Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Charles’ lips curled back in a sneer that just as quickly faded. “I understand that he has invaded my home. Rochester is no longer mine.”

  “Rochester will always belong to the stewards,” Myles assured him, praying that the man would get a grip on himself. “Get some sleep, my lord. You’ve not slept for days and your exhaustion is weighing heavily. Come to the next room and…”

  Charles yanked away from Myles, pacing sloppily across the floor. “She did this,” he muttered. “That foolish wench has caused this. She sides with him, you know.”

  “Who?”

  “The viscount,” Charles insisted. “She sides with him. He protects her. They are going to take Rochester away from me. Well, that will not happen. It cannot. I forbid it!”

  He suddenly bolted from the room before Myles could catch him. He stood in the doorway, watching Charles lose himself in the bustle of the ward. He could only shake his head. So much for the idea of sleep.

  Myles went in search of Tevin.

  *

  The September day was cool and rainy. Clouds had moved in off the sea and a steady rain had pounded the land since late morning. Cantia was in the solar with Val, feeling obligated to give special attention to the sister of her liege. After the meal that the injured lady so delicately ate, for even swallowing seemed to be painful, Cantia had the fire stoked and proceeded to warm some water to wash the lady with.

  Val didn’t protest as Cantia ran a warm, wet cloth over her one good shoulder and one good arm, and then moved to clean the dirt off her face. Val really was a pretty woman, even prettier without all of the grime associated with battle. Cantia said little as she bathed her patient and made every effort to insure the woman’s comfort. Val had been watching her closely, however, thinking that she had never before seen such a lovely woman. She could understand her brother’s fascination with her.

  At some point, Hunt entered the solar with the ever-present dog on his heels. Hunt was used to coming and going as he pleased, for his father never admonished him for anything. Brac had always been unusually lenient with the child and though Hunt wasn’t spoiled, he was bold. He walked right up to Val as Cantia tightened the bandages that braced her bad shoulder.

  His big blue eyes focused on the lady knight. “You are not a real knight,” he said flatly.

  Cantia looked at her son with displeasure. “Hunt, you are rude to address the lady so,” she admonished firmly. “Please apologize.”

  But Val grinned, waving off the motherly scolding. “Nay, my lady, he is quite right,” she said. “I am not a man and, therefore, not a real knight. But I fight as one anyway.”

  “Why?” Hunt asked innocently.

  “Because that is my calling.”

  Hunt cocked his head. “You are called? Called what?”

  Val’s grin broadened. “I simply mean that this is what I do. I was born to do it.”

  “But…” his little nose scrunched in confusion. “How can you fight if you are not a real knight?”

  “Enough,” Cantia turned her son around and faced him towards the door. “Take George outside and play with him. Throw him the balls. He likes that.”

  Hunt dug his heels in. “But I’m hungry!”

  “Then go to the kitchen,” she slapped him lightly on the buttocks. “Cook will give you something to eat. Go now and leave me in peace.”

  Hunt did as he was told, but not before he walked a wide circle around the room, touching everything within his reach, all the while watching his mother finish tending the lady knight. Only when Cantia shot him a threatening look did he leave the room completely. When he was gone, she dared meet Val’s amused gaze.

  “I must apologize for my son’s behavior,” she said. “He is, unfortunately, quite stubborn and not quick to obey.”

  Val merely grinned. “He is still very young. But that will change when you send him to foster. He’ll have to obey swiftly or risk a beating.”

  Cantia’s delicate fingers froze for a moment, then resumed tightening the bandage. Val glanced at the woman, noting that her expression seemed distressed. She wrongly guessed at the trouble.

  “Do not worry, Lady Penden,” she said. “He will learn to obey. Have you selected his foster house yet?”

  When Cantia looked at her, Val swore she saw tears. But Cantia quickly lowered her gaze, refocusing on the wrappings. “Nay,” her voice was strangely tight. “He… he is still too young to foster.”

  “Not necessarily,” Val said. “My brother was about Hunt’s age when he left for Kenilworth Castle to foster. Our father arranged for that when he was born. Tevin was gone for many years… I did not truly even come to know my brother until his return as a fully-fledged knight. He was eighteen years of age.”

  Cantia’s head came up again. “He was gone for thirteen years?”

  “Aye.”

  Cantia left the bandages. Head hung, she went back over to the table and collected the things she had brought with her – more bandages, a bowl, a small knife to cut the cloth with. She piled them all in the bowl and moved for the door. But as she left, Val heard the distinct sound of stifled sobs. They only grew louder when the woman quit the room and thought she could no longer be heard. Val called out to her, twice, but the lady apparently did not hear her.

  When Tevin entered the solar a short time later, he got an earful.

  *

  “My sister is afraid that she has upset you.”

  Cantia was sitting at the well-scrubbed table in the great hall, alone up until Tevin walked into the room. He walked towards the table, slowly, his massive body moving with grace and ease. Cantia watched his approach, hoping there were no tears left on her cheeks but not wanting to be obvious by checking.

  “She did not, my lord,” she said, eyes downcast. “I simply… that is to say, I am…”

  Tevin plopped his enormous body on the tabletop right next to her. His right thigh was next to her arm and she instinctively pulled away. When she looked up, it was into glittering dark eyes.

  “This evasiveness simply will not do,” he said flatly. “If you are upset, I would very much prefer you told me so that it is out in the open. You have been most kind and accommodating to us and I will not see you distressed over things that I would do all in my power to right. What did my sister do that upset you so?”

  Cantia shook her head, struggling for courage. She even smiled, weak though it might be. “Any number of things can upset me these days, my lord. It matters not. I am a silly woman.”

  “You are not,” his voice grew softer. “You have a great many things on your mind, and rightfully so. What was it my sister said that sent you from the room in tears?”

  Cantia struggled with her brave front. “Nothing, my lord. We were simply speaking of my son and she asked me where he was to foster. I said… I said that we had not yet petitioned to foster him because….”

  So much for the brave front. The tears returned and she struggled not to fall apart. Tevin was careful to resist his natural urge to physically comfort her in some way. Instead, he sat beside her on the bench, very close, and watched her wrestle with her composure.

  “Because why?” he asked gently.

  She sniffled into her hand. “Because he’s too young,” she finally blurted. “I have just lost my husband. I cannot fathom the thought of losing my son.”

  So there it was. Against his better judgment, he took her free hand in his massive one, rubbing the fingers gently. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “How old is Hunt?”

  She squeaked as she spoke. “Five years.”

  He fought off a smile. “Aye, he’s far too young still. You do not have to worry about sending him to foster for two more years at least.”

  The hand came away from her eyes, the wet lavender orbs shimmering with emotion. “Why must I send him away at all? Why can he not stay here, with me, and learn to be a knight? Where is it written in law that he must be sent away?”

  Sh
e was growing more grieved with each passing word. For lack of a better action, Tevin put his enormous arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, his cheek on the top of her head. I would do this for anyone rightfully distressed, he told himself. But he knew, deep down, that he would not. He had, in fact, never done it before. Now it seemed as if he was looking for any excuse to pull Lady Penden into his arms.

  “There is no law that says a child must be sent away,” he said quietly. “But the purpose of being sent away to foster is to learn skills and knowledge from those who are not your family. It is a sharing of wealth and knowledge that builds strength of character in men. Wouldn’t you like your son to learn to be a knight from men who have traveled the world doing just that?”

  She sniffled. “I don’t like it. I will not do it.”

  He gave her a squeeze before he realized he did it. “Hush, now. There is no use in working yourself up over something that is a few years away. You’ll not lose your son any time soon, I promise.”

  Her head came up, gazing at him with those magnificent eyes. “If I do not want to send him away, I do not have to, do I?”

  “Nay.”

  Only then did she seem to relax. Tevin realized almost too late that she was far too close. He could feel her breath on his face. With her wet eyes and sweet lips, he felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her. The very thought startled him, distressed him, causing a violent outburst of contention within him. The woman was a new widow, grieving over the loss of her beloved husband. She was not a woman to be trifled with. Much to his dismay, however, she put her head back down, right onto his shoulder. He swore he felt her nestle against him. It was a damn sweet feeling.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “Your words bring me great comfort.”

  “It is right that they should,” he said quietly. “I tell you the truth.”

  Her reply was to lift her head, put a soft hand on his jaw, and tenderly kiss his cheek. Then she rose and was gone.

  Tevin sat there for several long minutes, his heart thumping against his ribs and the spot on his face where she had kissed him blazing with sensation. As small a gesture as it was, as perfectly innocent, it was the most significant kiss of his life. He felt it down to his soul. And he knew, at that moment, that he was in a good deal of trouble.

  But thoughts of trouble quickly fled when Myles entered the hall, his blue eyes fixing on his liege. He made straight for the table.

  “I saw Lady Penden in the solar,” he said to Tevin. “She looks much better today. Have you spoken with her at all?”

  Oh… yes, Tevin thought. “I have,” he said evenly. “She does seem much better, though now her distress seems to be with the thought of sending her son to foster.”

  Myles brow furrowed. “What?” he sat down opposite Tevin. “What brought that up?”

  “A conversation with someone apparently broached the subject,” Tevin replied. “I have spent the past several minutes attempting to convince her that it was far too soon to worry about sending her son away.”

  Myles snorted, looking around the table to see if there was any ale or wine available. Seeing none, he summoned a servant. As the man went to do his bidding, Myles turned back to Tevin.

  “I believe we may have more trouble on our hands, my lord,” he said. “I have just come from a most distressing exchange with Charles.”

  Tevin was glad for the change in subject, even if it was about Charles. “What happened?”

  Myles shook his head, with regret. “I fear his madness is gaining,” he said. “He was in the knight’s quarters not a half hour ago asking for a weapon.”

  Tevin found he had little tolerance when it came to the madness of Charles Penden. “Before you continue, you should know that he struck Lady Cantia this morning. I was witness to it. I ordered him from the keep, not to return until my anger had cooled.”

  Myles stared at him a moment in disbelief. “He struck her?” he repeated. “My God… Brac would have had his head. His father had always been inordinately jealous of Lady Cantia, mostly because she held Brac’s attention captive. Charles could never come to terms with the fact that he was not the center of his son’s world, just as Brac was the center of his. There are years of contention between Charles and Lady Cantia, all of it Charles’ fault.”

  Tevin’s jaw flexed. “Then it would seem that the Lady Cantia needs to be protected from her father-in-law, for clearly, with Brac gone, he feels no need to hide his hostile feelings for her.”

  A steward brought some wine and Myles poured himself a healthy measure. “I will be vigilant, my lord, have no doubt.”

  “He does not resent the boy, does he?”

  Myles took a large swallow of the tart red liquid. “He adores Hunt. He would never harm him.”

  Though it was one less thing to worry over, Tevin was still disturbed that Lady Cantia would need protection from Brac’s insane father. “Back to your statement, then. Why was Charles asking for a weapon?”

  Myles cast him a long glance. “He’s not in his right mind, my lord. He says much that he does not mean.”

  “Why does he want a weapon?”

  Myles sighed heavily, toying with his cup. “I am not sure if he feels the need to protect himself or the need to commit murder. He seems to think that you and Lady Cantia are conspiring to take Rochester from him. He further blames you for Brac’s death.”

  Tevin scratched his head, absorbing the information. “His lunacy grows,” he insisted. “I suspect the man needs to be locked in the vault for his own protection as well as the lady’s. I do not need the added element of a madman running amuck at Rochester, not when there is much else that requires my attention.”

  “Agreed,” Myles said. “Would you have me corral him, my lord?”

  Tevin shook his head. “You should not be the one to arrest your liege. My men will do it.”

  Myles downed the last of his wine. He found that his fatigue was catching up with him. “Shall I shadow the lady until Charles can be put away?”

  “Nay,” Tevin said. “You have enough to do with the command of Rochester. I shall make sure the lady is well protected until Charles can be caged.”

  “Very good, my lord. If there is nothing else, I shall retire for a time.”

  Tevin waved him off, mulling over the conversation as Myles quit the hall. He thought to find Sir Dagan and order the imprisonment of Charles Penden until the man could get himself under control, but as he rose from the bench, Lady Penden passed within his line of sight, emerging from the solar and mounting the steps to the upper floors. A second later, Hunt and the big yellow dog also emerged and ran after her. He could hear the dog barks echo in the stairwell.

  Now he was thinking on Cantia again. With a sigh of frustration, mostly at himself, he went about his business.

  *

  Charles Penden, as suspected, did not react well to being imprisoned. He shouted conspiracy and murder as Dagan and Gavril practically carried him to the gatehouse, dragging him down the narrow steps and incarcerating him in the bottle prison. The name of the prison was derived from the shape of the cell. The door was in the ceiling and the room was literally shaped like a bottle; wide at the bottom and narrowed up towards the top. It was virtually impossible to escape from. They left Charles screaming at the bottom of it.

  They stood over the cell, looking into the hole that showed Charles at the bottom. The man was distraught, incoherently shouting. The two knights shook their heads.

  “Crazy man,” Dagan growled.

  Gavril nodded in agreement. Shorter and darker than his cousin, he was also the oldest man in the viscount’s service at nearly forty years of age. He had seen much, done much. He did not have much patience for a mad baron.

  “We’ve duties on the wall,” he told his cousin. “Come along now. Let’s leave the baron to his hell.”

  When they began to move, Charles started yelling louder. “Wait!” he called. “Wait, I say! Do not leave me here alone!”

&
nbsp; Dagan called down to him. “Cease your struggles, baron,” he advised. “A show of sanity may very well see you released.”

  Charles was trying to climb up the sides of the prison, only managing a few feet before sliding back down to the floor. “Release me and you shall be well rewarded,” he clawed into the brick so hard that his fingers came away bloodied. “Let me out of here and I shall give you all that I have. Let me out!”

  Gavril shook his head, jabbing his finger in Dagan’s arm to prompt the man to follow him. But Dagan was finding a weird fascination out of watching Charles struggle.

  “This is what I mean, baron,” he said. “You sound like a madman. Calm yourself and the viscount may take pity on you.”

  Charles had stopped trying to scale the walls. He sat at the bottom of the pit, gazing up into the only opening that provided both light and air.

  “Release me and I shall give you the lady and her dowry,” he offered, though there was defeat in his tone. “She came to my son with a large dowry. Release me and I shall give it, and her, to you. You could live like a king.”

  “I’m sure I could,” Dagan said with mock patience. “And whereby would you get the power to do such a thing?”

  “She belongs to me now.” Spit flew from Charles’ lips as he spoke. “She and the boy are mine, to do with as I please. Release me and I give her to you.”

  Gavril continued to walk away, up the steps that led to the gatehouse. But Dagan stood there a moment, looking down at the crazed baron and entertaining possibilities that he just as quickly chased away. A madman’s desperate plea, he told himself. But he had seen the lady and she was quite lovely. An interesting thought, but not a realistic one. ’Twas a madman’s desperate plea.

  He followed his cousin from the vault.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next two weeks passed in relative peace. Charles stayed in the vault, which gave Tevin one less worry. Val was up and about, having been moved by Cantia to the third floor of the keep now that she was able to maneuver the stairs, and life in general seemed to be settling down for the first time since the death of Brac Penden. For the most part, there had been no more battles for the bridge, though a week after Brac’s death there had been a minor skirmish. Tevin and his knights had ridden to battle, but the enemy had quickly fled and the scuffle was over almost before it began. After that, it was eerily peaceful. Tevin couldn’t decide if he was grateful or suspicious.