Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Her release was close and she felt herself build to tremendous proportions as his pace quickened. In an explosion of triumph, her loins convulsed with erotic rhythm, demanding that Richmond spill forth his seed. He obeyed her, as always; grunting through clenched teeth, he filled her full of his searing eruption. Love, desire, life and death; they all combined into one powerful surge as they descended together on a cloud of contentment.

  Arissa could hear his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, his skin damp against her cheek. She could barely move, vaguely aware of her own pounding heart. The only matter of import was the feel of Richmond against her, touching her, within her. Her eyes closed, lulled into a doze by the rhythmic sound of his breathing.

  Their satisfaction went beyond words; in faith, Richmond did not trust himself to speak. He could not imagine that verbal communication could enhance the experience of their lovemaking any more than his tender caresses were expressing against her flesh at the moment.

  In his arms, she slept soundly, dreamlessly. Richmond found himself clutching her tightly, aware of the fact that he had neglected to use Mossy’s pessaries. The old man had been correct when he surmised that Richmond would protect Arissa’s life over the desire for an heir but, somehow, his lust had taken control of his common sense and he had been helpless against it.

  He found himself praying that she had not conceived, cursing himself for his stupidity and weakness. He knew better than to allow his physical demands to overshadow his better judgment, but God help him, it would have taken the strength of Samson to deny her heated little body in the heat of passion.

  The rain continued to pound outside the oil-clothed window as Richmond forced himself to push aside all thoughts of the neglected pessaries; certainly, now was not the time for those thoughts considering very shortly, he and Arissa would be facing a separation of unknown length. He wanted to enjoy her while he was able with little thought of anything else.

  Pulling her more closely against his heated body, he found himself wondering how in the hell he was going to survive the painful division that faced them.

  Already, it was killing him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Welsh Border

  One week later

  Sir Charles de Worth sat motionlessly in the middle of the dimly lit tent of cowhide, the walls reeking of burning dung and molding animal skins. The cloying stink only served to fortify his mood; having ridden from Shrewsbury to the Welsh border in a little over a day, he was understandably fatigued.

  But he had been compelled to obey the invitation cast by none other than Owen Glendower, and even now he sat with restrained anticipation of their meeting. Though the subject of their conference had not been mentioned in the missive received three days prior, there was little doubt as to the topic.

  Fortunately for the aged knight, he was not kept waiting overlong. Owen Glendower, dark and average in height, entered the tent surrounded by a host of supporters. De Worth suddenly found himself encompassed by the core of the Welsh rebellion, eyeing the dark, weary men around him with a certain amount of distrust. To his right, Owen cast his hands over the dung-burning vizier in a vain attempt to ward off the Welsh chill.

  “Captain de Worth,” Owen said in perfect English. “Thank you for coming.”

  De Worth eyed the infamous leader of the Welsh resistance. “After the missive I sent to you, ’twas my duty to heed your summons. How may I be of service?”

  Owen rubbed his hands together before planting himself in a small collapsible chair opposite the English knight. His dark eyes were sharp and appraising, his manner calm as he studied the man before him. Since pleasantries were dispensed and he had no desire to linger in incessant conversation, he moved directly to the point.

  “I have certain questions regarding the missive you sent me pertaining to Henry’s bastard daughter,” he glanced at David, standing to his left, before continuing. “She was exactly where you said she would be. In fact, we very nearly had her within our grasp but, unfortunately, our attempts were thwarted. Tell me; why did you give me this information?”

  De Worth swallowed uncomfortably, shifting in his chair. “Does it truly matter, my lord? The information was righteous.”

  “Indeed it was, but I would know your motives just the same,” he sat forward in the chair, closer to the iron vizier. “What grudge do you hold against Henry that you would jeopardize his daughter in such a fashion?”

  The English knight sat stiffly a moment before replying. “I believe I informed you in my missive that my reasons were my own. Why should they matter? Have I not provided you with accurate information?”

  “Absolutely. But I am troubled by the fact that there was a terrible attack the day we attempted to abduct the princess and if I did not know better, I would think it to have been an act of treason on your part,” Owen’s voice was soft. “Are you somehow intent on manipulating Henry’s opposition to your own end?”

  Charles’ brow furrowed. “Of course not. I had nothing to do with any attack.”

  “But I lost a man, a very good man. Was it your intention to, mayhap, lure my men into a trap with information regarding Henry’s bastard, only to manipulate an attack that would damage my cause?”

  De Worth drew in a long, heavy breath; he could see that the situation was rapidly growing sour and sought to dispel Owen’s accusations. “As I said, I gave you the information regarding Henry’s bastard to retaliate against Henry himself. I hold no grudge against the Welsh rebellion. If I were any younger, I would fight with you.”

  Owen studied the man a moment before relaxing in his chair. His dark eyes glittered with thought. Truthfully, he did not believe de Worth capable of the substantial undertaking of damaging his rebellion. But he was curious as to the man’s motives; his cousin David had seen and spoken with Henry’s bastard, a woman of exquisite beauty who was apparently unaware of her royal relations. Combined with the mysterious clues to her whereabouts from the man seated in front of him, it was an intriguing mystery.

  “Tell me why you divulged her whereabouts. My patience wears thin.”

  De Worth’s ruddy cheeks flushed and he lowered his gaze. “As I said, my lord, my reasons were my own.”

  Owen stared at the man. “Tell me or I will kill you for subversion.”

  “Subversion?” Charles repeated, outraged more than frightened. “I never..!”

  “Kill him,” Owen issued calmly, rising from his chair as if their business was concluded.

  Hands reached down to roughly yank de Worth from his chair. Struggling against the Welsh resisters, Charles sought Owen’s gaze in desperation.

  “Why is it necessary for you to know my purpose?” he demanded, a substantial fear gripping him.

  Owen eyed him. “As I said, it would appear that you lured my men into an ambush with tales of Henry’s bastard daughter, who was amply protected. Explain your motives for divulging her location and I may be merciful.”

  De Worth’s face was a sickly white, beads of perspiration on his brow. After a moment, he swallowed hard, his resistance lessening. He knew, as he lived and breathed, that he had no choice but to admit the humiliating truth.

  He swallowed again, nodding his head in resignation. “Very well, if that is what you require to realize that I am not involved with any subversive activity.” Immediately, the hands that had grasped him so brutally fell away, leaving him weak and disheveled. Charles groped for the chair, collapsing against the leather seat. “I was captain of King Richard II’s household guard for almost ten years. My wife and I lived on the castle grounds, happy but for the fact that we had no children. You see, I had an accident as a young man that left me barely able to…. function. Although we thought, mayhap, we would be blessed with a son someday, it became apparent that fortune was not with us.”

  Owen listened carefully. “Continue.”

  Charles sighed. “We ceased our physical relationship all together after several years. We had not had marital relations in wel
l over two years when I noticed that my wife was beginning to put on a good deal of weight. I questioned her about it, but she insisted it was nothing. She continued to grow and grow and I paid little heed until one night she seemed to be most uncomfortable. I went about my scheduled rounds and when I returned at dawn, she was exhausted and pale and slept heavily until noon. It was not until days later that I realized….” he paused, wiping at his sweaty face. “I realized that she had given birth. Knowing the child was not mine, I set out to find the babe with a vengeance. Until I discovered that the child was in protective custody.”

  Owen was seated, listening intently. “Protective custody? I do not understand.”

  De Worth met his gaze, his eyes glittering with an old pain. “Royal custody, my lord. ’Twould seem that my wife had shared an affair with the Duke of Bolingbroke and the child was his.”

  Owen’s eyes widened. “Henry!”

  “Exactly,” Charles nodded, his gesture slow and weary. Noting the varied expressions of disbelief and understanding about him, he shrugged vaguely. “Now you understand why I have taken such an interest in Henry’s bastard. My vengeance shall come when he least expects it.”

  “But what of your wife? Did you kill her for her betrayal?” Owen asked quietly, curiously.

  De Worth shook his head. “I never got the chance. Henry sent her away to Whitby Abbey in Yorkshire and I have not seen her since.”

  A peculiar gleam came to Owen’s eye. Passing a glance at David, he noted the same odd expression glazing his cousin’s features, an expression that caused his own uneasiness to increase with each successive moment. When he returned his attention to the fatigued English knight, he realized his hands were beginning to quake.

  “Did your wife have a name?”

  “Ellyn,” de Worth’s voice was barely a whispered.

  Owen’s breathing suddenly became a harsh, ragged gesture. He rose abruptly, toppling his chair in the process and moving to right it with shaking hands. He couldn’t seem to control the violent tremors that had infected his movements and he struggled to keep the same quiver from his voice. “Lloyd, show our English friend a bit of food and ale. He’s free to leave when he’s rested.”

  The silent Welsh soldier waited patiently for Charles to regain his composure, escorting the man from the tent as the English knight rose to unsteady feet. With a lingering glance at the Welsh prince, a silent gesture of shame and remorse, Charles de Worth quit the tent in favor of a hot meal and a measure of much-needed rest.

  When his boot falls faded, David turned to Owen with an expression of utter astonishment. “It’s her.”

  Owen nodded vaguely, his hand over his mouth as he attempted to rein his reeling thoughts. “I never imagined…. God’s Blood, how were we to know? Of all the knights in England, how is it possible that we should come across her husband?”

  David’s astonished expression gave way to a pale countenance as he paced the frozen ground, lost in his own thoughts. “I haven’t seen Ellyn since she left for London. We received word from her only twice since; when she married, and when she pledged her servitude to Whitby.”

  Owen eyed his cousin, the impact of the discovery weighing heavily on his shoulders. What had begun as a simple fact-finding endeavor had become a monumental discovery and he was having difficulty grasping the facts. But they were indisputable.

  He finally sighed, shrugging off his shock. “You never did discover why your sister took her vows at Whitby?”

  David shook his head, raking his fingers through hair the color of a raven’s wing. “Never. I tried sending her several missives, but received no reply until a simple message came from the abbess herself informing us that Lady Ellyn or, more correctly, Sister Repentia, had taken an oath of solitude.”

  Owen closed his eyes in a gesture of disbelief. The tremors that had seized his body were gone now, replaced by an odd weakness. “How can I use my own cousin against my mortal enemy?”

  David looked at him. “The Princess Arissa is my niece, for Christ’s sake. How do you think I feel? Lyle and I were less that kind with her during the abduction. And when I think of Lyle in mortal combat with Richmond le Bec as Arissa lay unconscious in the mud….”

  He closed his eyes and looked away, unable to continue. Owen meandered to the dying vizier, putting his hands against the warm iron.

  “Le Bec never saw you, did he?” he asked.

  David shook his head, fighting off a deeper remorse. “I was too far away, shielded by the rain and the chaos of the fighting. I did not even see Lyle’s final minutes, for I knew that le Bec would be the victor and I had no desire to face him. I knew I had to return to you with confirmation of Princess Arissa’s whereabouts,” he suddenly slapped at this leather-covered thigh, emitting an explosive hiss. “She’s my niece. Christ’s Sake, Owen, do you realize what this means? We are related to the King of England!”

  Owen did not say anything for several agonizing moments as both men pondered the revelation. Owen seemed to be riveted to the dying embers of the vizier as David continued to pace, remembering the beauty and frailty of his niece. He could scarcely believe the evidence, but believe he did. Thinking back, he realized that she looked a good deal like his sister and only now did the uncanny resemblance have a measure of meaning. She was his blood – she was Owen’s blood.

  David studied the chair de Worth had been planted in before slowly depositing his own weary body atop the leather sling. “Now what? Do we forget about her?”

  Owen shook his head faintly, rubbing the sharp stubble on his chin. “Nay,” he said softly. “We do not forget about our relation.” He removed his hands from the vizier, his jaw ticking as he mulled over the future. Certainly he would not forget about Henry’s daughter, his own cousin. She could still be a very powerful weapon in his war against the English.

  He turned to his cousin. “Would it be safe to assume she’s still at Lambourn?”

  David nodded weakly, feeling drained as his shock wore thin. “As long as Lambourn is still standing in light of de Rydal’s attack.”

  Owen scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Then I would have you return to Lambourn again. Mayhap a second abduction attempt would meet with some success.”

  David stared at him a moment before shaking his head. “Le Bec is her shadow. He’s no doubt aware that Henry’s enemies have discovered the princess’ whereabouts and I doubt a second attempt to seize her would be productive.”

  Owen sat opposite his cousin, his gaze heady. “Then we will keep trying until we have her. She’s Glendower and I mean to have her.”

  “She’s Plantagenet.”

  Owen did not reply as his gaze left his cousin, moving to the dying embers in the vizier. The freezing night was seeping into his bones and somewhere in the distance, he could hear a wolf cry to its mate. He would not be deterred in his scheme to obtain Henry’s daughter; not even the threat of Richmond le Bec was enough to dampen his conviction. The fact that the girl was of direct relation to him changed the overall design little; truthfully, he had never meant to harm her, merely use her against her father. And he would still use her against her father. But first, he had to obtain her.

  “It would seem to me that our biggest obstacle is Richmond le Bec,” he said after a moment, returning his gaze to his cousin. “Neutralize le Bec and the princess is ours.”

  David sighed irritably. “Brilliant, Owen. And just who is supposed to neutralize Henry’s greatest knight? There is not a man among us who could best him in a fight. Who did you intend to act the role of assassin?”

  Owen’s brown eyes glittered dully in the weak light. “Not a Welshman. Mayhap one of le Bec’s own countrymen will turn against him.”

  David’s brow furrowed. “I do not understand.”

  Owen leaned into the palm of his hand. “Henry Percy and I have been communicating, as you are aware. Hotspur is growing weary of Henry’s rule; in fact, his relationship to the king has never been hearty, whereas le Bec is well known as
Henry’s greatest supporter. If Henry Percy is to align with me, mayhap we will be able to annihilate le Bec with a man who has fought with him. A man who knows his strengths and weaknesses.”

  “Hotspur?” David repeated incredulously. “You are mad! He will never agree to such a thing!”

  Owen shrugged. “Mayhap. But we must not disregard our options. In any case, I will expect you on the road to Lambourn before sunrise.”

  David eyed his cousin in the darkness, pondering the information that had been revealed this night. In spite of discovering her relationship to them, Owen still wanted Arissa as a weapon in his struggle against Henry. And with the possibility of Hotspur’s alliance, the Welsh resistance was growing stronger by the day.

  A certain young lady was about to find herself the central focus of a very long, very bloody conflict.

  *

  It did not take David Glendower an over amount of time to ascertain that the Princess Arissa was no longer within the walls of Lambourn. He’d spent nearly a week lingering in the woods, assuming the role of a tradesman from the village in order to gain access to the keep. Being rebuilt from her recent siege, there was always work available and he involved himself in the renovations as deeply as he was able. Being a fine stonemason, he was able to find daily work.

  With one eye on his mortar and stone and the other roving the grounds for any sign of the princess, he established a moderate rapport with a few of the lesser men-at-arms supervising the rebuilding of the wall. Through several days of carefully orchestrated dialogue, he was able to discover that Richmond le Bec had fled Lambourn with the earl’s eldest daughter, escorting her to Whitby in the hope that the church would be able to protect her from Ovid de Rydal’s wrath.

  It was well known that Tad de Rydal received his severe wound from Richmond’s men as a result of his attentions toward the earl’s daughter, and it was the general opinion that Ovid would disregard his anger towards Lambourn if the very reason for his fury were extracted from the walls. Even though his son was on the mend, the father’s rage had not abated in the least and with Richmond and Arissa removed, mayhap the situation would be able to calm somewhat.