leave on her own. That meant that he would have to convince her that remaining at Bowes and under de Royans’ command would not be in her best interests.

  Beware, lady – de Royans will make a whore out of you as he did my sister!

  As Gillem plotted and stewed, Emera was oblivious to his intentions. She sat on the wagon bench beside the driver, holding tight to the bench because she was being bounced around so. Beside her, Tristan was doing the same thing, gripping the seat as the wagon lurched and rolled, both of them fearful because the knights were on battle alert and the men-at-arms in the wagon beds had their weapons in-hand.

  There was a great deal of apprehension surrounding the party, fleeing because the Bishop of Durham’s men had been sighted in town. Considering Gainford was part of his bishopric, it wasn’t surprising. But the fact that the man was an enemy made it concerning on principle alone. Although the bishop hadn’t interfered with the siege of Bowes, that could change when he found out the knights who had captured Bowes were now bold enough to stray into one of his villages. If the bishop felt threatened enough, then he would retaliate. That was where the apprehension came from.

  A siege is coming.

  Emera had heard Christopher as he’d relayed his encounter with the Durham knights to Juston and she’d been forced to conduct and conclude her business with Stainton very quickly because of it. She didn’t exactly get the price she’d wanted for the turnips – de Royans had paid more, in fact – but that couldn’t be helped. As soon as the price was agreed upon, Juston’s men had offloaded the turnips very quickly, dumping them right out onto the dirt of the marketplace for the Stainton men to collect. They couldn’t even bother to take the wagons, full of produce, over to the Stainton wagons. They simply took the money and dumped everything, fleeing Gainford as if they had a price on their heads.

  It wasn’t far from the truth, in reality. They were the enemy in an enemy’s town. Therefore, it had been a harried and somewhat frightening flight home. From the way the knights were behaving, Emera was wondering if they weren’t about to have a legion of angry Henry supporters coming down on them at any moment.

  Other than Brey, she’d really never been around fighting men and once she overcame her trepidation of the situation, she began to watch the knights and the way they reacted to a crisis. They were professional and collected for the most part, but more specifically, she began to watch Juston.

  His heated touch and searing lips were still burning her. She could still feel them. Looking at the man only made it worse, now feeling some deeper connection to him. It was so very strange, really – other than her sister, she’d never really had anyone she was close to, someone with whom she shared a deeper level of communication or understanding. But now, Juston seemed to be entering that inner circle because she shared with him something she had never shared with anyone. He’d kissed her in a way she’d never been kissed before and he’d touched her only where she had touched herself. She should have been embarrassed about that but, in truth, she had liked it a great deal and she was eager to feel that sensation again.

  Something told her that her experience near the frozen trees would not be her last one with him. In fact, she was looking forward to the next time.

  Shameless! She scolded herself, but that was her self-defense kicking in, that sense of self-preservation that had kept up her resistance to Brey and his disgusting attempts. With Juston, there was no sense of self-preservation. She wanted him to touch her and if that made her shameless, then so be it.

  With racing thoughts of Juston de Royans, Emera was hardly aware when Bowes Castle came into view. In fact, she had been watching Juston, so caught up in the sight of him that she was startled when one of the knights bellowed something about home. Only then did she look over to the southwest to see Bowes looming in the distance, perched upon the rolling, winter-dead fields like a great sentinel surveying the land. But the first things they saw were horses pouring from the gatehouse, heading in their direction.

  The group from Bowes drew closer and closer. Soon, they were surrounded by three more knights and several men-at-arms, all of them heavily armed. Emera recognized the other knights – Maxton, Kress, and Marcus, men who had been left behind to man the fortress while the commanding officer was out. There was still one more knight, Achilles, who hadn’t ridden out to meet them, and Emera watched curiously as Maxton and Marcus had a serious discussion with Juston and Christopher. There was some shouting going on, mainly to hear each other clearly, and the pace was increased as the wagons and the men made it back inside the safety of the castle.

  The ropes and pulleys groaned as the portcullises were lowered behind the incoming party. The familiar sights and smells of Bowes greeted Emera as the wagons came to a halt in the outer bailey and the men-at-arms climbed out of the wagon beds. Tristan leapt off of the wagon bench, falling into the mud as he did so, but Emera was a bit more careful in gathering her cloak and her purse, helped from the wagon by Gillem, who happened to be there. She smiled gratefully at him as she lifted her skirts and marched off across the outer bailey, heading for the inner bailey and eventually the keep.

  Tristan was running on ahead of her, the entire left side of his breeches muddy from where he fell, but he didn’t seem to care. The two of them crossed the wooden bridge in tandem across the secondary moat, through the opening in the inner wall, and into the inner bailey just as Jessamyn emerged from the keep, bundled up against the cold. Tristan ran past her and Jessamyn turned to watch the dirty child race into the keep.

  “Where is he off to?” Jessamyn asked. “And why is he so dirty?”

  Emera approached her sister. “He fell as we were exiting the wagons.”

  Jessamyn’s interest in Tristan’s dirty clothing didn’t extend beyond the inquiry. She returned her attention to her sister. “Were you able to sell the produce?”

  Emera nodded, patting her purse. “Indeed, I did,” she replied. “The Stainton family was there. They bought most of it. Lord de Royans purchased the rest, so we have sold everything. We can count the money and distribute it to the farmers tomorrow so they have something for the next few months to live off of.”

  Jessamyn put her hands on the purse, feeling the weight of the coin. “I am glad to hear that,” she said. “Did you get what we needed from the apothecary?”

  Emera frowned. “I did not,” she said. “Knights sworn to the Hugh de Puiset were in town and Lord de Royans felt that it would be wise to return home as soon as possible. In fact, de Royans’ men seemed quite concerned about it. From what I gather, they believe that de Puiset will come and try to regain the castle.”

  Jessamyn didn’t seem as concerned over a potential attack as she was about the absence of the items from the apothecary. She frowned. “I am disappointed to hear that you were unable to make it to the apothecary,” she said unhappily. “We have very few things left. No lavender? Featherfew? Meadwort? You did not get any of those things?”

  Emera could see that her sister was more focused on the missing ingredients than any impending battle. “There is nothing I can do about it,” she said, pushing on and heading to the keep with Jessamyn following. “We will have to try another time. Meanwhile, how are the woun
ded faring today? Have there been any changes since I left this morning?”

  Jessamyn shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “In fact, a few of them feel well enough to move about. One of them – Cowling – has been helping me with the others. You remember him, do you not? An older warrior. He says he knows de Royans. Did you know that?”

  Emera shook her head. “I did not,” she said. “But I am glad to know the men are feeling better. Still, that brings about the question of what de Royans will do with the wounded once they are healed. They are still the enemy, you know. I wonder if he will want to keep them imprisoned in the vault.”

  Jessamyn eyed her sister. “You would know that more than I would,” she said. “’Tis you who have de Royans’ ear, so I have heard.”

  Emera looked at her sister sharply. “Who has told you that?”

  Jessamyn gave the woman a long look. “Do you not think the men have been speaking of such things?” she asked. “Why did I have to hear it from them? You are my sister, Emera. You should have told me that there is something occurring between you and de Royans.”

  They had just entered the forebuilding that led into the keep and Emera came to a halt, facing her sister in the dimness.

  “There is nothing to tell,” she said, although she was lying. She simply wasn’t sure what to tell her sister – yet – so it was best to tell Jessamyn nothing lest her sister become agitated about it. She had no desire to listen to her sister condemn her. “I have had to have dealings with the man, you know. How do you think I was able to have the wounded moved into the vault? How do you think I was able to have the turnips moved into town? Someone has to speak to him and since you will not, I have taken the duty.”

  Jessamyn wasn’t entirely happy with what she was hearing. “You have spent a great deal of time with him.”

  Emera threw up her hands in frustration. “Aye, I have,” she said. She began storming up the stairs. “Out of necessity, I assure you. Stop listening to gossip, you silly wench. That is all it is – gossip.”