Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She’d lied when she had told Penelope and Emma that she had little concern whether or not Richmond attended her birthday. It was the best possible gift she could have hoped for. The only gift she truly wanted.

  Richmond caught a flash of green from the corner of his eye. Turning with mild disinterest, his blue eyes came to rest upon a sight so incredibly beautiful that he swore he was gazing upon a window open to Heaven. Certainly, only angels were in possession of such beauty.

  Arissa smiled at him and he felt his aging joints turn to warm, silly, wicked mush. His heart thumped madly against his ribs as she greeted her father and brother, accepting birthday kisses from the both of them. William was particularly proud of his eldest daughter, praising her beauty, her poise, her charm. Arissa smiled through all of it, absorbing it as any young maiden would.

  Richmond continued to watch her through fascinated eyes. He thought, however, that her gaze was continually drawn to him, even as her father prattled on about the events scheduled for the day. The pale green eyes managed to find him regardless of who she was talking to. Or mayhap it was his imagination; mayhap he was seeing what he wished to see, his obsession causing him to hallucinate. Why would a creature as lovely and perfect as Arissa de Lohr allow her gaze to linger on an aging knight who was well past his prime?

  Even if he was merely imagining her attention, his gaze was unmistakably lingering on her. When William took her hand and led her over to Richmond, placing her soft palm in his forearm where it had rested a thousand times before, he smiled at her as if he were a giddy young squire. He simply couldn’t stop himself.

  William snorted. “God’s Teeth, le Bec. I do not ever think I have seen you smile for such an extended period of time. Did you hurt yourself, man?”

  Richmond cursed himself for being so indiscreet. He hadn’t meant to react so openly to her but, God’s Teeth, she was impossible to ignore. Ever since he had returned yesterday, it was as if the separation had somehow fortified his feelings for her a thousand fold. His smile broadened and he patted Arissa’s hand as neutrally as he could.

  “I am sorry, William,” he said without taking his eyes off her. “I forgot myself. How could I gaze into this face and not smile?”

  Arissa flushed a lovely shade of pink, lowering her eyes as her guests drew closer. She would have sold her soul to the Devil for the look in Richmond’s eyes to have been a reflection of her own adoration. Her small, tapered fingers found their way around his gloved hand, fingers that were as thick as three of hers combined. There was no mistaking his response; leather-clad fingers that had wielded a sword for Henry in battle clutched at her, tightly.

  Arissa nearly gasped with his instant response. Instinctively, her fingers curled tighter. So did his. The de Rydals were drawing closer, but she was not paying them any mind. All that mattered was Richmond’s powerful grasp, igniting a raging wildfire that was surging through her veins and causing her chest to ache.

  A fatherly response, she told herself giddily. He’s simply responding to the young girl he’s always known, the young girl who has always sought comfort from her father’s powerful friend… a fatherly response!

  Her eyes came to rest on their two hands, intertwined, touching. Remembering how the same hand had clutched her hair so tenderly the day before. Her eyes trailed up his arm, so thick and powerful. Arms that had made her feel safe and protected since she had been a child. Shoulders so broad that he could barely fit through a door without turning sideways. A mail-clad neck she had wrapped her arms about innumerable times.

  Then there were his eyes. She did not realize how long she had been gazing into his beautiful eyes. Furthermore, she had no concept of how long he had been staring at her either. She’d been studying him for an endless amount of time when, suddenly, it occurred to her that he was doing the same. They were looking at each other.

  “You look magnificent this day, my lady,” his voice came as a growl, words only she could hear.

  Her cheeks flushed as she received his approval. “Thank you, Richmond,” she whispered.

  He smiled, a devastating gesture that was far too rarely seen. She returned his smile, timidly, and she felt him squeeze her hand gently.

  Arissa’s hot cheeks threatened to explode. Averting her gaze was the only possible solution, and she did so. But the small hand that was clutched within his great one was joined by its mate. Both hands, fragile and small and soft, lost themselves within the great tight cave of his armor-bound hand.

  Ovid de Rydal, a large man with bushy red hair, practically fell from the wagon as a servant tried to help him down. He was far too obese to ride, straightening a tunic that was large enough to cover an entire bed. His wife, the Lady Margaret, was nearly as rotund and a head taller. Having borne eleven children, she wore her plump stature like a badge of honor.

  The majority of the de Rydal brood had accompanied their parents, with the exception of the five daughters that were married. Ovid de Rydal was so eager to be rid of his female children that he had begun marrying them off at twelve years of age and the most recent bride, married to a poor knight more than twice her age, was three weeks past her eleventh birthday. When Regine had learned of Tessa de Rydal’s marriage, she had raged for nearly a week.

  Bartholomew was standing next to his sister. He leaned toward Arissa. “I would wager that Ovid the Blob proposes to marry off his ten year old daughter Mary before the day is out.”

  Richmond heard the comment and tilted his head in Bartholomew’s direction, his eyes still riveted to the de Rydal party. “I shall cover you on that wager, Bart. A solid gold piece says your father has you married off by tomorrow.”

  Bartholomew appeared incensed. “An outrageous statement, sir. I shall not marry a ten-year-old wench, and I do not care how wealthy her father is!”

  Richmond cocked an eyebrow as Arissa grinned. “I see that you do not meet my wager. Am I to understand that you agree with me?”

  Bartholomew scowled, returning his attention to the group before him. In his most menacing, evil voice, he began to recite.

  “‘Perseus washed his hands, bloody from his victory over the monster, in the sea. So that the hard sand should not damage the snake-bearing head he made the ground soft with leaves and branches that grow beneath the sea’s surface, and on these he placed the head of Medusa.’”

  Arissa giggled uncontrollably as the corners of Richmond’s mouth twitched. “She’s not Medusa, Bart,” Richmond said.

  Bart snorted, cocking a most determined eyebrow. “I shall fight the entire Titan realm before I shall be forced into matrimony,” he cast a disdainful glance at the de Rydal clan. “And, from the appearance of things, the monsters have arrived in droves.”

  Arissa was shaking with mirth, trying desperately to control her giggles as Lord de Rydal and his wife approached. William thrust himself forward to meet his guests, with Bartholomew in close pursuit.

  Arissa and Richmond moved to follow. Arissa was having a good deal of success in calming her snickers until Bartholomew cast her a wild-eyed glance when Lady Margaret fixed him with a hungry gaze. Immediately, she was off on another gale.

  “Calm yourself, kitten,” Richmond’s breath was hot against her ear. “Lady de Rydal would probably not hesitate to take a switch to your lovely bottom if she catches wind of your fit.”

  She swallowed her giggles, fixing Richmond in the eye. “But you are my protector. Surely you would defend me.”

  He feigned a wary look. “Not for certain. She would probably blister me, too.”

  Arissa’s giggles returned, only they were far calmer as she and Richmond gazed warmly at each other. The giggling moment eased as Arissa finally spoke. “I am…. I am glad you’re back, Richmond. I have missed you.”

  William addressed her and she was forced to turn away from Richmond, releasing her grip as she moved forward to greet the de Rydals. Richmond could do naught but stare at her; the silken hair cascading to her buttocks, the magnificent sway of her bac
kside when she walked. Dear God… she’d missed him.

  She’s told you that before, his inner self reminded him sternly. She’s told you that countless times. Why should this time be any different? He continued to gaze at Arissa as she politely greeted Ovid de Rydal, wondering why her declaration of longing was unlike all the rest. Then, it hit him… there had been something in her eyes. He knew he had not imagined it.

  A loud voice jolted Richmond from his thoughts. William was extending his hand in his direction, motioning him forward. Obediently, Richmond joined the de Lohr ranks. There were so many people crowded around Arissa that he was only able to take position behind her.

  Inadvertently, he brushed against her and she whirled to him, startled. He discreetly moved to step away until, much to his surprise, she pressed against him as if she were inexplicably afraid. Her body, soft and supple and young, scorched his flesh through layers of material and mail. He just stood there and absorbed it.

  The day advanced and guests arrived en masse. Richmond kept to Arissa like a shadow as she welcomed her guests, the massive silent protector as the horde of well-wishers descended. When Lady Maude and Regine joined the delegation, he was forced away from Arissa and into the role of distant guard.

  As much as he wanted to stand beside her, smelling the faint scent of gardenias, he knew it was better that he assume a distant stance. Mentally shaking himself and struggling to focus on something other than Arissa, he began to rove about the crowd gathered in front of the earl and his family, his trained eyes scanning the assembly for any signs of threat. He was not expecting any such danger, but it was his instinct to promote a wary attitude. That way, surprises were less likely to occur.

  He was watching the crowd so intently that he failed to notice Tad de Rydal swagger through the admiring throng, having just come from the Lambourn stables where he had personally settled his charger. A devilishly handsome man, he thrust himself in front of Lord de Becket and put Arissa’s hand to his lips as if he was sampling the finest nectar.

  “My lady, it has been a very long time,” he said in a sickeningly seductive tone. “You have grown more beautiful than I could have possibly imagined.”

  Arissa gazed up at the large knight, vaguely remembering the arrogant young heir to the de Rydal fortune. “I…. thank you, my lord.”

  He simply grinned, her palm still against his lips. Fairly indiscreetly, she yanked her hand away from his obnoxious mouth and attempted to refocus on her next guest, Baron Wendover. But Tad would not be forgotten so easily.

  “Have you an escort this day, my lady?” he said boldly. “I would consider it an honor if you would allow me the privilege of guiding you through this day.”

  “She does indeed have an escort, Sir Tad,” William was standing next to his daughter, ever-vigilant. “We thank you for your generous offer, however.”

  Tad cocked an eyebrow. The man purely reeked of conceit. “I see. How foolish of me to assume otherwise,” his blue gaze flicked to Arissa once again. “Your betrothed, no doubt?”

  Arissa met his conceited gaze steadily. She’d known the man less than a minute; already, she did not like him. “My betrothed is God himself, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other guests to attend to.”

  “God himself?” Tad repeated loudly. Much to Arissa’s horror, their conversation was drawing quite an audience. “I am sure I do not understand, my lady.”

  “Lady Arissa is not meant for mortal men, Sir Tad,” William said with lagging patience. He did not like the arrogant pup, either. “She was pledged to Whitby Abbey shortly after birth. Now, if you will….”

  “Whitby Abbey?” Tad echoed, astonished. His gaze moved between Arissa and William. “You would allow this beautiful young woman to be wasted within the walls of a convent? Surely you jest!”

  “’Tis no jest,” Richmond suddenly appeared at Arissa’s side, pulling her against his body protectively. “You have taken a good amount of Lady Arissa and Lord de Lohr’s time. Kindly move along to enjoy the festivities this day has to offer.”

  Tad gazed at Richmond, the hostility evident. He was a large young knight, but not nearly as large as Richmond. Obviously, he had no qualms about their difference in size.

  “Your name, knight?” he demanded of Richmond.

  Richmond’s face was emotionless. “Sir Richmond le Bec.”

  A flicker of recognition crossed Tad’s features. “Le Bec…. Henry’s le Bec?”

  Richmond nodded, once. Tad took a step back, although his arrogance was not entirely shaken. “I thought…. that is to say, I grew up on stories of your valor. I thought you would have been dead by now.”

  “Not hardly,” Richmond’s voice was a growl. Lord de Rydal began tugging on Tad’s arm and the young knight was wise enough to heed the call. But not before he cast a long glance at Arissa.

  “My lady, I hope you will save me a dance this eve. I shall look forward to it.”

  Arissa gave him a lop-sided smile, her only response. She would have liked nothing better than to have outright refused the request, but it would not do for the hostess to insult one of her guests. As the crowd around them began to disband, Richmond clasped her tender white hand in a huge mailed fist.

  “Come along, my lady,” he said firmly.

  “Where?” Arissa gathered her skirt, glancing at her father’s questioning gaze.

  Richmond continued to lead her away. “I have a few duties to attend to. You may accompany me.”

  “Duties? Where?”

  He slanted her a gaze. “Away from the Tad de Rydals of this world. If you greet any more guests, your hand will surely fall off from sheer overuse.”

  She passed another glance at her father, who did not protest Richmond’s removal in the least. Instead, he had turned back to his visitors. Strange, Arissa thought, how her father never questioned Richmond’s actions, even when in direct conflict with his own desires.

  Her father had wished for her to greet her guests. Richmond had decided she’d had enough welcoming for the day and was determined to take her with him as he went about his duties. Of course, she would rather be with Richmond, but she found it odd that her father had not uttered a word of protest when the knight swept her away.

  She skipped after Richmond, aware of his hand tightly about her own. It began to occur to her than even while she was growing up, Richmond’s word was law when it came to her well-being and upbringing. Where Regine or Bartholomew were concerned, her father had always had the final say in their lives. But never with her; it had always been Richmond.

  ’Twas curious that the puzzlement over Richmond’s authority should happen to cross her mind at that moment. Gazing up at his glorious profile, she couldn’t imagine why her father would allow his friend to take charge of her life in such a fashion.

  Certainly, the truth of the matter would never have occurred to her in a million years.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The day of the gala festivities had become a glorious example of pleasant winter weather. The sun was shining on the cold, dead earth in a vain attempt to deceive life from the frozen turf. As the guests finished arriving and the peasants began to wander into the fortress from the neighboring village bearing the same name, the gay mood saturated man and beast alike.

  Penelope, Daniel, Emma and Regine had joined Richmond and Arissa as they perused the happening of events. As one experiences at a faire, there were a myriad of games and entertainment going on to enthrall and captivate the guests arrived in Arissa’s honor. And none more enthralled than Arissa herself.

  Jugglers from the village were entertaining children by tossing apples about in a crazy manner. One man held a huge arch over his head laced with bells, shaking out a beat as he walked amongst the crowd. A few of the peasant women, with permission from Lady Maude, had set up make-shift tables upon which they sold beautifully sewn handkerchiefs and other sundry items.

  A group of young peasant boys brought cages full of cocks and had set up a passable ar
ena in which to pit one rooster against the other. Richmond passed a glance at the group of enterprising young lads as they took bets for their cockfights. Regine wanted to watch but he grabbed her by the shoulders, steering the errant young girl back to her sister. He fought off a grin when she cast him a baleful, sneering glance.

  The wrestling matches for the men had commenced a half-hour before. The finer nobles and knights did not actually participate in the sport, but left the brutal competition to the men-at-arms and peasants who spent long hours training for the event. It was an exacting sport, pitting the largest and strongest of men against each other in a battle to the finish.

  It was also the loudest game by far as Richmond and his group passed within range. Richmond recognized some of his own men yelling encouragement to their favorite contender, vaguely wishing he could be a part of it. He greatly enjoyed a good sport, as William had been eager to point out. But he enjoyed Arissa far more than a male-dominated game; he glanced down at her, smiling at her saucer-round eyes as she observed the excitement.

  Ever-protective of his charge, especially in light of the rowdy spectacle, he proceeded to direct Arissa and an enthusiastic Regine clear of the wrestling. Even as he diverted the senses of his fair young wards, Daniel had no qualms about taking Penelope to view the event. Emma, tantalized with the thrill of seeing naked, sweaty men, casually trailed after Penelope and Daniel.

  “Emma’s going!” Regine raged. “Why can’t I watch?”

  Richmond lifted an eyebrow. “Emma is a lady of sixteen. You, my dear lass, are still too young to view such displays of flesh.”

  Regine kicked at the dirt, pouting and angry. “I am not too young, Richmond le Bec. I have seen more…. well, I have seen more than Arissa. And she’s eighteen!”

  Richmond put his hands on his hips. “I know what you have seen, you naughty little wench, and I shall hear no more about it. Behave yourself.”