England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Chloë was resolute but not beyond listening to advice. Kurtis seemed sincerely concerned and that forced her to pause.

  “Perhaps… perhaps we need to send our own terms to Ingilby, then,” she said thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should tell him that I will go to St. Wilfrid for safekeeping until Merritt is delivered to Keir and it is confirmed that he is indeed Keir’s son. Once that confirmation is achieved, Ingilby can collect me at St. Wilfrid, only by that time, I will have asked for sanctuary and the protection of the church. They will have to protect me if I fear for my life, at least until Keir can come for me. He will bring his armies and fight off Ingilby.”

  Kurtis sighed faintly. “It is a well enough plan,” he agreed quietly. “But you have neglected to take into consideration that Keir is in Wales. We have no way of knowing how long he will be there. He could return next week or in three years. You may be in for a long wait at St. Wilfrid and Ingilby will not give up in his attempts to acquire you. You may live your days in fear and terror of him.”

  Chloë seemed to subdue somewhat but her resolution did not fade. “As long as Keir has Merritt returned to him, I can endure anything. He must have his son back, Kurtis. I can only think of him in this matter and not myself.”

  “Chloë,” Anton spoke from his position near Coverdale’s table. “Kurtis is correct. Ingilby will stop at nothing to regain you, especially if he feels you have gone back on your promise. I cannot in good conscience allow you to do this.”

  Chloë whirled on him, her calm demeanor suddenly stiff with anger. “You would not allow me to marry Keir and I was forced to listen to you. But you will not make this decision for me, Father, not now. I will make this decision for myself and you will not stop me.”

  Anton tensed. “I most certainly can. I can throw you into the vault and lock you away until you come to your senses.”

  Chloë would not be bullied. “I wonder what Mother would say to that?” she ventured, watching her father’s demeanor change. “I would wager to say that she would agree with me after your disgraceful treatment of Keir. Shall we find out?”

  Anton scowled and turned away, waving his hands at his daughter as if to wipe her out of his mind. Frustrated, he wandered over to Coverdale’s collection of fine wines and started the process of drowning himself in liquor.

  With two daughters and a strong willed wife, he knew his was a losing battle. He’d managed to hold off the marriage of Chloë and Keir, which was surprising in itself considering how his wife felt about it, but in this circumstance, Anton knew he would lose. It was too emotional a subject and for all of Blanche’s austere appearance, he knew she would agree with Chloë. Women were too foolish, always thinking with their emotions. He took a long drink of wine, wondering what was to become of his beautiful daughter. It seemed now it was out of his hands.

  Kurtis watched the interaction between Chloë and her father, keeping his mouth shut. He was afraid to add to the conversation, unsure of what he was thinking. He hated to think that he agreed with Anton, but he did. Chloë seemed so determined but he knew, as he lived and breathed, that Keir had to know of this. He could not keep this from his brother. No matter what Chloë wishes, Keir would know.

  Eventually, Cassandra and Chloë left the solar, quiet conversation between them as they whispered out into the hall and faded away. Coverdale still sat at his table with the missive in front of him while Anton stood near the wine, well into his third chalice. Michael and Kurtis were left staring at each other, former love rivals now united in this new threat. Kurtis discreetly motioned Michael with him as the two of them quit the solar.

  Kurtis didn’t say a word until they were well clear of the solar. Additionally, he wanted to make sure Chloë and Cassandra were out of earshot before speaking. As they quit the great keep of Aysgarth, Kurtis turned to Michael.

  “I am riding for Keir immediately,” he told him. “My brother has to know what is transpiring.”

  Michael nodded. “Agreed, but you should not ride for him. It should be me. You must stay here with your wife. Moreover, someone has to stay here with Chloë and prevent her from doing anything foolish until Keir can be reached. I fear she will not listen to me, but as Keir’s brother, she is bound to listen to you.”

  Kurtis wriggled his eyebrows, emitting a pent-up sigh. “You are more than likely right,” he admitted. “Then you should leave right away. There is no time to waste if Keir is only given a fortnight to make his decision.”

  “He is at Beeston Castle?”

  “That is the rally point. I would assume he should be there.”

  Michael didn’t hesitate. As he turned in the direction of the stables, Kurtis reached out and grabbed him. Their eyes met, cornflower blue to pale, icy blue. They had known each other a long time and had faced death together, and they both knew that the hard feelings regarding Cassandra were only temporary. They were still united and still friends.

  “You were there when Keir endured Madeleine and Frances’ deaths,” he said quietly. “We cannot allow him to go through that again, Michael. You, of all people, know what losing Chloë would do to him.”

  Michael nodded with some sadness. “I know,” he muttered. “But honestly, Kurtis, given the choice, will the man want his son back? Will he sacrifice the woman he loves? Keir will make the decision but it will kill him to do it.”

  “What decision is that?”

  “He will want the boy.”

  “And I say he will want Chloë.”

  “There is only one way to know for certain.”

  Kurtis nodded, letting go of Michael’s arm and watching the man head off into the bailey, heading for the knight’s quarters and his possessions. He remained on the steps leading into the keep until Michael, on a fully armored charger, rode from the gates and off into the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Wales is a wild place.

  As Keir rode at the head of his army, it was his one predominant thought. He hadn’t been here in years, not since the Battle of Irfon Bridge and Llewelyn ap Gruffydd’s death. He hadn’t truly thought on that event in years but now that he was back in Wales, he found himself reflecting on the battle, the people who had aided in the victory, and the friends he had lost during that campaign. It had been a very long time ago but he still remembered young knights he had served with, men with a passion for king and country, and he missed those who had not survived. It seemed like another lifetime ago.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he could see Lucan riding to his right, slightly behind him, his eyes trained on the dramatic green wilds of Wales for any sign of trouble. There were, in fact, about two dozen knights riding directly behind him, all from various northern houses, men he was acquainted with to varying degrees and all very fine warriors. The Earl of Lincoln, Henry de Lacy, had arrived just as Keir was mobilizing the army to leave Beeston and the man rode towards the middle of the army upon one of his wagons because he was completely exhausted from having traveled non-stop all the way from Lincolnshire. Battle marches were difficult for both the young and the old.

  Before they had left Beeston, Keir and de Lacy had met privately to discuss the upcoming quest and to render a plan. Keir was to field command the army but the Earl had final say in all commands and control. That didn’t particularly bother Keir, but rather took some of the responsibility off of him, which brought some relief. He had enough on his mind and the earl’s shared responsibility was welcome.

  The army had been moving for three days. They would stop when it became too dark to travel, eat and take what sleep they could, before moving off at the first sign of light again. It had made for grueling days because Keir pushed a swift pace. Harlech was about eighty miles from Chester and Keir tried to push the army at least twenty miles a day, which they had fallen short of twice. The third day, however, they exceeded the goal. By Keir’s estimation, they would see Harlech sometime late on the morrow.

  He had already sent out scouts, men who would observe the conditions of Harlech
Castle and report back to Keir. These men were young, light of weight, and rode swift horses. By night of the third day, they had returned with the news that Harlech was fully under siege by thousands of Welsh and Edward’s army was nowhere to be seen. Keir and de Lacy could only surmise that the king was on his way but too far away to converge on Harlech simultaneously with the army from the north. After brief deliberation, de Lacy made the decision to move on Harlech without waiting for the king. Keir didn’t particularly agree but he had no choice. They would see battle upon the morrow.

  That night, when everyone had retired for, more than likely, their last solid sleep for quite some time, Keir sat down to scribe a missive to Chloë. His tent was dark but for a small taper on his travel table, a dented iron brazier burning peat to stave off some of the Welsh chill, as he carefully scratched out the words that were in his heart. He was increasingly apprehensive for Chloë’s fate should he perish in battle and he wanted to send her words of comfort and joy, something she could cling to should he not return. He had already said everything he could say to her but somehow, in writing his feelings, it was different. The words were his, written by his own hand, and she would forever have something that was a physical piece of him.

  As he sat and wrote, the torn shift that belonged to Chloë lay bunched up in his lap. Every so often, he would hold it up to his nose, smelling her faint, gentle scent, closing his eyes at the feelings it provoked. He could not begin to describe the loneliness he felt, the longing to feel her in his arms again. It was a physical pain that radiated through his entire body. He clutched the shift in his right hand as he carefully penned the missive with his left.

  It was very late when he finally finished, sanding the ink and carefully rolling the vellum to close it with wax and his seal. When he finally slept, it was with Chloë’s shift clutched to his face, inhaling her scent as he slept deep and dreamless. But it was only for a few blissful hours and he was up again well before dawn, summoning a messenger to return his missive to Aysgarth and the delicious redheaded woman he had left behind.

  As the messenger fled and he began to dress for what would inarguably be a long and brutal day, Keir couldn’t help his thoughts from lingering on Chloë.

  He said a small prayer to her, hoping she could hear him, hoping she understood just how much he loved her. He wasn’t sure he would get another chance to tell her from this day forward and hoped that God, in his infinite mercy, would give him the opportunity. The smell of battle was already in the air.

  Unfortunately, the second missive never made it out of his hands. The army was attacked by Welsh rebels before dawn the next day and the entire battalion went into battle mode. The rebels did what damage they could before breaking for Harlech to warn the besiegers of the incoming English army.

  Keir had to split his column up to send some men after the rebels while the remaining force swung into high gear and marched at swift speed towards Harlech, preparing to engage the Welsh the moment they arrived. Undoubtedly the rebels attacking the castle would be alerted and ready for them, no matter how hard they tried to prevent it.

  The War in Wales was in full swing.

  *

  Michael had been riding hard from Aysgarth to Beeston, stopping only to rest and water his charger. The animal was a sweating, foaming mess, but that was usual with him. Michael would stop, allow the horse to drink, splash water on the sweaty neck, and then continue on until after nightfall when he would stop for a few hours to allow the horse to rest.

  Around noon on the second day, he met up with a rider traveling very fast northward. The man was obviously a messenger because he traveled light and swift, with no armor to speak of, and Michael wouldn’t have paid much attention to him except for the pouch the man carried on the haunches of his horse. It was a faded leather pouch but he could see the colors of Edward on it and he raised his hand, stopping the man by blocking his path with his fat black charger. The messenger pulled his excited Spanish Jennet to a halt.

  “You, there,” Michael boomed. “Where are you coming from?”

  “Beeston Castle, my lord,” the man replied.

  Michael lifted an eyebrow. “Do you know of Keir St. Héver?”

  “I bear a missive from him, my lord.”

  “To whom?”

  “The Lady Chloë de Geld, my lord. I am bound for Aysgarth Castle. Please allow me to pass.”

  Michael waved him off. “Keir is my liege,” he told the man. “I mean you no harm. Have the armies from the north gathered yet?”

  The messenger nodded. “Mostly,” he replied. “They have received orders to move for Harlech Castle immediately.”

  Michael couldn’t help the surprise on his face. “They were not due to leave for Harlech for another three weeks.”

  “Those plans have changed, my lord,” the messenger replied. “When I left, they were already mobilizing.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “They moved out at dawn yesterday, my lord.”

  Michael sighed heavily, pondering the information. It was not good news. “Very well,” he said. Then he pointed a gloved finger at the man. “Under no circumstances are you to tell the Lady Chloë that Keir has already gone on into Wales. Is that clear?”

  “It is, my lord.”

  “She is the nosy sort. She may bombard you with questions on Keir’s condition, but do not tell her he has gone to battle.”

  “Understood, my lord.”

  Michael waved the man on. Spurring his charger forward, he could only hope now that he reached Keir before the man arrived at Harlech. As it was, Michael was going to be chasing the English army through the badlands of Wales, something he was not particularly looking forward to doing. A lot could happen to a lone English knight with Welsh rebels about, especially if they were out for blood.

  Michael briefly considered turning back, but given the consequences, he was willing to risk his life, mostly because he knew that if the situation was reversed, Keir would do it for him. There would be no question.

  He pushed on.

  *

  Standing in Chloë’s borrowed chamber at Aysgarth, Kurtis watched his sister-in-law calmly finish packing whatever bags she hadn’t already packed for her return to Pendragon. He was agitated, angry and frustrated, a bitter combination that made him pace about.

  Kurtis was trying very hard to think like his brother but he was beginning to second guess himself, especially since Chloë seemed so determined to have Keir’s son returned to him. He was terrified he was fighting a losing battle, terrified of what Keir would do to him when he found out. The situation was beginning to speed out of control.

  “You should never have sent a missive to Ingilby agreeing to his proposal with your provisions,” Kurtis fumed. “The proposal was addressed to Keir, not you. It is his right to respond to it.”

  Chloë didn’t rise to his anger. She knew Kurtis was upset and she understood why. But that didn’t change facts.

  “My mother gave me permission to send it,” she told him. “She approved of every word written. I thought we agreed that I would make the decision for Keir.”

  “You decided,” Kurtis shot back. “I never agreed with you. I still do not.”

  Chloë sighed faintly and returned to the satchel she was securing. “I am sorry you do not understand,” she said quietly. “As much as I respect you, Kurtis, I must make my own decision in this matter. I must do what I feel is best for Keir.”

  Kurtis growled and turned away, pacing the wooden floor like a caged animal. “This is not what is best for my brother,” he grumbled. “Do you not understand anything of the art of negotiation, Chloë? I would stake my life on the fact that Ingilby will not kill the boy because in doing so, he loses his only bargaining tool. Did you not think of that? What you have done is play right into his hands. You have made a naïve mistake and committed yourself to something you had no right to commit yourself to.”

  Chloë looked at him, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
“But what if he is not bluffing?” she wanted to know. “What right do I have to play with Merritt’s life?”

  “You do not even know if the boy is Merritt!” Kurtis was starting to shout, pointing fingers at her as he spoke. “You know nothing of these games and neither does your mother. You have behaved stupidly!”

  “Kurtis,” Cassandra admonished softly. “You are unkind. Chloë is only trying to do what she feels is best.”

  Kurtis was furious. “She had no right to do it,” he snapped. “I told her to wait for Keir. I have even sent Michael after him. If your sister does not trust my judgment better than that, judgment that Northumberland trusts implicitly I might add, then I have no idea what I am doing here. I should be on my way home if your sister is too stubborn and foolish to listen to sage advice.”

  By this time, Chloë was tearing up, turning back to the bags on the bed and struggling not to weep.

  “I do respect your judgment, Kurtis,” she said softly. “But I feel strongly that I cannot take the chance that Ingilby will not do as he has threatened. Who will tell Keir that his son was killed because we did not agree to his demands?”

  “And who will tell Keir that his betrothed has married another man?” Kurtis shot back. “You are involving yourself in deadly games, Chloë. What if your amazing plan of committing yourself to St. Wilfrid does not work? What if Ingilby captures you and marries you? Do you have any idea what that will do to my brother? He will go mad and your foolish surrender will have been the cause of it. Are you so perfect that you think you know everything?”

  He was shouting angrily by the time he was finished. Chloë held her tears as long as she could but his words were hurtful. She was attempting to do what she felt best but Kurtis didn’t think much of her thought processes. He was condemning her, perhaps rightfully, perhaps cruelly, but it was condemnation nonetheless. Distraught, she burst into tears and fled the chamber.