But that grief quickly turned to wild curiosity when one of the men grabbing at her suddenly screamed and fell away. She could hear the sing-song swish of a weapon of some kind over her head where she couldn’t see anything, but suddenly another man fell away and she caught sight of a very big knight astride a big, hairy charger. The sing-song swish was coming from the broadsword as it sailed overhead. Help had unexpectedly arrived.
A knight! Her mind screamed. Then, there were two knights in her field of vision, both of them going after the bandits with a vengeance. Men were falling back but they weren’t leaving completely. They were regrouping as they continued beating on the Welsh and were now going after the English knights as well. But it was a futile attempt. The knights were skilled and powerful, and the bandits began to shift around, creating pockets for the knights to chase, but they still came back around and continued attacking. It would seem that they were reluctant to surrender.
Jeniver watched, terrified and fascinated, as the big English knights battled the onslaught of bandits. Unfortunately, they couldn’t distinguish the Welsh from their attackers, and Jeniver saw two of her father’s men fall to the English weapons. The battle went on for several long minutes until, abruptly, there were more big men on horseback everywhere. A sea of English warriors had flooded into their chaos, swamping them.
Jeniver could hear men screaming as their lives were cut short. As she watched, the bandits began to scatter and she dared to poke her head out from beneath the wagon bench, watching the swarm of English soldiers dispatch those who had attacked her party. But when she saw one knight bring his sword up against one of her father’s men, she cried out in protest.
“Nay!” she cried, holding out her hand as if to physically stop him. “Do not hurt him! He is not an outlaw!”
The knight turned to look at her, the visor of his helm down. All she could see was a fearsome Saesneg warrior, clad from head to toe in mail and weaponry, and the fear in her heart renewed. He was a massive man with enormous shoulders, and she could hear the armor and leather creak when he moved. As she watched him turn in her direction in an action that looked suspiciously like stalking, a thought began to occur to her. Perhaps these men weren’t here to help at all. Perhaps they had come to take what goods they could for themselves. Apprehensive, she sank back down on the wagon bed as the knight lowered his weapon and approached her.
“Are you Lady Jeniver?” he asked, his voice muffled behind the lowered visor.
Suspicion flickered in her eyes. “Who are you?” she demanded.
The knight flipped the visor up and dark green eyes gazed steadily at her. “I am Gallus de Shera, Earl of Coventry and Lord Sheriff of Worcester,” he introduced himself and all of his glorious titles. “Now, answer my question. Are you Lady Jeniver?”
An earl! Startled, and still somewhat confused, Jeniver nodded unsteadily. “I am,” she replied. “How do you know my name?”
The knight’s gaze lingered on her. Had Jeniver not been so unsettled by the situation, and fearful of the man in general, she might have noticed the rather curious reflection in his eyes. Curiosity bordering on interest.
“One of your father’s men came to me, asking for help,” he finally said, tearing his eyes off her and looking around at the dwindling fight. “Where is your father?”
Jeniver was back on her feet again, leaning against the wagon bench for support as she gazed out over what remained of her father’s escort.
“I do not see him,” she said, concern in her voice. “He was behind the wagon before all of this started. God’s Bones, but everything is in utter shambles now. My father was riding a white gelding. Where could he be?”
There was increased distress in her tone and Gallus turned his gaze from the men who were upright to the men who were lying on the ground. There were several of them, including horses, in a bloody mess on the road but he didn’t see a white horse. He pointed to the dead and injured on the ground.
“Is he amongst the wounded, my lady?” he asked.
Jeniver looked to the ground, the road upon which they traveled, and saw a gory twist of men. Her stomach lurched and she quickly looked for her father before turning away from the sight.
“Nay,” she breathed. “He is not there. He must be among us, somewhere.”
Gallus emitted a piercing whistle between his teeth, causing Jeniver to jump at the sound. Quickly, two knights appeared at his side, men who well understood the de Shera summons, and Gallus addressed them.
“I have the lady in hand, but we cannot locate the father,” he told them. “Find ap Gaerwen and bring him on to Isenhall. Have the men round up what is left of the traveling party, including the wagon, and return everything to the castle.”
The two knights nodded swiftly and were gone in opposite directions in their quest to carry out de Shera’s order. When they were sufficiently away, Gallus returned his attention to Jeniver. He opened his mouth to say something to her but she spoke first.
“Although I thank you for your kindness, we cannot return to your castle,” she said, rather apologetically. “We must be along our way. We are heading home.”
Gallus shook his head. “You are not going anywhere with your traveling party in shambles,” he said. “We will return to my fortress, tend your wounded and fix your wagon. You will, of course, be honored guests.”
Jeniver’s eyes lingered on him a moment before turning her attention to the mess around her. It was in shambles, all of it. Men were thrashed, the wagon was destroyed, and she realized she was devastated by the sight. There was blood on the road, in the grass, and those possessions that they had retained were spread out everywhere. As if the reality of it suddenly hit her, she sank to her knees beside the wagon bench. She felt quite weak and light-headed.
“God’s Beard,” she muttered. “This is such a terrible end to what was a lovely journey. I simply cannot believe that… forgive me. You do not care about any of this, do you? Surely we must help my father’s men first. There appear to be many wounded.”
Gallus nodded his head patiently. “My men will gather them and bring them on,” he told her. “It is my duty to get you and your father to safety first. Collect what you wish to take with you and we will be on our way.”
Jeniver ran a shaky hand over her head, thinking that perhaps he was right. She couldn’t do much tending to the wounded here on the open road. It would be much safer at the earl’s fortress. After a moment, she nodded. “As you wish,” she said. “I will collect what I can and come with you.”
Gallus eyed her lowered head. In fact, he’d done little else since the moment he first laid eyes on her. Pale skin, red lips, and long, dark hair had him instantly captivated, but it was her eyes that drew him in, pulling at him where there should be no pull. They were the color of a cat’s eye, a pale brown with a hint of red that was utterly stunning. He’d never seen anything like it. The Lady Jeniver ferch Gaerwen was a beauty to behold like none other and Gallus, in spite of everything, struggled not to think on the woman. He didn’t want to. But the allure was like nothing he’d ever experienced.
“Do you have a horse, my lady?” he asked, trying to shake off whatever spell she had cast upon him. “There are some gathered off to the east. If you point out the animal, I will retrieve it for you.”
Jeniver looked over her shoulder towards the east where several horses had been corralled. She saw her leggy mare among them.
“Aye,” she said, pointing. “The gray mare with the long legs.”
Gallus spied the horse. “Remain here,” he said. “I will return.”
He thundered over to the area where several horses had bunched up against a grove of trees, now nibbling at the damp green leaves. They were skittish were but held in check by two of his soldiers, keeping them contained. Gallus collected the reins of the mare and went back over to the wagon where Jeniver was now standing on the wagon bed, waiting for him. As he drew close, he noticed she had something in her arms. As he came near, he
saw that it was a big, black puppy.
The dog was nestled contentedly in her arms as he came alongside the wagon and handed her the reins to the mare. She went to mount the horse, as she was nearly level with the saddle from her position on the wagon, but Gallus stopped her.
“Would you like me to hold the dog, my lady?” he asked, purely out of politeness.
Jeniver deftly mounted the horse, still holding the dog against her breast. “No need, my lord,” she said, gathering her reins. “I am quite capable.”
Gallus watched her confidence with the horse and with the animal, and wasn’t hard pressed to agree that she was indeed capable. But when he tried to direct her away from the wagon, turning her in the direction of the fortress, she balked.
“But what of my father?” she wanted to know, looking around. “I do not want to leave without him.”
He gathered his reins. “You heard me order my men to find him,” he said. “They will bring him along.”
Jeniver was still leery to leave, confused and overwhelmed, but she supposed she had little choice. Besides, she had a puppy to think about and, truth be told, she was somewhat eager to go somewhere safe and protected. Gallus de Shera had promised her safety and she would take it. At least, she hoped it was safe and that the man really wasn’t the king of the outlaws instead, determined to trick her. She was about to find out.
Allowing de Shera to lead her back along the road, they took another road towards the northeast, heading off across the green, flat fields of Warwickshire towards safe haven.
CHAPTER THREE
Isenhall Castle was a circle, literally, circular walls surrounded by a moat with the only access in or out being a heavy drawbridge of iron and oak. The dark-stoned walls were very tall, and somewhat foreboding, and when they crossed the drawbridge and passed through a narrow tunnel, the bailey opened up on the other side to expose the underbelly of the castle.
It was a tight fit, all of it. The keep, at least three stories, was attached to a one-storied hall, and other buildings crowded up around them. There were tunnels leading between buildings to some kind of courtyard on the other side which she quickly determined to be the stables because she could see the horses through the tunnel and smell the stench of animals when the wind shifted.
Everything was closed in and boxed up, with the tall keep and walls towering over everything. Jeniver had to admit that she’d never seen anything like it, the guts of a real English castle, and she was intimidated. She began to wonder, again, if this had been a foolish move. She’d gone so easily with the man who called himself the Earl of Coventry, without much of a fight at all. She prayed she had not willingly put herself into the belly of the beast, praying that she would see her home again. From what she’d heard about the English, she would not be surprised if he threw her in the vault for the rest of her life.
But the big earl seemed calm and reasonable enough. He had led her into the bailey, now dismounting his heavy-boned warhorse and made his way over to her. He was dressed in mail and leather, mostly, but he did have a tunic on, which she could see when the big fur cloak he was wearing blew open. He had removed his helm, revealing close-cropped black hair that was kinked up with sweat. Coupled with a square jaw and those bright, green eyes, Jeniver wasn’t hard pressed to agree that the man was very handsome, and he was at least twice her age and probably more. She studied him as he approached, seeing a man in the prime of his life.
The earl was polite about helping her from her horse, offering again to hold the puppy, which she courteously declined. She wasn’t about to turn her dog over to anyone, even the man who saved her life. So he took her by the elbow, politely, and led her into the big, squat keep that was lit by dozens of torches on the inside.
It was surprisingly bright in the dank interior and the first room they came to was a small dining hall of sorts. Two small girls and an older woman sat at a table eating their morning meal. When they saw the earl enter, and the woman with him, all three jumped up from the table.
“Papa!” the little girls cried.
They rushed to the earl, clinging on to him, and he picked the smallest one up. Then he addressed the older woman with graying blond hair and sky blue eyes that were intently focused on Jeniver.
“This is the Lady Jeniver,” he told the woman. Then he looked at Jeniver. “My lady, this is my mother, the dowager countess. You may address her as Lady Honey.”
Jeniver bobbed her head respectfully to the older, and still quite lovely, woman. “My lady,” she said with her heavy Welsh accent. “I fear that harsh circumstances have brought me to your home. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Before Honey could reply, Lily, in her father’s arms, gasped. “Papa!” she shrieked. “She has a puppy!”
Jeniver turned to look at the adorable child, who was reaching out to pet the animal. Jeniver took a step toward the child so she could touch the puppy, which began licking her hand furiously. The little girl squealed in delight as the older one began jumping up and down.
“I want to pet!” she cried. “I want to pet!”
Jeniver lowered the puppy so both girls could get their hands on him. She ended up kneeling as the girls petted and hugged the puppy, being enthusiastically licked for their efforts. Gallus, standing over the rather sweet scene, watched his happy girls for a moment before turning to his mother.
“Lady Jeniver’s party has suffered an attack,” he said. “We are still looking for her father. Will you please take her in-hand and see to her comfort? I will return to the scene of the ambush and oversee the wounded, among other things.”
Honey nodded. “Of course, Gallus,” she said. “I would be happy to see to Lady Jeniver.”
Gallus lifted an eyebrow at his mother. “Her father is the hereditary king of Anglesey,” he told her. “Show her all due respect from Coventry.”
Honey nodded again. She understood well the social rankings and graces of the nobility. Her father, the great warlord Christopher de Lohr, had been an earl as well as friend to Richard the Lionheart. Honey, as his youngest child, embodied the greatness of the de Lohrs and much of her father’s strength and wisdom. Her father had lived a very long and rich life, passing away eleven years before on the eve of his eightieth birthday. Honey’s mother, Lady Dustin, still lived in the family home of Lioncross Abbey, a dowager countess herself as a new generation of de Lohrs now took the helm. Therefore, having spawned from such a prestigious family, Honey well understood protocol.
“Indeed I will,” she said, reaching down to gently grasp Jeniver by the elbow. “My lady, will you please come with me? I am sure you would like to rest and refresh yourself.”
Jeniver allowed the older woman to guide her to her feet even though the little girls were still begging to pet the dog. Before Honey led her away completely, Jeniver turned to Gallus.
“Please, my lord,” she begged softly. “Please find my father and bring him to me, no matter… no matter what state you find him in. It is just the two of us, you see, as my mother died when I was very young, so I would be grateful if… if you could simply find him.”
Gallus could see a steely resolve in the woman. She knew the chances of her father being found unharmed were slim but her attachment to him was great. Gallus could read it in her face. She was young, this one, but there was a grace and maturity about her. He nodded faintly.
“I will do all I can, my lady,” he assured her softly.
With that, he turned and quit the keep, leaving his daughters and mother to care for the Welsh lady who was, in reality, a Welsh princess. Jeniver watched him go, clutching her puppy and wondering if her life was going to change from this point. She was incredibly worried for her father but knew the chances of him being untouched in the attack were not good. They had been overwhelmed, their peaceful party, and she had seen some of the carnage. She could only pray the big earl with the sultry, green eyes could produce a miracle.
Her mind on her father, she allowed Honey to take her up a fl
ight of wide, stone steps that, strangely, were not spiral. It was actually a long flight that doubled back on itself up to the floor above. Looking up, she could see it doubled back on itself at least once more for another floor above that one. Jeniver had never seen an interior staircase that wasn’t spiral, so it was a bit of a marvel, but Honey gently pulled her away from the remarkable stairs and into one of the chambers on the second level.
Jeniver was hit in the face by the smell of lavender. Strong, pungent, clean, and fresh, she loved the scent. The chamber itself was extremely well appointed with a big, comfortable bed complete with heavy woolen drapes around the canopy, two lavish chairs next to a beautifully carved table, a tapestry on the wall that depicted some kind of romantic scene, and a warm fire burning in the hearth.
As Jeniver stood just inside the chamber door, a bit disoriented as she marveled at her surroundings and clutched her puppy to her chest, she felt tugging at her sleeve.
“Lady?” It was the earl’s older daughter. “Lady, can we pet your dog?”
Jeniver knelt down so both girls could continue stroking the puppy, which was starting to get wriggly. She eventually set the puppy to his feet and the little girls went mad, playing and chasing the puppy, which was quite happy to run wild all over the beautiful room. Jeniver tried to stop them, twice, but the little girls were having so much fun she didn’t have the heart. She stood there and watched the children play with her puppy as Honey, who had disappeared through another doorway off to the right behind a painted screen, once again emerged.
“My lady?” she said politely. “Would you join me, please?”
Jeniver had no idea what she meant but she did as she was asked, following Honey as she was beckoning her to come. Jeniver pointed to the puppy and the little girls as the puppy got underneath the bed and the squealing children slithered after it.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 3