Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “How much would you say this produce weighs?” Juston asked him.

  Erik was looking at his feet. “Each basket of turnips the men have dumped into this wagon weighs close to ten pounds and they’ve dumped thirty or forty baskets in here.”

  “Be more precise. Is it thirty or forty baskets?”

  “I would have to say forty.”

  Juston cocked an eyebrow thoughtfully. “Forty baskets at ten pounds each,” he said. “That is four hundred pounds. If you charge me one shilling for every five pounds of turnips, then that would be four pounds, as there are twenty shillings to a pound. Are my mathematics correct?”

  Emera knew how to do sums thanks to her mother. The woman had made sure to educate her daughters in things like writing, sums, reading, as well as in the healing arts. Jessamyn didn’t have the mind for sums and writing, but Emera had. Therefore, she, too, could do sums in her head as Juston had just done. She nodded.

  “That is four pounds, indeed,” she said.

  “Will you sell me these turnips, then?”

  “I will do so happily, my lord.”

  He flashed her a hint of a smile before turning to Erik. “Get out of that wagon,” he said. “Have the men take everything in this wagon back to the vault. I have just purchased this produce from Lady Emera. The other two wagons we will take with us into town.”

  Erik looked at the man as if he’d lost his mind. Christopher, who had been standing nearby, also heard him. Christopher walked up to the other side of the wagon, peering at Juston most curiously.

  “You bought these turnips?” Christopher clarified.

  Juston nodded. “I did, indeed. Make sure they are taken back to the vault.”

  Christopher lifted his eyebrows. “But that is where they have just come from,” he said, puzzled. “These turnips already belonged to you. Why did you buy them?”

  Juston realized that he must look like an idiot in front of his men. He looked between Christopher and Erik, seeing the bewilderment on their faces, and cleared his throat softly. He was going to have to find a way to explain this to them without sounding like he hadn’t gone daft.

  “This crop is part of the money crop that the peasants of Bowes have grown,” he said. “They expect to be paid for it. If they do not make money, then we will have starving peasants on our hands and I will have to spend money to feed them, anyway. Since the lady was going to sell the crop at market today, and we are heading in to town with her to purchase goods of our own, I have done away with the need to take one of these wagons to town. The peasants get their money and we get our food. And this is the last time I will explain anything like this to you again.”

  He made sense but there was also a definitive warning in his explanation. Christopher simply nodded his head while Erik, frustrated that he would now have to remove all of the turnips he’d been fussing with, barked at a few soldiers nearby to bring the baskets. When he explained to them that the turnips were to go back to the vault, they looked at him as if he was the one who had lost his mind but Erik began bellowing and the men began moving. Back the turnips went into the cold, dark vault of Bowes.

  After that, the focus was put on the remaining two wagons as Erik and Christopher were joined by Gart, David, and Gillem. The knights were dressed in battle attire, with a full array of weapons, and their scarred war horses were brought out from the makeshift stable. As the men were getting ready, Juston excused himself back to the keep and Emera followed a short time later. In her case, it was to retrieve her cloak and her purse, which she had found at the bottom of one of the satchels that Juston’s men had packed with her belongings. Surprisingly enough, the contents were still intact.

  Ready to take the turnips to market, Emera and Tristan finally made their way back out to the wagons and climbed onto the single-plank seat of the first one. It was usually only meant for the driver, but Emera didn’t intend to walk all the way to town. So she and the boy took up positions and waited for the escort to assemble.

  It wasn’t long in coming. Six knights bearing colors of blue and silver, astride very big and very mean war horses, assembled with two wagon drivers and about twenty men-at-arms, all heavily armed, and the two wagons left the safety of Bowes and headed to the main road.

  There was a sense of excitement in the air as they moved forward beneath blue skies and brisk winds. Juston rode at the head of the party, in a position of command, clad in a coat of mail but no helm. Instead, he had secured it to the side of the saddle. Emera watched the man as if nothing else in the world existed. She watched him relay orders to the others, making sure the escort was properly positioned around the two wagons.

  As Emera watched, she realized she’d never really seen Juston in command mode before and he was truly something to behold – he was quiet with his command, relaying orders to his senior knights and then trusting them to carrying them out. It was clear by the way the knights hung on his every word that there was a great deal of respect there, something that was impressive to witness.

  Out here in the world, away from the confines of Bowes Castle, Emera felt as if she was truly seeing Juston for the first time. Here he was, in his element, unhindered by battles and broken castles and searing headaches. Watching him as he sat, tall and proud astride his horse, it was as if she was looking at an entirely new man.

  But he wouldn’t look at her as they rode along, nor would he talk to her. He kept his manner professional, alert to the surrounding area, speaking to his knights only when necessary. It was a little disappointing that he wouldn’t look at her, but she supposed she understood. He wasn’t here to socialize.

  At one point, she heard him say something to Erik about Tristan as the boy rode alongside Emera on the wagon bench, but she couldn’t quite hear everything that was said. Erik evidently gave an adequate explanation for the lad’s company because Juston didn’t mention the boy, or look at him, again.

  Tristan, however, must have heard his name. He inched close to Emera as if she could protect him from the big, nasty-looking knight riding point.

  “He will not make me go back to the castle, will he?” Tristan asked fearfully.

  Emera looked down at the boy. “Who?”

  Tristan gripped her sleeve as he pointed to Juston. “Him.”

  Emera fought off a grin. “Do you not know who that is? You have been at Bowes for a few days. You should know who the commander of Bowes is.”

  Tristan eyed Juston several feet ahead of them. “It is Lord de Royans.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Sir Erik told me that he is a great knight.”

  “I am sure he is.”

  “Sir Erik said that he fought in France. Sir Erik fought in France, too.”

  Emera found herself staring at Juston’s back as he rode on ahead. Not that she hadn’t been staring at it for most of the trip. “Lord de Royans told me he fought in France but I did not know that Sir Erik did, too,” she said.

  Tristan nodded his head. “When we left Canterbury and traveled north, Sir Erik told me many things,” he said. “He talked mostly at night when he had too much wine to drink. He likes to drink a lot of wine, you know. He told me that Lord de Royans fought many battles and did great things. He said that Lord de Royans did things that no other knights would do because he was so brave.”

  Now the conversation was getting a bit interesting as the boy spoke of Juston and his accomplishments. “Is that so?” Emera said. “I would believe that. He seems very brave.”

  Tristan nodded. “He said that Lord de Royans has killed men with his bare hands, ripping their heads from their bodies!”

  Emera frowned at the sudden morbid turn. “He told you that?”

  Tristan nodded. “Aye,” he said. “That is why Lord de Royans is so scary.”

  Emera shook her head, disapproving of what Erik de Russe had told a small boy. “He should not be scary to you,” she said. “He only kills his enemies. You are not his enemy.”

  That made some sen
se to the nine-year-old boy’s mind. “Nay, I am not,” he said. “I am glad I am not. He is vengeful with his enemies. Sir Erik said that Lord de Royans spent an entire year searching for the man who killed his family. Did you know his family was killed? Lord de Royans looked for the man for a whole year and killed people who would not tell him where he was.”

  Now he was gossiping, speaking of darker things that should not be voiced. Emera cast the boy a long look. “You should not tell people that,” she said. “It is impolite to speak of others and their troubles. Poor Lord de Royans lost his wife and children. It is right that he should seek vengeance against those who killed them, don’t you think?”

  Tristan was too caught up in the conversation to realize he’d been rebuked. “Aye,” he said. “Sir Erik said that a man named Lusignan killed Lord de Royans’ family.”

  Emera was unhappy the lad hadn’t taken her advice and shut his mouth. “Sir Erik told you all of this? He should not have done that.”

  Tristan nodded firmly. “He had too much to drink and he would talk too much.”

  “You are talking too much.”

  “He said the man’s name was Dorian Lusignan. He said if I ever come across a man named Dorian Lusignan, then I am to tell him immediately.”

  It took a moment for that name to sink in to her brain. She was, truthfully, trying to shut out the child’s chatter, hoping if she didn’t respond that he would shut his little mouth. But the moment he mentioned the name Dorian Lusignan, Emera looked to the boy with such horror that she could barely draw in a breath. The world began to rock unsteadily and she gripped the bench to keep from falling off of it.

  Dorian Lusignan!

  “That name,” she gasped. “He… he said that?”

  Tristan nodded eagerly. “You should tell him, too, if you ever meet a man with that name. Sir Erik said that Lord de Royans will pay a reward for anyone who finds the man.”

  Emera simply stared at the child, her mind whirling, laboring with every bit of strength she had to keep her composure. It was a sickening, horrible revelation, for she had an uncle of the exact same name.

  Sweet Mary, is it possible it is the same man?

  Dorian Lusignan was her father’s older brother, a man who lived on the family properties in France while her father, the younger brother with no property, had fought in France for men who would pay him for his services. When her father had finally married his English wife, he had forsaken the name Lusignan and taken la Marche instead. It was a name associated with Lusignan but la Marche was a name that attracted far less attention. House of Lusignan was well known and, at times, well-hated. Her father had never given his reasons for changing the name and Emera had never asked, but now she wished she had.

  Perhaps her father had known something that she had not.

  On her right, Tristan was still chattering, now about his travels with Erik, but Emera wasn’t listening. Her thoughts were wrapped up with the murderer of Juston’s family and feeling horror that she could, in fact, be related to the man who had caused Juston such grief. It was a horrific realization. As she watched the man ride up ahead, cutting a powerful and impressive figure, she vowed at that moment never to mention what she knew. She could only imagine what horrors it would strike for Juston, not to mention the fact that it could very well end whatever attraction or attention he might be feeling towards her. Since last night, when she had rubbed his head and they’d shared a pleasant conversation, she was almost certain he had some interest in her. She could tell by the look in his eye. But knowing her uncle was Dorian Lusignan, perhaps the same man who had killed his family, would surely end it.

  He might even hate her, too.

  With thoughts of Juston and her Uncle Dorian on her mind, Emera sat in silence for the rest of the trip. Fortunately, the rest of the journey was uneventful. The road wasn’t too bad, thanks to the men that had been sent out earlier to fill the holes, so the party made it to town in a little over an hour. Because the weather was good, many people were out. By the time they reached the town, it was quite busy with those going about their business. Once they reached the edge of town, Juston brought the party to a halt. He turned to Emera.

  “My lady, I am unfamiliar with the market of this town,” he said. “Where is it?”

  They were at the bridge that spanned the River Tees. On the opposite side of the river sat Barnard Castle, a large stone bastion that sat on a rise overlooking both the river and the town. Emera, sitting straight as he addressed her, pushed aside her depressed mood and pointed in the general direction of the town.

  “We must cross the bridge and when the street forks, we proceed north and pass in front of the castle,” she said. “It will take us around the wall to the gate that will lead us directly to the market.”

  Juston nodded, waving a big arm to motion the wagons. If he noticed anything odd about Emera’s manner, he didn’t say so. He didn’t give her a second look. He was focused on making their way into the town. In fact, he’d spent the trip deliberately not looking at her, afraid his expression would belie the confusion he felt in his heart. Already this morning, he’d made a fool out of himself by purchasing her turnips. His men had thought he was daft. He wasn’t about to cement that opinion by passing her appreciative glances, knowing that the lovely Lady Emera had somehow turned his head.

  To be honest, turning his head was putting it mildly. Last night, she had been kinder and gentler to him than anyone had ever been with the exception of Lizette. Sweet, tiny Lizette had been delicate and sweet, and that was something he’d missed from his life terribly. He missed it so much that he blocked it out and pushed it into a hole, burying it so he could never think about it again. But Emera… she had the same sweetness and gentleness, but with her, there was more. She had a fire and a strength Lizette had never possessed, something that had initially repulsed him but now it was something he rather liked. Properly handled, he was sure he could learn to appreciate it.

  Already, he appreciated her… very much.

  The party lurched forward across the bridge, distracting him from thoughts of Emera. As he was trying very hard not to look at her, he was startled when Christopher rode up alongside him. The man flipped up his visor, his blue eyes fixed to the enormous castle perched on a hill overlooking the river.

  “I have not been to Gainford for several years,” he said. “The castle was not like this the last I saw.”

  Juston’s gaze also found the imposing castle, the shadows cast by the rising sun to the east turning the entire west side facing them a dark and gloomy gray. “It has been built up over the past few years,” he said. “Bernard de Balliol is now in command and he is neither for Henry nor for Richard. He has his own trouble with the Scots and also with de Puiset. The man is like an island unto himself.”

  Christopher knew the name and the family Juston spoke of. “I was rather curious why we did not see de Balliol when we laid siege to Bowes,” he said. “Much like de Puiset, he remained safe in his castle and did not venture out to get involved, which was wise of him.”

  Juston shook his head as if baffled by the dealings of de Balliol. “He does not involve himself with anything that has to do with Henry,” he said. “If anything, he is sympathetic to Richard, but he has never publicly supported him.”

  Christopher’s gaze lingered on the castle for a moment longer before turning away, refocusing on the bustling town in front of them. “As long as he does not try to impede us in any way while we are here, I am at peace with the man,” he said. “If he does not bother me, I will not bother him.”

  Juston agreed. “My thoughts exactly,” he said. “And I have no intention of announcing myself to him while we are here, which would have been good manners under normal circumstances. I would prefer to conduct my business without making a fanfare of it and quietly leave. Pass the word down the line that all of the men are to behave in the same fashion. We do not want to attract attention to ourselves.”

  Christopher reined his ho
rse around, heading back to where his brother and Gart were riding. After telling the pair of his discussion with Juston, David and Gart moved down the line, informing the men what was expected of them.

  Meanwhile, Tristan had stopped talking and now sat quietly next to Emera, his eyes wide at the city gate they were approaching. There didn’t seem to be any guards on it, which was a good thing, and once they passed through the massive stone gate built into the city wall, the bustling town spread out before them. Children were running in the streets, dogs barking, evidently happy to be out and about on this rare mild winter day. Farmers with great loads of hay moved down the street with their oxen carts and, somewhere, bread was being baked because the rich odor filled the air. Tristan sniffed it hungrily. He turned to Emera.

  “I have not eaten, my lady,” he said. “Will we stop and eat soon?”

  Truth be told, the smell of bread was making Emera nauseous. She had not broken her fast before they left Bowes and the stress of the conversation with Tristan had left her mouth dry and her stomach in knots. Juston was up ahead of her by several feet and she called to him hesitantly, not wanting to shout and sound demanding. By the third call, he heard her and turned around.

  “My lady?” he reined his horse back so the wagon could catch up to him. “Do you require something?”

  Emera nodded. “I am afraid so,” she said. “In the excitement of loading the wagons this morning, Tristan did not break his fast. Would it be too much trouble to find something to eat?”

  Juston nodded his head. “I am sure there are a dozen vendors around here willing to sell us all manner of food,” he said. “What is your wish?

  Emera looked over towards the marketplace, which was off to their left. She could see it from where they were. It was crowded with men and merchants, buyers and sellers, and it was next to a wide open field in the middle of the town that held some of the overflow from the market. To the north of the markets was the street of the bakers, although it was really just an alleyway where several bakers shared one large oven. Emera pointed in the direction of the bakers.