Lords of Eire: An Irish Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Gaston de Russe had sacrificed much for England during this lifetime and that acumen was well-respected, especially by a young king. Gaston had turned the tides at the Battle of Bosworth so Henry’s father, also Henry, could become king.

  Were it not for Gaston, it was possible that Henry VIII would have never been.

  Therefore, the king sought him out on many things, but Gaston wasn’t sure why he was here this time. The missives he’d sent him over the past couple of months had mentioned trouble in Ireland but nothing more. Perhaps there was something so pressing with Ireland that it could not wait. Gaston knew there were issues in Eire, with the English managing the only uncontested strip of land in the entire country called The Pale.

  He suspected that was why the king had come.

  “Cort is acting in our best interests, not Henry’s,” he said. “He knows Henry very well, considering he spends a good deal of time with the man. If he wants to keep Henry’s army out of Deverill, then that is his decision. But Henry hates it when I recall Cort home. It is like this great tug-of-war with my son; Henry wants him and I want him. Mayhap Henry is here to fight me for Cort.”

  Remington was down on her knees, helping him pull on his boots. “He would lose.”

  Gaston nodded firmly. “He likes to have Cort with him because, he says, he is much like me,” he said. “He must have a de Russe in his retinue and he sends the man to lead his armies whenever he has need of military action.”

  “I know.”

  “Cort is my son and leads my armies. I want him here.”

  “I know, Gaston.”

  “If he wants my son, he cannot have him.”

  “You will not know what he wants until you speak with him.”

  With his boots secured, Gaston stood up, slowly. Remington collected a heavy robe for him, leather and lined with fur that went from his neck to his feet. It was a sharp piece of clothing, very much befitting the Duke of Warminster. It also kept him quite warm, which his poor health required. She smiled at him and he pulled her into his arms, kissing her sweetly before releasing her.

  “My sweet angel,” he murmured. “How I have troubled you all of these years.”

  She patted his cheek. “Not much, you haven’t,” she said, teasing him. “Come along, now. The king awaits.”

  They were just leaving the chamber when a wail arose from his bed as Rosemarie, realizing her Opi wasn’t there, began to cry. With a grin, Remington went to soothe the grandchildren while Gaston continued on to the hall alone, however slowly. It was true that he was weary, his illness making him so, but it was also true that he wasn’t looking forward to whatever the king had in mind.

  He would soon find out.

  “Gaston!”

  The man born Henry Tudor, now King of England, greeted Gaston as one would a beloved relative. Henry was tall and athletic, with a crown of red hair. When he smiled, he had a mouthful of big teeth, slightly crooked. He grinned broadly as he reached Gaston.

  “I do not know why men tell me you are in poor health,” Henry said, looking him over. “You look fine and fit to me. How are you feeling these days?”

  Gaston smiled weakly at the enthusiastic monarch. Henry had a big personality, boisterous and loud at times. But he was also highly intelligent and talented, which made for an interesting combination. Gaston couldn’t imagine what the man was going to be like in ten or even twenty years because he had such a big presence, but he was the powerful monarch that England needed.

  “I am well, your grace,” he said. “Although you are most welcome at Deverill, I will admit that I am surprised to see you. Why did you not tell me you were coming?”

  Henry grinned. “Because I did not want to forewarn you. I want Cort back.”

  “That’s exactly what I told my wife.”

  “Did you tell her that I would fight you for him?”

  Gaston chuckled. “I did, in fact,” he said. “Is that what you intend to do?”

  Henry shook his head. “God knows, I should,” he said. “I should beat you within an inch of your life, but I will not. I love you too much. Let us sit, Gaston. I have much I wish to discuss with you.”

  Gaston moved towards one of the cushioned chairs that were positioned by the hearth. There was always a cushioned chair there for him, but Henry took it before he could get to it, leaving him to plant his bulk on one of the other, less comfortable chairs. It was either that or sit in a woman’s tiny chair and he couldn’t get his body into one, so he took one of the bigger chairs with the hard bottom. He sat with a grunt.

  “How are you feeling these days, Gaston?” Henry asked, concern evident. “I have heard you were much worse last year.”

  Gaston nodded. “I was,” he said, though he didn’t like to discuss his health. “But I am better. And I hear your health has been excellent.”

  It was his way of veering the focus off of him and Henry took the bait. He held out his arms. “Look at me,” he said. “Do I not look magnificent?”

  “Indeed.”

  The answer pleased Henry and he lowered his arms. “It is not every man I will come to, Gaston, but you are an exception,” he said. “I came because I need your help.”

  “You have it, Your Grace.”

  Henry held up a hand to beg his patience. “Let me explain before you commit yourself,” he said. “As you know, there has been some difficulty in the administration of my Irish holdings.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you also know that I have a very valuable Irish hostage?”

  Gaston shook his head. “Who?”

  Henry sat back in the comfortable chair, sinking back on the cushions as if to rub it in Gaston’s face that he had the best chair.

  “Your good friends, the House of de Winter, has had Irish lands for more than two hundred years,” he said. “They have a long line of legacy knights from the House of MacRohan.”

  Gaston understood. “I know,” he said. “There has been a long line of high warriors who have served de Winter and Brend MacRohan is the latest one. He is an excellent knight.”

  Henry nodded. “That is true, but the reality is that the MacRohan clan is Irish to the bone,” he said. “In fact, de Winter has taken the daughter of the chief of Clan MacRohan as a hostage to ensure their compliance with their legacy oath. It is an unusual step with them, but a necessary one. Mostly because Denys de Winter believes MacRohan may be leaning towards rebellion. After two hundred years of servitude to de Winter, Denys believes they plan to assert their independence.”

  That was interesting but not surprising news given the turmoil in Ireland right now. Gaston sat back in the chair, contemplating that possibility.

  “Two hundred years of servitude is apt to do that to anyone,” he said truthfully. “I have met two of the MacRohan knights, Brend and his father, and Brend is mayhap more English than I am.”

  Henry nodded impatiently. “I know Brend,” he said. “He’s a big man with a big mouth.”

  “And loyal to England.”

  “He came here when he was five years of age and was raised at Narborough Castle, a de Winter holding,” Henry pointed out. “That still makes him Irish by birth.”

  Gaston scratched his cheek. “You said you needed my help,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

  Henry had a fiery temper, something he was trying to keep at bay as he discussed Ireland and those Irish rebels he was so angry with.

  “The hostage is Brend MacRohan’s sister, Dera,” he said. “She is being treated like a guest so Brend hasn’t shown any aggression with de Winter holding her, but he is about to be shipped back to Ireland because the de Winter properties are in jeopardy. In fact, we received word that they lost one of their garrisons at Black Cove. Even if MacRohan isn’t actively rebelling, their allies are. The Pale is in danger.”

  “The Pale” was the only strip of land in Ireland that the English ruled uncontested, but the pressure from the Irish to leave was getting stronger by the day. The House of
de Winter had lands on the extreme north end of it, as the king said, and had for over two hundred years. They owned the lands in and around Blackrock, north of Drogheda, including four big castles that Clan MacRohan manned for them.

  They were involved in Ireland more than most Norman families.

  “It is not just de Winter’s problem from what I’m hearing,” Gaston said quietly. “Kildare, Wexford, and all of the Norman properties are having issue.”

  “That is true,” Henry said, “but de Winter seems to be particularly problematic because of MacRohan. The family has ancient bloodlines and has always been in the role of leadership in Ireland in spite of their English ties. They are much respected, but they walk the fine line of being seen as traitors.”

  Gaston shook his head. “Long ago, a de Winter saved a MacRohan chieftain, so their servitude is an oath of debt.” He paused thoughtfully. “It is possible that MacRohan believes the debt may finally be paid.”

  Henry shook his head. “I believe that may be the case and Dera MacRohan may hold the key to that.”

  Gaston’s eyebrows lifted. “What makes you think so?”

  “Because she’s a warrior woman in the same league as Queen Maeve, the warrior queen of Connacht,” he said. “Dera is no fading flower. That is why de Winter brought her to England as a hostage. Denys feels that Dera could very well inspire, if not lead, such a rebellion.”

  “What do you want Cort to do about it?”

  Henry had a somewhat mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I need Cort for something very special, Gaston. Something… unusual.”

  “Out with it.”

  “I want him to get the answers to our questions from her.”

  “Can’t Denys do that?”

  Henry shook his head. “Denys is a married man.”

  That put Gaston on his guard. “Henry, I’ll not permit Cord to marry the woman,” he said sternly. “That’s outrageous. It is also illegal for an Englishman to marry an Irishwoman, as you well know.”

  Henry didn’t flinch at the fact that Gaston called him by his given name. No formalities, no address of respect. Gaston was perhaps the only man in England who could get away with such a thing. He put up a soothing hand.

  “Not to marry her, of course,” he said. “But let us be honest, Gaston; Cort is a man much sought after. There isn’t one woman in my court that does not fall down at his feet. He has women following him around by the herds and he has known to be quite seductive when he puts his mind to it.”

  Gaston began to realize what the king was driving at. “Is that what you want him to do? Seduce her to get the answers from her?”

  “Please, Gaston. Dera MacRohan could hold the key to everything that is happening in Ireland, at least in the north near Dundalk. That is the domain of MacRohan.”

  Gaston looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “And you think having Cort seduce the woman will work?”

  Henry could see how worked up Gaston was, which wasn’t a good sign. He needed the man to see his point.

  “Possibly,” he said. “All I know is that we have to try. Otherwise, we are sending thousands of Englishmen to their shores, possibly to be murdered. We must know what the Irish are planning.”

  Gaston grunted, sitting back in his chair and rubbing at his forehead. “And you want my son to… to prostitute himself to discover what he can?”

  “You do not have to put it that way.”

  Gaston stopped rubbing his forehead and looked sharply at him. “How else should I put it? Because that is exactly what you are asking.”

  “What is the difference if I ask a man to kill for my cause or seduce a woman for it? There is no difference.”

  He had a point, sort of. Gaston could see that the relationship between a man and a woman was somewhat lost on Henry, probably because he’d married a woman out of duty, not love. He’d lost sight of the precious relationship between a man and a woman, or perhaps he never even really grasped it. Whatever the case, Gaston didn’t like using Cord for something he considered cheap.

  But he also understood that in a time of war, all methods were necessary.

  God only knew, in his past, that was his mantra.

  He still didn’t like it.

  “What do you intend to do, then?” he asked. “Send him to Narborough?”

  Henry was watching Gaston closely, watching for any signs of a fight and relieved to realize he wasn’t going to have to spar with the man more than he had. Gaston was an old war dog who understood these things better than most.

  Thank God.

  “Aye,” Henry said. “Summon Cort and I will tell him personally.”

  That gave Gaston pause. “Nay,” he said. “Let me do it. Tell me exactly what you want from him and I will relay it. He is not going to like this, you know. Better let me be the object of his anger than you.”

  Henry wasn’t so sure. “He is the knight of the realm, Gaston,” he said. “He is sworn to obey, no matter what the task.”

  “I realize that.”

  “This is a command from his king.”

  “I will make sure he understands that.”

  Henry paused. “Forgive me, Gaston, but you are treating him like a child,” he said. “Why must you deliver an order from me? I am perfectly capable of delivering it myself, you know.”

  Gaston sighed sharply. “Because I do not wish to see my hotheaded son end up in the vault because he swung his fist at you,” he said frankly. “You know Cort. You know he has a temper, which he did not get from me, by the way. Nor did he get it from his mother. He had an aunt, however, that was a spitfire and I suspect, somehow, Cort has some of his Aunt Rory in him. When he was a child, he was nearly uncontrollable. Brilliant and cheeky, but uncontrollable.”

  Henry fought off a grin. “I’ve often heard myself described the same way,” he said. “Therefore, I understand Cort. We’ve practically grown up together, he and I. Have you forgotten?”

  Gaston shook his head. “Of course not. And that is the problem.”

  “What problem?”

  “He views you as more of a family member. It makes him easier to misbehave with you.”

  Henry’s grin broke through. “He will never actually go that far, Gaston. He has never shown me any insolence.”

  “There is always a first time.”

  “How would it be if we told him of his directive together?”

  Gaston nodded with resignation. “I will send for him.”

  As a servant ran to find Cort, who was outside on the walls of Deverill Castle, food was brought into the hall and Henry took to gorging himself on stuffed eggs and wine. Gaston took the opportunity to steal is chair back from the king and he sat there, pondering the coming meeting with his son and wondering, precisely, how Cort was going to react.

  He honestly didn’t know.

  Cort was exactly what he’d told Henry – brilliant, cheeky, and full of fire. He’d been that way since the moment of his birth. With his mother’s coloring and his father’s size and build, he was an astonishing example of a man and if anyone could seduce an Irish rebel, it would be Cort. He not only had the appearance of a god with his copper curls and big muscles, but he had sweet and gentle manners when he wanted to.

  Women loved it.

  There had been many a time when Cort had charmed his mother out of punishing him and took delight in it. The other children used to hide behind Cort, knowing he could get around their mother when no one else could. Although Gaston loved all of his children equally, there was something about Cort that softened his heart and enraged him all at the same time.

  Cortland Henry Hubert de Russe.

  He was even named for the king’s father.

  But it wouldn’t get him out of trouble if he threw a punch.

  When the door to the great hall finally opened to reveal Cort in the flesh, Gaston had to take a deep breath.

  The situation was about to get interesting.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Is she unbearably ugly
?”

  Henry blinked in surprise. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear.

  “Nay, Cort,” he said. “By all accounts, she is a lovely woman.”

  “Woof, woof.”

  “Cort, truly, she’s not unbearably ugly. I swear it.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  Henry was growing frustrated. “Because others have told me!”

  Cort waved his hand at the man as if he didn’t believe a word of it. “If you are calling upon me to seduce her to learn her secrets, then clearly, you are summoning the very best you have,” he said. “My assumption is that if she was anything of worth, someone would have already seduced her and wrung the information out of her by now. Therefore, she must be a dog.”

  Henry wasn’t quite sure what to say. Cort’s arrogance was greatly humorous but he didn’t want to laugh because he knew the man was serious. Cort was gorgeous and he knew it, so the arrogance wasn’t without merit. Therefore, Henry shook his head.

  “Cort, I am sure she’s not a dog,” he said. “She is Brend MacRohan’s sister. You and Brend are good friends.”

  “That is true, but that does not mean his sister is worth looking at.”

  “Even if she is not, this is your task,” Henry said impatiently. “Seduce the woman and find out what you can about the rising Irish rebellion. De Winter believes that MacRohan will soon rebel, and we must know if this is true. MacRohan has thousands and we need them if we are to bolster The Pale.”

  “What you mean is that you need me to save The Pale.”

  Henry rolled his eyes at that point, looking to Gaston, who had an ‘I told you so’ expression on his face. Seeing that he had no support from Gaston, Henry began to harden.

  “Think what you will, but you will not fail,” he said. “This is as important a task as I have ever asked of you, Cort. You will succeed.”

  Cort was standing next to the table filled with food. At least, it had been filled with food until Henry and his courtiers swarmed over it like a plague of locusts. There was very little remaining, but there were a few stuffed eggs left and when Henry turned in Cort’s direction, Cort deliberately shoved all of the eggs into his mouth so that Henry would not get the last of them. As a result, his mouth was so full that it took him a moment to chew, swallow, and reply.