Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  As the great hall deteriorated into bedlam as several de Royans soldiers moved in to cast out the wounded, Emera found herself hauled out of the keep over the shoulder of a man she could not fight. He held her tightly and her struggles were for naught. Somewhere behind her, she could hear Jessamyn screaming, too, a sure sign that she had also been captured by an enemy knight.

  Gone were Emera’s thoughts of thanking these men who had freed her from the tyranny of her brother-in-law. It seemed to her that she might have traded one kind of tyranny for another. Truthfully, she’d been idiotic to believe otherwise.

  This was war. And she’d been a fool.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Richard will be pleased,” Christopher said. “This was a great victory, Juston.”

  Given that it was evening on the day of the conquest of Bowes, there was a sense of jubilation among the men and Juston permitted his generals to address him informally. But it was also an evening of assessing the situation and securing the castle. They’d been doing that ever since de la Roarke had hit the ground and the gatehouse of Bowes had been claimed by Loxbeare, de Rhydian, and de Dere.

  Now it was a matter of evaluating the state of the castle and the remains of de la Roarke’s men. They had quite a job ahead of them as the cold dusk settled.

  In fact, Christopher had just returned from a sweep of the castle as Juston remained in his tent. He wasn’t a hands-on commander, instead, leaving the details to his trusted generals. He wasn’t one to be bothered by little details that others could just as easily see to.

  “It was a victory long in coming,” Juston said, his tone between unhappiness and disgust. “It took far too long to secure the place. With my tactics, we should have had it secured in ten days or less.”

  “It was a great victory nonetheless.”

  “It was costly.”

  Juston drew out the last word and Christopher knew that it meant he was not to be argued with. Christopher was used to Juston’s mood swings when it came to the end of a battle. He always felt the fight should have been a short one, as if a longer battle was a direct insult to his tactician skills. It was nearly the same thing every time, and all of the reasoning or praise in the world wouldn’t change Juston’s mood. Christopher didn’t even try.

  “David and Marcus are securing de la Roarke’s men,” he said, changing the subject. “Max and Achilles and Kress have been dealing with the keep and any surviving outbuildings.”

  “Where are Gart and Gillem?”

  “They have command of the gatehouse.”

  Juston sat back on his portable bed, propped up with the pillows he carried around with him, pillows meant for his comfort alone. While most men weren’t hugely concerned for their comfort in the field, Juston wasn’t one of those. He demanded comfort. He poured himself a measure of the Malmsey wine on the table near his bed.

  “I have been thinking, Chris,” he said as he put the cup to his lips. “Bowes is a very important castle. The road it protects runs between Carlisle and Middlesbrough, to name a few. That’s why Richard wanted to secure it; because it is so strategic.”

  Christopher nodded. “Indeed, it is.”

  Juston took a deep drink and smacked his lips. “So is Cotherstone Castle. It’s about a half-day’s ride north.”

  Christopher lifted his eyebrows curiously. “Are you thinking of confiscating that one, too?”

  Juston nodded. “To have two castles in this area, not only securing the road but anchoring the area for Richard, would be ideal.”

  “Agreed.”

  Juston swirled the wine in his cup thoughtfully. “I am thinking about leaving you at Bowes and then sending David and Marcus to secure Cotherstone before I return to Netherghyll,” he said. “I do not want to remain at either castle and I cannot imagine that Richard would expect me to. Once the walls are repaired sufficiently at Bowes and the castle secured, we will move on Cotherstone. I will then leave a contingent of men to guard both castles.”

  Christopher lifted a blonde eyebrow. “Do you expect trouble, then?”

  Juston shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “Yet to leave either castle less than armed to the teeth would invite it. Hugh de Puiset is not far from here but he has wisely remained out of the siege of Bowes. He may reconsider that when I take Cotherstone, as well. He may very well try to reclaim the castles for Henry at some point.”

  Christopher couldn’t disagree with him. “The Bishop of Durham has a few properties in this area,” he said. “I believe Cotherstone belongs to him.”

  “It does.”

  “Yet he remains at his seat of Auckland Castle, which is a massive place,” Christopher continued. “I’ve seen it. He has more than enough men to march on both castles to reclaim them.”

  “Yet he will not,” Juston said confidently. “He does not wish to tangle with me, which is wise. I have an army as big as his and then some. Still, we have captured Bowes and I intend to move on Cotherstone once Bowes is secure. Therefore, I want you assessing the damage to the outer wall. We must estimate how long it will take to repair it sufficiently. More than that, tomorrow we move our army inside the walls. It is ours and we will occupy it.”

  “I believe Max is clearing out the hall.”

  “Clearing it of what?”

  Christopher cleared his throat softly. “Wounded.”

  Juston could see that Christopher wasn’t happy about that move, one he more than likely considered to be unmerciful. Christopher was a good man, the very best, but he tended to have a heart at times. That was both a good and a bad attribute. Juston took another drink of his wine.

  “And you disapprove?”

  Christopher didn’t want to appear as if he was condemning another knight. “I did not mean to intimate that,” he said. “Maxton is doing what he believes needs to be done, but there are dozens of wounded in that hall, so I’ve been told. What he is doing… it is cruel at best. There is nowhere else to put them but in the bailey, out in the elements. These are fellow Englishmen, not Scots or Welsh or even French. I do not look at them as a true enemy.”

  “You look at them as brothers-in-arms.”

  “In a sense, I do.”

  “And you believe we must show them mercy?”

  “I believe we will be better men for it. You used to show mercy, years ago. I know you have not forgotten how, although you pretend to.”

  Juston shook his head reproachfully at the man although the corners of his mouth were tugging in a smile. Christopher was often his conscience in such matters because Juston had lost his conscience some time ago. Juston did what he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted. He’d been merciful years ago, before he became hardened to life and to men in general. Those were the days when he had genuinely cared about things. It seemed like a very long time ago, indeed.

  Therefore, Juston seriously considered Christopher’s suggestion and was about to ask him for alternatives to housing the wounded when there was suddenly a great commotion outside of his tent. By the time he and Christopher turned to the source, the flap slapped back and Maxton entered with a small figure slung up over his shoulder.

  “An offering, my lord,” Maxton announced. He suddenly shifted the burden on his shoulder, leaned forward, and dumped it onto the ground. “I found her and a second woman in the hall. Consider them spoils of war.”

  Sprawled on her buttocks, the woman pushed her black hair from her face and glared up at Maxton. She was clearly furious but showed surprising restraint in her response.

  “The second woman you speak of is my sister,” she said steadily. “We are clearly no threat to you and offer no resistance. Why do you treat us this way?”

  Maxton’s dark gaze lingered on her a moment. He wasn’t going to lower himself to respond to a prisoner. His focus then moved to Juston. “The wounded are being moved out of the hall as we speak,” he said. “I should have it completely cleared in an hour. I also have Achilles rounding up the servants. I will assume you will want a meal?”


  Juston heard Maxton but he wasn’t looking at the man. He was looking at the woman on the frozen earth in his tent. Her hair was as black as a raven’s wing, somewhat curly and very messy, and her skin was the color of cream. He’d never seen such pale, perfect skin. When she brushed the hair out of her face, he could see that she had a pert little nose and enormous blue eyes the shade of a morning glory.

  Truly, it was a shocking moment to be faced with such beauty. For the first time since Lizette’s death, a woman actually had his attention. It was purely an aesthetic appeal, but an appeal nonetheless. Juston set aside his wine and quickly stood up, eyeing the woman with great curiosity while completely ignoring Maxton’s question.

  “What is your name, woman?” he asked.

  The young woman’s focus shifted to him and, for a brief moment, Juston felt a surge of awe bolt through him. Wonder. Those brilliant eyes had his attention, his curiosity, and he found himself inspecting her face as she replied.

  “Emera la Marche, my lord” she said. “My sister is the wife of the garrison commander.”

  “De la Roarke?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Juston’s gaze lingered on her a moment. “He is dead.”

  “I have heard, my lord.”

  She said it quite emotionlessly, causing Juston to cock his head curiously. Her looks had captured his attention but now her behavior had his interest.

  “I should think there would be more of a reaction, considering he is your kin.”

  She was precluded from answering when the tent flap was pushed aside and Kress entered with a second woman clutched against his chest. He held her awkwardly because she was trying to kick and fight, and he didn’t want to lose his grip. He took two steps into the tent and let her fall to the ground roughly.

  “Brute!” the woman hissed, seeing Emera and scrambling in her direction. “You fiend! My husband will have something to say about the way you have treated me!”

  She practically crawled up over her sister. Emera put her arms around Jessamyn to comfort her. Together, they huddled on the floor, cold and shivering, looking up at their captors. While Jessamyn’s expression was full of terror, Emera’s was full of concern.

  “My lord, as I have explained, my sister and I are no threat at all,” she said. “We will obey your commands. We do not need to be treated as prisoners.”

  Juston looked at the pair. Emera was glorious while her sister was a somewhat paler version. He pointed at the sister.

  “That is the wife of de la Roarke?” he asked.

  Emera nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  Juston spoke to the sister. “Your name?”

  “Lady Jessamyn,” she replied in a trembling voice as she clutched Emera. “Where is my husband?”

  Juston looked at Emera, registering some surprise that evidently the woman didn’t know of her husband’s death. He saw no need to tactfully couch his reply.

  “Dead,” he said simply. “Bowes Castle now belongs to Richard. We will send you home to your family, should they agree to take you. We have no use for women at a military installation.”

  Jessamyn’s face turned red and she buried her face in Emera’s arm. “Then it is true,” she gasped. “He is dead.”

  While Jessamyn made a good show of being devastated at her husband’s death, for Emera knew it to be grief mostly borne of duty, the enemy knight had made a statement that had her singular focus – we will send you home to your family. That’s not what she had wanted or even expected to hear. She found that she was now quite concerned for her immediate future.

  “That would be quite impossible, my lord,” Emera said. “We have no family. Bowes is our home.”

  Juston had absolutely no emotion as he responded to her. “I have no place for you here,” he said. “If you have no family, then I will have my men escort you to the town of your choice.”

  It was a cold answer. He didn’t wait for her to reply; he turned to the men who had brought the women into the tent and, with a quiet command, sent them on their way again. The two knights quit the tent, leaving Juston and Christopher with two women cowering at their feet.

  Cowering was a good word. Recoiling was more like it, pulling away from a man who was intent on showing no regard for their well-being. Although Emera had not been afraid when Bowes had initially fallen, now she was growing increasingly fearful. It never occurred to her that she and Jessamyn would be left homeless as a result of the battle. She naively believed that those who defeated Brey would treat her as if she was not their enemy. Of course, that wasn’t to be.

  It was embarrassing to realize she’d been foolishly optimistic.

  “My lord, I must again say that my sister and I have nowhere to go and no money even if we did,” Emera said steadily, trying not to sound like she was begging. “Our father was a prosperous knight who retired to enjoy his estates, a cousin of the Lusignan family. Our family was small – it was just me, my sister, and our brother. Our mother died long ago. Brey married my sister four years ago and brought her to Bowes. When my father died two years ago, my brother did not want me to stay in the family home. He married, you see, and he had a wife and children and did not want his unmarried sister as a burden, so he sent me to live at Bowes. Now that you hold the castle, my sister and I cannot return home. We literally have nowhere to go.”

  Lusignan. Juston knew that name, a hated French family who was a great opposition to Richard. He’d fought against them many times in the past and that admission only served to make the lady even more of an enemy in his eyes.

  Regardless of her beauty, his first reaction was to simply give the order that would see the frightened women carted out of his tent. He’d given that order many times. He didn’t have time to argue with anyone, most especially a prisoner. But something had him holding back, biting off that order, because he was coming to think that two women with nowhere to go, and no male kin, might have use in his army after all. He could already think of a use for Emera – a humiliating use that would degrade a woman of the House of Lusignan.

  He looked at Christopher.

  “I am not in the habit of supporting prisoners like this,” he said. “Can you think of a use for them? I suppose they could warm the men’s beds.”

  Jessamyn gasped in shock as Christopher mulled over the situation. He was rather impressed that Juston hadn’t ordered them thrown from the castle outright. You used to show mercy, years ago, he’d said. Perhaps this was Juston’s way of presumably reclaiming an attribute that he’d been accused of losing. But it wasn’t a very savory option. Thoughtfully, he made his way over to Juston.

  “If you use them for the men, then you are sentencing them to a terrible fate simply for the crime of being kin to a man who supports Henry,” Christopher said quietly so the women wouldn’t hear. “They are women, after all. You do not want to be cruel to the weaker sex. That kind of reputation will haunt a man.”

  Juston lifted a dark eyebrow. “It would not bother me, nor do I care.”

  Christopher couldn’t believe that. “They are women, Juston.”

  “They are Lusignan.”

  That brought an entirely new element to their fate. Christopher knew that name, as they all did, and it was a hated name, indeed. It was the women’s misfortune to have been born into that family and Christopher couldn’t argue with family ties. Without anything to say to the contrary with regards to the Lusignan relation, he simply lifted his eyebrows in resignation. Juston was going to do as he wished, regardless of what anyone else said.

  Juston, sensing that Christopher had no more arguments, spoke softly. “They are fine looking women, Chris,” he said. “At least, the one with the blue eyes is. I will mayhap take her for myself and you can give the other one over to the knights.”

  Christopher still wasn’t happy with Juston’s intention. “Do as you will, but I will again say that they are not concubines,” he muttered. “Look at them; they are well formed and should not be treated like the dogs
in heat that follow around the army. I know you believe that you are showing them some mercy by not banishing them from the castle, but believe me… they will not consider your suggestion merciful at all.”

  Juston eyed him. “You are getting soft in your old age,” he said quietly. “The first rule of war is to let your enemies know that they have no meaning in the grand scheme of your life. No decision should be questioned and no decision should be reversed. When you divide this country up into enemy and ally, these women are the enemy no matter how you try to spin the truth. Men or women, it makes no difference and thinking the way you do, your compassion may cost you your life someday. Have I not taught you such things?”

  “You have.”

  “Then take the uglier one out of here and see if the knights wish for her to warm their beds. I will keep the other one with me. These women are prisoners, loyalists to Henry, and shall be treated as such. And that will be the end of it.”

  Christopher didn’t argue with him. There was some value in what he said, but Christopher still believed in mercy for the enemy. Perhaps that’s because he’d never had one betray him as Juston had experienced. One of the many things the man had experienced over his lifetime so it was best to heed his knowledge.

  Without another word, Christopher reached down and pulled Jessamyn from Emera’s embrace. It was a swift and startling action, giving the women no time to resist. Soon, Jessamyn was being dragged out of the tent by a very big, blonde knight as Emera struggled to her feet and tried to follow. Juston grabbed her by the arm before she could move very far.

  “Not you,” he said. “You will stay with me.”

  The fear that Emera had tried so hard to keep at bay was coming on full-force. “Why?” she demanded as he pushed her back onto her knees. “Where is that knight taking her?”

  Juston let her go and headed back over to the small table that held the Malmsey and cups. As he went to pour Emera some wine, hoping the liquor would shut her up and make her pliable to the demands he would soon be making, she scrambled to her feet again and bolted from the tent.