Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Teague leaned forward on the table, his serious focus on Bretton. “There is more to it than that,” he said quietly. “We can all see it. When you tell us to take down the bodies posted outside of the walls, bodies you were determined to keep out there for six months, then we can only assume the lady has had some hand in this decision.”

  Bretton’s expression was guarded. “Why would you assume that?”

  Teague lifted his dark eyebrows. “Because we all saw her weep at the feet of the former lord and lady of Cloryn,” he said. “She was very upset about it. Must I really explain this, Bretton? It is apparent that you are doing it to appease her.”

  Bretton shrugged. “Does it matter why I have ordered the bodies cut down?” he wanted to know. “I seem to remember a battle commander telling me that the smell was unappetizing. God’s Blood, I cannot seem to please any of you these days – if I cut the bodies down, I am appeasing Lady Allaston, and if I do not throw her back in the vault, then Grayton is furious with me. When did every command I make fall under such scrutiny? I grow weary of having to justify myself constantly.”

  Teague nodded, glancing at Grayton. He had been at the head of the anti-Allaston campaign and had been speaking out the most against her. Teague also knew why and it was time to settle the matter once and for all because the conflict between them and their liege was growing unhealthy. It was time to air their grievances and hopefully solve them.

  “You cannot blame Grayton for his concern over the lady,” Teague said. “The woman tried to kill you once. She could very well be luring you into a false sense of security with her feminine charms so you will trust her. She only needs to get a poker in her hand again, or worse, to do some real damage.”

  Bretton shook his head as if the entire suggestion was ridiculous. “She will not kill me.”

  Grayton couldn’t remain silent any longer. “She has tried once and she will try it again, but you do not want to listen to me.”

  It was a struggle for Bretton not to become angry with him. “I will not repeat the shouting match we had in the hall earlier,” he told the man. “I appreciate the fact that you are concerned for my health, Grayton, but I will not put the woman in the vault so you may as well stop bringing the subject up. Besides, I do not believe that is the truth behind your grudge against her. I believe it is because you let her out of the vault and then she betrayed your kindness by assaulting me with the poker. If that is the case, then you need to move beyond that humiliation, which was no humiliation at all. I am not upset about it and you should not be, either.”

  Grayton simply shook his head and looked away. Bretton watched the man, feeling remorseful with the situation between them because before Allaston had come into their lives, he and Grayton had been good friends. He trusted the man. Now, there was tension, and he was sorry. But he wouldn’t dwell on it. Still, there was more he had to say.

  “I will, however, calmly address the subject of Lady Allaston,” he said. “Mayhap you feel as if I have left you out of my decision making process when it comes to her, and you could be correct. As I said before, she is my captive and she is my property, and I have considered the woman a great deal and how best to use her against her father. I believe I have a solution.”

  Teague was the only one who didn’t seem guarded in his reaction. Grayton was still sitting there, his eyes averted, and Dallan was much more a follower than a leader. He was simply listening to what had been said. Therefore, Teague headed the conversation.

  “Proceed, Bretton,” he said. “We are listening.”

  So he had their attention. Bretton didn’t even know where to start. He didn’t want to come across as weak or indecisive or, worse, foolish. He decided to simply come out with it all but convince his men that there was less of his emotion involved in the situation than there was. It would be a struggle not to come across as emotionally invested in her because he was. He wanted his men to believe that she was a tool to gain his ends and nothing more.

  “I have decided to hit de Velt where it will hurt him the most,” he said. “Holding Lady Allaston captive will not suffice. Killing her will bring me nothing but a dead captive. I must strike and strike hard at the man. I have therefore decided to marry Lady Allaston, impregnate her, and breed an army of de Llion sons who will be brought up to hate de Velt as much as I do. An enemy will be bred from the very blood that flows through de Velt’s veins. According to Lady Allaston, de Velt is quite the family man these days. I intend to infiltrate that family.”

  It was a brilliant, unemotional summation and Bretton was rather proud of himself for it. By the time he was finished with his speech, Grayton was looking at him, too, and he could see a semblance of approval in their expressions. It was Dallan who finally spoke.

  “Humiliation,” he confirmed. “You will humiliate de Velt through his daughter.”

  Bretton nodded. “Exactly,” he said. “Do you understand that logic?”

  Teague and Dallan nodded but Grayton wasn’t so sure. “You would marry the daughter of your enemy?” he asked. “She will only hate you more and possibly deny you sons.”

  Bretton groaned inwardly. “Then tell me what you would do with her, Grayton?” he asked, with some irritation. “You once told me I had a valuable bargaining tool in her, but all that seems to have changed. When I had her in the vault, you wanted to release her, so I permitted it. Now, you do not trust her and you want to put her back into the vault again. The messages you are sending me are both confusing and infuriating. Tell me what you would do with her and tell me now. I grow weary of your constant contradictions.”

  Grayton, with all eyes on him, was defensive and uncertain. After a moment, he finally shook his head, exasperated that Bretton, who so often took his advice, had been choosing to ignore his suggestions when it came to Allaston. He was coming to feel left out of Bretton’s decisions, which was perhaps the root of his problem.

  “I have already told you what I think you should do with her but you do not want to listen,” he said. “Marry the woman and fill her full of your sons, but do not be surprised if those sons turn against their father. You are playing a dangerous game by allowing the enemy so close to you.”

  Bretton watched the man as he fidgeted angrily. “I am doing what battle commanders have been doing for centuries,” he said. “I am marrying the enemy to achieve my ends.”

  Grayton knew his argument against the lady was at an end. He could see it in Bretton’s features. “Your ends are to capture de Velt’s castles,” he reminded him, embittered. “You promised us the wealth from these raids and unless you want a rebellion on your hands, I would suggest we continue our conquest before you marry the woman and live your life with her. We are your priority, Bretton, and not de Velt’s daughter. As you said, she is a possession like a castle or a horse – she is merely a tool. If you delay too long with your focus on the lady, then you risk your men growing restless and either turning against you or deserting you.”

  Bretton’s eyes darkened. “Are you threatening me?”

  Grayton shook his head as Teague stood up, placing himself between Bretton and Grayton. He’d seen that look on Bretton before, always before he lashed out. Teague didn’t want any bloodshed between them because it would end up destroying everything they’d worked for.

  “He is not,” Teague assured him. “He merely speaks the truth. The men are already growing restless, waiting to march on the next castle. You said you were planning on heading to Comen in two days. Let us focus on that. We will have the men prepared to leave at dawn the day after tomorrow. How far is Comen Castle from here?”

  Teague knew the answer but he was trying to distract Bretton from his deadly glare against Grayton. As he hoped, Bretton’s focus shifted.

  “It will take us a day at most,” he said, tearing his gaze away from Grayton and returning his attention to the message on the table before him. “Comen will be under siege by the next morning.”

  “Excellent,” Teague said, motioning
to Dallan to remove Grayton from the room. “We will spread the word. The men will be happy to hear it.”

  Bretton had returned to his missive but he called out before the commanders left the room. “Grayton,” he said, and all three paused in the doorway. “Do not forget to send me a messenger. I must deliver this missive to de Lohr today.”

  Grayton, upset and disillusioned, simply nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  “And, Grayton?”

  “Aye?”

  Bretton’s head came up, the bright blue eyes narrowed. “Make sure the men understand that if Lady Allaston is harmed or molested in any way, in any fashion, my wrath shall be deadly. I will strike first and ask questions later. Is that clear?”

  “It is, my lord.”

  “Then go.”

  Grayton left the room, followed by the other two. When Bretton heard the entry to the keep open and then softly close again, he tossed down his quill and ran his hand through his hair in a pensive gesture. He wasn’t sure if his commanders were supportive of his marriage to Allaston and that concerned him. Without their support, he would have a difficult time maintaining the fealty of the army.

  But without Allaston, he would be nothing at all. Difficult choices were coming in his future. He could sense it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Comen Castle

  Out of all the castles so far on Bretton’s list of conquest, Comen seemed to have fallen the fastest. A rather large, spread-out castle with inadequate walls and a very vulnerable postern gate near the kitchens, Comen fell in only two days. On the evening of the second day, the hall and stables were in flames and Bretton’s men were mounting the walls, killing everything that moved. At sunset, when the sky was turning shades of orange and yellow, the blood and destruction of Comen was something unparalleled in recent times. It was as if the very gates of Hell had opened up, revealing the horror of Satan’s realm inside. In truth, Comen, that night, became Hell personified. The Devil had expanded his dominion and no one was safe because of it.

  The soldiers defending Comen had suffered the worst. Bretton’s men had rounded up the ones who were able-bodied and those wounded but still strong enough to stand, and crowded them all into one corner of the bailey while gangs of Bretton’s men had cut down trees in the nearby forest, making posts to impale the submissive army on. The impalings began just after dark and the agony of those who were put to the stakes filled the smoky, cold air.

  The keep of Comen had held for another couple of hours after sunset, finally being breached when Bretton’s men had managed to reach the entry door by way of ladders, as the retractable staircase had been burned away. Unfortunately, the door was solid oak and after a half-hour of chipping away at it to make the wood raw enough to flame, they ignited the door and it burned steadily for an hour, finally falling away to ash sometime before midnight. Teague and several de Llion mercenaries were the first ones into the keep, rounding up the lady of Comen and her three frightened daughters.

  Bretton was with Grayton and a few soldiers, coming in after the damage had been done to take stock of what was left. The hall was almost in total ruin, as were the stables, but several fine horses had been saved that Bretton immediately laid claim to. The rest of the bailey seemed relatively intact and that included a very nice armory. Bretton was inspecting the kitchen yards, noting that the cooks, or someone, had destroyed most of the supplies once the castle began to fall, when Dallan appeared.

  “My lord,” he addressed Bretton formally. “We have the commander of Comen. Would you like to interrogate him before we put him to the stake?”

  Bretton’s gaze was lingering on the castle garden where there seemed to be an abundance of peas before, shuddering in disgust at the peas, turning to Dallan. He noted that Dallan seemed particularly weary, covered in soot and sweat.

  “I will see him,” he said. “Where is he?”

  Dallan pointed to a group near the smoldering ruins of the hall. “Over there,” he said as he and Bretton headed in that direction. “It seems his father is with him, too, a man who was one of de Velt’s original commanders.”

  Bretton looked at him with interest. “Indeed?” he said. “What is his name?”

  “Sir Ares de Gault,” he replied. “His son, the garrison commander, is Sir Augustus de Gault. It is Augustus’ family that we took from the keep, his wife and three daughters.”

  Bretton could spy the two beaten knights ahead, surrounded by his soldiers. Being in possession of one of de Velt’s original knights was quite an unexpected event and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

  “Where are the women?” he asked.

  “I think the men have them.”

  A note of warning sounded in Bretton’s head. “Are they having their fill of the women?”

  “I believe so.”

  Bretton suddenly came to a halt. “Go stop them,” he said, giving Dallan a shove. “Tell them not to touch the women until I give permission. Hurry and do this now. Then, I want you to take the women to the kitchen and keep them there until I arrive.”

  Dallan nodded and ran off to find where the soldiers had taken the women. He didn’t give a second thought about Bretton’s command, mostly because he assumed Bretton wanted to see the women before anything was done. Perhaps he wanted to interrogate them or perhaps he even wanted them for himself, but that would have been unusual. Bretton had never taken a woman by force in all the time Dallan had known him. But he didn’t give the command much thought beyond that. He simply moved to carry it out.

  Bretton watched Dallan head off, wondering if he was too late to prevent his men from defiling the women. He kept thinking about what Allaston had said about showing mercy. The concept was foreign to him but he sought to try. So many things Allaston had spoken of were alien in his world, compassion and mercy being the two largest issues, but he understood that those two attributes meant a good deal to her. Her words, spoken in Newtown, were haunting him:

  Mayhap you will think of mercy the next time you are faced with a frightened woman whose only crime was living in a castle you want as your own. Throw her in the vault, or do whatever you have to do in order to keep her from your men, but I would pray that whatever comes, you consider showing mercy in all things. He seriously wondered if he could.

  But he pushed those thoughts aside as he came upon the commander of Comen and his aged father, an original de Velt knight. A man who had helped de Velt conquer the Marches and perhaps even a knight who’d had a hand in killing his father. His initial reaction to an original de Velt knight had been curious but ambivalent, but now he was starting to feel some anger. Pure, unbridled anger that fed off his sense of vengeance. Ignoring the son altogether, he walked straight to the old knight to get a very close look at him. He wanted to see the face of those who had killed his father.

  As Bretton scrutinized the old man, he was met with a fearless expression. The old knight was big, perhaps a bit round, but he had been very muscular in his youth. He was still handsome as far as old men went, with very big hands. Bretton looked into the old knight’s eyes and saw nothing but courage and resignation. He wasn’t sure if it impressed or infuriated him. Here was a man who had seen all of de Velt’s dealings, who had experienced everything that had ruined Bretton’s life. The man before him, essentially, had made Bretton what he was. A killer.

  “You are Sir Ares de Gault?” Bretton finally asked.

  The old man with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair nodded. “I am.”

  “I am told you are one of de Velt’s original knights.”

  De Gault merely nodded, the gesture of a man who saw no need to announce his accomplishments in life. It was an understated gesture, but Bretton merely cocked an eyebrow.

  “This is a rather momentous moment for me,” he said. “I never thought to meet one of de Velt’s original knights.”

  The old knight regarded him carefully. “And so you have,” he said. “Now that you have me where you want me, what are your intentions?”r />
  He spoke with strength, which fueled Bretton’s respect for him. But it also fueled that five year old boy in side of him, the one who had lost his father at the hands of men such as de Gault. The questions that came next were natural.

  “Were you part of de Velt’s siege at Four Crosses Castle?” he asked.

  De Gault nodded. “I was part of every siege de Velt planned,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  Bretton could see hardness in his eyes, the ruthless stare of a man who had killed and killed again. No remorse to his answer, but no pride, either. It was simply a statement of fact, and Bretton’s rage began to build. He didn’t answer the man’s question, not yet. But he would in time. He wanted this man, this knight of de Velt’s, to know why he was here. He wanted to see his expression when he saw that retribution for all of his past sins had come.

  “Did you notice what we are doing to your army?” he asked, pointing off to the destroyed gatehouse. “I am employing the same tactics that you and de Velt used in your conquest.”

  The old knight’s gaze moved across the bailey, to the gatehouse, where men were being led to slaughter. He could hear the screams and groans of men as they were impaled.

  “I see,” he said after a moment. “I assume you are going to do the same thing to me.”

  Bretton’s expression remained impassive. “It would be justice for all of those people you put to the pole back in your day,” he said, “my father included.”

  That brought a flicker of a reaction to the old knight. A flash of understanding, of realization, and nothing more. Now, the old knight knew why the enemy had come and things were starting to make some sense.