England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Jean’s ice-blue eyes were glittering flames of triumph. “And then Winding Cross shall be no more.”

  Christian’s gaze lingered on his father a moment before moving to a leather bladder of wine. Taking a healthy swallow, he eyed his father again. “It’s taken over seventy years to come to this point,” he said quietly. “By tomorrow, the de Gares will be at our mercy. Truthfully, we have never discussed what to do with Alex once we bring him to his knees. I suppose we should solicit Henry for his advice on the qualities of mercy.”

  Jean’s attention lingered on his son, a much taller and much wider version of himself. Dark blond hair, sun-kissed with streaks of vibrant blond framed his face and trailed to his shoulders in a glorious mane of gold. Thanks to his Nordic ancestry, his son had inherited a chiseled, perfectly angled face and eyes of the palest, coldest blue.

  “I suppose we should,” Jean said after a moment. “In faith, I have never thought on it. If Alex survives the siege, I could petition Henry to have him tried for the crimes of his ancestors.”

  “And what crimes are those?” a faint smile tinted Christian’s lips. “Can you even remember?”

  Jean cocked an eyebrow, struggling to adjust his chest protection so that the biting edge of the steel would not chaff him. “Well that I do. They were traitors, all of them. They opposed the rightful king of England those years ago and sought to punish the St. Johns for our righteous views.”

  Christian shook his head. “The de Gares supported Richard the Lion Heart, and the St. Johns supported his brother Prince John. ’Twas a simple difference of opinion that started this bloody war in the first place.”

  Jean’s mouth tightened indignantly. “John was the rightful king; his father, Henry II, had intended to name the man his heir before he passed away. Richard inherited the throne and spent a total of three months in England during his entire ten year reign.”

  Christian sighed; they had traversed this brittle argument before and he had no desire to explore the politics yet again. But he couldn’t help offering one final, biting observation. “This whole madness between the St. Johns and the de Gares stems from William de Gare’s support of King Richard while Uly St. John sanctioned his brother, John. A difference of loyalties has scarred our existence for seven decades. Good Christ, father, the crown is actually at peace for the moment. Why can’t we sample the same?”

  Jean shook his head irritably. “ ’Tis far more complex than your simple assertion, Christian.”

  Christian rolled his eyes in exaggeration as if he had forgotten the most critical, earth-shattering factor of all. “Ah, yes, let us not forget the fact that William de Gare married the woman Uly St. John had loved since childhood. Left lonely and bitter, Uly used William’s loyalties as an excuse to wage battle against the man.”

  Jean’s face was taut with emotion. “For an intelligent man, your views of family honor are most restricted.” When Christian returned to his drink, unwilling to engage in verbal combat with his father, Jean banked his emotions. Today was to be a most monumental day and he would not dampen it with a repeated argument; even if his eldest fought and upheld the family integrity, he had made it clear that he did not agree with the origins of the Feud.

  “I will join you and Jasper in breaching the bailey,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet as he moved to secure his broadsword. “Quinton can remain outside to maintain the integrity of the perimeter to ensure that no one escapes our wrath.”

  Christian drained the wine bladder and wiped his mouth, moving to retrieve his helm. “Did you discover anything useful from the captured de Gare soldiers?”

  Jean nodded firmly. “I have learned that Alex removed his eldest daughter from Winding Cross last week, sending her north to St. Esk Convent. Apparently, he had caught rumor of your return to the province and was not going to take any chances with his daughter’s safety.”

  Christian frowned. “I have never made any threat toward the girl. Good Christ, I have even forgotten her name. Caroline…or Katherine, wasn’t it?”

  “You’re not even close. Her name is Gaithlin – the Lady Gaithlin de Gare.”

  Christian snorted. “How could I ever have forgotten a name like that? But not to venture off the subject, why would he remove her simply because I have returned home?”

  Jean was frank. “Because all of England fears the Demon of Eden,” he said. “The entire province knows of your prowess on the Welsh border, fighting those who would resist Henry’s reign. When Alex heard that you had returned home, he naturally assumed your skills would be used against him. Your military brilliance is no secret and the burning fortress on the crest is testimony to that fact.” He smiled broadly, clapping his powerful son on the shoulder. “You have managed to accomplish what no other St. John has managed, Christian; you have brought Winding Cross to her knees.”

  Christian gazed at his father a moment before shaking his head, a quirky smile on his lips. “Your compliments are a bit premature, are they not? Winding Cross is still standing, and the de Gares are still within her bosom.”

  “Not for long,” Jean said confidently, latching his helm as his son did the same. “Winding Cross will fall. If she does not, we shall confiscate the girl and hold her for assurance of de Gare’s defeat. Tiny St. Esk is no match for our military power should we focus our attentions on Alex’s daughter.”

  Christian cocked an eyebrow as he lowered his visor. “I will not violate an abbey. Not even for a de Gare.”

  “You will do as I say,” Jean didn’t hesitate with his casual reply as he and his son emerged into the impending dusk. “St. Esk has been violated before, by the Scots as well as the English. The Catholic Church becomes angry, protests until the offending party presents a substantial donation, and then they proceed to rebuild their sacked sanctuary without another word. It’s the way of things.”

  “I am a knight. I am supposed to protect the church, not threaten it.”

  “As a knight, the church belongs to you to do with as you please. You serve the church, the church serves you. There is a good deal of give and take within the holy sacrament of your vows, Christian. You must not be afraid to utilize your links with the church to your advantage. Certainly, God and his holy order take advantage of their devoted knights however the whim suits them.” He nudged his son encouragingly. “When you acquire the girl, consider it a gift from the church to her most loyal son. You are simply collecting what they have been gracious enough to retain until your arrival.”

  Christian sighed, shaking his head in dispute. “I cannot say that I agree with your logic,” his gaze raked the distant scenario, tendrils of smoke filling the darkening sky like dancing snakes. After a moment, he sighed heavily. “Very well. Suppose we decide to abduct the girl. Then what? Certainly you would not have me bring her back to Eden where she could possibly escape and make her way home again. Eden and Winding Cross are a mere eight miles from one another.”

  “She would not escape from the vault.”

  “You would put a lady in the vault?”

  “She’s a de Gare, Christian. I would most certainly put a de Gare in the vault.”

  Jean’s chestnut destrier was brought around by a pair of young squires. Christian watched his father mount the steed with some difficulty, indicative of his advancing years.

  “I would take her to the woods and tie her to a tree before I would allow you to put her in the vault,” Christian said. “That bestial hole is hardly fit for the rats that inhabit it.”

  Jean snorted with humor as he gathered his reins. Beside him, his son mounted effortlessly and secured his heavy boots into his stirrups as he collected his reins. “Then take her into the woods and hang her from her thumbs,” he told his son. “Better yet, take her to Scotland and let your mother’s clan have their way with her while we demand Alex’s surrender.”

  Christian sighed with disgust at his father’s ideals. Normally, he was an amiable man with a good deal of moral sense. But when it came to the de Ga
res, he seemed to lose all of his dignity. As if no punishment was too horrid to bestow upon his mortal enemy; even the de Gares of the female gender.

  “Taking her to Scotland would be better than the vault of Eden,” he muttered, reining his charger in the direction of the failing fortress. “From the looks of things, however, it would appear we need not worry about your alternative plan. Winding Cross is deteriorating rapidly.”

  Jean smiled beneath his lowered visor as they advanced toward the scene of destruction. The chargers slowed as the two men closed in, noting the collection of soldiers wading about the moat in anticipation of the complete collapse of the drawbridge as several knights struggled against the burnt, crumbling wood. The hole in the partially-ruined wooden viaduct afforded the St. John army an ample view of the interior of the keep; there was little movement, mostly a glimpse of a panicked soldier here and there as he scampered for cover.

  A perfect siege was near completion, thanks to Christian’s brilliance and Jasper’s strength. Quinton was in the middle of the struggle to completely obliterate the bridge and Christian could hear his brother shouting over the roar of weapons and activity. As Quinton roared commands, a knight the size of a bear moved from his heavily armored charger and clung to the edges of the disintegrating bridge, using a double-edged battle axe to widen the chasm for complete encroachment. Christian smiled at the sight of his cousin, with intelligence equal to that of a rosebush, as he used his unearthly strength to single-handedly destroy the remains of Winding Cross’ bridge.

  “Dear God, Christian, I can taste victory,” Jean inhaled deeply, drinking in the sight of his near-success. “Once Jasper has opened the rupture, triumph shall be ours.”

  Christian didn’t reply; he was studying the scene with a flare of apprehension. They had come closer this day to breaching Winding Cross than in all the years the de Gares and the St. Johns had been doing battle and Christian was increasingly curious as to the reasons behind their success.

  Certainly, there had been a good deal of resistance, but not as much as in previous skirmishes. Additionally, there should be dozens of soldiers opposing Jasper as he clung to the drawbridge, hacking away at the widening opening. But there were no signs of resistance and no indication of any de Gare defiance whatsoever. It was coming to occur to him that nothing seemed as it should.

  Fighting off a rising apprehension, Christian’s eyes skimmed the battlements above, noting that there were no longer soldiers gracing her ledges. They were gone. Good Christ, why hadn’t he noticed the absence before? He had been so consumed with his father’s conversation and the activity at the bridge that he had failed to note the lack of movement along the ramparts.

  Being a seasoned warrior, he suspected subversion of catastrophic proportions. But at the moment, he could not isolate the form by which this treachery would come. As his gaze moved from the deserted battlements to the nearly-destroyed bridge, he suddenly had an inkling of an idea as to the fashion of sedition – he’d seen it before, many a time; in fact, he’d been a party to the same type of double-edged betrayal in his long career and horror flooded his battle-weary veins. Good Christ, had they played into de Gare’s hands with their confidence and intensity? Had Alex turned their arrogance against them in order to lure his enemy into a most destructive position?

  He didn’t know why he suspected Alex de Gare’s intentions, but he did nonetheless; the man was a cunning tactician. He always had been. Somehow, he knew that Alex wanted the St. John army to swarm the bridge as they were doing now in assurance and fervor. Somehow, he knew they were about to meet their end.

  Christian’s heart stopped beating.

  “Get away from the bridge!” he suddenly roared, startling both his charger and his father’s. As the animals danced about excitedly, he continued to vent his panic. “Move away from the bridge now!”

  Quinton, by the edge of the moat, turned curiously to his brother as did several other St. John soldiers. But they did not do as ordered and Christian spurred his charger toward the writhing, wet mass of men in a desperate attempt to divert disaster. But even as his exhausted steed thundered across the moist dark earth, Christian knew already that he would be too late; Jasper was nearly finished hacking away at the charred bridge and the St. John army was poised and waiting to enter, intent upon devouring their mortal enemy. It was the perfect set-up.

  The Demon had been tricked. He cursed himself for not being alert enough to see it sooner. As Christian watched in horror, the drawbridge suddenly let loose with amazing speed. Completely vertical not a moment before, it was horizontal in a brief, terrifying second, slamming with bone-crushing force onto the dozens and dozens of St. John soldiers that had been waiting to violate Winding Cross’ bailey.

  Man and animal alike suddenly found themselves crushed into the moat, covered by a massive expanse of devastated bridge, unable to escape the confines of the mucky water. In one crushing blow, Alex de Gare had managed to kill more men than he could have possibly hoped for by trapping them in a watery, permanent grave.

  Christian reached the lowered bridge just as an entire horde of de Gare soldiers came rushing from the exposed fortress, relatively fresh and prepared to do battle. Unable to help his own men as they drowned in the murky depths of Winding Cross’ moat, he found himself in the heat of a vicious battle. Undermanned as a result of the soldiers that had been smashed into the muddy waters, the assured victory he had been anticipating after a day of fervent effort was rapidly slipping through his fingers.

  In faith, he wasn’t surprised nor angry. He should have expected as much from a seasoned adversary like Alex de Gare. All that mattered now, however, was doing as much damage as possible before retreating to Eden to regroup. Wielding his massive broadsword against the collection of zealous warriors, he caught a glimpse of his armored cousin as the massive knight emerged, wet and obviously shaken, through the hole in the drawbridge he had been expanding.

  Jean appeared by his son’s side, hacking furiously at the enthusiastic de Gare soldiers. Stunned and disappointed that his victory had been cruelly destroyed, his rage was boundless. With every chop, every parry, he vented his rage on his most bitter enemy.

  Surrounded by a multitude of fiercely-fighting men, Christian was caught up in the fervor of the battle. As the sun set into the dark-blue recesses of the western horizon, he was vaguely aware when his father lodged himself against his right flank, the aged face of a weary old man flushed and perspiring beneath the lowered visor.

  “The girl, Christian!” Jean roared above the noise of death. “Go get the girl!”

  Christian dispatched a particularly powerful warrior, immediately engaging another foot soldier as a de Gare knight maneuvered his way toward him. He eyed the approaching knight as he exchanged heavy sword blows with the common trooper, his father’s words sinking deep into his comprehension. Doing away with his opponent in short order, he dared to divert his attention for a brief, aggravated second.

  “What am I supposed to do with her?” he shouted.

  Jean was well beyond the realm of fury. He wanted to destroy Alex de Gare in the worst possible way, however he could. “Take her beyond the borders to the Galloway territories!” he roared. “Take her as deep as you can go and stay there until I send word!”

  The de Gare knight was closing in on Christian with malevolent intent and he turned away from his father in time to witness an extended broadsword aimed at his head. Fending off the sharp blow, his concentration moved to the fight at hand as his father persisted to deliver the final understanding of his directive.

  “Galloway Forest!” he hollered to his son, watching as the massive man engaged the de Gare knight. “Do you hear me, lad? I said Galloway..!”

  “Forest!” Christian bellowed to complete the nagging command, terribly irritated that his father seemed intent on aiding the de Gare knight in his quest to do away with him. He leveled another heavy chop against the powerful knight before issuing a concluding reply. “I heard
you the first time! Now, shut up while I fight for my life!”

  Jean wasn’t the least bit concerned that the de Gare knight could best the Demon of Eden in battle, hence his demand to occupy a portion of the man’s attention. Whether Christian agreed or not, Jean was determined to see his orders carried through; the violation of St. Esk and the abduction of the Lady Gaithlin de Gare.

  ‘The intensity… the marvel

  I was in awe;

  Though I was loathe to confess

  my veneration of a de Gare’s forbearance.’

  ~ Chronicles of Christian St. John

  Vl. III, p. CCLIX

  CHAPTER TWO

  Not surprisingly, the tiny convent of St. Esk was built to withstand a siege. As Christian watched his men take a battering ram to the heavy oaken door of the dark-stoned abbey, the fact that he was reluctant to violate the sanctuary of God’s holy house only added to the aversion of procuring the de Gare wench.

  Still, he could scarcely believe the mindless folly his father had forced him into, using words of cunning and cruelty to coerce his reluctant son. No matter what Christian’s convictions, Jean bullied the much larger and much stronger man into compliance with the powerful weapon of family honor.

  You are my son and will do as I say.

  Certainly, he was the man’s son. But he was also a knight, and being a knight of the realm meant upholding the sanctity of the church. It was distressing to realize he was walking the fine line between sustaining his knightly vows and the loyalty of his family’s honor, not quite devoting his full allegiance to either. As he listened to his men grunt and curse in their efforts, he wished there was an easier way of going about his father’s objective. He wasn’t pleased with the compromise his dedications had taken.

  Shifting impatiently on his massive legs, he let out a weary sigh; given the heavy losses Eden had sustained during her most recent siege of Winding Cross, he would have been entirely happy to rest and regroup before attempting the siege of St. Esk. But there was no time for respite, as Jean had sternly suggested. Better to gain the de Gare wench immediately and Christian had been sent north with all due speed.