Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  It was his worst nightmare come to life. Through the sheet of driving rain, emerging from the very bowels of hell, was a figure so massive and terrifying that Lyle could scarcely believe it. He knew it would be of no use to run; he would simply be caught and killed. But he knew in the same breath that he was going to meet his demise regardless, for the figure approaching had sent many a man into the depths of the underworld.

  Lyle was gazing into the face of the Devil’s own ferryman. Surely Charon hadn’t driven as many souls into the maze of Hades as this man before him had. Terror filled his heart. There was no escape.

  Death was approaching.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Richmond le Bec raised his sword, the razor-sharp tip aimed at Lyle’s throat. “You will release her.”

  Struggling against his natural fear, Lyle’s grip tightened on Arissa’s soft arm. “Owen knows she’s here, le Bec. If you kill me, more will come for her and still more until she’s within the heart of the Welsh resistance. We will not stop until we have her.”

  As the soldier spoke of crazy misconceptions, Arissa heart was soaring with hope. Somehow, Richmond had sensed she was in danger; she did not know how he had come to discover her predicament, but the reasons behind his knowledge were of little concern. The only factor of import was his timely arrival.

  “Richmond!” she cried. “Thank God!”

  Richmond heard her voice, filling him with sweetness and longing and utter elation. But the soldier’s words were rattling about in his weary mind and he couldn’t shake the impact; Owen was aware of Arissa’s identity. It did not matter how the man knew, only that he was in possession of knowledge very few people were aware of.

  Suddenly, the growing Welsh rebellion was striking far too close to his heart and Richmond was filled with panic and rage. Tightening the grip on the hilt of his powerful broadsword, he resumed his advance with a vengeance. Owen couldn’t have Arissa; if he had to kill every rebellious Welsh bastard personally, he would not stop until all hazard to Arissa’s safety was vanished. And he would begin with the idiot before him.

  “You cannot have her,” he growled as he closed the distance between them. “You shall pay for your foolish folly with your worthless life.”

  Lyle, still gripping Arissa, backed away from Richmond’s approach. “That may be, but heed my words. We know her to be Henry’s daughter and Owen means to have her.”

  Arissa, bewildered and apprehensive, began to struggle wildly within his crushing grip. Shrieking and gasping, she tugged against his hold and took to pounding him on the shoulder. A well-aimed fist caught him in the face and, for a moment, Lyle was distracted.

  Emitting a roar of fury borne from fear and anger, Lyle thrust Arissa away from him savagely. With a yelp, she went stumbling away in a reckless reel of force. Before she could stop her momentum, the fortress wall was suddenly in her path and in a blinding flash of pain, the entire world went black.

  Richmond’s brittle composure very nearly shattered as Arissa smacked her head against the stone wall, crumpling to the swampy mud. But Owen’s soldier had assumed an offensive stance and he raised his sword, charging the foolish warrior with all of the fury and strength he possessed.

  Coming together in a clash of metal and flesh, Owen’s soldier tumbled onto his back from the potency of Richmond’s frenzy. But Lyle was amazingly agile and managed to roll to his feet, regaining his balance and meeting Richmond’s strikes with a good deal of skill. As their battle ensued across the muck-choked yard, Arissa lay unconscious in several inches of freezing, dirty water.

  Richmond felt a desperation he had never before experienced. He couldn’t be sure if Arissa was even breathing and the need to dispatch his opponent was greater than any he had ever known. But the soldier was fresh, unhindered by the hours upon hours of endless fighting that Richmond had experienced. Knowing it was his age draining his stamina, Richmond struggled against a lesser opponent to overcome the most serious threat to Arissa’s life that he had yet to face.

  Unfortunately, Owen’s spy showed little sign of defeat and the battle lengthened. Richmond’s panic began to rise, for Arissa had yet to move a muscle and he began to seriously consider his limited options. It almost did not matter whether or not he killed his opponent; of surmounting importance was that he must reach Arissa.

  She needed him desperately and anger anew swept him. He refused to believe that he had witnessed her demise as her head crashed against the stone, or as she lay drowning in the mud at this very moment. He simply could not dwell on the sheer horror his frantic thoughts provoked, ’else he would lose his concentration and they would both be lost.

  Just as he managed to corner the Welsh soldier against the fortified wall, Gavan suddenly rounded the corner of the kitchen astride his striking red charger. Richmond exerted a hard blow against the soldier, his heart soaring with hope and relief as he laid eyes on his second in command.

  “Get Arissa!” he bellowed.

  Gavan was off his horse before the words were out of Richmond’s mouth. Over three hundred pounds of flesh and armor made haste to Arissa, scooping her out of the mud and filth. She was alive, but gray and soaked to the skin. Even as Gavan moved for the kitchen entrance, he was shouting urgently to Richmond.

  “I am taking her inside!”

  “Is she alive?” Richmond took a hard blow, answering with the same.

  Gavan muttered something Richmond did not hear. In a panic, he delivered several bone-shattering thrusts that sent the enemy soldier to his knees. As the man raised his sword to defend himself, Richmond’s weapon cut through the freezing rain and air so forcefully that Lyle’s blade was jarred from his grip. The Welshman watched with horror as his sword landed several yards away.

  Richmond did not pause in his onslaught. Kicking his opponent squarely in the chest, he sent the man to his back. Lyle gazed up at Richmond, amazingly calm in spite of the fact that he knew he was breathing his last. He comforted himself with the knowledge that David would deliver the news of the princess’ whereabouts to Owen and that factor alone was more important than his own insignificant life.

  “They shall come for her,” he said hoarsely. “You cannot protect her from all of Wales.”

  Richmond put the tip of his sword to Lyle’s throat, his body quivering with fatigue and emotion. Since there was no use in denying Arissa’s roots, he did not attempt the effort. Instead, he turned the tables. “How did he know?”

  Lyle cocked an eyebrow. “You are about to kill me, le Bec. I do not presume to believe that if I were to tell you what you wish to know, you would spare my life. I shall take your answers to my grave.”

  Richmond gazed down at him impassively. “So be it. But I will tell you now that every Welshman who comes within the princess’ range will meet with your fate. Hundreds, thousands, it does not matter. They will all die.”

  “You are too old to fight them all,” Lyle said softly, his tone laced with defiant defeat. “As I nearly beat you, they shall not fail.”

  Richmond’s hands were shaking as he gripped the hilt of his sword. When he moved to finish his task, Lyle suddenly brought up a foot and kicked Richmond in the gut. Losing his balance and his breath, he stumbled back as the Welshman leapt to his hands and knees, crawling desperately through the mud to reach his weapon.

  Lyle’s hand met with the hilt of his sword, raising it against Richmond with the full intent of ramming it through his groin. But Richmond was a shade faster, his blade plunging deep into the flesh of Lyle’s torso before the Welshman could complete his purpose. Pierced in the heart, Lyle was walking the fields of Paradise before he realized death had finally claimed him.

  *

  By the time Richmond reached Arissa’s bower, Gavan and Penelope were stripping off her icy, soaked clothing while Regine was screaming to the servants for hot water. Richmond thrust himself between his soldier and Penelope, nearly knocking the young girl over in the process.

  “I shall get her clothes,” he
said, his voice shaking. “Somebody find Mossy.”

  Gavan stood back, watching Richmond go to work on Arissa’s heavy woolen surcoat. “I shall retrieve him,” he muttered.

  Richmond did not reply; his entire world was centered around the wet figure before him, her skin icy and her face an ugly shade of gray. Knowing of Arissa’s delicate health only served to inflame his panic as he tore off his gauntlets and untangled the sash at her waist. Then, grasping the surcoat around the neck, he gave a sharp tug and tore it cleanly down the middle.

  Penelope, remarkably, was calm amidst the hustle and ripping fabric. The girl had a tendency to be skittish and jittery, but she was doing an admirable job of maintaining her composure while Richmond stripped Arissa of her wet clothing.

  “What can I do, Richmond?” she asked softly.

  He did not answer her for a moment as the clinging woolen garment gave him a slight degree of difficulty. His movements were sharp, rough, and indicative of panic. “Towels, love. Collect as many as you can lay your hands on.”

  Penelope was gone, dashing past Regine just as several harried servants emerged into the room with a copper tub and buckets of hot water. Richmond, meanwhile, succeeded in removing all of Arissa’s soaked clothing and wrapped her in a heavy coverlet to keep her warm.

  There was nothing he could do for the moment but wait until the servants filled the tub. Cradling Arissa on his lap, he felt the first brick of his substantial wall of composure tumble.

  “Oh, Riss,” he whispered into her hair, his quaking fingers tracing over the lump on her forehead. “Wake up, kitten. You are safe now.”

  She did not respond and he gripped the back of her limp head with his great hand, kissing her face tenderly and oblivious to the other occupants of the room. At the moment, it simply did not matter if their secret became public knowledge; he loved Arissa and did not care who knew it.

  “Wake up, kitten,” he whispered against her temple. “You are safe. Open your eyes, love, listen to me.”

  He continued to murmur against her hair as the copper tub was filled to the rim. But she was determined to ignore him, safe and warm and secure from the terrible realities of the world as she huddled deep inside her comforting stupor. After a few non-responsive moments, he paused in his attempt to coax her forth from the depths of unconsciousness, focusing instead on the nearly-full tub.

  As Richmond attempted to remove the bedrug in preparation for placing her in the copper vat, Arissa’s eyes abruptly fluttered open.

  “Richmond?” she whispered weakly.

  Startled, he clutched her tightly. “I am here, Riss. You are safe.”

  She closed her eyes, struggling to catch her breath. “The soldier….”

  “He’s dead, kitten,” he whispered. “He cannot harm you any longer.”

  She struggled to speak. “There…. there were two of them. One was supposed to w-wait outside of the servant’s gate with horses for our escape.”

  Richmond listened calmly; if the second soldier was as experienced as the first, he was long gone by now. He squeezed her gently. “It doesn’t matter. You are safe now.”

  Individually, Arissa’s eyelids weighed a hundred pounds; certainly, she did not possess the strength to keep them open. But as she attempted to doze, Richmond shook her gently. “I know you are tired, kitten, but do not go to sleep. Not yet. Regine has prepared a bath and we must warm your body.”

  “I do not want a bath,” she mumbled weakly. “Let me sleep first and I shall bathe later.”

  He smiled, relieved that the stubborn Lady Arissa he had seen on occasion was making an appearance. When she was feeling particularly tired or ill, her usually sunny demeanor fled in lieu of a bitter, combative shrew. But he would rather be subject to her insolent mood than to witness her continued unconsciousness. All will be well, he told himself firmly. If she was willing to contradict him, then she would be fine.

  “Bath first, sleep later,” he countered quietly, firmly.

  Regine moved to her sister’s side, her eyes wide as she waited for Richmond to direct her further. He looked to the young girl, managing a feeble wink. “She will be fine, Regine. Tell me; where is your mother?”

  “In her bower with Lady Livia and Lady Maxine, I believe,” Regine said, shaken and fatigued by the day of events.

  In Richmond’s arms, Arissa suddenly twitched and her eyes opened wide. Fat tears began to spill down her temples. “Bart! One of those men killed him!”

  Regine let out a horrified cry and Richmond grabbed hold of the younger girl in a supportive, if not quieting, gesture. He eyed her as she sobbed heavily, his brow furrowed with concern as he returned his attention to Arissa.

  “You are sure, kitten? How do you know?”

  Weeping softly, Arissa struggled to answer. “They…. they broke into Mossy’s sanctuary and Bart tried to defend me. They killed him!”

  Regine’s sobs grew louder as Richmond continued to gaze at Arissa, his age and exhaustion suddenly evident on his features. They had already lost Carlton to the attack, and now Bartholomew. Lady Maxine had not yet been informed of her husband’s passing; Richmond had been making his way into the castle to inform her of his death when he had been met by a frantic Mossy.

  Richmond had forgotten all about Carlton when Mossy demanded that he save Arissa from her abductors. The only matter of import had been to rescue his charge, his love, and he cursed himself for being neglectful enough to forget the death of his friend until reminded inadvertently at this moment. As if Carlton’s death had been meaningless. On the contrary; Carlton had taken a blade meant for Richmond himself.

  He sighed heavily, closing his eyes briefly in a blatant display of disgust. He simply could not understand what was happening; from the details of Tad de Rydal’s ambush to the revelation of Arissa’s abduction, nothing made any sense and he was too weary at the moment to attempt the feat of detailed comprehension. Whatever the answers he sought, he would hap upon them soon enough.

  The only matter of concern at the moment, however, was taking care of Arissa and informing Lady Maxine of her husband’s death. After that, he would confirm Arissa’s story of Bartholomew’s demise and brace himself for the eventuality of delivering the news to the young man’s parents. An event he was dreading already.

  But he forced himself to focus on the task at hand as Arissa began to quiver in his arms. She was cold and damp and he was eager to plunge her into the hot water.

  “Regine,” he gently shook the hysterical young girl. “Be a good lass and see what’s keeping Penelope. Go on now; that’s a good girl.”

  Hiccupping and weeping, Regine shuffled across the floor as Mossy and Gavan appeared in the doorway. Gavan peered curiously at the youngest de Lohr.

  “What’s the matter, love?”

  “B-art’s dead!” she sobbed.

  Shocked, Gavan looked to Richmond as he stood with Arissa in his arms. Before Richmond could reply, Mossy moved into the room with far less energy than he usually exhibited. “He’s not dead, though I expect he will be shortly,” he said in a thin voice. “The lad defended Arissa bravely, but he simply was not skilled enough with a blade. It was a short fight.”

  Richmond sighed heavily with sorrow and disgust. “God be merciful,” he murmured fervently, moving towards the tub. “Where is he now?”

  “In my sanctuary,” Mossy replied. “I did what I could for him. The rest is up to God.”

  Richmond reached the tub with Arissa lethargically in his arms. “Gavan, see if there is anything else to be done for the lad. If he’s already dead, then move him to where Carlton lies. And see what is transpiring outside and report back to me. I would know what level of resistance we are currently meeting with.”

  Arissa couldn’t decide if she should be delighted that her brother lived still or grief-stricken because he was not expected to survive. ’Twas a wild field of emotions wreaking havoc in her muddled mind. But over her concern for Bartholomew’s predicament, she understood Richmo
nd’s words regarding Penelope’s father and a new measure of sorrow gripped her.

  “Carlton is dead?” she asked.

  Richmond set her down gently, peeling away the coverlet. “Aye, kitten. But Penelope does not know. Not a word to her, please. I have not told her mother yet.”

  Gavan escorted Regine from the room, closing the door softly. When the last of the coverlet fell away from Arissa’s shivering body, Richmond gently helped his very naked charge into the tub. With a sniffle and a sigh, Arissa submerged herself up to her neck.

  As she soaked in the steaming water, Mossy examined the lump on her forehead. “It’s not too severe,” he observed. “Do yer ears ring, Riss?”

  “A little,” she said quietly. “I am terribly tired.”

  “No doubt,” Mossy said, digging through his bag. Suddenly, a large rat popped forth and skittered across the floor, vanishing underneath the bed. Mossy acted as if he hadn’t noticed the rodent, continuing to rummage through his satchel. “Damn rats. They like to eat my pessaries.”

  “Pessaries?” Arissa repeated.

  “Aye.” Mossy suddenly drew forth a pouch, shoving it at Richmond. When Richmond looked puzzled, the ancient crone fixed him in the eye. “To prevent pregnancy,” he said. “Since ye and Arissa are lovers, there is a great need to prevent her from conceiving before ye can marry her. Were she to become pregnant, it would become a terrible scandal, not to mention the nuns would probably take the babe away and ye’d never see it again. Do ye understand what I am telling ye?”

  Richmond stared at him a moment, moving woodenly to accept the pouch. “I…. I understand all too well,” he swallowed, slanting Arissa a glance. “How did you know?”