Medieval Ever After

by Kathryn Le Veque

  With that, she put on her worn hose and under garments, feeling better of body and spirit than she had in months. Taking the drying linen, which was now damp, she put the three-legged stool next to the hearth, sat down, and proceeded to dry her hair near the warmth of the dim fire. She was still sitting there a half hour later when there was a soft knock at the door.

  She stopped running her fingers through her hair to dry it. “Come in,” she called.

  The door opened and Stephen appeared. Joselyn did a double-take as he walked into the room and softly shut the door; in the light of day, he was far more handsome than she had remembered. She’d only seen the man in the dark or by weak firelight, never with the glory of the sun shining upon him. It made her heart pound strangely simply to look at him.

  Stephen, too, was swallowing his mild surprise; since meeting Joselyn last night, her beauty, for the most part, had been completely obscured by her worn clothes and dirty tartan. The darkness of the night had also done much to shroud her. But sitting before him, clean and shiny, dressed in the new surcoat and shift he had brought her, she literally took his breath away. He’d never seen anything so lovely.

  “Good morn to you, Lady Pembury,” he suddenly felt quite dirty and disheveled next to this glorious creature. “I hope you slept well.”

  She stood up, a petite little thing against his enormous height. “I did, thank you,” she nodded. A briefly awkward silence followed as they continued to appraise each other in the daylight. When the pause because excessive, she fingered the surcoat as if suddenly remembering it. “I assume you brought this for me?”

  He nodded, noting how the cut of the garment gave her a figure like no other woman he had ever laid eyes on. “I thought you could use something clean to wear,” he indicated the cranberry colored wool. “While checking the sentries just before dawn, I came across a merchant who was cleaning out his partially burned store. He had some women’s garments that he had brought over from Paris to sell, so I bought the whole lot of them. Most of them smell like smoke, so I turned them over to the serving women here at Berwick to wash. This was the only garment that didn’t seem to suffer any damage.”

  She stared at him. “You… you bought me more clothes?”

  He nodded, walking halfway around her to better inspect the surcoat and the way it draped over her luscious backside. “Aye,” he paused, gaining a good view of her rump. “I suspected you did not have much of a wardrobe given the fact that you were wearing peasant clothing and tartan. As my wife, I should like you to be well dressed.”

  Joselyn was stunned, unsure what to say to the man. He had gone well out of his way to bring her something fine and she was momentarily speechless. “Then…,” she started again. “Then I thank you for your generosity. I do not own anything fine or glorious. This is the first lovely garment I have ever had.”

  He moved back around to the front of her and faced her with his hands on his slender hips. “And it will certainly not be the last,” he replied decisively. “Your beauty already outshines every woman in England. Putting you in fine clothing and jewels is like adding stars to the moon and sky; it simply enhances what is already breathtaking.”

  By the time he was finished, she was blushing furiously. When their eyes met, she grinned modestly and lowered her gaze. He laughed softly.

  “You have never heard such things before, have you?” he asked.

  She shook her head, still averting her eyes. “From the nuns of Jedburgh? I doubt it.”

  He laughed again and she dared to look at him. He had a magnificent smile with big white teeth and a huge dimple in his left cheek. In fact, his entire face lit up when he smiled, changing his features dramatically. She was mesmerized.

  “Well,” he rubbed his cheeks as his smile faded. “You had better become used to flattery. I have a feeling it will not be the last time you hear it from my lips.”

  She continued to grin modestly, feeling his heated gaze upon her. Somewhat giddy, she went over to the bed and tossed aside the tartan in the quest to find her shoes.

  “Have you broken your fast yet, my lord?” she was trying to slip her shoes on with quivering hands. The man had completely unnerved her with his glorious smile and sweet words. “I shall find the kitchen and procure some food.”

  He shook his head. “Unnecessary,” he told her. “I have come to take you to the hall. There is food aplenty there.”

  Shoes on her feet, she faced him. As he watched, the smile faded from her face. She suddenly looked quite upset as if the entire world had just come crashing down on her. His brow furrowed, wondering about the sudden change of mood, when she spoke. The first words out of her mouth explained everything.

  “The hall…,” she swallowed and groped for words. “Would… would you please tell me where my mother is? How is she?”

  His smile faded as well. He knew the question would come but he wished it hadn’t. He was enjoying the first pleasant conversation they had ever had and didn’t want to spoil the mood. Still, there was no use in avoiding the inevitable. She had to know the truth.

  He sighed faintly. “Your mother is with God,” he murmured. “There was nothing I could do for her.”

  The tears welled as he watched. “She is dead?”

  “She is. I am sorry.”

  “Was… was she dead when you returned to her?”

  Stephen thought of the gored corpse and how her father had held it and wept. “She was,” his voice was soft and low. “She is no longer in pain, my lady. She is at peace.”

  Joselyn turned away, struggling not to sob out loud, but it was beyond her control. Covering her face with a hand, she wept deeply.

  Stephen watched her heaving shoulders, feeling badly that he had brought such terrible news. Truth be told, he had brought her the new garments and other luxuries before she awoke, hoping to soften the blow. He was not as heartless as she had accused him of being and he didn’t want her to think he was made of stone. It was no way to start a marriage. Moreover, there was more bad news to come.

  “Your father and the rest of your clan were removed from Berwick before dawn,” he reasoned that he might as well tell her all of it so she could grieve for everything all at once. “They are being escorted to Alnwick Castle where they will be held for trial. Your mother’s body remains here for burial.”

  She wept as if her heart was broken. “You sent my father away?”

  Stephen drew in a long, deep breath. “He is the king’s prisoner, my lady. There was nothing else to do with him.”

  “Please,” she went to him, her hands folded in front of her in a pleading gesture. “Please bring him back and I swear he will not cause any trouble. My father is old and unwell. I am afraid… afraid that confinement in the vault will only lead to his death. It will surely kill him.”

  Stephen was not without sympathy. “I cannot grant your request, lady,” he said softly. “Your father is a prisoner of the king and only the king can make that decision.”

  Tears dripped from her chin and onto the cranberry colored wool. “First my brothers, then my mother…,” she was growing increasingly hysterical as she once again turned away from him. “And now my father is gone. My family is destroyed. I have no one left.”

  Stephen didn’t know what to say to that. She had every right to be distraught. Not knowing what else to do, he gave her a few moments of crying before reaching out and grasping her elbow gently.

  “Come along,” he said softly. “You will feel better after you have eaten.”

  She pulled her elbow away from him, although it was not cruelly done. “Nay,” she breathed. “I… I am not hungry. If you do not mind, I simply wish to be left in peace.”

  Stephen watched as her small body was wracked with sobs. He was about to insist that she come to the hall and eat, but he thought better of it. The woman needed to deal with her grief in her own way.

  He left her without a word, his heart heavy with sorrow for her. Somehow, between last night and this morn
ing, he was coming to feel a great deal of compassion for the woman. It was apparent that life had dealt her a bitter blow at a young age, which didn’t seem fair to him. Certainly, most people had their share of hardships, but she seemed to have more than most.

  As he crossed the bailey and headed into the great hall where Edward and Tate were sitting near the blazing hearth, he thought to take Joselyn some food so that she would have something to eat if she became hungry. Edward and Tate were discussing some future strategy, acknowledging Stephen when he began gathering hunks of cheese and a few apples.

  “How is your wife?” Tate asked.

  Stephen was picky with his apple selection; he inspected each one closely before deciding. “She is rested but understandably upset over the death of her mother and the departure of her family.”

  “Did you give her the garments you bought?”

  “I did. She looks marvelous.”

  Edward elbowed Tate, grinning. “I told you she was a lovely girl, Stephen,” the king said. “So now you agree with me?”

  Stephen looked at the young king. “I never disagreed in the first place,” he replied, tucking the cheese and apples into one hand and hunting for a nice piece of soft bread with the other. “Wait until you see her this morning. She looks like a goddess.”

  Tate just grinned and shook his head. “It sounds as if you are not entirely displeased with your marriage, then.”

  Stephen shrugged. “Time will tell once we’ve both had a chance to settle into it.”

  “Why did she not come down to join us for the meal?” Edward wanted to know. “Is she too worn out from your wedding night?”

  Stephen fought off a grin at the crass question. “I never touched her,” he said honestly. “When did I have time? From the moment we were married until this very second, I have been mostly away from her seeing to my duties as both husband and garrison commander. If this pace keeps up, we’ll both be old and gray before I have enough time to properly consummate the marriage.”

  Tate wriggled his eyebrows and stroked his chin in a weary gesture. “If I were you, I would make time. You cannot leave her untouched.”

  “I know,” Stephen nodded patiently. “I will do my duty as soon as I am able and not a moment sooner. Besides, last night was not the right time. She was… well, understandably distraught.”

  Tate thought on the burning woman he had gored, his good humor fading. “Indeed,” was all he could say. The trio fell silent a moment before Tate spoke again. “Speaking of wives, I must return soon to mine. I am anxious to see my children. The baby turned four months old yesterday and I have not seen him since he was born.”

  Edward shook his head. “How many does that make now? Six children?”

  Tate nodded his head; his smile was returning. “Roman is due to be sent to foster at Kenilworth in September, something that my wife is not particularly thrilled with, but at seven years of age, I have told her that it is time for my oldest son to begin his training,” he scratched his chin again, wearily. “Cate is almost six and beautiful like her mother, while the Alexander and Dylan are nearly five and have the entire castle living in fear of them.”

  Edward laughed. “They are hooligans. I can hardly wait to recruit them into my service.”

  Tate pursed his lips in agreement, thinking of his aggressive blond-haired twins that were almost as big as their eldest brother. “Arabella is three and chatters like a magpie, and now baby Dane rounds out the bunch. My wife is going to hunt me down if I do not return home soon to help out with the brood.”

  Stephen grinned at the thought of the Lady Elizabetha de Tobins Cartingdon de Lara, known to everyone as Toby, tracking her husband down like a bounty hunter to return him to Forestburn Castle. Fortunately for Tate, she was very busy with six children and hadn’t the time to break away, but knowing Toby as they did, Stephen would not be surprised if she found a way. She was, if nothing else, a very determined woman.

  “Enough of Lady de Lara,” Edward waved his hands irritably, refocused on Stephen as the man found the right piece of bread. “I want to know about Lady Pembury. Is it really true that she has been living at Jedburgh since eleven years of age?”

  Stephen picked up a piece of cloth used to cover the bread and carefully wrapped his wife’s meal in it. “True enough, it would seem,” he replied. “It also seems that the nuns have educated her well. She can even read and write both Latin and French.”

  “Truly?” Edward looked surprised. “A woman with an education. Shocking.”

  Tate lifted an eyebrow at him. “Elizabetha can read and write.”

  Edward made a face as if the entire idea horrified him, thinking of his own young wife who was well versed in most courtly things excluding the ability to read. He liked it better that way. Beside him, Tate rose on his big legs and stretched his muscular body wearily.

  “Come along,” he said to Stephen. “After you have fed your wife, I would have you show me the progress on the collapsed walls. I am uncomfortable with our vulnerability at the moment. The Scots may be defeated but they are not dead. I should not like to be caught unaware.”

  The two knights left Edward in the hall as they made their way out into the sunshine. Being July, and near the river, gave the air a heated, sticky quality that made wearing armor increasingly uncomfortable. Tate rubbed at his neck where his mail grated against his sweaty skin. To the east, they could hear the buzz of the insects as they lay fat and lazy in the moist river grass.

  “So I take it that you did not tell Edward everything I told you last night about Lady Joselyn and her reasons for being at Jedburgh,” Stephen muttered as they crossed the mud.

  Tate continued to scratch his neck. “I did not,” he replied. “If you want him to know, then you will tell him. That kind of information will not come from me.”

  “Do you plan to interrogate her about the soldier who raped her?” Stephen asked. “You know your men better than I. Perhaps you will recognize someone based on her description.”

  Tate nodded. “I will ask her when the time is right,” he said, eyeing Stephen as they neared the keep. “Did you tell her what you did for her mother?”

  Stephen cleared his throat softly. “There was nothing I could do for the woman.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Did you tell her that you personally built the coffin she lies in, which is why you did not return to her last night? That is the reason you did not return to consummate the marriage and for no other reason than that. Moreover, you prayed over the woman for hours. Did you not tell her that, either?”

  “I did not.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I did not do those things so she would admire or revere me. I did not do them for glory. I did them because they needed to be done and because it was right that I should do them.”

  Tate sighed faintly, slapping Stephen on a big shoulder. “I know,” he said in a low voice. “But she might like to know that her new husband is capable of such compassion. You are an accomplished man with an amazing spirit, Stephen. She might like to know that as well.”

  They entered the cold, dark keep. “She will know as time allows,” Stephen replied. “She knows that I brought her the clothing.”

  Tate snorted. “Good Lord, man, that’s the least of your generosity,” he fell in behind Stephen as they moved up the narrow stairs. “She should know the character of the man she has married.”

  They reached the landing. “She will,” Stephen said, knocking softly on the chamber door. After several long seconds and no answer, he knocked again. Still no answer, he opened the door.

  The room was empty.

  The day was sultry and sticky. The moisture rising up from the river was as thick as a fog, cloaking everything around it. In spite of Stephen’s previous order to stay to her chamber, Joselyn had found her way from the castle and down to the river, thinking of the family she had lost. She felt so very alone. She needed time to clear her head, far from castles and knights and visions o
f blood.

  Reaching the damp, sticky grass that grew in tall clumps around the river’s edge, she found a sandy bar near the water and plopped down on it, her mind a jumble of grief and fear. Clad in the lovely cranberry surcoat, she gathered her legs up against her chest, lowered her face onto her knees, and wept.

  So much of her life had been out of her control. The day she went to Carlisle with her father was the worst day of her life; it had changed everything. Her father had been ashamed of what had happened but her mother, a sweet simpleton, had coddled and supported her. Even when they realized the soldier’s seed had taken root, her mother continued to protect her fiercely. It was her father who had insisted on keeping her hidden as her stomach grew large and round, hidden from family and friends alike. Her father had told everyone that she was visiting relatives in Aberdeen when she was really locked up in her bower of Allanton Castle.

  The shame that had been instilled in her during that time still clung to this day. Everyone but her mother was ashamed of her. Now the only person who had never harshly judged her was gone and she wept painfully for the woman whose mind left her years ago. Joselyn wept for that sweet woman of memories gone by, of brothers she had once loved, and for a life that she would never know again. All of the tragic events from the past few months had overwhelmed her and she felt like she was living another life, one she did not recognize or like. It was like hell.

  Something shuffled off to her right and she looked up to see a doe and fawn, a few feet away, drinking from the river’s edge. The doe seemed to be singed from a fire but otherwise seemed well. Joselyn’s weeping faded as she watched the two of them drink. When the fawn looked in her direction, she slowly lifted her hand to it, clucking softly. The doe seemed startled but didn’t bolt; the fawn was genuinely curious. Slowly, the little creature came up to her and sniffed her fingers. She was able to tickle its nose.