Brides of the North: A Medieval Scottish Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  A final heated kiss passed between them. Teague led his wife down the narrow stairs of the keep and out in to the bailey, the violet-scented doll clutched against his breaking heart.

  CHAPTER ONE

  London, England

  Ports along the Thames

  London was a major seafaring port, exporting wool to Europe and importing precious items such as wine and fine fabric. Regulations were strict, though there was no Customs House to enforce them. A few officers of the royal house had to suffice to uphold the laws. On this fine day, the seabirds screamed in the blue skies overhead, swooping upon the docks where the fishermen had left the guts and heads of the catches for the day. It was a feast.

  A hedgerow of dilapidated stores faced this segment of the port. On the second floor of a fishmonger’s shop, three small, raggedy bodies clad in old wool and leather lay upon their stomachs on the slanted rooftop overlooking the Thames. From their vantage point, they could clearly see the ships preparing to sail to King Richard’s service. The figure in the middle pointed to the largest ship on the dock. There was much activity surrounding it, like bees buzzing around a hive.

  “Is that the ship?”

  A blond head, topped with a ratted wool cap, nodded vigorously. “Rickard told me they were sailing on the king’s largest ship, my lady,” the young boy replied. “Look at all of the knights loading their horses into the hold. It must be true.”

  Tresta’s eyes were fixed on the hectic scene below. There were sailors everywhere, most of them heading to the ships that lined the dock almost as far as the eye could see. The boat master stood at the top of the gangway, holding the manifest and signing on the men who would risk their lives for months at sea for a few pence a week. For some, it was the only life they knew. For others, it was the only way to make a living in deeply divided economic times. For the very young that signed on shipboard, it was a way to eat because their families could not support them. It was survival.

  Tresta had been in London for two long days. Her escorts were two pages from Endale that she had coerced into coming with her; Simon of Pembury, whose father was a knight already in the king’s service, and Channing, Lord Ellington, of Ashtonlyne Castle in Yorkshire. The boys had come to foster at Endale at six years of age; three years later, they were bright, resourceful boys attempting to gain favor with the knights to move on to a squire position. They had been easily pulled into the lady’s conspiracy because of the adventure in it; all young boys dreamt of battle and glory, and what the lady had in mind was exactly the sort of dreams they wanted to live. At no time did they consider the peril of it.

  Simon was a large boy and had the strength for such a thing if not the intelligence; Channing, however, was a small boy with pale blond hair and a weak countenance. But he had the heart of a lion. The three of them had spent the past two days sleeping in alleys and eating their meals in dirty, frightening places. They were fortunate to have made it this far on the open road and no protection, though it had taken them nearly a week. Night after night of huddling in the cold woods, trying to sleep, and then days of traveling on foot. They had dressed as peasants and stuck to the trees and half-traveled paths that paralleled the main road. In this way, they were able to stay clear of any trouble and had, fortunately, never come close. But it had been an immensely foolish foray since the onset.

  Deep down, Tresta knew the dangers even if the boys did not. She convinced herself through much prayer that she and the children would be kept safe and that soon she would be at Teague’s side. He had told her to stay at Endale, but it was like telling a child to keep his fingers from the sweets. She simply could not do as he asked. Where he went, she must also go. If he was going to die, then let it be with her at his side. It must be thus.

  In her determination, her idiocy knew no limits, including dragging the two young boys with her. It was her ultimate hope was that once they had reached the ships bound for Vezelay and put to sea, she would reveal herself to Teague so that he could not send her back. She could see nothing beyond that.

  “Do you think we should try to board the ship now?” Simon asked anxiously. “It looks to be that the men are signing on now. We do not want to miss our chance, my lady.”

  Tresta observed the activity below like a hawk watching its prey. Her ever-present cough threatened, but she quieted herself. She could see knights loading their horses on board, watching the big animals dance nervously on the gangway’s unsteady timbers. She had yet to see her husband or any of the five knights and five hundred retainers that rode with him. Perhaps they had been delayed with some business in London somewhere. It was, after all, a massive city.

  “I believe that we should go ahead and sign on,” she said. “Do you remember the plan?”

  Channing nodded solemnly. “We are to sign on as mess boys.”

  “That is correct. Once on board, we must spread out to discover the layout of the ship so we can determine where the knights are.”

  The boys grabbed their two small satchels and the three of them slithered off of the second story roof, down the narrow steps to the balcony on the second floor, and then lowered themselves onto the bricked wall that butted up against the building before finally jumping to the ground. The fishmonger’s wife angrily chased them from her porch.

  The crowds were heavy at the docks. There were a few fine carriages and ladies seeing off their men, for the fleet of ships that was to take the crusaders to Velezay was a large one. There were four large main ships and several smaller support vessels. Richard’s crusade was the biggest event in England at the moment and there were literally thousands at the port.

  Tresta kept her long hair tucked up in her cap and pulled her rough coat tightly about her to conceal the fact that she was a woman. If anyone took a second look at her, there was no question as to her feminine lines. She simply hoped no one would care enough to take that second glance. Much of her plan depended upon the fact that she would be generally looked upon as a young boy. Channing and Simon stayed close to her, clearing paths and lugging the bags. It was second nature to them to look out for their lady.

  The HMS Gabriel was a nef, a two storied vessel constructed for strictly transport and not comfort. There was the deck with a large rudder on the stern and a single mast with a series of sails upon it. Below, the hold was divided into compartments that separated men from beasts. The cooking and forge area was in the middle of the hold, for the most stability, with an opening in the deck above to allow the smoke to escape.

  The Gabriel was a largest of the four main ships, the HMS Rafael, HMS Michael, and HMS Uriel. As Tresta and the boys drew close, she realized that her husband could be on any one of the four ships. She certainly did not want to get on the wrong one. She sent Channing and Simon to check the other three ships while she sank back into the shadows of the dock where she could watch the activities of the gangway.

  She was gradually to discover that it was an eclectic mix of nobles and men who had heeded the king’s call to arms. Though she had seen a few groups in the past two days that were bound for Terra Sancta, it wasn’t until this day that she could see the entire picture. It was fortunate they had reached London when they had, fortunate she had known from her husband the day the ships would sail. The second day of July in the year eleven hundred and ninety one had been the goal. She and the boys had made it just in time.

  Positioned behind several large barrels of salted pork waiting to be loaded on to the ship, she watched as a large entourage bearing fanciful yellow and silver banners arrived. There were several knights in fine armor and several hundred men at arms, the latter being directed to one of the smaller ships. She heard someone address the party as belonging to the Duke of Savernake, which made sense because she had never seen such beautiful weaponry or sculpted horses. Only a duke with his limitless wealth could afford such a thing. She watched the fat duke and his men board the vessel, followed shortly by another group of lesser knights who looked as if they had seen far too much acti
on and not enough meals. They could have used some of the duke’s good eating.

  There was a steady stream of men boarding the ship, but so far, her husband had eluded her. She strained to catch a glimpse of the HMS Rafael, docked on the other side of the Gabriel. She thought perhaps she could see Channing somewhere near the ship and he would give her an indication as to whether or not Teague had arrived. She saw nothing but a horde of people she didn’t recognize. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since sunrise. But the boys had the satchels and, therefore, the food. She scratched at her dirty clothing, trying not to let her hunger, discomfort and uncertainty weigh her down.

  As time passed and still no Teague, the doubts began to come. She had been so determined to reach London that she had refused to acknowledge the negative. But now the pessimistic thoughts threatened, like storm clouds about to let loose their fury. She had pushed recollections of her two youngest boys out of her mind, remembering their sleeping faces as the last time she saw them. They were happy and safe with her parents, and Hector de Nerra had undoubtedly read her farewell letter by now. She had been a coward not to tell her parents directly that she was going after Teague. She knew her father would have stopped her, and she would not be stopped. She could imagine Hector’s reaction, however, cursing the day he had entertained the oh-so-brilliant idea of allowing his daughter to learn to read and cipher. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have been able to write the letter. She would have had to tell him her plans in person, and he would have been able to throw the crazy wench in the vault until her mind cleared. Tresta smiled as she thought of her father’s rant. He was always ranting, but she loved him for it. She would miss him.

  She shoved the melancholy aside. She had other things to worry over at the moment. Channing was suddenly running at her and she came out from behind the barrels to prevent the lad from running straight into the river.

  “My lady,” the boy gasped for breath. “I saw him, I saw him!”

  Tresta grabbed him by the arms. “Where?”

  “At the Michael, docked on the other side of the Rafael. He and the knights are boarding as we speak.”

  She wasted no time in yanking him after her. “Where is Simon?”

  “He is already there, my lady, waiting for us.”

  They dodged their way through the waves of people lining the docks. Channing tripped over his own feet but picked himself up and kept on running. Tresta almost crashed into an old man carrying small kegs of ale to load on to the ship. She was so focused on finding Teague that she didn’t bother to apologize to him. She just kept running.

  As they neared the ship, she could see Simon waiting impatiently near a mass of supplies waiting to be loaded shipboard. Cargo and provisions were everywhere. Tresta and Channing almost knocked Simon over in their haste to reach him.

  “Have they already boarded?” Tresta asked breathlessly.

  Simon nodded his dark head. “Sir Teague was the first aboard, my lady. I saw Sir Sheen go off towards the tavern, but Sir Hallam, Sir William, Sir Gilbert, and Sir Colt followed him onto the ship. So did Elwin and Rickard.” His expression turned sheepish. “Rickard almost saw me. I almost fell in to the water trying to stay away from him.”

  Tresta knew it would be difficult to keep the squires from recognizing them; the young men that served the knights, Rickard Dubose and Elwin Marcien, would be accessing and sleeping in the areas were the common sailors would be lodged. It was imperative they stay clear of them until Tresta was ready to reveal herself.

  “This will not be the first time we will be faced with recognition,” she said. “Once we are ship board, I am not as concerned as if it were to happen now. At least they will not be able to throw us overboard once we are at sea. We must at least stay out of sight until then.”

  A massive net of woven hemp and fiber suddenly crashed to the dock beside them. Tresta shrieked as a portion of it smacked her in the shoulder. The boys scattered, trying to help her, trying to stay away from it themselves. Tresta rubbed her arm as several men converged on the net, loading it up with the supplies. An old man with a patch over his eye and a bottle in his hand jumped on top of the supplies as they were loaded into the net. The dock workers merely loaded around him.

  The old man took a heavy drink from the bottle, dark liquid spilling over onto his stained, smelly shirt. He caught the expressions of the trio huddled several feet away.

  “Look at me like that and I’ll kill ye,” he snarled. “I’ll kill ye when ye sleep. I’ll kill ye with both hands tied behind my back. I’ll kill ye with…”

  His next threat was drowned out by another drink from the bottle. The men around him kept loading and he bickered at them. A huge wench hoisted the loaded net onto the Michael, and the old man went right up with the supplies.

  The boys seemed transfixed, watching the drunk old man swing above their heads, but Tresta shook them back to reality. “Come on,” she urged softly. “Let us go now. We must get on board before it is too late.”

  The boys went in front of her. They waited in line like everyone else, on the gangway that sagged under too much weight. The Michael was a large ship, but Tresta eyed it nervously; she didn’t like to sail upon the ocean. She had done it once with her father, across the sea from France to England, and had hated every minute of it. Yet it was a sacrifice she was willing to make in order to be with her husband.

  Signing on with the boat master proved an interesting obstacle. Tresta knew there was no mistaking her femininity, even though it was buried under the dirty clothes of a peasant boy. The closer they drew to the chief, the more apprehensive she became. They had avoided so many impediments to get to this point and she was suddenly afraid. She said a quick prayer and kept her head lowered as Channing was the first to speak to the man.

  Tresta huddled behind Simon, as tall as he was, and took advantage of the traffic passing on the gangway. A group of sailors leapt onto the planks and disembarked the ship; as they did so, she ducked behind the group and managed to slip onto the boat while Channing and Simon distracted the boat master. It was a smooth move, tinged with panic, but the moment her feet hit the deck, she tried to be as inconspicuous as possible finding a place to hide out and wait for the boys. Fortunately, the commotion served her well. No one was paying attention.

  Her heart was thumping loudly in her ears and she struggled to calm her breathing. She tried to stay out of the way, panicking every time a man moved past her. Channing and Simon finally finished with the boat chief and boarded the ship. She hissed at them, waving them over, and together the three of them disappeared into the hold below.

  From the bright sunlight above to the grave-dark depths below, the transition was a shock to the system. Tresta didn’t know what she had expected the hold of the ship to be, but it was nothing as she could have possibly imagined. The smell of animals was overwhelming and she could hear the warhorses nickering nervously. It almost sounded like children screaming. It was gloomy and crowded, the few strategically placed oil lamps not giving off nearly enough light. Fortunately, it was day and the sunlight streamed in through the openings in the top deck. It was still, however, a God forsaken place. She could only guess what a hellish place it would be come the night.

  She kicked a loose chicken and stepped on a man with a wooden leg who was throwing old rope into the cooking fire in the center of the ship. Channing led the way through the maze while Simon brought up the rear, his wide brown eyes absorbing the newness of everything with a certain degree of trepidation. If Channing was afraid, however, he did not let on. He bravely continued onward, taking them to the area of the ship that the boat master had indicated. With his blond hair and courageous demeanor, he reminded Tresta very much of her eldest son, Tate. The boys were the same age and in many ways, Channing had always brought her comfort from missing her two eldest boys. Teague had always taken a personal interest in him, too.

  “Here, my lady,” Channing indicated an area against the bulkhead. He took
the heavy canvas hammock issued to him by the boat master and began to tie it up. “We will sleep here. From what the master told me, the knights are at the front of the ship.”

  “The bow,” Simon told him.

  Channing sneered at him. “I know it is the bow. I do not need for you to tell me what part of the ship it is.”

  Simon made a face at him but said nothing. He set the bags down and went to stringing up his own hammock. Tresta stood aside, in the shadows, watching the activity around them. It was very crowded. She struggled against the distaste she already felt, wondering again if her foolish endeavor had been in good judgment. Good or not, they were here.

  “I am going to look around,” she told them. “Stay here and wait for my return.”

  Simon dropped his hammock and prepared to go with her, but she called him off. The boys reluctantly let her go alone.

  Tresta tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible as she made her way towards the bow. Fortunately, there was so much commotion that she wasn’t noticed in the least, even when she began coughing again. The dank atmosphere of the ship only aggravated it. Once she passed amidships, the compartment divided and she was faced with a less crowded, less-smelly area. The men that were settling here were knights, as their possessions told her. She moved off to one side, her eyes still adjusting to the darkness, to observe.

  And then she heard him. It almost brought tears to her eyes to realize it was her husband’s voice somewhere in the darkness. There were too many people for her to see where he was, but she could clearly hear him. There were other voices, too, that she recognized; her brother Hallam’s high-pitched voice chimed in now and again. The other men with him, Sir William de Maurienne, Sir Gilbert le Mans and Sir Colt du Quay, had all been sworn to Teague for many years. They were like one of the family. When Teague had decided to rally to Richard, there was no question that his knights would accompany him.

  And then there was Sheen d’Mearc. Teague’s brother was something of a anomalous occurrence that families occasionally had to contend with. He was a misfit since birth. Where Teague was strong and of good character, Sheen would have sold his mother for a bottle of fine wine. He cared for the finer things in life much more than duty. He could have been a fine knight, for he was a relatively strong and skilled man, but he would have preferred to piss away his money and reputation. When particularly drunk, he liked to blame Teague for his problems. It was difficult to compete with perfection, and Sheen did not have the will to try.