It was the overall consensus that justice had been served, however, considering Bartholomew de Lohr had also received a near-fatal wound in the attack. Ovid had nearly lost his son and it was only appropriate that the earl’s heir be compromised as well. Both young men, however, were said to be recovering from their fierce injuries but the animosity between the House of de Rydal and the Earl of Berkshire was nasty. ’Twas said the earl had even sent word to Henry demanding crown retaliation against Ovid de Rydal, a move that could only extend the hostilities should Henry respond to the earl’s request.
A complicated issue, David was told, but he was not concerned with the complexity of the feud between Lambourn and Goring Hall. All that mattered was that he had discovered the Princess Arissa’s whereabouts and he set out with a vengeance for the Welsh border. Owen had to be made aware that the young lady was no longer in the protective custody of the crown, but something far more powerful. When the earl had sent his daughter into the shielding confines of Whitby Abbey, it had been with the intention of protecting her from a vicious act of revenge.
Little did he realize how many people sought to gain vengeance against the petite raven-haired beauty and David realized that the situation was far more complex than originally believed. There were more people determined to acquire control of Henry’s daughter than could be counted, each for their own reasons, each for their own aspirations. But through it all, one thing had remained constant – Richmond le Bec.
Henry’s most powerful knight was always by her side, creating an even more difficult situation. But more than le Bec, Whitby Abbey would prove to be a most powerful adversary. Even if David’s own sister was imprisoned within the walls of the Yorkshire abbey, it was of little comfort. Ellyn would not assist their cause, he was sure; in fact, David was not particularly surprised that Arissa’s destination was Whitby. Mayhap the earl believed that the princess’ mother would be an extra incentive against the jaws of harm. As if, somehow, the reclusive nun could protect the child she gave up those years ago.
Upon returning to Wales, David spilled the news. Owen was not overly surprised to discover that Arissa had been moved from Lambourn. In fact, he considered it somewhat of a blessing that she had been taken to Whitby and he immediately sent word to Henry Percy requesting a meeting. Although Hotspur had not officially joined the ranks of the rebellion and was still, technically, considered Henry’s premier general in the war against the Welsh insurgents, Owen was well aware that the man was verging on mutiny against the crown.
He and Hotspur had already met twice, discussing their mutual roles in Henry’s England, and Owen could sense nothing but bitterness and uncertainty from Henry Percy. It was apparent that the king was intent on blaming his greatest military leader for the loss of several fortresses along the Welsh border and Hotspur’s offense was limitless. If Henry did not trust his general, it was apparent that Hotspur no longer had reason to maintain his loyalty to the crown. All it would take was the correct persuasion to lure Hotspur into the Glendower fold.
Owen was no fool; an extremely intelligent man, he knew how to play the games of the rich and powerful. He knew that Henry could not survive without Northumberland’s support and set forth with great determination to undermine the weakening foundation of Hotspur’s loyalty. All it would take was the correct inducement.
He had a plan.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The bowl, with the porridge in it, went sailing across the room. The servants shrieked and fled the room as it hit the wall and splattered on the fine chair nearby.
“I told you that I did not want porridge!” Tad shouted after them. “The next fool who brings me porridge shall feel my hand to their backside!”
Goring Hall was in an uproar. Nine days after the ambush that seriously injured him, Tad was feeling infinitely better thanks to the finest physics his father could employ. One man had come from London and the other all the way from York. The chest wound had been deftly sewed and, most fortunately, no poison had set in. It had truly been a miracle.
Tad had recovered quickly, thanks to his youth and good health, but now the physics had a more seriously problem on their hands. The young man did not want to stay still.
“My lord, you are still recovering,” the first physic, a skinny man with wild red hair, tried to remain calm. “It is in your best interest to keep your diet without fatty foods. Porridge is easily digestible and….”
Tad was sitting on the edge of his bed, a little paler and thinner than usual, but certainly looking healthy enough. He interrupted the physic’s prattle.
“I want meat,” he stressed angrily. “Breads and sweets. Give me something more than this… this rubbish.”
The physic sighed heavily, looking to his shorter, rounder associate for support. As he prepared to deny the young man, Ovid entered the room.
The man was thrilled that his son had recovered so quickly, so much so that he had the entire family saying prayers three times a day in thanks. His son’s mood was foul but he didn’t seem to mind; he entered the room happily, greeting his son with a kiss to each cheek as the young man pushed him away.
“Tell them to bring me meat,” Tad demanded. “I want beef pie. Kidney pie. Anything but this slop they are trying to feed me.”
Ovid wouldn’t dare deny his son’s request. He looked to the physics as they huddled a few feet away. They were the same men who had saved his son’s life so he tried to be somewhat respectful to them.
“The boy requires meat,” he pleaded. “Can you not see how much better he’s feeling? Meat will do him a world of good.”
The skinny physic tried to deter him. “But, my lord, his body cannot….”
Ovid cut him off, though not entirely unkindly. “Please,” he said, although it was a command and not a request. “Go and select something appropriate for him to eat that does not include food you would feed infants. I implore you.”
The physics looked at each other, shrugged, and quit the room in a manner suggesting they were not at all pleased. They knew best, but the spoiled young man always got what he wanted. His father saw to that. Ovid watched them go before returning his attention to his son.
“They are only doing what they feel best,” he said. “You could try to be more cooperative.”
Tad shrugged and looked away. “What news have you brought me today?”
He was changing the subject to the one and only thing that had held his interest for the past nine days. He would hardly speak of anything else and Ovid, still hell-bent on vengeance against Richmond le Bec, was more than willing to indulge him.
“It is as we suspected,” he said. “Le Bec left Lambourn the morning after the battle and took Lady Arissa with him. I have paid people well to glean information to this regard and from what they have been told, le Bec is taking the girl straight to Whitby.”
“Do we know this for certain?” Tad stood up, stiffly, rubbing at his tender torso. “We have been hearing these rumors for days now. This is not new information.”
“But it has been confirmed,” Ovid insisted. “I paid a man well whose wife works in the kitchens of Lambourn. This woman has confirmed that le Bec left with Lady Arissa and is taking her to Whitby. That is what de Lohr is telling everyone. Oddly, he does not seem to be too heartbroken about it.”
Tad moved about gingerly. “What do you plan to do?”
Ovid fell silent a moment, his manner turning from doting father to conniving enemy. “My fury against le Bec has not abated,” he said quietly. “By the grace of God you have healed, but that does not end my sense of vengeance. The man will pay.”
Tad turned to him. “So I will ask you again; what do you plan to do?”
Ovid began to pace just as his son was, his demeanor pensive. “If le Bec is heading to Whitby, then we can catch him outside the walls of a fortress where the odds will be even,” he said, then looked at his son. “I will send my army after him and destroy him.”
Tad cocked in an eyebrow. “Wh
at about Lady Arissa?”
Ovid’s gaze was intense. “If she’s not yet made it to the abbey, then perhaps we shall claim her. You are attracted to her, are you not?”
Tad thought a moment before nodding. He had a rather dirty look about him. “She’s beautiful, no doubt. Perhaps she would make a splendid Lady de Rydal.”
“Perfect vengeance against le Bec,” Ovid wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “It is said he’s a fondness for the girl that goes beyond mere concern. His attack upon you is evidence of that.”
“Then I will take her, marry her, and there will be nothing he can do about it.”
“Exactly.”
Tad liked that suggestion a great deal. Still moving a bit gingerly, he made his way towards the massive wardrobe in his room where his broadsword lay resting in a custom-made casket of silk and oak. He opened the door to the wardrobe and lifted the lid of the case, eyeing the sword that had cost his father a small fortune. Not strangely, he could see le Bec’s suffering reflected in the blade.
“Summon our army, then,” he said, looking at his father. “We will travel light and hard, riding swiftly for Whitby. If le Bec is indeed traveling north to the abbey, then he’s a substantial head-start. However, traveling with a woman, I would suspect his pace has been very slow. It is possible if we ride hard enough to make it to Whitby before he does, where I will wait for him to come. Then, I shall take what is mine.”
Ovid wasn’t too keen on parts of that plan. “You are too weak to ride,” he insisted. “A ride to Whitby will take over a week at a swift pace. You should stay here. The lady will be brought to you when she’s captured.”
Tad shook his head. “If we do manage to capture her, unless le Bec is dead, I will need to marry her as quickly as possible because he will track her like a hound. To suffer a journey all the way back to Goring risks her being recaptured and taken out of our control. That must not happen.”
Ovid didn’t want his son riding the two hundred miles to Whitby but he understood his reasoning. “I do not suppose I can stop you.”
Tad shook his head. “He tried to kill me, Father,” he said, his voice quiet and deadly. “This time, vengeance shall be mine. Le Bec will pay once and for all.”
Ovid didn’t doubt him in the least.
*
The trip north had been something of a delight.
True to his word, Richmond stopped in the villages where Arissa wanted to stop, purchasing anything that she desired. If she saw a trinket, she got it, and if she even mentioned the fact that she liked a purse or admired a pair of boots, she received that as well. Richmond would do anything to make her happy, loving the smiles he received when she clutched a pretty vial of expensive perfume or a bolt of exquisite material. Each day, each delight, saw his love for her deepen. He was becoming acquainted with her on a level he could have never imagined.
Since he had promised Arissa a leisurely trip, a journey he could make on a hard march in ten or twelve days took almost three weeks. They stopped where they wished to stop, camped by great rivers or stayed in lively inns. Whatever Arissa wanted, Richmond would comply. The weather, for December, had been remarkably mild so the trip hadn’t been a difficult one. But no matter how languid the pace, eventually, they drew close to Whitby.
Just to the north of the city of York, they passed through a berg called Pickering. There was a big castle overlooking the village but Richmond bypassed the castle, mostly because he knew the garrison commander and the man tended to be fickle in his loyalties, so he at least sent word of greeting to identify his big army as he passed through the town. It was his intention to camp just north of the city before reaching their destination of Whitby Abbey on the morrow. Already, he could feel the anxiety building in his chest for the separation to come. He’d been ignoring it for weeks, but now, he could ignore it no longer.
Pickering had a fairly large merchant street and although the army paralleled the street of the merchants as they traveled the main avenue through town, Arissa and Emma could nonetheless see the stalls in intervals when houses would part and reveal the street beyond. Richmond could see it too, as he and Gavan traveled at the head of the column and he knew it was only a matter of time before Arissa called a halt. It was not long in coming.
“Richmond!” she called.
He reined his charger around, noting the smirk on Gavan’s face as he made his way back to Arissa and Emma in the provisions wagon. He reined the animal next to her.
“Aye, kitten?”
It sounded more like a statement of resignation than a question, but Arissa smiled brightly and pointed.
“I saw a merchant’s stall over there with garments hanging from the rafters,” she said, rather sweetly. “Do you think we can go and look?”
He grunted softly, with resistance. “Riss, I am not entirely sure we have any more room to store your goods,” he tried to sound gentle, not like a man who was going back on his promise to buy her anything she wanted. “Do you not think you have enough? I am going to have to build a monstrous castle as it is to house everything.”
Arissa giggled, not taking him seriously. “I simply want to look. Please?”
Richmond’s resistance held out for another second or two before he finally nodded in defeat. Dismounting his charger, he handed the reins over to the nearest soldier as he reached up and lifted Arissa from the wagon bench. Emma squealed and he lifted her down, too. Taking the ladies in-hand, he called a halt to his brigade and led the women over to the next street where a good deal of commerce was taking place.
The avenue was wide and filled with holes and ruts, with lots of activity occurring beneath moderately sunny skies and a very brisk temperature. Wagons, people and carts were everywhere in the cold, clear weather. Arissa and Emma went straight for the merchant with the garments hanging from the rafters as Richmond hung back and watched them dive into the merchandise with gusto.
“You are going to be broke by the time we reach Whitby,” Gavan came up behind him, fussing with a gauntlet. “You must learn to deny her once in a while.”
Richmond puckered his lips wryly. “Think not to lecture me,” he told him. “I seem to recall you having difficulty denying your wife anything.”
Gavan returned the wry expression, although there was a defensive attitude with it. “This is not about me. This is about you, and you are spoiling Arissa. She’s going to expect this from you for the rest of your life.”
Richmond just shook his head, watching Arissa giggle happily as the merchant, a thin woman with bad skin, held up a lovely blue surcoat against her to see if it would fit. Arissa took the surcoat and, with Emma’s approving nod, rushed over to Richmond as he stood in the street with Gavan. Her lovely features were alight with joy.
“Richmond, look,” she held up the surcoat. “What do you think? This woman has all manner of coats that are already sewn. She says that she sells a great number of them because they are already made. Have you ever seen such a thing?”
Richmond shook his head. “Alas, I have not,” he said. “May I point out that you already have plenty of fabric to make your own coats with?”
Her face fell slightly and she looked at the surcoat, made from a lovely and billowing Perse fabric. It was very fine.
“But these are already made,” she insisted. “This one will fit me. Do you not like it?”
Richmond looked at her, a smile playing on his lips. Then he looked at Gavan, who simply lifted his eyebrows. After a moment, Richmond returned his attention to Arissa’s hopeful expression. He couldn’t deny her and they all knew it.
“I like it,” he told her, conceding complete and utter defeat. “Get what you will.”
Arissa was back to smiling brightly. With a giggle of joy, she rushed back into the shop and began having the shop keeper remove several more surcoats that were hanging on nails. As Richmond stood there, ignoring Gavan’s smirks, something suddenly hit him on the back of his armored legs.
It was not a hard hit, but
enough to get his attention. Hand on the hilt of his broadsword, he turned to see a young girl picking herself up out of the dirt. She was a filthy little urchin, with tangled red curls and freckles on her nose. Richmond peered down at the child as Gavan, having heard the knock against Richmond’s armor, reached down and grasped the child by the arm.
“Here, now,” he all but shoved her away from Richmond. “Watch where you are going.”
The little girl tripped when Gavan firmly directed her away and ended up on the ground again, this time falling on a rock. She immediately started wailing as she came away with a cut knee. That brought a cavalry charge of more children pouring out of the shadows and doorways around them. There had to be a dozen or more, all rushing in the child’s direction.
“Oy!” a boy around ten years rushed to the child’s side, pulling her up off the street and noticing her bloody knee. Rather than cower from the two enormous knights, he actually grew angry. “Did ye have tae hurt her, then?”
Gavan looked rather surprised at the challenge. “I did not hurt her,” he said. “She fell and scraped her knee. Moreover, she ran into us first. She should be more careful next time.”
The boy with the matted blond hair and extremely dirty body did not back down as more children gathered behind him in mute support. There was strength in numbers. The weeping little girl was absorbed by the group as they pulled her back into a protective huddle.
“She couldna have hurt ye,” the boy sounded very much as if he was scolding Gavan. “Ye didna have tae bloody her!”
By this time, Arissa heard the commotion and exited the merchant’s stall to see what was going on. She saw Richmond and Gavan squaring off against a gang of small children, the eldest of which could not have been more than ten or eleven years old. In the middle of the group, a little red-haired girl wept loudly.
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 101