Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Andrew’s expression went from curiosity to surprise and back again. “What you ask,” he finally said, “would be difficult at best. But not unworthy of trying.”

  It seemed like a possibility in a situation that seemed wholly impossible. Josephine felt some hope with it. “I can keep the king here for that long,” Josephine spoke up. “I can tell him that there is to be a celebration at the end of the week in his honor, and that all of our allies will be in attendance. The man is so concerned with baron support that surely he will stay.”

  Andrew looked at her. “Do you truly think you can?”

  Josephine nodded. “It is certainly worth a try.”

  They were all silent for a while, each to their own thoughts. So much had happened and so much had yet to happen. It all seemed rather daunting but one could not be fearful when a life was at stake. There was much to do now and very little time.

  Finally, Andrew moved away from the window, kissing Josephine gently on the temple before quitting the chamber in silence. He was far calmer than he had been only minutes earlier so she did not stop him. Sully followed shortly, with Thane the last one to leave the chamber, but Josephine called out to him.

  “Wait,” she said, and he stopped.

  “My lady?” he asked respectfully.

  Josephine looked as if she were searching for the correct words. “Have you ever met Andrew’s brother?” she finally asked.

  “Aye, my lady,” he replied quietly. “I saw him once, in a tavern in Haldane.”

  “What is he like?” she pressed. “I mean, what kind of a person is he?”

  Thane looked at her warily. “Has Andrew told you anything of him?”

  She nodded. “He has, but his opinion is so clouded with hate that it is difficult to picture the earl with anything less than horns and a tail,” she said. “That is why I want to know what you know of him.”

  Thane’s face hardened. “I know he is a hideous beast of a man,” he said. “Alphonse is at least a half-head taller than Andrew, and outweighs him by a good fifty pounds. He is absolutely massive. And he has straight black hair that he pulls back into a greasy tail, and his eyes are as black as coal. It is said that he likes to watch small children wrestle with hungry dogs, and then he eats the winner.”

  Her mouth popped open in horror. “He eats children?”

  Thane shook his head. “No,” he said. “The dogs. But he is evil and vile, and is the embodiment of the devil. He’d have to be to imprison his own mother. That’s why Andrew wants him dead.”

  Josephine was appalled by the picture Thane was painting. “How in heaven could Andrew have sprung from the same loins that gave birth to a beast?” she wondered. “Is he a great warrior? Can Andrew best him in a fight?”

  Thane seemed to falter slightly. “I have heard that Alphonse is a tremendous fighter,” he said. “That is why his army is so great; men are afraid to fight against him, so they fight with him. But Andrew is a master swordsman; I have never seen better. I believe he can beat anyone.”

  Josephine didn’t find comfort in those words. They just didn’t sound reassuring to her. Thane saw her face and, knowing her fears, he hastened to comfort her.

  “Have no fear, my lady,” he said gently. “They call Andrew The Red Fury for good reason. He could fight the devil himself and win.”

  Josephine looked at him, appreciating his attempt at reassuring her. She forced a smile.

  “Then I shall believe you,” she said. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

  “It is my pleasure, my lady,” he said.

  Turning on his heel, he was gone. Josephine stood there a moment, her mind a jumble of emotions and thoughts. Why was love always so difficult? she thought bitterly. But with the bitterness was a feeling of such utter elation that she was giddy from it. One minute she wanted to laugh and dance, and the next minute she wanted to collapse in despair.

  As she turned for her hearth and sat slowly in her chair, she allowed herself a moment to wallow in her feelings. Oddly, she felt very alone. She had Andrew, Sully, Justine, and a host of knights at her disposal but, still, she felt alone. She was the crux of the issue, a problem with no easy answer. She found herself wishing her father was still alive for she very much needed his counsel.

  If the time since his death had taught her one thing, it was that she knew absolutely nothing.

  God help her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Thane found Andrew in the stables.

  Torridon had two big banks of stalls lined up against the wall in the outer bailey, walls that had seen some damage in the most recent battle with the Dalmellington forces. The big war horses were crowding up most of the stalls, individually, because they had to be separated. Put too closely together and they would fight. Thane found Andrew in one of the stable banks, right at the mouth of it with his fat, bad-tempered destrier.

  “I thought I would find you here,” Thane said. “What would you have of me, my lord?”

  Andrew was bent over the right front leg, running his hands along the fetlock. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean to ask when you are leaving to ride to kill your brother and what you would have me do in your absence. What would you have me tell the king?”

  Andrew let go of the leg and stood up, pretending to busy himself with inspecting the horse when what he was really doing was mulling over the exact plans that Thane was asking about.

  “Keep your voice down,” he muttered. “There are king’s men all over this place. I do not wish they should hear you.”

  Thane understood. “Then you are riding to Haldane?”

  Andrew nodded, glancing at Thane as he moved around the horse. “As fast as I possibly can,” he said. “But this horse is not known for his speed. In battle, he is immovable, but when I need speed, this is not the beast.”

  “We have others you can ride.”

  Andrew nodded. “And I shall,” he said. “We have several horses corralled outside in the camp. I am thinking of riding that leggy black stallion we received in payment for the job in Bonchester Bridge. Do you remember?”

  Thane nodded. “A fine animal,” he said. “Very fast. But is he dependable?”

  Andrew shrugged. “We shall find out,” he said. Then, he stopped fussing with his horse and looked at Thane. “I intend to depart before dawn. I intend to cover at least thirty miles every day, which means I shall make it to Haldane in a little more than two days. Give me a day to kill my brother and then I shall return. Josephine, and the king, must remain at Torridon for at least that long. Joey says she can keep the man here, but I have my doubts. The man is wily. She may need your help.”

  Thane nodded. “I shall do what I can,” he said. “But… Andrew?”

  “Aye?”

  “What if you do not return? What then?”

  Andrew didn’t want to think of that. He was The Red Fury, was he not? He was as invincible as his reputation, but he knew, deep in his heart, that barging into Haldane and killing his brother would not be a simple thing. He was well aware of the risks and even though he didn’t want to admit it, or talk about it, he knew it was necessary. With a heavy sigh, he leaned against the horse.

  “If I do not return in seven days, assume I will never return at all,” he said quietly. “Move the army out and take them to Castle Questing. My cousin, Roan, serves William de Wolfe at Castle Questing. You remember Roan, do you not? Questing would be the best place for Josephine. The king would not dare tangle with de Wolfe or de Longley, or any of those allies. Take the army there and turn Josephine over to Roan. For mercy’s sake, Thane, do not leave her here. I am depending on you.”

  Thane nodded sharply. “I will defend her with my life,” he said. “But even if I do give her over to Roan, de Wolfe will want to know the value of the lady. If the king and your brother come for her…”

  Andrew was so very disappointed by the mere thought. William de Wolfe was a man of great power, and they were loyal friends, but Andrew understoo
d if William didn’t want to risk his family against the King of Scotland. In truth, only a fool would.

  “If de Wolfe will not protect and defend her, then put d’Aurilliac in charge of the army and take Josephine to Cornwall,” he said. “I have another cousin, Dennis d’Vant, who lives there. He is the commander of St. Austell Castle. Tell Dennis that Josephine is my wife and that my brother wants her. Dennis knows Alphonse; he will not let him have her, not under any circumstances.”

  Thane knew Roan d’Vant, but he had only heard of Andrew’s cousin, Dennis. He’d never met the man. “Your father and Dennis’ father were cousins, were they not?”

  Andrew nodded. “Dennis’ father, my father, and Roan’s father all shared the same grandsire,” he said. “Dennis is a good man. If I do not return… you will tell Dennis that I died protecting Josephine from my brother. He will keep her safe.”

  Thane nodded, but it seemed to him as if he was doing an awful lot of swearing to risk his life for a woman Andrew had only known a few days. Still, he knew what the woman meant to Andrew. As Thane had known all along, men in love were fickle and foolish creatures.

  But Andrew was his liege and he loved the man like a brother. There was no sacrifice too great that he would not make to preserve Andrew or Andrew’s legacy.

  He only hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  *

  It was late afternoon and Josephine and Justine were in the kitchen, overseeing preparations for the evening meal.

  As the men worried over how to counteract the king’s directive, Josephine found solace in a normal routine, and part of that was the coming meal. The cook was in the process of making cakes in the shape of the de Carron serpent and was entertaining herself by yelling at the kitchen servants. The hot, steamy kitchens were full of targets for her to aim for.

  “Now, where is my butter?” the cook asked, fuming. “How can I make the rest of my cakes without my butter?”

  Justine was tasting the tangy plum sauce for the cakes and didn’t hear the woman, but Josephine did.

  “I shall go to the buttery,” she said.

  The cook appeared appalled. “With all of these lazy young things slithering around my kitchen?” she sneered. “Nay, my lady, let me send one of them. Ye there, lad! Aye, ye! Get up!”

  Josephine was already at the door. “Never mind,” she said as the small boy struggled to his feet. “I shall return shortly.”

  As the cook harassed the boy for not being fast enough, Justine’s attention was on her sister. Josephine had told her of the king’s directive and they’d both had a good cry over it. In truth, Justine was still close to tears. But she knew that by keeping busy, it helped Josephine forget the troubles of the day. Therefore, she picked up her spoon and resumed stirring the plum sauce as the cook shifted from berating the boy to screaming at a hapless young girl.

  Outside of the rather loud and hot kitchen, Josephine trudged through the dirt as she headed for the buttery. Given that it was nearing sunset, the soldiers were changing shifts on the walls and the kitchen servants were rushing about madly to prepare for the coming feast. She passed by the postern gate that led from the yard out through the ten-foot thick walls and into the fields beyond. The heavily-fortified gate was open as men brought in supplies from the fields, and she slowed her pace, glancing to the green landscape beyond.

  Such beauty out there and such peace. When she’d been a child, she’d run freely beyond the walls of Torridon, but those days were long gone. There was sadness with that thought, but there was also the desire to relive those carefree days. After a moment’s indecision, for she knew she was expected back, she veered from the buttery path and passed through the tunnel to gaze at the freedom beyond. She was aching for just a few brief moments to remind her that all was not troubled in the world.

  There was a gentle breeze coming off the rolling hills, blowing at her netted hair until she pulled off the net and shook her head, letting her hair tumble free. The wind tugged at the skirt of her cote, outlining her shapely legs as she took the first bold steps away from Torridon.

  As soon as she passed through the gate, something caught her eye. She looked in the distance and saw a redheaded figure sitting under a tree, and a tall blond man sword-playing around him. She realized it was Nicholas de Londres and Donald Muir enjoying what was left of the day. Quickly, she headed in their direction.

  The men saw her approach. Nicholas had a quill, ink, and a leather-bound book in his lap, but he rose from his seated position and Donald quieted his swordplay. She smiled at them, slapping her net against her leg as she walked.

  “And what might you fine men be doing outside of the safety of the fortress?” she asked.

  Nicholas grinned. “It was such a fine day that I had to come up here, away from the noise and smell of the castle,” he said in his sweet tenor voice.

  “And I followed!” Donald said wittily, bringing his sword up. “The man needed an escort. Look at him; he’s as gentle as a lamb.”

  Nicholas smiled in embarrassment. “Would ye sit, my lady?” he asked.

  Josephine folded her legs under her and the blue silk gown bellowed elegantly as she sat on the grass. Nicholas sat next to her and Donald resumed his practicing.

  “Donald,” she said, as she squinted up at him. “Your stance is too closed!”

  Donald scowled at her, but took her advice. Chuckling at his pride, Josephine turned to Nicholas. He was watching Donald but his gaze seemed to be distant.

  “You look pensive,” she observed. “What are you thinking about?”

  Nicholas looked at her, smiling with some embarrassment to realize he’d been observed. “I am simply examining my surroundings, my lady,” he said. “It is quite lovely here.”

  “My name is Josephine,” she informed him. “Please call me by my name. And I agree; it is quite lovely this time of year.”

  Nicholas looked out over Torridon, watching the activity, but his mind was lingering on Josephine. This was the first time he’d seen her since his uncle informed her of his plans for her, and he didn’t want to look at her too closely lest she see the pity in his eyes. He knew about her betrothal to the earl because his uncle, the king, had gleefully told him of it the night before. He’d known much longer than she had but he’d kept it to himself.

  Having grown up at court, Nicholas we well aware of the political players and he knew Alphonse d’Vant. He was a beast of a man, cruel and barbaric, and to think of sweet Josephine married to the man gave Nicholas a sour stomach. But his uncle wanted to keep Alphonse and his three thousand man army happy, so the Ayr heiress had been a spectacular match.

  At least, it was in Alexander’s opinion. Nicholas hadn’t cared much about it until he actually met Josephine and, now, he felt a great deal of pity for her. He knew his uncle to be a selfish, petty man, but now the man was adding cruelty to the list of his attributes. As he sat there and worried over Josephine’s future, he heard her soft voice.

  “Recite a piece of your poetry,” she asked.

  Nicholas looked at her, surprised and somewhat embarrassed, as Donald snickered loudly.

  “Is that what ye were doing?” he asked. “Writing poems?”

  Nicholas nodded hesitantly as Josephine scowled. “Shut your mouth, Donald,” she said, then smiled at Nicholas. “Please? I should like to hear how talented you are.”

  Nicholas nodded, quite chagrinned, and looked thoughtful as he peered down at his leather-bound book and tried to select a piece. His poetry was very private to him, so close to his heart. His uncle was so critical of his passion that he was tremendously reluctant to unveil it to anyone, but Josephine seemed very sincere in her interest. He took a deep breath.

  “I know not where my destiny lies;

  Beyond the blue horizon, or beyond my door; I know not.

  Yet I know whatever may come, it is within my own power

  To face the throes of the future

  With the graceful dignity of the willow;

>   To bend, yet not break;

  To sway, yet not fall.

  My body may wither

  My eyes may blind,

  And my voice may silence;

  But my soul will reach beyond the mortal boundaries of this world

  To touch the hand of God.

  I know where my destiny lies, it lies within me.”

  Donald had stopped swinging his sword and was listening. Josephine looked at Nicholas, astonished at the beauty of his words. But somehow, she knew he had selected the piece of prose for her benefit, and she saw the message within it. My destiny lies within me. It was so very true, something Andrew had been telling her as well.

  She smiled gratefully at Nicholas.

  “That was lovely, Nicholas,” she said. “You have a great talent.”

  This time, Nicholas didn’t blush. He thanked her graciously. But Donald apparently didn’t like being left out; he sat down heavily on the hem of Josephine’s gown and kicked out his long legs.

  “Touching,” he said. “Are all of yer poems as lighthearted and gay?”

  Josephine shot him a withering look, but Nicholas seemed amused. “Not at all,” he replied. “Some are rather gloomy.”

  Donald laid back on the grass and folded his arms beneath his head. “I like ye, de Londres,” he announced. “Ye’re not stuffy or insane like the rest of yer family. Ye have sense.”

  Nicholas chuckled. Donald was correct in his observation of his family. He looked back to his book to see if there might be any other passages she might like as Josephine used a long stalk of grass to tease Donald. He slapped at it like an annoying gnat and she giggled. Then she beat him on his swollen face with it, laughing. It was good to see her laugh.

  “What is yer pleasure, Josephine?” Nicholas asked her. “What do ye like to do, other than annoy Donald?”