Medieval Ever After

by Kathryn Le Veque

  So… she is de Lara’s cousin, he thought. He was wondering how, precisely, she was related to the great Tate de Lara and now he knew. It was a sad thought, indeed, but something he wouldn’t waste the energy to dwell on. He’d never had a real romantic interest in his life and realized he wasn’t in danger of having one now, not with the knowledge that she was a de Lara. It was too bad, too, but he pushed the disappointment aside to focus on her sweet voice, husky and honeyed. That was a much more pleasant thought.

  “Has your name brought you good fortune, then?” he asked.

  “Up until today it has.”

  It was a cute turn of humor and they shared a small chuckle. Mathias thought he might actually be blushing but he wasn’t about to touch his face to see if it was warm. He could only pray it wasn’t. He’d never in his life met a lady that so easily extracted emotion from him in so short amount of time. He labored to keep his control and not look like a giddy fool in front of her.

  “I am sure the events of today will not sour your good fortune,” he said. “I suspect you still have many years of blessings before you.”

  Cathlina was still smiling at him but as she lingered on her sister’s near-abduction again, her smile began to fade. She was still quite shaken by the whole thing.

  “What do you suppose he wanted with my sister?” she asked hesitantly. “I have never heard of a man simply walking up to a woman and trying to steal her.”

  Mathias shrugged, trying to make light of the situation because it had ended well when it could have ended so tragically. He thought it was perhaps best not to dwell on what could have been before he had intervened.

  “Mayhap he wanted someone to come home with him and cook him a meal,” he said, mildly teasing as he skirted the subject. “Or mayhap he simply wanted a wife.”

  Cathlina turned to him, rather surprised. “Steal a wife?” she repeated. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

  “’Tis true. Those things happen.”

  She could sense his humored manner and it was difficult not to give in to the mood in spite of the serious subject matter. “Do you speak from experience, then?”

  Mathias looked at her, full-on. His lips twitched with a smile. “I do not need to steal a wife.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “I see,” she said with feigned seriousness. “I suppose women simply fall at your feet wherever you go and you can have your pick of them.”

  He was trying very hard not to grin. Her humor was charming, and rather mocking of him, but he wasn’t offended in the least.

  “Something like that,” he teased. “Women are always eager to marry a smithy.”

  Cathlina laughed softly, glancing towards the smithy stalls down the avenue. “Is that your trade over there?”

  She was pointing and he followed the direction of her finger. “Aye,” he replied. “My father, my brother, and me; we are the largest smithy operation in Brampton.”

  Cathlina dropped her finger and looked at him. “You were very brave to come as you did,” she said. “I would not believe a smithy to be so brave.”

  He was amused. “Why not?”

  She cocked her head as if cornered by the question. “Because that is not your vocation,” she said, trying to explain. “You shoe horses and make weapons. You do not answer the call to arms as brave men do.”

  His amusement faded. As brave men do. He had been a brave man, once. Her comment hammered home the fact that he was no longer among the privileged, no longer in command of thousands of men who looked to him for guidance and strength. It seemed like an eternity ago when he last held a sword. Truth was, he hadn’t thought much about it since the day he had been stripped of his weapons and lands and titles. There was no use dwelling on what he could not change. But at the moment, he was thinking on that very fact. He felt very useless.

  “It was not a matter of answering the call to arms,” he said quietly. “It was simply a matter of doing what was right.”

  Before Cathlina could respond, she caught sight of her father and sister coming down the avenue towards them, weaving through the crowds of people. Cathlina waved frantically at them.

  “Father!” she called. “Roxane! Thank the Lord you have returned!”

  Cathlina’s father was a big man, muscular in his younger days but had now gone mostly to fat. He was balding and with a growth of beard, focusing curiously on his middle daughter as she called out to him.

  “What is it?” he asked, depositing a burlap-wrapped bundle into the back of the wagon. “What is amiss?”

  Cathlina didn’t hold back. She told her father the entire sordid tale, watching the man’s face turn red with anger and fright. Upon hearing the horrible story, the older sister, a dark-haired young woman who had a mere shadow of her middle sister’s beauty, leapt into the back of the wagon to comfort Abechail. When Cathlina came to the part in the story where Abechail was so wonderfully saved, she pointed right at Mathias.

  “This brave man came to our aid when no one else would,” she told her father. “He was wonderful. He and his brother saved us. You must reward him.”

  Mathias was uncomfortable now that they were all focused on him. The father, his features still flushed with shock, made his way to him.

  “Is this true?” he asked Mathias, as if he didn’t quite believe his daughter’s fantastic tale. “Was there truly a man to take my youngest daughter?”

  Mathias could see the look of panic on the man’s face. “It is true,” he said. “But she is safe now. Lady Cathlina was quite brave. She fought him valiantly.”

  The father was stunned. He turned swiftly to Cathlina, inspecting her hands and arms for bruises before kissing her palms and turning his attention to Abechail.

  The youngest daughter, who had managed to calm down somewhat since her brush with violence, was now weeping and quivering again as her eldest sister and father fussed over her. Mathias could see how shaken they all were. It was, in fact, quite touching to see how much they all cared about one another. That kind of devotion was rare.

  Feeling rather as if he were viewing something intensely private, he turned to leave but was halted by Cathlina. She called his name, stopping him, and by the time he turned around, she was running at him. Her soft hands grasped his arm and those big brown eyes were shining up at him.

  “Please,” she begged softly. “You cannot leave before my father has had an opportunity to reward you.”

  Mathias had been touched by many women. He had also touched women from time to time, purely innocent gestures that meant nothing more than polite attentiveness. But he had never felt such fire from a touch as he felt now. Cathlina’s soft hands were searing his flesh like brands. He could feel the heat all the way down to his toes.

  “A reward is not necessary,” he assured her. “It was my pleasure to assist.”

  “Will you at least come to Kirklinton and dine with us?” she pleaded softly. “Please allow us to show our thanks for your bravery. Do not deny us an opportunity to show you how grateful we are.”

  Gazing down into that sweet face, he knew he shouldn’t agree. It wasn’t a good idea, on so many levels. As much as he wanted to accept her invitation if only to bask in Cathlina’s beauty for the evening, it simply wasn’t wise. She was a de Lara and he wanted to stay far away from anything de Lara. But as he stood there with her, having her on his arm, he felt more like a man than he had in over a year. Odd how such a gesture fortified him. She fortified him. But he was forced to refuse.

  “Your offer is very kind but I must decline, my lady,” he said, trying not to sound cruel. “I can live the rest of my life on the gratitude you have already shown me. Anything more would seem greedy and excessive. I wish you and your family well.”

  He would never forget the look on Cathlina’s face as he turned to walk away from her. It was a very difficult thing not to relent because he certainly didn’t want to cause her such disappointment, but it cou
ldn’t be helped. He had done his good deed and would leave it at that.

  He had work to do.

  EXCERPT: THE FALLEN ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Is the basket packed?” Cathlina asked.

  “It is, my lady,” the red-faced cook replied. “I just put the bread in. That should be all of it.”

  In the small, cluttered kitchen of Kirklinton, she was peering into a basket laden with goodies; pear and cinnamon compote in an earthenware jar sealed with beeswax, cherries soaked in honey and wine, pickled onions, two loaves of bread baked with cheese and garlic, and small cakes that Cathlina had made herself – a little flour, lard, eggs, butter, honey, walnuts, nutmeg and cloves made delicious little bread-like cakes. Satisfied her basket was packed to her specifications, Cathlina carefully covered it with an embroidered piece of cloth. It was her own kerchief with the elaborate letters “CLM”, for Cathlina Lavinia Mary, stitched in the shape of vines.

  “Excellent,” she said, lifting the basket off of the massive, scarred butcher table. “Thank you for your assistance”

  The cook waved her off and returned to the suckling pig she had just killed. Hands wrapped around the moderately heavy basket, Cathlina headed out of the kitchen and into the yard beyond.

  It was early morning in Kirklinton. In late May, the weather was warmer and they hadn’t had rain for several days, which meant the ground had dried up somewhat and the mud wasn’t what it usually was. In fact, it was rather dry and pleasant. Pleasant enough for a trip back to Brampton.

  That was her plan, in any case. Dressed in a yellow linen surcoat with a matching linen cloak, the surcoat had lacings in the front of the bodice that, when tightened, emphasized her curvy figure to a fault. It was her favorite dress, given to her by her mother because the color had been so striking against her pale skin and dark hair. Cathlina’s mother, the Lady Rosalund, was rather partial to her middle daughter. She reminded her of a sister she’d had in her youth, now long dead. Therefore, Cathlina usually had the pick of the wardrobe.

  Even with the favoritism of her sometimes flighty mother, she was still remarkably unselfish or spoilt. She was, however, quite head-strong, and knew that she would not be punished for whatever she decided to do because her parents could never bring themselves to discipline her. Cathlina knew, therefore, that she would not be punished for her latest scheme. It was simply something she had to do and her parents would have to understand that.

  Kirklinton’s bailey was relatively small, as the castle itself wasn’t particularly large. A big, square keep constructed of bumpy gray stone sat in the middle of the complex on a slightly raised motte. There was an enclosed entry and then four rooms of various sizes on the ground floor while the second floor had three sleeping chambers and a smaller chamber used for bathing and other personal needs. On the ground floor, a trap door in the largest room, which served as a smaller great hall, led down into a dungeon-like basement for storage.

  The great hall was a separate structure as was the kitchen, both of them built into the curtain wall on the north side of the complex. Cathlina headed away from the kitchen and towards the stables built against the east wall. She could smell the hay and the smells of animals, and hear the braying and bleating as the beasts were fed by the stable workers.

  Clutching her basket tightly, she kept looking around to make sure no one noticed that she was dressed for travel. She did not want to be stopped before she could accomplish her mission. Fortunately, everyone seemed too busy to notice.

  Cathlina’s horse, a lovely dapple gray mare that was part Belgian warm blood and part Spanish Jennet, was tearing at her hay when Cathlina entered the dark confines of the stables. A litter of kittens nestled near the stash of hay up against the rear of the stall and she had to take the time to pet each tiny furry creature. She set the basket down so she could cuddle the babies. As she put the last kitten down and turned for the horse, she caught sight of a figure standing next to her.

  Startled, she gasped with fright until she realized it was her older sister. The Lady Roxane Marietta Anna de Lara was eighteen months older than her middle sister, a plain-looking girl with long features and frizzy dark hair. She was rather silly and not particularly bright, and she had a dreamy manner about her. With Roxane, other people’s concerns or quarrels didn’t interest her in the least. She was mostly focused on what made her happy. She was also quite jealous of Cathlina and often followed her, which is how she ended up in the stable.

  Cathlina knew the way her sister’s mind worked. Roxane was very nosy. She was the one person who couldn’t know what she was doing. Cathlina’s heart began to race with apprehension, wondering how she was going to prevent her sister from running for their parents when she discovered her plan to leave Kirklinton. The best way to deal with Roxane was to go on the offensive and hope to bully her into submission.

  “What are you doing here?” Cathlina demanded.

  Roxane cocked a thin eyebrow. “I saw you come from the kitchen,” she said. “What are you doing?”

  “That is none of your affair,” Cathlina hissed. “Go back to the keep.”

  Roxane’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me where you are going.”

  “Nay.”

  “Tell me or I shall tell Mother.”

  Cathlina’s expression twisted angrily. “If you tell her anything at all, I shall tell her that you were the one who stole her store of fine wine and used it to ply Beauson so that he would kiss you!”

  “You would not dare!”

  “If you do not leave me alone, I most certainly will!”

  “Oooh!”

  “Oooooh!”

  They shrieked and pointed at each other, furious and outraged. The next step was usually pulling hair but fortunately that didn’t occur. Still, there was agitated posturing going on that eventually settled with Roxane backing down first. She was still making faces, however.

  “I will not tell her,” she finally grumbled. “But tell me where you are going. What is in your basket?”

  Cathlina settled down as well, though she was still eyeing her sister with some anger. Roxane had a way of getting under her skin.

  “Breads and treats,” she finally said, returning her attention to her mare as she began to saddle the animal. “I am going to Brampton to bring them to the man who saved me and Abechail from the attacker yesterday. It is the least I can do.”

  Roxane followed her sister to the horse and actually began helping her tack the animal. “The man?” she repeated, thinking back to the day before and the events surrounding Abechail’s near abduction. “The big man with the dark hair?”

  Cathlina nodded as she strapped on the saddle. “Aye,” she said. “He said he would not take a reward but I feel strongly that I must do something for him. Had he not intervened, surely Abechail would now be lost. He would not even come to dine with us so I thought to bring him some manner of treats to show our gratitude.”

  Roxane pulled the bridle off the nail on the wall above the mare’s head, her manner thoughtful. “What was his name again?”

  “Mathias.”

  “Mathias? What was his surname?”

  “He did not say.”

  Roxane fussed with the straps on the bridle, her mind drifting to the very big, very handsome man who had saved her sisters from tragedy. He had delightful dark hair and a sculpted face.

  “Mathias,” she repeated, somewhat dreamily. “He was quite handsome, don’t you think?”

  Cathlina could hear the hopeful tone and she was irritated by it. Her sister had an eye for men, any man, and she could already tell that Roxane’s easily-won affections were about to shift to yesterday’s hero.

  Cathlina had spent most of the evening thinking about the dark-haired stranger, pondering his beauteous face and deep, gentle voice. The massive arms, the unruly hair, the twinkle in the green eyes… she was smitten by the picture. The mysterious Mathias was her private joy and no one else’s, and certainly not her fickle sister. She would n
ot share a secret fantasy that would surely never be fulfilled. It was but a dream, but it was her dream. She turned swiftly to Roxane, a finger in her face.

  “You will not think of him,” she hissed. “If anyone is to show affection towards him, it will be me, do you hear? I was the one he saved, you little fool. You have Beauson and Dunstan to occupy your affections. Leave Mathias alone.”

  Roxane looked rather surprised. Her sister never spoke of a man, so this was a rare occurrence. It also made Roxane very jealous because as the eldest, she felt it her birthright to have first right of refusal on any man that crossed the sisters’ path.

  “Beauson and Dunstan are merely father’s knights,” she said. “They are not men I intend to marry.”

  “Why not?”

  Roxane shrugged her slender shoulders. “Because they are mere knights,” she repeated. “I will marry a lord.”

  “Then you will put Mathias from your mind because he is not a lord. He is a smithy.”

  Roxane’s brow furrowed, just as quickly lifting in realization when she became aware that her sister was right. “You are correct,” she declared. “He is not a lord. We are de Laras and therefore must marry well. Mayhap Father will convince Cousin Tate to find us wealthy husbands. Do you recall when we visited last Christmas and the fine men that were gathered at Carlisle?”

  “You mean when you first beheld Kenneth St. Héver?”

  “I do.”

  “He is a mere knight, Roxy,” Cathlina said, somewhat gently, although she was thankful that Roxane was off Mathias’ scent. “He is not a lord. But I am sure there are many other men of standing that Cousin Tate can align us with.”

  “I hope so,” Roxane said wistfully. “I am growing rather weary of kissing knights.”

  Cathlina lifted an eyebrow at her. “You should not be kissing them at all.”