Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Henry and Alys’ son?” David finally blurted to his brother. “I cannot believe it!”

  Christopher was clearly astonished as well. “Juston did not mention anything to me,” he said, “and he usually tells me things of that nature. I wonder why he did not tell me.”

  “Because no one was supposed to know,” Gart said. He was listening to the astounded voices and, in Christopher’s case, perhaps offended voices. “Erik told me and Gillem after he’d had a little too much to drink. He swore us to secrecy. The lad doesn’t know his parentage, Chris. I suppose Juston felt the fewer people that knew, the better. But now you know.”

  It was a heady realization. “Do you have any idea the price that lad could command?” Marcus muttered, leaning against the cold stone of the gatehouse. “To sell the lad off to Richard’s supporters? To Henry’s supporters, even? That lad is more valuable than anything in England, I’d wager to say. Mayhap it is a good thing he does not know his parentage. Such bloodlines are a curse.”

  That was the truth. The knights mulled over the true identity of the lad in the vault for a few moments longer before shifting their focus. There were tasks at hand to complete, things that would not wait, and they soon began to break off from the group, heading off to accomplish the tasks that had been assigned to them. There was a battle to fight, one that required their complete attention, and a small lad bearing royal bloodlines from England and France could be pondered at a later time. In fact, no one envied that child his position in life. As Marcus had said, it was a curse.

  Christopher and Gart were the last to leave the gatehouse, but Gart had planned it that way. Before Christopher could walk away completely, Gart put his hand on the man’s arm.

  “Chris,” he said quietly. “Wait a moment. I have need to speak with you.”

  Christopher paused, his attention on Juston’s squire. “Of course,” he said. Then, he grinned. “If you think to ask me if I am upset with you for the fact that you knew about the boy and I did not, the answer is nay. But I am concerned that de Russe ran off at the mouth as he did with drink in him. If he is harboring such a secret, then he should watch his drink intake.”

  Gart nodded. “I know,” he said. “He and I have had those discussions before, even before the event of the boy. In any case, that is not what I wished to speak with you about. It is Juston I am concerned with.”

  “Why?”

  Gart cleared his throat softly before proceeding. “When the messenger came this morning, I went looking for Juston,” he said. “I assumed he was in the master’s chambers and I was correct. But he was not alone.”

  Christopher didn’t see anything shocking in that. “A woman?”

  “Aye.”

  “That is not terribly unusual.”

  “It was Lady Emera.”

  That brought Christopher some pause. “I see,” he said. “He has shown a great deal of interest in her since our arrival. In fact, the night we captured Bowes and she was brought to him, he tried to force her to service him. She refused. Now I see she is no longer refusing him.”

  Gart could see the humor in Christopher’s eyes. He wasn’t feeling it. “There is something more to this,” he said. “I have served Juston for many years. I know his moods. I have seen him with women; we all have. But this… this is different. I cannot tell you how different, but there is something more there than is usual.”

  That brought about Christopher’s interest. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I think he feels something for her.”

  Christopher’s humor faded. “You must be mistaken,” he said quietly. “Juston de Royans does not have feelings for anyone other than himself. I have known him longer than you have and I was there when Lizette was murdered. Juston went through hell for years afterwards so I cannot imagine he would permit himself to feel something for another woman, least of all an enemy.”

  Gart shrugged. “I can only tell you what my instincts are telling me, Chris. If I am correct, then he bears watching. He will become too emotional about it.”

  Christopher sighed faintly. “He was useless for an entire year after Lizette’s death.”

  “And now we are facing a major battle with Durham. An enemy that de la Roarke was allied with.”

  Christopher could see where this was leading. “And she is the sister of de la Roarke’s wife,” he said. “Is it possible she is trying to weaken him somehow? That she is working on Henry’s behalf?”

  Gart shook his head. “I do not think so, but I do not know the woman. All I am saying is that this bears watching.”

  Christopher couldn’t disagree. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I will take close notice of what goes on from this point forward.”

  “As will I.”

  The knight and the squire separated at that point, each heading off to complete his duties. But one thing was for certain now – they would be watching the lovely Lady Emera far more closely.

  The enemy within that could ultimately ruin them all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  She couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

  Even though Emera had been alone in the great master’s bed when she’d awakened, she hadn’t truly been alone. Juston had left her food and a fire, so it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been thinking about her. She was positive he’d only left her out of necessity. Perhaps that was a foolish thought, but at the moment, she wasn’t thinking particularly clearly. Everything in her head had to do with Juston and their encounter the night before.

  Clad in a clean shift and a surcoat the color of mustard, she had taken more time than usual to dress that morning. It was cold and dark outside as she sat by the fire and warmed some water, running a rag and soap over her hands and face. She couldn’t bear to wash her body, however, and wash away the scent of Juston that was still on her. She could smell him all over her and it was enough to make her giddy heart flutter away.

  She knew she should have been ashamed for what had transpired the night before, but she honestly couldn’t bring herself to feel shame over something that had been so life-altering. Aye, her life was changed, for the better she hoped. She had met a man who felt for her the way she felt for him, a wild and unrestrained attraction that was seldom seen. She’d known married women, plenty of them – her sister, her mother, and other female relatives – but she’d never seen any of them happy with their partners.

  As much as Jessamyn pretended to be content with Brey, Emera knew that was a lie. Jessamyn only accepted her life as it was and made the best of it. Perhaps Emera had never thought to marry because she was equating marriage with unhappiness. But all of that changed last night; to actually feel something for a man – to yearn for him, to tremble at his touch – was something Emera never thought she would know. She counted herself extremely fortunate. To be married to such a man was a dream few women knew.

  But the big question hung in the air, unspoken because she was afraid to ask it – dare it be love? Was she in love with Juston, and he with her? After last night, something about the man was cemented deep inside her soul, something she knew she could never shake. Even if she left here tomorrow, Juston de Royans would be embedded in her heart as surely as if a spiny-tipped arrow had been shot right into it, never to be removed. But it was of no matter to her, for she never intended to remove him.

  Ever.

  After her toilette, she wrapped herself in a heavy woolen robe, lined with sheep’s skin, and headed down for the vault. She was tired of being cold all the time and the heavy robe, although bulky, would be good insulation. It was actually Jessamyn’s robe and she hoped her sister wouldn’t take it from her when she saw it. Jessamyn could be possessive that way.

  Jessamyn….

  Her sister would wonder why she hadn’t come to bed in the vault last night. She would have to tell Jessamyn something so she supposed there was nothing she could do except tell the woman the truth. She had denied any feelings towards de Royans to this point but she could no longer do so.
In fact, she wanted to shout to the world that her heart belonged to Juston but she had to admit that she was dreading Jessamyn’s reaction.

  As it turned out, she had been right in that fear.

  Jessamyn nearly exploded when Emera, very quietly, told her what had happened the night before. But Jessamyn was wild with outrage over the advantages de Royans had taken over her sister and, finally, Emera had to put her hand over the woman’s mouth and drag her back into their little alcove where their possessions were stored. There, she explained what had happened and she further explained that she wasn’t sorry in the least, that she belonged body and soul to Juston de Royans. She was mad for the man. She adored him.

  She was in love with him.

  Aye, she was, but it had taken Jessamyn’s rage for her to admit it. Stunned, that bit of news seemed to shut Jessamyn up. Then, she broke down into tears and Emera found herself comforting the woman and assuring her all would be well. But their animated conversation had attracted attention and Emera looked up to see Tristan standing in the doorway to their alcove. His big brown eyes were wide with concern.

  “Good morn to you, Tristan,” Emera said steadily. “Do you require something?”

  The child shook his head, timidly venturing towards the sisters. “Nay,” he said. “I heard crying. Why is Lady Jessamyn crying?”

  Emera cast her sister an imploring expression to be quiet before answering the boy. “She is fine,” she assured him. “Nothing is the matter. Sometimes ladies weep for no reason at all. ’Tis silly, but it is true. You are kind to ask, but please go about your duties. Jessamyn will be fine.”

  Tristan was puzzled. Lady Emera’s words didn’t match Lady Jessamyn’s actions. He’d spent several days with these ladies, helping with the wounded, and he’d grown rather attached to them both. They were kind and they listened to him. They let him help and gave him duties. Therefore, he was concerned that something was amiss with Lady Jessamyn. He scratched his dirty red hair, sticking up like straw.

  “Do you want me to go to the kitchen and get the food for the men?” he asked. “They are hungry. It is time to break their fast.”

  Emera nodded, giving her sister a final glance before rising to her feet. “I will go with you,” she said, making her way to the boy. “Mayhap we will take a few of the wounded men to help us. Many of them are able to walk around, thanks to your good care.”

  Tristan puffed up like a peacock. But then he looked concerned. “I heard Sir Erik say they are prisoners,” he said, looking around nervously. “Are they permitted to leave the keep?”

  Emera looked at the men strewn about the vault, too. Forty-seven of them in all with most of them well on their way to healing. But as she looked at them, she began to realize that they were looking back at her with a myriad of expressions on their faces; suspicion, glee, even some that could be considered rather lascivious. She knew a few of them by name – Arthos, Kenelm, and Edgard, for example –who had been free with their gossip. Now, she was coming to realize that the soldiers must have heard her conversation with Jessamyn, especially when her sister was angrily shouting de Royans’ name. Since these men had already been spreading rumors about her and de Royans, it would seem they had a little something more to whisper about.

  “Nay,” she said after a moment, uncomfortable with all of the staring going on. “They are not. I must ask de Royans first before allowing the men from the vault. We can find a servant up in the hall to help us.”

  Tristan thought that sounded like a good idea and he skipped on ahead of Emera, heading for the spiral stairs. He was just about to run up the steps when a knight was coming down and he had to jump back as Erik emerged from the darkness. His gaze fell on Tristan immediately.

  “Where are your possessions?” he asked the boy.

  Tristan pointed back into the vault. “In there,” he said. “Why?”

  Erik turned the boy around by the shoulder. “Go and retrieve them,” he said. “And dress warmly. We are leaving.”

  Tristan’s face fell. “Why are we leaving?”

  “I said go!”

  Erik boomed at him and Tristan scampered away like a frightened rabbit. Emera watched him dash off before turning to Erik.

  “He has been an excellent helper while he has been here,” she said, sensing the knight was agitated. “He is a thoughtful and obedient boy.”

  Erik’s gaze moved to her, that beautiful woman that had bewitched de Royans. At least, that was what everyone was saying. He could see what had de Royans attracted; she was quite lovely, even in the shadows like this. There was something alluring and mysterious about her.

  “Thank you for watching over him during our stay,” he said politely. “I am pleased that he was of some help to you.”

  “He is a fine lad,” Emera said. An awkward silence settled and she spoke again, simply to fill the uncomfortable pause. “Are you taking him home now?”

  Erik shook his head. “I am taking him to Netherghyll Castle.”

  He fell silent again and Emera didn’t feel as if she could probe the man any further. He didn’t seem to want to talk or elaborate on his plans with Tristan. It all seemed quite mysterious to her.

  “Then I wish you safe travels,” she said. “I pray the weather holds for you.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  More uncomfortable silence, but she endured it until Tristan returned with his meager belongings because she wanted to bid the lad a farewell. They had spent so much time together over the past few days that they had formed something of a bond, so she gave the child a hug and wished him well.

  Tristan was a little teary-eyed and she could tell that he was upset about leaving, but she assured him that Sir Erik would take great care of him and that another adventure awaited him. The last she saw of Tristan was him following Erik up the spiral stairs, rubbing the tears from his eyes.

  Her thoughts lingered on the sad little boy as she continued along her way, heading up to the great hall so that she could see to the wounded’s meal. The hall was relatively dark and empty at this early morning hour and she paused to find a servant to stoke the fire before continuing on her way. Taking the stairs down to the inner bailey from the keep, she was met by Juston as he was coming in.

  They saw one another and, for a moment, neither one said a word. Neither one even moved. It was a magical moment of appreciation and, quite possibly, of joy. Emera’s heart was so light at the sight of him that she swore that she was walking on clouds. Nothing in the world could keep the smile from her face.

  “Good morn to you, my lord,” she said.

  The same giddy smile on her face also played on Juston’s lips. “And to you, my lady,” he said. “Are you well this morning?”

  Her grin broadened, if such a thing was possible. “Very well,” she said. “And you?”

  “Perfect.”

  She laughed softly. “You do not need to convince me of that,” she said, “for I am under the same opinion.”

  He dipped his head gallantly, as if to thank her. “I am flattered,” he said. “Where are you going? Mayhap you will allow me to escort you.”

  “I am going to the kitchens. And I would be honored if you would accompany me.”

  She began to walk and he fell in beside her. Around them in the early morning, the whole of Bowes was very busy with departure preparations. In fact, Emera couldn’t help but notice that men seemed to be moving in almost a frenzy-like fashion. It was most curious.

  “Everyone seems so busy,” she commented.

  Juston was walking next to her but he wasn’t touching her, not even to politely take her elbow. He wasn’t sure that he could stop at merely her elbow. One touch and he would want to pull her into his arms and he couldn’t do that out here for everyone to see. When she commented on the state of the bailey, he looked around also.

  “Men are preparing to depart,” he said. “Do you remember what I told you yesterday about anticipating an attack from de Puiset?”

  She n
odded. “You wanted me to go to Netherghyll so that I would be safe.”

  “That is true. But I also mentioned that I was removing my army from Bowes to set up a defensive line against de Puiset.”

  “I remember.”

  “That is what we are preparing for.”

  Emera came to a halt and faced him. “Now?” she asked, concerned. “Are you going right now? Is that why Sir Erik is leaving and taking Tristan with him?”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That he was taking Tristan to Netherghyll Castle but he did not tell me more than that.”

  Juston could see the fret in her eyes. She was worried. He did reach out, then, to take her elbow. He forced her to continue walking, but not unkindly.

  “It is as I told you last night,” he said quietly. “It is my belief that de Puiset is coming very soon. I must be able to set up a line of defense to meet him. If he gains too much ground, he will be on our doorstep before we realize it. We are, therefore, leaving at first light tomorrow. My men have the day to prepare and then we must leave. I am leaving Gillem here in charge of the castle, however, and you are to obey him. I know that obedience does not come easily to you but, for my sake, please listen to him. It might mean the difference between life and death.”

  Emera didn’t even know what to say. Everything was happening so quickly and she was struggling to process it all. “As you wish,” she said quietly. “I will do all I can to be of assistance to Sir Gillem.”

  He squeezed her elbow gently. “I would appreciate that. I do not want to have to worry over you.”

  “You will not.”

  They rounded the side of the keep in silence with the kitchens looming before them. Juston could sense Emera’s melancholy and it took him back to the days when Lizette would beg him not to go to battle. It brought him an odd sense of comfort knowing that a woman was worrying about his safety. He remembered what those days were like, knowing there was someone waiting for him when the horror and gore of battle was over. But he also remembered what happened the last time he’d left a woman to go into battle.