Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Garran was starting to understand quite clearly now. A battle. His heart sank. “How long have you known about this?” he asked.

  Bose returned his focus to the army in the distance. “Since before I arrived at Oxford,” he said. “Why do you think I came to Oxford, Garran? I have been called to fight with Henry’s army against Warborough and I can promise you that all of de Montfort’s supporters in Oxford, including the House of de Shera, will be arriving shortly to prevent Henry from regaining his castle. I knew we would be fighting on opposing sides, my son. That is why I wanted you with me.”

  Garran grunted with disbelief. Aye, he understood everything now. A battle had been looming for quite some time and Bose had used the opportunity to remove Garran from the de Shera stable. He did not want to fight against his son.

  “I see,” he finally said, sounding disgusted. “You could have told me. You did not have to make it seem as if you had come to Oxford for me alone.”

  “I did,” Bose countered in a tone that left no room for debate. “I came to collect my son.”

  Garran simply rolled his eyes and looked away. Now, so much of this was making sense. Still, it was concerning. He was fairly certain that Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius knew nothing about Warborough Castle because they surely would have said something. Their only concerns had been to resolve Maximus’ issue with Lady Courtly and then move on to London for the king’s council. It concerned him that the king’s army was going to be laying a trap for those who would come to defend Warborough.

  But he said nothing as they plodded along the road, heading for the army in the distance which soon became quite a large group. Hundreds at the very least, perhaps even a thousand or more. They were met by sentries on the outskirts of the encampment and when Bose announced himself, he was taken directly to a large tent bearing the de Winter crest. Garran recognized it, he knew it well. The House of de Winter and the House of de Shera, before the madness with Henry and Simon, were close allies and friends. In fact, they still were. But the divisions of state had their public loyalties known to opposite sides.

  Grayson de Winter came out of his tent as Bose and Garran rode up. A muscular man for his advanced age, he smiled at Bose as the man pulled his steed to a halt and dismounted. As Grayson moved for Bose, a younger knight emerged from the tent and Garran immediately recognized Davyss de Winter. He was Gallus’ best friend and had been since they had been children.

  Davyss de Winter was a legendary knight with legendary skill, even at his young age. Handsome and well-built with dark, curly hair, he looked very surprised to see Garran standing with Bose. Davyss knew that Garran was a de Shera knight and his confusion was understandable. He also appeared as if he very much wanted to say something but he kept his mouth shut, his hazel eyes fixed on Garran in a most perplexing way. Garran stared back.

  “De Moray,” Grayson said with pleasure, putting a hand on Bose’s broad shoulder. “I was told to expect you soon. Your men arrived two days ago and told me you had business in Oxford.”

  Garran’s attention moved away from Davyss, now focusing on his father with some shock on his features. It was occurring to him that his father had somehow duped him, playing on family sympathies in order to obtain his son’s fealty. But Garran knew his father wasn’t manipulative. He was a very truthful man. Still, he felt as if he had somehow been lied to by omission of certain truths. He felt as if his father hadn’t been completely honest about the situation. But he said nothing as Bose spoke.

  “Indeed I did,” Bose said, looking into the face of an old acquaintance. “I had to go and retrieve my son. He was in Oxford.”

  Grayson turned his attention to Garran, a mirror image of his father, and the smile on his face faded somewhat. “Garran,” he murmured, as if remembering things about the young knight. “You are a de Shera knight.”

  Garran shook his head. “I have pledged to my father, my lord,” he said. “I have been released from my de Shera bond.”

  Grayson lifted his eyebrows. “That could not have been an easy thing,” he said. “Once a de Shera, always a de Shera. You know the saying.”

  Garran looked at his father. “De Moray blood supersedes de Shera friendship.”

  Bose detected some bitterness there and he could imagine why. His son wasn’t happy about committing to the king’s cause. But he would get over it. He returned his attention to de Winter.

  “You have quite an army assembled,” he said. “How many men?”

  Grayson looked out over his military empire. “Almost two thousand,” he said. “Henry has provided French mercenary troops. I have told the English troops to keep watch on them because they like to raid and steal from the countryside. I will not permit the French to run amuck even if Henry did send them. But now that de Moray has arrived, they will be forced to behave themselves.”

  He said it in jest and Bose smiled thinly. He didn’t like the thought of French mercenaries on English soil, either, but he had to go along with what the king dictated. He would never admit to anyone that supporting the king these days had him the slightest bit disgruntled. He gestured to the tent.

  “Let us retreat inside and discuss strategy,” he said. “Warborough cannot be more than a few miles away. What are the plans?”

  Grayson began to lead Bose into the tent. “Warborough is approximately seven miles away,” he said. “Now that you have arrived, we have orders to move swiftly. De Montfort is distracted with the rumors of Henry’s council convening in London so the time to move is now.”

  Bose looked at him, a light of understanding coming to his eye. “Are those rumors, then?” he asked. “Henry is not convening his council?”

  Grayson nodded. “Not so soon, at any rate,” he said. “We spread those rumors that the meeting was imminent because we knew de Montfort was in Oxford. It is a ruse to turn his focus away from Warborough, at least for now. There are many barons in Oxford and if they gather to defend Warborough, it could be very bad indeed. These French mercenaries would like nothing better than to kill English barons.”

  Bose sighed heavily. He couldn’t help but look at his son now, realizing that he had not realized the full scope of the move against Warborough. But Garran was emotionless as he gazed at his father and Bose turned back to Grayson, realizing he might have some damage control to do with his son after all of this was over. Garran did not appear happy in the least in spite of his impassive stance. The man was heading straight into a battle against men he considered brothers. Nay, Garran didn’t like it in the least.

  As Bose and Grayson moved into the big de Winter tent, Davyss put out a hand and stopped Garran before the man could follow. In fact, he pulled him away from the tent flap so their fathers could not overhear their conversation. When they were a safe distance away, Davyss turned to Garran.

  “What are you doing here?” Davyss hissed at him. “I thought you were with Gallus.”

  Garran cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I was until my father came to town and begged for my fealty,” he said. “He told me he did not want to lift a sword against me in battle and that was what this entire situation was coming down to. What he did not tell me was that there was already a battle on the horizon that he knew about.”

  Davyss shook his head, his frustration evident. “My father has objections to attacking Warborough as well,” he admitted, “but he leads the king’s armies so he has no choice. He hates these French mercenaries under his command. They are vile, foul men. I feel as if they are the enemy more than de Montfort is.”

  Garran thought the entire circumstance sounded uncertain and dangerous. “If you will forgive me, your father made the choice to side with Henry,” he said. “He is bound to do whatever the king wishes and fight whomever he is told to fight, and that also means commanding the men the king chooses for him to command. He has no right to complain.”

  Davyss eyed the knight. “The de Winters have served the crown since the days of William the Bastard,” he said. “My father did not mak
e that choice. It was already made for him two hundred years ago. He simply carries on the family tradition.”

  “As do you?”

  “Gallus has asked that same question, many times.”

  Garran wouldn’t argue the subject of free will. As far as he was concerned, the entire de Winter family had made the choice to serve a king who did not deserve their loyalty. They were great warriors, and very rich and powerful. It was nearly the only great power from England that the king could count as a supporter.

  “Gallus and his brothers are in Oxford,” Garran said after a moment, given that the subject of Gallus had entered the conversation. “You know when they hear of Warborough, they will be leading her defense. We will meet them in battle.”

  Davyss tried not to look sick about it. “I know,” he conceded. “But there is nothing we can do about it. The path is set.”

  “Will you lift your sword against them?” Garran wanted to know. “Gallus and Maximus and Tiberius? Because I know for a fact I will not. I cannot. I will go kill French mercenaries instead.”

  Davyss smiled faintly. “As I will I,” he confessed. “You know I cannot fight Gallus. My father knows it, too.”

  “What will we do, then?”

  Davyss sighed heavily. Then, he gestured to the tent. “Go inside and listen to our fathers discuss what you and I will not do,” he said. “Come along before they come looking for us.”

  Garran followed Davyss into the tent without another word. Inside, Grayson and Bose and a few other senior English commanders were bent over a leaning table with a map spread across the surface. As Garran listened to the talk of taking Warborough, one thing was certain. He would not fight against the Lords of Thunder. Perhaps it had been a mistake to pledge fealty to his father in the first place, but his choices, now, were both terrible – either fight against his father or fight against the de Shera brothers. Either way, the outcome, for him, could only bring him to heartache.

  Already, he was aching.

  Oxford

  “It is a very large army, my lord,” the soldier said. “Thousands, at least. Lord de Russe has sent word to de Montfort and de Montfort has sent me to find you to tell you that you must come to Warborough.”

  It was late in the afternoon at The One-Eyed Raven. About an hour before, Maximus had emerged from his chamber to discuss departure plans with Gallus. The problem was that Maximus had a lazy smile on his face and was having difficulty focusing, which set Tiberius off into a fit of giggles. Marriage, already, agreed with him. All Gallus could do was look at his middle brother, snort ironically, and shake his head as if to say, I understand completely.

  Nonetheless, they had plans to make. With their departure imminent, Gallus had awoken his wife and, even now, Jeniver and Courtly were in Jeniver’s room, packing their possessions in preparation for traveling to Isenhall. It gave the women something to do while the men finalized the plans for their journey to London. But those plans came to a grinding halt when an exhausted messenger bearing the colors of de Montfort arrived at the inn. The sight had been concerning enough since de Montfort was on his way to London, but the news the man bore was even more shocking.

  “Clarify this for me,” Gallus asked de Montfort’s soldier after he had listened to the man’s breathless story. “The Lord of Warborough is an ally of the king. He is also the king’s treasurer and constable of the castle. And you are telling me this is no longer true?”

  The soldier nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  “He has switched allegiances and is now allied with de Montfort?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Gallus was at a loss for words. He hadn’t heard such a thing. He looked around to his brothers and trusted knights – Maximus, Tiberius, Scott, Troy, and Stefan – but everyone seemed to have the same expression – shock. He turned back to de Montfort’s man.

  “When did this happen?” he demanded. “I saw de Montfort yesterday and he made no mention of Christon de Russe.”

  The soldier wasn’t sure what to tell the Thunder Lord. He was a man to be both respected and feared, and the soldier didn’t particularly like upsetting him. Even worse, the man’s brother, Maximus, was looking less than pleased at the information and the soldier knew that Maximus de Shera was a man to placate in all situations. He’d been known to rip men’s heads from their bodies in battle. Or, at least that was what he had been told. It was, therefore, a struggle not to show any fear.

  “Lord de Russe is now allied with his cousin, Lord Hughston de Russe,” the soldier said. “Lord Christon kept Warborough Castle and also has some of the king’s treasury in his possession. The king is sending an army to confiscate the castle and take back the money, but Lord Christon would keep it for de Montfort’s cause. Lord de Montfort has sent me to ask you to join him at Warborough Castle to defend it from Henry’s forces.”

  It was all quite puzzling and, if genuinely true, quite astonishing. Gallus couldn’t quite grasp what he was being told. Christon de Russe was thick with the king, or at least he used to be, much to his cousin, Hughston’s, dismay. The de Russe clan had always been the rather democratic type that fell in with de Montfort’s ideals, but Christon had been with the king for many years and enjoyed the status of his job.

  Now, evidently, the tides were turning. Had Gallus not known the soldier, or at least had seen him with de Montfort, he might have thought it was a trap because the information was truly surprising. Even so, he was wary. He simply couldn’t help it.

  “How soon does de Montfort want us to mobilize?” he asked the soldier.

  The man wiped at the sweat on his brow. “Henry’s army has been sighted to the east of Warborough, my lord,” he replied. “De Montfort is coming up from the south. He will meet you in Wallingford.”

  Gallus scratched his head, looking at his brothers, who seemed equally astonished by the information. “I know where Wallingford is,” he told the soldier, “but de Montfort was already on the road to London. Now he is turning around to fight this battle? It must be important to him.”

  The soldier nodded. “It is, my lord,” he said. “De Montfort wants Warborough and he wants the coinage that de Russe has stolen from Henry.”

  Gallus could understand that; money, and property, was power. “How far out is he?”

  “He should arrive by tomorrow morning.”

  Gallus’ mind began working furiously. He only had fifty men with him. The bulk of his army had been called down from Isenhall to meet him in London, but it would be days before they reached the city. Therefore, he had no choice but to go with only the fifty men he had. Combined with the other armies, they would comprise an acceptable amount of soldiers and archers, but he was less confident than he would have been had his four hundred seasoned troops been at his command. If they were to defend Warborough against a thousand troops, the odds were considerably stacked against them.

  “Who else has been summoned to Warborough?” Gallus wanted to know. “There were many barons in Oxford because of de Montfort’s gathering but I do not have the latest information as to who has already left for London and who remains.”

  The soldier was thoughtful. “Bigod and Fitzgeoffrey moved out with de Montfort,” he said. “There are several barons still in Oxford according to de Montfort’s intelligence and there are several messengers, much like me, sent to seek them out and summon them – de Ferrers, de Burgh, de Lara, Fitzalan… when they are all gathered, de Montfort expects twice Henry’s numbers. We should easily defeat them.”

  Gallus eyed Maximus at the mention of de Lara. “Kellen de Lara?” he clarified with the soldier.

  The man nodded. “Aye, my lord,” he replied. “Viscount Trelystan.”

  This is going to be interesting, Gallus thought. He was sure Maximus had the very same thought, fighting alongside a man whose daughter they had so recently stolen. That is what it would boil down to. Regardless, he wasn’t so sure about having the numbers to overwhelm Henry’s forces but he would never publicly express a n
egative opinion regarding battle odds. Something like that would get around and demoralize the troops. Therefore, he simply nodded.

  “You will ride with me to Wallingford,” he told de Montfort’s man before turning to his men. “Ty, spread the word among the men of our orders. Scott and Troy, make sure the horses are sound and ready for battle. Stefan, you will stock the provisions wagon with items for the wounded and Max, we must discuss the de Shera women. They are going to have to remain here for the time being. I cannot spare the men to return them to Isenhall. All we can do is leave a small contingent here to guard them.”

  Maximus didn’t like the thought of leaving Courtly and Jeniver minimally protected, but he understood. They were heading into battle and needed every available man.

  “How many men will you leave with them?” he asked.

  “Four.”

  Maximus winced. “Just four?”

  “Do you have any better ideas about it?”

  Maximus didn’t. Even leaving four behind out of the fifty they had was not a particularly desirable prospect but there was little choice. He finally shook his head and broke away from the gathering with de Montfort’s soldier and headed up the stairs to see to his wife. He had a good deal of preparations to make before departing and he had little time to do it, but until he bid his wife farewell, he couldn’t think of anything else. He had to see her.

  A separation to go to London with a non-military purpose had been bad enough, but now that he knew they were heading for battle… a battle where they were undermanned, no less… filled him with a heavy heart. He didn’t want to even think on the fact that he might not make it out alive. He wanted to see his wife again and watch their children grow. He wanted to live a long, full life with Courtly by his side. He’d never wanted that before.

  As he reached the door to the chamber, he could already hear the women behind it, laughing. It made him smile to hear Courtly’s high-pitched giggles. Knocking softly on the door, he snorted with humor when it was swiftly opened and Jeniver stood there, a huge smile on her face.