Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

Gallus smiled knowingly at the knight who was his distant cousin. “My grandfather, Christopher de Lohr, passed away eleven years ago,” he said. “The man lived a very long and very full life. His was a great loss.”

  Stefan’s smile faded. “I do not believe my great-grandfather has gotten over it,” he said. “I can still hear him sitting in his solar at Canterbury, speaking to an empty chair. My mother told me that he was speaking to his brother. He did that for years. He probably does it still.”

  Gallus thought on the legendary de Lohrs, as his mother was Christopher de Lohr’s youngest daughter. He was very proud to carry those legendary bloodlines. As his thoughts lingered on his very big and very wise grandfather, a man he had much admired, Maximus finished what was left in his wine cup and set the empty cup on the table.

  “As much as I would like to reminisce about our grandfather, I have other plans for this evening,” he said, changing the subject back to the focus at hand. Then, he looked around the table. “Who is going with me to de Lara’s table?”

  The knights were already standing up, as was Tiberius, eager to experience something other than the stale food and stuffy atmosphere of The One-Eyed Raven. But Gallus remained seated, looking up at the group on their feet.

  “I should remain with my wife,” he said, with some regret. “If she is feeling better, mayhap we will come later. Where are you going, anyway?”

  Maximus pointed towards the south. “Kennington House,” he said. “Since their hostel burned, de Lara will evidently be staying there.”

  Gallus’s eyebrows drew together. “Why were they staying in a hostel in the first place if they have a home outside of the city?”

  Maximus snorted. “Lady Courtly told me that they do not stay there because her father’s sister resides there and they cannot stand one another,” he said, his grin breaking through. “This should be an interesting evening, then. Are you sure you do not want to come?”

  “Nay.”

  “Not even for the entertainment value of de Lara fighting with his sister?”

  Gallus grinned. “I will think on it,” he said. “If it is a good fight, make sure to tell me about it.”

  Maximus shook his head. “I will not,” he said. “If you cannot summon the will to come, why should I tell you anything? You will be left to wonder.”

  Gallus waved him off. “Go, then,” he said, watching his brothers and knights turn for the door that would take them out to the livery. “And if the sister starts throwing pots, I hope you get caught in the crossfire.”

  He heard Maximus laugh all the way out the door.

  Kennington House

  Courtly and Isadora sat in the massive hall, listening to their father and aunt screaming at each other in the kitchen that was across the yard from the hall. The small servant’s door was open, the one that led to the yard, and they could hear every word spoken as the fight raged. From the gist of what was being spoken, it was apparent that Ellice had no intention of providing a meal to her brother’s guests and Kellen was enraged. Since he controlled the de Lara fortune, he threatened to stop his support of Kennington if Ellice didn’t produce a feast of epic proportions. Even with the warning, Ellice was still not inclined to do so.

  The girls sat at a large table, one of four large tables in the massive dining hall of Kennington, surrounded by a cold room, dead hearth, and no food. It was dark outside, as night had fallen, so the ladies were essentially sitting in the dark and cold, wondering what was going to happen to the evening’s meal. Guests were expected at any moment and they had nothing to offer.

  At least, nothing to offer from Ellice, but Courtly had never been one to sit around and lament a situation. If there was something that could be done, she would find it. She was rather resourceful that way, as the bed-linen rope had proved earlier in the day. She was a thinker, a doer, and this situation simply wasn’t acceptable. Her aunt was being stubborn and belligerent as far as she was concerned, and she was growing nearly as frustrated as her father as she sat there, arm around Isadora, listening to the battle.

  Courtly didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of a man she truly wanted to impress, but with her smoke-filled dress, she was already at a disadvantage. No food for a feast would be the last nail in the coffin. The man would run off and tell the world that the House of de Lara was filled with savages. Not that she cared what the world in particular thought, but she was greatly concerned with what Sir Maximus de Shera thought. It was an odd sensation to actually care what a man thought about her. She’d never experienced that before. Therefore, as she listened to her father scream at her aunt, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She would not let Aunt Ellice ruin her chance with Sir Maximus, which was exactly what would happen if she didn’t do something.

  “Come along,” she said, standing up from the dark and cold table and taking Isadora by the hand. “We are going to the kitchen to see what we can do about preparing the evening meal.”

  Isadora was yanked along as they crossed the floor to the servant’s entrance that led to the kitchen yard. “But what will we do?” Isadora asked, intimidated. “We cannot make Auntie change her mind!”

  “I do not intend to make her change her mind. I intend to do her job.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We will cook if we have to.”

  “But I do not know how to cook!”

  Courtly ignored her whining sister. They quit the hall, out into the cool, dark night with the kitchen directly across from them. Already, they could see Kellen and Ellice standing by the door, arguing in the dim light of the yard.

  “I will tell you what to do,” Courtly said as she eyed both her father and her aunt. “I learned a great deal about cooking at the kitchens of Prudhoe Castle. Lady d’Umfraville had fostered at a great house in France and she knew a good deal about cooking and food. It is very simple, truly.”

  Isadora was still fearful but she didn’t argue. She simply allowed her sister to pull her along, stumbling across the rocky ground at times. By the time they reached Kellen and Ellice, who were standing in front of the kitchen door, the older adults were looking at them with varied degrees of curiosity, although Ellice’s expression was mixed with hostility. At her limit of patience with her stubborn aunt, Courtly addressed the woman.

  “Auntie, I mean no disrespect, but Papa invited a very important knight to sup with us this evening and I will not permit you to ruin it,” she said flatly. “I do not know why you seem so willing to treat all of us as if we are your enemy, but it is ridiculous and selfish. If you are going to be nasty and rude, then do it with your own people. I will not permit you to ruin my reputation or Papa’s reputation simply because you do not know what it means to be kind and generous. Now, get out of my way. I am going into the kitchen and see to the evening meal before all is lost.”

  Ellice looked at her with a great deal of shock and contempt. It wasn’t the words that shocked her so much, but the look of steely determination coming from her niece. The woman meant what she said.

  “You are not entering my kitchen, you little toad,” Ellice snarled. “If you step one foot in there, I will beat you within an inch of your life.”

  “You will not,” Kellen said, his voice low and threatening. “If you lay a hand on her, I will forget you are my sister and kill you where you stand. Is that in any way unclear?”

  Ellice looked at her brother, her eyes narrowing. “You would not dare touch me.”

  “Try it and see.”

  Ellice’s jaw worked furiously. It was clear that she was beyond fury but smart enough not to tempt fate. Her brother was bigger and stronger than she was and could quite easily carry out his threat. Now, she was losing ground in the argument and not liking it in the least. She had been holding her own until Courtly had appeared. Now, the volatile situation had taken an ominous turn and she was trying to figure out how to prevent it.

  “Well?” Courtly said, breaking into Ellice’s thoughts. “Will you move aside or
will I push you aside?”

  Ellice’s venom turned back to her niece. “If you touch me, you will regret it.”

  Courtly smiled thinly. “If you touch me, you will regret it,” she replied. “Papa has brought his men with him. They are camping in the courtyard and will take up residence in the hall shortly. You do not stand a chance against Papa and his men, so you may as well move aside before Papa has you physically removed from your own home. That would be shameful.”

  It was a dig at her aunt’s obstinacy, something that did not go unnoticed by Ellice. She was so furious that her face had grown pale and her lips were drawn into a tight, ugly line. She knew she had no choice in the matter now that her niece was making demands and she furthermore knew that if she made any move to touch or push the woman, she could very well find herself with a broken neck because her brother was very protective of his daughters.

  Jaw ticking, grinding her teeth, Ellice had no choice but to surrender. God, she hated that feeling. She took a small step away from the door, just enough so that Courtly and Isadora could slip inside. As the girls disappeared into the darkened structure, Ellice focused her hate on her brother.

  “This is not over,” she growled. “This is my home. You cannot come here and make demands, Kellen. You have been trying to control my life since we were small children and our parents let you. I came to Kennington to get away from you and your controlling ways. I will not let you give the commands at Kennington now. This is my home.”

  Kellen’s expression was impassive. He knew what she was alluding to but he refused to comment on it. To do so would only create worse of an argument.

  “It is my home,” he said. “I only let you live here by my good graces. But I am coming to think that is a mistake. You are a nasty, embittered shrew, Ellice. God help you, for I cannot.”

  Ellice’s jaw ticked and, for the first time since Kellen’s arrival at Kennington, a measure of emotion flickered in the woman’s eyes. Deep-seated resentment and deep, agonizing emotion. The reflection in her dark eyes was evident, hinting at old pain, long past.

  “If I am a shrew, then it is of your making,” she said hoarsely. “You have created what you see. This is not over, Kellen. It is not over in the least.”

  With that, she walked away from her brother, something she rarely did when they were arguing, and headed to the exterior stairs that led to the master’s chamber of the manor. Kellen watched her go, surprised she had given up as she had. It wasn’t like the woman to surrender an argument. But he let it go, mostly because he was glad she had acquiesced as she had. He didn’t want to fight with her all night and by her final words, he suspected that was where they were headed before she abruptly turned away. Relieved, he went to check on his daughters.

  Kellen stuck his head into the kitchen to see how the girls were getting along and noted that Courtly was on her knees in front of the hearth, trying to light it with a flint and stone. She was trying very hard but the flint was being stubborn and it was dark, making it difficult to see.

  “Court?” he asked. “Do you require any assistance?”

  Courtly nodded firmly. “Can you please start the fire, Papa?” she asked, handing the man the flint and stone as he ducked into the low-ceilinged room. “When you’ve done that, I will need help. Mayhap you can track down a serving woman or two. Also, Issie and I are in desperate need of soap. We smell like smoke and I cannot greet our guests smelling like a fire pit.”

  Kellen knelt down and expertly started the fire where his daughter had struggled. As the rather large hearth began to burn, he lay a good deal of wood and peat on top of it to spark up the blaze. The kitchen began to fill with warmth and light, illuminating a rather cramped and evidently well-stocked kitchen. There was food in its raw form everywhere.

  “I will see what I can do for you,” he said. “If I cannot find any soap, then I will send one of my men into town for it.”

  Courtly pleaded with him. “Then why not do that now?” she asked. “Do not waste time searching Kennington when Auntie has probably hid all of the soap, anyway. She knew we needed it.”

  Kellen nodded as he headed for the door. “Very well,” he said. “Is there anything else you require?”

  Courtly began to look around the kitchen. Fowl hung from the ceiling overhead, tied with hemp to the beams, and there was a massive, cooked leg of pork propped on a table that was shoved into a corner of the room. Furthermore, she could see sacks of something underneath another table and she went to it, opening the sack to find dried multi-colored beans inside. Another sack had sand-colored flour, half-empty. Quickly, she began calculating what she had to work with.

  “Give me a few moments before you send the man off,” she said to her father. “I may need something from town but, as of yet, I am not sure.”

  Kellen stood in the doorway. “Then I will wait,” he said. “What do you intend to do?”

  Courtly pointed at the leg of pork. “I can boil that with the beans to make a stew,” she said. “There is flour here to make bread, but I need a few more things for the bread before I can actually make it. Papa, would you check and see if you can find a store of wine or ale? If not, then we will have to find some quickly.”

  Kellen went on the hunt as Courtly began pulling out the sacks from beneath the table. Isadora still stood over near the hearth, uncertain as she watched her sister work, and Courtly turned to the girl.

  “Issie,” she said. “Go and see if you can find any cheese or butter or even milk. I would hope there is some. And I need eggs. Find as many eggs as you can. Will you please do this?”

  Isadora nodded and began her search, sticking her head under tables and into crevices as Courtly pulled a very large pot out from underneath a table and dragged it over to the hearth. There was a big, iron arm affixed to the mortar of the hearth, made to hold big pots, and she heaved the pot onto the arm. Now, it was time to go to work.

  The well for the manor was just outside the door and Courtly filled several buckets, pouring the water into the pot and putting several pounds of beans in to soak. She managed to find great bunches of vegetables near a half-filled bowl of dirty water, baskets of carrots and little, brown onions that had been harvested but not cleaned. They were covered in mud. She set about cleaning them in the water she had drawn from the well, washing and re-washing until the dirt came off.

  With the only knife she could find, she then chopped up the carrots and onions, putting the chunks of vegetables into the pot along with the beans. As she worked on the stew, Isadora returned with her hands full of small, brown eggs. She had located the chicken coop and had collected all of the eggs she could carry, but Courtly sent her back for more. Isadora fled out the door, frenzied, as only a young girl could be.

  It was fortunate that Ellice’s kitchen was well-stocked. Courtly was very thankful to come across a bag of salt and another sack half-full of peppercorns. Salt and peppercorns, smashed with the bottom of a small, iron pot, went into the stew pot, which was now starting to steam. The feast was on the fire but Courtly was feeling a distinct sense of urgency as she turned her attention towards the leg of pork. The guests would be arriving at any moment and the stew would take time to cook, so she fed off her sense of urgency, hurrying to put the meal together.

  Using the dull knife she had used to chop up the vegetables, Courtly began cutting pieces of pork off of the leg and putting it all into the pot of beans and vegetables. The meat was shriveled and looked as if the household had been eating off of it for some time, but she didn’t care. At this point, some meat was better than no meat, and she hoped that cooking it with the beans would give the pork new life. Throwing in more salt, she watched as the pot began to bubble.

  As she watched the roiling in the pot grow livelier, she couldn’t even think about disappointing a man she wanted to impress. She simply had to move onward and hope she could produce an appetizing and even tasty meal. As she continued to cut off more pork and Isadora shuffled back and forth between the
chicken pen and the kitchen, bringing in more eggs, a timid servant girl appeared and declared that she had been sent by Kellen. Courtly put the woman in charge of making the bread, something she evidently knew nothing about, so Courtly switched places with her. As the servant gingerly cut away at the pork leg and threw the meat into the pot, Courtly went about trying to remember how to make bread.

  Although Lady d’Umfraville had instructed her charges in how to run a kitchen and even how to cook items, Courtly’s strong point had never been making bread. She knew that bread needed to be made with two- or three-day-old bread dough, so that it would rise, but neither she nor the servant girl could find anything that resembled old bread dough. The woman that usually worked in the kitchen was missing, obviously kept away by Ellice, so there was nothing to do but try to make a fair semblance of bread. Courtly prayed it would be acceptable. She had one chance to impress Sir Maximus and everything in the world seemed to be against her – her dress, her lack of an opportunity to clean herself or even brush her hair, and now the food. Everything was against her. But she wasn’t going to give up, not in the least.

  Pushing up the sleeves of her smoke-scented surcoat, she went to work.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “This belongs to de Lara?” Tiberius asked as they came upon the compact manor house, the windows emitting a glowing light in the dark of night. “This hardly looks like a property for the great marcher lords.”

  Maximus’ gaze moved over the house. Surrounded by a wall that was part timber and part stone, the house itself was oddly shaped and rather small. There was a two-storied structure that he could see and then another single-storied wing that attached to it. He pulled his black and white Spanish Jennet to a halt and the knights around him followed suit. He and Tiberius sat a moment, looking at the distant structure, the only point of light and shelter in miles of darkened landscape.

  “This has to be it,” Maximus finally said. “The priest on the south side of Oxford said he knew the house and directed us down this road. There is nothing else but this house, so this has to be it.”