Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Among the wounded is a man who fought with me at Taillebourg,” he said quietly. “He has already provided me with a great deal of information and he says there are others among the wounded that are loyal to Richard as well. I realize that you did not know this when you ordered them cleared from the hall, but now that you know, I want you to move all of the wounded down into the vault where the lady and her sister will tend them. I intend to speak with these men who are still loyal to Richard to find out what they can tell us of Henry’s movements in the north. Already, I have been informed of quite a bit of information with regards to those loyal to Henry. I think it will behoove us to keep the wounded comfortable for now. Comfortable men might speak of more than what we currently know, if you understand my meaning.”

  Maxton was listening quite seriously. “I do,” he said. “That being the case, I will move them into the storage vault at once. But you should know that I have already perused the vault and found it quite empty of anything we can use.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  “What I did find, however, was an entire chamber filled with what looks like money and valuables.”

  That bit of information caught Juston’s attention. “Did you secure the room?”

  “I did. I have four men guarding it until you have a chance to assess it.”

  Juston nodded. “Excellent,” he said. “I have been told that de la Roarke robbed and murdered travelers for their valuables and that he kept his ill-gotten gains in the vault. It seems that you have found his treasure room.”

  Maxton lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “If that is the case, then there is a great deal of wealth to be had.”

  “Did you find any prisoners in the keep?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The murdered or imprisoned travelers de la Roarke stole from.”

  Maxton scratched his head thoughtfully. “There is a sublevel below the vault with two cells,” he said. “I found a corpse in one of them. It could have been one of de la Roarke’s victims but we shall never know that for certain. I had it removed and tossed into the pile of bodies that are being burned outside of the walls.”

  Juston grunted unhappily. “The church will have something to say about burning bodies, Max.”

  “We have no choice. The ground is too frozen to bury them.”

  Juston knew that but he still didn’t want the added burden of the church being unhappy with his actions. They didn’t like bodies turned into charcoal. He sighed heavily. “Then make sure the ashes are gathered so they can be buried when the weather permits,” he said. “And try not to be obvious about the pyres.”

  “Did you know about it?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then I am not being obvious.”

  Juston had to grin at the man, who grinned back. Maxton could be glib at times, but it was never in bad humor. At least, Juston never thought so. Maxton was a no-nonsense knight with that odd dark streak in him, but Juston wanted to believe he wasn’t truly evil. He was simply darker than most, fearless in decision and actions.

  “Then I will say no more,” Juston said. “I will see to the treasure room now but meanwhile, begin the transfer of the wounded. The lady and her sister will continue to tend them. I cannot spare men for the job, so let them do as they will. For now, they are serving a purpose and will be treated as such. But watch them… they are the opposition.”

  Maxton nodded. “I understand.”

  He headed off to find men to help move the wounded. Juston was particularly pleased at how the conversation had gone. He didn’t condemn Maxton for his decision to move the wounded out of the hall, instead, making it clear why it was a good idea to find them a comfortable place inside to be tended. Maxton was not humiliated by his initial decision and Juston got what he wanted. Such was the brilliance of a man who truly knew how to lead men. It was one of the traits that made Juston such an indispensable commander.

  As Maxton walked away, Juston’s attention returned to Emera. She was standing politely near Gart, who was looking at Juston as if there wasn’t a lady nearby. Gart was much more focused on his duties than any woman and he watched Juston closely, waiting for a command to come forth. Juston made his way back over to the pair.

  “Maxton is going to start moving men down into the vault,” he told Gart. “Go with him and help. We need to get them into shelter before this storm hits.”

  Gart nodded smartly and was gone, moving swiftly after Maxton. As he turned to look at the collection of wounded, wondering how long it would be before the storm let loose above them, he heard Emera’s soft voice.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said quietly. “You have shown great mercy to these wounded men.”

  He looked at her, then. “How many did you lose last night?”

  Emera turned to look at the wounded clustered in the mud. “We had seventy-nine last night,” she said. “Thirty did not survive the night.”

  That was a lot of men. Juston simply nodded his head. “Hopefully, you will lose no more,” he said. “My knights will see to moving the men down into the vault. You might do well to have the cooks begin boiling all of the water they can before going to the vault to prepare a place for the wounded.”

  Emera nodded. “I will, my lord,” she said. “But did you not wish for me to show you the vault?”

  He shook his head. “I can find it. Go about your duties.”

  Emera didn’t argue with him. Still, there was something more on her mind, something she was careful to speak of.

  “Before I go, my lord,” she began hesitantly. “I was wondering… my sister and I have need of some of our possessions. As I told you, I do not know the etiquette of conquest, but I am hoping we may have our clothing and other personal items returned to us.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Top floor of the keep.”

  “I will make arrangements to have them delivered to you in the vault with the wounded.”

  That was not the immediate answer she had been expecting and great relief flooded her. So did courage. “Thank you, my lord. And… well, there is something else.”

  He wondered if she was about to turn demanding on him since he had agreed to move the wounded and return her belongings. He wasn’t so apt to give in to her every wish.

  “What is that?”

  He sounded impatient now and Emera cleared her throat softy. “Last night, you said that you would escort my sister and me to a town of our choice,” she said. “There is, in fact, a place I would like to go to. I am hoping you would be so kind as to still provide an escort.”

  For some reason, he wasn’t entirely happy that she was asking to leave Bowes. “You said you had nowhere to go,” he pointed out. “Now you have changed your mind?”

  She seemed rather nervous now, an odd manner for the lady who had shown nothing but bravery since he’d known her. “There is a charity hospital in Sherburn,” she said. “You see, I have followed in my mother’s footsteps of tending the sick and injured. Even when I lived at my father’s house, I helped the needy. It was something my mother felt strongly about and she imparted upon me the importance of helping others. I would like to go to the charity hospital if it is not too much trouble. I am sure they would accept my help.”

  That beautiful creature in a charity hospital? It was his first thought and he struggled not to belittle her request. In no fashion did this exquisite beauty belong in a charity – anything. More than that, he realized that he didn’t want her to go. He wasn’t over his interest in her yet. He wasn’t sure what was feeding his attraction, but he wasn’t ready to let it go. He could only remember feeling such interest one other time in his life and that had been when he’d first met his beautiful Lizette.

  Now, he was feeling something awaken in him again.

  He should have run from it at the very least. He should let her go to the charity hospital this very day simply to get her away from him, but he couldn’t seem to do it. Against his better judgment, he was going
to force her to stay, at least until he could get over his attraction to her.

  You are intrigued with her beauty and nothing more, he told himself.

  But it was a fact that he wasn’t really sure was the truth.

  “We shall discuss your future after the wounded have been tended,” he told her. “Right now, you have a good deal of work before you right here at Bowes. Last night, you begged to remain, so I am going to grant your request. I will keep you here until you are no longer required.”

  Emera wasn’t distressed that he would not permit her to leave, mostly because she knew what he said was true – there were a great many wounded that required help and here was where she was very much needed. Nay, she wasn’t sorry to remain at Bowes in the least. She was having her way in the situation, ultimately, and that was tending Bowes’ injured and dying.

  The charity hospital could wait.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “And my sister may remain as well?”

  He nodded. “I am assuming she was chatelaine. Her services will be useful.”

  It seemed that from the uncertainty and fear of the previous night, the day had dawned considerably brighter. Emera found a great deal of relief in that. It didn’t matter that she was still a captive of de Royans; he was allowing her to do what she wanted to do. She had a place to live, a roof over her head, and Jessamyn was still with her. All things considered, she counted herself extremely fortunate.

  “Thank you for your generosity, my lord,” she said. “I am most grateful.”

  Juston simply nodded his head, watching her as she turned for the kitchens to relay the orders of boiling water. He watched her go, a rather curvy woman in a dark and dirty dress, something that was completely uncomplimentary to her. A woman like that deserved to be dressed in silks and jewels, not wool and leather. But as he watched her walk away, one predominant thought came to mind…

  … just how grateful was she?

  He intended to find out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  By early afternoon, Juston’s tent had been broken down and his possessions had been moved to the keep, into the large second floor chamber with the massive bed. It had been rightly assumed that the chamber had belonged to de la Roarke because the bed was unnaturally big and de la Roarke had been an enormous man. It was also very comfortable and the linens were surprisingly clean, Juston suspected, because a woman also shared de la Roarke’s bed.

  It was the perfect place for him to sleep while he was at Bowes and he was looking forward to sleeping in that big bed, getting his stink all over it. It was akin to dogs pissing to mark their territories; Juston had triumphed over de la Roarke and he was staking his claim and marking his territory by sleeping in the man’s bed. It would be his smell in the bed now.

  As rebuilding and organizing went on around him, Juston had no interest in partaking of any of it. He hadn’t in years. Therefore, he began to remove his soiled, wet clothing, hanging them to dry on the pegs that jutted out from the hearth. There was a roaring blaze in the fireplace and half of the smoke was billowing out into the chamber, lingering up by the ceiling. Juston didn’t particularly care but he noticed that the hearth had no back, meaning that it opened up into the small chamber next to his. One hearth serviced two chambers.

  Sticking his head into the smaller chamber, he could see that it had a decidedly feminine look to it. Looms were neatly tucked into the corner and a frame with a half-finished piece of embroidery was pushed back against the wall near the hearth. It was warm and smoky in here, too.

  Juston was coming to think that the chamber might have very well been occupied by Emera because there was really nowhere else she could have been housed. Next to her sister in the master’s chamber would have been logical and as he realized that, he went into the chamber and began to seriously look around it.

  Damn my interest in the woman! He thought with some frustration. He actually found himself looking at the bed, at the neatly made coverlet with embroidered stitching around the edges. He touched it; it was soft. The same softness that touched her body when she slept, all curled up and warm and….

  That thought caused him to rip his hand away from the coverlet and nearly run from the chamber. He shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts; thoughts to soften that rock in his chest where his heart used to be. The last time he entertained such thoughts was the last time he permitted his heart to feel anything at all.

  That had ended very badly for him.

  Back in the main chamber, he took a deep breath, trying to force thoughts of Emera from his mind. Or was she even a noble woman? She hadn’t introduced herself as such; she’d simply introduced herself as Emera, without the proper address before it of “lady”. So her father had been a knight who’d fought at Taillebourg. That didn’t make her a noble woman, simply a knight’s daughter.

  But the last name… la Marche… that was related to Lusignan, one of the most powerful families in France. She was surely from noble blood. A knight named Dorian Lusignan had made himself judge, jury, and executioner for his family those years ago and Juston had spent a solid year hunting for the man, who seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Juston knew that the French were hiding his trail, unwilling to deliver him to a vengeful English knight. He really couldn’t even find out much more about the man other than his name. Therefore, Juston couldn’t even hear the name Lusignan without feeling an inordinate amount of hatred. To this very day, that was his reaction.

  He was rather thankful that Emera’s last name wasn’t Lusignan.

  Thoughts of his days in France faded as the chamber door opened and Gart entered, carrying the last of Juston’s gear. He set it all down next to the door.

  “My lord,” he said. “Riders have been sighted coming from the south. A patrol just returned and says there are two riders heading in our direction.”

  Juston nodded, grateful for the distraction as he shook off dark memories of Lusignan. “Colors?” he asked.

  “None.”

  “How far away are they?”

  “Less than an hour. I thought you would want to know.”

  “I do. Tell me when they arrive.”

  Gart nodded. “I will,” he replied. Then, his gaze moved about the large, comfortable chamber. “This is very nice. De la Roarke lived like a king.”

  Juston looked around, too, because Gart was. “Indeed, he did,” he said, “and I intend to sleep on his bed in the comfort he has provided for me. Now I shall live like a king. By the way – the items in the treasure vault?”

  “Aye?”

  “I will personally divide up the cache between the knights. I want no one in that room until I have had a chance to do that.”

  Gart nodded. “Just the knights, my lord?”

  Juston gave him a half-grin. “You know I mean you, too,” he said, “although I supposed I should give some to the men as well.”

  “There is a good deal of silver in that room, enough so that each soldier under your command could have a few coins,” Gart said helpfully.

  “How many men survived the battle?”

  “Christopher assessed it at thirteen hundred and forty-three.”

  “And you believe there is enough silver coinage to give to the men?”

  “I believe so, my lord.”

  Juston nodded. “Then it shall be done,” he said. “For the three weeks it took to breach this place, they deserve something. But tomorrow. For now, I intend to take a hot bath to warm my bones. And do we have anything other than pork to eat?”

  Gart knew he was sick of it; they were all sick of it. “You ordered many pigs slaughtered for their fat,” he reminded him. “We will be eating pork for quite some time.”

  Juston made a face. “Then bring me a meal with whatever we have,” he said. “And speak to Lady de la Roarke and see where there is a tub. I require a bath.”

  Gart nodded and fled the chamber while Juston pulled off the last of his dirty, damp clothing and put it all by the hearth to dry off. His b
oots came off, followed by his leather breeches. Even though it was in the middle of the day, he felt a weariness to his bones that compelled him to climb into that big, comfortable bed. He’d spent the last twenty-five years of his life in one battle or another, sleeping in horrific conditions and fighting in the same. At his age, he deserved some comfort. While the younger knights were putting in their time, working themselves into exhaustion, Juston had done too much of that. He didn’t want to do it anymore. So, he climbed into bed and fell asleep nearly the moment his head hit the pillow.

  A heavy, blissful sleep.

  “Juston!”

  Someone was hissing in his ear and he sat up so quickly that he hit Gart, who had been leaning over him. He’d plugged Gart right in the jaw with his head and the squire stumbled back, hand on his face, as Juston saw stars. He rubbed at the contact point between his skull and Gart’s face.

  “Great Bleeding Christ,” he hissed. “You know better than to startle me like that.”

  Gart was moving his jaw back and forth to make sure nothing had been broken. “My apologies,” he said. “I called your name twice but you did not respond. Next time, I’ll simply throw something at you.”

  Juston snorted, seeing some humor in the fact that he hadn’t been easily awakened. That was unusual for him. “In the future, that would be the wiser choice, aye,” he said. “What is so important that you nearly had your head taken off?”

  Gart was still moving his jaw around. “The riders are here, my lord,” he said. “You wanted me to tell you when they arrived.”

  “I did. Who are they?”

  “Erik de Russe has brought a boy with him,” he said. “He would tell me no more. He says he comes to you with a message from Eleanor.”

  Eleanor of Aquitaine. Juston’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. There was only one Eleanor in their world and the mention of her name alone had Juston leaping from the bed and going in search of his breeches. He found them, warmed before the hearth, and he began to hastily pull them on.