Lady Wynter de Royans had quite a ring to it.
* THE END *
SILVERSWORD
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
Author’s Note
This book has a lot of things going on in it! Lots of old friends – Bose de Moray, Gallus de Shera, Maximus de Shera, Tiberius de Shera, Davyss de Winter, Daniel de Lohr… I could go on and on. It’s one of those books that hit at the right time, historically, for me to include all of these Le Veque characters. We also meet many new characters, not the least of which is the heroine!
We also meet a new group of knights – men who are called the Guard of Six. They are the private guard for Henry III. Torran de Serreaux is the leader and I am fairly certain that I will do a spin-off series for this group, so keep an eye out for them in months and years to come. This book has quite a bit of politics in it – and the Lords of Thunder figure fairly prominently – so there is a heavy undercurrent subplot with them in it, but most of all, this story is about two people thrown together, unexpectedly, who discover they have feelings for each other.
A few things to note: Newington Priory, where our story begins, actually existed at one point but very little is known about it so I took the liberty of creating a history for it. You’ll recognize names in this book (du Bexley from While Angels Slept, de Russe, du Bois, etc.). Remember in my world, there are no coincidences, so any secondary characters are somehow related to major Le Veque houses.
Let’s also talk a bit about the cathedral that appears in this story. In my research, I learned quite a bit about the cathedrals of Coventry – the one in this story is St. Mary’s Priory, which did exist at the time, but the big one, St. Michael’s, wasn’t built until about a hundred years after this story takes place. That’s the cathedral that the Luftwaffe so happily bombed in World War II. Also, much of Coventry hadn’t changed much until the twentieth century when infrastructure and other demands had developers bulldozing down Medieval homes to make way for modern structures (GASP!!). There are interesting stories about Coventry’s lost Medieval structures that you can find on the web.
Bulldozers and cathedrals aside, I hope you enjoy the fact that Chad is different from other Le Veque knights – he’s more apt to let loose, to show emotion, and to profess his opinion. He’s not as straight-laced as some of them. He’s much like his father, Daniel, who was also a bit of a funster, but at the core, he’s a de Lohr, and that makes him a better man than most. At least, I think so. I think you will, too.
Happy Reading!
Kathryn
Many thanks to those that keep me going in this crazy world of publishing – Scott Moreland, Violetta Rand, Suzan Tisdale, Barbara Devlin, Tanya Anne Crosby, and the World of de Wolfe Pack authors, to name a few. What a fantastic network of support we have around us. Truly, much like those in this story, we are blessed with those we love – and are loved in return.
PROLOGUE
August, 1266 A.D.
Newington Priory, Kent
“Your father is dead and those who killed him are now after you.”
A very big knight hissed those words in a deep and throaty tone, the same knight who had broken into the abbey with a company of cohorts who had scared the nuns nearly to death. There were dark dealings these days, with the politics of England bleeding into every aspect of life in the country.
No one was safe from the madness of King Henry after the battle at Evesham that saw Simon de Montfort murdered and his supporters scattered. No one was safe from the king and his sense of vengeance against those who stood with Simon, not even a novice nun whose family had sided with Simon against Henry’s particular brand of royal incompetence. Therefore, when the knight muttered those horrible words, the young woman’s heart leapt into her throat. No more than sixteen or seventeen years of age, her terror was evident.
“What do you mean?” she gasped. “What has happened to my father?”
The knight snatched her by the wrist and began dragging her behind him. He didn’t seem inclined to answer her but he did seem intent on yanking her arm out of its socket as he towed her behind him like an unwilling barge.
They were quickly surrounded by the men he’d brought with him, men in well-used armor with weapons secured upon their body that were still caked with blood from recent battles. Not literally, of course, because poorly maintained weapons were more of a hindrance than a help, but the men who now closed ranks around them were men who smelled of death.
The stench filled the nostrils of everyone in the room.
They were in the smaller chapel of Newington Priory, the stark whitewashed walls and well-swept floors where the nuns held their daily prayers. The knights had broken down the door to the priory right after sunset, just when the nuns were beginning their prayers for Matins and would have created chaos had the Mother Prioress not kept her head.
Being that the woman was calm, her charges at least gave the illusion of being calm, and when the knight with the raspy voice demanded Alessandria de Shera, the Mother Prioress tried to question him on his need for the woman. Questions weren’t well met and in order to prevent the knights, eight of them – and one with a very big ax – from doing something drastic, the very woman that they asked for stood up hesitantly and identified herself.
And that was where Alessandria found herself now.
“Please,” she begged as the knight dragged her from the chapel. “Please tell me about my father. What has happened? Where are you taking me?”
The knight in the lead snapped orders to the knights around them and the men, as a group, bolted for the broken entry door and fled into the night beyond. The chapel of the priory was dimly lit from the spartan use of tallow tapers, creating a glow that was barely above a whisper, but that glow was like the brilliance of the sun once the knight dragged Alessandria out into the moonless night. It was darker than dark but for the two dozen soldiers milling about outside with heavily smoking torches in their hands, sending gray clouds into the blackness of night.
“You must not take her!” the Mother Prioress was shuffling after them, waving her hands. “She is protected by God!”
The knight who had a viselike grip on Alessandria came to a suddenly halt and turned to the old woman in the woolen robes.
“Did you hear what I said?” he asked. “This woman’s father has been killed and those same men are after her. Her life is in danger and I have been directed to take her to safety. God would not be able to save her from the king’s men who, even at this moment, are riding to claim her. They will be here very soon. What you tell them is your affair, but I would suggest you let them in to search the place. If you do not, they will burn the priory over your head and spit on your ashes.”
The Mother Prioress, with her round pink face and browless eyes, appeared stricken with terror at the thought. “But why?” she begged. “Sir Knight, why can you not tell us what has happened? The woman you hold is in my charge. She is God’s handmaiden.”
The knight, who was clearly in battle mode, must have realized how overbearing he was coming across to these terrified women because his driven manner seemed to soften. His gaze drifted over the little priory, a charity priory that was supported by the local diocese at Rochester, with its centuries-old walls that enclosed a holy haven comprised of women who tended goats and grew herbs for medicinal use. The walls were made of wood, covered with thorny vines, and the door he’d had to break down with an ax was unimpressive to say the least. It had been a simple task to break in.
But it had been necessary, mostly because the nuns had ignored his knocking and he hadn’t the time to coax them forth. He hadn’t the time to explain why he’d come or the sense of urgency that fed him. But he struggled to calm, just a little, so the Mother Prioress would know he meant what he said.
“Henry’s men will be here very soon for the lady,” he said. “They want her because of her father’s devotion to Simon. Eight days ago on a sultry August day, there was a great
battle at Evesham that decided the fate of the nation. Simon de Montfort fell and Henry is now king. He reigns with an iron fist, one that is aimed for those who stood with Simon. The lady’s father is one such man and Henry is intent to destroy the entire de Shera family. Even now, he intends to use this woman as a hostage to force de Shera loyalty and that is why I must take her to safety. The de Sheras are family, you see, and the de Lohrs stand with them. If you think Henry’s battle with Simon tried to tear this country apart, the de Lohrs standing against the crown will bring about more havoc than you can possibly comprehend. An apocalypse is coming, madam, greater than any we have ever seen.”
The Mother Prioress understood a good deal now and rather than ease her mind with the knowledge, she was even more frightened than before. “You are from the House of de Lohr?”
“I am.”
“Are the de Lohrs rising in Simon’s stead, then?”
The knight shook his head. “That is not the intention,” he said. “But neither will we allow Henry to wreak havoc on the House of de Shera.”
The Mother Prioress’ gaze moved from the knight to the frightened woman in the knight’s grasp. “And her?”
The knight glanced at the lady beside him. It was so dark that it was difficult to make out any features on her face although he could see her eyes glittering. “I have been charged with removing Lady Alessandria de Shera from Newington before Henry’s men can come for her,” he said. “They will not be kind to her if they get their hands on her. Is this in any way unclear?”
By the time he was finished, the Mother Prioress was visibly defeated. The nuns and neophytes who had spilled out after her were weeping softly, frightened at the intrusion into their safe little haven.
“How do I know you speak the truth?” the Mother Prioress asked. “You have violated our sanctuary. You were denied entry yet you still entered by force.”
The knight’s voice was like ice. “I have a task to complete, madam,” he said. “No one stands in the way of my duties, not even God. And if you do not believe what I have told you, you will in about an hour when Henry’s men come. They will not be as kind as I have been.”
Not only was there fear of what had just occurred but now there was fear of what was coming. The Mother Prioress looked to the women huddled around her, uncertain and afraid. But something told her this knight was telling the truth. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but something inside her told her that he was being honest.
“I suppose I have no choice but to believe you,” the Mother Prioress finally said. “But God forgive you if you are lying to me.”
The knight sighed heavily, returning to full battle mode. “There is not enough forgiveness in the world to forgive me for all of the wrongs I have committed,” he said. Then, he gestured to the little priory with the vine-covered walls. “If I were you, I would simply vacate the priory altogether. If Henry’s men are angry enough about the lady not being here, they might do something you will regret. Flee into the woods and stay there until they leave.”
In spite of the fact that the knight had broken down their entry door, the Mother Prioress sensed that he was trying to help them. Moreover, she didn’t have much of a choice in the situation. She simply nodded her head, her anxious gaze on Alessandria, who looked at the Mother Prioress with a good deal of fear of her own. She was terrified.
“I will pray for you, Aless,” the old woman murmured. “Go with God, child.”
Alessandria didn’t have the chance to reply because the knight tugged on her again, yanking her after him as he headed for the tethered horses. As the nuns retreated to the priory to prepare to flee before Henry’s men arrived, the big knight let go of Alessandria’s hand, grasped her around the waist, and practically threw her onto the back of a fat charger with a wide arse. It made for comfortable riding but it was a very big horse.
As the other men around them mounted their own steeds, the knight who had wrested Alessandria from the priory very nearly leapt onto the saddle, seating himself behind her and putting a big arm around her to steady her as he took the reins of the excited animal. Alessandria clutched the saddle, praying she wouldn’t fall off.
“Go,” he commanded his men. “Ride east to Canterbury. We will seek shelter at my father’s home of Canterbury Castle.”
“With a moonless night like this, Henry’s men will see our torches like beacons,” another knight said. “We will be leading them straight to Canterbury, Chad.”
Sir Chadwick de Lohr knew that. As a son of the great House of de Lohr, warfare, as well as politics, was in his blood. This wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought of himself in their harried flight from London.
“Let them,” he said. “They cannot catch us. Let them follow us to Canterbury and discover the wrath of my father’s army. Henry depends so deeply on the de Lohr army that I doubt he will want to tangle with it.”
With that, he spurred his horse forward, the long, slender spurs digging into the horse’s side where it was scarred from repeated punctures. Chad was a man of action, and of battle, and the horse was a reflection of that vocation. He followed in a long line of warriors, generations of knights who fought, and died, for their king.
Only now it was different. The battle between Henry and Simon de Montfort made it different. Now, the de Lohrs were shifting loyalties because of family ties, as evidenced by the woman in Chad’s arms. She was his cousin, although by marriage, but she was still an important part of the de Shera family tree. And important enough heiress that the king himself had declared his want for her.
A hostage to force the House of de Shera to their knees.
It was a foolish move on Henry’s part considering the House of de Shera was full of accomplished knights and abducting one small lady would not bring them all to their knees. But it would bring her brother to his knees, potentially, as the man was now in control of the de Shera might and wealth in Chester at the death of his father. Aurelius de Shera was already on his way back to The Paladin, the de Shera fortress in Cheshire that had been home to the heart of the de Shera family for centuries. While Aurelius headed home to reinforce the castle against Henry’s vengeance, it was up to the House of de Lohr to protect the sister.
And protect they would.
Into the moonless lands they rode, made dangerous by the fact that there was so very little light to see by. Only a blanket of stars to light their way and torches that hardly burned holes into the blackness, but travel they must. They had to make it to Canterbury Castle before Henry’s men caught up with them.
It was a race against time.
Or it would be a battle to the death.
CHAPTER ONE
Two days earlier
The Bloody Head tavern
London
“We are heroes!”
“We are more than heroes! We are the saviors!”
“The king thinks so; otherwise, I would not be so bloody rich. Rich, rich, rich.”
“You are already rich, you hag. What are you going to do with more money?”
“I am not a hag. Only women can be hags.”
“With your long hair, you look like a woman. Chad, why is your hair so long?”
Sir Chadwick de Lohr grinned at the knight who called him a woman, a gesture that looked very much like his father and grandfather. All of the de Lohr men had that same bright, big-toothed smile that women found irresistible.
“Find me a woman who tells me I do not look like a man,” he said, wavering because he was drunk. They all were. Suddenly, he unfastened his breeches and they fell to his knees. “Does this look like a woman? Tell me the truth! Have you seen this on a woman, ever?”
The knights around him were laughing uproariously as Chad took to flashing his bare arse to the patrons in the smoky, smelly tavern. Most of them cheered his display while a few of the women yelled proposals. Chad encouraged the rowdy group until a couple of the tavern whores approached him and propositioned him in graphic detail. Frowning unhappily, he turne
d his back on them and pulled up his breeches.
“Great Bleeding Lucifer,” he slurred. “It seems that my manhood is a magnet to everything ugly and fetid in this room. Did you see those vermin approach me? What gall! What nerve!”
Standing next to Chad was his younger brother, taller and skinnier, with the de Lohr blond hair and a rather stylish mustache that he was quite proud of. Stefan de Lohr shook his head at his eldest brother.
“If you flash your fishing tackle around like that, you are bound to have some bites,” he said, listening to the men around him roar. “I’ve never seen a man more apt to drop his breeches than you, Chad. Sooner or later, someone is going to cut something off that you may be in need of.”
Chad scowled at his younger brother. All of the men had been drinking, all seven of them, but no one could blame them. Having spent the past several months in various skirmishes, culminating in the biggest battle of all at Evesham, these were knights of the highest order, men upon whom the fate of a nation often hung in the balance. Drink was a way of alleviating that pressure, even if it was only for a short time.
Along with Chad and his brothers, Stefan de Lohr and the dark-haired, dark-eyed Perrin de Lohr, they were joined by Jorden de Russe, a mountain of a man with dark hair and a swarthy look about him, and also Rhun du Bois, a stunningly handsome young knight who possessed the bright blue eyes that the du Bois men were so famous for having.
Rhun’s father was Maddoc du Bois, a great friend of Chad’s father, Daniel, and a knight who had served Canterbury for many years. But Maddoc and his wife had returned to France when Maddoc’s father had passed away to oversee the lands and responsibilities of Rhys du Bois, a man who had been a close kin to the Duke of Navarre. But when Maddoc had departed, he’d left his youngest son with Daniel, and Rhun was every bit the great knight his father had been.
Fearsome Brides Page 38
