Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Edward was unmoved. “I will offer Summerlin an attractive husband for his daughter,” he said without missing a breath. “You needn’t worry over that. I will inform du Reims that you will marry his daughter immediately and I will further inform him that I am gifting you and the future Lady de Winter with one of my holdings on the Norfolk-Suffolk border. Being that you are from Norfolk, do you know where Spexhall is?”

  Drake was reeling from the turn the conversation had taken but managed to nod. “I do,” he said. “It is on Norfolk’s border with Suffolk. There is a small keep there as I recall.”

  “It is yours,” Edward said. “You and the future Lady de Winter shall live there until such time as Christian du Reims passes away and you can take control of Thunderbey Castle, his seat. I will gift you with one thousand men for Spexhall Castle and you can garrison it for the crown. At the moment, it is a very small outpost under the command of Watcyn de Witt, but I expect you to take charge and become acquainted with the area you will one day rule over. You are now one of my commanders with the autonomy to administer justice for my subjects. At some point, I will more than likely make you Sheriff of the Shire, but for now, you will be the military power in that region. I trust these terms are acceptable, de Winter?”

  Drake didn’t know what to say other than the fact that there was no possibility that he could deny any of this. The king was gifting him with tremendous riches, all for saving the foolish Brittany, and Drake knew he could not refuse. It simply wasn’t done. Like it or not, in order to inherit the East Anglia earldom, which he realized he very badly wanted, he had to marry the heiress. Stunned, and overwhelmed, he simply nodded his head.

  “Aye, Your Highness,” he said.

  Edward smiled although there was no warmth or humor behind it. He was simply forcing a smile because the knight, who clearly wasn’t thrilled about the marriage part of the reward, had agreed to everything. The king drained what was left in his cup and stood up.

  “Take heart, young de Winter,” he said, putting his hand on Drake’s shoulder. “I hear that the heiress is quite beautiful. In fact, I have been rather curious for a glimpse of her myself. Even if she is a peckish shrew, mayhap her physical appearance will make up for it. Sometimes we must do things that are distasteful in order for a greater gain. That is how you should look at this.”

  Drake looked up at the man. “You have been most generous, Your Highness,” he said, though there was defeat in his tone. Greater gain, indeed! “My father will be greatly pleased, I am sure, as will my mother. But I would ask one thing, if I may.”

  “Speak.”

  Drake hesitated slightly, seemingly pained. “My mother will be the one to soothe about breaking the betrothal to Summerlin,” he said. “It is her you should appeal to when rearranging what she has done.”

  Edward shook his head. “I plan to deal with your father alone,” he said flatly. “Let the man deal with his irate wife. I want no part of it.”

  Drake smirked, an ironic gesture, as Edward quit the tent and headed out into the sheets of rain with his entourage behind him. Left in his wake was a pair of Brittany guards and de Bretagne.

  Cortez hadn’t left with the others, mostly because he wanted to remain behind to congratulate Drake on his reward. He knew about it before Edward had told Drake, so he was quite happy to congratulate the man. Knowing his views on marriage, however, and knowing that he had escaped a marriage arranged by his mother to fight in Scotland, he thought that mayhap he should remain behind to offer his condolences, too. When the tent emptied out, Cortez made his way over to Drake.

  “You have my greatest congratulations,” Cortez said, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “The Earl of East Anglia is a remarkable gift. I am very pleased for you.”

  Drake looked up at his friend, his liege, before lowering himself back down onto the pallet. He grunted and groaned as his battered body pained him.

  “God’s Bloody Bones,” he declared, disgust and surprise in his tone. “Is it true? Have I really been given such a thing?”

  Cortez sat down in the chair once occupied by the king. “Indeed you have,” he said. “I am very proud for you.”

  Drake was staring up at the darkened ceiling of the tent. “As I am,” he said. “I think. Christ, my mother will have fits when she is told I will not marry the Summerlin daughter. Now I am to marry East Anglia’s heiress.”

  Cortez grinned. “I know you have never had a keen view of marriage, but let me say that I rather like it,” he said. “Having a wife is comforting. It fills something within a man that needs filling. A man needs a wife and children.”

  “A man needs to be left alone.”

  Cortez laughed softly. “Is that truly want you want?” he asked. “To be left alone for the rest of your life? That is a foolish, selfish attitude and one you had better amend. Like it or not, you have been given East Anglia’s heiress. Even if you do not want her, she is yours and it would behoove you to, at least, treat the woman with respect.”

  Drake sighed heavily, covering his face with his hands. “Christ, why?” he begged softly to no one in particular, not even Christ. “No man has ever wanted to be married less than I. Why must I have not one but two brides forced upon me? Why?”

  Cortez was still laughing. “Why do you act as if you are going to your execution?” he demanded lightly. “Drake, listen to me. A wife is not such a terrible thing. You may even grow to like her and if you do not, simply come to Sherborne Castle and resume your duties for me. Leave your wife at Spexhall where she will probably be glad to be well rid of you. Take heart, mayhap she will not like you, either.”

  Drake dropped his hands and scowled at Cortez. “Be cautious with your taunts,” he said. “Someday I will outrank you and you will be sorry you were ever cruel to me.”

  “I will never be sorry, for anything.”

  Drake made a face and looked away. “Instead of taunting me, you should try to at least comfort me.”

  Cortez shook his head. “Not when you are being so ridiculous,” he said. “You have just been given an amazing gift from the king and all you can do is focus on what you consider to be the overlying negative factor. Why not focus on the positive? You will be wildly rich someday, the biggest land holder in Norfolk and Suffolk, and I will come and live with you in my old age and spend all of your money.”

  That brought a reluctant grin to Drake’s lips. “I will not let you in the gates,” he said. Then, his smile faded. “In fact, I wish I could not let the East Anglia woman in the gates. Or I can let her in and keep her waiting in the church for me until she grows weary of the wait and simply goes away.”

  “So you will not show up for your own wedding? You know that you cannot do that.”

  Drake nodded, sighing heavily again as he rolled onto his undamaged left side. “I know,” he said. “As much as I would like to flee, I would not shame my family so or anger the king. I suppose the marriage is a small price to pay for what I am to receive.”

  “That is a sensible way of looking at it.”

  Drake thought so, too, or at least he tried tell himself that. But then he started thinking about the wedding and not showing up to the church again, thoughts he struggled to push aside. But then he recalled something his father told him once, something about the wedding of his father and mother.

  Davyss had told him once that he had been so opposed to the marriage to Drake’s mother than he had sent his sword, Lespada, in his stead. Devereux had been forced to marry a sword by proxy and it was all perfectly legal. The more Drake thought on that, the more he liked the idea. If it was good enough for his father, it was good enough for him. Lespada had married one de Winter wife and it could marry another.

  “I will marry the East Anglia heiress,” he finally said, stroking his chin. “But I will not do it in person.”

  Cortez furrowed his brow. “What in the hell does that mean?”

  Drake’s dark eyes glimmered with what he felt to be the ultimate solution to his proble
m. “You will be at my wedding,” he said. “You will see what I mean.”

  Cortez wasn’t so sure he liked that statement. In fact, he was sure of it.

  On the day of Drake’s wedding, he came to understand what the man meant.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Thetford

  Church of the Holy Sepulchre

  Late September

  “I will not marry this… this piece of metal and you cannot make me!”

  Dressed in his ceremonial finery, Davyss de Winter stood at the ancient door of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, a dark-colored structure built from the local flint stone, and faced a very angry young woman.

  Lady Elizaveta du Reims had arrived a half-hour earlier to the old Thetford church, accompanied by two older women and several French guards, all from the Gascon House of l’Arressengale. There were also du Reims soldiers, having arrived even earlier in the day to accompany the Earl of East Anglia to his daughter’s wedding, but the two houses seemed to deliberately keep themselves apart. They lingered in huddled groups outside of the church as if they did not know one another.

  Davyss thought it was an odd situation when he arrived and politely greeted du Reims, but he didn’t ask the man why his wife and daughter were off on their own while the earl stood by himself, surrounded only by his men. Frankly, Davyss had his own problems. He had just come from Drake who had staunchly refused to attend his own wedding, demanding to send Lespada instead.

  Where on earth could he have gotten that idea? Davyss thought, although he already knew the answer. It had never been a big secret in their family how he and Devereux had married. Davyss had then spent two hours trying to talk Drake out of it and when Devereux discovered her son’s plans, she joined in the argument. Unfortunately, because that was how Davyss and Devereux’s wedding had been conducted, there wasn’t much by way of argument that the parents could give… sending your sword will ruin this marriage? No, that didn’t work, because clearly Davyss and Deveraux had a very strong marriage. Your wife will hate you? No, that didn’t work, either, because Deveraux adored her husband. It is shameful? No, it really wasn’t shameful. It was perfectly acceptable.

  Therefore, while Drake remained at Thetford Castle under the careful watch of both Devon and his brother, Denys, Davyss and Devereux and their youngest son, Dallan, headed for the old Church of the Sepulchre. Davyss, once again, carried Lespada, wondering how on earth he was going to explain the lack of a flesh and blood groom. He supposed that given the fact that Drake had actually even agreed to the marriage, he should have been grateful for small mercies, but he found that he was mostly concerned with how East Anglia was going to react to the presence of the steel groom. Once again, Lespada would marry another lovely young woman, as an aversion to marriage among the male members of the de Winter family seemed to be a pattern.

  With everyone gathered at the door of the old church in preparation for the ceremony, including Drake’s friends, James de Lohr and Cortez de Bretagne, Davyss greeted everyone as the father of the groom and announced that the bride would be marrying Lespada by proxy because Drake was ill. That announcement instantly brought the bride to the boiling point and now Davyss found himself facing down a furious young woman.

  “My lady, it is perfectly acceptable and legal to marry the sword of your husband,” Davyss said evenly, remembering how someone had explained the very same thing to his wife, long ago, as he’d watched from the shadows. “If you understand anything about the knighthood, then you will know that the sword of a knight is the most precious possession he has. It means more to him than anything and is a symbol of all that he is. Drake is unable to attend you this day and sends his sword in his stead with the utmost respect.”

  Elizaveta didn’t care if having the sword represent her groom was a sign of respect or not. Having spent the past month traveling from France to Norfolk, she had only been given two days to rest before attending her wedding. She was still quite exhausted and rather ill, herself, from having eaten some bad food the week before, so the fact that her husband had chosen to declare illness rather than attend his own wedding didn’t sit well with her in the least. At that moment, the battle was on.

  “It is a coward’s way out,” she said, unrepentant that she was being rude to the earl. In her mind, he deserved it. “You are coddling your cowardly son and if he does not have the strength to stand and be married, then I shall not marry him at all. I will marry no weakling.”

  Behind Davyss, he heard a snort of laughter, quickly shushed, and suspected it was his youngest son, Dallan, who had said very much the same thing before they’d left Thetford Castle. Tall, blond, and pious, Dallan was not on his brother’s side as far as this marriage was concerned. Davyss further knew that Devereux had probably thrown an elbow into Dallan’s ribs to silence him.

  “My lady, I assure you that my son is not a weakling,” Davyss said, his manner cooling with the rude girl. “If you refuse to marry the sword by proxy, then you insult the entire de Winter family. Is that your intention?”

  “It is not,” Christian du Reims, standing behind his daughter, spoke. A big man with black eyes and long, gray hair gathered at the nape of his neck, he had been a fierce fighter in his younger years. These days, he was simply a lonely, old man. “We have no desire to insult the House of de Winter, Davyss. I apologize for my daughter’s manners. She is weary from her travels. Let us conduct the initial mass now and proceed into the church for the nuptials.”

  Elizaveta whirled to her father angrily. “Nay,” she said flatly. “I will not marry the sword of a weakling.”

  Christian’s eyes narrowed. “If you say that again, I fear I shall have to beat you in front of these kind people,” he said. “That will not give them a very good impression of the wife their son is to marry.”

  Elizaveta’s eyes narrowed as well. She was not about to back down on this matter and her father had always given in to her whims, no matter what, so his attempts to discipline her where not well-met.

  “You shall not,” she said, although she moved away from him. “You would have me marry a sword, Father? I find that shocking and without honor.”

  Christian was about to verbally lash his daughter when Devereux stepped in. Woman to woman, she could not let the slander against Drake go unanswered, no matter how poorly her son was behaving. What two fathers could not do, one mother could.

  “My lady, you have brought up honor many times,” she said, maneuvering herself in front of Davyss to face the very beautiful but, evidently, very spoiled young woman. “It is evident that you do not understand what honor entails if you so freely slander my son without knowing anything about him. It is clear you have no honor yourself to display such horrific manners in front of a host of people who have come to witness your marriage, which I am not entirely sure will happen now given the insults you have dealt both the House of de Winter and my son.”

  Elizaveta sized up the woman in front of her. She was older, but still quite lovely and it was very clear she was formidable. That was evident the moment she opened her mouth to speak. Elizaveta didn’t want to get into a verbal battle with the woman and struggled to control her tongue.

  “Lady de Winter, I presume?” she asked.

  Devereux nodded, once. Elizaveta continued. “My lady, surely you cannot condone the fact that your son has decided not to attend his own wedding,” she said, sounding less angry and more pleading. “I cannot imagine he is ill enough that he cannot make this ceremony. I have traveled for a solid month to be in Norfolk for a wedding I did not ask for, yet I am here. Surely your son could drag himself from his sick bed to show me a small measure of respect for the fact that we will be joined for life. Is that too much to ask, my lady?”

  Devereux regarded the woman, feeling her offence against the girl waver just the slightest. As young as Elizaveta was at this moment, Devereux was much the same those years ago when Davyss refused to show up for their wedding. In truth, she couldn’t become too angry at the girl and
she almost laughed when she realized that, at this moment, she was taking on much the role as Davyss’ mother had. Well did Devereux remember the confrontation between Lady Katharine de Winter and herself, where Devereux declared she wanted nothing to do with marriage to a de Winter and Lady Katharine had quickly put her in her place.

  These circumstances weren’t much different and it was difficult not to feel pity for the du Reims girl. Back in the days of Devereux’s marriage to Davyss, Lady Katharine had covered for Davyss at the time, knowing Davyss was watching the entire exchange in the shadows. Lady Katharine had never given her son away, not even at the end of the conversation when she’d left the church. The entire time, Davyss had watched the exchange. It had made him very curious about the woman he was to marry to the point where he actually came forward and revealed himself. But Drake wasn’t lingering in the shadows like his father had been. He was sitting, carefree and happy, over at Thetford Castle, laughing that he did not have to attend his own wedding. Perhaps that inflamed Devereux in the slightest. Frankly, perhaps it inflamed her a lot.

  Drake would not have the last laugh in all of this.

  “Come with me,” Devereux said.

  Snatching Elizaveta by the wrist, she yanked the girl into the old church as the others stood by and watched, open-mouthed. Devereux turned around upon entering the cool, dim church and pointed to her husband.

  “Close these doors,” she commanded. “Do not open them until I tell you to.”

  Davyss, his eyebrows raised in concern at his wife’s actions, nonetheless did as he was told. He and Dallan closed the heavy church doors, ancient things carved from ancient oak, despite the protests of not only Christian du Reims but also of his wife, who suddenly found her voice and began protesting loudly. Devereux could hear their raised voices as she pulled the reluctant Elizaveta deeper into the church, no doubt terrified that Lady de Winter was about to pummel their rude daughter. But pummeling was not on Devereux’s agenda. They were nearly to the altar when Devereux came to a halt and turned to face the bride.