Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Toby was beyond horrified; she couldn’t even imagine what type of man would make such a bargain. Her breathing began to come in heavy pants as she stared at him, finally turning to look at Kenneth. The knight was gazing steadily at her, his ice-blue eyes intense.

  “The price is far too high, my lady,” Kenneth told her emotionlessly. “I am not afraid to meet my death.”

  De Roche threw out a fist and struck him in the mouth to silence him. Kenneth’s head snapped sideways but he did not lose his balance or his tense expression. Toby watched blood trickle from the corner of his mouth before turning back to Mortimer.

  He was looking at her rather confidently, as if he knew he had her cornered. Toby met his stare, realizing that she could only make one choice. She could not let Kenneth die no matter what the terms of the bargain. She would therefore agree to the terms but there was no way she planned to go through with them. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get around it, but she would think of something. She had to; too much was at stake.

  “Very well,” she almost choked on her words. “Your terms are accepted. But you will turn Sir Kenneth loose this very instant and I will watch him ride from this place. I would make sure he is well away before complying.”

  “Nay,” Kenneth said through clenched teeth. “You will not do this.”

  Toby shushed him with a harsh hand gesture and he stilled immediately. Her eyes remained on Mortimer. “Do you accept my terms?”

  Roger smiled victoriously. “Of course, my lady,” he said, turning back to de Roche in a much more congenial fashion. “Retrieve St. Héver’s mount and armor. And be quick about it; I am sure the man is eager to return to de Lara.”

  De Roche simply nodded his head and quit the hall, leaving Kenneth standing alone in stunned silence. Toby couldn’t even look at him. As quickly as the storm had risen, it had died leaving devastation in its wake.

  “Toby…,” Kenneth whispered painfully.

  She shut him off with a hand gesture. “Not a word, Kenneth.”

  “You cannot do this.”

  She spun to him, her eyes brimming. “And you cannot die.”

  For the first time since she had known the stone-faced knight, his face reflected something of his agony. The ice-blue eyes were glimmering with sorrow.

  “I would rather die than see you do this.”

  “Your death would not prevent it in the long run. You know this. Eventually he will take what he wants.”

  Kenneth knew she was correct, knowing further argument would be futile. But the thought of her sacrifice was killing him; he could only imagine how Tate would react, how it would destroy the man. Tate had gone through too much destruction in his life and had lived to tell the tale, but something like this would likely topple him. Trouble was, Kenneth could not think of a way to stop it. For all of his knightly experience and cunning, he could not think of a way out of this unless he planned to throttle Mortimer at this very moment. He was close enough to do it but he wasn’t sure he could complete the task before a dozen broadswords ended his life.

  So he watched, helplessly, as Mortimer moved to take Toby’s arm to presumably lead her back to the dais. Toby moved stiffly, as if all of the life had been sucked out of her. As she and Mortimer moved to take a seat, a sentry entered the hall and ran straight for Roger.

  “My lord,” he said, bowing swiftly. “The Queen is upon us. We have sighted her party about a mile out.”

  Mortimer’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “The Queen?” he repeated. “But… how is that possible?”

  “I do not know, my lord,” the man said. “She will be here within the hour.”

  Roger’s mouth popped open in shock, hardly believing what he was told. “Are you sure that is her?”

  “Positive, my lord. A herald has arrived before her.”

  With that, the man bowed swiftly again and dashed away. Mortimer stood rooted to the spot, stunned, wondering why Isabella had come to Wigmore. It was not like her to stray from the warm confines of Windsor during the winter and he had been planning on the woman keeping a distance for a few months. It would give him time to pursue his own interests away from her nervous energy; worse than his wife, she could be cloying and unsettled. Her approach did not set well with him; not well at all.

  More than that, Isabella didn’t even like Wigmore Castle; she said it smelled too much of Joan. Roger began to imagine all of the reasons she might have for coming and couldn’t think of a truly solid one. Perhaps she was coming just to spy on him. He would have wagered money on it.

  But he was no fool; it gradually occurred to him that the true reason for her visit was standing next to him. He knew that Isabella and Tate were very old, and very good, friends. And he knew how Isabella felt about Tate. She had asked the man to marry her once, something that had happened long ago in distant memory. But Tate was still around, still as strong as he ever was. Roger was suddenly angry at himself that it had never occurred to him that Tate would go straight to Isabella to tell her of her lover’s folly. It was the surest way to force him to behave. Damn the man!

  Slowly, he turned to Toby; she gazed back at him with a curious expression. He could only shake his head and hiss. He knew the answers to all of his questions were summed up in one name.

  “Dragonblade,” he snarled.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Toby had never met a queen before. As she gazed at the woman she had heard about her entire life, she could hardly believe that the woman had come to Wigmore and thanked God for her good fortune. Now Mortimer’s attention was directed elsewhere and it was like an intervention from heaven.

  Isabella was short, with big dark eyes and dark hair and a face that looked as if it had seen better days. Roger was absolutely beside himself; he took the woman’s hand and held it to his lips sweetly. He was quite loving towards her, something that both disgusted and fascinated Toby considering that not an hour before he had been propositioning her.

  She’d not left the hall since the announcement of the queen’s approach. Roger had made her sit down and wait, along with him and his retainers, for the queen’s arrival. Kenneth had also remained in the hall, standing behind the dais and watching Toby like a hawk while Timothy sat near the hearth to watch the scene unfold with trepidation. Kenneth ignored the physic for the most part; all he was concerned with was the fact that since Toby had complied with Roger’s demands, Mortimer had left her alone. His preoccupation with the queen’s arrival was obvious and Kenneth was thankful.

  So Kenneth skirted the hall as the queen and her retinue arrived, watching the group filter into Wigmore’s large and warm hall. Kenneth knew the queen and she knew him, and when she caught sight of the big blond knight she nodded faintly. He bowed slightly in reply. They had a long history of association, dating back to her husband’s early reign. Soldiers were trickling in after the queen, men dressed in mail and the queen’s colors. They took position near the door.

  Kenneth looked at a few of the faces, recognizing some but not others. As he neared the entry to the hall, one of the queen’s soldiers, standing in the recesses by the entry, suddenly reached out to grab him. Kenneth immediately went on the defensive until he saw the face. Even then, he could hardly believe his eyes. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at.

  Tate gazed steadily at him from beneath the hauberk and helm. Kenneth struggled not to react, but his eyes did widen briefly as Tate swiftly motioned him to silence. Kenneth immediately turned around to face the room with Tate slightly behind him, hoping to protect the man from Mortimer’s knowing gaze. Suddenly, the dynamics of the situation had changed dramatically in more ways than he could comprehend and Kenneth was both relieved and on edge. His heart was pounding.

  “Where is Toby?” Tate whispered behind him.

  Kenneth turned slightly to speak, trying not to be obvious about it. “On the dais,” he muttered. “See her? Behind Mortimer?”

  Tate was silent for a moment. “Aye,” he murmured, inc
redible gentleness suddenly in his tone. “I see her. Is she well?”

  “Well enough.”

  “Thank God.”

  For a man whose entire nature revolved around an unflappable manner, Kenneth was very close to jumping out of his skin. He simply could not believe that Tate was here, disguised as the queen’s guard. Yet he should not have expected less; it was a cunning and logical plan. Kenneth’s gaze began to move around the room and he noticed Stephen on the opposite side of the hall; he should have recognized his tall frame right away. Familiar cornflower blue eyes gazed warmly at him. Nearer to the queen was Wallace, although he hardly recognized the man for he had cut his wild gray hair off. Kenneth was stunned.

  “Get Toby out of here,” Tate whispered again behind him. “I do not care how you do it, but get her out of this room. Take her to the stables and I will meet you there.”

  “That may not be so simple,” Kenneth muttered. “Mortimer keeps her close.”

  “Now is the perfect time with his attention distracted by Isabella.”

  Kenneth nodded once and moved away from Tate, skirting the room and paralleling the dais. He could see Toby sitting there, looking rather bored, and his heart began to pound harder. He moved closer, trying not to be conspicuous about it, as he finally slipped up behind her.

  Toby was facing forward, watching Mortimer slobber all over Isabella’s hand as he told her how much he had missed her. The sight of it made her rather ill but it also emphasized her longing for Tate. She imagined that it was Tate holding her hand, telling her how much he missed her. Her heart began to ache with the thought and her mood turned dour, so much so that she was startled when she felt a tug on her skirt. She looked down to see a big hand tugging at it, turning slightly to realize that it was Kenneth.

  “You are ill,” he whispered. “I must remove you from this hall immediately.”

  She wasn’t following him. “I am fine.”

  He lifted his blond eyebrows at her in a manner that suggested she not refute him. “You are ill. I must take you out of here.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I am…?”

  “You are seriously ill. You cannot stay conscious any longer. You are dying, for Christ’s sake. Fall down already.”

  Toby looked at him as if he had lost his mind but she understood his message. She wasn’t sure why she needed to leave but in reflection, it didn’t matter. Kenneth surely had a good reason. She did as she was told and, with dramatic flourish, went limp in the chair and toppled over.

  Kenneth wasn’t prepared for her the swiftness of her act but caught her before she could strike her head on the chair next to her. He scooped her up into his arms, hoping he could get her free of the hall before anyone noticed. But Mortimer, in spite of his attentions on the queen, noticed almost immediately. All attention turned to Kenneth and Toby as the knight was thwarted from slipping out unaware.

  “What is wrong with Lady de Lara?” Mortimer asked with great concern.

  Kenneth shifted her in his arms so that her head wasn’t hanging up-side down. “I do not know, my lord,” he replied honestly. “Perhaps she is simply overwrought.”

  Isabella gaze was intense on Toby as she moved past Roger, studying the lovely women passed out in Kenneth’s arms. All eyes were on the queen as she observed Toby’s face, her hands, her body. She was inspecting her, secretly satisfying herself on this woman who had managed to capture Tate’s heart. What she saw did not disappoint her.

  “So this is Lady de Lara,” she murmured, reaching out as if to touch Toby’s hair but stopping just short of it. She glanced at Kenneth as she drew her hand away in an almost embarrassed gesture. “She is lovely. You must take her to rest immediately, of course.”

  “Perhaps she needs a physic,” Roger said, suspicion in his eyes. He didn’t trust St. Héver not to run off with Lady de Lara but he could not do anything about it at the moment. “Perhaps I should send Timothy with you.”

  “Or perhaps she simply needs to be left alone,” Isabella looked at Roger. “I suspect she has had more than enough company for the duration of her stay with you.”

  It was a direct rebuke and Roger shut his mouth to any further protest. Kenneth didn’t wait for further debate and whisked Toby out of the hall, moving faster than he should have and praying that Roger did not become overly suspicious. Just as he neared the stairs, Timothy suddenly appeared.

  “’Tis the excitement,” the physic was trying to get a look at the lady but Kenneth was being most evasive. “Mortimer has given her more than she can handle.”

  Kenneth shifted Toby so that her head was against his shoulder, trying to keep the physic from getting too close. “She will be fine. She simply needs to rest.”

  Timothy cocked an eyebrow at him. “I am the one who will determine her health, if you do not mind.”

  Kenneth’s gaze didn’t waver. “Trust me; the lady is fine.”

  Timothy ignored him, managing to put his fingers against Toby’s neck to feel a pulse. “Her heart feels strong enough.”

  “It is,” Toby’s eyes opened but her head didn’t move; she looked at the startled physic. “Did you not hear Kenneth? I am fine.”

  Momentary surprise was replaced by confusion. “But…?”

  “Please do not ask questions.”

  The physic stood with his mouth gaping. “But… what will I tell Mortimer?”

  Toby hissed at him. “Tell him that you put me to bed and that I should sleep for hours. Tell him not to disturb me, no matter what.”

  “Are you going to rest?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then where are you going?”

  Toby dared to lift her head, looking at Kenneth. “I do not know. But I trust Kenneth.”

  Timothy was perplexed but refrained from arguing. Kenneth left him standing in the entry hall as he took Toby out into the muddy bailey. By the time they hit the ward, Toby’s head came up again.

  “Is it safe?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” he shoved her head back down.

  They walked for several more paces before she spoke again. “Now?”

  “I believe so.”

  Her head came up once more. “Then put me down.”

  He set her to her feet and she noticed immediately that her pale surcoat was in danger of getting mud all over it. She froze where he had set her.

  “Pick me up!” she commanded.

  Dutifully, Kenneth picked her up again and began his trek over to the stables. Toby looked around the ward at the remnants of the queen’s entourage; a carriage, a few men, and a lot of horses. It was a big gathering.

  “Now,” she looked at Kenneth. “Would you care to tell me what this is all about?”

  He remained silent as they entered the stable yards. “Can I put you down yet? She looked at the soupy, muddy ground. “Nay,” she told him. “You will have to carry me so my skirt will not become soiled. Answer my question; why did you bring me out here?”

  Kenneth veered into the stables. It was cold and dark inside, although it was dry. It smelled strongly of horses and hay and he set her to her feet.

  “I was ordered to bring you here,” he told her as they faced each other in the dim stable light.

  She scowled at him. “Who on earth ordered you to bring me out here?” she demanded, rubbing at her arms. “I am cold. The least you can do is go and get my cloak if you are going to make me wait outside.”

  “You will survive. That dress is warm enough.”

  She growled. “Go get my cloak, I say. And bring me some warmed wine as well. I shall catch my death of chill out here and it will be your fault.”

  “Good lord; have you been ordering Kenneth about like that all along?”

  It was a familiar voice that didn’t register with Toby right away. Tate abruptly swung around the corner and into the stalls, almost plowing into his wife because she was standing so close to the door. Toby screamed at the suddenness of his appearance, tripping over her own feet. She would have fallen had Tate n
ot reached out to grab her. She screamed again, startled by his grip, startled by the face, but only for a moment; when she realized her husband was standing before her, she threw her arms around his neck so tightly that she hit him in the throat with her rush.

  Tate coughed a joyous cough from his bruised Adam’s apple as he wrapped his mailed arms around Toby tightly enough to crush her.

  “My God,” Toby couldn’t catch her breath. “My God, my God, my God!”

  She seemed incapable of saying anything else at the moment. Tate laughed softly, his face in her hair, feeling tears sting his eyes. He was so emotional he could hardly control it. He took a moment to breath in her scent; she smelled like roses. Then the kisses started and he kissed her face furiously, listening to her gasp with delight.

  “What…,” she asked, interrupted when he kissed her soft mouth, “are you doing here? How did you get here?”

  He didn’t want to answer any foolish questions at the moment; he just wanted to taste her, hold her, and convince himself that she was real. His hands moved to cup her face, swallowing up her entire head with his enormous grip. He just stared at her, drinking her in.

  “Are you well, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice trembling. “The missive I received from Mortimer said that you had been injured.”

  There were tears in Toby’s eyes as she gazed back at him. “I fell off the horse and broke three ribs,” she told him. “But I am as good as new.”

  He sighed heavily, one hand moving to touch her torso as if to convince himself that she was indeed in one piece. It brought him more relief than he could have imagined.

  “Thank God,” he murmured. Then he took her by the arms and looked her in the eye. “You foolish woman; you could have been killed with what you did. What in the world possessed you to lure those soldiers out of Harbottle?”

  The tears in her eyes spilled over. “I could not let them find you. I was terrified they were going to kill you.”