The Heir (The King's Cousins Book 2)

by Alexa Aston

  The door flew open and the king entered with Despenser close on his heels. Landon curled up and pushed himself against the wall, willing them not to see him.

  The royal chamberlain laughed heartily. “Where’s the boy? I want to see the boy.”

  Reluctantly, Landon pushed himself to his feet and came forward. He bowed to the king and stood motionless, his eyes downcast.

  “Lord Adelard is dead, little boy,” Despenser said. “His head rests on a pike that the king had placed just outside the palace. That way everyone can see what happens to a traitor.” He paused. “Are you a traitor, Landon de Blays?” Despenser asked in honeyed tones.

  “Nay,” he said, keeping his gaze focused on his feet.

  “You look so like him,” Despenser continued. “We must see that you never become like him. Isn’t that right, your majesty?”

  Landon dared to raise his eyes and saw the king studying him.

  “He’s no traitor,” the king said, tilting his goblet up and drinking. “He’s a boy.”

  “We have to make certain, though,” Despenser said.

  Landon saw the venomous look in the man’s eyes.

  “Our boots were muddied during the hunt. I think this . . . boy . . . should lick them clean.”

  Despenser had been malicious but this was the worst he had asked.

  “What do you think, your highness? Shall the boy clean our boots?”

  Edward waved his hand in a gesture that could have been interpreted in various ways. His companion took it as meaning the king was in agreement.

  “Start with mine, boy. Once you have perfected your technique, you may clean the king’s.”

  Landon closed the gap between him and the older man and dropped to his knees. The boots before him were layered in mud, with bits of grass mixed in. He also smelled horse shit. He shuddered but kept quiet. Kneeling, he braced himself with his hands placed on either side of Despenser’s left boot.

  And licked.

  “The Prince of Wales has arrived, your highness,” a servant said.

  “Bring him to me,” the king commanded.

  “Why did you send for young Edward?” Despenser asked.

  “I don’t want to leave the country to perform homage to Charles of France regarding Aquitaine.”

  “The prince is only twelve years of age. Do you think him an adequate representative, your majesty?”

  “It’s time he takes on certain duties so he can become a man,” Edward replied. He paused and then said, “I’d rather stay here and hunt with you, Hugh. The barons are restless. I don’t think it wise for me to be in France and allow them time to plot against us.”

  Landon continued his distasteful task. He sensed the arrival of the royal heir as he swallowed and kept to his task.

  “Your majesty,” said the prince.

  He recognized the younger Edward’s voice from a previous visit he’d made two days earlier. Landon forced the bile down as his mouth filled with more mud and shit.

  “I am making you not only Earl of Chester but Duke of Aquitaine, my son. In that role, you will journey to Paris and join your mother. She’s there with my envoys, negotiating a peace with her brother, the King of France. You will perform homage to your uncle in regards to the Duchy of Aquitaine. I am informed the peace accord has been settled. You may sign on my behalf as the new duke. Afterward, you and your mother will return to England. Do you have any questions?”

  “Nay, Father. Not about the French. I am eager to represent the crown in this matter and thank you for giving me such a great responsibility.” The prince paused. “May I inquire why this boy cleans the royal chamberlain’s muddy boots with his tongue?”

  Despenser chuckled. “He’s doing a fair job of it. More practice will make him an expert, though.”

  “Rise, de Blays,” the king commanded.

  Landon pushed himself to his feet, aware of the filth that now covered his face. He kept his lips pressed tightly together, not wanting the prince to be offended by the muck coating his teeth and tongue. Giving a bow, he stared just to the side of the prince’s face, not daring to meet the older boy’s eyes.

  “This is a cousin of yours, Edward, Landon de Blays. His father thought to commit treason against England with a small band of noblemen. Who knows? If not himself, Adelard de Blays might have tried to put this boy on the throne in your stead. Cousin Adelard’s head now rests on a pike. You may have seen it.”

  “Nay, Father, I haven’t, but I, too, have boots that could use a thorough cleaning. This cousin of mine should do nicely.”

  Landon’s eyes cut to the prince but he saw no malice on the older boy’s face. Instead, he saw intrigue. Standing firm, he kept his jaw clamped.

  “Would you give me this cousin, Father? After all, he is family and quite young. I am sure I can dispel any notions of grandeur that Lord Adelard might have given him. ’Tis best to keep an enemy close and turn him into an ally instead.”

  His heart began beating wildly. Something told Landon that this cousin of his would not mistreat him. Still, he stood stoically, not knowing whether the king would agree or not.

  “An excellent idea,” the monarch said. “The boy is only six. He should prove malleable enough. Take him to France with you then. I’m tired of him being underfoot.”

  Victory sparked in Prince Edward’s eyes. “Thank you, Father. I will represent you well in Paris.” He moved and kissed his father’s hand and then looked to Landon.

  “Come along, Cousin.”

  Without waiting, the young prince strode from the room. Landon quickly followed him. His only regret was that he couldn’t stop to spit what sat in his mouth in Despenser’s face. The king’s rooms were vast and it took some minutes to reach the corridor. The prince sailed through the two lines of royal guards and Landon made sure he was close enough that he wouldn’t be swallowed by the soldiers.

  Turning to the left, the prince kept to a brisk pace before he stopped and threw open a window.

  “Spit out as much as you can,” he commanded.

  Wide eyed, Landon stepped to the window and used his tongue to push out the excess muck in his mouth. He took his fingers and scraped his tongue and then wiped them on the borrowed clothes that were too large and now smelled like manure.

  The prince nodded agreeably and closed the window. Landon followed him once more until they reached another wing of the palace. They entered a suite of rooms, where a horrified servant looked at Landon, his mouth gaping wide.

  “Bring hot water. My cousin needs a bath,” Edward said pleasantly. “And send for my tailor. He needs a new wardrobe and I, too, am in need of something elegant to wear to the French court.”

  When the servant stood rooted to the spot, the prince firmly said, “Now,” and the man scurried away.

  “Come this way, Landon.”

  He followed the royal to another room, where a lavish meal had been set out. His stomach gurgled noisily at the sight.

  “I’m sure they haven’t been feeding you well,” the prince noted. “You can eat and drink in a moment. First, let’s clean you up some.”

  Edward led him to a basin of water that would be used for washing hands before a meal. “Go ahead. Plunge your face into it.”

  Landon did as instructed and rubbed his face while it remained in the water. He raised his head, water dripping down the front of him, as the prince reached for a linen cloth set on the table.

  “Use this to wipe away the dirt,” he suggested.

  Once more, Landon did as he was told, hardly believing his good luck.

  “Come and sit. After you eat and drink, the water will have arrived for your bath.”

  “But . . . this is your food, your grace.”

  “I’m not that hungry. Go ahead.”

  Landon sat and though he tried to use good manners, he found himself shoving food into his mouth. Ashamed of his behavior, he stopped and dropped his hands to his lap.

  Edward, who’d taken the seat opposite him, said,
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Cousin. Despenser is the one who should feel contrite. He is a greedy, evil man. I am sorry he is so closely associated with my father. Has he mistreated you in other ways?”

  “Aye, your grace.” Landon thought it best not to elaborate.

  “No more worrying about Hugh Despenser. You are in my care now. I will teach you what is important. The things a good man needs to know.” A shadow crossed his face. “I met your father before. I am sorry that he got caught up in a plot against the crown.”

  Landon sensed his cheeks burning, shame filling him. “Father was always good to me and my sister.” It was all he could say. He had no words to explain how the man he loved was the same one who’d done such terrible things.

  The prince leaned closer. “You have a sister?”

  “Aye. Katelyn is five.”

  “My father would not harm a child so young, especially a girl. She is safe, wherever she is. When the time is right, I will also take her under my wing. Would you like that, Landon?”

  Relief flooded him. “I would.”

  Soon, the bath water arrived and the prince supervised two servants as they scrubbed Landon from head to toe. Clothes had been found for him. The tailor also arrived and measured him. The prince told the tailor they would be leaving for Paris in two days’ time and he wanted several new changes of clothes for his young cousin, as well as something he could wear to meet King Charles.

  “Mother says that my uncle pays close attention to details, so spare no expense,” Edward instructed.

  After the tailor left, Landon began yawning. He tried to cover it, only to hear Edward laugh.

  “You’ve had a trying week, Cousin Landon. It’s time for bed.”

  The prince led him to a room with an enormous bed.

  “A dozen people could sleep in that!” he exclaimed.

  “Well, only two of us tonight,” the prince quipped.

  “I’m . . . to sleep . . . with a prince?” Landon asked, overwhelmed.

  Prince Edward placed his hands on Landon’s shoulders. “A time is coming when I will need people loyal to me. The nobility throughout England rumbles in displeasure at the power both Despensers have at court and over the king. They have stolen lands and fortunes from too many to count. Their day of reckoning is coming. When it occurs, I will need to step forward and lead.

  “Blood is blood, Cousin. Can I count on you to be by my side when I claim England’s throne?”

  Landon fell to his knees in order to show his gratitude. “I am your loyal servant. Always,” he said vehemently.

  “I will hold you to that vow, young Landon de Blays, both now and in our future.”

  Chapter Two

  Briarwood Castle, Northumberland—June, 1340

  Cassiana Campion, daughter of the Earl of Briargate, finished her evening meal. Turning to her brother, Tobyn, she stared for a moment, wondering if she would lose him as she had all of her other siblings.

  As the oldest Campion child, she had watched her mother give birth to a dozen children. Only Cassiana and five sons survived. Her mother, who’d grown weaker after each birth, had died moments after birthing a final daughter, who followed her mother to Heaven moments later. That meant, at twelve, Cassiana became mother to five little boys. She had bathed them. Played with them. Sewn their clothes. Taught them to ride and hunt and even read.

  And then watched four of them die.

  Two passed away from fevers in childhood. Another two came home from the border wars with Scotland with injuries too severe to survive. No matter how much she nursed them and implored the Virgin to intercede on their behalf, Cassiana had watched both slip away.

  Now, only Tobyn survived. Her brother would leave in the morning with thirty of Briarwood’s best men, marching to Berwick-upon-Tweed to join up with Sir Robert Morley. The nobleman had assembled fifty merchant ships that would join those of King Edward’s. The king would lead this fleet across the North Sea to the English Channel, where they would unite with Morley’s northern ships and then attack France.

  Cassiana hoped her brother would live through any battle at sea and subsequent ones on land. It was important for the Campion heir to return home since he was their last hope for the line continuing at Briarwood.

  “Tobyn, I will see to Father’s meal now,” she told her brother. “You can come say your goodbyes to him in half an hour.”

  He nodded, lost in thought. Cassiana knew Tobyn had to be thinking about previous battles in Scotland and his brothers’ deaths, wondering if he would return to Northumberland.

  She wondered the same.

  Stopping in the kitchen, she retrieved a tray for her father, knowing he would eat little of the food on it. His appetite had never been strong since he’d become bedridden five years ago, suffering deep wounds in his back and leg in the same battle that had cost him two of his sons. Since that day, Cassiana had served as both Earl and Countess of Briargate, though she held neither title. When her mother passed on, Cassiana had not only become mother to five sons but she’d taken on all responsibilities held by her mother. She’d learned to rule the keep with a firm hand, wise beyond her years, doing a better job than those double her age.

  Once her father took to his bed and it was obvious he would never leave it, she’d also taken up the mantle of earl and seen to his duties regarding their estate, both its tenants and soldiers. At first, her authority was questioned, due to her youth and status as a woman. Soon, though, the people of Briarwood found her more than competent. Under Cassiana’s direction, the lands flourished and the soldiers became even more prepared than before. It wasn’t unusual to find her in the training yard, demonstrating ways to better use weapons, since her father had insisted she learn to handle a sword and mace as her brothers did. As a woman, she had trained longer and harder than any man and her skills reflected the many hours of practice.

  She’d also taken over supervising every aspect of the estate, from handling the harvests to bringing new tenants to Briarwood to purchasing additional horses. In effect, she served as both master and mistress of Briargate, holding it in trust for Tobyn since her father no longer could perform the tasks necessary to make his estate thrive.

  In a way, she was slightly resentful of Tobyn, who’d been gone for many years, fostering in another Northumberland household some distance from home. He’d gone away at seven, returning for short visits over the years, while Cassiana never left the land except for short journeys to Berwick-upon-Tweed, where she bought supplies and sold livestock. She’d been the one her father turned to when he couldn’t leave his bed and she’d seen that Briarwood was run efficiently. She was the one who knew the names of every person on the estate, from soldiers to servants to children of their tenants. When Tobyn returned a month ago having earned his knighthood at a score and one, he only remembered a few of those present, and he hadn’t seemed interested in estate matters. In fact, he’d told her how he looked forward to leaving England to fight the French.

  Cassiana supposed with the delicate nature of her father’s health, Tobyn might return from battle to find himself the Earl of Briargate.

  If he returned . . .

  She shrugged off the thought. She loved her brother and would pray for his safe return day and night. Still, when Tobyn did come home for good, he would seek a wife and wish to run Briarwood as he saw fit. That left no place for Cassiana. The new countess would not want her sister-in-law hovering in the shadows, resentful of how the people would look to Cassiana for a decision and not their countess. Tobyn would want to put his own mark on the land, too, and not have his older sister instructing him in what to do.

  But, where would that leave her?

  She’d flirted briefly with Sir Tarquin Grosbeck, one of their many knights. A handsome man whose sword skills rivaled any she’d seen, Tarquin had stolen a few kisses from her when they’d met in the stables. Cassiana had hoped for more but his kiss left her empty. The knight had hinted at wanting to wed her once the
ir men returned from France but she didn’t think it wise. Even if Tobyn granted them a cottage of their own on the estate, she would still be underfoot and might be considered a hindrance. She would never want to undermine Tobyn and his wife as they built their own family and he settled in as the earl but Cassiana could see how torn their people might be if she remained.

  The best thing would be for her to seek a marriage with a man far from Briarwood, with no ties to the area. She supposed she must ask Tobyn to arrange this upon his return from France.

  Again, an unsettled feeling overwhelmed her. What if her brother succumbed to death as all of her other siblings had? The king would name a new earl to step in once her father passed. Cassiana hadn’t worked tirelessly for so many years only to see the estate turned over to a stranger. Tobyn must return home. He must.

  She entered the solar and then her father’s bedchamber. Placing the tray on a nearby table, she helped him to sit up and plumped the pillows behind him. His pallor was gray. He gave her a feeble smile.

  “How is my favorite daughter?” he asked.

  “I’m your only daughter,” she answered, not bothering to hide her smile.

  “And always my favorite of all of my children,” he said honestly. “I know what you have put into Briarwood, Cassiana. You have run every aspect of it. I only wish you could become the earl upon my death and not Tobyn.”

  She sat on the bed next to him and lifted the tray into his lap. “Hush, Father. That’s foolish talk. England will never have a woman become an earl. Besides, Tobyn is a knight now. I’ve watched him in the training yard. His skills have come a long way, especially in the last few years. He may need to work on being interested in things beyond warfare, but he will defend the estate and its people.”

  He gave her a sad look. “What if your brother doesn’t come back from the French campaign? Like the others? What will happen to Briarwood—and you?”