Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Do not despair, my lady,” he murmured thickly; the physic’s sleeping potion was still at work. “He shall return. You must have faith.”

  She wiped at her eyes, unable to give up the tears completely. “But I am so frightened. There were so many soldiers….”

  “I know,” he squeezed her fingers. “But he always finds a way to survive. He has since I have known him. But he has more of a reason to survive than ever before; he has you now. Have faith that he will find his way back to you.”

  She nodded although the tears still fell. As she wiped her cheeks again, the tent flap opened and a tall figure entered. Startled, Toby wiped at her face quickly, turning to see who it was.

  An older man in well used armor came into the weak light of the vizier, a timid smile on his face. He was a big man with dark blond hair that was graying at the temples. His clear blue eyes found Toby where she sat next to Kenneth. When he saw that she was looking at him, he nodded his head at her.

  “My lady,” he had a soft, deep voice. “I am Liam de Lara. I apologize that I have not had the chance to introduce myself before now. It would seem that you and I are family.”

  Toby gazed up at the man; he was handsome and square-jawed. He was also one of the more powerful marcher lords with his family going back before the time of the Conqueror.

  “My lord,” she greeted.

  By this time, Kenneth had opened his eyes and focused on the baron. Liam went to Kenneth’s other side, taking a knee beside the injured knight.

  “St. Héver,” he patted the man’s shoulder. “I have no idea why you lay here. You could have both arms and legs cut off and still ride into battle. Surely a stronger man has never lived.”

  Kenneth grunted. “I am not really injured.”

  “No?”

  “’Tis all a ploy to gain sympathy.”

  Liam laughed softly, displaying nice white teeth and slightly prominent canines. “I have absolutely none to give you,” he replied, glancing up at the very lovely lady sitting next to him. “And this lady is married to my brother, so you are wasting your time if you are trying to gain her favor.”

  Kenneth actually grinned, looking at Toby. “Your brother has her attention quite captivated,” he replied. “Moreover, her only interest in me is ordering me about. Perhaps I feign injury so she will leave me alone.”

  In spite of her emotional state, Toby could not help but grin. She smacked him gently on the shoulder. “You are a lout,” she scolded softly, looking at Liam. “Just so you are aware, if I were to order him up at this moment to do my bidding, he would rise from his deathbed in order to see my wishes fulfilled. The man is as loyal as a dog.”

  Liam laughed softly again. “I know this to be true,” he looked back to Kenneth. “My physic tells me that you will survive. He says the puncture is deep but that it did not hit anything vital.”

  Kenneth nodded wearily. “I should be fine by tomorrow.”

  Liam just shook his head; the man meant every word. He had known St. Héver for years and the man was virtually immortal. Nothing could get him down for long. But he could feel Toby’s gaze on him and he looked over at her, seeing the red-rimmed eyes. He knew how frightened she was and he wished he had better news to offer her.

  “Have you heard anything of my husband?” Toby asked him before he could speak.

  Liam could see the strength within the woman with just that question. She had an unwavering manner about her, besides the fact that she was enormously beautiful. It was his first exposure to her and he could see what his brother found attractive in the lady right away. He shook his head to her question.

  “Not a word, my lady,” he said quietly. “Perhaps we will very soon. Mortimer cannot keep quiet for long.”

  She nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “Where is Edward?”

  “I am told that the king is asleep.”

  “He has not yet come to see me.”

  “I know,” Liam nodded faintly. “In truth, I have not seen him, either. He has made himself scarce as of late. But I am sure he feels some guilt for what has happened. He gave his mother the approval for this venture, I am told. You and St. Héver returned, but Tate and Pembury are now trapped. Surely he is beside himself.”

  Toby pursed her lips in sorrow. “He need not feel that way. It was not his fault.”

  “I know. But he is young. He has not yet learned to deal with the weight of responsibility.”

  “Are there any plans for my husband’s rescue?”

  “Not yet. We must see what this day brings and go from there.”

  “You are not going to go after him right away?”

  “I do not believe that would be prudent. But have no doubt that we will act when the time is right.”

  Toby let the conversation die, her gaze returning to Kenneth once more. He was looking at her, trying to gauge her reaction to all of this. Liam’s attention lingered on the two of them before he politely excused himself, exiting the tent into the day that was growing lighter by the moment. He had much to do and was pleased at Lady de Lara’s brave attitude. It made his life easier.

  But Toby wasn’t being brave at all; she was reflecting on the conversation and growing increasingly distressed. We must see what this day brings and go from there. She didn’t like the inaction or the waiting. Her husband was in trouble and just as he sought to save her, she knew that she must seek to save him also. She had to; she simply couldn’t sit around and wait for others to act. When the situation had been reversed and she had been held captive, Tate’s plan had been to involve Isabella. As Toby sat and pondered, she suspected that might be her best option also.

  And why not? Toby remembered how Mortimer fawned over Isabella the moment she arrived at Wigmore. She remembered the sickening flattery, watching as the queen soaked it up. The woman wallowed in the adoration. She wondered what the queen would say if she knew that her lover had indecently propositioned another woman. And what if that woman were to expose Mortimer’s lustful intentions? Toby wondered… an exchange… me for Tate. But she would make sure that Isabella knew the details of the exchange; chances were that both she and Tate would see freedom were Isabella sufficiently jealous and angered at Mortimer. God help her, she had to try. If these men weren’t going to act, then she had to.

  Abruptly, she stood up. Kenneth was dozing off, startled when she moved suddenly.

  “What is wrong?” he asked sleepily. “Where do you go?”

  “Nowhere,” she lied. “Go back to sleep. I am simply going to stand by the door. I… I just want to observe the morning.”

  Kenneth was weakened and exhausted and took her for her word. He could never have imagined what she really had in mind; if he had, he would have latched on to her leg and never let go. But he drifted off to sleep again, unaware that Lady de Lara was about to take her life into her hands again. In hindsight, he should have guessed it knowing her as he did.

  Toby stood by the tent flap, watching Kenneth and waiting for him to drift off again. She wanted to make sure he was asleep before planning her next move. She was about to steal a horse again and try to leave the camp unseen, both of which would be tricky. But she was determined.

  Tate and Kenneth had once called her brave; she had never thought on herself as being brave until this very moment. With what she had in mind, she was about to find out just how brave she truly was.

  *

  Thank God for Isabella.

  That was the thought foremost on Tate’s mind as he sat in the great hall of Wigmore, watching Isabella and Mortimer interact. It had been Isabella who had saved him from a quick death in the bailey and Isabella who insisted he be given the respect of the royal family. When Toby and Kenneth had fled the gates, no one had touched him. There had been enough noise and saber rattling to believe he had been taken apart limb by limb, but no one actually came close enough to do it. Several angry soldiers had brought him into the great hall and planted him in a chair while a good deal of arguing went on around hi
m. That had been several hours ago.

  So he sat in the great hall all night and well into the morning. He was also thankful that Stephen and Wallace had not yet been discovered. They maintained their disguises as guards of the queen’s household although Stephen had managed to position himself very close to Tate. The two of them were able to speak briefly. So far, none of the other guards had given Stephen or Wallace away. Tate did not expect them to; they were the king’s troops and loyal to the monarchy. It was Tate, in fact, who commanded them, so in a sense he had his own contingent of troops in the room. But they were insignificant compared to Mortimer’s hundreds.

  De Roche had been brought back into the keep, moaning and groaning from the injuries that Toby had inflicted on him. As Tate had learned, it was their epic battle that had roused attention in the keep, leading to his capture. The physic had been killed trying to warn them. Even though de Roche was in another room, they could still hear him in the great hall, bellowing his agony. The man was paralyzed and doomed. Every time de Roche screamed, Tate was reminded just how brave Toby was. He was incredibly proud of her. He was also incredibly grateful that she had escaped.

  But there was another lady on his mind at the moment; Isabella had not let him out of her sight since his capture. She had remained in the great hall all night, arguing with Roger, and her stress showed. At first, the argument had been about Tate. Hours later, it wasn’t even about him any longer; they were arguing over a lordship in Yorkshire. The entire night and into the morning had been a mass argument about almost everything other than Tate. Oddly, Edward’s name had never even come up. Tate wasn’t even concerned for his own life any longer; it was clear that he was not to be killed. Now, he was just bored.

  It was close to the nooning meal when the keep began to stir once again; Isabella and Roger were still in the hall, now at separate ends of the room in their mutual exhaustion. The Earl of Suffolk had joined them at some point and stood with Roger in the corner, quietly conversing. Tate wondered why the man had two black eyes and a swollen nose. It never occurred to him that the injuries had anything to do with Toby, but had he known, he surely would have laughed about it.

  As he pondered the stark tedium his life had become over the past few hours, servants began dashing into the hall, scattering like chickens in the wake of several soldiers entering from the bailey. There was much activity that had Tate curious. Whispers seemed to be floating about the hall but he could not discern what they were about. It was apparent that something big was happening, big enough that it had everyone’s attention, and he was soon to find out what it was. His curiosity fled the moment he saw a familiar figure emerge into the stale warmth of the great hall.

  Toby strolled into the room as if nothing was amiss. She walked in as easily as if she would have walked into her own home. Soldiers skirted her and servants fled from her; in their distant corners, Isabella and Mortimer suddenly emerged from their exhaustion. All eyes were on the lovely lady as she lit up the room like a thousand candles. They were so focused on her beautiful golden-brown head that no one thought to look at Tate. It was their undoing.

  At this point unguarded, Tate shot to his feet, vaulted over the table, and made it to his wife before several soldiers tackled him. He grabbed Toby, the soldiers grabbed him, Stephen and Wallace grabbed the soldiers, and everyone went down in a pile.

  Screaming erupted from various women in the hall, including Isabella, as chaos ensued. Suddenly, the queen was scampering to the struggling mound of men. Somewhere at the bottom was a small woman who was surely, by this time, crushed.

  “Se lever!” Isabella hollered, smacking the soldiers on the top of the heap. “Get up and release them!”

  There were at least a dozen soldiers she had to weed through, slapping and yanking at them. Roger was on the opposite side of the pile, his dark eyes wide with surprise. As Isabella commanded the men to release Tate, Roger was far more interested in Toby’s arrival. He was strangely thrilled by it. But he suspected, as he watched the uproar, that her reappearance could not be a good thing. In fact, he had a deeply unsettling feeling about it. But he waited, apprehensively, to see what would transpire.

  It wasn’t long in coming. As the soldiers removed themselves from the mound, including Stephen and Wallace, Tate finally appeared at the bottom with his arms around his wife. She hadn’t been hurt in the crush, thanks to Tate’s strength, but she was furious at having been shoved to the ground. Tate stood up and pulled her to her feet, his arms around her protectively.

  “Back away,” he bellowed at Mortimer’s men. “Touch her and you die.”

  It was not a threat; it was a promise. Tate’s tone was full of power and hazard. Toby, in fact, had never heard that inflection in his voice and it was frightening. Stephen and Wallace had placed themselves close to him, unfortunately revealing their loyalties as they did so. Stephen even pulled off his soldier’s helm, revealing his face to Mortimer and his men. He heard the name Pembury whispered through the room but, at this point, he didn’t care that he had revealed himself. As Mortimer’s men knew Dragonblade, they knew his ally Pembury also. And his duty was to protect Tate and Toby.

  “You heard him,” Stephen growled as he unsheathed his sword. “Back away or feel my wrath.”

  The men backed off. Isabella was still slapping soldiers away, widening the circle of wolves that were surrounding Tate and Toby. Tate, however, was not paying much attention to the ring of doom all around him; his focus was on his wife as he took her by the arms and shook her gently, beseechingly.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded quietly.

  Toby’s reply was to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze tightly. He held her close, inhaling her scent, his shock fading and being replaced but a fierce sense of protectiveness. She had returned to the lion’s den and he would know why.

  “I do not understand,” he rasped into her hair. “Why are you here? What has happened?”

  Her mouth was on his ear. “I had to come,” she murmured. “I had to save you.”

  Tate felt as if he had been hit in the stomach. “Save me?” he repeated, incredulous. “Sweetheart, you were safe. You were free. What are you…?”

  She cut him off abruptly by releasing him. Tate gazed into her beloved hazel eyes, never more in love with her nor more terrified for her. His control, so carefully held when it was only himself to worry about, was in danger of shattering.

  “Whatever I say, do not fight me,” she whispered. “You must let me do this.”

  “Do what?” he was becoming increasingly agitated. “What are you doing?”

  She smiled bravely at him and he nearly came apart. He just knew it was something awful. Toby squeezed his hand and released him, turning for Roger.

  Mortimer was gazing at her with suspicion and delight, an odd combination. Toby’s heart was pounding in her chest as she summoned the courage to do as she must. She had reviewed her plan as she had ridden to Wigmore and was convinced that the only way to gain Tate’s freedom would be to play on Isabella’s jealousies. More than that, it was the only plan she had. She could not think of anything else. She prayed that it was enough.

  “My lord,” she addressed Roger steadily. “I have returned to offer myself to you in return for my husband’s life. You once offered a proposition to me; one night for St. Héver’s life. I have returned to offer you the same proposition with one change; one night for my husband’s life. I will spend a night of passion with you if you will release him. Will you accept?”

  Roger visibly blanched, his gaze darting to Isabella as she stood near Tate. But he could not wait for her reaction. He looked back at Toby, his nerves evident as he spoke.

  “You must have misunderstood, Lady de Lara,” he replied. “I never made such an offer to you.”

  Toby cocked an eyebrow. “I believe we have several witnesses to your proposition who will swear that I did not misunderstand you,” she said. “I have returned to make you the same offer with the mention
ed changes provided that the Queen approves.”

  The mood of the room suddenly turned dark and brittle; all eyes turned to Isabella, whose cheeks were turning a dull shade of pink. She gazed back at Toby with the stark jealousy that all women have when facing a younger, more beautiful rival. But instead of focusing her venom on Toby, she looked at Roger.

  “Did you ask this of this woman?” she demanded, her voice low and shaky.

  Roger shook his head. “Of course I did not.”

  Isabella sighed sharply, her jaw ticking and her dark eyes burning. Toby, watching the interaction, knew it was time to act. If she was going to succeed as planned, then she needed to be strong and dramatic. Bursting into loud sobs, she suddenly buried her face in her hands.

  “It is true,” she wept loudly. “He tried to force himself on me again and again. He told me that he would kill St. Héver if I did not spend a night of passion with him. He was most descriptive in his desires, how he wished to taste my flesh and gorge himself on my delicacies. I… I did not know what to do. Now that he has my husband, I felt that I had to offer myself in order to gain his freedom. I had to come back!”

  It was an overwrought performance at best. Tate stared at her, torn between the urge to tear Mortimer apart with his bare hands and his curiosity on how Isabella was going to react. He could see what Toby was doing; God bless her, he knew exactly what she was doing and had to admit that it was brilliant. He had tried to do the same thing but Toby was playing upon the queen’s jealousies far better than he ever could. So he held his tongue, and his fists, to wait for the queen’s reaction.

  It wasn’t long in coming. Isabella’s face darkened with fury and she clenched her little fists, pushing her way past Stephen and standing next to Toby. She stood for a moment, watching the woman’s lowered head as she sobbed. Her lips pressed into an angry, flat line.