Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Distracted from her reading, Mabelle snapped. “Do shut up, Agnes,” she barked. “Your daughter has done exactly as she was instructed to do. It does not matter if she fears her husband or not. It is done and she is obeying my wishes on the matter.”

  Agnes wouldn’t look at her mother. “You did not even allow me to bid her farewell.”

  “You did not need to.”

  Agnes sighed miserably, under the thumb of her mother as she would forever be. “What does the missive say?” she asked, without the will to fight back. That will had been drained from her long ago. “Is Elizaveta begging to come home?”

  Mabelle didn’t reply until she read the entire contents of the missive. When she spoke, it was very quiet. “You must find my writing things,” she said. “Where are they?”

  The servants had brought up all of the trunks by this point, neatly stacked against the wall near the door. Agnes turned her attention to the trunks, pointing.

  “In there, I would assume,” she said.

  Mabelle was still looking at the missive. “Find them,” she commanded quietly. “And then you will find Maude and tell her that we need to hire swift messengers.”

  Agnes was already moving towards the trunks, purely because she wasn’t in the habit of disobeying her mother’s commands, but there was confusion in her expression. “Messengers?” she asked. “Why?”

  Mabelle didn’t reply because the young servant girl was still in the room, tending to the fire. Servants tended to have big ears. So she waited until the girl had finished her duties and Agnes had found her writing things buried in one of the trunks – a long, wooden box that contained pieces of vellum and then another box, carved and inlaid with Mother of Pearl shaped like flower petals that contained ink, sand, wax, two seals, a blotter, and two quills.

  As Agnes carried the boxes over to the small table next to the hearth, Mabelle came away from the window and brushed off the crumbs that were left over from the last person who had occupied the table. Agnes set the boxes down, carefully, as Mabelle chased the young servant girl from the room. She was impatient with the girl’s loitering and eager to get on with the missives she intended to write. Mabelle pushed Agnes away as she sat at the table, carefully setting Elizaveta’s missive aside as she opened up her boxes.

  “Read the missive,” she commanded her daughter quietly. “It would seem that we have stumbled across great fortune. Already, Elizaveta’s husband has received orders from Edward.”

  Agnes eyed the missive. “What do the orders say?”

  “He is commanded to march north to Jedburgh,” Mabelle replied impatiently. “Read the missive, I say.”

  Agnes picked up the vellum, awkwardly, turning it around until the writing was facing the right direction. Although Mabelle was adamant that women become educated in reading and writing, insisting that both her daughter and granddaughter learn to read and write, Agnes wasn’t very good at it. She read slowly and would mix the words up, and Mabelle considered her stupid. It was ironic that the Countess of East Anglia, which was Agnes’ title, was belittled and abused by her mother, a Frenchwoman with no title other than one of courtesy.

  When examining the dynamics of the relationship, it was clear that verbally and emotionally abusing her daughter made Mabelle feel powerful and, perhaps in some small way, she saw it as punishing the English since Agnes was married to an English lord. Whatever the case, Agnes had spent her life around people who didn’t care much for her. Therefore, she struggled to read the missive and not ask for her mother’s help.

  “Elizaveta says that she is remaining at Thetford while her husband is leaving for Hexarm?” she said timidly.

  Mabelle was already starting to write one of her missives. “Hexham, you fool,” she clarified. “Edward is gathering in Hexham before he marches on Jedburgh. For now, I will write to Elizaveta and tell her we have decided to remain here at The Black Goose for the winter in case she would like to send us any more missives. Her husband will undoubtedly be sending information on his movements to his father and when he does, I want to know about them. Then I am writing to Eustace to inform him of this latest development. He must be made ready when Edward moves.”

  Eustace Maxwell. Agnes knew the name well. He was Mabelle’s nephew by marriage, Lord of Caerlaverock and a man deeply involved in the Scots rebellion against Edward. He was a man who had great connections, especially on the borders of Scotland. Mabelle carefully scratched away with her quill and ink, urgency in her manner.

  “I will have a messenger take this missive to a man in Peterbrough, whom I have corresponded with before,” Mabelle said, an odd hint of enthusiasm in her tone that wasn’t normally present. “He will know what to do with this missive. He will ensure that it makes it to Eustace.”

  Agnes watched her mother craft her carefully-etched words. “Which man is this one?” she asked, referring to the many men that her mother corresponded with on the subject of the Scottish rebellion, a network of spies that her mother was part of. “Is he the one who pretends to be lame so no one will notice him?”

  Mabelle shook her head. “He is a cousin of my husband,” she said, dipping her quill in more ink. “He is a man who can ensure this information is passed on. For our cause, I trust this man. Hamish Maxwell married an English woman and he farms near Peterbrough, but his heart is in Scotland. You met him once, last year; he came here for a short visit during his travels. He was collecting coinage for Eustace.”

  Agnes tried to recollect the particular visitor her mother was speaking of. “I do not recall,” she said. “You usually do not allow me to sup with you and your visitors, anyway, so I would not know him.”

  There was a rebuke in that statement but Mabelle ignored it. She continued to write. “He is trustworthy,” she said. “Go, now. Find Maude and tell her that we must hire swift messengers. One must ride to Thetford while the other must ride to Peterbrough. This must be done in all haste.”

  Agnes headed for the door, off to do her mother’s bidding. She was resigned as her mother’s personal servant because it was a position in life she had always held. She had always told people that she’d come back to live with her mother in France because she couldn’t stand the English climate, but that wasn’t the truth. It was because Mabelle demanded her presence and would not allow her daughter to live with her husband who, in fact, was rather apathetic of his wife to begin with. So Agnes lived with Mabelle and did what she was told, as she was at this moment. It was a pitiful existence for a woman who didn’t have the strength of personality that her daughter did but, even so, Elizaveta had become a pawn for Mabelle as well. The wicked woman who threatened assassins and death at every turn was not one to be crossed, not by anyone.

  With Maude’s help, Agnes located two young men, brothers, who agreed to ride to Thetford and Peterbrough for a price. They could make both destinations in two and a half days on a swift mount and Mabelle promised the lads a bonus should they keep their trips to those two and half days.

  With one lad armed with the missive for Hamish Maxwell and the other lad armed with a missive for Lady Drake de Winter, the young men left Romford the next day before dawn and by late evening the next day, the lad with the missive for Maxwell was already in Peterbrough. Due to poor weather, the missive to Thetford took a day and a half longer.

  But the late missive to Thetford was of little consequence. Only the missive to Peterbrough mattered and the information contained within Mabelle l’Arressengale Maxwell’s missive was heading off to Scotland the day after it was received.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Castle Creca (Pele Tower), 19 Miles northwest of Carlisle

  Current Clan Maxwell Stronghold while Caerlaverock Castle is in English hands

  Early November

  Winter had arrived early this year, with bitter winds and wet snow flying as early as late October. That being the case, travel and communication had been extremely difficult and when a lone rider appeared at Creca, nearly frozen and starved to
death. Eustace Maxwell, Lord of Caerlaverock, had the man taken into the guard room in the small gatehouse of Creca’s wall and placed before the fire, so close that his frozen clothing began to steam.

  Eustace, a big man with thinning hair, wasn’t usually so attentive to lone riders, or didn’t pay them much mind in any case, but he had a reason to pay attention to this one – he’d come with a missive from his cousin, Hamish, who lived surrounded by the Sassenach down near London. Aye, Eustace had a very good reason for treating this messenger well. The man had provided him with a good deal of information that needed to be passed on to the clans, a man to ask questions of when the contents of the missive would no longer suffice. The messenger was Hamish Maxwell’s son, Davey, and he knew virtually as much as his father did.

  Eustace sent out a messenger of his own who ran for the Douglas outpost to the west and in two days’ time, Arn and William Douglas appeared with several of their kinsmen, summoned by Eustace and his mention of the English army. Edward had been wreaking havoc along the borders but as of late, he had retreated back into England and was somewhere in Northumberland, or so they had been told, gathering a mighty army for another strike.

  The border lairds had taken a thrashing so they were eager to band together and plan a coordinated resistance, so much so that they had put aside old prejudices and arranged for a meeting in Jedburgh the day after the New Year. They were all looking forward to the meeting to varying degrees, mostly because it meant uniting forces against Edward and presenting an unbreakable front, but there were still those who opposed any kind of united Scots army. There were those that wished to fight on their own, thinking they could stave off Edward in their own way.

  Eustace Maxwell was one of these lairds who preferred to fight on his own for the most part, which is why Arn and William had come so quickly when he had summoned them. There were two possible reasons for his summons – he had either decided to fight with them or he hadn’t, and in either case, they wanted to know. Upon reaching Castle Creca, they were immediately taken into the small tower, which only had three floors and one room to each floor. They gathered in the low-ceilinged, ground floor room around a hearth that had burned so hot that the stones around it were glowing red. And there they waited, shaking off the cold, until Eustace decided to show himself.

  Eustace entered the ground-floor chamber with his nephews Robert and John with him, young men who had traveled to the Douglas stronghold those months ago to deliver the news regarding the East Anglia marriage. There were other men with Eustace as well including his brother-in-law and a few other relatives, all of them focused on Arn and William as the two warmed their freezing flesh by the fire. Someone brought forth a thick, sludgy ale and the drinking began.

  “Arn,” Eustace greeted civilly. “When are ye going tae clean up yer beard? It looks as if ye have a nest of birds livin’ there.”

  Arn was known for that filthy beard and the men in the room chuckled at his expense. Arn scratched at his beard, watching things like bread crumbs and dried twigs fall out of it.

  “Me father likes me beard,” he said, playing along with the joke because there was no use in fighting the truth. “Would ye tell me da ye dunna like it?”

  Eustace glanced at his chuckling relatives. “I never said I dinna like it,” he said. “I said it looks like ye have creatures livin’ in there. So ye received me message, did ye? God was good tae allow ye tae travel through the snow tae get here.”

  Arn rubbed at his hands. “I’m nearly frozen, man,” he said. “What did ye call us here for? What is happening with the Sassenach army?”

  The humor in the chamber faded as men began to settle in. A few sat on the floor, backs against the cold stone walls, while still others tried to crowd near the hearth. Eustace sat down on one of two chairs in the room, crude pieces of furniture, and accepted a cup of the thick, bitter ale from his nephew, John. He took a long drink, getting foam and sediment on his graying beard.

  “Johnny and Robert told ye of me aunt in France, the one who married her granddaughter intae the House of de Winter,” he said, taking another drink and spilling some onto his chest. “Do ye remember?”

  Arn nodded as William went to pour himself some of the ale because no one would offer it to him. “I do,” he said. “They said she has been giving you information on Edward’s movements intae our lands.”

  Eustace nodded, regarding the ale in his cup. “She has,” he said. “She was married tae me Uncle Argyle until the English killed him. Aunt Mabelle was always the cold sort but when it came tae Argyle, he melted whatever ice was in her. His death feeds her hatred against the English and ’tis not loyalty tae Scotland that motivates her. ’Tis vengeance for Argyle’s death. Vengeance is mayhap the strongest motivator of all, second only tae love.”

  Arn was listening closely. “Then ye know the woman well?”

  Eustace shrugged. “I know her enough,” he said. “I know that Mabelle hates the English as much as we do. That is why I trust her when she sends us information.”

  Arn took a drink of the bitter ale. “Then ye’ve summoned us tae tell us what more she has told ye?”

  Eustace nodded. “I have a cousin near London,” he began. “He sent his son tae deliver a message and the lad arrived three days ago. It took him almost three weeks tae come, with the season being so bad. But the message he brings is this – it seems that me aunt is in England for the marriage of her granddaughter intae the House of de Winter. The information she gave me came directly from de Winter. Someone told Edward about our meetin’ at Jedburgh after the New Year and the man has summoned a sizable force tae break it up. It seems he wants prisoners as well.”

  Arn’s eyes widened. “Someone told the man?” he repeated, aghast. “He knows the clans are meeting there?”

  Eustace nodded. “He has his spies as we have ours, Arnie,” he said patiently. “ ’Tis no great shock that he should know. But ’tis my guess he doesna know that we know he is ridin’ for Jedburgh. That being the case, we can, mayhap, break up his army before he can make it tae Jedburgh.”

  Arn was listening with great interest, as was his volatile brother. William was already into his second cup of ale. “What do we do?” William demanded. “Do we gather the clans and meet him?”

  Eustace shook his head. “We canna go head-tae-head with Edward,” he said flatly. “But we can do what we do best – we can knock away at him, weakenin’ him.”

  “How?” Arn wanted to know.

  Eustace drained his cup before speaking. “Me aunt said that the de Winter army was headin’ for Hexham,” he said. “That is where Edward is gatherin’ his men before marchin’ on Jedburgh. Now, if the de Winter army left Norfolk as me aunt said, that would mean they left no more than a month ago. I would be surprised if they’ve reached Hexham by now because the season has been so terrible already. There has been great snow and cold winds. Movin’ an army through that isna a simple thing, so it’s me guess that even if they aren’t already at Hexham, then they should be close. But they are alone, separated from Edward’s forces still. If we were tae gather men tae attack them, weaken them, then Edward would be weakened as well.”

  Arn and William looked at each other, trying to figure out if this was a wise plan or not. Eustace was a conservative commander, not one given to fire and whim, so they were certain this was something he’d thought through. Still….

  “How big is the de Winter army?” Arn asked.

  Eustace shook his head. “She dinna say,” he replied. “Mayhap five hundred men or more.”

  Arn lifted his eyebrows at the lack of concern in that statement. “ ’Tis the ‘or more’ that concerns me,” he said. “Ye speak of the de Winter army. Everyone knows they are very powerful. And we would have tae go intae England tae attack them.”

  Eustace nodded patiently. “I realize that,” he said. “But even the de Winter army isna invincible, especially if they are caught by surprise. Hexham is only fifty miles from us; we could make it across
the border without being seen and lay siege tae the de Winter army before they reach Edward. Here, now; listen tae the messenger, me cousin’s son. Davey? Tell them what ye told me, lad.”

  One of the men clustering near the hearth, standing right next to Arn, in fact, turned when his name was called. Fair-haired, tall and strong, young Davey Maxwell looked much better than he did the day he’d arrived at Creca. He’d been half-frozen that day and nearly dead, but today, he looked healthy and strong again. He faced Arn and William without hesitation.

  “There is a forest about ten miles south of Hexham,” he said, speaking without the heavy Scots burr because he had been born and raised in England. “I passed through it on my way here. If we lie in wait for the de Winter army there, presuming they have not made it to Hexham yet, it would be a good place for an ambush. We could do them some serious damage before retreating.”

  Arn lingered on the plan, scratching his nasty beard, while William simply rolled his eyes. “And how are we tae do this?” he wanted to know. “If we go, we must go now. We canna take the time to draw the amount of men we will need from the clans. We will have tae go with two hundred men at most.”

  “Two hundred men can do a lot of damage,” Eustace reminded him quietly. “Especially if we take out the knights; that is where the power lies in these great armies and, knowin’ the de Winter army, they will have de Winter kin at the helm. We take out the knights first and do our damage. But ye’re right about one thing; we must leave now. The longer we wait, the greater the chance of the army already makin’ it tae Edward. We have no time tae debate this, Arn. Are ye coming with us?”

  Arn sighed heavily, looking to his brother. This wasn’t a foolish folly; he knew that. It was a well-planned incursion into enemy lands to weaken Edward’s strength, and damaging the de Winter army would certainly be damaging to Edward’s strength. He wanted to have that chance, to damage the English king who had been so adept at damaging Scotland. He was a patriot, and a warrior, and both of those things contributed to his answer. He knew there could only be one response.