Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I will proceed alone,” he instructed the men around him, including his sons. “You will remain here. I do not know how long this will take, so it is my suggestion that you make camp here. Do not wander into the town and do not go about stealing anything. Everyone will remain within the perimeter of the camp and behave properly. You will wait patiently for my return.”

  Cole’s brow furrowed. “But what if you do not return, Father?” he wanted to know. “What will you have us do?”

  Jax’s looked over his right shoulder towards the bastion in the distance. “Give me at least two days,” he said. “If you do not see me returned in two days, then send a messenger to inquire on my status. If you receive no answer or are not given a satisfactory reply, then we will assume that something has happened to me and you, Cole, will demand to speak to de Lohr personally. If he denies you audience or tells you something you do not wish to hear, then you have my permission to lay siege to Lioncross and destroy her. All of her. However, the Earl of Hereford has a reputation for fairness and honestly, so I do not think the man will move against me. I have faith that I will return to you. But if I do not, then you have your orders.”

  Cole was satisfied with the directive. Reining his horse over to where his father was, he extended a mailed hand to the man. Jax took it and held it tightly.

  “Godspeed, Father,” he said. “We will be waiting for word.”

  Jax squeezed the man’s hand and let it go, reining his charger in the direction of Lioncross. As the beast picked up into a thundering canter, de Velt’s army watched the man ride away, each soldier with thoughts on de Lohr, victory, Wales, and the future. No one had certainty of any of those choices.

  The next move was de Lohr’s.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The inhabitants of Lioncross waited in tense silence mostly, watching the horizon, knowing de Velt’s army was lingering in the distance, watching and waiting. The massive, oddly-shaped bailey was full of peasants as the soldiers tried to organize the refugees from the village, trying to put them into areas that were least likely to receive bombardment or projectiles should de Velt’s army advance. The air was filled with uncertainty even though de Lohr seemed particularly calm. He stood with his knights in the gatehouse against the portcullis, watching the road and waiting.

  And waiting.

  But the wait wasn’t a long one in the grand scheme of things. Less than a half-hour after the messenger returned to de Velt, the sentries on the walls of Lioncross began to take up the cry. A rider had been sighted in the distance. When the cry went up, Christopher turned to look at his knights, who peered back at him in various stages of apprehension. Soon, they would see what no man had ever seen and lived to tell the tale – Jax de Velt in the flesh. The Dark Lord himself would soon be on their doorstep and they were understandably apprehensive. Old fears died hard.

  “I will wager that he is a tiny old man,” Max finally said, his attention on the road beyond the portcullis. “All of these years we have feared a monster and, more than likely, rumors have been exaggerated. He is probably a tiny old man with no teeth.”

  Edward, standing beside him, snorted. “Better still, what if he is really a woman?” he said. “Wouldn’t that be a tale to tell? The great Ajax de Velt is female!”

  Max grinned and opened his mouth to reply but de Lohr shushed his knights. “He is not a woman and he is not a tiny old man,” he said, his sky-blue eyes fixed on the road. “He is as big as a mountain and as dark as the Devil, see for yourself.”

  Edward and Max rushed to the portcullis, pressing their faces against the heavy iron to see what de Lohr was seeing. The road stretched out before them, fairly flat, before curving to the right to circumvent the perimeter of the village. There was also a descent in elevation from the castle so that the fortress had an expanded view over the top of the village and to the countryside beyond to the north. As they watched, a figure could be seen galloping in from the north, following the curve of the road as he moved around the berg, and then heading towards them up the incline leading to the castle.

  All eyes were fixed on the figure who was riding a very large war horse bareback. The man astride the horse was big, bigger still as he approached, with tendrils of his long hair blowing in the wind as the moved along at a clipped pace. The sun was up now, shining brightly as it headed towards its zenith, so it was easy to see the details of the rider as he approached. The closer he came, the more they realized that he was indeed an enormous man. Enormous and larger than life, as Ajax de Velt should be.

  Christopher was well aware of the man’s size and of the fact that he was beholding Ajax de Velt. He examined the man as he drew closer still before calling to one of the sentries at the gate.

  “Open the portcullis!” he boomed.

  Edward and Max looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “What are you doing?” Edward asked, clearly apprehensive.

  Christopher cast his men a long look. “Stop acting like a bunch of frightened women,” he scolded. “I am going out to meet the man and you will remain here. Whatever he has to say is between him and me, and I do not need a bunch of nervous women cowering behind me. He is a lone man on a lone horse with no weaponry. There is nothing he can do against me.”

  Edward didn’t take kindly to be called a nervous woman, truthful though it might be. “Remember that dagger he has up his arse,” he muttered. “If he cuts your throat with it, don’t say that I did not warn you.”

  The portcullis was nearly a third of the way up and Christopher called a halt, moving to duck underneath it. But before he did, he looked at Edward. “If he pulls a dagger out of his arse, then tell the archers to aim for his heart,” he said. “If the man makes any aggressive move towards me, tell them to shoot him down. Is that clear?”

  Edward liked that command a great deal. It brought him comfort. “Aye, my lord.”

  Christopher ducked underneath the portcullis and ordered it lowered as he took a few steps forward, away from the portcullis as de Velt came near. Before the man could come too close, however, Christopher held up his hands to stop him. The rider obeyed, coming to an unsteady halt several feet away. Now, the moment of truth was upon them and it was a great and terrible silence that followed. The Dark Lord had arrived.

  Christopher eyed the man atop the big bay stallion. He was utterly enormous, with long dark hair tied behind his head, enormous hands, and a muscular body. He was older now, with streaks of gray in his dark hair, and he was perhaps ten or twelve years older than Christopher. He was rather handsome and well formed, and he certainly didn’t look like the monster de Velt had been accused of being, but as Christopher took another step or two in the man’s direction, he could see that the man had two distinctly colored eyes. Christopher had seen horses with eyes like that but never a man. De Velt’s left eye was brown and his right eye was a bright green. Now, some of the fear and lore of Ajax de Velt was starting to take on a bit of credibility. He did indeed look terrifying.

  “Are you Ajax de Velt?” Christopher asked steadily.

  Jax nodded his head. “I am,” he said. “Are you de Lohr?”

  Christopher nodded. “I am Christopher de Lohr,” he said. “Your messenger said that you wished to speak with me. I am granting you that privilege but you will do it from a distance. Dismount your horse and remain beside it.”

  Jax didn’t hesitate. He threw his leg over the horse and hit the ground. Then he just stood there as Christopher studied him, perhaps satisfying a deep curiosity, perhaps simply wondering what the man wanted. It was a natural inclination since Jax de Velt, when he hadn’t been tearing up the land, kept to himself. He’d been quiet for many years. After a moment of scrutiny, Christopher spoke.

  “Now,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”

  He wasn’t being overly friendly but he wasn’t being rude, either. It was better than Jax had hoped for.

  “First, I would like to thank you for being gracious
enough to see me,” he said. “I did not think you would.”

  Christopher cocked an eyebrow. “I was afraid of what you would do if I did not,” he said truthfully. “History tells us that it is not prudent to anger Jax de Velt.”

  Jax gave him a half-smile, ironic. “I suppose we should speak on the days of the past and get them out of the way before we continue with pleasantries,” he said. “I have not engaged in conquest of any kind in twenty-five years, not since I met my wife. We have six children and I live a very quiet life in Northumberland as the vassal of the Earl of Northumberland. My life since those days of long ago has been peaceful. It is in peace that I come to Lioncross to seek your counsel.”

  Christopher listened to the man’s word with interest. He certainly sounded sincere. In fact, he seemed rather docile, calm, and reasonable, not at all like the Jax de Velt of legend. It was rather perplexing and he struggled not to let that confusion show but he simply couldn’t help himself.

  “I am speaking with the Ajax de Velt that tore through the Marches twenty-five years ago and confiscated six castles, am I not?” he asked. He felt as if he had to. “You are the one who killed men, women, and children by impaling them on poles and then posting the bodies for all to see, are you not? It is The Dark Lord I am speaking to?”

  Jax nodded patiently. “It is I,” he said. “I am sorry to disappoint you. Mayhap you were expecting lightning bolts to shoot out of my eyes and fire to belch forth out of my mouth?”

  Christopher nodded honestly. “I was expecting to see horns and cloven feet at the very least.”

  “I have yet to remove my boots so you may yet be satisfied.”

  It was spoken with humor, an unexpected element added to the conversation. Christopher’s lips twitched with a smile.

  “Don’t do that,” he said. “Leave some air of mystery about you. I have never met a legend before.”

  “Nor have I until now.”

  It was a compliment. Christopher had to admit that he was feeling more at ease with de Velt, a man who seemed to understand the terror he caused and was not beyond accepting it and even making fun of it, as dark as that period in time was. But there was still an air of uncertainty to the conversation and Christopher addressed it.

  “You are not here to burn my town and lay siege to my castle, are you?” he asked. “This counsel request is not a ruse, is it?”

  Jax shook his head firmly. “I swear that it is not,” he said. “I come with entirely peaceful intentions, contrary to what you would believe of me. I have come to you because… because I need help.”

  Christopher’s eyebrows rose. “The great Ajax de Velt needs help?” he repeated. “I am astonished. Since when do you need help from anyone?”

  Jax nodded as if accepting what Christopher was saying. “It is a rare occasion but in this case, it is true,” he said. His eyes took on a grim glimmer. “There is a mercenary along the Marches who has abducted my daughter. He has asked me to come to him if I wish to keep her in good health. I have come to see if you have heard anything about this mercenary and, if so, find out what you have heard. I know nothing about the man other than he has my child. I want her back.”

  So it was as Christopher had suspected. The man was here as a result of de Llion’s rampage. But, truly, this wasn’t a path he had ever considered, de Velt coming to him to discuss the situation. They had all believed Jax would go straight after the mercenary. But in reflection, it made sense because Christopher was one of the most powerful marcher lords and would inevitably know what happened along that stretch of border. The Jax de Velt he’d heard tale of was an inhuman beast bent on destruction. The man before him did not fit that mold.

  Christopher’s eyes studied Jax as he took a few steps closer, to within a few feet of him. Standing before him was the most feared warlord England had ever seen. De Velt’s brutalities were legendary. But all Christopher could see at the moment was a father who wanted to save his daughter. Perhaps it was foolish of him to see that and only that, but having two young daughters of his own, Christopher could understand a father’s anguish, even a father as fearsome as Ajax de Velt.

  “We heard about Alberbury,” he finally said, his voice quiet. “We heard that a mercenary took your daughter.”

  Jax’s features filled with hope. “Then you know about this?” he asked. “Will you please tell me what you know?”

  Christopher nodded. “I will,” he said. “Inside, over a pitcher of wine and some food. I am famished.”

  He motioned to de Velt to follow, who hesitantly complied. Christopher called to the sentries to lift the portcullis and slowly, the big iron fangs began to lift. Like the great parting of the Red Sea, Christopher moved through the gatehouse with Jax next to him, and men fell away as if they’d been pushed. No one had been this close to de Velt and had lived to tell about it. Men backed off as if Lucifer himself had made an appearance.

  The two men made it to the steps leading into the keep as most of the population of Lioncross looked on. It was the great benevolent earl who had guided the course of a kingdom and the warlord who had struck more fear into the hearts of men than anyone had ever done. It was a historic moment, not lost on those who witnessed it.

  When they finally disappeared into the dark recesses of the keep, there were those who still couldn’t believe what they had witnessed. It was a moment in time that would live in their minds forever.

  *

  Jax wasn’t surprised that de Lohr’s men were staring at him with a mixture of apprehension and hostility. It was odd, truly, for a man who never really traveled much out of his home or comfort zone to be in a strange castle and surrounded by strange men. Jax didn’t often get a chance to talk to men he didn’t know and he was mildly nervous because of it. More than that, he was completely without his weapons and vulnerable. That, more than anything, made him nervous. It was a situation he had never found himself in. He was completely at de Lohr’s mercy.

  But de Lohr had been a gracious host so far. He had taken de Velt into his home, into his keep, and made him comfortable in the great hall. It was a long room with a minstrel gallery above and living quarters on the second and third floors. There was a massive fireplace and fresh rushes strewn about, but no dogs which Jax found strange. He sat at the long, scrubbed feasting table that filled up the center of Lioncross’ great hall, his back to the hearth because it made him doubly nervous to have his back against anything else. He figured it would be more difficult for a man to sneak up behind him if he saw the shadows thrown from the firelight behind. Therefore, he sat tensely as de Lohr and a few of his men settled in across from him.

  A handsome knight with ruddy skin and golden eyes gazed at him steadily from his position at de Lohr’s right hand, while on the other side of de Lohr sat a knight who could have very well been Jax’s brother with shoulder-length dark curls and brown eyes. He had the look of a barbarian about him. There were a few soldiers in the hall but they lingered near the entry. Jax made sure to keep track of everyone in the room, and everyone coming and going from the room including the servants. The longer he sat there, the more uncomfortable he grew.

  De Lohr must have sensed that. He had servants bring in wine, bread, cheese, and fruit, and all of it was placed on the table between them. He indicated for de Velt to serve himself first, but Jax only took a small measure of wine. He wasn’t hungry. He wanted to know what de Lohr knew about Allaston and was becoming increasingly impatient with the delay.

  “So,” Christopher began as he poured himself some wine. “Allow me to introduce to you two of my close friends and knights. This is Edward de Wolfe to my right and Max Cornwallis to my left. They have served me for many years, including in The Levant. You did not go to The Levant, did you?”

  Jax shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “My fealty at the time did not include the King of England.”

  Christopher had an amused twinkle in his eye. “And now?”

  “It does,” he said, the paused before cont
inuing. “But I do not much like him.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Jax cracked a faint smile. “As I recall, you were Richard’s champion at one time,” he said. “Since John hated his brother, how does the king treat you?”

  Christopher grinned, scratching casually at his head. “Very carefully,” he said. “Much as I do not wish to anger you, he does not wish to anger me. We have history, John and I. He tries to stay clear of me as much as he can.”

  Jax took a drink of his wine, a fine red varietal. He smacked his lips. “He has asked de Vesci to maintain the borders against Scotland that parallel Northumberland,” he said. “My only brush with combat in recent years is where it pertains to the Scots borders.”

  “And how are the Scots these days?”

  “Quiet,” Jax replied. “William has some internal struggles, but he still holds his kingdom. Any action we see from the Scots are raids, not organized onslaughts.”

  That was interesting news for Christopher, sitting along the Welsh Marches as he did. Often, Scotland seemed like a world away. Besides, he had his own troubles in Wales, and ones that de Velt was interested in. He set his cup down.

  “That is good to know,” he said. “Trouble along one border is quite enough. That being said, let us address the reason for your visit. I will tell you what I know – we received word from Robert de Boulers, Earl of Shropshire, that there was a mighty army sweeping through his lands, conquering or destroying everything in their path. They laid siege to Clun Castle and Knighton, badly damaging the castles and stripping them of nearly everything of value before moving to the Marches and taking Cloryn Castle. Then, they moved north where they raided Dolforwyn Castle, moved north into Shropshire, and burned Alberbury Priory to the ground. That is where your daughter was, am I correct?”

  Jax was listening intently. “Aye,” he nodded, sounding disheartened. “Allaston wanted to join the cloister at a young age. She was always a very pious girl but she had an unfortunate stubborn and brash streak in her. Her mother and I told her that the nuns would not accept such behavior, but she insisted that she wanted to serve God, so when she turned nineteen years of age, we permitted her to commit herself to Alberbury. I am a patron, you see. I donate three hundred crowns a year to Alberbury, which is her dowry, so they were more than willing to take her.”