Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Isn’t it true, Max?” she demanded. “Didn’t you light your uncle’s farts on fire?”

  Courtly burst out in a fit of laughter and Maximus came into the room, grinning. “She already knows what an incorrigible child I was,” he said. “I told her what we used to do. What I did not tell her was that the gas from his arse had saturated his breeches so the fire spread quickly and burned the hair all up his back. My mother was so angry that she took a switch to us. I think I still have the scars.”

  Jeniver and Courtly were beset with laughter as Maximus stood there and smiled at them. “That was the same uncle who would defecate in the bailey and then blame it on the dogs,” he said. “He would make sure to do it when he knew my father would be passing along that particular path so that the man would step in it.”

  The women were far gone with laughter at this point. Jeniver finally put up a hand. “That is utterly disgusting, Max,” she pretended to scold, snorting. “And you would say it in front of your new wife? I am shocked.”

  Maximus was making his way over to Courtly, who was gazing at him quite adoringly. He couldn’t help but return the expression. “It is too late for her to get away from me,” he said, his eyes devouring the woman. “I can say what I wish now.”

  Jeniver shook her head reproachfully but the truth was that she was watching the besotted expressions of both Maximus and Courtly. It was very sweet.

  “I will tell you a secret,” Jeniver said. “I do not think she wants to get away from you.”

  Maximus glanced at his sister-in-law, grinning, but his attention returned to his wife. In fact, he couldn’t stop staring at her.

  “I am glad,” he said. Then, he sobered somewhat. “Speaking of getting away from me, I’ve come to inform you both that you will be staying here for the time being. You will not be going to Isenhall right away.”

  The women sobered quickly as well. “Why not?” Courtly asked. “Has something happened?”

  Maximus shrugged, reaching out to take her hand. Courtly clung to him, gazing up into his handsome face and noting that he looked rather serious.

  “We have received word that Warborough Castle is under attack from Henry’s forces,” he said. “De Montfort has personally asked us to defend her. Therefore, we cannot spare the men to take you two back to Isenhall, so you will remain here with a small guard until we can return from Warborough.”

  Courtly’s expression was full of concern. “Where is Warborough?”

  He squeezed her hand. “South of Oxford and south of Kennington by several miles,” he said. “The constable of the castle used to be Henry’s ally but it would seem he has switched allegiances and the king is not entirely happy. De Montfort wants us to fend off the king’s attempt to reclaim the castle.”

  Across the chamber, Jeniver sighed heavily. “War,” she said simply. “You are going to war.”

  Maximus tore his gaze away from Courtly long enough to look over at Jeniver. “Aye.”

  Courtly felt as if she had been hit in the gut. All of the wind was sucked out of her as she realized what, exactly, Maximus was telling her. It had taken Jeniver’s softly uttered words to make her understand.

  “War,” she breathed. “Oh, Max, is it true? Do you really go to do battle?”

  Maximus squeezed her hand again, kissing her fingers. “It is not as bad as all that,” he said quietly. “Usually, all it takes is for Henry to merely see the de Shera banners and the man runs off. I doubt that I shall even unsheathe my sword.”

  He said it simply to make her feel better. Perhaps it was a lie, perhaps not. Perhaps his sword would be out and bloodied from the very moment they arrived. In truth, he didn’t know, but he’d been through enough battles to know that anything involving sharp swords and archers was dangerous. There was always a chance of him not returning and, in spite of his comforting words, Courtly must have known that as well. She was looking up at him with fear in her eyes.

  “I hope that is the case,” she said fervently. “I shall pray for your safety with every breath.”

  He smiled confidently at her. “That would be appreciated,” he said. “I hope that God will hear you.”

  Courtly simply nodded, releasing his hand and wrapping her arms around his trim torso, hugging him tightly. Jeniver watched the two of them embrace and her thoughts turned to her husband. He was going, too. She instinctively put a hand on her belly, thinking of the child she carried, a child she very much wanted to know his father.

  “Max, where is Gallus?” she asked. “Is he coming to see me before he leaves?”

  Maximus, with Courtly pressed against his chest, looked over at her. “Of course he is,” he said. “He is still speaking with de Montfort’s man. He will be up momentarily.”

  Jeniver nodded, suddenly not feeling so happy. She was starting to feel nauseated again but this time it was because of her husband’s imminent departure. To war. She sat heavily on her bed, her gaze on her packed possession, thinking on her husband’s future and struggling against the dread in her heart.

  “The de Shera brothers have been in a few skirmishes since I have been part of the family,” she said softly. “You have always managed to come through unscathed. I pray that continues.”

  Maximus had his big hand on Courtly’s head as she laid it against his chest. “As do I.”

  Jeniver glanced up at him, smiling weakly, before continuing. “I think it is the fear of the unknown that worries women so much,” she said. “It is the waiting and the not knowing whether or not your husband is alive or dead. I have nightmares of Gallus dying on the field of battle, alone and in pain. They haunt me.”

  Maximus wasn’t so sure he wanted Courtly to hear Jeniver’s anxieties but it didn’t much matter. He couldn’t protect her from her own fears for his safety. It was a tale as old as time – women worry while men fight. He could remember, as a child, having the same fear for his father when the man would charge off to war in the early days of Henry’s reign.

  “I do not know if this will help, but I recall something my mother told me once when, as a young lad, I expressed the same fears for my father’s safety,” he said quietly. “She said that we cannot know what will come at the day’s end but that whatever it is, it will indeed come, and then the end will be known. If we saw my father again at the end of that day, then we would smile and embrace him, but if not, then we would not dwell on his ending but on his parting well-made. We always made our partings with our father well-made. We smiled, we spoke of our love for him, so that when he went to battle, he went fortified and loved.”

  By this time, Courtly was smiling up at him. “Then I shall do the same thing for you,” she said with gentle determination. “You have given me the greatest gift in life, Maximus. To have been your wife, even for a day, has made my entire life worth living. I could ask for no greater honor and for no greater husband. When you face your coming battle, remember that. My love, and everything else, goes with you.”

  Maximus smiled, deeply touched. “Never have I heard such beautiful words,” he whispered. “You honor me.”

  With that, he bent down and kissed her, sweetly and lovingly, and Jeniver had to turn away. She suddenly felt as if she were intruding on a private moment so she made her way to the door with the intention of giving Maximus and Courtly some privacy, but the moment she touched the door latch, the panel opened and Gallus was on the other side. Startled, she yelped and jumped back at the unexpected sight.

  “Gallus,” she gasped, hand on her chest as if to soothe her racing heart. “You surprised me!”

  Gallus grinned at his wife. “So sorry, sweetheart,” he said. Then, he looked at his brother, standing near the window in an embrace with his new wife. “Did Max tell you what has happened?”

  Jeniver nodded. “You are going into battle.”

  Gallus’ smile faded and he reached out to pull the woman into his arms. Kissing her forehead, he hugged her gently.

  “Not to worry,” he said. “It will probably be
over before we even arrive, so I do not want you to worry. I want you to remain here with Courtly and eat, drink, and spend my money to your heart’s content. I cannot imagine we will be gone more than a few days at most.”

  He made it sound much less serious than it was on purpose, much as Maximus had done, but in Gallus’ case, he simply didn’t want to upset his pregnant wife. She’d had a rough enough time of it without the added burden of a husband at war. His light attitude towards the situation seemed to work because Jeniver’s taut expression eased considerably.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  He nodded, kissing her forehead again. “I am,” he replied. “And as soon as we return, I want to go to Isenhall, so be prepared to depart.”

  Jeniver cocked her head curiously. “You are going to Isenhall, too? But I thought de Montfort wanted you in London right away?”

  He nodded. “Mayhap he does,” he said, eyeing Maximus. “But I care not. I want to return home and see to my mother’s health. De Montfort can wait.”

  Maximus listened to his brother, unsure if he was serious or not. It could simply be that he was trying to comfort his wife by declaring they would all go home after the skirmish at Warborough was over. Whatever the case, it seemed to be working. Jeniver’s mood picked up somewhat.

  “Good,” she said firmly. “You should be able to go home and visit Honey if you want to. De Montfort cannot stop you from tending to your mother.”

  Gallus nodded once more and kissed her on the forehead one last time. “Now, Maximus and I have much to do before we depart,” he said. “We will come and bid you farewell before we go, but for now, we have things to do. You will stay to our chamber and relax. I do not want you downstairs. There are too many men and horses and you may get hurt.”

  Jeniver nodded. “Courtly and I can keep busy.”

  Gallus smiled and touched her cheek before letting her go. “Excellent,” he said, motioning to his brother. “Come along, bridegroom. We have much to do.”

  Maximus pursed his lips irritably at his brother’s taunt before kissing Courtly and following the man from the chamber. After that, they lost themselves in the familiar preparation for battle, something that was second nature to them. Whether they were mobilizing fifty men or a thousand, the preparation was always the same – logistics, a plan of action, and making sure the men and horses were sound to move out. It was what they were best at and excelled at. It was a procedure that brought about confidence.

  They moved as an efficient team and their men were ready to move out, including a provisions wagon, in less than an hour. When they finally returned to the chamber to bid farewell to their wives, that confidence they were building up for the men was something that seemed to take a hit once they beheld their women. Women both of them wanted very much to see again and women who were much braver than they had expected. After sweet and loving farewells, Gallus and Maximus left The One-Eyed Raven with heavy hearts.

  Maximus wasn’t ashamed to admit that, already, the separation was killing him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Wallingford

  Arriving the following morning, mist was hovering over the ground just as sunrise began to turn the land shades of blue and pink. The de Shera banners were hanging heavy and wet in the new day but there was no mistaking the de Shera crimson and black, distinctive, with a great eagle in the center of it that reflected upon the House of de Shera’s Roman origins. It was said that the family descended from a lost Roman legion somewhere up near Chester. Therefore, the family crest was an eagle. Gallus, and his forefathers, flew the standard proudly.

  The camp was mostly awake at this time and word began to spread that the Lords of Thunder had arrived. Men began to rouse, to stand up and take notice, as the crimson and black standard moved through camp, heading for de Montfort’s tent. The thunder of horses filled the air as Gallus and his brothers announced themselves as only they were capable of doing. The entire camp paid attention. The muscle had arrived.

  Bigod. Fitzgeoffrey. Gloucester. De Lara. Canterbury. De Ferrers. Fitzalan. De Wolfe. All of these standards came to notice as Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius came to a halt near de Montfort’s big yellow tent. One of de Montfort’s soldiers greeted them and directed them to set up camp directly to the east of de Montfort’s cluster. Tiberius went with the men to establish their camp while Gallus and Maximus, along with their knights, dismounted. As men took the horses away, Maximus turned to Scott and Troy.

  “I saw your father’s standard,” he said. “I am relieved that he is here. Things should go much smoother with The Wolfe leading the charge.”

  The de Wolfe brothers nodded. “Indeed,” Scott said. “I should like to go to my father, with your permission.”

  Maximus waved him off. “Go,” he said. “But do not be gone over-long. We intend to meet with de Montfort directly and find out what his plans are, so I will have need of you shortly.”

  The de Wolfe brothers nodded, heading off towards the distant standard bearing de Wolfe’s dark green and black colors. Maximus was about to turn around but noticed that Stefan was standing beside him, his young face excited.

  “I saw the Canterbury standards, my lord,” he said. “May I go and see if my father has arrived?”

  Maximus nodded. “The great Maddoc du Bois,” he said, smiling at the young knight. “He is one of the few men left that are directly connected to the legends – your grandfather, your granduncle, Rhys du Bois, and Gart Forbes among them. Please give your father best regards from the House of de Shera and tell him that I look forward to seeing him again.”

  Stefan nodded eagerly and bolted off into the faint morning mist. With his knights off to visit family, Maximus turned in the direction of the de Lara banner. He’d seen it when they’d arrived, a red and white banner that had been mingled with others. He knew it was Kellen and he certainly wasn’t surprised to see that he had arrived. And he was positive that Kellen had either seen the House of de Shera arrive or, at least by now, been told of it.

  Given that Kellen believed his daughter was on her way back to Trelystan and far away from Maximus de Shera, the man was probably feeling just the least bit victorious. At least, that’s what Maximus thought. He would let the man feel that way, at least for the time being, and he had no intention of seeking him out or having any manner of conversation with him. In fact, he would make a point of avoiding the man as much as he could. He was fairly certain that, at this point, any conversation between them would come to no good end. It was best to avoid it altogether, at least until time had passed and Kellen had been lured into a false sense of security, thinking he’d managed to keep Courtly away from her suitor. Maximus knew he’d have to face the man at some point with what he’d done, but that moment would have to wait. Now was not the time.

  With his thoughts lingering on how to avoid Kellen de Lara in the near future, Maximus caught sight of Gallus, who was standing in conference with one of de Montfort’s knights. Maximus recognized the warrior immediately, the right hand and champion of de Montfort, a knight by the name of Sir Paeton de Royans who was, perhaps, more formidable than almost any man in England. Even Maximus, as seasoned he was, had a healthy respect for de Royans’ abilities. He was a tall man, although they were taller, but the sheer breadth and muscle on the man was an impressive and intimidating sight. He was brawny, blond, handsome as hell, and he knew it. A humble man, de Royans was not, but he had every reason not to be. Maximus liked the man a great deal. He was brilliant, humorous, and they’d seen battle together many times. As they approached, Paeton caught sight of Maximus and lifted a hand.

  “And the God of War in the flesh arrives,” he said, his blue eyes glimmering. “I have not seen you in months, my friend. I have heard all manner of wild tales over the past several months, mostly with you and your brothers involved in them.”

  Maximus laughed softly. “I have not been involved in anything,” he stressed. “And even if you think so, you cannot prove it. Where have you been,
Pete? We literally have not seen you in months.”

  Paeton smiled. “Drumming up support for de Montfort in the north,” he said quietly. “The north is very fickle. If de Montfort cannot bring in a few of the more powerful barons, then we may have real trouble on our hands.”

  Maximus thought on that statement for a time. After a moment, he shrugged. “We are, after all, leading a rebellion against the king,” he said. “I am not surprised that you have had difficulty finding allies. Speaking of allies, tell us what has happened with Christon de Russe. Has he really pledged to de Montfort?”

  Paeton nodded his head. “Indeed he has,” he said. “Henry is none too pleased with it, either. He has convened a large army about seven miles from here and not a straggler army, either. Our scouts have seen de Winter banners and, they suspect, there are mercenaries involved. It is de Montfort’s intention to move his army to intercept them before they can reach Warborough.”

  Gallus and Maximus were listening closely. “When?” Maximus asked.

  Paeton shrugged, glancing back at the big yellow tent, damp and somewhat sagging from the heavy dew of the morning air. “Soon,” he said. “We are simply awaiting word from our scouts. When they arrive to tell us de Winter is on the move, then we will intercept them.”

  De Winter. That was not what Gallus or Maximus wanted to hear. Fighting Davyss de Winter and his father was like fighting a beloved brother and uncle, although they knew that whenever Henry was convening an army that the de Winter troops would be there. Still, there was little choice. They had committed to de Montfort and would do as they were told.

  Paeton, who had been fighting de Montfort’s battles a very long time, must have sensed their thoughts because he knew, much as most of those close to the House of de Shera knew, that the de Sheras and the de Winters had very close ties. He could detect their melancholy.

  “I am sorry about this,” he said softly, looking to both Gallus and Maximus. “You know it is not easy on de Montfort, either. He is Davyss de Winter’s godfather.”