Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Keller sat there, toying with his wine cup, thinking on Christopher’s strategy. Although the story of John Morgan was an incredible one, something didn’t make sense to him. After several pensive moments, he spoke softly.

  “Do you not think that if John Morgan was really Bretton de Llion’s father, he would have contacted Berwyn long ago?” he asked softly. “I would think that he would have contacted his own father simply to let him know that he was alive.”

  Jax interjected himself into the conversation. “John Morgan suffered a head injury during the siege of Four Crosses,” he said. “He could only tell us his name was Morgan and not much more. It was my men who gave him the name John Morgan. He was as strong as a bull but his head injury was severe enough that he could not think well for himself. I gave him over to de Vesci as a personal guard because the man didn’t have much of a mind of his own and de Vesci wanted someone close to him who could be easily ordered about. John Morgan fit that role well. I had no more use for the man so de Vesci took him.”

  Keller listened intently, reasoning through the situation. “If John Morgan really is Bretton de Llion’s father,” he said, “then will he even know it? What if he is the father and we present him to de Llion, but Morgan has no knowledge that the man is his son? Worse yet, what if he shuns him? That could go very badly in our favor, worse than if we hadn’t presented the father at all.”

  Christopher could see his logic. “That is a good point, but I am willing to take the chance,” he said. “In any case, we must unbalance de Llion and take advantage of that chaos. We must stop the man once and for all, and regain de Velt’s daughter in the process.”

  Keller poured himself more wine. “Then what do you have in mind?”

  Christopher, too, poured himself some wine from another pitcher. He found he needed it. “We have two options, in my opinion,” he said. “We present John Morgan to de Llion and pray the man is his father. If he is, then we do an exchange – Morgan for Lady Allaston.”

  “But Berwyn will know his own son,” Jax interjected. “If Morgan arrives at Lioncross first, and Berwyn is still here, then surely the father will recognize his own son, therefore, we will know before engaging de Llion if John Morgan is really his father. If he is not, then we must make a secondary plan.”

  Everyone fell silent for a moment, assessing the possibilities. Jax had made a very good point. Behind Keller, William Wellesbourne cleared his throat softly to gain their attention.

  “If I may, my lords,” he said, leaning forward on the table so he could better look those around it in the eye. “If John Morgan is not de Llion’s father, we still have a man related to him within our grasp – his grandfather. Mayhap Berwyn would use himself in exchange for de Velt’s daughter.”

  Christopher nodded. “It is as good a plan as any,” he said. “I will approach Berwyn with it when the man has sufficiently calmed. Until then, let us enjoy this wine and this food and entertain further possibilities. I, for one, am more interested in learning about Keller’s terrible cousin that he was going to have to kill. Keller, you have my interest. Who was this awful man? Did I know him?”

  Keller didn’t want to discuss his terrible cousin as wine was passed around and bread was distributed. The serious meeting had loosened up and soon they were speaking of things other than war and destruction. Christopher had just launched into a story that involved himself, his brother, a knight named Sir Kieran Hage, and an encounter with an angry potentate in The Levant when Edward suddenly entered the hall.

  “Chris,” he called gravely. “You had better come.”

  Christopher knew that tone and he didn’t like it. He set his wine cup down and turned to Edward.

  “What has happened?” he demanded. “Is Berwyn well?”

  Edward was oddly pale, avoiding the question about Berwyn.

  “We just received two riders,” he said. “One rider is the messenger we sent to Northumberland those weeks ago, and the second rider is a man he brought with him from Northumberland by the name of John Morgan.”

  Everyone at the table stood up at that moment, including Christopher. The air was instantly full of anticipation, of foreboding, as the entire future hung in the balance with the course of the next few words. They all knew the stakes. They all knew what this moment would mean. Now that it was upon them, the air was fairly crackling with anxiety. Christopher could hardly spit the words out.

  “Where is Berwyn?” he asked.

  “He was in the bailey when the men rode in.”

  “Has he seen the man?”

  “Aye.”

  Christopher was ready to explode. “And?” he demanded, charging away from the table as he headed for the keep entry that led out to the bailey beyond. “Damnation, what has happened? Is John Morgan missing a finger?”

  Edward grabbed Christopher before the man could storm past him, an unusual gesture but one wrought with the emotion of the moment. All eyes were on Edward as the man, his hands on Christopher’s big arms, looked him squarely in the eye. The next two words sealed the fate of the future.

  “He is.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Christopher’s first glimpse of what should have been a happy family reunion was, in fact, not happy at all. By the time Christopher and the other knights raced from the hall and reached the bailey, they saw Rod picking Berwyn up off the ground several feet away. Standing in front of Berwyn was a very big man with a bald-shaved, scarred head and brilliant blue eyes. Once Rod picked Berwyn up, the old man ran at the bald man again and, as it had happened before, the bald man shoved the old man away, causing him to fall to the ground. Berwyn lay there and wept.

  Christopher ran up, putting himself between Berwyn and the big, bald warrior so that Berwyn wouldn’t charge him again. Jax, who was right behind him, walked up to the bald man and caught his attention.

  “John Morgan,” he said. “I am de Velt. Do you remember me?”

  The bald man’s attention shifted from Berwyn as he studied Jax for several long seconds before nodding. “I do, my lord.”

  Jax glanced at Berwyn, who was now being held up by Rod. “Why did you push that man down?” he asked.

  John Morgan looked at Berwyn as if confused by the question. “He attacked me, my lord.”

  Rod, holding on to his grandfather, grunted. “He did not attack him,” he said quietly, with great remorse. “He ran to hug him.”

  Berwyn was weeping into his hands. “My son,” he cried softly. “My Morgan. He is alive!”

  So it was true. John Morgan was, in reality, Sir Morgan de Llion, only he had no knowledge of it and no idea that Berwyn was, in reality, his father. There was no recognition there whatsoever. Looking at the scarred head of the man and listening to his slurred, simple speech, it became clear that John Morgan was a dense and damaged individual.

  Christopher sighed heavily, thinking the circumstance to be tragic on so many levels. Now, he had his answer about John Morgan but it didn’t turn out as he’d hoped. He faced the big, bald man with the brilliant blue eyes.

  “I am Christopher de Lohr, Earl of Hereford and Worcester,” he told the man. “It was I who summoned you from Alnwick. Do you understand what I have told you so far?”

  Morgan nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  Christopher eyed Jax, thinking how to simply phrase the situation, before continuing. “Do you remember how you came into the service of de Vesci?”

  Morgan nodded. “I was gifted to him by Sir Jax, my lord.”

  “Do you remember how you came to be in Sir Jax’s service?”

  That question seemed to stump Morgan. He began to look around, confused, as if someone would clue him into the correct answer. Jax picked up where Christopher left off.

  “You came into my service during the siege of Four Crosses Castle in Wales,” he said. “Does that name sound familiar to you?”

  Morgan still had that blank look about him. “Nay, my lord.”

  Jax sighed and looked to Christopher for
help. It was clear that Morgan remembered nothing of his distant past, at least prior to the head injury during the battle at Four Crosses. Jax hadn’t been around the man in years and truthfully didn’t remember much about him except he had been found at Four Crosses crawling out of the moat with a terrible head injury, the scar of which could be seen across his forehead. It ran the length of his forehead and back onto the left side of his head. No one knew how he got it but it looked as if an axe blade had been leveled at him and, it was suspected, he had toppled off the walls and into the moat. It was a miracle the man survived at all but the damage to his mind, his memory, was evident. As Morgan’s father wept a few feet away, it was obvious that Morgan didn’t recognize him in the least.

  Christopher, realizing the devastation of the scene, met Jax’s gaze but he was at a loss as to what to do about it. With a faint shrug at Jax, he turned to Rod, standing behind him with Berwyn.

  “Rod,” he said quietly. “Take Berwyn into my solar. I will join you shortly.”

  Rod did as he was told but Berwyn did not want to go. He wanted to be with his son, even if the man had no memory of him. Edward had to step in again and help Rod remove Berwyn to the keep, and the weeping of the old man faded away. But that left Jax, Christopher, Keller, and several other knights standing around, wondering what to do. Christopher finally motioned Jax away from Morgan, pulling the man into a private huddle which Keller joined. The three of them had some hard decision to make.

  “Now what?” Keller asked. “Do you mean to tell me that de Vesci’s man is, in fact, the father of the mercenary? A man thought to have been killed twenty-five years ago?”

  Jax and Christopher both nodded. “It has been confirmed,” Jax said. “But it is apparent John Morgan has no memory of his life as Morgan de Llion.”

  “Then mayhap we should tell him,” Christopher said, looking between Jax and Keller. “Mayhap he needs to have his memory rattled because, one way or the other, I intend to use him as a bargaining tool to regain de Velt’s daughter. Do you not understand? This is better than we could have hoped for.”

  Jax sighed heavily. “I agree with you,” he said, “but what if Morgan does not want to go? He remembers nothing. Being presented to his son will mean nothing to him. What if he refuses?”

  Christopher looked pointedly at him. “He cannot refuse a direct order from you,” he said flatly. “How badly do you want your daughter back, de Velt?”

  Jax didn’t have to answer that. He nodded his head to Christopher’s statement, knowing they were going to force Morgan into a pivotal position in their negotiations against de Llion whether or not the man knew his true identity and regardless if he didn’t want to be put in that position. He glanced over his shoulder at Morgan, still standing where he had left him.

  “We have spoken of unsettling de Llion with the appearance of his father and creating a diversion while others seek out my daughter,” he said. “It will not work, you know. We would have no idea where to look for her and running about an enemy castle will only see us come to ruin. It is not an efficient way to tackle this issue.”

  “Then speak,” Keller said. “If you have an idea, I will listen.”

  Jax was plain. “It seems to me that if we simply present de Llion with Morgan, he will no longer have a need to seek vengeance against me,” he said. “It is my suggestion that we simply ride to Cloryn Castle, present Morgan to de Llion, and tell him that we will exchange his father for my daughter. It is as simple as that.”

  Keller let out a hiss. “I approve of a plan of reason,” he said. “Ultimately, I would think that de Llion will want his father returned to him. But, for some reason, if he is unable to let go of his vengeance and refuses to trade de Velt’s daughter for his father? What then?”

  Christopher’s expression was grim. “Then we lay siege to Cloryn,” he said. “We breach her walls and kill everything that moves in the hunt for de Velt’s daughter. If she is a prisoner, then she will more than likely be in the vault or some other secure location. It should not be difficult to find her.”

  Jax shook his head. “I am reluctant to lay siege to the castle,” he said, “for fear that de Llion might harm my daughter in retaliation. In the event that he refuses to trade her for his father, I will have no alternative but to trade my life for hers.”

  Christopher and Keller looked at him. Both men had children, and daughters, and well understood the lengths a man would go through to save his child. Neither one could argue with him. Christopher reached out and put his hand on de Velt’s shoulder.

  “Let us hope it does not come to that,” he said. “But if it does, I will not let him kill you. I swear I will do what I can to save you and your daughter. We must make sure you live long enough to see her wed and give you grandchildren.”

  Jax looked at him, realizing he’d never had another man swear to defend him. Jax’s entire life had been about him defending himself. He’d always been a loner. Now, he was starting to realize he was a loner no longer. It was a rather astonishing awareness.

  “You would save The Dark Lord?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with the irony of the situation.

  Christopher grinned. “I have come to discover you are not so bad,” he said. “Over the past few weeks, I have come to know you and have found you to be intelligent, humorous, and respectable. Moreover, if I do not save you, who will play Nine Men’s Morris with me?”

  Jax shook his head, fighting off a smirk. “I have beaten you six games out of ten,” he said. “If you save me, I will only beat you more.”

  Christopher laughed softly. “I am willing to take that risk.”

  Jax’s smile faded as his dual-colored gaze fixed on Christopher, a man who he was coming to realize was actually his friend. Somehow, someway, over the past few weeks, a friendship had developed and he hadn’t even been aware. He was both touched and grateful.

  “Thank you for taking that risk,” he whispered sincerely, then glanced at Keller. “And thank you for taking that risk, also. I realize you do not know me, but I am grateful nonetheless.”

  Keller, humorless at times and awkward socially, could nonetheless have moments of true warmth. He crossed his arms and shook his head.

  “I am not so certain that at times like this there is room for old fears and doubts,” he said. “Much like Chris, I cannot deny a father the chance to see his daughter grow up and marry. I, too, will make sure you live to see it. But you will do me a favor.”

  Jax nodded. “Anything you wish.”

  Keller scratched his head, eyeing the big man with the two-toned eyes. “Continue to beat de Lohr in Nine Men’s Morris,” he said. “He is too cocky as it is.”

  Jax laughed softly. “Agreed,” he said, sobering. “Now, we must make plans to march on Cloryn. There is a man holding my daughter hostage and I want her back. She has been his prisoner long enough. Let us meet after the evening meal to lay out our plans of victory.”

  The tone was set. What lay ahead of them now was a battle march to regain Lady Allaston, and the three of them broke from their huddle, each man moving off to make preparations for the war council that would take place later that evening. But as Jax and Keller went about their business, Christopher went over to John Morgan, still standing where they had left him, and motioned the man with him. Obediently, John Morgan followed.

  “My lord?” he asked Christopher, curious as to where they were going.

  De Lohr didn’t say anything for a moment. He kept walking and Morgan kept following, heading towards a section of Lioncross Abbey that they called The Cells because it was part of the original Roman structure. There were cubicles where the Roman soldiers had slept, later converted to cells for the monks who followed when the structure was converted into a Benedictine abbey.

  It was quiet and private, and Christopher wanted to speak with Morgan to explain why he had been beckoned. He thought it only fair. As they neared the narrow stairs that would lead down into the cold, dark realm of The Cells, Christopher l
ooked over his shoulder to the big, bald man following him.

  “I would like to tell you why you have been summoned,” he told him. “And I would like to tell you what I know about you.”

  Morgan was confused. “Know about me?” he repeated.

  Christopher nodded and led the man down into one of the cells where they proceeded to have an hour-long conversation. Morgan heard about his life before his service to de Vesci, something that both puzzled and frightened him. Christopher also told him about Berwyn and how the man had not been attacking him, but merely glad to see him. He was, in fact, Morgan’s father.

  The last part of the conversation dealt with Bretton and what was happening on the Marches. Christopher told the man as much as he dared, fearful that too much information would scare him off. The man had a very simple understanding of even the most basic things due to his head injury and Christopher took that into account, and by the end of the conversation he ended up sending the man off with Max, instructing Max to not let the man out of his sight. It would not do them any good to locate Morgan de Llion only to have him run off because he was confused or scared about his true identity. So much hinged on a man who could hardly comprehend what he had been told.

  With John Morgan being monitored, Christopher headed into the keep to see Berwyn and Rod. When Christopher explained to Berwyn that John Morgan had now become their primary bargaining chip with Bretton, Christopher had never seen such sorrow in a man. To have found his son only to risk losing him again was something the old knight was having trouble reconciling. In fact, he was having difficulty with the entire experience, very badly wanting to speak with John Morgan but Christopher wouldn’t let him. John Morgan had his own issues to deal with at the moment. It was better if both men calmed down before addressing each other.

  Therefore, Christopher had Rod take Berwyn to the chamber they had been sharing and put the old man to bed. What his old bones needed most, at the moment, was rest.