Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  A small horn blared, readying the competitors for the first round. All attention was riveted to the field and the noise level dropped. Men finished their wagers in the remaining few seconds before the match began.

  Arissa’s pale green eyes were fixed on the field before her, mildly interested in spite of the fact that Richmond was not in the group. As the field marshals began laying down the rules, her gaze wandered the crowd of waiting contenders until she came to rest on a tall, familiar figure.

  Richmond was not looking at her; his blue eyes were fixed on the field before him as they should have been. Arissa began to toy with the ribbon, stroking its carefully stitched edges as her glittering eyes beheld the object of her adoration.

  The incident earlier that day returned to the forefront of her thoughts again. Fluid, wicked emotions stirred and her limbs began to ache with the newness of the desire that he had managed to spark. The fact that she had practically seduced the man was of little concern; she was focused on the mere idea that he had responded to her. She wondered if he would respond to her again. Given another chance, she would most likely do the same thing again.

  Where Richmond was concerned, it was becoming increasingly difficult to control her emotions. She remembered thinking yesterday to distance the man, to forget him. Goals that were now impossible. She had been a fool to ever think such a thing.

  She was leaving for Whitby after the New Year and she vowed to know the feel of Richmond’s lips upon her own before that time, if only for a brief, glorious, stolen moment. She would live on that moment the rest of her life.

  *

  There were hundreds of people observing the archery matches, milling about, wagering and laughing. Two men in particular wandered through the crowd casually, their seasoned eyes roving the people, the wenches, and the finely dressed men. They were older men clad in peasant clothing, concealing their mail and weaponry underneath. Their gaze seemed particularly riveted to Arissa.

  “Is that her?” one man murmured to the other.

  The second man passed a casual glance in the direction of the earl’s party. “She looks nothing like Henry. God’s Balls, she could be Welsh.”

  The first man shook his head slowly. “She does not bear the features of a Plantagenet. Is Owen sure with his information?”

  The second shrugged. “As sure as he can be. She’s where Owen’s source said she would be, in the heart of Berkshire’s family, and she’s the correct age. Fortunate that the earl saw fit to throw her a lavish party and we were able to slip in with the other celebrants.”

  The first man looked doubtful. “It doesn’t matter. Any great house shelters sickly travelers, which is what we are,” he shook his head at the sight of Arissa’s black hair. “She must favor her mother. Where did Owen’s source come by his information?”

  The second man watched his feet as he walked. “It all began with a letter. A former captain for King Richard, seeking vengeance against Henry for usurping his cousin’s throne,” he adjusted his hood as the wind blew it away from his face. “If the information regarding the girl’s existence is correct and we manage to abduct her, Owen is most eager to use her to his advantage.”

  The first man nodded slowly, his eyes still roving the crowd. Suddenly, he came to a halt.

  “Do you know who that man is?” he nodded his head in the direction of a very tall, very broad knight. When the second man indicated negatively, he continued. “You have heard of Richmond le Bec, no doubt.”

  The second man took another look at the massive man. “That is le Bec? God’s Balls, I thought he was dead by now.”

  The first man took off walking again, followed closely by the second. They guided themselves deep into the crowd, away from the competitors and away from Richmond le Bec.

  “He’s Henry’s most powerful knight next to Northumberland,” the first man hissed. “There must be a reason for his presence.”

  “There is. Henry probably sent him to convey his best wishes to the girl.”

  The first man shrugged. “Could be. But if Richmond le Bec is here as Henry’s liaison, ’twill make an abduction more difficult. Undoubtedly, he will be protecting her.”

  The second man scratched his head, mulling over the possibilities. “We will simply have to wait for an opportunity, I suppose. If one does not present itself, then we shall return to Owen with the confirmation of his information. There is nothing more we can do if Richmond le Bec is here as Henry’s watchdog.”

  The first man drew in a long, thoughtful breath. “Keep her in your sights, then. We will not want to miss our chance.”

  Re-adjusting their costumes, they faded into the crowd.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Daniel, Carlton and Tad survived their first round. Richmond competed with the second group of contenders, easily making the cut. The afternoon progressed as two more groups of first-round competitors came up for their turns, and the marshals singled out the most accurate shots and set them aside with the others who had endured the cut.

  Arissa bit her lip as Richmond came up in the second and third rounds, sailing arrows as straight and true as God himself. Once, as he reloaded his bow in the second elimination round, he had glanced over his shoulder and cast her an obvious wink. Lady Maude caught the gesture and fanned herself furiously, thinking it was meant for her. Arissa had almost laughed.

  The field of contenders had narrowed dramatically by the fourth round. Daniel was still a viable player, but Carlton had been ousted in the third set. Tad stood alongside Richmond and three other finalists as they prepared their weapons.

  Arissa’s heart was lodged in her throat as she watched the contestants assume a striking stance. Richmond was by far the tallest man in the crowd, a good head above the rest. Her gaze never left him, lulled into the fantasy world she so frequently entered when gazing upon his masculine beauty, and she had drifted a thousand miles away by the time the marshal abruptly lowered his arm. Startled back to the world at hand, she watched as the arrows went roaring toward the distant targets.

  The crowd cheered their approval as five projectiles embedded themselves into the straw. After the marks were closely scrutinized by the officials, Daniel and two other men were eliminated. Richmond and Tad were to face off against one another.

  “I am surprised you have lasted this long, le Bec,” Tad muttered as he adjusted the tension on his bow. “With your eyes ravaged with age, I was not at all sure you could see the target.”

  Richmond did not reply as he tightened his glove. Then he resumed a firing stance. “Unlike you, I do not have to see my mark in order to hit it.”

  “What kind of nonsense is that?”

  “’Tis no nonsense, I assure you. With age comes a skill you have yet to acquire, the sixth sense of a warrior. Visualizing the target in your mind; literally seeing without the use of your eyes.”

  Tad looked at him as if he were mad. “Foolishness, le Bec. Not only are you blind, you are senile as well.”

  The corner of Richmond’s lips tugged. “Mayhap. But while you are hindered by your eyesight, I can see the mark perfectly within my mind’s eye. I sense it; therefore, I will not miss.” He raised his bow, leveling out his arm. “You rely too heavily on your senses. Learning to rely on your intuition is the mark of a truly great warrior.”

  Tad passed him a peculiar glance as one of the marshals approached. As was tradition, when the field had narrowed to the final two entrants, one man would shoot before the other in a show of good sportsmanship.

  The marshal muttered a few words to Richmond and then motioned to his comrade positioned by the target to relay Richmond’s readiness. When the second marshal returned the ready signal, the first marshal returned his attention to Richmond and took a step back.

  “You may commence, my lord.”

  Tad watched with astonishment as Richmond’s blue eyes, which had been narrowed intently on the distant mark, suddenly closed. It never occurred to him that Richmond’s quietly uttered boast had been
God’s truth. Blind as a bat, he was aiming for a mark over one hundred yards away as if it were directly in front of him.

  It has to be a trick, Tad thought. Men do not fire without seeing the target. Foolish old man is going to spear someone with his impossible method!

  Puzzled and outraged, he opened his mouth to protest the knight’s firing technique when Richmond suddenly released the string and let the arrow fly. Tad’s head snapped sharply as he watched the arrow carve a path through the blue sky, drawn to the mark as if some unseen force was reeling it forth like a hooked fish. The wooden missile plowed into the target lashed to a sturdy bale of hay and the entire crowd of onlookers cheered happily at the display of talent.

  But the enthusiasm rapidly faded into an uneasy silence as the second marshal took his time examining the bulls-eye. Arissa watched, forgetting to breathe, until the official turned his attention to the expectant crowd.

  “Through the eye!”

  The crowd roared their approval. Richmond, for the second time that afternoon, cast a lingering glance at Arissa. With a confident smile, he blessed her with yet another saucy wink. Arissa simply stood, rooted to the spot, and grinned like a fool.

  “He’s going to beat him!” Penelope shrieked. “Riss, he’s going to win!”

  Arissa couldn’t divert her attention long enough to respond. She clutched the ribbon to her breast, praying fiercely that Richmond would emerge the victor. She did so want to award him the ribbon. If she possessed any courage at all, she would have dispensed a congratulatory kiss, too.

  Back on the field, Tad let out a disgusted sigh. Casting a baleful glance at Richmond, he assumed a striking stance.

  “I am going to cut your arrow in half, le Bec.”

  “Be my guest.”

  The crowd began to hoot and roar as the ready signals were passed between the field marshals. Richmond stood back, leaning on his bow, as Tad took aim. Tensions built as the noise level increased, an almost unbearable excitement filling the air.

  Arissa bit her lip, Penelope chewed her nails, and Emma and Regine were reduced to clutching one another’s hands. ’Twould seem that their competition for the same man was forgotten in the heat of their enthusiasm. The earl and Carlton, a private wager between them, wait restlessly to collect their money from one another.

  Just when Arissa thought she couldn’t stand another moment of anticipation, Tad released his bow string. His arrow screamed through the air, piercing the designated mark with a dull thud. Chaff and dust billowed into the air as the audience proclaimed their favor for yet another fine display of skill.

  Impatiently, the multitude began to surge forward as if to read the results for themselves. Several Lambourn soldiers were forced to push them back, away from the field, as both marshals scrutinized the target. Shouts and cries abound from the eager observers, demanding to know the outcome as the marshals pointed to the bulls-eye and chatted between themselves.

  Even the earl was demanding to know. Richmond and Tad remained where they stood, waiting with thin patience as the officials came to a decision. Finally, and after much discussion, the first field marshal faced the crowd.

  “Center mark, high and to the right!” he announced loudly. “Sir Richmond le Bec is the victor!”

  The crowd went mad with approval. Arissa was smiling so broadly that she swore her face would split in two. Her focus was riveted to the massive knight politely extending his best wishes to the loser of the match. She was not surprised when Tad appeared to ignore him.

  Beside her, Lady Maude and Lord William rose from their chairs, preparing to congratulate the winner.

  “You must commend Sir Tad for a fine match, Arissa,” her mother said quietly.

  She nodded graciously, eyeing Tad as he approached on Richmond’s heels. But her attention to him was brief; the moment Richmond stepped before her, all else seemed to fade. His blue eyes were tender on her, and with the expression she had seen before, but there was an added element this time. Something reserved only for her.

  The earl held up his hands for silence as he moved toward Richmond. “Good ladies and gentlemen, ’twould seem our winner is none other than Henry’s Great One. Certainly not a surprise.” When the crowd laughed in agreement, William slapped Richmond on his broad shoulder. “Congratulations, Sir Richmond. There was never any doubt in my mind who the victor would be.”

  Richmond acknowledged him with a faint smile, his attention returning to Arissa. When the crowd began to grow noisy again, he held up a hand in an unusual show of public control. Richmond could handle a thousand men with ease but, as William had pointed out, a cadaver was better suited to host a crowd of guests.

  Nonetheless, the group hushed. Richmond reached out and took Arissa’s hand and, with a widening grin, took a knee before her in a display of chivalry rarely seen. Every woman viewing the scene went soft with the romance of the gesture, the inherent gentleness. The great Richmond le Bec was on bended knee in front of the birthday girl, the beautiful Lady Arissa; what a lovely, delicate picture of genteel grace it presented.

  Arissa gazed into Richmond’s beautiful eyes, almost eye-level with him. His smile, terribly tender, was nearly the only thing she was aware of. All else about her was distant and faded.

  “I have honored my lady this day by winning the archery competition,” he said loudly, but Arissa could have sworn he was speaking only to her. “In tribute to her most momentous day of age, I humbly bow at my lady’s feet in homage as her champion.”

  Arissa cheeks were flushed a lovely pink, tendrils of black hair caressing her face in the faint breeze. Suddenly remembering the ribbon she had all but mashed in her hand, she extended it to Richmond.

  “For a contest well executed, my lord,” she said softly.

  He took the award from her, noting that it was crumpled and stained because she had gripped it so tightly. Clutching it against his heart, he kissed Arissa’s hand sweetly.

  The crowd roared. Still grinning, Richmond rose to his full height, Arissa’s hand enveloped tightly in his fist. Arissa would have been content to allow him to hold her hand for the rest of the day, but she could feel her mother nudging her from behind.

  Knowing the gesture’s meaning, she reluctantly removed her hand from Richmond’s grasp and moved toward Tad. His expression was hard, like a pouting child. All tolerance and good feelings vanished, Arissa’s gaze was equally as hard as she curtsied stiffly before him.

  “A match well fought, sir knight,” she said as evenly as she could manage.

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I would have won, too, had I cheated like Sir Richmond.”

  Arissa lost her thinly-held patience. “Sir Richmond did not cheat. He beat you with sheer skill alone, and if you had better manners, you would acknowledge the fact that he’s a greater knight than you could ever hope to be.”

  Audible gasps could be heard. William pushed forward, taking Arissa into a protective embrace. “Forgive her, Sir Tad. It has been an exceedingly taxing day and her composure has suffered.”

  Arissa irritably yanked herself away from her father, an unusual action. “The only thing that has suffered is my patience with Sir Tad. I was forced to endure his company earlier and I am not at all ashamed to declare him to be an obnoxious, dull-witted boor. I shall not pretend to think otherwise.” Gathering her skirts, she dipped a rapid curtsy to her parents. “If you will please excuse me.”

  William, aghast, watched his daughter’s straight back as she marched away. Sputtering, he glanced at his ashen-faced wife, whose features mirrored his own. As Tad worked up a head of steam, Richmond quietly excused himself. He had to; he was far too close to succumbing to snickers.

  “I shall see to her, my lord.”

  William was not given the chance to reply as Richmond went in pursuit of Arissa. Instead, the earl found himself faced with a humiliated and outraged Tad de Rydal.

  The earl had no idea how deep the vein of shame ran. First Richmond had bested Tad in a highly one
-sided duel, and where Tad had envisioned an opportunity for revenge in the archery contest, he found himself cleanly defeated. Two crushing blows in the same day, from the same man no less, was far more than his ego could accept.

  Where vengeance had once been a sweet taste upon his tongue, it was now a consuming hunger. Dark hatred began to blacken his heart. Short of calling le Bec out in challenge, he began to sort his options.

  There would be a time and a place; he simply had to be wise enough to take advantage of it, and lovely Lady Arissa would meet his wrath as well.

  It was a promise.

  *

  Richmond found Arissa in the place where she usually went when she was upset. Seated in her father’s solar near the lancet windows inlaid with precious Venetian glass, she was picking harshly at her fingernails. It was a bad habit she had, especially when bored or moody.

  “Stop nibbling your nails,” he commanded quietly as he entered the room.

  Her hands dropped to her lap. “Did Father send you to spank me?”

  “He did not. But I should take my hand to your backside at the very least for that insolent spectacle. I do believe Tad de Rydal was in the process of bursting a vein when I left.”

  She turned away from him, toward the window. “You should have punched him in the nose when he accused you of cheating. He’s an insufferable, pompous whoreskin.”

  “Mind your tongue, lady. I shall not hear those words from your mouth.”

  She did not reply to his reprimand and he moved to the chair opposite her. Lowering himself to sit, his gaze never left her beautiful profile. She seemed pensive and distant.

  “What is the matter, Riss?” he asked softly. “Do not tell me that Tad de Rydal has upset you so terribly that you would allow him to ruin your birthday?”

  She shook her head faintly, her chin resting in her hands as the multi-hued glass cast warm, erratic color across her face. “He’s not upset me,” she sighed heavily. “But I would be lying if I said I was glad he has come.”