Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The kiss of a love realized.

  For the arrogant battle lord with the damaged heart and the lonely maiden with a stubborn streak, it was also a kiss that foretold of great promises for the future. There was a bright new life ahead for them both. When Emera finally pulled away from him, simply to catch her breath, her expression told him everything that words couldn’t. Juston gazed into those bright blue eyes, feeling more gratitude and adoration than he’d ever felt in his life.

  “Emera?” he asked softly.

  “Aye, Juston?”

  “I love you.”

  “I know.”

  “Is that all you have to say to me?”

  She nodded, laughing, as he scooped her into his enormous arms and carried her off into the setting sun.

  The Lord of Winter was frozen no more.

  EPILOGUE

  September, Year of our Lord 1188 A.D.

  Netherghyll Castle

  De Royans knights were congregating in the great hall of Netherghyll Castle, a vast and elaborate hall that had been built by Northmen forbearers, so the hall tended to mimic a longhouse more than a Norman hall. Exposed beams on the ceiling were elaborately carved with Northman gods and other scenes until Juston’s grandmother had decided they were sacrilegious in nature and demanded her husband chisel them out.

  Creighton de Royans, a wise and just man, wouldn’t damage the carvings but he did end up wrapping some of the beams with hemp fabric to cover up some of the more offensive scenes. The result was a very unique, and mostly beautiful, great hall that the de Royans family had occupied since the Norman conquest.

  And it was very much a busy place at the moment. Juston sat exhausted but elated at the end of the large feasting table, wolfing down a meal of boiled beef and carrots, and downing copious amounts of alcohol. There was great celebration at Netherghyll on this day and the knights who hadn’t already been at Netherghyll had journeyed there for a most momentous gathering.

  The birth of an heir.

  None was more thrilled with the event than Juston, but there was also something of a rub. His beautiful, stubborn wife had her heart set on a name for their son that didn’t quite fit into Juston’s plans. Every de Royans male was given a name ending in “ton”, as that had been a family tradition for over two hundred years. Lady de Royans wanted to name their son Sebastian and Juston wanted to name him Brenton in following with family tradition. Now they were at an impasse and while Lady de Royans slept after the rather difficult birth, Juston was trying to figure out how to convince her that family tradition had to be followed.

  “Has the problem been solved, then?” Christopher asked over his second cup of wine.

  “It has not,” Juston said frankly, swallowing the food in his mouth. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “My wife feels that the name Sebastian better suits the lad, but I have told her that there is no choice. Every de Royans male must have a traditional name.”

  The knights gathered around the table were all grinning to varied degrees. “You are the husband, Juston,” Christopher said. “Simply be firm about it. She must bow to your wishes.”

  Juston scoffed. “You have not yet married,” he pointed out. “When you have a wife, then you will see that being firm with her is not so easy.”

  “My wife will obey me implicitly.”

  “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

  Soft laughter came from the knights at Christopher’s expense. Even though Christopher shook his head in disagreement, he refrained from verbally sparring with the new father. As Christopher went back to his wine, Juston continued eating and glanced over at the lad sitting next to him.

  “Do you hear me?” he said. “Be very careful who you marry. Make sure she will not fight you on every decision.”

  Tristan grinned at Juston, a man he had lived with for the past several months. “I shall marry a lady who listens to me,” he declared.

  Juston wriggled his eyebrows at him. “Then I wish you well, lad.”

  “Can I go and see the baby now?”

  Juston shook his head. “He is sleeping,” he said. “You can see him soon.”

  Tristan was thrilled with the new addition. When Erik brought him to Netherghyll back in December, it was evidently to stay because Tristan remained even though Erik eventually left, returning to Richard in March while leaving Tristan in safe hands with Juston and his new wife, Emera. Emera was already attached to the lad, having worked so closely with him at Bowes, so it was the most natural of things for Tristan to remain with her and, eventually, Juston grew fond of the boy as well. He found Tristan obedient and eager to learn, but the closer he drew to the lad, the more he worried about the day when Richard and Eleanor would want the child returned to them to use against Henry.

  In fact, he was very much dreading that day. It hadn’t come yet but he knew, eventually, it would. When the day came, he was fairly certain he would not turn the boy over for their nefarious plans. That mercy Christopher had long accused him of not having had reared its ugly head in the form of pity and fondness for a lonely child who was now more like one of the family. What was it he had told Christopher? That mercy can be deadly? He wondered if those words were going to come back to haunt him.

  He hoped not.

  But it wasn’t something he thought of regularly. He had much more than just Tristan to occupy his mind. In addition to Henry and Alys’ son living under his roof, there was another lad who had his father’s curly, dark blonde hair and enormous green eyes. Even now, the child sat on Tristan’s other side, sharing treats with him. Looking over Tristan’s head, Juston could see his now four-year-old son with Sybilla happily munching oat cakes, one in each hand. He grinned at Juston, his face full of crumbs, and Juston could feel his heart melt.

  But it wasn’t always like that. Thornton de Royans, or Thorn as he was called, had come to live with his father sometime back in the spring when two haggard d’Evereux servants had come to both deliver the child and the terrible news that his mother had died of a fever in January. The little boy had evidently been sick as well and wasn’t particularly healed at the time he’d been brought to Netherghyll. Juston remembered looking at the pale child, shocked by his appearance and terrified of how Emera was going to react to him.

  But he should not have worried. While Juston had been reluctant to accept the child right away, there had never been a question in Emera’s mind. Juston had watched, amazed, as the woman accepted his illegitimate son as if he was her very own. Emera had nursed Thornton back to health and Juston had inevitably drawn close to the little lad who looked and behaved exactly like him. He was a sweet terror, bright and loving. It was true that Thornton’s very existence brought about terrible memories for Juston, memories of manipulation and betrayal, but with Emera’s generous heart leading the way, he had been able to be generous, too.

  It wasn’t Thornton’s fault that the circumstances of his birth had been less than pleasant.

  Therefore, Juston was busy these days with a new wife, a new family, and a happiness that was greater than anything he’d ever known. For the moment, Yorkshire was peaceful. Bowes Castle was his, garrisoned for Richard, and de Puiset remained in north Durham, far away from the activity in the southern part of the shire and far away from Bowes. Carlisle had been tamed, Richmond had never been a factor, and both Richard and Henry supporters seemed to be holding station for the time being. The battle outside of Cotherstone had been the last battle Juston had been involved in, and he was content with that. He’d learned over the past few months that there was much more to life than battles and advancing Richard’s cause.

  For now, he was happy to remain at Netherghyll.

  But that wasn’t the case for his knights. Even though they were sworn to him, they were loyal to Richard overall, and changes were coming. Stirrings were coming from Henry and Richard again, changes that threatened to separate Juston from his knights.

  Changes Juston wasn’t looking forward to.

>   “Let us put aside talk of women and children for the moment,” he finally said. “Although I thank you for coming to celebrate the birth of my son, that is not the only reason you have all come. I received a missive from Richard recently outlining some changes that are blowing upon the wind. It seems that I am to remain in England to secure his legacy here while he will take some of you with him to France and points beyond. Chris, you and your brother and Marcus are headed for France, are you not?”

  Christopher nodded, although it was clear that he didn’t seem thrilled about it. “Aye,” he replied. “We will be joining up with Arthur Barringdon’s army in Worcester and moving on to France with him. I have been told that Henry wants to bequeath the Aquitaine to Richard’s brother, John, but Richard will not relinquish what he feels is his birthright. I have a feeling we will see a good deal of action to that end.”

  Juston knew of the tensions building over the Aquitaine. “I am sorry to see you go,” he said quietly, “but I understand why you must. I have not seen Arthur in years; you will give him my best wishes when you see him.”

  “I will,” Christopher said, feeling a melancholy mood settle as he thought this might be the last time he would see all of these men together in one place. Specifically, he looked to Maxton, seated across the table. His eyes glimmered with mirth. “We have enjoyed a great many adventures together, all of us. I think it is most important to remember that, although we may not have always agreed, we were, nonetheless, always willing to lay down our lives for each other. That is what I will remember the most. The camaraderie in this band of knights is greater than any I have known. I shall miss most of you. Not all of you, but most of you.”

  That brought a grin from Maxton although he tried to conceal it. He poured a measure of wine into his cup from the pitcher on the table. “A sentiment I wholly agree with,” he said, looking not only to Christopher but to Juston as well. “Kress and Achilles and I are off to the Levant. Since the fall of Jerusalem to barbarian armies, Richard feels that our skills could be best used there. I am under the impression that he will be following us shortly.”

  Juston nodded. “As am I,” he said. “If Richard goes to the Levant, it will be a great crusade, indeed. I am not entirely sure I will go, however, because with Richard away from England and his territories in France, someone must remain behind to make sure they remain his properties. I will, therefore, remain here, at Netherghyll, holding the north.”

  It was a rather sad idea to think on Richard’s greatest knight, a man who was one of the greatest warriors of his time, sitting out the great action that was happening in France and would soon be happening in the Holy Land. But given how Juston put the situation, it made sense. Someone had to hold England on Richard’s behalf.

  That someone would be the great Lord of Winter.

  “Your sword will be missed, Juston,” Maxton said. “I cannot recall a campaign in recent memory that you were not at the head of. Do you truly think Richard will keep you in England?”

  Juston shrugged. “Even if he does not, I will ask to remain,” he said. He noticed the surprised faces around the table and he grinned. “I am much older than the rest of you. I was fighting back before some of you were born. Nay, I have earned my reputation. I have proven my worth. Now, I wish to remain home and enjoy my family. I wish to see my sons grow up and become great knights. I never thought I would see the day when my desire for peace would outweigh my desire for battle, but it is true. My time has come and gone. Now, it is your time to make names for yourselves. Christopher, you have a great destiny to fulfill, as do David and Marcus. I cannot teach you anymore than I already have. My job is done. Max, Kress, and Achilles – you are my Unholy Trinity. There is such darkness in you three, but there is also such greatness. I cannot explain it any better than that. You must find it out for yourselves.”

  His words settled around the men, a bittersweet moment to realize their group of knights would now separate and move on to other things. It was their time to find their own greatness, as Juston had said.

  He had already found his.

  “What about me?” Tristan asked, breaking the downhearted silence. “What will I do?”

  Juston grinned at the boy. “You and Thorn will become the greatest knights of all,” he said. “I will teach you myself and you can both serve Richard in his legions.”

  “That ought to give Henry fits,” Christopher muttered.

  The others covered up smiles as Juston simply lifted his eyebrows in agreement. “Mayhap he will never know,” he said. “If I have anything to say about this, he will not. Tristan will grow up a great knight and I will see to it.”

  It sounded rather final and also rather defiant. The knights knew that Juston had grown fond of the lad and their impressions were that the boy was now under his control, not Richard and Eleanor’s. But no one questioned him; Juston de Royans was a warrior big enough and powerful enough, to defy even the royal family. It would make for interesting dynamics if it ever came down to a battle of wills.

  As the men considered that possibility, Christopher turned his attention to Gart, sitting silent at the end of the table. He was the only one who had remained largely silent through this gathering, a big and silently brooding man who had been knighted around the first of the year by Juston. Now a fully-fledged knight, he’d been given great responsibilities. But he hadn’t spoken of any of them or of his future plans.

  “How does it feel being a garrison commander in a castle surrounded by Henry’s supporters, Gart?” Christopher asked. “We have all spoken of our futures, but we’ve not yet heard from you. Are you planning on staying at Bowes in definitely?”

  Gart looked up from his cup. “I will remain there as long as Juston requires it,” he said. “I rather like commanding my own castle.”

  Maxton leaned over the table. “What of Erik?”

  “He is in France with Richard, the last I heard.”

  “And if Richard calls for men to go on the great quest to the Levant, will you go? Or will you remain with de Royans, guarding Richard’s holdings?”

  Gart’s gaze moved to Juston. “That depends on him,” he said. “As he has said, we must find our greatness for ourselves. I might find mine on the sands of the Levant.”

  Juston could see the longing in Gart’s eyes. He wanted the adventure and the glory of it. “You are young and talented,” he said. “If you wish to go on Crusade, I will not stop you.”

  “Then join us,” Maxton said. “Come with us to the Levant when you tire of Bowes.”

  “That might not be for a year or two yet.”

  “I have a feeling we will still be in the Levant. Join us when you can.”

  Gart gave the man a weak smile, returning to his wine. It was true that he was very young and Bowes was his first command but, like the others, he found that the adventures in France and the Levant were calling to him. He wasn’t content to remain behind.

  Juston knew that. He could see it in all of their faces. But he was precluded from commenting when Jessamyn suddenly appeared from a side door of the hall. She was smiling as she entered, a host of faces turning to her and, in Juston’s case, it was anxiously. It had been Jessamyn and a midwife who had delivered his son so he knew she came bearing news of those nearest to him. He set his wine aside and stood up from the table.

  “How is my wife?” he asked, struggling not to sound too eager. “Is she well? How is my son?”

  He couldn’t quite pull off being calm in his questioning and Jessamyn laughed. It was a very happy day in her life in a series of months that had been the happiest she’d ever known. Living at Netherghyll had been a blessing as far as she was concerned. She’d never realized just how miserable she had been at Bowes, married to Brey, until she’d come to the de Royans fortress. Now, life had never been better.

  “Your wife is fine,” she said patiently. “Your son has been fed and now he is sleeping peacefully. In fact, I have come on behalf of your wife. She has a proposal and I h
ave been authorized to negotiate for her.”

  Juston’s eyes narrowed. “What about?” he asked. “The name? My son’s name shall be Brenton.”

  Jessamyn shook her head. “Lady de Royans does not like the name,” she said. “But she is willing to not name the child Sebastian if you will agree to another name of her choosing.”

  “What is it?”

  “Ashton de Royans.”

  The name gave Juston pause. He turned to look at his knights, seeing that half of them were agreeing with the name. He sighed heavily, stroking his chin in thought as he turned back to Jessamyn.

  “She will agree to Ashton?”

  “She will. It was suggested by the midwife and she likes it very much.”

  Juston continued to be thoughtful. “Tell her I will agree if I can name the next son without any interference from her.”

  “I am sure she will agree to it.”

  “Good. Then I will agree to Ashton.”

  Finally, the downy-haired infant had a name and Jessamyn returned to her sister with a big grin on her face and two little boys in tow because Tristan and Thornton wanted to see the baby. As the knights in the hall continued to celebrate the birth of little Ashton de Royans, Emera was pleased that her husband had agreed to her chosen name. If it meant giving up her naming rights with her next son, she supposed it was a small price to pay. But she was fairly certain that Juston wouldn’t completely cut her out of the decision making the next time.

  It was just a hunch she had.

  As it turned out, a healthy little girl was born to Juston and Emera a year and a half later, a tiny lass with black hair and a scream louder than anything Juston had ever heard. It positively set his hair on end. But she was beautiful and he was in love, and he didn’t even mind that his wife named the child without even consulting him. In fact, he didn’t care at all.