Medieval Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “There you are,” he said, entering the room, and walking toward her as well.

  She saw the glimmer of her ring as he did so. The man had the audacity to wear it on his little finger, even though it didn’t fit past his knuckle. It was obvious he only wanted to flaunt it in her face.

  “My lord,” she said, wringing her hands. Her eyes darted back to the trunk, and she hoped Henry would stay quiet and still. “What a surprise to see you.”

  “Don’t act surprised, it’s been two days. You knew I would be here. Now what is your answer?”

  “Answer?” She smiled and batted her eyes. The man’s squire entered the building behind him, looking down and scraping his foot on her threshold.

  “My lord, the streets are repugnant,” said the squire. “I’ve just stepped in something I cannot even identify.”

  “You’ll learn to walk around it, squire,” said Nicholas, not bothering to turn and look at the boy as he talked. “Now check the house for the runaway servant while I talk to the girl.”

  “Runaway?” Muriel asked and faked a laugh. “What do you mean?”

  “One of the baron’s servants has escaped his manor,” said the squire. “He’s the baron’s best carver and makes those fruit and fish tarts he likes so much. He wants him back. Someone said they saw the servant here in town.”

  “That’s right,” said Nicholas coming so close to her now that she had to back up a step to focus on his face. “Have you seen the runaway, Muriel?” He looked deeply into her eyes and she knew he was searching her face and would be able to tell if she lied. She had to answer without directly lying to him.

  “I don’t see a runaway servant in here, do you?” She looked up again and smiled, hoping she could keep Henry’s secret.

  “You know, if you harbor a runaway servant, you serve the same sentence as him when he’s caught.”

  “Really?” Her smile disappeared. “And what sentence would that be?”

  “Well, let me see.” He paced the floor with a hand to his chin. “I could put him in the stocks for a few days.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “And have everyone in the castle throw rotten food at him to discourage him not to try it again.”

  She swallowed deeply. “You’d . . . do that?”

  “Some lords are known to lock their runaways in the dungeon with the rats chewing on them too.”

  “R- really?”

  Nicholas enjoyed watching the girl squirm. He knew she was lying. He could see it in her eyes and could hear it in her voice. If only he could point out the perpetrators on the docks so easily. He figured he’d scare her into telling him the truth, even if the punishments weren’t exactly what he’d planned on using.

  “Then there’s the same punishment that is used on those who steal from a noble,” he said, almost grinning when he saw her eyes open wide.

  “D-do you mean – cutting off their hands?”

  “Nay, that’s not what I mean at all.”

  “Oh, good,” she said with a sigh of relief, holding her hand to her chest.

  “Only thieves have their fingers or hands cut off. Runaways have a foot cut off so they can’t run away again.”

  “Nay! That is terrible,” she said, wringing her hands in front of her. Her eyes shot over to the trunk in the corner and he had his answer now as to where the man was hiding out. “Please, you can’t do that to Henry.”

  “How did you know the runaway’s name? I never told you.”

  “I – I heard it. In town. This morning.”

  “I see.” He nodded and walked over to his squire. “Check the trunk, Roger,” he said in a low voice.

  “My lord! I’ve . . . made my decision,” Muriel blurted out. “I’m coming with you to the castle. Just allow me to put on my shoes.” She grabbed her shoes which were made of leather and came up just past her ankles. They also had leather ties that laced around them to hold them on her feet. She made it to the trunk before Roger, sitting down atop it, stopping the squire from looking within.

  “A fine choice,” he said with a nod. “And remember to bring that spindle of yours with you, as well as anything you’ll need to make my clothes. And of course, I’ll supply you with whatever else you need to do your job.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “What about your brother? Will he be coming with as well?”

  “I – I’m not sure.” She took painstakingly long to lace each of the shoes, and he knew she was stalling for time. “He’s not here right now.”

  “Then I think we should wait, don’t you, Roger?” asked Nicholas.

  Roger looked up, obviously surprised that Nicholas would be asking him his opinion at all. Nicholas had never done this before, and the only reason he did now was because he, too, was stalling for time. Plus, he was trying to unnerve Muriel.

  “Aye, I agree. We should wait,” said Roger, sitting down on the trunk next to the girl.

  Muriel’s big eyes darted over to the squire, down to the trunk, and then back up to Nicholas. “I’m sure Isaac will decide to join me once he finds out I’m at your manor,” she said. “We can find him in town and tell him. Shall we go?”

  “Oh, of course,” said Nicholas. “Grand idea.”

  “You’re changing your mind again?” asked Roger, looking very confused. He got up and shot over to the door. “I’ll ready the horses, my lord.”

  Muriel got off the trunk and started putting a few things into her travel bag.

  As soon as the squire left the room, Nicholas walked over and put his hand on Muriel’s chin and raised it up. Her eyes closed and her head fell back, and her lips parted slightly. He knew she thought he was going to kiss her.

  “Open your eyes, Muriel, and look at me. Or did you expect a kiss for some reason?”

  Her eyelids sprang open and her face reddened from embarrassment. “Nay, my lord. Of course not.” She continued to load her bag with her spindle of wool and a nice bolt of brightly colored blue silk.

  He smiled and shook his head. “Now you do realize I can tell you’re lying. Just like you did about the runaway servant.”

  “Why would you say that?” she asked carefully.

  “Why do you keep your half-eaten bread on the floor?” he asked in return.

  “Oh, silly me, I forgot it. Just let me pick it up and we’ll be on our way.” She turned to go get it, but he reached out and stopped her from doing so, by putting his hand on her elbow.

  “Don’t bother. Henry, pick up the bread and follow us,” he called out. “It’s time to go back to the manor now.”

  “My lord? Who are you talking to?” she asked ever too innocently.

  “Henry, if I have to walk across the room, you’re punishment will be a lot worse. Now let’s go.”

  Slowly, the lid to the trunk creaked open and just like he knew, Henry emerged from the chest.

  “My lord, please don’t punish him,” cried Muriel. “Punish me instead. I’m the one who hid him from you. I’m the one who told him to go into the trunk, it wasn’t his idea at all.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, little girl, you will get what you deserve as well,” Nicholas promised.

  He thought about what he wanted to do with her right now, and none of it was considered a punishment at all. But the next time he kissed her, he guaranteed it would be something she would never forget. And then when he looked into her eyes, she would not be able to lie to him about how she felt again.

  Chapter Seven

  “Muriel, where are you going?” Isaac shouted out as Muriel rode down the street sitting atop Lord Nicholas’s horse. Her brother pushed through the crowded streets, keeping pace with the horse. Cecily was at his side.

  The baron had insisted Muriel ride instead of walking behind him. He said he didn’t want his manor house stinking like the streets of New Romney from the dung on her shoes. When she’d agreed to it, she’d thought he’d be walking, or perhaps riding his squire’s horse instead. But she was wrong. The
squire rode double with Henry to ensure the servant wouldn’t run away again.

  She sat sideways with her legs off to one side and her bag that included a few personal items as well as her spindle thrown over her shoulder. He sat astride, with one hand on the reins and his other arm around her waist. She was pressed up against his strong chest on one side, and the saddle horn dug into her leg on the other.

  She felt very embarrassed being paraded through town like this, and only wished he would ride faster instead of wandering through the busy streets as if he were going for a Sunday stroll on the beach.

  “Isaac, Cecily, I’m going to live at the manor and be the baron’s Personal Clothier,” she called out to them. They kept moving as she spoke, and Cecily and Roger had a hard time keeping up with them.

  “What about me?” asked Isaac.

  “Stay at our shop for now, and see if any of the other merchants will hire you as a journeyman. I’ll send for you later if I think you should come.”

  “I’ll watch after him, Muriel. Don’t worry,” said Cecily.

  “If you need me, just come to the manor,” she called over her shoulder as they got to the edge of town and Lord Nicholas directed the horse into a canter.

  “Don’t be inviting half the town to my manor,” Nicholas growled. “From now on, you would do well to remember that all decisions involving my manor come from me only.”

  “I thought you said I wasn’t a servant, but still free if I agreed to come work for you.”

  “Free, yes. Free to do as you please inside the walls of Romney Manor – not on your life. And don’t forget it.”

  *

  Nicholas rode through the gates of Romney Manor, followed by his squire and the runaway servant. His men gathered around him, all talking at once.

  “My lord, who is the girl?” one of his knights shouted.

  “What will you do to the runaway servant?” asked one of the servants from the back of the crowd.

  “Settle down, I’ll answer all your questions in time.” Nicholas slipped off his horse, and before Muriel could object, he reached up and put his hands around her waist and pulled her off the horse as well.

  “Baron, you found the runaway.” Sir Stanwick, his steward, ran up to greet him with the bailiff at his side. A group of peasants as well as knights and ladies crowded around in curiosity. A roaming minstrel stopped strumming his lute and craned his neck curiously. Even the blacksmith came out of the stables with hot iron tongs in his hand to see what was happening. A young child ran toward him, and the little girl’s mother grabbed her and pulled her into her apron before the child got burned on the tongs.

  “Did you get the rent money from the girl?” asked the bailiff.

  “Guards, escort the runaway to the dungeon until I decide what to do with him,” Nicholas instructed, ignoring the bailiff’s question altogether. He really didn’t want to discuss any of this with so many people watching. Several of his guards rushed over to do what he ordered.

  “Dungeon? I didn’t even know a manor house had one of those,” said Muriel.

  “Aye, though it is small.” He took hold of her arm and led her across the courtyard toward the keep. They passed the alewives congregating at the well, and a stray hound ran after them barking.

  “So, how is this different than Lord John’s castle in Hastings?”

  Damn, why did she have to bring that up? It had been a sore spot with him for a long time now. He always thought he should have had Hastings, and John been put in New Romney instead. After all, Nicholas’s family was from noble blood, and his father an earl just the same. However, John was the eldest son, so mayhap that made a difference, since Nicholas was only a second son.

  But Nicholas earned his title as well as his position, by fighting loyally at the king’s side in many deadly battles. His older brother, Reynard, was given his title as more of a courtesy. He hadn’t fought in half the wars Nicholas had, nor was he anywhere near as skilled with a sword.

  “Just think of my manor as a smaller version of a castle. I have everything that John has, but my proportions are just smaller.”

  “Really?” She looked up to him and laughed, and he realized her thoughts were not on castles at all. He felt enamored with the way her eyes twinkled when she was happy, and only hoped he’d see that more often now that she was here.

  “Stop those thoughts right now,” came his hot whisper in her ear. “Because if you continue to tease me, you will find out first hand just how generous my proportions really are.”

  Muriel wanted to laugh, she really did, but she didn’t dare. She knew she’d gone too far with this dangerous game and that most men wouldn’t play it as long as Nicholas had. But she could also see his desire for her in his eyes as well as his patience running thin. True, she wanted to know first hand just how . . . generous . . . his proportions really were, but it scared her at the same time.

  She didn’t know what to do when it came to coupling with a baron – if it ever went that far. But she couldn’t stop wondering if now that she was living here with Nicholas, if mayhap he’d want to continue what they’d started on his ship with that wonderful kiss. She craved it and feared it all at the same time. So she tried to think of something – anything – to say that wouldn’t sound as if she were thinking of his body in the bedchamber wrapped around hers.

  “I’m very hungry,” she said instead, eyeing one of the manor’s bakers walking by with a tray of tarts that smelled tantalizingly delicious.

  “Really? And what were you thinking you’d like to eat?” He smiled, and his emerald eyes lit up and one of his brows lifted in the process. Now it was his turn to tease her, she thought, wondering exactly what he meant. He pulled her into the great hall, and plopped down on his dais chair, immediately being greeted by a kitchen boy handing him a tankard of ale. He leaned back in his chair and his legs were spread as he took one foot and rested it atop the table.

  “I was hoping to put into my mouth a big hunk of juicy –” his tunic rode up in the process, and the bulge under his braies was evident. “ – meat,” she finished, staring at his groin.

  His eyes met hers as he took a swig of ale. When he realized just what she was looking at, he spit the ale halfway across the table and jumped to his feet.

  “Sir Stanwick,” he bellowed, and his steward came running in from the courtyard. His shout was so loud, Muriel was sure the entire manor had heard it.

  “My lord, what is it?” His steward rushed to his side.

  “Instruct my head cook to start the meal anon.”

  “The – meal my lord?” The steward cocked his head and looked at him as if he were addled. “We’ve just finished dinner not two hours ago. The next meal isn’t scheduled until later tonight.”

  “Then reschedule it,” he said, quaffing the rest of his ale and slamming the tankard down on the table. “My new clothier is hungry – and so we shall eat.”

  “Your new clothier?” He looked over to Muriel. “Are you saying the merchant’s daughter is hungry and so the entire manor has to change their schedules?”

  “Nay. I am saying I am changing the schedule and I don’t know why there is even a conversation about this. Is there something you don’t understand?”

  “Nay, my lord,” said the steward, shaking his head and starting for the kitchen.

  “My lord, the guards want to know how long they should keep the prisoner in the dungeon?” asked his squire next.

  “Oh, please don’t put Henry in the dungeon,” begged Muriel. “And give him some food, he is very hungry.”

  His eyes met hers and there was a tinge of anger in them. She realized she was telling him what to do in his manner, and he didn’t like it.

  “Guards,” he called out. “Bring the prisoner from the dungeon and put him in the kitchen to work preparing the meal. But keep a guard posted at his side at all times.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Muriel blurted out before she could stop herself.

  “My lord?” ask
ed his squire in question. A mumble went up from the crowd at his decision. “Last time Henry ran away you put him in the stocks for several days, and the time before you left him in the dungeon with little to eat or drink for any entire sennight.”

  “You did?” asked Muriel, wondering if she’d misjudged him for being kind-hearted after all.

  “The only reason I’m bringing Henry from the dungeon is to cook my Tart de brymlent,” said Nicholas. “He will return when he’s done, and tomorrow I will decide his punishment.”

  “Aye, my lord,” said Roger with a half-bow.

  “Now go! All of you. Leave me be. I need to think.”

  The gathering of servants, knights and guards dissipated, leaving Nicholas sitting at the table with Muriel at his side.

  “So what punishment will you give Henry this time?” she asked curiously.

  He took a swig of ale and banged the tankard down on the table, splashing the contents over the rim of the drinking vessel. He got to his feet with his eyes blazing fire.

  “Don’t worry what I’ll do, and you need to stop voicing your opinions aloud. This is my manor, and I rule. I don’t take orders from anyone, especially a woman.”

  “I understand, my lord,” she said with a nod. “And thank you just the same for bringing Henry out of the dungeon.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I did it only so he could make Tart de brymlent, and not because you wanted me to do it.”

  “Of course, my lord, I understand,” she said, brushing off the rushes clinging to the bottom of her gown from the floor. “And I’m sure you’ll want to settle me in my chamber now. Will I be staying in the Ladies’ Solar where I’ll do my work, or will I have room of my own?”

  The lord’s squire heard their conversation from across the room and came running over.

  “Aye, where will she be sleeping?” asked the squire. “I can put a pallet at the foot of your bed next to mine if you’d like, Lord Nicholas.”

  “Oh, no, that will never do,” Muriel blurted out. She looked over to see Nicholas scowling at her. “I mean – I’m sure Lord Nicholas would want his clothier to have space to work and a wardrobe to sleep in, in the work area perhaps.”