Lords of the Kingdom

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Aubria and Colton had no problem being handed over to their uncle. They wanted to see the horses and Sutton took them both over to where the horses were being tended. Already, they were screaming to pet the animals. Amalie watched them go before returning her attention to her husband.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” she asked, winding her hands into one of his huge gloves. “Why do you look so?”

  He took her soft, warm hands and brought them to his lips. The dark blue eyes were intense; he wanted to deliver the news as without gloom or doom or fanfare. He didn’t want to upset her any more than he had to because he knew, for a fact, that she was going to be devastated. He was devastated, too. He kissed her hands gently.

  “I wanted to tell you what Sutton has told me,” he said softly. “As you have seen, there are many knights here today. Not all of those men are reputable; in fact, there are several I would classify as unscrupulous and dangerous.”

  Her brow furrowed slightly. “What is wrong?” she wanted to know, growing outraged. “Is there a knight who has made threats against you?”

  He grinned. “Nay, my angel,” he kissed her hands again. “At least, there is no one who has been brave enough to threaten me to my face.”

  “If there was, you would surely tell me so that I might have a word with this man.”

  He broke down into soft laughter. “You would defend me?”

  “I would kill him.”

  “I believe you.”

  She laughed softly, watching him kiss her hands. “If that is not the case, then what is it?”

  His smile faded once more as the dark blue eyes grew sorrowful yet furious at the same time. It was a strange combination.

  “Sutton saw Sorrell with the group of knights with Billingham,” he said quietly. “I wanted you to know so that you were not surprised. I want you to be prepared.”

  Amalie stared at him, absorbing his words. At first, they didn’t quite register, words she understood but held without impact; then, the reality of what he was telling her began to sink in and Weston could literally see the transformation come over her.

  Weston watched her eyes widen, her face pale, and then her body tense to dramatic proportions. Amalie tried to yank her hands away and he could see the look in her eyes, like a panicked animal. He wouldn’t let her pull away – instead, he threw his arms around her and kept her pinned in a crushing embrace. As the panicked gasps began to come, he whispered firmly in her ear.

  “He cannot harm you, my angel,” he insisted. “The man cannot get near you. I swear upon my oath as your husband that I will kill him before I let him frighten or upset you in any way. Do you believe me?”

  She gazed up at him with a terrorized expression, struggling to pull away but realizing his iron grip was unbreakable. Swarmed with fear, she broke down into hot, frightened tears.

  “Aye,” she wept. “I know… you will not let him harm me, but….”

  She trailed off, unable to continue. He readjusted his hold on her to get a better grip and pulled her against his enormous torso. His dark blue eyes blazed at her.

  “Easy, lady, easy,” he soothed, trying desperately to calm her before she exploded out of control. “I know you are frightened but you must be strong. He cannot hurt you, I swear it.”

  She began wiping furiously at her face, struggling to stop the tears. “Oh… Weston,” she breathed. “Why is he here?”

  He held her as she labored to control her fear. “He came to compete just like any other knight,” he said honestly. “He is entitled to compete just as I am.”

  She shook her head, so hard that her careful hairstyle began to unravel. “Please,” she begged. “I want to go. Please; let us go home.”

  He could only think to pull her into his embrace once more to soothe her hysteria. “Nay,” he murmured. “We will not go. There is nothing to fear, for I can tell you for a fact that I intend to kill the man before this day is out.”

  Her panicked gasps turned into something more, even more horrifying, and she pulled away from him, her hands to his face.

  “I did not ask this of you,” she sobbed. “I never asked this of you. Why do you say such things?”

  He gazed into her frightened face. “For this very reason,” he whispered. “I look at you and see the thing most precious in the world to me. I see blind fear on your face and it enrages me like nothing else. The cause of that fear must be eliminated; as a husband, it is my pleasure and my duty. It is the greatest single goal of my life. Do you believe me?”

  Wide-eyed, cheeks damp with tears, Amalie nodded slowly but he could tell that she was unbalanced. She had a wild-eyed look about her in spite of the fact that she was calming.

  “Good,” he kissed her forehead, her wet cheek. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he began to lead her towards the large tent. “Now, I want you to lie down and rest for awhile. Esma and my mother can tend the children while you sleep.”

  Amalie clutched his hands. “Where are you going?” she half-demanded, half-begged. “Please do not leave me. I do not want you to leave me.”

  He gave her a squeeze as they entered the tent. “There is a meeting at sundown for all competitors,” he told her. “I must attend the meeting so….”

  “Nay!” she threw her arms around his waist, her face pressed against his cold metal breastplate. “Do not leave me. Please!”

  He sighed faintly, very quickly realizing that there would be no way he could argue or compromise his way out of this. She was shaken and terrified, rightfully so, and those emotions were only compounded by the misery of the early pregnancy. He had no choice but to stay; if he were to leave her, she would panic and he had no way of knowing what she would do. He didn’t even want to think about it.

  He put his arms around her and took her into the tent, leading her over to the bed that had been fashioned out of a traveling mattress stuffed with grass and straw, heavy furs, pillows and linens. It was big and comfortable.

  “Lie down, my angel,” he said, gently guiding her onto the bed. “I will not leave your side, I promise.”

  She still clutched his hands even as he sat her on the bed. “Do you swear it?”

  “I do.”

  Amalie obediently lay down, but her big green eyes were fixed on him as if afraid he was going to go back on his word and run from the tent. She still hadn’t let go of his hands. As she lay her head down on the fluffy silk pillow, she suddenly burst into fresh tears.

  “I am sorry, West,” she sobbed. “I am ridiculous, I know it. But I cannot help it.”

  He leaned over her, kissing her head as he managed to remove one hand from her grasp and began to unfasten his plate armor.

  “You are nothing of the kind,” he murmured. “You have been dealing with a miserable pregnancy, two very small children, and a husband who sorely taxes your patience. I do not know how you find the strength to put up with me.”

  Her tears were fading as she gazed up at him. “Surely you jest,” she sniffled, a smile coming to her pale lips as her hand went to his cheek. “You are my angel. I do not know what I would do without you.”

  He returned her smile, removing the breastplate and casting it onto the grassy floor as he leaned down and kissed her again. Since she wouldn’t let go of his hand, he brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them as he sat down on the bed beside her.

  Very shortly, he was lying beside her, his lips feasting on her soft mouth, his hands moving to intimate places. She was dressed in a brilliant green surcoat but he wedged his hands in behind her and unfastened the back of the gown, eventually rolling her over onto her stomach and kissing her exposed skin as he removed the coat.

  As he hoped, she began to calm as his gentle hands and tender mouth worked their magic. She was tense, trembling with fear, and his enormous hands massaged her naked shoulders and back. Having been married to the woman for four years, he knew her fairly well and was usually able to relax her this way. She was a slave to a back massage. But this time, it was d
ifferent; she was terrified and panicked, and he didn’t blame her. As he straddled her slender body and rubbed her shoulders, his mind began to wander to Sorrell.

  He would see the man at some point, of that he had no doubt. It was going to be a struggle not to rush at him and snap his neck. Murder would not be condoned but in this lawless land, vengeance was commonplace. No one would deny a husband his retribution against a man who assaulted his wife. Moreover, he was the Constable of the Northern Dales. He was the law.

  Sorrell, as far as he knew, had no idea that de Royans had married Lady Amalie, which was the first thing Weston intended to tell the man when he saw him. He wanted to see the fear in the man’s eyes and take great pleasure in it. After that, Sorrell would know that his hours on this earth were numbered. Weston de Royans was out for blood and no man would survive his wrath. Weston wasn’t sure how or when he would accomplish his vengeance yet, but it would happen. At a time of his choosing, Sorrell would pay for every horrible thing he did to Amalie.

  As Weston thought on the pain and agony he would bring about, his hands must have tightened on Amalie. She was able to feel his tension and she turned her head slightly to look up at him.

  “West?” she murmured, relaxed and limp after her bout with panic. “What is wrong, sweetheart?”

  He forced a smile. “Nothing,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Everything is fine.”

  Before she could press him, he began to kiss her sensually, his mouth moving along her cheek to her ear and onto her naked shoulders. Even though her surcoat was unfastened to the waist, she was still clothed in it and he lay on top of her, his big hands reaching under her skirts to pull her legs apart so he could settle his bulk down between them.

  As Amalie groaned softly, his hands snaked up the skirt, finding her pantalets and pulling them down to her knees. Then he tossed her skirts up, nearly covering her head, as he began to nibble on her smooth, round buttocks.

  Amalie gasped as he put his hands underneath her pelvis and lifted her up, shoving his face into the junction between her legs. He listened to her pant as he licked her mercilessly, knowing exactly how much she could take before she was ready to climax. He played with her, his fingers in the private grooves of her body as he released his breeches and his great organ burst forth, hard and heated. Pulling her up by the pelvis, he eased into her slick and waiting body from behind.

  Amalie groaned at his entry, burying her face in the pillow as he thrust into her. As the gentle afternoon waned outside, Weston made love to his wife, thinking only of the great love he felt for her. He refused to let anything else enter his mind. After they climaxed together, he kissed her and hugged her until she drifted off to sleep.

  When Weston heard her deep, heavy breathing, he knew she was not likely to wake up easily, so he carefully climbed from the bed and refastened his breeches. Collecting his breastplate and other pieces of mail that had come off in the heat of passion, he quietly moved out of the tent.

  It was quiet and relatively sunny outside with the huge oak tree creating lovely and muted shade across the tents. Weston looked around for his brother; Sutton was nowhere to be found but his spied his children by the base of another oak tree several dozen yards away with his mother and Esma watching over them. He made his way over to them, his armor slung up over one enormous shoulder.

  “Do you know where Sutton has gone?” he asked his mother.

  Elizabeth looked up from Colton and the small sword he was swinging around. “Nay, Weston,” she said. “He left the children with me and said he had business to attend to.”

  Weston nodded faintly, looking around over the huge field where the competitors were encamped, attempting to locate his brother in the sea of people and tents. As he was looking off to the west, he noticed the standards of Billingham blowing in the breeze about a quarter of a mile away and he could feel himself tense. At least he knew where Sorrell was camped now, which made it easier for him to keep track of the man.

  Eyes on the distant banners of crimson and yellow, Weston unslung the armor and mail from his shoulder and was preparing to pull the mail coat over his head when Colton suddenly let out a scream.

  The boy was off and running with Esma trying to keep pace. Weston looked to see the sources of his son’s excitement; another competitor had brought his children with him and on a vacant area of the encampment, two small children were trying to drive a goat cart. A bald man in pieces of armor was trying to direct them but the children couldn’t quite get the two goats going in the same direction.

  Esma caught Colton before he could run right into the cart and Colton was loudly unhappy about it. He kept pointing to the cart and crying. Aubria, however, stood quite calmly next to her father, slipping her small hand into his big mitt as she watched her brother throw a fit.

  “Dada,” she turned her sweet little face up to him. “Can I please have a goat cart?”

  Weston smiled down at her; he wasn’t surprised with the request. “Perhaps when we return home,” he told her. “We will have to ask your mother.”

  Aubria wasn’t happy with his reply. “But, Dada,” she insisted. “I love the goats. Can I please have one?”

  He just sighed and picked her up, kissing her soft cheek. “You cannot always have everything you want, Aubria,” he said softly.

  She wrapped her little arms around his neck, looking at him as if she had no idea what he meant. “But I love them.”

  Weston wasn’t quite getting through to her and he just kissed her cheek again. “I know you do,” he set her down gently and resumed with his mail. “Go over and see them, then. But mind you do not get too close. I do not want them to run you over.”

  Aubria looked at the goats and cart in the distance. She was sizing up the children driving the rig; her mind tended to work quite cunningly at times in spite of her young age.

  “I will go ask them if I can have their goats,” she said decisively. “They will want to give them to me.”

  Weston lifted an eyebrow at her. “They will?”

  She nodded firmly. “I will let them be my friend if they give me the goats.”

  Weston shook his head at her, fighting off a grin. “Angel, those goats belong to those children. They are pets.” He bent down so he could look her in the eye. “They love the goats, too. Perhaps they do not want to give them away.”

  Aubria was undeterred. “They will want to give them to me. I will love them more.”

  Weston scratched his head in a doubtful gesture, preparing a reply she would hopefully understand, when she abruptly charged off. Aubria lived in a world where everyone did as she wanted and she had no enemies. She was the queen. So Weston gave up trying to talk her out of it, assuming she would learn the disappointment firsthand when the children rejected her demands. As he pulled his mail coat over his head, he caught sight of his mother now standing next to him. He glanced over at her as he straightened out the mail coat, noticing that she was smiling at Aubria.

  “She is the exact image of you as a child,” Elizabeth said softly, watching her bold granddaughter march right up to the children in the goat cart. “She is brave and intelligent. You must be very proud of her.”

  Weston looked over at his mother. She is the exact image of you as a child. Elizabeth had divulged many deep secrets today, perhaps more than she should have. Weston could have kept the illusion going for her, the illusion that Aubria was his flesh and blood, but somehow, he couldn’t seem to do it.

  Now that Elizabeth had told him her most personal secrets, he thought perhaps he might do the same. He found that he wanted to.

  “Since this has been a day of confessions, I also have something to confess,” he looked at his mother as he straightened out the neck of his mail coat. “You must never repeat what I tell you, not ever. Is that clear?”

  Elizabeth gazed at him seriously. “Of course, Weston. I would never repeat something you told me in confidence.”

  Weston stopped fussing with his neck
, his dark blue gaze moving to the beautiful blond girl as she spoke with the two children in the goat cart.

  “I met Amalie when I was assigned to Hedingham Castle as the garrison commander,” he told her quietly. “As you may or may not be aware, her brother is the Duke of Ireland, personal confidant to King Richard. But when Richard fell out of favor with the nobles, they also condemned Amalie’s brother. The man fled to Ireland in fear of his life and left his sister behind at the mercy of the nobles.”

  Elizabeth looked frightened. “Sweet Amalie,” she whispered. “The poor child. What became of her?”

  Weston sighed faintly, watching now as Esma set Colton to his feet and the little boy toddled over to the goat cart where his sister was.

  “She was raped by the first Bolingbroke garrison commander,” he looked at his mother then, the pain evident in his dark blue eyes. “When he was removed and I was assigned, my first introduction to Amalie was when she attempted to kill herself. The rape resulted in a pregnancy, the results of which you see in Aubria. Amalie wanted to die rather than live with the shame. I knew she was determined to kill herself and I did not want the responsibility to be mine if she managed to accomplish it, so I spent most of my time with her to prevent her from doing anything foolish. But during the time I spent with her, I came to know a remarkable woman whom I fell deeply in love with. So I married her and accepted Aubria as my child. It was the best thing I have ever done.”

  Elizabeth gazed at him in shock. “My dear God,” she breathed. “Poor, sweet Amalie. Did you know she was pregnant when you married her, Weston?”

  He nodded. “Aye,” he replied. “When I first took command of Hedingham, I knew she had been brutalized by the previous garrison commander but I did not know she had been raped until much later. In the time we spent together during the first few weeks of our acquaintance, I fell in love with the woman and just as I was preparing to declare my intentions, she committed herself to a convent. I spent four months going to the convent every day to see her and ask for her hand, but every day she turned me away. I was finally able to see her and she confessed the pregnancy. But it did not matter; I loved her so much that I was willing to overlook it. It did not matter at all.”