England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He had spent days in Aysgarth’s dark and horrid bottle dungeon, a place crawling with damp and moss and furry creatures that nibbled his feet when he slept. He was angry and edgy from his treatment. He also knew that a stroke of grand luck had presented itself with the appearance of Chloë de Geld, the woman on whom so many lives hinged, including his own. Alphonse knew that his reward would be great should he present her to Ingilby. For him, the opportunity must not be wasted. He had to take the chance.

  He threw an elbow back into the nearest sentry, smashing the man in the nose. As the man dropped his weapon and fell back, Alphonse swooped down and picked up the sentry’s fallen sword. He turned it on the second sentry as the man brought his blade up and stabbed the sentry in the neck. With the second guard down, he turned for Chloë.

  Keir was already rushing at him but he swung the sword at the man, catching him across his unprotected chest. A bloody gash slashed through Keir’s tunic but he was undeterred as he swiped his arms at Alphonse, who barely managed to evade him. Keir’s momentum took him in one direction as Alphonse raced in the other, heading directly for Chloë.

  The women had seen what had happened and shrieked with fear as the dark and dirty prisoner ran towards them. Garran, standing behind the women, was unarmed but threw himself forward to protect them. He tried to push them up the stairs, away from the escaped prisoner, but Alphonse was fast. He plowed his sword into Garran’s gut, barely stopping to pause as he pulled the blade free and ran at the hysterical women.

  Meanwhile, Keir had gained his footing and his momentum, racing after Alphonse but being stopped by Garran. Gored, the man collapsed forward and blocked Keir’s path. Keir was forced to leap over his wounded friend, slowing his movement.

  The three women were trying to make their way up the stairs but Chloë could not move very fast. Cassandra and Summer had her by the arms, dragging her, as Alphonse mounted the stairs behind her and in a brutal move, grabbed her long and luscious hair and yanked her backwards.

  Chloë screamed as she fell back, right into Alphonse’s waiting arms. The sword came up to her neck just as Keir mounted the steps.

  “Come no closer,” Alphonse barked, the blade lodged against Chloë’s slender white throat. “Another step and I will kill her.”

  Keir didn’t outwardly react. The knightly training took over, the professional persona, and he remained cool and calm. He stood a few steps below Alphonse, his ice blue eyes riveted to the dark Spaniard. He didn’t dare look at Chloë, terrified that he would see pain and horror in her eyes and he would be unable to control himself.

  “Drop the sword,” he rumbled. “You will not make it from this place alive if you do not.”

  Alphonse didn’t budge. He held the blade against Chloë’s neck, feeling her panicked breathing against him. His left hand was wound up in her incredible mane of hair, holding her fast.

  “You will permit me and the lady safe passage or she will not make it from this place alive, either,” he told him. “Safe passage is the price for her life.”

  Keir lifted an eyebrow at him, seeing movement at the top of the stairs in his peripheral vision but making no move to focus on it. He didn’t want to tip his hand to Alphonse that something might be going on behind him.

  “I was in the process of escorting you to your liege,” he said evenly. “You already had safe passage. Taking the lady hostage was unnecessary and a mistake that will cost you your life.”

  Alphonse smiled thinly, tightening his grip on Chloë. “You cannot threaten me, St. Héver,” he said in a low voice. “You will back away now. Do it or the lady will suffer.”

  Keir took a slow step back and then another, his eyes on Alphonse. They never wavered. He could hear Chloë weeping softly with fear but he never took his eyes off the enemy. He could see movement behind Alphonse, drawing closer, but he kept his gaze fixed. Oblivious, Alphonse pulled Chloë down the steps with him.

  Chloë yelped when he twisted her torso due to his grip on her hair, the pain in her back radiating. Alphonse pulled her to the bottom of the stairs and she struggled to get her footing, crying out when he jerked her roughly and caused more pain. Keir backed away, seeing the figure moving down the stairs towards Alphonse in his periphery. He was starting to feel some hope until Alphonse caught sight of the figure as well.

  Quickly, he whirled to see Michael bearing down on him with sword drawn. Alphonse was forced to release Chloë as a substantially larger man attacked him and, very quickly, he was in a fight for his life.

  Chloë screamed as Alphonse stepped on her in his quest to escape Michael’s flying sword. Keir bolted into action, racing to her and pulling her out of the way as Michael and Alphonse engaged in a brutal sword battle. But Keir wasn’t particularly concerned about that. He was only concerned with Chloë and swept her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs to the keep as the deadly sounds of a sword fight played out behind him.

  He entered the cool, dark keep and the sounds of the battle faded, being replaced by Chloë’s soft sobs. Only then, when he was sure she was out of danger, did he slow his pace and speak.

  “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Did he hurt you?”

  Chloë wept softly, her hands on his face, kissing his cheek as her tears wetted his face.

  “Nay,” she murmured. “He did not hurt me overly. I am well enough. But your chest….”

  She was reaching out to get a look at the gash across his torso but he stopped her, kissing her hands. “It is not as bad as it looks,” he assured her. “Come now, let’s get you away from this chaos.”

  Chloë’s last vision of the ward was of Garran bleeding on the ground and Michael in mortal combat. It was seared into her brain.

  “But we cannot simply leave them,” she was pointing to the keep entry. “You must go and help them.”

  Before Keir could reply, they came across Cassandra and Summer, standing in the solar door near the stairs. Both women were weeping and, upon seeing Chloë, their weeping resumed in chorus. Keir set Chloë on her feet when the woman tried to reach for her sister. As Chloë and Cassandra threw their arms around each other, Summer grasped at Keir’s arm.

  “My father,” she was trying very hard not to sob. “He is injured. I must….”

  Keir nodded quickly, cutting her off before she could finish her sentence.

  “I shall go to him now,” he assured her, heading back for the keep entry. “You will all go inside the solar now and bolt the door. Do not open it for anyone but me, Michael or Kurtis. Is that clear?”

  “But…!”

  “Go. That is not a request.”

  Shaken but understanding what he was telling her, Summer and Cassandra helped Chloë into the solar and slammed the heavy oak door. As Keir bolted out of the keep, he could hear the heavy iron latch being thrown.

  Outside was much as he had left it. Michael and Alphonse were still hacking at each other, only Michael obviously had the upper hand. Alphonse’s hands were bloodied where Michael’s sword had nicked him, causing blood to splatter on his tunic. They were cornered over by the wall that separated the stable yards from the rest of the bailey, the sounds of their fight echoing off the old stone.

  Keir’s focus was riveted to the pair for a moment before he looked around to assess the rest of the damage. A few soldiers were over helping the pair of escorts that Alphonse had injured while still more were bent over Garran, who was lying supine on the ground. Keir went for his old friend immediately.

  Garran was in a bad way. He was bleeding profusely, his hands over the gushing torrent from his gut, about three inches above his pelvis. His face was devoid of color as his dark eyes met with Keir.

  “I am afraid that my time has come, Keir,” he said softly. “It appears that I will not live to see my daughter wed.”

  Keir wouldn’t give into the grief. He couldn’t. He moved to picked Garran up by the shoulders as he motioned a few other men to help him.

  “You are not dead
yet,” he said flatly. “Your daughter is a miracle worker. She will tend you and you will heal.”

  Garran grunted in pain as four men picked him up and headed for the stairs to the keep.

  “Not this time,” he grunted. “Already, I can no longer feel my legs. It is my time.”

  Keir opened his mouth to reply just as Kurtis, followed by a slender man in dirty ecclesiastical robes, emerged from the stable yards. Kurtis looked at Garran, at Michael and his opponent over by the wall, and scowled with confusion. He raced over to his brother.

  “What in the hell is going on?” he demanded. “What happened to…?”

  Keir cut him off. “Go and help Michael dispatch that fool,” he barked. “When you are finished, come and find me. We have business to attend to.” He looked over at the rather shocked young man in the brown drape. “You, priest! Come with me.”

  Kurtis moved in Michael’s direction as the priest leapt to do Keir’s bidding. Between Keir and the three soldiers, they managed to get Garran up the stairs and into the keep. Keir was already bellowing for the women to open the solar door as he entered the stone structure so by the time they reached it, the panel was wide open.

  Inside the stuffy room, Cassandra and Coverdale were clearing off Coverdale’s enormous oak desk while Anton, startled by the chaos, was pressed back against the wall in stunned silence. He just stood there as Keir and several soldiers lay Garran upon the big desk. Summer rushed to her father’s side.

  Blood was already staining the desk beneath his big body and dripping to the floor as Summer pulled away the tunic and cut through the top of the hose. She was surprisingly calm, having dried her tears to focus on her task. She wasn’t hysterical by nature, and that innate calm took over her demeanor. She could see that her father was cleanly gored in a very vital area and if she didn’t gain control of the bleeding quickly, all would be lost. She began rattling off orders.

  “I need my medicament bag,” she said evenly, although her voice was trembling. “I also need rags, or linens, anything to stop this bleeding. Please, I need it quickly.”

  Coverdale fled. They could hear him hissing at his servants as men moved swiftly to do his bidding. As Summer and Cassandra struggled to stop the life from draining out of Garran, Keir grasped Chloë by the arm.

  “Come with me,” he ordered softly. Chloë looked at his face, seeing he was in command mode, but before she could open her mouth, Keir motioned to the thin man in the dirty robes hovering near the door. “You, Priest – you will marry us immediately.”

  The young man with bad skin and a bald head came away from the wall, rather confused and fearful. “A-as you say, my lord,” he agreed. “But I do not have any of my….”

  Keir cut him off. “Do it now. That is not a request.”

  The priest looked between Keir and Chloë with big, startled eyes. “Now?”

  “Now. This very second. Can I be any plainer about it?”

  The priest could see that that no one was in the mood for questions or propriety. In fact, he was a little disoriented at the swift falling of events, having been summoned by a big knight yesterday only to end up at Aysgarth where confusing things were taking place – sword battles in the bailey and a big man laying upon the table in the solar, bleeding to death. Aye, odd forces were at work here. Perhaps it was best he do as he was told and be done with it.

  “Do we have the lady’s parents present?”

  Both Chloë and Keir looked over to their left where Anton was still pressed fearfully against the wall. Chloë pointed.

  “That is my father,” she said.”

  The priest waved Anton over. “You are required, my lord.”

  As Anton forced himself to move around the big desk, he ended up slipping in the blood that was pooling at the base. Recovering his balance, he appeared at Chloë’s side with the wide-eyed look of a hunted deer. Keir kept waiting for the man to recover his tongue and protest the wedding, but so far, Anton hadn’t made a noise. He remained silent, which was well and good. Keir couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t snap the man’s neck if he as much as uttered a negative word.

  “Where is Mother?” Chloë asked.

  Anton muttered unsteadily. “She went upstairs to rest. Shall we send for her?”

  “Nay,” Keir barked, his eyes on the priest. “There is no time.”

  Spurred onward by the demanding groom, the priest made the sign of the cross over Keir and Chloë. “On your knees,” he told them.

  Keir helped Chloë kneel before he sank to his knees beside her. As the door flew open behind them and several servants race in with the items Summer had requested, the priest looked to Chloë.

  “Your name, lady?”

  “Chloë Louise Isabella.”

  The priest then turned to Keir, his silent question obvious. Keir responded in a strong voice. “Keir Kenneth Antony.”

  The priest nodded swiftly, licked his nervous lips, and launched in to the wedding mass, speaking very quickly.

  “Keir Kenneth Antony, wilt though have this woman to be thy wedded wife, wilt thee love her, and honor her, keep her and guard her, in health and in sickness, as a husband should a wife, and forsaking all others on account of her, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  Keir looked at Chloë, the impact of the moment not lost on him. With all of the terror and chaos that had gone on over the past few minutes, he was starting to realize this was the moment he had been waiting for. Chloë was finally to be his. His ice blue eyes regained some of their warmth as his expression softened.

  “With all my heart, I shall,” he murmured.

  As Chloë smiled sweetly, the priest turned to her. “Chloë Louise Isabella, wilt though have this man to be thy wedded husband, wilt thee love him, and honor him, keep him and guard him, in health and in sickness, as a wife should a husband, and forsaking all others on account of him, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  Chloë’s eyes were swimming with tears by this time. “I will,” she murmured. “Of course I will.”

  The priest nodded before looking to Anton. The man was standing stiffly next to Chloë, looking somewhat pale.

  “Do you give this woman in marriage, my lord?” the priest asked.

  Anton didn’t even look at Chloë or Keir. He simply nodded, once, and the priest continued. “At this time the woman is given by her father,” he said, looking to Keir. “You will repeat after me: I, Keir Kenneth Antony, take thee Chloë Louise Isabella to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, till death do us part, if the holy church will ordain it, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  Keir had a smile on his lips as he looked at Chloë and repeated the words. “I, Keir, take thee Chloë to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, till death do us part, if the holy church will ordain it, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  He sounded so soft and sweet as he said it and Chloë smiled, tears running down her face. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as she repeated her own vows, her voice tight with emotion, watching him kiss her hand as she finished. Finally, the priest raised his hand over their heads and made the sign of the cross once again in blessing.

  “Eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind, Giver of all spiritual grace, the Author of everlasting life; Send thy blessing upon these thy servants, this man and this woman, whom we bless in thy Name; that as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so these persons may surely perform and keep the vows and covenants betwixt them made, whereof this Ring given and received is a token and pledge, and may ever hereafter remain in perfect love and peace together, and live according to thy laws; through our Lord.”

  “Amen,” Keir whispered.

  His eyes closed briefly before turning to his new wife and kissing her sweetly on the lips. There was a great d
eal of emotion between the two of them, deeper and richer now with the reality that they were truly husband and wife. So much had happened for them to reach this point, and now, it was finally finished. Chloë giggled through her tears as he kissed her again and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly and trying not to move her around too much, knowing her sore back had surely been aggravated by Alphonse’s abduction attempt. But he had her in his arms and, God willing, they would never be apart again.

  Chloë had her arms wrapped around Keir’s neck, holding him, as she heard sniffles behind her. She turned in his arms to see Cassandra standing next to Anton, wiping at her eyes. The woman had paused in assisting Summer to listen to the last few strains of her sister’s wedding ceremony and when she saw that both Chloë and Keir were looking at her, she tried to laugh off her weeping demeanor.

  “I am so happy for you both,” she said, though she was mostly looking at Chloë. “I suppose it is not exactly the wedding ceremony you had in mind, but it is good enough.”

  Chloë grinned as Keir helped her to her feet, and she embraced her sister warmly. “I could have been married in a stable as long as it was to Keir,” she said. “We are man and wife and I care not where it has happened, only that it has. I have never been happier in my life.”

  As they hugged again, they eventually turned to Anton, who was still standing next to Cassandra. He still appeared pale and drawn, but the startled look had faded from his expression. In fact, he looked rather serious as he gazed at Chloë.

  “You are a married woman now, Chloë,” he said. “I… I hope you understand that I have always done what I thought was best for you and your sister. If that was not a popular choice, then I would at least hope… well, I suppose it does not matter now. I told you that you could marry Keir if he returned from Wales, and I stayed true to my word.”