Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  In the early evening hours that night, Kellington had told Lavaine about her conversation with Jax with regard to the woman’s husband and son. Lavaine had shed more painful tears but at least she knew their fate. As Kellington comforted the woman, she didn’t dare tell her about Jax’s declaration of marriage. She herself was still shocked by it. She had no idea how Lavaine would react. The more she thought on the prospect, the more disoriented she became.

  But she forced herself to put those thoughts aside. The hours passed as Kellington beat Lavaine at backgammon two out of every three games. Matilda sat on a small stool near the hearth, finishing a gown for Kellington that she had been working on for some time. They had purchased the fabric in Carlisle in the fall, a rich golden wool with ancient symbols woven into the hemline. It had come all the way from Ireland and Matilda was busy sewing squirrel fur into the hem of the belled sleeves and around the scooped neckline.

  Eventually, Lavaine got tired of losing in backgammon and went to her sewing, which was a complicated piece depicting hummingbirds and heather. Kellington wasn’t much of a sewer, but she could play the dulcimer beautifully. It lay in its own case in against the wall and she pulled it out, tuning it, before she started to play.

  By noon of the next day, Kellington was growing exceedingly restless. They had not eaten since the previous night, when Matilda had escaped to the kitchens and returned with a meal. Setting the dulcimer aside, she decided to sneak to the kitchens to procure them some food. This brought protests from both Lavaine and Matilda, but Kellington was almost too restless to care.

  “He told you to stay to your chamber,” Lavaine said pointedly. “Only by the grace of God did Matilda slip to the kitchens unnoticed. There is no knowing how the man will react if he catches you. He’s a vicious killer.”

  “He’ll not do anything,” Kellington said confidently. Standing in front of her large polished bronze mirror, she leaned against the wall for support as she slipped her shoes on. “He cannot expect us to hold up here with nothing to eat.”

  “But he told you there were ruthless knights about,” Lavaine insisted. “Those monsters who rode in yesterday still have not left. What happens if one of them discovers you?”

  Kellington looked to her friend. “Nothing will happen,” she said, giving her a wink. “You worry overly.”

  A strange glimmer came to Lavaine’s eye. “Perhaps you should take a weapon with you. God would forgive you if you were forced to use it against those beasts.”

  Kellington would not take a dirk, not even to protect herself. Lavaine and Matilda watched as Kellington adjusted a shoe and turned to glance at herself in the mirror. It did not occur to the women to ask why Kellington was wearing one of her best gowns, a rich ruby red silk that had undertones of gold. Keats had purchased it for her on a trip to London last year. The bodice was very snug, the neckline daringly low with gold embroidery around it. The sleeves were long, tight to the elbows before loosening into a bell-shape that draped to her knees. It was a stunning gown, made even more stunning by Kellington’s beauty. She wore her hair in a long braid this day, as was usual, her thick hair draping over one shoulder like a golden waterfall.

  “I shall return,” she assured the women. “Bolt the door after I have left.”

  “But…!” Lavaine protested.

  Kellington patted her cheek firmly. “Bolt the door.”

  With that, she unlatched the door and peered into the hall. It was empty. Slipping out, she shut the door quietly behind her.

  Kellington had grown up at Pelinom and knew every inch of the place. She knew there was no simple way to reach the kitchens except to pass through the great hall, so she could only hope that no one was in there. Descending the stairs to the third floor, she peered into the two rooms and saw that they were empty. It looked as if they had both been slept in, but no one was there now. Taking the larger stairs to the second floor where the great hall was, she paused half way down the flight, ears peaked, listening for any movement. It sounded empty.

  There was no one in the entry and no one in the solar directly across from her. A soft breeze blew in from the west, lifting the oilcloths in the solar. She could see them waving. Hesitantly, she stayed close to the wall as she edged towards the great hall. Peeking around the corner, she could see that it, too, was empty.

  With the room clear, she gathered her skirt and skipped into the hall, heading for the kitchen stairs. The cook greeted her with a yelp when she entered the kitchen, quickly understanding her mistress’s mission and giving her all of the food she could carry. The cook proceeded to tell her that she had been serving food and wine most of the night and that the stores were depleting rapidly. The two serving women who usually helped her had disappeared last night and were nowhere to be found. With no one to slaughter animals, gather eggs, pluck chickens, or a thousand other tasks that would keep the kitchen stocked with food, the pantry was running dry.

  Faced with yet another dilemma, Kellington could only listen and agree to do what she could. But her first course of action was to return with the food to Lavaine and Matilda, so she assured the cook she would look into the matter and fled up the stairs with her sack of provisions.

  She paused at the top of the flight, making sure the room was still empty. Not a soul stirred and even the hearth was dark and cold. Emerging into the hall, she was half way across the room when the entry door suddenly slammed open and loud voices were heard. Startled, she looked for an escape but she was too far from the narrow stairs that led to the gallery above to make it without being seen. Before she realized it, several knights marched into the room, men she did not recognize. Then came the familiar faces of Amadeo and Caelen. Jax brought up the rear, his dual-colored eyes finding her in the room above all else.

  She could feel the heat from his gaze from where she stood. Suddenly very self-conscious, and the least bit frightened, she did the only thing she could do; she dipped into a swift curtsy and raced right through the group as if her life depended on it.

  Jax grabbed her before she could make it to the stairs. His eyes were riveted to her, though not unkind.

  “What are you doing?” he asked quietly. “I told you to stay to your chamber.”

  Caught in his massive grip, she lifted an eyebrow at him. “I was retrieving some food. Did you expect us to starve up there?”

  She said it loud enough so that those closest heard her though they pretended not to. Gradually, the men moved into the room, away from Jax and Kellington. But neither one of them noticed; they only had eyes, and attention, for each other.

  “Very well,” Jax nodded after a moment, drinking in the sight of her lovely face that he had not seen in a day. “Take your food and return to your chamber.”

  He did not seem the least bit perturbed that she had disobeyed him. In fact, he seemed rather mild about it. Kellington thought to use his mood to her advantage.

  “We’re bored to death up there,” she lowered her voice. “And I have a good deal of work to do that is going untouched. Did you know that the kitchen stores are drastically depleted? And I only have a few days to hire enough workers to bring in the apricots and cherries that will rot on the trees if we do not pick them soon. I cannot sit idle any longer. You kept me here for a reason yet you are not allowing me to do my job.”

  He drew in a long, thoughtful breath. Jax rarely saw beyond his own wants or immediate orders, but at the moment, he tried. He understood her point. “You are correct, of course. But I was doing it for your own safety.”

  “I can take care of myself. You must at least allow me to roam freely in the keep so that I may resume my tasks.”

  Jax glanced over at the table where his generals were huddled. The grip on her arm loosened, moving to her elbow. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Just come.”

  She allowed him to lead her over to the table. Ten of the most hardened men she had ever seen were in various positions around the scrubbed oak panel, the
ir attention moving to her as she approached. Jax pulled her right up against the table, right into the horde of armored, weaponed men.

  “This is the Lady Kellington Coleby,” he was doing more than introducing her; he was pointing her out so there would be no mistake. “She is the lady of Pelinom and has free reign within this keep.”

  What he was really saying was that she was untouchable and anyone who so much looked in her direction would be dealt with. The generals understood, most of them giving Kellington some type of acknowledgement. A couple of them just stared at her. Uncomfortable, Kellington looked up at Jax.

  “May I go now?” she asked in a whisper.

  He let go of her arm. Kellington walked very quickly back across the floor, ascending the steps as if being chased. Those men had such a hardened look about them that it made her vastly uncomfortable. They looked at her with curiosity and disapproval and she did not like it one bit.

  But she had his agreement to resume her duties. Taking the food to Lavaine and Matilda, she shoved bread and cheese in her mouth as she made her way back to the solar where her tallies await. She needed to figure out, based on the amount of produce to be harvest, how many men she needed to hire. After an hour or so of studying her inventory, she settled on fifty men. At a pence a day and four days to harvest, she figure out exactly what she would need to pay them and applied that to the profit they would make from the goods. Time passed quickly as she lost herself in her tasks, something she truly loved. Her father had taught her to read and write at a very young age, a skill most women did not have, and she enjoyed both immensely.

  The sun was beginning to set when Jax found her hunched over the desk, carefully scratching onto the vellum with her quill. He stood there a moment, watching her, noting the way the setting sun reflected off of her golden hair. She looked like an angel. He experienced an odd tightening in his chest, though not unpleasant. In fact, it was a rather giddy feeling. He’d never sensed it before.

  “You have been on that stool for hours,” he said as he walked into the room. “You must indeed have a good deal of work to do.”

  She looked up at him, a faint smile on her lips. Jax felt his knees go weak.

  “I am attempting to figure out future harvests,” she said. “We will have harvests and produce through December. I am attempting to divine the future.”

  He stood opposite her, the desk between them, gazing down at her. The dual-colored eyes were oddly soft. She’d never seen such an expression on his face.

  “My generals will be returning to Wales on the morrow,” he said. “I should like for you to attend the evening meal.”

  She wasn’t quite sure why he would want her there considering he had banished her to her chamber when the men had arrived, but she nodded. “As you wish.”

  He acknowledged her reply with a faint nod, his gaze moving to the parchment beneath her hands.

  “What do you have to report to me?”

  She, too, looked at the careful writing beneath her quill. The tips of her fingers were black from the ink and she carefully set the quill aside, wiping at her fingers with a linen cloth she kept around for just that purpose.

  “Well,” she began, assembling her thoughts. “We will need at least fifty men to harvest our apricots and cherries. At a pence a day, that is four pounds total in salary.”

  “Four pounds?” he repeated. “That seems like a lot.”

  “This is heavy work. We will need to pay well.”

  He didn’t like it but agreed. “Very well,” he tried to decipher her writing, upside-down. “How much wealth will we glean from this harvest?”

  She shrugged. “If we find a good market, close to two pounds a bushel. At somewhere around four hundred bushels, we will make eight hundred pounds on this harvest alone.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Indeed? Most profitable.”

  “Then you understand it is imperative to hire our workers in the next couple of days.”

  “We will go to town tomorrow and accomplish this.”

  She nodded, satisfied that he understood their situation. She thought their business to be concluded but he lingered by the desk, watching her. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was curious.

  “Was there anything else, my lord?” she asked.

  “Perhaps,” he said casually. By the time she looked up, he was rounding the table and pulling her into his arms. She gasped as his warm mouth clamped down on her neck.

  “Jax,” she breathed. “What are you doing?”

  He nuzzled her neck, her shoulder. “Tasting my future wife.”

  She stiffened in his arms; he could feel it. His head came up, the two-colored eyes focusing on her as his mood dampened. “So you still have not warmed to the idea.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Kellington gazed back at him, studying the splash-pattern of bright green that filled a portion of his right iris. It was mesmerizing and she struggled to stay focused.

  “I think you would tell me whatever you wish in order to gain your wants,” she said frankly. “I told you that I did not want you to kiss me so you tell me that I will be your wife so that I will let you do as you please.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that what you think? That I am telling you what you wish to hear in order to have my way with you?”

  She nodded, once. He could see by her expression that she was deadly serious. His first inclination was one of aggravation.

  “God’s Blood, woman, you are my captive. I can simply take what I want from you. I do not require your permission.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I told you that I would not be.…”

  “Your whore,” he cut her off, nodding his head exaggeratedly. “I know – I’ve heard it a half dozen times. You talk too much. And you think too much.”

  She scowled. “What else am I supposed to do? You lay siege to my father’s garrison, kill his men, murder children, create an army of … of corpses in the bailey, yet you expect me to put all of that aside and happily accept your proposal of marriage?”

  He dropped his hands from her. Then he turned on his heel as if to march from the room. Kellington watched him stomp to the door but he suddenly stopped, turning to face her.

  “I am Ajax de Velt,” there was exasperation in his voice but, strangely, his tone remained moderately civil. “I have been as you see for many years. I have commanded my mighty armies for nine years and I have overrun fortress after fortress in that time. Men fear me. Kings fear me. And if God himself does not fear me yet, he should. If I could find the road to Heaven, I would lay siege to it as well.” He abruptly walked towards her, wagging a big finger in her face. “I may be many things, Lady Kellington, but I am not a liar and I am not a manipulator. Those are cowardly traits and I am not a coward. If I say I am going marry you, then I am. You can take your oath upon my word for it is as solid as gold.”

  She looked up at him, the sheer size of the man dominating everything in the room. But she did not sense true anger from him; it was frustration, annoyance, an odd sense of desperation. But in that outburst, she began to realize just how sincere he was.

  Slowly, she shook her head. “I cannot marry you. My father would never allow it.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “The man is my prisoner.”

  “So you would kill him if he does not agree?” her voice lifted in outrage. “Are you mad?”

  “I did not mean that. I simply meant… hell, I do not know what I meant. What will it take to convince you that my intentions are real?”

  She stared at him, understanding that Jax was asking to prove himself. He was demanding to validate his intentions. She was startled at the very least, hardly comprehending that he was bargaining for the consent of her hand in marriage. She began to see a way out of their predicament, even if it meant sacrificing her future in the process. Perhaps she could save what was left of Pelinom, and her father, with de Velt so vulnerable. She had to try.

  “Release my father,” she said, watching the expression on
his face as she spoke. “Bring him back to Pelinom and restore him to his post. And for the love of God, allow us to bury the army of dead you have posted in the bailey.”

  He listened to her conditions, digested them. “If that is what it takes to convince you that my intentions are sincere, then so be it,” he said quietly. “I will bring your father back to Pelinom, but in order to return him to his post, he must swear fealty to me.”

  Her blood ran cold. “He’ll never do that.”

  “Then I cannot release him.”

  “But you said you would.”

  “I said I would if he swore allegiance to me.”

  She eyed him, watching the gravity of his expression, his body language as his massive fists rested upon his slender hips. The mood of the room was changing, turning deeply serious. He wanted something. If he wanted it badly enough, then she wanted something from him, too.

  “You could simply marry me against my will, you know,” she said. “As you have made clear, I am your captive. You need not ask my permission. You need not bargain with me at all. Why are you so willing to negotiate?”

  “Because I want your agreement. I do not want an unwilling bride.”

  Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer before she finally shook her head, turning away from him and regaining her stool. It was obvious that she was mulling over everything. She toyed with the parchment, finally looking up at him as he moved to the other side of the desk.

  “I cannot believe we are having this conversation,” she said with genuine confusion. “Two weeks ago you conquered my father’s garrison. You murdered men, women and children without conscience, yet now you show a side to your character that displays sensitivity and vulnerability. And you are willing to negotiate a marriage contract? Since when does Jax de Velt negotiate anything?”

  He averted his gaze, the dual-toned eyes moving over the parchment, the table, the floor, and finally to the lancet window near the desk. He wandered to the window, looking out to the bailey below.