Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Garret’s eyes tracked Lyssa as she scurried after the old woman, happily leafing through all the merchant had to show her. Scarves joined the pile, and more fabric, and even hose. Ribbons joined the hose. Garret knew he was about to spend a good deal of money but he truthfully didn’t care; he’d never had so much fun spending it.

  It was a small price to pay for such happiness.

  It was another hour before they finally left the merchant’s shop, with Garret carrying a big trunk over one broad shoulder. The trunk wasn’t full because he was certain they weren’t finished shopping, and he was right. Passing by the tanner as the street bustled around them, they noted that the man had several pairs of doe-skin slippers displayed, shoes he could size to the lady who wished to purchase them, and he sized two pairs for Lyssa. They were durable and well-made, and they joined the rest of the booty in the trunk. The trunk then went back over Garret’s shoulder as they continued down the dusty road on the hunt for more treasures.

  “W-Would you like for me to help you carry the trunk?” Lyssa asked as they walked beneath the shade of a big yew tree, the only tree on the entire street. “I-It must be getting quite heavy by now.”

  He looked at her, grinning. “Do you think you can carry it?”

  She laughed softly. “I-I did not mean by myself,” she said. “B-But I can take one end of it and you can take the other. I-It would not be so much of a burden for you.”

  He shook his head, his gaze upon her was soft. “It is no burden,” he said quietly. “It is pure joy. I have waited many years to carry my lady’s trunk.”

  Lyssa gazed up at him, her cheeks flushing a gentle pink. “H-Has there ever been another lady for you?” she asked. Then, she quickly lowered her head. “T-That was a foolish question. P-Please forgive me.”

  Reaching out his free hand, Garret took her fingers in his. It was bold and he knew it, to do such a thing in public but, at the moment, he didn’t much care. His bachelor’s heart was warming to this woman by leaps and bounds – her smile, her silly giggle – everything about her had him feeling like he’d never felt before. In this moment, in this space of time, he felt freer than he’d ever felt in his life, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  From a man who had been on the fringe of life and death his entire professional career, he never knew such untroubled moments existed.

  “You are free to ask me whatever you wish,” he told her, his fingers fondling hers. “Nay, there has never been another lady, at least not the way you mean. In my youth, there was one young woman that I was fond of but her parents were not fond of me.”

  Lyssa was very interested. “H-How is that possible? S-Surely any family would be proud to have you for their daughter.”

  He shook his head. “Not this family,” he said. “It seems that I did not have the breeding and political connections that they wanted, so they married her to a man twice her age who did. The last I heard, she was still married and had twelve children.”

  Lyssa’s eyes widened. “T-Twelve children?” she gasped. “G-God’s Bones, I cannot imagine having twelve children.”

  He grinned. “Then you would not have twelve of my sons?”

  There was teasing in the air. Lyssa played along, giving him an expression that suggested she was both shocked and frightened at the mere mention.

  “T-Twelve?” she repeated. “C-Can we not negotiate this number?”

  He laughed. “Absolutely not,” he said, sobering unnaturally fast. “Twelve sons. I demand it.”

  The humor between them was playful, and so very natural, and a mischievous gleam came to her eye. “W-What good are so many sons?” she asked. “D-Daughters are far more valuable. T-Think of the great marriages you could make.”

  He shook his head drolly. “Think of the dowries I would have to pay.”

  She smiled brightly. “T-Take heart; mayhap they would not marry at all and you could save your money. M-My family has a history of spinsters, as evidenced by my Aunt Rose. I-If our daughters do not marry, then you do not have to pay anything at all.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Twelve unmarried women living at home for the rest of my life?” he scoffed. “I would rather live in the barn with the horses than listen to twelve frustrated women for the rest of my days.”

  Lyssa laughed at him, biting her lip and pretending not to when he looked at her. “T-Then mayhap we should reconsider having twelve children,” she said. “M-Mayhap just a few would be sufficient.”

  “For my greatness? If we are only to have a few, then most definitely they must all be sons.”

  “I-I should like to name the first one after me.”

  He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “Lyssa? For a man?”

  She laughed. “N-Nay,” she said firmly. “B-Bose. I-I have always wanted a son named for me. I-I have no brothers, so mayhap it is the only way to carry on something of my name.”

  She had a point. Garret considered it. “Bose de Moray,” he muttered. “I believe I like it.”

  “T-Thank you, my lord.”

  “You are welcome.”

  He said it rather imperiously, as if he was granting her permission, and Lyssa snorted, shaking her head at a man who believed his greatness was rooted in the number of sons he had and, better still, that he had control over what his wife would name them. But that was the way most men thought, or so she’d been told, and the truth was that she really didn’t mind. Up until a few days ago, she wasn’t sure she would ever marry much less have children, so if Garret wanted to feel as if he had control over their children and their names, then she was happy to let him.

  For certain, it was all a fantastic dream just like the rest of this life she was now living.

  It was magical.

  But thoughts of children and marriage brought her to thoughts of their coming separation. As she’d been told, Garret had arranged for her to take a position at Lioncross Abbey Castle, seat of the great de Lohr family. As happy and thrilled as she was to be leaving Colchester, Lioncross Abbey was on the Welsh Marches and that seemed like a million miles away from London and from Garret. Certainly, it was far enough that she would not see him with any frequency and that concerned her.

  “M-May I ask a question, Garret?” she asked quietly.

  He looked at her. “You need not ask my permission to ask a question,” he said. “You are free to speak to me of anything you wish.”

  Her smile was back, but it was soft and warm. “N-No one has ever said that to me.”

  “What?”

  “T-That I am free to speak. M-My mother used to tell me that my stammer made her head hurt. S-She would encourage me not to speak.”

  He squeezed her fingers, still tucked in her hand. “Your stammer does not make my head hurt,” he said. “I have told you before that it makes no difference to me.”

  “T-Then you are exceptionally gracious.”

  “Have you ever practiced your speech without a stammer? I wonder if there are those who can teach you to speak without it.”

  She shrugged. “I-I do not know. B-But I confess that sometimes I would like to speak as everyone else does. I-I have often wondered… well, if it is a habit I have never been able to break and nothing more. M-My tongue and my teeth are like anyone else’s, so I do not believe it is a defect. B-But my stammer grows worse when I am nervous or frightened, yet in times like this… I-I should not like for you to marry a woman that less-accepting men may whisper about. A-As if you have married someone… imperfect.”

  He came to a halt, looking at her. “Is that what you have been told? That you are imperfect?”

  Now, it was her turn to squeeze his hand. “Y-You cannot deny that my speech is less than perfect.”

  He scowled. “Lyssa, I am not sure who ever told you that you were imperfect, but you are by far the most perfectly alluring and lovely woman I have ever met. I would not be courting you if I did not think so.”

  The flush in her cheeks was back. “I-I suppose I am still in disb
elief that so great a man should want to court me,” she said. “N-No man has ever wanted to court me. Y-You are the very first.”

  “And the very last,” he told her, resuming their walk. “Never doubt that my intentions are true, Lyssa. Not ever.”

  “I-I will not, I swear it.”

  He tugged on her hand, gently, and ended up pulling her up against him. She wound both arms around his big right arm, holding him snuggly as they continued towards the end of the street. Lyssa could feel his big body against hers, her arms all wounded up around his muscular arm. To her, it was just like heaven. She’d never been so proud to be with anyone, a man who didn’t see any flaws in her.

  Wasn’t that what love was like? She’d heard that once, that men and women in love only saw the perfection in each other. She’d known Garret all but two days but, still, she only saw the man’s perfection. To her, there was no man more handsome or more kind, and her heart felt as if it were fluttering wildly in her chest, as if it would fly away completely if she gave it the chance. Boldly, she placed her cheek against his arm, feeling the warmth of his enormous bicep against her cheek.

  “A-About my question,” she said, returning to the original subject. “H-How long shall I stay at Lioncross Abbey Castle?”

  They were nearing the edge of the street where there were two rather larger stalls that carried exotic merchandise from France and beyond. Garret slowed his pace as he looked at the wares on display at the stall on his right. But more than that, he was relishing the feel of Lyssa against him. God, he needed this time with her. He needed these moments with her. He looked down at her head against his arm, thinking this was what he wanted for the rest of his life – her against him, just as she was now. Trusting. Sweet.

  His.

  It made her question all the more difficult to answer.

  “Not too long, hopefully,” he said. “There are things going on here in London that I must be part of and my responsibilities at Westminster keep me busy, so I hope it will not be too long before I can return for you.”

  She was silent a moment. “W-We hardly know each other,” she said. “W-We will have to come to know each other again if I remain at Lioncross for too long.”

  He had thought about that, too. That was perhaps the biggest issue he had with sending her so far away, but it could not be helped. He’d hardly spent any time with the woman but, already, he was missing her.

  “It will not be so bad,” he said, trying to sound positive. “I can court you all over again. Mayhap, the time away from each other will even make you long for me and adore me all the more. You will spend your days thinking of me and your nights dreaming of me so that when I come to you again, you will fall into my arms regardless of how long it has been.”

  She lifted her head from his arm, gazing up at him with those wide beautiful eyes he found utterly mesmerizing. “I will fall into your arms in any case,” she said softly, “and I shall wait every day for your return.”

  He stared at her; the moment between them had become warm and fluid, swirling around them, flowing through him as if sheer energy were pulsing through every vein in his body. She was holding on to his arm but, suddenly, that arm was around her, pulling her soft body up against his. He held her; the first time he had truly held her and all he could do was look into that face and see his future reflecting in her eyes.

  She was his future.

  “Do you realize you just spoke to me without a stammer?” he asked huskily.

  She blinked as if she did not understand the question. “T-That is not possible.”

  Garret heard the stammer in her voice again and was sorry he’d mentioned it. Not that it mattered, but he did find it rather remarkable that in a moment of warmth between them, perfect speech met his ears. Perhaps she hadn’t stammered; perhaps she had and he’d only heard perfection. For certain, he was coming to think there was nothing imperfect about her in any way.

  In fact, he was thinking very much on kissing her as he gazed down at the woman. Something was pulling him towards her but he didn’t want their first kiss to be a spectacle for all to see. Fighting the urge to suckle on her sweet lips, he forced himself to look away.

  “Then I must have misheard you,” he said belatedly, trying to distract himself from thoughts of her tender lips, calling to him. “Shall we look at this merchant? Mayhap there is something more you would like to have.”

  He started to walk but Lyssa dug her heels in. “N-Nay,” she said. “I-I have enough, truly. Y-You have already been quite generous today.”

  “That is of little consequence. If you need more, we shall find what more you need.”

  Lyssa shook her head, tugging on him so he wouldn’t try to force her into spending more of his money. “I-I have all I need, I assure you.” She paused. “B-But I am rather hungry. D-Do you suppose we could find something to eat?”

  Garret looked around, getting his bearings of where the street was in relation to any taverns he might be aware of in the area. It was well past the nooning meal and he was a little hungry, too. Aldergate Road was just south of them and there were some popular taverns there, certainly a place where they could find a meal and perhaps spend more time to talk before he had to return her to The Wix. He knew he had to return her but, God help him, he didn’t want to be separated from her, not even to return her home. He wanted to stay just as they were, forever.

  But the reality was that, at some point, a separation would come, as disappointing as it was. And another reality was that they were both hungry. He focused on the taverns that were on the street to the south and a gleam came to his eye.

  “I think I know a place,” he said.

  Her features lit up. “A-Another tavern? O-Or can we return to The Laughing Gravy?”

  He laughed softly. “There are many taverns in London other than The Laughing Gravy,” he said. “Be adventurous. Try another one.”

  “W-Will it have entertainment?”

  “Possibly.”

  She grinned. “I-I am in your hands, my lord. I trust you.”

  His smile faded, thinking on all of the implications that statement held. She trusted him; that was a good thing. But did he trust himself around her?

  Increasingly, the answer was more than likely not.

  In truth, he wasn’t all that distressed about it.

  *

  The Drunken Cock Inn

  The name was only marginally less strange than The Laughing Gravy, but Lyssa didn’t notice the odd name, the rather low-class patrons, or the smell of rubbish that seemed to come forth from the very walls. The only thing that mattered to her was the fact that the moment they entered, with Garret all but shoving people out of the way, there were two wenches standing on stools and singing loudly to a crowd of customers who were more interested in looking up the women’s skirts than in the song they were singing.

  “Show us yer drunken cock, Nessie!”

  Shouts like that abounded and the room would burst into laughter when the wenches would lift their skirts to their knees, teasingly, but no higher. It was naughty fun, Lyssa thought, but Garret wasn’t so sure. Before they even found a table inside the crowded inn, he was starting to think that it wasn’t such a good idea to bring Lyssa to such a bawdy place. When he thought to suggest that they perhaps find their meal elsewhere, he looked down at Lyssa and caught the expression on her face. Pure, unadulterated joy.

  There was no way she was leaving.

  With a grunt of resignation, he found a table for them back near the window overlooking the street. Trouble was, there were already people there and he’d had to forcibly remove them as Lyssa stood by with big eyes, watching Garret toss two men away from the table and then challenging them to fight back. Wisely, they didn’t, and Garret confiscated the table for Lyssa, tossing the remains of the previous meal onto the floor and then bellowing for a serving wench. Two women scrambled in his direction.

  “What’ll it be, m’lord?” the older of the pair asked. She was round, wi
th wild red hair, and missing teeth. “A drink for you and your lady?”

  Garret nodded, setting the trunk on to the ground at his feet and shoving it partially under the table. “What do you have that is good?” he asked. “And I do not mean the cheap product the rest of the room is drinking. What do you have that costs money?”

  The wench’s gaze moved over Garret, then to Lyssa, and back again. She knew customers and could tell that the knight had money to spend. “This lot is drinking ale we brew in the stable,” she said. “It tastes like horses. But for you… there is some good Spanish wine we keep just for men such as yourself.”

  “Bring it. And what do you have to eat?”

  As the younger wench went running for the wine, the older wench cocked her head. “This lot has been eating boiled mutton that’s a week old,” she said, snorting at the thought of people not caring what they were ingesting. “But the tavernkeeper’s wife just made a brymlent. It smells good!”

  Garret frowned. “What is that?”

  Lyssa spoke up. “A-A fish and fruit pie,” she said. “I-If it is made correctly, it is quite good.”

  He looked at her, unsure he wanted to try a fish and fruit pie, but he waved the older wench onward. “Bring that, too,” he said, “and anything else you have in the kitchens that might be good to eat.”

  The older wench sauntered away. As Lyssa watched the singing wenches finish their song, Garret removed his heavy leather gloves and kicked the trunk even further underneath the table. He didn’t want to advertise the fact that he had a trunk full of goods to the thieving rabble that undoubtedly populated a place like this. In fact, he started looking around, seeing the clientele, and turned to Lyssa.

  “I can find a better tavern for you,” he said, trying to press his point again. “I have been to this place before but only with my men, so it did not occur to me that it is not a place for a lady.”

  But Lyssa grinned. “I-I think it is fascinating,” she said. “B-Besides… nothing can happen to me with my protector about. I-I am not concerned.”

  He looked at her and, seeing the smile on her face, gave in to the urge to put his arm around her. He’d been so careful displaying his affection up until this point, or at least moderately careful. But in this establishment full of the dregs of London, he saw no reason not to show his fondness for the lady. He was finished showing restraint. Therefore, a big arm went around her, pulling her chair right up against his.