Medieval Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She knew Garrick had once thought himself incapable of marriage, or perhaps more accurately, incapable of predicting the future to know if he would ever be settled sufficiently to have a family. She also knew he feared that she wouldn’t accept him as he was, though her affection these last few weeks should show him otherwise. She supposed she was greedy, but she wanted more with him—she wanted his love, for she now realized that she loved him.

  Though she had never loved a man as a woman before, she knew with certainty that this was it. She simply couldn’t imagine life without him. The mere sight of him simultaneously set her at ease and sparked something inside her that made her want more of his company. She admired his kindness and thoughtfulness toward her, his command and confidence with the men, and his deep sense of honor. He had already given her the one thing she had longed for her entire life—freedom. And at the same time, her freedom would mean little to her without him in her life.

  She knew she could be content with life the way it was. She could keep working as a healer, and they could keep enjoying each other’s company. But a small part of her—which was admittedly growing by the day—longed to publicly proclaim to all who would listen that they were committed to each other. Of course, the future could not be known, but she hoped to always face it with him—together.

  She would never pressure him into it, though, so she brushed the thoughts—which were become increasingly frequent—aside as they arrived at their tent. He held back the flap for her to enter, and he joined her in the dim interior. Sitting on the bed was a package wrapped in canvas. She eyed him for a moment, but when he gave her a little nod toward the package, she pulled the canvas back.

  Sitting in front of her were the finest leather boots she had ever seen. She gasped as her fingers brushed against the leather. It was soft, yet thick, perfect for moving around in the outdoors—which was the only place she went anymore. There were ties running up the front of them, and they looked like they would rise to mid-calf.

  “Try them on, lass,” Garrick said over her shoulder.

  She sat on the bed and kicked off her tattered, threadbare house slippers, then slid one of the boots onto her foot. She sighed at the feel of the soft leather as it encased her foot and ankle perfectly. He knelt in front of her, taking the other boot in his hand. He lifted the hem of her skirt up to her knees, then slowly slid the other boot onto her foot. The sensation sent little tendrils of heat up her legs.

  “How did you manage to get these?” she said, her voice filled with awe.

  “After I saw what a sorry condition your slippers were in, I had a chat with the camp’s tanner. He has spent the last week on these.”

  She stared at him for a moment. His gray eyes, normally hard and sharp, were gazing at her with a mixture of anticipation and—was that worry?

  “Do you like them, lass?”

  Without speaking, she launched herself into his arms, sending them both toppling backward onto the floor of their tent. “I love—” She stopped herself just in time. She didn’t want to potentially spoil the moment and make him uncomfortable if he didn’t feel the same as she did. She didn’t doubt his affection, but also didn’t want to push him. “I love them.”

  Though she thought she had caught herself in time, he had clearly heard the declaration she had almost made, for he rolled over so that she was lying on her back and he was leaning over her. He pinned her with an intense gaze.

  “Good, because I love you and want you to be happy.”

  She felt all the air gust out of her in a whoosh. “W-What did you just say?”

  He smiled down at her but took a breath that hinted at his nervousness. “I love you. I want you to be happy. I’ll bring you a thousand pairs of boots if that’s what it takes.”

  A wild giggle escaped her. She felt like she was going to burst with joyous energy. “I love you too. Even without the boots.”

  A rumble of laughter shook his chest. But then his face went serious, and he pulled her upright and placed her on the edge of the cot. He remained kneeling on the floor in front of her. He took both of her hands in his and met her eyes.

  “Marry me, Jossalyn.”

  If she had thought she would explode with excitement and happiness before, then now she was bursting into a thousand pieces of pure elation.

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded distant and garbled to her ears, and she realized that tears of joy had formed in her eyes and were blurring her vision of his handsome face. It didn’t matter, though, because the next moment he had closed the distance between them and was capturing her mouth in a searing kiss.

  Before she registered how or when they had moved, they were lying next to each other on the narrow cot, mouths locked together. One of her legs rose up to wrap around his hip, and she used it to pull their bodies even closer, pressing their hips together. His hands skimmed over her hips and bottom, her waist, her breasts, her hair. She had already undone the tie holding his hair in its dark queue, and her fingers tangled in it, holding his mouth to hers as their tongues teased each other.

  A distant thought tugged at the back of her mind, and she pulled her lips back a little. “What about your men? They are waiting for you.”

  “Let them wait,” he breathed, rejoining their lips. One of his hands was working on the ties at the back of her dress, and she arched to give him more access.

  In short order, they had stripped each other of their clothes, except for Jossalyn’s new boots. Jossalyn didn’t think she would ever grow tired of the intoxicating feel of their bare skin pressed together. Just as Garrick was rolling on top of her, the cot screeched loudly. They froze, staring at each other, then simultaneously burst into laughter.

  “Perhaps my next gift to you will be a new bed,” Garrick said play-sourly. Then his eyes lit with an idea, and before she knew what was happening, he had scooped her up, wrapping her legs around his hips and hoisting her into the air. She shrieked and giggled.

  “You’re louder than the cot, lass,” he said as he carried her from the bed to the wooden table with the pitcher and basin for water. “Hold on.”

  She entwined her arms around his neck, squeezed her legs against his hips, and locked her booted ankles behind his back. He kept one arm under her but used his free hand to move the pitcher and basin off the table. Then he set her down on the table so that her bottom rested on the wooden surface but her legs were still wrapped around his hips. He pulled back a little, then guided his swollen, hard manhood inside her.

  She shivered and gasped at the feeling of his cock filling her. He took hold of her hips and began moving in and out, building the slow, achingly torturous pleasure for both of them. Her breathing increased despite his steady pace, which was driving her mad as the pressure grew.

  She released her arms from his neck and leaned back, placing her hands on the table. His eyes followed her, devouring her hungrily. She watched him drink in the sight of her breasts, bobbing in rhythm with his thrusts, and noticed that a muscle in his jaw was clenched and twitching. The sight of him straining so hard to maintain control sent her hitching even higher.

  She moaned and moved her hips, wordlessly begging him to go faster. He obliged, thrusting into her harder and more rapidly. With just a few more strokes, she was sent careening over the edge into pure ecstasy. She tried to muffle her cries of pleasure but didn’t care if she succeeded or not. He followed her almost immediately, groaning out his release and grinding into her.

  As they both came back down to earth, he leaned forward and claimed her mouth in another heated kiss. They disentangled themselves slowly, and his eyes lingered on her as she went about picking up her clothes, which were strewn all over the inside of the tent. Reluctantly, he reached for his shirt and kilt, donning both.

  “I had better go see about that training session,” he said grudgingly.

  “They might tease you to death if you don’t return soon,” she replied, her merriment barely contained.

  He raised an eyebrow at he
r. “Are you mocking me, my bonnie bride?”

  She wished she could come up with some clever retort, but the way he called her his bride overwhelmed her. Instead, she threw her arms around him again and buried her face in his shoulder.

  “I’ll be back this evening, lass. I’ll talk to the Bruce tonight, and then we will be able to truly celebrate.” His words held a promise, not only of their pleasure to come, but of everything that awaited them in the future—together, just as she had dreamed.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Garrick strode out of the tent toward the practice field, but he might as well have been walking on air.

  He hadn’t planned on proclaiming his love for Jossalyn or asking her to marry him. Yet the way she had almost let her words of love slip out, and then tried to cover them up, had made him realize he was being a damn fool for not speaking his mind. What a rare gift and treasure the love of such a woman was. He didn’t want to wait a second longer to let his feelings for her be known, else he lose the opportunity, as Burke had warned him.

  And now he was to be a married man. The thought was strange, but pleasantly so. He thought back to his last visit with his older brother Robert. He had always assumed Robert would marry, since he was the Laird of the Sinclair clan and it was his responsibility to produce legitimate heirs. But he had known his brother for so long as a single man, a warrior and leader, that it had been strange to suddenly see him completely entwining his life with a woman.

  Garrick had thought Robert was daft at first, given the way his eyes followed Lady Alwin and how aware he seemed to be of her. But now, Garrick realized that he, too, had become like that with Jossalyn. Like his brother, he had fallen in love. And now he would marry—against all odds—the woman who both humbled him and filled him with pride to have her at his side.

  A married man! He had thought of himself as a lone wolf for so long, and had devoted his life to his work so completely, that he had begun to discard the question of marriage and a family out of hand, assuming such joys would never be his to know. He had thought this way for so long that he had nearly convinced himself that he didn’t want any of those things.

  But Jossalyn had changed all that. She had cared for him and reminded him that he wasn’t an irredeemable man who was nothing but a killer. She had believed in him even when he hadn’t believed in himself. Damn, but he was the luckiest man on earth.

  Lost in his joy, he made his way to the practice field. When he reached its edge, the men had already finished their laps, and Angus had taken charge, which was fitting, given the fact that he was one of the most senior and seasoned warriors in the camp. He was leading the men through a bladework drill in pairs.

  “Thank you, Angus,” Garrick said when he reached the giant warrior’s side.

  “Aye, of course, laddie. We couldn’t all wile the afternoon away with a bonnie lass.” The man’s bushy red eyebrows wriggled with merriment.

  He spoke loud enough for several of the men nearby to hear, including Colin, who doubled over laughing.

  Garrick only smiled in response. He was a lucky bastard indeed.

  By the time he had wrapped up the final training session for the day, Garrick was sweaty and tired. Even still, he felt like a giddy lad at the thought of seeing Jossalyn again—and speaking with the Bruce.

  He forced himself to take a quick dunk in the nearby loch so as not to smell like a boar, and then hustled back to the camp. As had become their routine, they would dine with the Bruce and several others in the King’s inner circle shortly. Garrick hoped to have a private word with the Bruce during the meal, then, assuming he could get his blessing, he and Jossalyn could share a quick toast with those present before retiring to their tent once more.

  Despite the cold loch waters in which he had just dunked, his cock stirred at the mere thought. He guessed that because of his delay, Jossalyn would already be at the King’s dining table, which was kept out in the open near his tent during the fine summer months, so he went straight there.

  When he reached the open area on the other side of the Bruce’s tent, where the dining table was set up, he spotted her instantly. She was talking to Angus and Colin on the other side of the table, waiting for the Bruce to indicate when to sit. There were a few other men gathered around the table between them, so she hadn’t caught sight of him yet. After scanning the remaining men, he spotted Finn a few paces away, and noticed that the man kept glancing at Jossalyn out of the corner of his eye.

  Garrick frowned. He had never been close to Finn, despite the fact that they had worked together with the Bruce for several years now. Like him, Finn was someone whom the Bruce trusted more than the others. Though Garrick found the man to be overly suspicious, and didn’t entirely trust him, the Bruce seemed to enjoy having disagreements and different points of view among his circle of advisors, so as to balance each other.

  He could live with the man, but twice now he had noticed that Finn seemed overly interested in watching Jossalyn, and it wasn’t to appreciate her appearance. He looked at her like she was the enemy, and despite the fact that nearly everyone else in the camp had already come to trust and respect her, Finn remained guarded—and watchful of her.

  “Garrick!”

  His thoughts were pulled away from Finn at the sound of the Bruce calling him. When the Bruce reached his side, they exchanged a shake.

  “How goes the training?”

  “Very well. The men are taking to it, and they relish the idea of not having to act like the English, standing in rows to do battle,” Garrick replied.

  “I imagine so. I brought together a few of the advisors, as well as some newer members, to discuss this change in strategy,” the Bruce said, motioning with his head toward the men gathering around the table.

  The Bruce had indeed gathered a well-balanced group. Angus was respected for the fact that he was a seasoned warrior, though he was slower to adopt innovative approaches when it came to battle. He would be a more cautious voice. Colin had only just started to be groomed to join the Bruce’s inner circle. He was newer to the rebellion and a few years younger than Garrick, but he had proven himself both on the battlefield and in training, and seemed to take to the stealth strategy quickly and eagerly. Most likely, the Bruce wanted his energy and fervor in discussing their new approach. And Finn would be the critical one, always thinking about how things might go wrong so they could plan around their weaknesses.

  It was a sign of trust that the Bruce had allowed Jossalyn to stay for such a meal. Though they likely wouldn’t delve too deeply into strategy, it was an indication that he had confidence in her loyalty even to be in the presence of a handful of inner-circle advisors.

  Several servers began putting platters of food on the large wooden dining table, so the Bruce broke off further discussion of tactics and moved to take his seat at the head of the table. Garrick was honored with the seat directly to the King’s right, and Jossalyn moved next to him, sitting on his other side. To his displeasure, though, Finn silently took the seat to her left.

  As the others took their seats, one of the servers brought out a special platter and placed it in front of the Bruce. While all the other dishes were filled with simple but hearty fare, the King’s steaming platter contained what appeared to be a mincemeat pie.

  The server leaned in. “’Tis a pheasant pie, sire, your favorite.”

  The Bruce’s eyes lit up. “And what is the occasion?”

  “The new cook, sire. He as just arrived from the Lowlands and would like to please you especially,” the wench replied.

  “My compliments to him,” the Bruce said, then raised his fork with a nod to those around the table.

  As the others began to dish and eat their food, Garrick leaned in toward the Bruce.

  “Robert, there is something very particular I wish to discuss with you.”

  The Bruce closed his eyes for a moment as he savored a bite of the pheasant pie. Then he turned to Garrick and raised an eyebrow, that knowing look in
his dark eyes again.

  “Is there?”

  “Aye. It involves what we discussed a few weeks ago upon Jossalyn’s and my arrival—the matter on which you advised me to…gather information?” For some reason it was proving harder than he had anticipated to speak with the Bruce about his desire to wed Jossalyn.

  The King wasn’t helping him out any, either, of course. He merely stared back at him, a half-smile on his face.

  Garrick pressed on. “I am certain now that I have all the information I need. I hope that you will give us your blessing to…”

  The Bruce frowned and cleared his throat. He took a sip of his ale, but that only caused him to cough more.

  “Are you all right, Robert?” Garrick said quietly.

  The Bruce tried to take a gasp of air, but it sounded thin and reedy. Garrick pulled him to his feet and pounded on his back several times, but it didn’t seem to help. By this time, the rest of those seated at the table had stopped eating or talking and were looking at them with growing concern.

  The Bruce’s chest jerked again as he tried to suck in a breath, but this time, Garrick didn’t even hear a thin wheeze to indicate that he was getting any air.

  “Is he choking?” Jossalyn said anxiously at Garrick’s side. The Bruce’s eyes darted between them, and he grabbed his throat, but then reached for his face. Jossalyn pushed past Garrick to stand next to the Bruce. She touched his face where he had indicated, but didn’t find anything. Then her eyes widened, and she pried his jaw open.

  Inside the Bruce’s mouth, his tongue had swollen to more than three times its normal size. It looked to be blocking his entire throat and pushing against the back and roof of his mouth. The Bruce’s eyes began to droop, and his lips were starting to turn bluish.