Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Ellowyn was on her bum just a few feet away, eyes wide and hands against her mouth. Before she realized it, Brandt was sweeping her into his arms and carrying her back to the keep.

  “Come along, my lady,” he said calmly. “That is enough excitement for one night.”

  “That… that man,” she gasped. “He… he would kill us.”

  Brandt was quite composed. “Not us,” he said. “Me. I told you that men were out to kill me. I did not exaggerate.”

  She lifted her head from his broad shoulder, looking at him with big eyes. “Men under your command?”

  He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was focused on the keep. “An assassin,” he said quietly. “It happens all of the time.”

  She struggled to overcome her shock. Pushing herself from his arms, they ended up facing each other just outside of the kitchen entrance. Warmth and noise radiated from the open door as they stood in the dark and quiet yard. Ellowyn was working herself up into one of those lathers he’d seen when he had first met her. He could see it in her eyes.

  “Stop this instant,” she said, holding up her hands to him in a halting gesture. “Do you mean to tell me that your own men are so disloyal that they try to kill you for… for money?”

  He sighed heavily, hands on his hips as he shook his head. “I have French in my command,” he said as if it was all quite normal. “Or I have men in my command who have French brothers or cousins. Our two countries are so intertwined that such things are not unusual. Men fight for those who pay the most. A few coins to a soldier under my command, a promise of finer rewards, and he becomes an assassin for my enemies. Loyalties to a liege are bought and sold, my lady. This is the world I live in.”

  Ellowyn gazed up at him, digesting his words. “What about loyalty to a man simply because you respect him?”

  “There is far less of that than you think.”

  “So fealty goes to the highest bidder?”

  “Poverty, hatred, and greed do desperate things to a man’s character.”

  Ellowyn stared at him. Then, she shook her head. “Your world scares me,” she said softly. “Look around you. This is my world. It is a world of peace and contentment. Your world is frightening.”

  “Then it is best you learn what you will be marrying into before the deed is done. Shall I still speak with your father or have you changed your mind?”

  Ellowyn felt sick to her stomach. She held his gaze a moment longer before looking away. “I fear I am already attached to you,” she murmured. “I do not want anything to happen to you, Brandt.”

  “That is not an answer. Shall I speak with your father or not?”

  She looked at him, sharply. “Are you so cold to all of this?” she snapped. “Do you not care what I am feeling?”

  “Of course I care what you are feeling, but as I explained, it is the way of things. Marriage to you will not change it.”

  He was so cold in his delivery, so matter of fact. Ellowyn’s injured expression regarded him carefully.

  “Is marriage just another business transaction to you?” she asked softly. “Because if it is, then we can stop it right now, shake hands, and go along our separate ways. I do not consider marriage a business transaction. I told you once before that when I marry it shall be for love, not because I can broker a better deal or find a richer man. It is because I feel something for him. I wonder if you can feel anything at all for me of if you look at me as another acquisition.”

  He was gazing seriously in the moonlight. “Do you love me?”

  “I am very fond of you. I am sure it will turn into love at some point.”

  He continued to look at her, pondering her reply. These emotions were so foreign to him, so confusing because he had never experienced them before. Once, he believed that love was a fool’s emotion. As he gazed at Ellowyn, he wasn’t so sure of that any longer. “I do not know what to say to that,” he said softly.

  Exasperated, hurt, Ellowyn sighed with frustration and turned away from him, gathering her red skirts as she started to march away. But Brandt caught up to her, grasping her by the arm to stop her.

  “I am sorry,” he said, his deep voice soft and sincere. “I did not mean… Wynny, you must understand that love, or to be loved, has no place in my life. At least, until now. I do not understand the emotion because I have never felt it before. I am not very good with words so you must forgive me if I am blunt or abrupt. I do not mean to be, especially with you.”

  Ellowyn wasn’t entirely soothed, though he had softened her considerably. “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “If an assassin were to pounce on me at this moment and kill me, how would you feel about it? Think carefully before answering.”

  He did. “Rage,” he finally muttered. “Deep and unbridled rage.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Would you feel sadness?”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Aye.”

  “Why?”

  “Because… because you would be dead.”

  “Why would you feel sadness, Brandt? What emotion deep inside you would cause you to feel sadness for my death?”

  He blinked, not quite sure what she was driving at, but reaching out with his thought processes to try and figure out what it was. He could tell she was very serious about it. And then, the answer struck him.

  “Fondness,” he conceded. “I am fond of you also. I would miss you a great deal. Your death would fill me with anguish because of my fondness for you.”

  She smiled faintly. “Fondness can turn to love quite easily,” she said quietly. “Perhaps one day you will indeed introduce the emotion of love into your life, Brandt. You have the capability. I can see it.”

  “You give me the capability, Wynny. You and only you. When I love, it will only be you.”

  Her smile broadened. “Then you may speak with my father tonight about marriage,” she whispered. “And I will try to accept the terror of your world, but know it gives me no pleasure to fear every moment of every day for your safety.”

  Brandt didn’t say any more. He just went to her and swept her up into his arms, his lips seeking her warm mouth. The kiss was tender at first but quickly roared to life with fevered intensity as the scent of Ellowyn filled his nostrils. He’d never known anything like it. Soft and sweet, creamy and buttery, she was all things delicious. His blood was beginning to boil.

  Aloft in Brandt’s arms as his mouth ravaged her, Ellowyn could do nothing more but hold on to his neck, embracing him, feeling his life and warmth against her. Every taste, every suckle, was better than the last. Just as she pulled him tighter, they were interrupted.

  “Wynny!”

  A hiss came from the direction of the kitchen door. Ellowyn and Brandt turned to see Gray standing in the kitchen yard a few feet away, waving her hands at them. Brandt quickly set Ellowyn to her feet.

  “What it is, ma mère?” Ellowyn asked, concerned as she moved towards her grandmother.

  Gray took her granddaughter in hand, glancing at Brandt as she spoke. “Your mother is heading in this direction,” she said softly, quickly. “The duke will go to the feasting hall and I shall bring you in shortly.”

  Brandt bowed swiftly and headed for the opposite side of the keep. But both Ellowyn and Gray caught the warmth in his eyes as he moved away. Ellowyn’s gaze lingered on the man until he disappeared from view, thinking warm and wicked thoughts about him. When she finally turned to her grandmother, she caught the mirth in Gray’s eyes.

  “What is it?” Ellowyn asked. “Why do you look at me so?”

  Gray smiled as she began to lead her back into the keep round about through the kitchen yard.

  “Because I remember what it is like to be young and lusty,” she said softly. “Your grandfather and I met when your Aunt Brooke was about fourteen, so I was still relatively young. Poppa was quite taken with me and I with him. I remember the first time he kissed me. He had brought your aunt and I a great many gifts. I was still leery of hi
m, you understand, so I did not want to accept the gifts but your aunt was mad for such things. Poppa took my hand and kissed it so tenderly that I nearly fell over and that, my dearest, was the start of it all. Poppa pushed his way right into my heart and he has stayed there ever since.”

  They entered the warm, dim kitchens and Ellowyn looked at her grandmother. “I miss him,” she said softly.

  Gray smiled faintly, a distant look in her eye. “I miss his presence,” she replied, “but he is still with me. We speak daily. He does not answer me, but we most definitely speak. I can feel him all around me.”

  Ellowyn sighed sadly, thinking of her grandfather gone these six years. “I wonder what he would think of Brandt. Will you ask him then next time you speak with him?”

  Gray laughed softly. “I believe he liked the duke,” she said. “He served with him in France years ago when the duke was a very young man. Even then, he thought a good deal of the man, so I believe he would have approved of such a match.”

  Ellowyn smiled. “I hope so.”

  As they entered the narrow, barrel-roofed corridor that led from the kitchens into an alcove that then connected with the great hall, they ran into Annalora. The woman was in a rush, like she usually was, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw her daughter.

  “Wynny,” she gasped, grasping her arm. “I have been looking everywhere for you. Some of the duke’s knights are already in the hall and they have asked for you. Where have you been?”

  “With me,” Gray said before Ellowyn could speak. “We have been walking.”

  Annalora only halfway paid attention to the explanation as she whisked her daughter towards the great hall. In fact, she hardly gave it a second thought.

  “Go, now,” she told her daughter. “Entertain the duke’s men. They seem quite taken with you.”

  Ellowyn gave her grandmother a rather desperate expression, causing the older woman to follow her granddaughter right into the hall.

  The great hall of Erith was a two-storied monstrosity with a gallery that ran along the western wall. There was a massive fireplace that, twenty years before, had been a big open pit with a hole high above for the smoke to escape. Ellowyn’s grandfather, Braxton, had the fire pit enclosed with masonry so the unusual enclosure and chimney ran all the way to the ceiling now. It was surrounded by a sort of cage built from wood to hold it steady. The result was a two-sided hearth in the center of the enormous hall that warmed it quite adequately. The massive feasting table for the family and visiting guests sat on the east side of the hearth.

  St. Hèver, both de Laras, and le Bec stood up when they saw Ellowyn and her grandmother approach. Le Bec had cups of wine in both hands, double-fisting his drink, but quickly set them down when Alex elbowed him. Ellowyn smiled at the men as she came upon the table, especially at Brennan with whom she had grown friendly. The young, blond knight smiled back.

  “Good eve, my lords,” she greeted the group, listening to their polite replies. “This is my grandmother, the Lady Gray de Nerra. Her husband was Braxton de Nerra.”

  The name Braxton de Nerra carried a great deal of weight. The knights shifted their attention to Lady Gray.

  “Lady de Nerra,” Dylan greeted. “ ’Tis a great honor to meet the wife of Braxton de Nerra.”

  Gray smiled politely and indicated for the men to sit, which they did. Ellowyn sat down next to St. Hèver as Gray took the chair at the corner of the table.

  “It is an honor for us to have the House of de Russe as our guests,” Gray said, waving on the servants to bring forth more food and drink. “I understand that you have all seen an arduous year this long past.”

  Dylan reclaimed his cup. “No more arduous than most, I suppose,” he replied. “Edward of Wales has a claim to France and the French people do not wish to honor it. We must convince them.”

  As the knights snorted, Gray grinned at the warring man’s humor. “I am sure you see it that way.”

  Dylan looked surprised but it was all for show. “What other way is there to see it?”

  Gray shook her head reproachfully, delicately sipping at her wine. “No other way, young man,” she assured him. “You sound as if you have generations of warring spirit behind you.”

  Dylan nodded. “My father is Tate de Lara, the Duke of Carlisle,” he replied. “My grandfather was Edward Longshanks. My brother and I are bloodthirsty from way back.”

  Gray’s eyebrows lifted, impressed. “De Lara,” she murmured. “Of course I have heard of him. My husband said many times he is the man who should have been king.”

  Dylan shrugged. “I believe he is often glad that he was not,” he replied. “Although he was Longshank’s firstborn, my grandfather and grandmother were not married. My father was an indiscretion of the king’s youth, but he was treated as a royal son. My uncle, Edward the Second, granted my father the title of Earl of Carlisle but his son, Edward the third, granted my father the dukedom of Carlisle. My father is quite content, I assure you.”

  “He is still alive?”

  Dylan took another gulp of wine. “Indeed he is,” he replied. “Alive and stronger than I am.”

  Gray smiled. As she and Dylan engaged in further conversation, Brandt entered the hall with de Reyne trailing after him. Brandt and Magnus had gone back to the kitchen yard when Ellowyn and Gray had vacated it to quickly remove the assassin’s body. Clad in leather breeches and a rough linen tunic, with boots to his knees, Brandt looked utterly masculine and divine. At least, that was Ellowyn’s first thought when she saw him. Another thought occurred to her also. He wasn’t wearing his armor. She’d never really seen the man without all of his armor. Even outside in the kitchen yard, he’d had pieces of it on. He must have changed out of it rather quickly. Ellowyn’s heart fluttered madly.

  Brandt’s gaze lingered on her as he headed for St. Hèver, who was seated immediately to her left.

  “You are in my seat,” he told the knight.

  Brennan, ever obedient, jumped up without question and went to sit further down the table. Brandt took his seat next to Ellowyn and accepted a cup of wine handed to him by a hovering servant.

  “Lady Ellowyn,” he greeted evenly, as if they had not just seen each other moments before. “You are looking lovely this eve.”

  Ellowyn flushed. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, rather innocently. “It seems strange not seeing you every moment of every day, as I did when we were traveling. Have you been busy today?”

  Brandt began helping himself to the bread and cheese artfully displayed on the table. “Verily,” he told her. “The de Lara brothers can attest to that.”

  Alex heard his name. Since his brother was still engaged in conversation with Lady de Nerra, he answered.

  “I am not entirely sure we have had time to rest and relax in over three years,” he said. “This afternoon, your father allowed us to inspect some green chargers he had recently purchased. Your father has a good eye for horseflesh.”

  Ellowyn nodded sincerely. “Indeed he does,” she replied. “We both do. I purchased those young chargers, in fact.”

  “You did?” Brandt repeated, somewhat incredulous. “My lady, they are some of the finest horses I have ever seen. Your father said he would negotiate a good price for them.”

  Ellowyn looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. “I will negotiate a good price for them,” she clarified. “I purchased them, after all. I will be the one to barter their sale.”

  Brandt bit off a grin. “You will be easy on me, will you not?” he wanted to know. “You frighten me.”

  Ellowyn giggled. “I will try.”

  “Pray do.”

  As Brandt and Ellowyn lost themselves in grins and warm glances, Deston and Annalora entered the hall. The noise level soared with the two of them, their loud laughter and conversation, and the servants began to bring out the main course of the meal. As Deston and his wife sat at the table next to Brandt, the table was set with an entire roasted pig, boiled apples, cherries soaked in wine and
spices, pickled cucumbers and turnips, more bread with cheese baked into it, and great bowls of boiled carrots. Ravenous, the diners plowed into the offered fare.

  Ellowyn didn’t say much as Brandt and his knights tucked into the food. She was more interested in watching Brandt. After he served her first of the succulent pork, he helped himself to a great heaping pile and dug into it. She was staring at him but he was trying not to stare at her. In fact, Ellowyn was watching him so closely that she hardly remembered to eat until her grandmother, seated on her right, gently nudged her.

  Picking up her knife, she tore her gaze away from Brandt long enough to spear a piece of meat. But her attention was diverted when she saw a thin young man enter the hall carrying a rather large box.

  Curious, she watched as the young man took up a stool near the blazing hearth and pulled a large mandolin-type instrument from the box. He strummed and tuned his cat-gut strings.

  “Papa?” Ellowyn caught her father’s attention, pointing to the young man. “Who is that?”

  Brandt had been in conversation with de Reyne. He glanced over his shoulder at the man tuning the strings.

  “He arrived a short time ago,” he replied, turning back to his food. “He is a musician separated from his troupe. They are all in Milnthorpe but he did not want to travel at night and asked for shelter. I told him I would feed him if he would play for us.”

  Ellowyn was thrilled. “How wonderful,” she said, excited. “It has been a long time since we have had any music in the hall. Papa, perhaps you should think about employing musicians so they can play at every meal.”

  Deston wriggled his eyebrows, making a face. “Too much extravagance,” he said. “You spend my money far too easily.”

  “I spend your money on what it needs to be spent on.”

  He guffawed. “Child, you are my greatest joy and my greatest expense,” he said as the musician began to play. “Someday, you will find a husband who will say exactly the same thing.”