Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Kenneth squeezed her hand again. “Lady, had you not fled when you did, Tate and Edward would have been discovered by two dozen men who would have quite eagerly speared Tate at the end of a broadsword and taken Edward a captive. What you did… you saved their lives. I believe you saved all of our lives. Do not question your bravery.”

  Her eyes opened and she turned to look at him. “Do you really think so?” she sniffed.

  He nodded, the ice-blue eyes oddly warm. Kenneth was not the warm type. “I do indeed,” he said quietly. “So you must not despair. We will all get through this. You must trust that Tate will do what is right.”

  “But I am afraid.”

  “I know. But do not give up hope.”

  The tent flap suddenly moved again, issuing forth a small man with thinning blond hair. Icy air blew in after him, rattling the tent. The man was clad in heavy robes and held a big satchel in one hand. Kenneth was on his feet, placing his massive body between Toby and the new entrant.

  “What is your business here?” the knight demanded.

  The man was diminutive and meek, quite intimidated by Kenneth’s hulking presence. “I am the surgeon,” he said in a soft, high-pitched voice. “My name is Timothy. I have been sent to help the lady.”

  Kenneth eyed him as if by sheer glare he could crush the man, but the little surgeon had yet to fade. Gradually, the knight moved aside to allow him access. The little man kept a close eye on Kenneth as he scooted to the lady’s side, setting his heavy bag down.

  “She has at least three broken ribs that I can assess,” Kenneth said. “There is nothing to do but wrap her tightly so they will heal.”

  Timothy St. Maur had been Roger Mortimer’s physic for three years. He was a former priest, as many of them were, who had a gift for healing. The fact that he was a consecrated priest had oft come in handy when giving last rites to patients he could not save. But the small lady lying before him didn’t seem to be in need of that particular talent.

  Toby opened her eyes when she felt the man beside her. He was small and pale. She watched him as he opened his bag and rummaged around in it. He pulled out a strange device that looked as if it was two wooden cones with some sort of leather string in between. She began to watch him more curiously as he rubbed at the cones.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  The young physic smiled. “This is my listening tube,” he told her. When she looked worried, he held it up so she could examine it. “See? The cones magnify the sounds that travel through this leather tube. I will be able to hear many things from your body to determine your health.”

  She looked dubious. “What do you do with it?”

  Timothy gestured to her torso. “May I?”

  She frowned. “May you what?”

  “Demonstrate, of course.”

  She looked up at Kenneth, who shrugged faintly. Toby reasoned that as long as Kenneth was standing nearby, no harm would come to her. Reluctantly, she nodded.

  “Very well,” she said. “Will this hurt?”

  The physic shook his head, very carefully peeling back the edges of her cloak. “Not at all.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Listen, my lady.”

  “Listen for what?”

  The edges of her cloak fell away and he moved for the neckline of her shift. The moment he did so, he felt a very large hand grasp him around the neck. Not tight enough to cut off air, but the implication was obvious. Timothy put up his hands as if in surrender.

  “I am going to listen to her breathing, I swear it,” he said, his voice strangled by Kenneth’s grasp. “Nothing improper will occur but I must be permitted to examine the lady if I am to help her.”

  Kenneth looked at Toby for permission, who nodded faintly. Kenneth released the man and Timothy coughed a couple of times, rubbing his neck, before resuming. He delicately pulled the neckline of Toby’s shift down to just below her collar bone. Then he took one end of the strange contraption and put it against her flesh, the other end to his ear.

  “Now,” he told her. “Cough.”

  She gave forth a weak cough, groaning when it pained her. Timothy listened intently, moving his cone around to different positions before finally removing it.

  “She sounds stable enough,” he put the device back in his bag. “I hear nothing strange so I would assume nothing has been punctured.”

  As Kenneth hovered over him, Timothy proceeded with his examination, going so far as to examine her arms and legs. After he had thumped and poked enough, he finally returned to his big bag.

  “She has three broken ribs and her entire right side is bruised, but she should heal,” he announced, pulling forth a roll of linen. “I am going to have to wrap your ribs, my lady, and I cannot do it through your cloak and surcoat. We must remove your clothes down to your shift.”

  Toby wasn’t particularly shocked by his statement. She had seen Stephen wrapping the ribs of men wounded in the siege and those men had been naked from the waist up. While Kenneth very gently helped her sit, she and Timothy managed to remove her cloak and surcoat. She was in so much pain that she could do nothing more than lean against Kenneth as Timothy tightly wrapped the linen around her torso. Although it hurt tremendously, it also felt strangely better. By the time the physic was finished, she was exhausted with stress and pain and Kenneth lay her gently back down on the pallet. Timothy helped her to drink a strong willow bark potion and quite soon, she drifted off into a heavy sleep.

  Kenneth sat near her head as the physic packed his medicaments back into his big bag. “I will return in a short while,” he said. “If she awakens, do not let her move around overly. She must be still for the next few days.”

  Kenneth nodded as Timothy quit the tent. When all was still and quiet, his gaze drifted to Toby and thoughts of Tate inevitably followed. He wondered if his liege had indeed made it to Carlisle Castle and how long it would be before the man was at Mortimer’s doorstep. He knew for a fact that Tate would not let Toby’s captivity go unanswered. But the method in which the man chose to respond was the question; knowing Tate and his connections, an army of unfathomable proportions was not out of the question and Mortimer might find himself seriously overwhelmed. Mortimer, however, held the advantage no matter how large of an army Tate assembled; he held Toby.

  Kenneth lay down between Toby and the tent entry, thinking he should probably get some rest. But he spent the next hour staring up at the ceiling, wondering what course their lives would take in the next few days. He wondered if he would be strong enough to endure it.

  *

  Tate had Edward and, at the moment, that was all he was concerned with. He didn’t even bother trying to fight de Roche and his men when they surprised them just outside of the postern gate. All he could think of was getting clear of the skirmish. To stay and fight, when he was clearly outnumbered, was not the wiser choice. He had to run.

  So they fled through the woods as de Roche and his men tried to pursue, being seriously hampered by Stephen, Wallace and the four men at arms. It was a blessing that the snow and trees slowed the pursuit, as Tate and Edward were on foot. It had been tricky to cross the frozen River Coquet, which bordered the northern edge of the castle, but they had used the old footbridge and then dislodged one end of it when they were across. As the bridge collapsed and floated away, they tore through the snowy foliage until they came to the horses and wagon that had been left for them. Each man had grabbed a horse and sped away.

  Edward kept tight pace behind Tate as they tore through the forest. Since the bridge was gone, they did not expect pursuers but kept up a fast pace. Tate fleetingly wondered what would become of Stephen and the others, with no way across the river to their mounts, but he had to put that thought from his mind. Unless the man was dead or dying, Stephen would find his way to Carlisle Castle and Tate fully expected to see him there in a few days. He was too strong to fail.

  The journey to Carlisle would be a difficult one. It would take them at
least two days but with the snow and bad weather, perhaps longer. Tate’s thoughts inevitably moved to Toby, wondering where she was and praying that she was well. He trusted Kenneth and knew the man would do all in his power to keep her safe, but he could not help himself from worrying to the point of being overwhelmed by it. Now that he and Edward were away and presumably safe, his mind was occupied with thoughts of his wife. Although he had only known the woman a week, he felt as if she had been with him his entire life. No greater bond nor love nor admiration could he have felt for her had he known her for a thousand years. He was desperate to see her safe, to hold her and to tell her how much he loved her. He could think of nothing else.

  As the snowfall eased and the clouds began to clear, the moon soon emerged to bathe the land in its eerie white light. Tate and Edward pushed on into the night, determined to put as much distance as they could between them and de Roche, waiting for the day to dawn in the hopes that it would bring good news and a brighter outlook.

  In hindsight, if he had known at that moment what he would later come to discover, he would have sent Edward on alone to Carlisle and turned his horse for Mortimer’s camp. But when he and Edward finally reached Carlisle Castle on the morning of the third day and found themselves quite alone but for eight hundred troops, he spent two additional days not eating and not sleeping, waiting for any sign of Toby and Kenneth.

  On the sixth day since leaving Harbottle, Stephen, Wallace and two men at arms, Morley and Oscar, arrived at Carlisle. They were exhausted and haggard but alive. The rest of their party, including Althel, had perished in the flight. Tate was glad to see them but they knew nothing of Toby or Kenneth. The despair he felt deepened tenfold.

  It was then on the seventh day since fleeing Harbottle that an escort arrived at Carlisle Castle bearing a missive from the Earl of March. It came during the first meal Tate had eaten in four days. Fatigued and on edge, he knew what the missive said before he even read it. He just had a gut feeling. And even after he read the carefully scripted words, he continued to stare at the parchment as if hardly believing what he had read.

  Young Edward’s response to the message was to rage while Stephen stood in brooding silence, finally quieting the young king who was verging on a tantrum. All eyes were on the Earl of Carlisle as the missive in his hand eventually fell to the floor. As Tate walked away in stunned disbelief, the words on the parchment screamed forth from the dingy and dusty floor.

  Your wife is my guest and St. Héver with her. The Lady was injured in her adventure and has required the constant attention of a physic. Should you wish to have her returned, you and I must come to terms at Wigmore Castle.

  Tate made it out to the bailey before vomiting.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  For someone who had never traveled out of Cartingdon, Toby was doing a lot of traveling as of late. Seven days as a guest of Roger Mortimer now saw her moving with his army for Wigmore Castle in the Welsh Marches. She was seeing more of England than she had ever seen in her life but she wasn’t enjoying it in the least.

  Her ribs were much better thanks to a good deal of rest and Timothy’s skilled care. But she was still too uncomfortable to ride a horse so she sat in one of Mortimer’s provisions wagons, tightly bundled up against the winter weather. Surrounded by a massive army of hundreds and hundreds of men, the troop movement was an impressive sight and a master scheme of tactical planning.

  Kenneth rode beside her on a big Belgian warmblood that Mortimer had graciously loaned him. It was a young horse, mean and muzzled, but Kenneth handled him with skill. He had been allowed to regain his armor but not his weapons, including his beloved crossbow. Mortimer had taken that from him. But Kenneth was nonetheless allowed the dignity of his station as a knight, riding as if he had not been stripped of his broadsword and bow.

  Toby would have been more at ease if Hamlin de Roche hadn’t been so close to her. The dark, ugly knight rode just in front of the wagon. She had recognized him as the same man who had invaded Forestburn, remembering how he had tried to get his hands on Edward. He would turn around every so often, glance at her and then cast a challenging glare at Kenneth. But the big blond knight kept his eyes straight ahead or on Toby and ignored the man who was trying to bait him.

  Seated on the wagon bench next to the soldier driving the team of horses, Toby eventually grew bored and motioned Kenneth towards her. He reined the big stallion next to her, struggling with the animal as it tossed its head and tried to fight him. Toby watched with a frown, trying not to get bumped.

  “They could not have given you a more docile animal?” she wanted to know. “I do not believe this horse has ever been ridden.”

  Visor raised, the corner of Kenneth’s mouth twitched. “He is as gentle as a kitten.”

  “A raging kitten, you mean.”

  Kenneth lost his struggle against the smile. “Did you call me over here to complain about my horse?”

  She pursed her lips at him, shifting on the bench to a more comfortable position. “I did not,” she snapped without force. “I called you over here to find out where we are.”

  Kenneth looked around, drawing in a thoughtful breath as he did so. “Somewhere to the west of Leeds, I believe,” he said. “Given our rate of travel, that would be my best guess.”

  “How much further?”

  Kenneth looked at her. “Another week or more. It is difficult to move this many men in this weather.”

  Toby looked around, at de Roche several paces up ahead, at Mortimer and his retainers far to the front, before turning back to Kenneth. “Do you think Tate knows where we are?” she asked softly.

  Kenneth nodded thoughtfully. “He knows where we are headed. We know that Mortimer has sent him a missive to that effect.”

  “Will he be waiting for us at Wigmore Castle?”

  “He will do what is necessary and right, my lady.”

  It wasn’t much of an answer. She didn’t realize until later that Kenneth had been purposely ambiguous in case anyone was close enough to hear his answer. Toby, however, was left feeling depressed and uncertain.

  “What will happen to us once we get to Wigmore?” she asked.

  Kenneth shook his head. “I honestly do not know.”

  “Are they going to throw me in the vault?”

  “I would sincerely doubt it.”

  “Are they going to throw you in the vault?”

  “That is a possibility.”

  Her eyes widened. “Truly?”

  He could see that he had frightened her. He didn’t want to tell her what he really thought, but upon reflection, it was better if he did so she was prepared. He did not want her to be startled when, and if, the situation took a distressing turn.

  “It is a possibility but I doubt it,” he lowered his voice. “But you must prepare yourself for the possibility that I will no longer be allowed to shadow you. Since your health is returning, I am not sure Mortimer would see any need for me to remain with you.”

  He had only succeeded in frightening her more. “Oh, Kenneth,” she gasped. “He would not… they would not kill you, would they?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing so drastic, I think. But he could very well send me elsewhere as a hostage.”

  Her eyes welled. “You cannot leave me,” she whispered. “I will not allow it.”

  He sought to soothe her. “No need to fret. Nothing will happen for quite some time yet.”

  She sniffled, wiping her nose that was red with the cold. De Roche turned around at that point, noticed her distressed expression, and reined his horse back towards the wagon.

  The man was big and ugly. Everything about him bled of evil. His muddy gaze moved between Toby and Kenneth as flakes of snow adhered themselves to the dirty beard exposed on his face.

  “Is something amiss, Lady de Lara?” he asked. “Do you require something?”

  Toby didn’t like the man; that much was plain. She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not from you.”

  De Roche smi
led, his stained teeth ugly behind his thick lips. “Spoken like a true de Lara. Pride is never in short supply.”

  Toby looked away from him, having no desire to engage in any conversation. But de Roche wasn’t finished with her yet; he’d not had much contact with the lady for the fact that she had been recuperating from cracked ribs. This was, in fact, the first time he’d been near her since his return from chasing her husband from Harbottle and he remembered what an exquisite woman she was from the day he had seen her at Forestburn. Aye, he remembered her well; he hadn’t known she was de Lara’s wife at the time, which was a pity. He might have paid more attention to her but he had been more concerned with capturing the young king at the time. Lady de Lara had prevented him from doing so and he never forgot it. He was a man with a grudge.

  “Tell me something, St. Héver,” he said casually, his gaze moving over their snowy and cold surroundings. “Do you stay so close to the lady because it is your intention to claim de Lara’s widow? I can hardly blame you; she is a pretty little thing.”

  Toby’s head snapped to the knight, her eyes wide. Before she could work up a righteous explosion, Kenneth reached out to touch her arm. She looked at him, eyes welling and accusing, but he shook his head at her calmly. She understood his silent implication and she bit her lip, lowering her head.

  “I stay close to the lady to protect her from fools like you,” Kenneth said steadily. “And as much as you would like to rattle her, you and I both know that Tate is alive and well. Do not let your bitterness show because the man has once again evaded you. He toys with you as a cat toys with a mouse.”

  De Roche turned towards Kenneth with a baleful eye. “I would not be so confident that de Lara is still alive. He was crossing a bridge when I saw it collapse. He fell into the frozen river and was swept away as I watched.”

  Kenneth waited for Toby to respond but, to her credit, she kept her head lowered. The knight knew that de Roche was trying to upset her and that fueled very uncharacteristic anger within him. His jaw ticked faintly.