The Heir (The King's Cousins Book 2)

by Alexa Aston

  After having spent years in service to Edward, he knew the king and queen were a love match. Though their marriage had been an arranged one, the couple had grown to love each other completely.

  The healer arrived and was allowed through the barrier that guarded the king from any more harm. He agreed with the king’s assessment that the wound wouldn’t cause any problems. It was cleaned and dressed. By the time that occurred, the fighting had trickled to a halt.

  Edward rose and gazed across the harbor, a jubilant smile touching his lips.

  “What do you think of our day’s work, Cousin?”

  Landon replied, “’Tis some of the fiercest fighting I’ve seen, your majesty. French ships were seized and then retaken by our enemy before we English captured them again. Good men died today for the glory of England. The water runs red from the blood of many corpses, most of them those of our enemies.”

  Various commanders began reporting in as darkness swept across the harbor and the port of Sluys itself.

  “The French fleet is decimated, sire. Only two English ships were captured,” Arundel shared.

  Morley added, “We reclaimed the cogs, your majesty. The few Frenchmen who made it to shore were met by the Flemish and clubbed to death. It is an overwhelming victory.”

  A string of loud curses filled the air as two knights dragged a man along the deck and flung him at Edward’s feet. He glared up at the king.

  “This is?” Edward asked.

  “Hugues Quiéret was killed in battle,” Chandos said. “This is Nicolas Béhuchet, the French commander who lives.”

  “It seems your tactics proved unfortunate today,” the king told the prisoner. “You have cost your country your entire fleet.” Edward smiled. “And most likely, you’ve put me on the throne of France.”

  Béhuchet spit on the king’s boots.

  Landon kicked the French bastard in the face, knocking him on his back.

  “Hang him, Sir Landon,” Edward’s voice rang out. “From the mast of his own ship.”

  Landon latched on to the Frenchman and yanked him to his feet. “With pleasure, your majesty.”

  Chapter Five

  Cassiana told the new mother goodbye and left the cottage. She had delivered the woman’s babe three days earlier and always liked to return to see how mother and child fared. In this case, the mother was already up and about, her son being her fourth child. The babe had a lusty cry and already thrived. Satisfied that all was well, Cassiana mounted Tressa and decided to make her way back to the castle since afternoon would soon turn into evening.

  She tried to devote at least one day a week to riding the property and spending time with their tenants. That was how she knew so much about their people—who ailed, who was with child, who had a disagreement with his neighbor. Her mother had impressed upon Cassiana at a young age the importance of allowing adequate time for visiting with their tenants and others on the estate. It let the people know the Campions cared for them and kept her abreast of all news, good or bad. By being so involved and a part of the fabric of daily life, she had stopped several problems in the making before they raged out of control and needed a verdict rendered on a judgment day.

  It also gave her time alone, riding between cottages and then across the property itself, checking on livestock and fences. Though she enjoyed being in the presence of others, sometimes all of the many responsibilities weighed her down and she craved solitude. Time riding Tressa soothed her. Truth be told, the horse was her closest friend.

  Cassiana had learned that she really couldn’t have friends, being in charge of everything. She learned that lesson early as she mothered her four younger brothers. She found if they believed she favored one over the other or she appeared closer to one and not another, it caused squabbling among them. Learning the fine balance of being friendly yet firm and without revealing too much of herself to the boys was something she carried over as she ran Briarwood. Her demeanor remained steadfast no matter what her activity—deciding menus for the keep’s meals with Cook, training in the yard with their soldiers, or selling livestock and buying supplies in Berwick-upon-Tweed.

  Everyone thought her strong and capable. She was—but a part of her longed to be able to relax. To simply be herself. To share the many burdens of running a large estate. At least she’d learned many things over the years that would make her an excellent choice for a wife when that day arrived, even though she was a little old. At a score and three, most females her age had long wed. Her family had needed her too much, though. Cassiana hadn’t minded doing her part and stepping up when called upon.

  Sometimes, though, she seemed weary beyond her years.

  Allowing Tressa her head, the big bay raced across Briargate lands. Cassiana breathed in the air, already cooling in the late afternoon. Northumberland was never truly hot. Summers here were probably much different from those in the south of England. She caught a whiff of the sea, only a couple of miles from Briarwood, and longed for the days when she took her brothers fishing. Tobyn, in particular, had enjoyed the activity the most and took pride in bringing home something for the evening meal that he’d caught from the sea.

  It made her wonder what Tobyn was doing now. Where he was. If he’d been frightened going into battle or if his confidence had grown. By now, King Edward’s fleet would have united with the northern one Morley had assembled. She wondered how the English navy had fared against their enemy and if France had now been invaded by men such as her brother.

  Cassiana rode through the gates, waving jauntily at their gatekeeper, and steered Tressa toward the stables. As she neared the structure, she saw Justin Cecil pacing in front of it. The squire had not been allowed to accompany Tobyn to Flanders since the ships were small and only fighting men had been allowed on board. At two and ten, Justin was too young to participate in the campaign directly. She had tried to keep the boy busy while Tobyn was away.

  Justin caught sight of her and rushed over. “My lady, you need to come at once. It’s the earl.”

  The squire’s urgent tone and anxious manner let Cassiana know that her father had taken a turn for the worse. His health had begun declining in the spring. With Tobyn’s departure, it had accelerated further. She’d been afraid these past few days that she might lose him soon and had spent hours with him, urging him to eat his evening meal while she told him about her day and all that occurred throughout Briarwood.

  Tossing Justin the reins, she said, “See to my horse,” and hurried across the bailey.

  The training yard still saw activity. With some of their best troops provided to the king as he pursued his claim in France, Cassiana made sure that those who’d remained at Briarwood continued their normal routine. It wouldn’t surprise her if the Scots, usually allied with the French, took advantage of the absence of so many soldiers from Northumberland and tried to cause more mischief than usual.

  Entering the keep, she went directly to the solar, only to find Malkyn leaving. The healer’s eyes met Cassiana’s.

  “The earl is gravely ill,” the older woman said. “I’m off to locate Father Peter.”

  A tightness gripped her heart. “The end has come?” she asked, knowing what Malkyn’s reply would be.

  “I believe so, my lady.” Malkyn’s hands framed Cassiana’s face. “You have been strong for so long. Keep on for a bit longer. Your father needs to be at peace and know he leaves Briarwood in good hands.”

  “Of course.”

  She drew away from the healer and stepped inside the solar. The family room was empty. Crossing to the chamber where her father lay, she opened the door. The bedchamber smelled different than it had on her previous visit. This time, death blanketed the room.

  Syndor wiped the drool that hung in the corner of the earl’s mouth and then set the rag aside. Joining her, he said, “I’ve sent for Father Peter. I will leave so that you may have some privacy.”

  Cassiana saw the tears welling in the servant’s eyes. She gripped his hand, trying to reass
ure him, and then Syndor exited the chamber. Moving to the bed, she saw her father’s face had lost even the grayish tint it had held for the past week. Now, he was as pale as moonlight. She sat on the bed and wrapped her hands around his, finding them freezing.

  He opened his eyes. “Daughter,” he gasped.

  “Don’t try to speak, Father. Save your strength.”

  He shook his head. “My time is over. I will soon be with your mother. I’m only sorry to leave you with so much to do.”

  Cassiana smiled gently at him. “You know I am capable of doing whatever must be done, Father. You have taught me well over the years.”

  Sighing, he said, “You should have been a man. You have all the qualities that make an honorable one. And courage. I never saw you back down from any challenge that came your way.”

  “You wouldn’t have let me,” she teased. “Besides, I couldn’t look weak in front of all my younger brothers.”

  He gazed at her with tenderness. “You are the best of me and your mother, Cassiana. I only hope you will find a man to love as much as I did her.”

  A fit of coughing seized him. Once it ended, he lay spent. She let the silence grow between them, willing him to draw on strength from her, yet knowing it was too late.

  The air in the room altered slightly. She glanced over and saw Father Peter had arrived. The priest had only been with them two years. He was around a score and ten, with the most compassionate brown eyes ever placed in a man.

  Cassiana started to rise but the priest said, “You may continue to sit with him, my lady, as I hear his last confession and help him into the next world. The Living Christ’s world. Hold fast to your father’s hands. Let your love flow from you to him and bring him comfort in these last moments.”

  She nodded, grateful to be able to remain. Closing herself off from the Latin prayers that Father Peter began to speak, Cassiana shut her eyes and remembered all the good times with her father. What he’d taught her about the estate and horses. How he’d shown her the correct way to hold a dagger and then a sword and the best ways to use them. The times he sang to her. When he sat at her bedside as she tried to fall asleep at night. So many treasured memories.

  She’d been so lost in thought that when she became aware of her surroundings again, she realized Father Peter had ceased to speak. Opening her eyes, she looked at her father and saw how peaceful he seemed.

  “He is gone, my lady,” the priest said softly as he laid a hand on her shoulder. “You gave him the comfort and love that he needed.”

  Looking down at their joined hands, she brought them to her lips and brushed a kiss upon his knuckles a final time. Then she released his callused hands and settled them to where one lay atop the other on his chest.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “If you have need and wish to speak to me—about anything—feel free, my lady. I will say the funeral mass tomorrow morning.”

  Cassiana nodded and excused herself, going downstairs to the records room. She retrieved a fresh parchment and gathered quill and ink. Steeling herself, she began a missive to inform King Edward III of the passing of the Earl of Briargate.

  And hoped beyond hope that Tobyn would come back safely.

  *

  Landon stood guard in front of the royal tent, admitting various commanders that had been summoned to meet with the king regarding the current siege of Tournai. He wasn’t surprised when Nicholas Mandeville appeared. They greeted one another, clasping elbows.

  “I haven’t seen you since our forces arrived in Ghent after the king’s victory at Sluys,” his brother-in-law said.

  “Don’t forget that my cousin first went on a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Ardembourg to give thanks for his great victory. The king has been mindful about giving God the glory for such a victory.”

  “At least the citizens of Ghent committed to Edward and renounced Philip, unlike the poor city of Tournai. The place has remained true to Philip throughout this siege.”

  “We intercepted a messenger only yesterday and learned they are running out of food,” noted Landon. “Three months is a long time to hold out. The king gathers his commanders to discuss where we will go next once the city has fallen.”

  Suddenly, a commotion appeared to his right. Landon focused on a small group of soldiers who marched with a white flag. In the center stood a nun of regal bearing. Immediately, he knew who had come to call and stepped forward to acknowledge her.

  “My lady.” Landon bowed deeply.

  “Rise,” the woman commanded, looking at him thoughtfully. “You seem to know who I am.”

  “Aye, my lady. You are Lady Joan, sister to Philip of Valois and mother-in-law to my king.”

  She eyed him with appreciation. “And who might you be, good sir?”

  “I am Sir Landon de Blays, cousin to King Edward and a member of his royal guard.”

  “I see. Well, Sir Landon, please inform my son-in-law that I am here and have an urgent need to speak with him.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  Landon stepped inside the tent and hurried to the king’s side. He whispered in Edward’s ear.

  “By the Christ! Bring her in, Landon. At once.”

  He saw Nicholas had slipped inside the royal tent and stood near the rear. Landon ventured outside and said to the nun, “The king is most happy to receive you, my lady. Please, come.”

  Lady Joan stepped inside. As Landon escorted her to the king, he saw all the English noblemen within had melted away, hovering in the shadows at the edge of the tent so as to give the former countess room to meet with her son-in-law. Landon stayed several paces away from the couple, yet remained close enough to hear their conversation clearly.

  Edward took her hand and kissed it and then kissed her cheek, as well.

  “I am delighted by this surprise visit, my lady. Philippa will be sorry she missed seeing her mother. I hope you are well. Please, have a seat.”

  Lady Joan perched on the edge of a chair. “My health is good but I am not here to speak about that. Pope Benedict has asked me to mediate this . . . situation.”

  “I see,” Edward said, seating himself opposite and studying her.

  “You should know that I have already met with my brother and have begged him to cease fighting against the English.” She gazed steadily at the royal before her. “Now, I do the same with you, Edward. I am asking you to sign a truce at the pope’s behest. No one will lose face because it is the Holy Father who asks for this peace. Will you do it, my son? For your wife? For your family? For the people of England?”

  Landon held his breath, wondering if the king would waver in his pursuit. Already, dispatches had arrived from London, pleading for the monarch to halt any further invasion and return home. The royal treasury had almost been emptied. With no funds coming from Parliament, Edward would be hard pressed to continue moving inland toward France. From what their spies had ascertained, Philip was in a similar situation.

  The king expelled a long breath. “I will sign a truce because the pope wishes it.”

  Joan smiled graciously. “Then it is to be arranged for three days from now. The terms will state that England cannot attack France for five years and that your army must return home. Will that be agreeable, my son?”

  Edward sat silent for so long that Landon was afraid Lady Joan’s intervention had been for naught.

  Then he said, “I will consent to these terms.”

  The nun rose, as did the king. “A wise choice, Edward.” This time she kissed his cheek. “Give my love to my daughter and all of my grandchildren.”

  “I will, my lady. Thank you for stepping in,” he said, so softly that Landon doubted if any of the noblemen in the tent heard his words.

  Lady Joan turned. “Sir Landon.” She nodded brusquely and then exited the tent.

  A dozen conversations broke out at once.

  “Silence!” the king commanded. Every voice died away.

  “We will sign this peace the pope desires and re
turn home in three days’ time. You are dismissed, commanders and guardsmen.”

  Slowly, those in the tent filed out as Edward added, “Lord Nicholas. Please come forth. Sir Landon, stay, as well.”

  Landon was curious as to what his cousin wanted with Nicholas and him, especially now that the war had come to a halt.

  For now.

  Once the space had been emptied, the king invited them to sit and said, “I have been doing nothing but reading dispatches from London over the last several days. It seems everyone in Parliament and half the country felt the need to send me missives in the four months I’ve been gone from England.”

  The king indicated stacks of parchment on a nearby desk, with many more scrolls left unopened.

  Looking to Nicholas, the king said, “Defending the north is still of utmost importance to me, my lord. A strong border between us and the Scots is crucial.”

  “The north will not let you down, sire,” Nicholas assured the monarch. “And the Scots know how you have reinforced numerous estates with additional troops, as well as giving your cousin in marriage to me.” He smiled. “I am most grateful for that, your majesty.”

  “You’re treating Cousin Katelyn well? She is happy?”

  “Aye, sire. Kate and I are most happy together.”

  Abruptly, Edward stood and went to the desk, rummaging about until he found a certain parchment. He brought it back to them.

  “I received word from Briarwood Castle. From a Lady Cassiana Campion, daughter to the Earl of Briargate.”

  “I know the earl well,” Nicholas said. “He’s been a staunch defender of England for many years, though recently he has fallen into ill health.”

  Landon spoke up. “Although I do not know the lady, sire, I met her brother when we traveled from Berwick-upon-Tweed to Flanders. Sir Tobyn spoke generously of his sister and held her in high esteem. Unfortunately, I saw him fall during the fighting at Sluys.” He paused. “I had hoped to give Lady Cassiana this news in person, especially since I’d grown fond of her brother in such a short time.”