Brides of Ireland: A Medieval Historical Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Her face fell. “But I would like to help you and it would save you time,” she said. “Shouldn’t a wife pack for her husband?”

  He paused, seeing how very much she wanted to help. He thought it rather adorable. “Very well,” he said. “If you would truly like to pack my things, I will show you what I need.”

  Eiselle was eager. “I know I cannot help you with your weapons, but I can help you with clothing and provisions and your bedroll.”

  They entered the keep, passing into the torch-lit innards. “Indeed, you can,” he said. “I will show you all you need to know so that the next time, you may help me with it.”

  Eiselle was thrilled. Bric took her up to their chamber and pulled out his saddlebags, which he now kept in their chamber as opposed to the armory or his former chamber. He’d moved everything he owned into this room, now his permanent residence, and he spent some time showing her everything he packed when he left on campaign – dry clothing, his oiled cloak, a sewing kit to repair whatever he might tear, small strips of leather with any number of purposes, jerky, a shaving kit, and other small but important things.

  He was a patient teacher and Eiselle soaked it up, memorizing everything and the order in which he placed them in his saddlebags. But he was nearing the end of everything he needed and Eiselle still hadn’t seen one particular item that she knew he would want to bring.

  “What about your talisman?” she asked. “Won’t you take that, also?”

  Bric reached down into the tunic he was wearing and produced it, hanging around his neck. “I always keep it on me,” he said. “You need never worry about that.”

  Eiselle admired the piece for a moment. “Please do not ever give it to me again. Promise?”

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “If you insist.”

  She nodded. “I do.”

  He winked at her before returning his attention to his saddlebags, making sure he had everything with him. Meanwhile, Eiselle moved over to the table near their bed, to the embroidered box that contained her sewing kit. Opening the box, she pulled something forth, something she kept enclosed in her hand, and returned to him. Bric noticed that she was trying to keep something from him.

  “What do you have?” he asked.

  She lifted her shoulders, hesitantly. “It may be silly of me to ask, but would you like to take something of me with you? A keepsake, I mean. Should you want to think of me once in a while on your travels.”

  A smile played on his lips. “I always think about you, every moment of every day,” he said. “What did you wish to give me?”

  Eiselle finally held up her hand, holding out what she’d been concealing from him. It was a necklace, with a chain made of braided fabric and at the very end was a carefully-looped bunch of dark hair tied up tightly with the same fabric that made the chain. The smile faded from Bric’s face as he took it from her, inspecting it, and Eiselle spoke before he could ask her the obvious question.

  “It is the only thing I have to give you that is part of me,” she said. “It is a lock of my hair. I did not have a chain or anything solid to put it on, so the fabric is from the dress I wore when we were married. I am sure you do not recall it, but it was the dress that had belonged to Keeva’s sister. She gave me permission to take some of the fabric from the seams and make this necklace out of it. If you do not wish to wear it, then I completely understand, but I wanted to give you something that meant something to me. Mayhap it will mean something to you, too.”

  Bric stared at it. Well did he remember the pale green garment she had worn, the dress Eiselle had been so careful with. He could see that she’d cut three slender scraps and braided them together to create the necklace, which was tied off at the ends with a lock of her hair.

  Bric wasn’t a man of great sentiment. Or, at least he never thought he was. He always thought himself rather hardened to emotion, but the introduction of Eiselle had changed that opinion dramatically. He’d grown up in a family of warriors, and had fostered at a very young age, so all he’d ever really known was the seriousness and dedication of the knighthood. Emotions were crippling things, and he had an old master, the same one who had given him the talisman, who had tried to beat all of the emotion out of him.

  That was why he had been so puzzled when he’d run from the arrow. He experienced something he’d never experienced before – genuine fear. He never thought himself capable of such emotion, but it was clear that whatever his old master had tried to beat out of him hadn’t entirely fled.

  Bric was a man of feeling.

  Which was why his throat felt tight as he looked at the necklace Eiselle had made him. It was difficult for him to put his emotions into words.

  “I have never in my life received anything so valuable,” he said after a moment. “Your hair… and this dress that I remember you looking so beautiful in… this is the most precious thing I own, Eiselle. To thank you for this doesn’t seem enough.”

  Eiselle hadn’t been entirely sure how Bric would have felt about received such a gift and she was deeply pleased that he seemed thrilled by it.

  “You like it?” she asked. “Truly?”

  He nodded as he continued to look at it. “Truly.”

  “I hope that when you look at it, you remember how much I love you. And how much I want you to come home safely.”

  He looked at her, his silver gaze lingering on her before putting the necklace over his head and tucking it down his tunic, making sure it was close to his heart. Then, he reached out and cupped her face, kissing her so sweetly that Eiselle’s head began to swim. The man’s kisses were warm, soft, and delicious, and Eiselle put her arms around his neck, pulling him close as his kisses gained in intensity. Before she realized it, he had backed her into the wall as his mouth moved over the tender skin of her neck.

  It was natural for him to touch her, to taste her, so his hands and mouth had a mind of their own. He couldn’t even stop himself from pulling at the ties on her surcoat, loosening it just enough so he could pull it down over her shoulders and expose her breasts. He was never content with just a kiss from her; it had to be all of her. He feasted on her nipples as her garment bunched up around her waist, and his hands snaked underneath her skirt.

  Eiselle was his plaything. She offered no resistance as his hands stroked her thighs, and finally the tender junction between her legs. She groaned as he slipped his fingers into her, so highly aroused that she climaxed twice before he turned her around, braced her hands against the wall, and flipped up her skirts. Untying his breeches, he lowered them to his knees as he thrust into her from behind.

  Eiselle gasped with the pleasure of it as he joined his body with hers, surrendering to the primal mating rhythm. Not a day passed that they didn’t make love at least once, but more often than not it was more than once, and Eiselle’s body was deeply in tune with Bric’s needs. She let him do whatever he wanted to do, and when she asked how she could pleasure him, he’d taken the time to show her how to use her mouth to make him groan.

  But there wasn’t time for that tonight; Bric had her where he wanted her and knowing how little time they had left, he branded his wife as only he was capable. When he felt her tremors begin again, he permitted his own release, spilling his hot seed deep into her womb. But even when it was finished and they’d both found their pleasure, he remained joined to her, holding her against him, memorizing the moment for the lonely nights to come, of which there would probably be many.

  He missed her already.

  “Is this part of the packing process?”

  Bric heard her softly-uttered question and he began to laugh, so hard that by the time he and Eiselle uncoupled and she was pulling up her bodice, he was literally crying with laughter. He didn’t let her finish dressing before he was throwing his arms around her, squeezing her tightly as he kissed the side of her head.

  “It will be from now on,” he said. “As long as I have breath left in my body, by God, it will be.”

  “Good. I like
that part of it.”

  He released her, his eyes warm upon her. “So do I,” he said. “I love you, Lady MacRohan. You are more than my heart could have ever hoped for.”

  His words had her heart aflutter. Coming from a man who often couldn’t find the right words, when he did find them, they were glorious.

  “And I love you. With all that I am, I do.”

  He kissed her again, enjoying the moment of warmth and passion and humor between them. Never had his heart been so full. As Eiselle quickly finished with the ties on her surcoat, Bric fastened his breeches and turned back to the bed with the saddlebags on it.

  From that point on, little was spoken between them. They had said everything that needed saying, so when Bric carried his saddlebags out of the chamber a short time later, he held on to Eiselle tightly, soaking in their last few moments together. Never in his life had he not wanted to attend a battle but, at the moment, he would have been much happier to remain with his wife.

  But he had little choice. He walked with Eiselle out of the keep and to the smaller gatehouse that separated the outer bailey from the inner bailey, and there he left her. A gentle kiss, and a few whispered words of love, and he left her standing there, watching him head out into the coal-black night with a lock of her hair nestled snuggly against his heart.

  When Bric kissed his talisman as the army left Narborough, as was usual for him, he also kissed the bunch of silken dark hair that smelled faintly of roses. Now, he had both good luck charms with him.

  He was immortal.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The French had no intention of leaving Castle Acre.

  French scouts had been out in the countryside as the army from Narborough approached from the north, so by the time the de Winter troops were on the outskirts, the French had set up a second line and were ready for them.

  It was a nasty battle from the start.

  The French army had scavenged nearly everything of value out of the village of Castle Acre, leaving burning homes and dead peasants in their wake. They stole horses and livestock, even dogs. The de Winter army could hear the screaming from the villagers, but they were blocked from helping by the line of French who were intent to chase them away. The de Winter war machine, however, would not be chased away; Bric ordered his archers to unleash, and as the French rebels began to retreat back into the burning village, the de Winter army charged after them.

  But the French soon fragmented, meaning the de Winter army also had to fragment in order to chase them down, and there were pockets of brutal fighting in the village and near the gatehouse of Castle Acre. The castle wasn’t a main residence for the Earl of Surrey, but it was strategic, and the earl stationed about five hundred men to protect both the castle and the village, but it wasn’t nearly enough against the one thousand Frenchmen who wanted to steal the castle and destroy the village.

  As soon as the army made headway into the village, Daveigh headed to the castle with a contingent of bodyguards to speak with the garrison commander while Bric took charge of the fighting. He sent Mylo to the east, Pearce to the west, while he and the main body of the army plowed right down the middle of the town. The streets were narrow, the alleys dark and dangerous, and half of the town was burning by the time Bric and his men began to gain the upper hand against the enemy.

  But it was the French army’s fault that they began to lose ground. Since they’d stolen so much, they weren’t moving very swiftly and the de Winter troops were able to take back horses, cows, and other livestock that had been stolen. There was a livery near the gatehouse of the castle, one with a big corral, and the de Winter army began stashing the reclaimed livestock there. It began to fill up with frightened horses and cows, a few calves, and many goats, one of which tried to ram those who were attempting to help it. It was a rare humorous moment as Bric watched two of his soldiers get mowed down by a very angry Billy goat as they were trying to lead the creature to safety.

  And the fight went on long into the day.

  As Keeva had predicted, there was some mist hanging heavy over the land as the sun rose, a mist that didn’t quite burn off even in midday. Mylo returned from the east after several hours of fighting to report that he’d either chased away or killed the French factions he’d been fighting against, but at the same time a report came from the west that the French were moving on the Castle Acre Priory, a large monastic enclave west of the castle. Bric shifted his manpower over to the priory, and there was heavy fighting in the fields all around it.

  It was clear very early how badly the French wanted Castle Acre. It was not only a rich castle, but minimally staffed for such a large place because of its somewhat remote situation. Even though the location was out of the normal paths of travel, it was still strategic because it was near the mouth of the River Ouse, and the port city of King’s Lynn, and although the Honor of Narborough controlled the river into the heart of England, Castle Acre sat in a position to control near the river. If the French took it, they could permit French ships to dock in the river, bringing more men and supplies.

  At least, that was what Bric assumed their intentions were. It would be a terrible situation for Narborough and its neighbor to the north, Castle Rising, to have a French outpost so close. Castle Acre was under threat of becoming a French lair and Bric wasn’t going to allow that to happen. In truth, it was a much more serious situation than he’d originally thought and even though he didn’t have the military support that he’d had at Holdingham, he was under the belief that he could hold the line at Castle Acre and beat the French back.

  The High Warrior would not fail.

  Surprisingly, the new recruits had done a good job at fighting the French. Bric had taken about half of them with him, and the rest of them were divided up between Pearce and Mylo. The first hour into the fight, Bric was screaming at the men as he used to before his injury. He even knocked a head or two when they didn’t listen to him fast enough.

  For the seasoned de Winter troops, it did them good to see Bric back to his old form. This was the High Warrior they knew, the man who wouldn’t hesitate to insult you if you deserved it, but would also kill for you if need be. Seeing Bric return to the man they once knew was a huge boost for the de Winter army and as the day dragged into night, they fought with a vengeance.

  The battle continued as a moonless sky unfolded. The priory was lit up with torches, from every window it seemed, casting rays of light into the darkness beyond. The de Winter army had created something of a barrier around the priory, preventing the French from getting close even though some of them had run off into the nearby woods only to emerge with a battering ram. They used the battering ram to push aside de Winter men, who retaliated by trying to take the battering ram away from them.

  It had been quite a struggle, with the de Winter men finally emerging the victors, and Bric watched it all from astride his big war horse. Liath had been unmuzzled at the start of the battle and, even now, he snapped at men who came too close or used his big hooves to knock them down. Bric was quite certain the horse had killed at least one man by kicking him with his powerful rear legs. The horse was intelligent, experienced, and mean, something Bric adored in the beast.

  For the first time in a very long while, Bric felt like he was finally back to his top form. Whatever had happened with his panic attack back at Narborough, he was feeling as if he had overcome it. He was too strong to let something so foolish take him down. With Liath beneath him, and with his beloved sword in-hand, it was an unstoppable combination and Bric felt as if he could take on the entire world.

  As the fighting went on around him, Bric remained at the door to the priory to cut down any French who managed to make it through the line of de Winter men in the distance. Two massive oak and iron doors were shut and bolted from the inside, and Bric remained in front of the doors and beneath the great Norman arch of the entry. He’d been here before, a few times, and was awed every time at the sheer size and scope of the priory. It was truly a massive p
lace. As he remained in place, watching the pockets of fighting and guarding the door with a couple of hundred men that would not be moved, Pearce thundered up on his war horse.

  “Well?” Bric demanded. “What is the status of the battle?”

  Pearce tipped his helm back and wiped at the sweat that was rolling into his eyes. “The fire in the town has stopped for the most part,” he said. “When we drew the fighting over to the priory, the soldiers from the castle emerged to help put it out. They also rounded up the villagers, and most of them are now in the castle for safety.”

  Bric moved Liath out from the doorway, looking over towards the village. It was a black outline against the dark sky and he couldn’t see much, but he could see that the castle was lit up with pinpricks of light, torches burning in the darkness.

  “That is good news,” he said. “What about the livestock?”

  “I think we were able to get back most, if not all, of it. The soldiers moved everything back into the castle for safe keeping.”

  Bric was pleased to hear that the villagers and their livestock were at least safe from the French. “That is good news,” he said. “The French were more determined than I thought they would be.”

  Pearce finished wiping his eyes and put his helm back on. “Indeed,” he said. He, too, could see the pockets of fighting. “They want the priory badly.”

  Bric glanced back at the towering structure. “You know why, don’t you?”

  “Because it’s there? Because they can?”

  Bric chuckled. “Nay,” he said. “This is a Cluniac establishment, meaning the monks here are loyal to the Abbot of Cluny in France. They are loyal to a French abbot and our French friends out there must feel that this is something that belongs to them. I am sure they thought it would be an easy thing to seize the priory.”

  Understanding dawned with Pearce. “Now it makes sense,” he said. “I had not realized that about Castle Acre Priory.”