Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The odds were growing worse.

  In a fit of uncharacteristic rage, he dispatched his opponent with a clean strike to the groin. The man with muddy brown eyes went down, squealing like a pig, and Cullen turned his attention to the scattered marketplace, searching for the familiar white-blonde head. But another sword came flying at him, and still another, and Cullen found himself fighting off two men at once. He was irritated, angry, and struggling not to permit his emotions to enter the fight. Emotions caused mistakes, fatal ones at that, and he was not about to let himself fall victim to his own fears.

  A swatch of blue fabric suddenly caught his eye. He heard a soft grunt behind him and the sounds of metal on metal. There was a fierce sword battle going on against his back and he maneuvered himself around it, wary of any fighting on his blind side. From the corner of his eye, he caught more blue fabric, and then Teodora came into view. Wielding a broadsword with grace and skill, she fought like someone who had been doing it all of her life.

  Cullen should not have been stunned, but he was. In the back of his mind, he supposed he had suspected she might do something like this. In truth, he honestly couldn’t imagine her running from a fight. But the sight of Teodora in a life or death struggle with a man nearly twice her size filled him with such fury, such protectiveness, that he immediately did away with both of his opponents in swift order.

  Racing to Teodora’s side, he assumed her battle and, within two strokes, had her opponent at an extreme disadvantage. Teodora, miffed that Cullen had all but shoved her aside when she thought she had been doing quite well for herself, saw the opportunity to dispatch her opponent and did so by driving her borrowed blade into the man’s gut.

  The soldier dropped like a stone. Cullen, with a look of fire in his eyes, snatched the weapon from Teodora’s hand and hurled it away. Grabbing her by the wrist, he left his men to clean up the battle as he escorted the countess to safety.

  Teodora, however, was an unwilling damsel in distress. She struggled against Cullen’s iron grip, twisting and pulling as he dragged her along behind him.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded. “Your men are still battling. We must help them!”

  Cullen didn’t answer. In truth, he was afraid to. The past several minutes had brought emotions to him that were so alien they had frankly terrified him. For a man unused to anything other than complete order, it was a catastrophic happening. And he knew, beyond a doubt, that the woman in his grasp was solely responsible.

  Teodora didn’t like being ignored and she didn’t like the fact that they had fled a battle. With a surge of strength, she wrested herself free from his iron grip.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she hissed. “Why do you walk away from a battle?”

  He came to a halt. Then, very slowly, he turned to face her. Teodora swallowed hard, from fear perhaps, when she saw the intensely strange gleam in his eyes.

  “I am not walking away from the battle,” he informed her, a bit too calmly. “I am escorting Lady Barklestone to safety.”

  Teodora shook her head. “Unnecessary. I can defend myself.”

  The gleam in his eyes grew stronger. “I will defend you, always. And when it comes to matters of your safety, you will obey me without question. Do you comprehend me?”

  Teodora tried to maintain her courage, but Cullen’s demeanor was frightening. “Just like the first time we met,” she said after a moment, quietly. “You were running from a battle then, too.”

  The gleam flickered. “And you know why.”

  She nodded. “Aye, I do. You left to protect the earl. And I am telling you that I do not need, nor do I want, your protection. You belong back in the battle with your men.”

  “I would still be back in the battle if you hadn’t joined it.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Did your father permit you to engage in hand to hand combat?”

  Teodora faltered, struggling to maintain eye contact with him but unable to in good conscience. “I… I can use a sword as well as any man.”

  “That was not the question. Must I repeat it?”

  Her jaw ticked angrily as she stared at the ground, her shoes, anything but his piercing blue eyes. “Nay,” she mumbled.

  “Then you will answer me.”

  She paused, grinding her teeth. “He did not.”

  “He did not what?”

  Her head snapped up sharply, her eyes flashing. “He did not permit me to engage in actual combat. It was usual for me to skirt the perimeter of the battle and pick off men with my crossbow.” She saw a look cross his face, one of arrogance in knowing he had suspected the truth, and her normally cool temper flared. “But I can give any man alive a decent fight!”

  “You tried to give me one, once. As I recall, you gave up.”

  “It wasn’t a fair chance. I had no real armor or weapons against you.”

  “You had quite enough to do away with me had your skill been of any true measure.”

  Teodora’s face turned red. He was taunting her, trying to force her to back down. But she was too cool, too controlled, to give him the satisfaction of a furious reaction.

  “Given equal weapons, I am a formidable opponent,” she said through clenched teeth. “As I recall, you had a broadsword as long as my arm. Far superior to a flail, I would say.”

  Cullen stepped closer to her, realizing this was about to become an extreme test of wills and he was determined that he was going to win. Already she was building her case. If she attempted to pull rank on him, he would be in an awkward position, but her title as countess was still so new that it hadn’t yet occurred to her that she could, in fact, order him to admit her back to the battle. Only Preston could supersede that order, and Preston was nowhere to be found.

  … Preston!

  “Come on!” He suddenly grabbed her again, yanking her after him. “I’ve no time for this foolery. I must find the earl.”

  Teodora didn’t like being unceremoniously pulled behind him like a beast of burden. “The earl is in a tavern surrounded by liquor and wenches and, I am sure, in no danger,” she said, trying to free her wrist once again. But it was like struggling with a vise. “Let go, de Nerra. You are hurting me.”

  Cullen loosened his grip but he did not let go. “I must take you to safety before I go in search of Preston.”

  Teodora could see it was no use to argue. He was absolutely determined. She further realized the scene at the marketplace had alarmed him so that there was nothing she could say to ease his anxiety. Wisely, she shut her mouth and allowed him to pull her down the avenue. Cullen was determined to do his duty, and she would make no further effort to stop him with senseless arguments.

  Kingsland’s largest inn sat on the southern edge of town near the road that led to Worcester, the name Knotthead’s Womb burned into a plank above the door. Several of de Lacy’s soldiers were outside, milling about, and there was no obvious sign of trouble. Cullen marched up to the senior man in charge and handed Teodora over, demanding the man put a heavy guard on the countess and ordering him to prepare to depart as soon as the earl was retrieved. With the men scrambling to do his bidding, Cullen was relieved of one less worry. Sword in hand, he barged into the stuffy, smoky inn.

  Preston wasn’t hard to find. Sitting by the hearth with a huge tankard in his fist, he looked bored. As Cullen approached, Preston hardly passed him a glance.

  “Don’t tell me that your shopping trip is complete,” he grumbled. Then he waved him off. “I am not yet ready to go. Go back to town and occupy yourselves.”

  Cullen didn’t mince words. “We were attacked in town, my lord.”

  Preston cocked an eyebrow. “Attacked?”

  “Very skilled men. I lost at least three men, mayhap more. It is my opinion that they will be coming for you and we must vacate immediately.”

  Preston suddenly shot to his feet and the tankard spilled. “Assassins!”

  “That is my assumption.”

&nbs
p; Preston’s face turned shades of red. Then, he beat on his chest, angrily, as if to prove his indestructibility. “Damnable John, he’ll stop at nothing to get to me. Not even my wedding party is sacred!”

  “Apparently not.”

  “He’ll not have me, I say!”

  “Then I suggest we leave immediately, my lord. On to the safety of Cerenbeau Castle.”

  Preston didn’t need to be told twice. Grumbling, cursing, he moved toward the door. But there were several other men moving for the door as well and Cullen saw a blockade materializing before them. There was no fear in his heart, only a strong sense of duty in knowing, as he always had, that he was sworn to risk his life in defense of Barklestone no matter what the odds.

  Raising his sword, he bounded onto the nearest table with the agility of a gazelle, took a flying leap, and landed squarely on the three men blocking the earl’s path. All four of them ended up in a grunting, scuffling heap.

  Preston was stunned for a moment at the sight of Cullen battling with three heavily-armed men. But he was spurred into action as several other men lunged for him. Spinning away, he grasped the nearest oil lamp and threw it, flame and all, onto his attackers. Clothing ignited, the men struggled to put out the flame as Preston raced for the door. But there was still another man blocking his path and Preston was forced to come to a halt, rapidly calculating his next move. Cullen was still locked in a vicious fight and Preston knew that the time had come for him to save his own life. Looking frantically for the nearest weapon, he was startled when the door to the inn flew open and his opponent was knocked aside.

  Teodora stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. It had been obvious that there was trouble inside the tavern as people ran from the door, screaming, and Teodora had immediately organized the remaining de Lacy troops. There was a dagger in her hand and, seeing that Preston was unarmed, she tossed it to him.

  “My lord!” she cried.

  Preston deftly caught the blade, using it against the man who had been knocked aside, now regaining his feet. As the man groaned and fell away, Preston decided he’d had enough of defending himself and charged through the door, landing in a nest of de Lacy soldiers hovering just outside.

  Barking orders, Preston directed half of them inside to aid Cullen while the rest escorted him hurriedly to his waiting horse. With a shout, the earl and his escort made haste from the scene, heading on to Cerenbeau Castle, leaving Cullen and Teodora and the rest of the de Lacy men to quell the skirmish.

  A few of the soldiers had the good sense to move Teodora away from the fighting. She tried to argue with them, but they ignored her, being seasoned men who knew their duties well. When she tried to push past them, they boxed her in and refused to allow her to pass. Frustrated, Teodora was forced to watch the battle dwindle from her fence of armored shoulders.

  She lost sight of Cullen. She could hear his voice, uncharacteristically raised in a loud, commanding tone, ordering the barkeep to burn the bodies of the enemy dead. Injured de Lacy soldiers were carried or helped out by their comrades, makeshift bandages covering their wounds. As the chaos and noise died down, Cullen was the last to quit the tavern. His helm was in his hand and he was sporting a bloody gash above his left eye.

  Teodora gasped, pushing through her cage of soldiers. “You are injured!” she said. “Let me…”

  He cut her off with an intolerant look. “This is your idea of an injury? ’Tis a damned scratch.” He was preoccupied with getting out of there. He marched past her, shouting to his men. “Toller! Set Corson on the wagon. He has a wound to his back and should not ride. The rest of you, mount up. We ride!”

  He was calling to his men as he went. Teodora followed him closely, still surrounded by the four soldiers. Every time Cullen moved his head, drops of blood sprayed and she watched them dribble on the ground. Odd how the sight of blood had never affected her before, but she realized that, foolishly, the sight of Cullen’s blood was making her nauseous. She was hurt that he had refused her aid. She told herself that it would serve him right should he bleed to death but, in the same breath, she found herself praying the gash wasn’t serious.

  The soldiers helped Teodora mount and even reined their horses around her, maintaining protection from all sides. Behind her, the wounded were loaded onto either wagons or steeds with the haste and care of men who had handled many battle wounds. There was tension in their movements, however, as if waiting for another ambush at any moment. These seasoned men knew the importance of moving with caution and speed, and did so efficiently. Finally, with a piercing whistle from Cullen, the column moved back to the main road.

  They were well on their way when Teodora broke away from her escort and joined Cullen at the head of the column. He was focused on the landscape, his dark eyes detecting every movement, every shadow. She eyed him, almost angrily, noting that the blood had dried in a crusty stream down his face. He felt her stare and glanced at her, noticing that she was critically looking him over.

  “Go back, my lady,” he ordered quietly. “Your place is with your escort at this time.

  “We’re in no danger at the moment,” she said. “I would stitch your eye now.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  Teodora rolled her eyes. “Good Lord, de Nerra, you are wounded. Doesn’t that concern you in the least?”

  He stared at her a moment. “What concerns me more is your actions today.” He turned back to the countryside, watching. “The earl will not be pleased in the least. You’ll be extremely lucky if he doesn’t punish you.”

  Teodora shook her head, her gaze wandering over the softly rolling hills. “Both you and the earl are more concerned with your pride than my safety.”

  “I am more concerned that Lady Barklestone does not end up with a sword in her belly. Lord Preston is concerned that his new wife does not embarrass the House of de Lacy. Is that clear enough for you?”

  Teodora knew that tone. Already, she had become acquainted with his stubborn tactics and she knew it was of no use to argue. Thwarted, she sighed heavily.

  “Are you always so obstinate?” she asked.

  He didn’t reply and she knew he wasn’t going to. His eyes continued to study the landscape, like a hawk searching for prey. Teodora watched him, thinking back over the past couple of days and the Cullen de Nerra she had come to know; he was an inordinately powerful man, as calm and controlled as anyone she had ever known. There was a confidence about him, an enormous self-reliance she had sensed from the first instant they met.

  It was an attractive quality, if she were to admit it.

  The man was comfortable with who and what he was, and she found it difficult to understand why a man of such character would pledge fealty to a man like Preston de Lacy. Since the discussion regarding the gash above his eye was closed, Teodora decided to venture on to other subjects, mostly because she didn’t want to ride by herself.

  She very much wanted to know this man she was coming to share a very strange relationship with.

  “Where are we going now?” she asked.

  He wouldn’t look at her. “We will catch up to Lord Preston at Cerenbeau and collect your grandmother,” he said. “You requested that of Lord Preston this morning as we left Leominster.”

  “I recall.”

  “After we collect your grandmother, we continue on to Worcester, Oxford, and finally London.”

  “I’ve never been to London,” she said. “I have heard it called the City of Gold. Have you been there often?”

  “I have,” he replied.

  “Did you foster there?”

  “Nay.”

  “Where did you foster?”

  “Kenilworth.”

  “A royal compound. But you did not swear fealty to the king?”

  “Nay.”

  “You swore fealty to Preston instead. Why?”

  Cullen didn’t reply for a moment. She thought he might not answer at all because she was being too annoying with her many questions. But surprisingly, he finally l
ooked at her and she could see the resignation in his eyes.

  “My former liege, William Marshal, lost me to de Lacy in a gambling bet,” he said.

  “So you had no choice?”

  “Nay.”

  There was disgust in his voice. Clearly, he was unhappy about how he came into Preston’s service, but it also made a good deal of sense. A knight of his caliber would not normally serve someone like de Lacy unless there was a very good reason. Purely out of consideration, she chose not to pursue that particular line of discussion. It was obvious that his bitterness ran deep, and she felt a good deal of pity for him.

  “A magnificent keep, I am told,” she said softly.

  “What is?”

  “Kenilworth,” she said. “I’ve heard it is magnificent.”

  He didn’t answer. De Nerra was being terribly tight-lipped and she could tell that the conversation was annoying him. But she was curious about him and unafraid to ask questions so long as she knew which subjects to avoid.

  “I hope to see it someday, even though it is not too terribly far from Cerenbeau,” she went on casually. “I was born at Cerenbeau, by the way. Where were you born?”

  “Selborne Castle.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Hampshire.”

  “Are you an only child?”

  “I have three brothers and two sisters.”

  “Are they all fair like you?”

  “They are not. I am fair-haired in a family of dark-haired people.”

  Teodora was staring at his hair. “Do you realize that this is nearly the first time I’ve seen you without your helm?”

  He didn’t look at her. “Not quite. I was not wearing it last night.”

  The subtle inference was obvious, but Teodora merely nodded, without emotion or embarrassment.

  “I recall.” She was acknowledging the previous night. “I prefer you without your helm, de Nerra.”

  Had the comment come from anyone else, he would have interpreted it as a blatantly sexual comment. But coming from Teodora, he knew she meant it literally. He glanced at her, sidelong, realizing she was complimenting him in her own stilted way. He further realized that he liked it, but he was also uncomfortable with it. He didn’t want anyone else hearing it and possibility misinterpreting it. That caution made him uncharacteristically brusque.