England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Quinton,” Jean broke from his train of tumultuous thought, his voice soft. “You and Jasper will ride north into the Galloway territory. The village of Cree, as I recall, is lodged near the southwestern portion of the boundaries. You will proceed to locate your brother and determine the state of the situation.”

  Quinton cast his massive cousin a long glance before replying. His father wasn’t drunk this day, as he had been the night he had ordered Christian bound and returned to Eden should the rumors of his disloyalty prove truth. Still, there was an unsettling gleam to Jean’s eyes that was unrecognizable; a developing madness that seemed to have taken hold the very moment Maggie had spouted her vile rumors. It was a madness that went beyond normal de Gare hatred.

  But Quinton was unable to determine to what extent the hatred ran. In truth, he was fearful for Christian should the rumors prove to be true. But he could not dwell on the approaching horrors, the prospect of Jean’s lunacy that threatened to rip apart the very fibers of St. John existence. Instead, he chose to linger on the very real possibility that Christian had maintained the steadfastness of his St. John loyalty in spite of his cunning female captive.

  Quinton refused to acknowledge a change for the worse. Until then, he vowed to defend his brother’s loyalties, even in the face of his deranged father.

  “I am sure all will be well, Da,” he said with more conviction than he felt. “Knowing Christian, he’s probably kept her tied to a tree the entire time. God have mercy on the de Gare woman, for the Demon most certainly will not.”

  Jean didn’t reply for a moment, the tension in the room thickening as Quinton’s assessment of his brother’s qualities lingered in the still air. Quinton looked to the floor as Jasper looked away, both men knowing that Jean did not share the opinion of his youngest son’s statement. But neither one of them were willing to succumb to the Lord of Eden’s suspicions; to them, Christian was as infallible as God and admired by the two of them mayhap more than any other living man. Maggie’s words could not be truth.

  Please… don’t let them be truth.

  “Jasper, if all is well, you will remain behind with the captive while Christian returns to Eden,” Jean reached for a pewter flask of wine and both men cringed inwardly; as volatile as Jean was without the influence of alcohol, he certainly didn’t need the added fuel for his already-raging fire. “Quinton, you will escort your brother home post haste. I have several questions for him.”

  “Like what?” although intimidated by his father as he downed several large swallows of wine, Quinton still felt compelled to defend his brother. “He has done nothing. We have discussed this before; Maggie was obviously lying out of jealously. You are simply supporting her misplaced sense of vengeance by believing her slander.”

  Jean cast his youngest son a long, heady look. “I did not ask for your advice or counsel on this matter. Certainly I can make my own judgments and I choose to suspect that Maggie is more correct than you are willing to give credence.” Bringing the wine to his lips, he sighed as the fortifying liquid coursed over his tongue. “Now, you will do me the courtesy of obeying my orders. Ride north and assess the situation. Either way, I want Christian home to answer to these charges cast upon him. If he is indeed innocent, then I shall duly apologize. If not, then he shall meet my wrath.”

  Jasper drew in a deep breath, puffing his cheeks out with the disbelief of the entire situation. Quinton, too, emitted a long sigh, entirely despondent with his father’s attitude. “And what does that mean? That you’re going to kill him for succumbing to his lusty nature?”

  “I am going to kill him for succumbing to a de Gare,” Jean replied evenly, without hesitation. As Quinton opened his mouth to fervently argue, he held up a sharp hand to effectively cut off his son’s contention. With Quinton properly silenced, he focused on his plainly dismayed nephew. “Jasper, if it is determined that Christian’s loyalties have been compromised, then it will be your duty to do away with the de Gare captive. Do you comprehend me?”

  “Christ, Da,” Quinton moaned quietly, with repulsion. “What good will a dead captive do for our cause? She will be of more value to us alive.”

  “Dead or alive, it is of no consequence. As long as Alex believes she is alive, our goal will be accomplished.” Taking another long swallow of wine, he eyed his nephew and his youngest son. Their expressions of distress and consternation did not overly affect his hardened, maddening heart. “There is nothing further to discuss, gentle knights. Ride north immediately and return Christian to me.”

  Jasper knew better than to argue. He quit the room immediately, his sharp bootfalls echoing off the stone walls of the corridor, fading into nothingness. Only Quinton remained, his jaw ticking with the force of his emotions as he gazed headily at his father.

  “You are wrong,” he finally muttered, a hissing rasp in a last attempt to defend his brother’s honor. “Christian is far more loyal than any of us.”

  “Mayhap, Quinnie,” Jean took another long, forceful drink of wine. “But somehow I suspect that Maggie’s tales were not entirely false.”

  Quinton rolled his eyes in exasperation, his gloved hand slapping helplessly against the oaken desk. “With all Christian has meant to Eden and to the throne of England, you would believe the ramblings of a whore before you’d have faith in your own son’s established character?”

  Jean held up a quelling finger, his Nordic-blue eyes glittering. As Quinton watched, his father seemed to come alive with torment, bleeding from his soul into the very air they breathed. Suddenly, the flicker of madness smoldering within the icy orbs had never been more pronounced and Quinton involuntarily stepped back, as if afraid he too would be touched by the madness.

  “I did not divulge the entire contents of the missive, Quinton,” Jean’s voice seemed to echo strangely. “Before you defend your brother’s character, you will know that he has mentioned his discovery of a blood-link to the House of de Gare. Apparently, he has succeeded in acquiring knowledge to the effect that the de Gares and the St. Johns are distantly linked through the Clan Douglas and he asks that I consider this information before proceeding with my plans.” Watching Quinton’s face take on an odd gray cast, he nodded faintly in support of his theory. “Tell me; would the Christian you have come to know suggest any such mercy towards our most inherent enemy?”

  Quinton swallowed hard, obviously struggling with his shock and confusion. “But… but if we are indeed related by blood to the House of de Gare, then mayhap he has a point. Mayhap we should…?”

  “You will not support his treacherous suggestion!” Jean bolted to his feet, the alcohol already beginning to affect his manner. “Can you not see what has happened? The de Gare bitch has somehow discovered our Douglas ties, conveniently mapping her own heritage in order to save her life. And he believes her, Quinton. He believes her!”

  Shaken and groping for some semblance of control, Quinton averted his gaze from his father’s maddening expression. Refusing to acknowledge that, somehow, Jean might possibly be correct. Mayhap Maggie had been right all along. Closing his eyes tightly as if to ward off the impending verity of the situation, he turned away from his agitated father.

  “Simply because he mentioned the newly-discovered knowledge of mutual Douglas ties doesn’t mean he believes her,” he said hoarsely, fighting off the rising nausea. Dear God, what if Christian has indeed been swayed by the wench? “He merely believes he is doing his duty by relaying the information to you. Mayhap there is some truth to it.”

  Jean suddenly slapped Quinton across the side of the face, bringing a stream of blood from the man’s lip as his signet ring grazed deep into the tender flesh. His ice-blue eyes, wild and unnatural, bore into Quinton’s astonished brown orbs.

  “There is no truth,” he hissed, grabbing Quinton by the hair and shaking him brutally as if to punctuate his unquestionable statement. “We are not related to the de Gares by man or nature or God. They are our inherent enemies and as with all our natural foes, s
hould be eradicated from the face of the earth. Do you comprehend?”

  Lip bloodied and eyes glazed with shock, Quinton could barely nod. There was no arguing with the madness. “Aye, Da,” his voice was a whisper.

  Jean gazed at his youngest son a moment longer before kissing his bloodied mouth, releasing his hair. Disoriented and trembling, he turned towards his desk and the flask of fine wine. “Ride north, Quinnie. Ride north and bring Christian home.”

  Pale and quaking, Quinton struggled desperately against the overload of revelations that had constituted the past several minutes. Wanting to support his brother, yet distinctly baffled by the apparent contents of Christian’s missive. Knowing definitively that nothing would be settled until he rode north and assessed the situation himself and seeing the proof with his own eyes.

  Watching his father drain the flask of wine, he was suddenly very eager to verify the entire circumstance. The sooner the truths were revealed, the sooner Christian could be vindicated or condemned.

  Sighing heavily, Quinton raked his gloved fingers through his hair and turned for the door. “If we ride all night, we should reach Galloway by late tomorrow,” his voice was barely audible; he almost didn’t care if his father heard him or not. “Christian and I will return within four days at the most.”

  Jean didn’t reply and Quinton did not wait for an answer. The sooner he rode north into the wilds of Scotland, the better for all.

  Marching down the smoke-laced corridor, Quinton couldn’t decide if his love for his brother went beyond the hatred he sometimes felt for his father. Christ, if he could only determine which was greater, mayhap he could make a rational decision regarding Christian’s situation. Certainly, if the accusations were true, he didn’t want to return his errant brother to Eden to face certain death. But his loyalties to his family and ancestral beliefs held inherently strong against the incursion of the de Gare woman’s persuasion.

  He was weak, he knew. Too weak to truly help his brother, too weak to truly defy his father’s convictions. The only matter of certainty he was able to perform at the moment was conforming to superior orders, as all good knights were required to do. Obeying his father’s directive to ride northward.

  Northward into the gaping jaws of Christian’s future.

  *

  “They’ve launched themselves to Scotland,” Eldon’s voice was grim. “Our troops are ready and awaiting your command.”

  Clad in chain mail and snug portions of plate armor that fit her voluptuous body poorly, Alicia managed a faint nod. “How long since they’ve left?”

  “At least an hour and a half,” Eldon replied. “It’s taken that long for our spies to return from Eden. Apparently, Quinton and Jasper St. John are leading the company personally.”

  Alicia’s steady gaze met with Eldon’s brown orbs for a lengthy moment before focusing on the broadsword clutched within her hand. “If Quinton and Jasper are heading the party, then it will make our task that much more formidable.”

  Sighing delicately, she sheathed Alex’s heavy sword against her thigh and squared her shoulders in a futile attempt to bolster her sagging courage. God, how she wished there was another way to go about Gaithlin’s rescue; facing Christian, Jasper and Quinton St. John in battle was certainly not the most attractive prospect. But there was no other alternative; she’d known that from the first. The only chance for the successful reclamation of the de Gare heiress was to meet her abductors with full force and pray that Gaithlin would be easily extracted while her captors were occupied in battle.

  It was Alicia’s only hope. One that was weakening by the moment as she pondered the prospects of facing Jean St. John’s most powerful knights within the confines of Galloway. But she maintained the firm opinion that there was no other alternative and she struggled to support a confident, determined attitude under her lover’s intense stare.

  Forcing a weak smile purely for Eldon’s benefit, she met his scrutinizing gaze with a brave expression. “Then the order is given, Sir Eldon. We follow Eden’s party into Galloway to rescue my daughter.”

  In spite of her courageous facade, Eldon could feel her apprehension, mingling with his own. Not only would their rescue incursion be forced to deal with the mighty Demon of Eden, but with his powerful brother and cousin as well. It was an element they had not fully anticipated, although the possibilities had always been present. But neither Alicia nor Eldon honestly expected that Jean would send his two most powerful knights into the wilds of Galloway to support the Demon’s position.

  “It’s a trap,” Uriah stood at the entrance to the solar, his aged face grim. “I told you that woman is setting us up for destruction. She and Jean are working together in this, of that I am sure.”

  Alicia gazed at the older warrior, his words splintering her frail wall of bravery. “Be that as it may, we have no other choice. Gaithlin is in trouble and she needs our assistance.”

  Uriah’s ancient eyes glared at Alicia for a long moment, his expression bordering on sedition. He simply couldn’t believe that his mistress was willing to descend into the Fires of Hell when a trap had been so obviously laid. Even if the bait was Winding Cross’ very own heiress, there were other ways to go about retrieving their native daughter.

  “Have you even considered any other alternatives?” his voice was pleading and condescending at the same time. “Or are you so completely convinced that Lady Margaret is truthful that you would simply accept her word without hesitation?”

  By Alicia’s side, Eldon’s brown orbs glittered dangerously at the man who had trained him since childhood. “You will not use that tone with her, Uriah,” he growled. “Lady Alicia is doing as she sees best and it is not your duty to question her decision.”

  “Someone needs to question her!” Uriah snapped brusquely. “She’s leading us all to our deaths!”

  “Then you are free to remain behind if you feel so strongly,” Alicia replied evenly before Eldon could throttle the man. Grasping her younger lover by the arm in a quieting gesture, her gaze remained focused on her husband’s loyal knight. “Uriah, if I felt there were any other alternatives, then I would have gladly considered them all. But there is no other choice. We must follow Eden’s troops into the wilds of Scotland if we are to locate my daughter. And if we die in the process, then I suppose it is the Will of God. We must trust Him to protect us in our most vulnerable hour.”

  Mottle-cheeked underneath his scratchy beard, Uriah glared at Eldon and Alicia for a long moment before turning away in an attempt to control his anger and fear. Alicia’s calm reasoning and superior intellect always provided a relaxing effect upon his naturally agitated demeanor; the further he pondered her words, the more resigned he became. Whether or not he agreed with her willing trust in a strange woman bearing the promise of assistance, it was not his place to question his seasoned mistress. As always, he was sworn to obey.

  Emitting a heavy sigh, he slapped his helm onto his bushy head and deftly secured the stays as he turned towards his lady. “The men are ready, m’lady,” he said quietly. Reconciled to his fate. “We await your presence.”

  Alicia smiled faintly, grasping her own helm from Eldon’s extended hand. “Thank you, Uriah,” she replied softly. “We will delay no further. Gaithlin is waiting.”

  Uriah was the last man out of the solar. Wondering if it would be his final glimpse of the beloved, moss-covered room.

  *

  Sweetheart Abbey was founded in 1273 by Lady Dervorgilla after her husband, John Balliol, was killed by Robert the Bruce in the battle for the Scot throne. Gazing at the red-walled abbey, Christian remembered his mother’s recitation of the sad and poignant story of a lady so entirely devoted to her husband’s memory that she would dedicate an abbey to his honor.

  In faith, he had not considered marrying in the Dumfries abbey simply because he was hopeful to find a cloister or monastery closer to their Galloway encampment. Although it had taken over six hours for them to reach the lovely little church, Chr
istian realized that Sweetheart Abbey, or Dulce Cor as it was known locally, was indeed the perfect place to seal their union.

  He and Gaithlin drew in the sight of the gentle Norman structure with a mixture of awe and excitement, listening to Malcolm’s endless commentary of the view of the Firth of Solway lingering in the distance. The hills were lush with the green ambience of early fall, casting a delightfully pristine aura over the landscape. Gaithlin dismounted the snappish charger with her gaze riveted to the brilliant scenery, slapping distractedly at the animal when it gnashed its teeth in her direction.

  “It’s lovely,” she murmured, hearing the creak of Christian’s armor as he dismounted behind her. “After the story you told me regarding its legacy, ’tis a perfect place to marry.”

  Moving to dislodge his purse from his saddlebags, Christian gave the red structure a long glance. “ ’Twas said that Lady Dervorgilla kept her husband’s embalmed heart close to her, always. When she died, both she and Lord Balliol’s heart were interred beneath the floor of the sanctuary. Together for all eternity.”

  Gaithlin tore her eyes away from the structure long enough to cast Christian a look of pure, unrestrained warmth. “A perfect place, sire,” she repeated for his ears alone. “A perfect place for us.”

  As Christian and Gaithlin predictably lost themselves in the midst of tender, meaningful gazes, Malcolm leapt eagerly off the rear of the charger. Having ridden happily behind the English warlord and his lady all the way from their wooded encampment, he was oblivious to the passionate aura surrounding him. Clad in the new tunic that Gaithlin had basted together, he was wildly excited with his very first trip out of Galloway.

  Appearing reasonably clean and healthy, the joyful young lad was most anxious to be witness to a ceremony, as Christian had explained vaguely, that was a mere formality; although he and Gaithlin were man and wife in mind and body and spirit, the church was nonetheless required to legalize the arrangement.