England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Radiant. I have only seen her once since that time, but she was very happy.” He eyed his brother expectantly. “And you? Did you marry Elizabeau?”

  Rod’s smile broadened. “Of course. She is my angel.”

  “Children?”

  “Seven. Three boys, four girls.”

  Rod’s eyebrows lifted. “Seven children?” he repeated. “Good lord, Rhys, must you always outshine us?”

  Rhys laughed softly, turning his attention to his brother’s mounted companions for the first time. To his right, the large figure he thought he recognized had removed his helm and he found himself staring into Uncle Rhett’s very old, very tired, face. Rhys’ astonishment returned.

  “Uncle Rhett,” he made his way over to the very old man, reaching up to grab the outstretched hand. “My God, ’tis a miracle to see you. I thought for sure you would be dead by now.”

  Rhett was indeed very old, and exceedingly weary from his long trip. He had not the energy at the moment to dismount his horse.

  “Rhys,” he squeezed his nephew’s hand, tears in his old eyes. “The miracle is seeing you, lad. Up until six months ago, I thought you were dead.”

  Rhys could feel tears of his own as he gazed up at his beloved uncle. “I’ve missed you,” he said softly.

  “And I have missed you.”

  Rhys just held on to his hand a moment, swallowing away the lump in his throat. He looked at Rod. “You told him?”

  Rod nodded, standing next to his brother and putting a hand on his shoulder. “When John died and young Henry assumed the throne, I saw no reason to keep the secret from Rhett. In fact, there is really no reason to keep the secret at all. Elizabeau’s time has passed and we are in the era of a new king.”

  Rhys looked seriously at him. “You haven’t told anyone else, have you? David could be in a great deal of trouble if it was known that he allowed Elizabeau and I to escape and then lied to cover our tracks.”

  Rod waved him off. “It’s not like that, I assure you. I had David’s permission to tell Rhett. And someone else.”

  Rhys cocked an eyebrow. “Someone else? Who else?”

  “Me.”

  The third member of the party made himself known. Rhys turned to see the man remove his helm and he was struck by the dark hair and brilliant blue eyes facing him. It was a young man, no more than seventeen, very handsome, and Rhys suddenly felt his knees go weak. The lump in his throat returned full force. He stared at the young man, knowing him on sight. Twelve years could not erase the memory of that little face he had left behind, now grown and strong before him.

  “Greetings, Father,” the young man said quietly. “Do you remember me?”

  Rhys couldn’t help it; he put his hand over his heart, hearing his son’s voice for the first time in twelve years. Tears sprang to his eyes as he moved to the young man, gazing up into his handsome face.

  “Of course I remember you,” he said hoarsely. “I have seen you every night in my dreams for twelve years.”

  Maddoc du Bois smiled timidly at the man he barely remembered, but there was no mistaking the emotion that flowed between them. His father had been something of an icon to him his entire life. Setting his helm on the pommel of the saddle, he dismounted the horse and realized, when he came to stand, that he was slightly taller than his father. His smile grew; so did Rhys’. After a few moments’ hesitation, they threw their arms around each other.

  Rhys had tears streaming down his face as he held his son. He never wanted to let him go. But he released him after several long moments, stepping back and holding the young man’s face between his hands, inspecting him closely. He had grown to look a good deal like him and Rhys smiled as the tears continued to fall.

  “I have dreamt of this moment more than you can know,” he murmured. “I am sorry, Maddoc. Sorry that I had to leave you. But given the circumstances, it was better that you stayed with your grandmother. I could not take the chance that you would come into danger, too.”

  Maddoc nodded his head, tears of his own muddying his vision. “I know,” he tried to sound braver than he felt. “Uncle Rod told me everything. I must admit, I was shocked. I had grown up thinking you were dead. I feel… I feel like I have been reborn somehow and given a second chance to know you. How many sons can say that?”

  He was so well spoken; Rhys felt his heart swell with pride. He couldn’t help himself; he kissed the boy on both cheeks as he released him.

  “Not many,” he wiped at the tears on his face, still staring at him, unable to take his eyes from him. But his gaze eventually moved to the armor the young man wore and it looked vaguely familiar. He touched it. “This armor… I believe I know it.”

  “You do,” Rod stepped forward and clapped Maddoc on the shoulder. “This is the armor you left behind when you fled with Elizabeau those years ago. We gave it to Maddoc. We did not think you would mind.”

  Rhys shook his head, sniffling away the last of his tears. “I do not, of course,” he said. “Are you a knight, then?”

  Maddoc nodded proudly. “I was sworn in after the new year. I serve Christopher de Lohr.”

  Rhys stared at him. “De Lohr?”

  “Because of you, he accepted my fealty as a legacy.”

  Rod stuck his nose into the conversation again. “Do not let him fool you,” he said. “The lad is a marvelous knight, just as his father was. Just look at him; he’s big and strong, and he has your quiet wisdom. He’s quite remarkable; de Lohr couldn’t wait to get his hands on him.”

  Rhys’ smile was back, proudly gazing upon his son. He swore that if he felt any more happiness, he would burst. “I cannot tell you how much it pleases me to know this,” he touched the young man on the face, hardly able to find the words to describe what he was feeling. “But there is so much more to speak of. Please come inside and let us become better acquainted. You can meet your brothers and sisters.”

  Maddoc nodded, taking his horse by the reins and standing by his father in preparation for the trek to the castle. They just stared at each other for a moment, still in disbelief. Rod took his own animal and they began to walk back towards Bellay.

  “What has happened to you in all this time?” Rod asked, his gaze falling on the enormously tall bastion in the distance. “We find you a garrison commander for your father?”

  Rhys lifted an eyebrow. “The past twelve years have seen many adventures and many changes. For one, my father died years ago and my eldest brother shortly thereafter. My second oldest brother now assumes the title of Duke and has given me this appointment. Moreover, I do not use the name du Bois. I use my rightful birth name of de Foix.”

  Rod nodded. “David told me. Armand de Foix, is it?”

  Rhys nodded. “Both Elizabeau and I have been living under assumed names. My children are de Foix as well.”

  Rod nodded in understanding, his gaze repeatedly moving to his brother as if he still could not believe he found the man. He finally put a hand on his shoulder, touching him, so very glad to be with him again. There was so much to say, so much to ask, but at the moment he could only think of one thing.

  “Tell me something, brother,” he said softly. “Was it worth it?”

  Rhys’ lips twitched with a smile. As he opened his mouth to reply, he suddenly heard distant cries and he looked up to see Elizabeau walking underneath the raised portcullis with several children in tow. His heart swelled at the sight of her and he could feel tears in his eyes once more. Without a word, he walked over to Maddoc, took the reins of his horse, and handed them to Rod. Then he took Maddoc by the elbow, eyeing his brother as he did so.

  “Every tear, every fear, every joy and every heartache has been well worth the price,” he said quietly, waving at his wife when she lifted her hand in greeting. “I would do it again a thousand times over for that woman, make no mistake. She is my dream come true.”

  Rod smiled as he watched his brother lead Maddoc down the road to introduce him to the rest of the family. Rod started to
follow, but a word from Rhett stopped him.

  “Wait, boy,” he said softly. “Let Maddoc meet his family before we intrude. Let the lad live his dream.”

  Rod almost asked him who he meant; Rhys or Maddoc. But the more he thought on it, the statement applied to either man. But mostly, Rod thought it applied to Rhys. As Rod and Rhett watched, Elizabeau suddenly threw her arms around Maddoc and hugged him tightly. Rhys, not to be left out, put his arms around them both and was joined by a host of du Bois children hugging and laughing. They could see the little ones dancing around.

  Together, the family swarmed Maddoc. Life, for them, had come full circle.

  * THE END *

  ‘He hath awakened from the dream of life—’

  ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Author’s Note

  I hope you enjoyed Rhys and Elizabeau’s story. It was great fun to write this novel – firstly, because I love Rhys so much and secondly because I was able to incorporate the de Lohr brothers into this story. They are my favorite go-to characters and are in four of my novels – Spectre of the Sword, Archangel, Rise of the Defender, and Unending Love. Their father and mother are central characters in While Angels Slept, so the de Lohr Dynasty is well incorporated into my novels.

  And young Maddoc, the little boy Rhys left behind when he fled… well, don’t feel bad for him because he gets his own story in Unending Love and Rhys makes an appearance. In fact, a bonus chapter of Unending Love is included in this novel, so enjoy it! It’s one of my very favorite stories!

  Thank you for reading!

  FRAGMENTS OF GRACE

  A Medieval Romance Novel

  Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy

  CHAPTER ONE

  Pendragon Castle, Cumbria

  Year of Our Lord 1291 A.D.

  “Keir, you must not!”

  A big knight with bloody, well-used armor was standing in his way, blocking him from proceeding up the stairs. They were narrow, steep steps that Keir knew extremely well, considering this was his castle. Right now, his closest friend stood between him and what was at the top of the steps. Keir St. Héver was so far gone with anguish and panic that he lashed out a massive fist, striking the knight in the jaw and sending him in to the wall. Keir tried to shove his way past the man but the knight wouldn’t budge. He grabbed Keir as he attempted to push past.

  “Nay,” the knight breathed, his cornflower blue eyes intense. “Keir, please no. You must not….”

  Keir roared with frustration, shoving past, scrambling up the stairs now on his hands and knees because Michael of Pembury would not let him go. Michael held on to Keir’s legs, trying to keep the man from seeing what was at the top of the stairs. But Keir would not be stopped – he kicked at Michael, his closest friend, a man who was only trying to protect him.

  God help him, Keir knew that. He knew that Michael was only trying to spare him. But he had to see for himself what Michael had seen, what a few of his soldiers had seen, when they had finally retaken Keir’s castle and went in search of his young family. His wife and two small children had been in the castle when it had been breached by an envious and vicious neighbor. The man had waited until Keir had taken more than half his army on a mission to a neighboring fiefdom before acting on his jealousy.

  Word had reached Keir of the betrayal and he had made haste to return to Pendragon Castle, his garrison, only to discover the castle in a state of chaos. Smoke hung in the air from the burnt portcullis, a twisted charred wreck as a tide of enemy soldiers flooded the bailey and the keep. Keir and his men had fought their way into the bailey, realizing that the remaining men he had left behind were dead or dying, having been murdered and burned by the invaders. The keep, too, was filled with the enemy, looting it of everything Keir had worked so hard to accumulate.

  But the loss of possessions didn’t bother him. It was his family he was concerned with, his wife Madeleine and their two small children, daughter Frances and son Merritt. He had left them here, buttoned up in Pendragon’s solid keep, protected until his return. But those plans had horrifically turned on him and as he ran for the keep, it was all he could do to keep his panic in check. He knew that if his emotions consumed him, he would be no good to his family. He had to save them.

  Pembury had made it into the keep before Keir did, racing up the narrow spiral stairs that could be so treacherous, until he reached the top floor where the family’s chambers were. He was horrified to see both chambers had been breached, twisted wreckage of doors, and further horrified to see what lay inside. He had stared at the sight, hardly believing what he was seeing, before heading back down the stairs to head Keir off. He didn’t want the man to see what he had. No man should see such visions of hell.

  But Keir would not be stopped. He was crawling up the stairs now because Pembury was hanging on to his legs, refusing to let him go any further. Keir kicked at Michael, struggling to dislodge him, losing the battle to his panic in the process. He began to sob heavily as he clawed his way up the stairs. Hanging on to his legs, Michael released sobs of his own. The pain was too great for them both. What Michael had seen, Keir had already surmised. He knew what was up there.

  Keir was a powerful man, unnaturally powerful as he dug his gloved fingers into the stone, one step at a time, struggling up the stairs even as Michael tried to stop him. He could see the landing now and two open chamber doors, the smell of smoke and death filling his nostrils. He could hardly see through his tears or breathe through his sobs, but he had to see what Michael was trying so hard to prevent him from seeing. Just one more step… and one more….

  Keir was nearly to the top of his hard-fought climb when he paused long enough to kick Michael in the face and send the man reeling off him. Scrambling to his feet, Keir managed to stagger to the top of the steps, thrusting himself inside the master’s chambers, his ice-blue eyes searching for his wife and children. It was a relatively small chamber so it wasn’t difficult to assess the situation of the entire room in an instant. And then, he saw it, lurking through the smoke like a macabre vision from the darkest depths of a nightmare. The sight sent him back to his knees again.

  He just sat there on his knees, weeping pitifully at the horror before him. The strongest man in Cumbria, a man with a reputation for might and fairness and intelligence, was reduced to sobbing rubble. Keir St. Héver stared at the body of his wife as she lay crumpled against the wall, smoldering in the corner with the body of a small child. Keir fell forward, ending up on his hands and knees, crawling towards the smoking ruins of the people he had loved best in the world. The heavy, oily smell of burning flesh filled the chamber.

  He fell forward onto his belly, reaching out a hand to grasp Madeleine’s foot. He was sobbing so heavily that he ended up vomiting, spewing the contents of his stomach across the wooden floor. The bed behind him had been half-burned as had a portion of the floor, now black with soot and char. Whoever had killed his wife and child had tried to burn down the room as well. Keir pushed himself up and went to his wife, trying to take her in his arms but she was stiff and smoking. He remembered her as sweet and soft. Anguish overwhelmed him.

  Madeleine’s face had been untouched by the flames but her lovely dark hair had been singed off. He tried to hold her, to tell her how sorry he was and how much he loved her, but his grief swamped him and he could not speak. He could only cry. It was then that he took a closer look at the little body wrapped up in Madeleine’s lap. Little Frances was fused to her mother’s flesh.

  As Keir sat on the floor with the corpses in his arms, Pembury reached the top of the steps and stood in the doorway, watching the unbearable scene. He was devastated at the sight, feeling Keir’s pain down to his very bones, but as he watched the display, it began to occur to him that one of the children was missing. If Keir’s other child was still alive somewhere, Michael was going to find him. With renewed vigor, Pembury fled the room in search.

  He hunted well into the day and on into the night, but there was no sign of Keir�
��s two year old son. Eventually, Michael returned to the chamber in the keep, that chamber of horrors, where Keir was still sitting with his dead wife and daughter in his arms. He had stopped weeping and now sat against the wall like a statue with the two of them clutched up against him. It was a pathetic and harrowing sight. It took Michael, two other knights and three soldiers to pry Keir away from his family. Even then, Keir went mad. Michael and another knight, Sir Lucan de Velt, were forced to restrain Keir so he would not hurt himself. The man was bent on suicide, lost to a world of grief that no one could fathom.

  After that, something was dead in the man, something that had died the moment his wife and daughter had. The only thing that kept him going was the fact that his son had not yet been found. Somehow, some way, Merritt St. Héver was out there. He was convinced the boy had survived, an inherent belief that fed his heart and soul and mind. He knew his son was alive, waiting for his father to come for him.

  The question remained… where was he?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Three years later, September 1294 A.D.

  The siege of Exelby Castle

  “You have your orders, St. Héver,” an older, much muddied warrior snapped at Keir. “Get moving.”

  Keir’s jaw ticked but it was difficult to see beneath his wet and dirty hauberk. He said nothing in response, knowing his liege knew how he felt but disregarding his feelings completely. They had a job to do.

  It had been raining heavily for three days, turning the ground in and around Exelby Castle into a quagmire of putrid muck. The army from Aysgarth Castle, seat of Baron Coverdale, was well acquainted with the mud and its detriment to a successful siege. The baron’s powerful army could not move their five big siege engines into position because the mud was so thick, so the archers had taken to shooting heavily oiled projectiles over the wall in the hopes that they would burn long enough in the heavy rain to do some damage. This madness had gone on for two long days.