Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “It does not matter,” she replied softly. “All that matters is that I am well and Stephen healed me. Ky, you must help me, please.”

  “How?” he raised his voice and she shushed him. “I’m trapped. I canna do anything for ye, lass, and ye know it.”

  As he grew agitated, she grew desperate. Her expression was beseeching. “Ky, listen to me,” she whispered. “I do not have much time, so you must know this; my husband is a good man. I lied to you when I told you that the English killed my mother. You know she had been mad for some time. She had thrown herself into the fire and they mercifully ended her life before she burned to death. I could tell you so many wonderful things they have done for me but I do not have the time. All I can tell you is that I lied to you. My husband has not been terrible to me. In fact, he is the most wonderful man I have ever met.”

  Kynan stared at her as if she had gone mad. “The big brute?”

  “Aye.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Have ye lost yer mind, lass?”

  Joselyn smiled as she shook her head. “Not at all,” she replied. “With everything that has happened to me… my husband has overlooked all of it and he loves me deeply. He is kind, compassionate and brave and I love him with all my heart. I want to help him and protect him. Will you please help me do that?”

  Kynan’s brow furrowed as if he did not understand her words. “Help ye?” he rattled his chains. “I am the one who needs help, Jo-Jo.”

  Joselyn was frustrated that he was not getting her message. “If you help me, I will convince my husband to release you,” she made a promise she was not sure she could keep, but she had to gain his cooperation. “I need your help. I need you to tell me what you know about the Scots. What are they planning, Ky? Are they preparing to attack Berwick again?”

  He studied her a moment, eventually backing off the grate as his manner cooled. He could see that somehow, someway, her English husband had bewitched her. She was more loyal to him than she was to her own people, or at least she believed she was. Her young mind was confused.

  “I wouldna know what me men are planning,” he said after a moment. “I have been locked away in the bowels of this place. If me men are planning an attack, I’m not a part of it.”

  Whatever warmth they had experienced when she came into the cell was evaporating. Joselyn could feel it. Mistrust hung over him like cloud.

  “Ky, please,” she gripped the iron bars, her pale blue eyes boring into him. “He is the only man who has ever been kind to me and I love him. Can you not understand? I do not care about Scots or English loyalties. This is not about politics or kings or war. I only care about my husband and I will do anything to keep him safe.”

  “Including betray yer kin?”

  “My kin tried to kill me,” she fired back. “I have the scar on my back to prove it. Why would you protect these people?”

  Kynan backed away from the grate, his eyes riveted to her. He was unsure, confused, exhausted by his tribulations and baffled by his cousin’s love for her English captor. The knight had professed the same feelings, so with Joselyn’s confirmation, he was coming to understand that they shared something very special. Still, her shift of loyalties was unsettling. He couldn’t be glad for her new-found happiness just yet.

  Joselyn watched him move away from her, back to the shadows that had become his home. She watched him with eyes of sadness, of agony, wishing he could understand what she was attempting to accomplish. But he did not understand. All he knew was that Stephen was the enemy. He probably thought she was the enemy, too. The thought infuriated her.

  “If you will not help my husband, then I will say this and speak of it no more,” she hissed, fighting off tears. “If something happens to Stephen because of you and your foolish rebels, I swear to God that I will never forgive you. And I will hate you for the rest of my life.”

  Kynan simply hung his head. Joselyn walked from the vault in tears.

  *

  The evening meal at Berwick Castle that evening was an extravaganza of culinary delight. After her encounter with Kynan, Joselyn had retreated to the kitchens to prepare her masterpieces. The stores had been somewhat replenished and she had a variety of ingredients to work with, and work with it she did. She had fowl prepared a variety of ways and with sauces such as plum and currant. There were also several egg dishes; eggs beaten and mixed with milk, cheese and herbs, then baked. There were tons of nuts and cheeses, with great loaves of bread baked with a variety of herbs and other ingredients incorporated into them. But most of all, there were pickled lemons shipped all the way from London, a most impressive and expensive addition. Every time Joselyn ate one, her lips puckered up and her eyes watered terribly so she was not too fond of them. And, of course, she made sweet cakes for her husband with loads of honey and walnuts.

  Stephen and Kenneth arrived late to the meal and looking somewhat subdued. But Stephen had a smile and a kiss for his wife as he took a seat on the bench, delving into the roast chicken in front of him. Kenneth followed suit and between the two of them, they ate almost half of what was on the table. Stephen would not share the sweet cakes with Kenneth until the man threatened to fight him. Begrudgingly, he shared his treats.

  The hall was warm and fragrant with smells of food and the sounds of soft laughter. In addition to Stephen, Kenneth and Joselyn, several senior soldiers and knights were also in attendance, including Lane de Norville and Sir Alan. They were all most complimentary of the meal and Joselyn blushed prettily as the perfect hostess. Stuffed and ill with too many sweets, Stephen could not have been prouder. She was sweet, polite and good at conversation but when she brought about the subject of helping Kenneth find a wife again, Kenneth indelicately changed the subject by asking if there were more sweet cakes in the kitchens. No, there weren’t, but she had something just as wonderful. Joselyn leapt up and disappeared from the hall.

  Wine in hand, Stephen watched her go, returning his attention to Kenneth only when Joselyn left his sight. He noticed that ice-blue eyes were appraising him. Stephen lifted his eyebrows at the man.

  “Why do you look at me so?” he demanded.

  Kenneth stared at him a moment before grunting and lifting his wine to his lips. “You know why.”

  Stephen’s good humor faded. “You are not going to start that again, are you?”

  Kenneth licked the wine from his lips. “You know it is for the best. I told you earlier. My discussions with your Scots prisoner were not particularly fruitful.” He had no idea that he had missed Joselyn’s visit to Kynan by minutes, resulting in a very defensive and agitated prisoner. “Nonetheless, I do not like the gist of the small conversation we did have. I think it would be best if you sent your wife away from here, someplace safe. You must get her out of Berwick for I fear the lack of Scot activity these past several days are leading to a bigger, more organized build-up.”

  Stephen looked frustrated. “She is safer here than she would be traveling on the open road. Anywhere I would send her is days away and I cannot go with her. I do not want her exposed if I cannot be there to protect her.”

  Kenneth grunted. “Now you are being ridiculous. Send her with a contingent of soldiers and a couple of knights. Send her to de Lara’s holding.”

  “Forestburn Castle?” Stephen shot back, bordering on shouting.

  “Aye, Forestburn,” Kenneth lifted his white eyebrows at him. “It is the safest place for her. Toby will take good care of her until this madness is over.”

  Stephen pursed his lips at him and looked away. Kenneth watched him a moment before finally draining his wine. He set the cup down and leaned forward on his elbows.

  “Why did you bring me here, Stephen?” he asked.

  Stephen would not look at him. “That is a stupid question.”

  “Nay, ’tis not. Tell me.”

  Stephen was fidgeting angrily. “To assist me.”

  “I am trying to do that yet you resist. I see this situation more clearly than you do, my friend. Why do
you refuse?” Even though Kenneth already knew the answer, he still wanted to hear it from Stephen’s lips. But Stephen refused to answer him, so Kenneth supplied the words. “I know you do not want to be separated from her. But would not you rather have her far away and safe than have to worry about her in an overrun fortress?”

  Stephen looked at him, then, the blue eyes dull with both anguish and reluctance. He looked as if he were preparing to retort but suddenly shut his mouth and looked away again.

  “Must we speak of this now?” he mumbled.

  “There is no more time, Stephen. You must send your wife to Forestburn and do it now.”

  Stephen was silent a moment, contemplating. He finally sighed heavily, as if he had just given up a mighty battle. He raked a hand through his dark hair, fidgeting, apparently settling the situation in his own mind.

  “Very well,” he murmured, bringing his gaze up to meet Kenneth’s. “I must trust that you are seeing the situation more clearly than I am. If you say that I must send my wife away, then I will trust you. But I will ask a favor of you.”

  Kenneth was relieved that Stephen was finally coming to his senses. “You do not have to ask,” he said. “Just tell me what you would have me do.”

  “Escort Jo-Jo to Forestburn. If I cannot be with her, then I would trust her life only to you.”

  Kenneth nodded slowly. “If that is your wish, then I shall do it.”

  Stephen looked rather defeated, returning his attention to his chalice. “She is the most important thing in the world to me, Ken. More than castles and kings, Joselyn matters above all.”

  “I understand.”

  Stephen didn’t say anything more but it was obvious that his depression was growing. Joselyn emerged back into the hall at that moment, carrying a tray covered with a white cloth. She was smiling as she approached the table and set the tray down between the two men. Standing so close to Stephen that she was butted up against him, she faced Kenneth.

  “Our stores have been replenished in the past few days and we were fortunate enough to have a small supply of sweet salt,” she told him. “I was able to make cakes from it. I do hope you enjoy them.”

  She pulled the cloth off the tray and both Stephen and Kenneth peered at the contents with interest. They were small, round cakes with a white substance smeared on the top of them. Stephen, never one to be shy when it came to his wife’s cooking, ran his finger across the white, creamy substance and tasted it. Deciding it was well worth eating, he picked up the little cake and bit into it. Custard oozed out from the other side and he had to move fast to slurp it all up. Kenneth, seeing that Stephen was well into a feast of sweet custard, popped a whole cake into his mouth and chewed with relish.

  “These are marvelous,” Stephen licked his fingers. “What is in them?’

  Joselyn beamed. “I made the cakes from white flour and sweet salt,” she told him. “Then I made custard from eggs, milk and sweet salt. When the cakes were done, I cut them in half and put the custard in the middle. The white cream on the top is made from sweet salt and milk.”

  “Dear God,” Kenneth popped another in his mouth. “These are the most amazing cakes I have ever had. What is this sweet salt you speak of?”

  Stephen had another whole one in his mouth. “I first had it in the Levant,” he told him. “It looks like salt but is extremely sweet, hence the name sweet salt. There is a supplier in London that I get it from and he ships his supplies from the Far East. It is not cheap nor is it plentiful, but I have been spoiled by it, more so now with my wife’s skillful cooking.”

  Kenneth grabbed two before Stephen could get to them, shoving them both into his mouth. “I believe I have had it before,” he said, mouth full. “It is sweeter than honey.”

  Stephen nodded, taking the last cake before Kenneth could snatch it. “It is an utter indulgence,” he sucked the custard off his fingers, pulling his wife against him with his left arm. He kissed her on the cheek. “Remarkable as always, Lady Pembury. Kenneth will now return to the Marches with tales of your legendary culinary skills and make me the envy of every man on the border.”

  Joselyn grinned shyly, accepting a hug from her husband and a wink from Kenneth. Stephen then burped loudly as Kenneth fought down the urge to vomit, both of them so full they could barely move. As Joselyn grinned and wiped the sweat from her brow, Stephen suddenly noticed how rosy her cheeks were and put a hand to her forehead.

  “Christ,” he hissed, immediately standing. “Your fever is flaring.”

  Joselyn’s smile vanished as she put her hand to her forehead as if to reaffirm his diagnosis. “I do not believe so,” she insisted, fearful that he was going to take her to bed and tie her down. “I just came from the kitchens and they were quite warm. I feel fine, truly.”

  He would not even respond. He put his arm around her shoulders and turned her for the door. But they hadn’t taken three steps when the entry door suddenly squeaked back on its hinges. Into the warm and fragrant hall emerged the battle hardened figure of Tate de Lara.

  In full armor minus his helm, the man looked weary and stubbled as he pulled off his massive leather gloves. His gaze fixed on Stephen and Joselyn.

  “Lady Pembury, you are looking well,” he greeted Joselyn before looking to Stephen. “Can I safely assume that the only reason you are leaving the great hall is because there is nothing more to eat? I have ridden twenty miles since early this morning and was hoping to make sup before you inhaled everything not nailed to the table.”

  Stephen grinned. “There is still plenty of food left, although Kenneth and I have managed to eat all of the sweets. You should have arrived earlier.”

  Tate heard Kenneth’s name, suddenly noticing the man as he rose from the table several feet away. A weary grin creased Tate’s mouth as he and Kenneth came together in a powerful handshake, reaffirming bonds that had been present since they were youths. Although Tate had a brother, Kenneth was like one and it was a satisfying moment as he gazed into the familiar features. Even perpetually stone-faced Kenneth’s expression warmed at the sight of his friend and liege.

  “Ken,” Tate greeted. “Good to see you, man. You are looking fat and old.

  Kenneth lifted a blond eyebrow as Stephen piped in. “That is exactly what he said to me,” he said. “We must find better insults, or at least more original ones. We are getting too predictable in our old age.”

  Tate laughed softly, letting go of Kenneth’s hand as he studied his friend. He was very glad to see him. “Are the Marches treating you well?”

  Kenneth nodded. “Well but boring,” he replied. “I was infinitely thankful for your summons to join Stephen. It feels strange not to see both of you every day, fighting side by side as we did for all of those years.”

  Tate slapped the man on the shoulder. “It goes against the natural order of things for the three of us to not serve together,” he said, eyeing Stephen as he did so. “And speaking of serving, may I have a word with you, Stephen?”

  “Of course,” Stephen took Joselyn’s hand and passed her off to Kenneth. “Can you please see Lady Pembury back to our chamber?”

  Kenneth took her hand in his big warm palm. “It will be my pleasure.”

  “Take her directly to the chamber, Ken. No walking around and absolutely no returning to the kitchens no matter how much she begs.”

  Kenneth lifted an eyebrow at Stephen as he tucked Joselyn’s hand into the crook of his elbow. He began to lead her away. “Is he always so overbearing?” he asked her.

  Stephen pursed his lips at the question as Joselyn cast him an impish glance over her shoulder. “Most always,” she turned back to Kenneth. “But he means well.”

  “Do not be so tolerant, Lady Pembury. You do not really want to return to bed, do you?”

  Joselyn fought off a grin, speaking loudly enough so that Stephen could hear her. “Perhaps there is something extremely devilish and strenuous that I should be doing instead.”

  Kenneth nodded as if he knew e
xactly what she meant. “We’ll find something.”

  Stephen grunted to catch their attention, reminding them that he was indeed hearing every word as they meant he should. “If she is not in the bed when I return to our chamber in five minutes, I will hold you personally responsible, St. Héver. And I promise you will not like my reaction.”

  Kenneth cast him a disinterested glance before looking back to Joselyn. “What shall we do?”

  Joselyn lifted her shoulders. “He is rather big. Perhaps we should listen to him.”

  “I am not afraid of him. Well, not much.”

  “Should we do as he says?”

  They were at the door by that point. As they passed through the threshold and out into the mild night air, Kenneth cast a pointed look at Stephen.

  “Let him wonder if we have.”

  They were gone through the door. Stephen’s expression was still molded into a disapproving frown as he returned his attention to Tate, who was grinning quite openly at him. He shook his head at the sight of Stephen’s face.

  “Since when are you without humor?” he wanted to know. “Kenneth is usually the serious one and you are usually the one I cannot keep straight. What has happened to you?”

  Stephen grinned reluctantly. “My humor is intact but not when it comes to my wife’s health.”

  “Health?” he repeated. “What is wrong with her? She looks well enough.”

  Stephen shook his head. “She has been running a slight fever since she was wounded. I cannot seem to rid her of it.”

  Tate nodded in understanding. “Whatever is causing it, I am sure you will cure her,” he said, eyeing him as he moved on to a more important subject. “Perhaps seeing her son might improve her health.”

  Stephen’s dark eyebrows rose with realization, surprise. “So you have the boy?”

  Tate nodded. “Cade Alexander is in the gatehouse warming himself by the fire,” he said. “He is a well behaved, thoughtful boy and Buccleuch was reluctant to let him go. But after I explained the circumstances, of which he was unaware, he released him.”