Medieval Ever After

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Ky,” she pulled back, looking into his dirty and bruised face. “Are you well? Have they injured you?”

  Kynan shook his head, his still-astonished gaze moving over his cousin. “Jo-Jo,” he breathed. “Are ye well, lass? What have they done tae ye?”

  She shook her head as his rant gained volume. “They have not done anything to me. I am uninjured,” she added for effect, “for the moment.”

  Kynan studied his beautiful young cousin, a look of extreme sorrow on his face. “Oh, Jo-Jo,” he moaned softly. “The big English knight told me he’d married ye. Is it true?”

  Joselyn’s smile faded somewhat. Once Stephen noticed she was missing, she knew he would suspect where she had gone. Time was therefore limited and she was determined to find out what she could before Stephen found her and dragged her out by the feet. She was willing to risk his wrath in order to help him. And she was willing to betray her kin.

  “’Tis true,” she crouched next to Kynan, playing the part of the fearful Scot. She hoped the performance was good enough. “King Edward forced me to marry him to form an alliance between the English and the Scots. They sent my father to the dungeons of Alnwick Castle. You must help me, Ky. I must get away from here.”

  Kynan rattled his chains. “I canna help ye, lass. They have me caged like a beast.”

  Joselyn grabbed his arms desperately. “Then tell me where I can go, who will hide me. I must get away from my husband where he cannot find me.”

  Kynan looked as stricken as she sounded. “Jo-Jo, would that I could help ye, lass. I canna do anything tae help ye.”

  Joselyn was becoming caught up in her act. Tears popped into her eyes. “They killed my mother,” she began to weep. “They will kill me next. Please tell me where to go. I must flee!”

  Kynan’s expression slackened. “Julia,” he repeated, shocked. “The English bastards killed her?”

  Joselyn nodded, her hand against her mouth in a dramatic attempt to hold back the sobs. “Aye,” she whispered. “Please help me, Ky.”

  He stared at her, feeling helpless and furious at the same time. “I dunna know what I can do,” he muttered. “There was a battle last night. I dunna know where me men are now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I dunna know where they were holed up. I canna send ye out into the world if I dunna know where they are, tae take ye in tae a safe haven.”

  “But I must escape to them. Please help me, Ky. You must tell me where to go.”

  Kynan was torn. His young cousin was truly distraught and it never occurred to him not to believe her. He was simply afraid that her husband, the big English hound, would track her and by doing so, find his men. She would lead him right to them. But he could not refuse to help his cousin, not when she had suffered from such a terrible life now made worse by a forced marriage. Aye, he knew about the life that Uncle Alexander had put her through. It was a deep family shame. He found he was desperate to aid her, to help her break free.

  “Go south on the main road towards the cemetery,” he hissed at her. “There’s a church. Find the priest. He’ll tell ye where tae hide.”

  Joselyn squeezed his arms gratefully. “Thank you,” she murmured with great relief. “To know that I can escape to safety means the world to me.”

  They could suddenly hear banging and voices coming from the entry to the gatehouse. Men were calling to each other and voices were being raised. Someone was calling someone else an idiot. The man sounded angry. Eyes wide, Joselyn remained crouched next to Kynan, still clutching the man’s arm. It did not take long before Ian appeared at the cell door. His dark eyes fixed on her, at the far end of the cell.

  “Lady Pembury,” he motioned angrily to the jailer to open the door. “What are you doing in here? Your husband is searching for you, my lady.”

  “I was visiting my cousin,” she told him.

  Ian was beckoning to her. “This is no place for you, my lady. Please come with me immediately.”

  With a heavy sigh that sounded to Kynan like a sob, Joselyn rose and went to the cell door that was now opening. Kynan watched her pass through it, into the possessive grip of the same English knight who had beat him.

  God help her, he thought grimly.

  Joselyn and Ian ran into Stephen just as they were exiting the vault. Stephen’s eyes fixed on his wife with great relief and a shadow of irritation. Ian had her by the arm, leading her towards her husband.

  “She was in the vault, my lord,” Ian handed her over to her husband. “She said that she was visiting her cousin.”

  The relief in Stephen’s eyes cooled as he gazed down at her. “I see,” he rumbled, focusing on his wife. “I went to our chamber to see if you had returned there. I sent Ian to the vault on the chance that you might have disobeyed me. I see that you have.”

  Joselyn made the only tactical move she could make, considering he was correct to be angry with her. She didn’t like the look in his eye. She threw her arms around his waist and buried her face in his tunic.

  “Forgive me,” she begged softly. “I had to try. I felt strongly that I had to try. I cannot see you fight another battle that might result in your death. Please do not be angry with me.”

  She was prattling and Stephen’s annoyance faded. He was simply glad she was safe, whether or not she had disobeyed him. If he was honest with himself, he knew she had gone there all along. She had, if nothing else, great determination. With a sigh, he put his big hand on her head, buried against his chest, and turned her for the keep.

  “Alright, sweetheart, alright,” he shushed her gently. “I am not angry. But I am disappointed that you would not respect my wishes.”

  “I am sorry,” she repeated, genuinely contrite. “But I was sure he would tell me things that he would not tell you and if I can prevent another battle, Stephen, I feel very strongly that I must do so. Would you let me die if you could prevent such a thing?”

  They were approaching the dark, towering keep. “I already do,” he said quietly as they entered the door. “Everything I do, I do to keep you safe. Yet you seem intent on fighting me at times.”

  He helped her up the steep spiral stairs. “It is not my intention to fight you,” she said as they reached the landing. “But if I can help you create peace for Berwick, why do you not let me?”

  They reached the chamber and Stephen opened the door. “Must I go through this with you again?” he sighed.

  Joselyn entered the room, realizing that Mereld or Tilda must have come in because the fire was stoked and there was food on the small table. She went over and sat on the bed. She suddenly didn’t feel like arguing with him any longer.

  “Nay,” she said with defeat, averting her eyes. “You do not.”

  He watched her dark head, his blue eyes glimmering at her. He removed his big leather gloves and set them on the table.

  “Shall we eat?” he asked. “Someone has gone to the trouble to bring us food.”

  She shook her head, still looking away from him. “I am not hungry.”

  He went over to the bed, took her by the hand, and pulled her to stand. Leading her over to the little table, he sat in the oak chair and pulled her onto his lap. He began ripping the bread apart, handing her the soft white middle.

  “Was disobeying me worth the effort?” Stephen asked softly as he shoved a piece of bread into his mouth.

  Joselyn looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Did he tell you what you wanted to know?”

  She pondered his question with a sinking heart. If she told him the truth, then Stephen would take a battalion of men to the church that Kynan had described. All he would succeed in doing would be scattering the rebels and possibly getting himself killed in the process. The thought sickened her. It sickened her more that she was about to lie to him, convinced she could do what he could not. Kynan’s men would trust her. Perhaps she could convince them to surrender. It was a foolish thought but the idea of Stephen lying dead with an arrow through his
heart made her think foolish, desperate thoughts.

  “He told me that he was caged like a beast,” she said, forcing the soft white bread to her mouth and chewing slowly. “He wanted to know how I was. You told him that we were married?”

  Stephen moved for the hunk of warmed-over mutton with just a hint of his wife’s marvelous sauce from the day before. “I did,” he took a big bite. “I wanted him to know that I was now his kin.”

  “Why?”

  He looked at her. “Because it will give him pause, knowing he is related to me, before trying something foolish against me.”

  She lifted a dark eyebrow at him. “Scots fight whomever they choose, whenever they choose. It matters not if they battle kin or strangers.”

  His blue eyes twinkled. “Perhaps,” he agreed, chewing the mutton. “But I wanted to give the man something new to consider next time he orders his rebels to attack.”

  Joselyn lifted her shoulders, chewing her bread as if it were made of sawdust. Stephen watched her as she forced herself to eat, fighting off a grin. They finished eating in silence. Joselyn had, in fact, finished long before he had, unable to stomach more to eat. Her thoughts were dark, lingering on what Kynan had told her, formulating a plan that would save her husband. She could think of little else.

  When Stephen finally finished eating, it was well into evening but he was not tired, having slept all day. He had duties to return to but was reluctant to leave his wife. Not simply because of their conversation of the past several minutes but because, quite simply, he did not want to be without her. In spite of what happened up on the wall, he rather enjoyed having her with him. But she could not go with him where he needed to go and he stood up with his wife still on his lap, scooping her up as he rose. Without a word, he carried her over to their bed and set her gently upon it.

  “I must return to the walls for now,” he told her. “I will return in a few hours.”

  She stood up from the bed, her eyes big as she gazed up at him. “Do you fear more trouble this night?”

  He lifted his shoulders, moving for the armor he had propped up against the wall earlier in the day. He began to methodically don it.

  “Not in particular,” he replied, watching her as she moved forward to help him with his leather buckles. “But we must be vigilant.”

  She focused on fastening his greaves to his shins as he held the armor in place. There was hesitance in her voice as she spoke, as if she did not want to rehash everything they had so recently discussed. He knew her fears on the subject well enough. It would do no good to repeat them. Moreover, she did not want to make him suspicious that Kynan had told her more than she had let on.

  “I would have you be careful, then,” she said softly. “As I said, you are the Guardian Protector of Berwick. It would be a great prize for a Scots to plant an arrow in your chest.”

  Stephen felt her mood, the sorrow she was radiating, and he began to feel some remorse for having so strongly resisted her attempts to help him. When he should have been glad that she was not arguing with him about it, he began to feel some regret. Truth be told, he was deeply touched that she was so concerned for him. He’d never had someone so deeply concerned for his welfare.

  “Have no fear, wife,” he said softly, watching the top of her dark head. “I have a reason to survive the night.”

  She looked up at him with questioning eyes. “What is that?”

  He smiled warmly, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. “I have you,” he brushed his lips across her nose. “You give me reason enough to live.”

  Her mood relented somewhat and she put her hands on his cheeks as he kissed her face. “I am sorry I disobeyed you,” she whispered. “I never wish to upset you. But if my disobedience can save your life, I will gladly make that choice every time.”

  He stopped kissing her long enough to fix her in the eye. He sighed heavily. “We are never going to agree on this subject.”

  “I fear not.”

  “You are a stubborn wench.”

  She lifted her shoulders with a proud flair. “I am Scots.”

  He pursed his lips as he shook his head. “Scots has nothing to do with it. You are a woman, that is reason enough.”

  A twinkle of mirth came to her eye and the hands on his cheeks pinched them gently. “I am a woman in love who would do anything to keep you safe,” the mirth from her eyes fading as she gazed into his cornflower blue orbs. “Please remember that, Stephen. Everything I do, I do because I love you and would do anything to ensure we have a long and happy life together.”

  He nodded in resignation, kissing the tip of her nose again as he gently released her. “I know,” he reached over for the breast plate propped against the wall. “Let us not delve into that subject again. Help me finish with this. The sooner I take the wall, he sooner I will return to you.”

  She watched him as he donned the remainder of his armor, not at all sure that he truly understood her position. More and more, she knew what she needed to do. She needed to help end this conflict because every time her husband took the wall or went on patrol, the chance of his death was magnified. Every time he returned to her whole, she considered it a stroke of good luck. She feared that the luck would not hold out indefinitely. With every second that passed, she felt more and more strongly that she must protect him. She had to do something.

  Stephen noticed that she would not look him in the eye as she finished helping him with his armor. He attributed it to the fact that she was upset with the events of the evening. When she finally finished securing the last strap on his torso armor, he put a finger on her sternum. When she looked down to see what he was doing, his finger came up and bopped her gently on the nose. Rubbing her nose, she looked up at him only to see that he was grinning at her. Reluctantly, she grinned back.

  “You will stay here where I know you are safe,” he put his big hands on her upper arms. “Lock the door after I leave. Is that clear?”

  “Aye,” she nodded as she stopped rubbing her nose. “But I was hoping to check on the fawn.”

  He shook his head. “I am sure the fawn is safe and fed in the kitchens where you last left him,” he told her. “If it will make you feel better, I shall go and check on him myself.”

  She agreed. “Thank you.”

  He winked at her, bending down to kiss her sweetly on the lips. Joselyn threw her arms around his neck and met his kiss passionately, to which Stephen quickly succumbed. Hungrily, they licked and suckled at each other until he finally groaned and pulled away.

  “Any more of that and I shall never make it to my post,” he growled, although he stole one last kiss. “I shall return.”

  She nodded, gazing up at him with her pale blue eyes and kiss-swollen lips. She looked quite demure and obedient as he picked up his helm and winked at her again as he quit the chamber. Dutifully, she bolted it after he left. She purposely bolted it loudly so he would hear it and then she leaned against the door, her ear pressed to the wood as she listened to his footfalls fade.

  Moving to the lancet window, she peered outside to the portion of the bailey she could see from her vantage point and was rewarded by the sight of her massive husband as he crossed the bailey towards the kitchens. Just watching him walk made her feel warm and giddy. The man’s stride was confident and powerful. Every moment that passed saw her love him that much more. And she had to protect that love at any cost. She only hoped he could forgive her for her necessary deception.

  Quickly, she went to work. Stripping off her surcoat, she dressed in one of her newer surcoats, the dark blue with the long, belled sleeves. The dark color would blend well into the night. She dressed warmly, finally wrapping herself in the dusty Seton tartan. All the while, she planned in her mind over and over what she was to do, where she was to go. Kynan had told her to head south on the main road towards the cemetery. She knew the area. She was to seek the priest at the church near the cemetery.

  Joselyn was smart enough to wait until the changing of the
guards to make her move and slip through the postern gate leading to the river. Wrapped in the dark tartan, the guards never saw her in the shadows under the silver moon. Like a night wraith, she slipped along the wall and into the river, making her way down the river in shoulder-deep water until coming ashore about a half mile downriver.

  Wet and cold, she persevered on towards the main road leading out of town.

  The fawn was fat, warm and happy in the corner of the kitchen where Mereld and Tilda had been feeding the little thing. It bleated at him and attempted to suckle his fingers when he tried to pet it. Leaving his wife’s very spoiled pet to its happy corner, Stephen made his way across the darkened bailey towards the gatehouse, the massive structure lit by torches against the night sky. As Stephen drew close, he came across de Lara emerging from the warm and stuffy great hall. Stephen came to a halt as Tate caught up to him.

  “So,” Stephen said with a twinkle in his eye. “Have you recovered from your brush with death?”

  Tate grinned wearily. “Damnable Scots,” he grumbled. “It simply underscores my need to return home.”

  Stephen grunted. “When are you leaving?”

  “At dawn,” Tate replied. “But I am not heading straight home. I intend to take a detour to Earl of Buccleuch.”

  Stephen sobered. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Will you escort the lad back to Berwick?”

  “I thought I would.”

  “Will your wife wait that much longer for you to return home?”

  Tate made a pensive and apprehensive face, as men do who fear the reaction of a woman. “She will have to. A few more days will not make much difference in the end.”

  “Perhaps,” Stephen lifted an eyebrow. “But if she turns her anger on me since this is an errand on my behalf, know that I intend to point all necessary fingers back at you. I do not want to suffer the wrath of Lady de Lara.”