Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “What is happening?” she asked the commander.

  The man studied the activity. “I do not know, my lady,” he replied. “It would seem that there is trouble somewhere.”

  She looked up at the man. He was a seasoned man, older, with bushy blond eyebrows. He seemed to have an even manner about him and she felt comfortable with him. In any case, she was thankful he had saved her from the lewd soldier.

  “Are you a knight?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, my lady,” he replied. “I command a battalion of the Earl of Norfolk’s soldiers.”

  “How did you know that my husband is Stephen of Pembury?”

  “Because I was in the hall last night with my liege when your marriage was announced. I saw your marriage and I saw what happened afterwards. A true horror, my lady; you have my sympathies.”

  She was not sure what to say to that so she lowered her head and clutched the fawn to her breast. The commander, however, kept talking.

  “De Lara was merciful in ending your mother’s suffering,” he went on. “Later in the night when my men had watch of the northern wall, I saw Pembury personally building what looked to be a crate. I was told it was your mother’s coffin. ’Tis a good man that would take the trouble to build a coffin himself, but I am sure you already know that.”

  By the time he was finished, Joselyn was looking at him intently. “He built a coffin for my mother?”

  The commander nodded, looking strangely at her and realizing that she probably did not know, in fact, what Pembury had done by the expression on her face. And with that knowledge, he shut his mouth lest he say something else she did not know about. But Joselyn was not finished with him.

  “You said de Lara was merciful to end my mother’s suffering,” she said, coming to a halt and facing him. “What did he do?”

  The commander sighed heavily and shook his head. “I… I am sorry, my lady. I did not know that you were unaware of….”

  “What did he do?” she cut him off.

  The commander prayed that Pembury would not take his head off. He knew there was no way to avoid her. Those pale blue eyes were boring into him and he braced himself for perhaps the stupidest thing he had ever done. He told her.

  “Your mother was in flames, lady,” he lowered his voice. “There was no hope. De Lara put a broadsword through her chest and ended her suffering immediately. It was the merciful thing do to.”

  Surprisingly, she didn’t fall into fits. She simply stood there, staring at him with those piercing blue eyes as if absorbing every word individually. When she spoke, however, her lower lip trembled.

  “What else did you see?” she asked in a whisper.

  The commander’s palms were beginning to sweat. He very much wanted to get away from her at the moment. “Not much else, my lady,” he said in a quiet voice. “My liege and I left the hall shortly after that. The next I saw was your husband building the coffin. He and de Lara took it to the chapel before dawn.”

  The little fawn bleated again and Joselyn stroked the animal, comforting it. She seemed stunned by the entire conversation. Slowly, the commander resumed walking towards the keep, gently urging her along with him. She followed stiffly, lost in thought.

  Just as they were approaching the keep, chargers roared around the corner from the stable block. Joselyn heard someone shouting her name and she paused, looking up to see a massive man astride a dapple gray charger heading towards her. She didn’t even recognize her husband until he bailed off the charger and rushed towards her, flipping up his visor.

  “Joselyn,” Stephen’s blue eyes were wide with surprise. “Where have you been? We were just leaving to search for you.”

  Joselyn was intimidated by all of the weapons and steel; as big a man as Stephen was, dressed to the hilt in weapons and armor made him larger than life. She clutched the fawn tightly, struggling to find the correct words, when the commander at her side spoke.

  “I found her down by the river, my lord,” he told Stephen. “She was at the water’s edge with her little friend.”

  Stephen didn’t even realize he had her by both arms. He didn’t remember grabbing her. Gazing down, he saw the tiny fawn in her arms and his confusion grew.

  “Where did you find this?” he asked her.

  Joselyn found her tongue. “I was at the water’s edge when a doe and her fawn came to drink. Some soldiers killed the mother and I took the baby. It is too young to be alone.”

  He sighed, more relieved than he cared to admit that she was well and whole. He had been terrified that she had run off in her grief. Or perhaps she had been abducted by bitter Englishmen; in truth, he hadn’t known. To see her well and safe was a surprise and a tremendous relief. With a great sigh, he put his gloved hand on her chin, forcing her to look at him.

  “Are you sure that you are alright?” he asked softly.

  She nodded. “I am fine. Just… hungry.”

  The cornflower blue eyes twinkled. Then, they abruptly darkened. Removing one of his massive mail gauntlets, he touched her left cheek with big, warm fingers.

  “What is this?” he demanded quietly.

  She had completely forgotten about the slap and tried to lower her face, but he would not allow it. He held her chin firm.

  “I… I do not know what you mean,” she replied evasively.

  “There is a perfect handprint on your face. Who struck you?”

  He immediately looked at the sergeant, who visibly blanched. Joselyn could see where Stephen’s thoughts were and she shook her head vigorously.

  “Nay, not him,” she insisted. “He has been extremely kind. It was not him.”

  “Not him?” Stephen turned back to her, his square jaw ticking. “Then you know exactly what I mean. Who did this? And no more lying.”

  “I was not lying,” she insisted hotly. “I simply do not see the need for you to punish some man who was only reacting because I kicked him.”

  Stephen was very close to losing his temper, highly unusual for the collected knight. He took his wife by the arm and pulled her into the keep, away from the men cluttering the bailey. Once inside the cool, dark entry that smelled like must, he faced her.

  “Where have you been and who struck you?” he demanded in a voice that invited no dispute. “If you do not give me the answer I seek, I will lock you in our chamber and keep you there day and night. Tell me now or my punishment will be swift.”

  She was angry, frightened, exhausted and hungry. She opened her mouth to argue with him but tears came instead. She was having a devil of a time fighting them off.

  “I went to the river because I wanted to be alone to think,” she told him, trying not to sob. “While I was there, a doe and her fawn came to drink. The mother was killed by men from the garrison and one of the soldier’s saw me on the banks. He tried to take the fawn from me so I kicked him. He slapped me in response and that is when the sergeant found me. That is all there is to it. I was not attempting to run away if that is what you were thinking. I simply wanted to go someplace to collect my thoughts and I ended up at the river’s edge.”

  Stephen stared at her a long moment before finally wiping a weary hand over his face. He had just spent the past half hour in total panic and was not quite over it yet. “Who was the soldier?”

  “I do not know his name.”

  “The sergeant will. I will ask him.”

  He was heading out the door and she grabbed him. “Where are you going?”

  “To get answers from the sergeant.

  He pushed forward but she dug her heels in and held fast. “Wait a moment, please.”

  He came to a halt. “What is it?”

  She still had a grip on him, blinking away the remnants of her tears. “I was told you built a coffin for my mother last night. Is this true?”

  She could see his expression soften at the swift change of subject. He didn’t seem entirely angered by it; if anything, he seemed to calm dramatically. “Who told you this?”

 
“It does not matter. Is it true?”

  He paused for several moments before reluctantly nodding. “It is.”

  “Did you put her in it yourself?”

  “I did.”

  “And de Lara. I was told he ended her suffering at the tip of a broadsword.”

  Again, Stephen nodded slowly. Joselyn stared at him, realizing that what she had been told was true and the mercy of the two English knights struck her deeply. Men who did not even know her mother, who was in fact, an enemy, had shown her such compassion as most men would not have. It was an unexpected element from the same men who had hanged her young brother, a paradox she could hardly comprehend.

  Fighting off tears, Joselyn slowly moved towards Stephen. It seemed as if she wanted to say something more but the words would not come. She came closer and closer until she brushed against him, her sweet, warm body against his hard mail. Stephen watched her, electrified by her close proximity, wildly curious about her behavior, when she reached up and gently put a hand behind his mailed neck. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pulled gently, bending him down until his face was almost level with her head. Stephen waited for a slap or a punch, unsure of her motives, when she suddenly leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. The unforeseen gesture was enough to send his heart wildly racing.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her lips against his rough flesh. “For the kindness you showed my mother, I thank you deeply.”

  With that, she let him go and he watched, his heart in his throat, as she silently ascended the stairs to the chamber above. He could hear the fawn bleating and eventually a door closed softly. Still, he continued to stand there, feeling her kiss upon his cheek as he had never felt anything in his entire life.

  All thoughts of anger, retribution and punishment were sucked right out of his head with that one tender gesture. When he emerged from the keep, it was to disband the search party and thank Norfolk’s sergeant for his escort.

  “What is your name, sergeant?” he asked.

  “Lane de Norville, my lord,” the man replied. “I serve Norfolk.”

  Stephen nodded shortly. “Sergeant de Norville, you have my thanks for tending my wife. I will make sure Norfolk knows of your diligence.”

  The sergeant saluted smartly and was gone. Even as Stephen went about his business, thoughts of the blue eyed, dark haired lady filled his brain until he couldn’t see or think of anything else.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Scots weren’t finished yet.

  Stephen had never doubted that and was therefore not surprised when he mobilized about two hundred men from the castle to attack a section of the city that was experiencing a weak resurgence of rebellion. He and de Lara rode to the northwest section of Berwick’s walled city to quell a group of about one hundred Scots who were attempting to retake the city section by section. Although it was not a particularly brutal battle, it was long and frustrating and went on well into the night. By the time they were finished, they had killed about thirty Scots and lost eleven men.

  Stephen assigned extra men to protect that area of the city at night, before returning to Berwick. It was well after sunset and the castle blazed with the ghostly glow from hundreds of torches. The great hall was lit up, light from inside the room streaming out through the lancet windows. Exhausted, Stephen and Tate dismounted their chargers, turned the beasts over to the grooms, and headed for the hall.

  “I shall check that portion of the city again after dawn,” Stephen told Tate. “From what those rebels told us, there are more of them than we know still in the city.”

  De Lara nodded wearily. “I would imagine it is nothing tremendously organized. There are die hard rebels in any conquered people.”

  “Aye, but it will only take one or two strong men to organize them and then we will have to worry about the Scots retaking the city,” he shook his head. “At least we have brought the suspected leader back with us and I fully intend to bleed the man dry of any information he might have. But I am nonetheless thinking of asking the king for more reinforcements to flush the rebels from the city altogether.”

  “You already have almost one thousand men.”

  “Indeed I do, but we had over eight thousand just two days ago. Most of the English commanders have already left and headed for home.”

  “True enough,” de Lara rubbed his eyes. “I can send for another five hundred from Carlisle. Henry of Lancaster can send another five hundred. Perhaps you should ask Norfolk to leave a detachment; he is leaving on the morrow, you know.”

  “I know. I have already asked him to leave me as many as he believes he can spare.”

  They had reached the hall. Stephen opened the door and was hit in the face by the warm, fragrant air inside. It smelled like rushes and roasted meat, and he felt his hunger immediately. Stepping inside, it was a bright and busy world.

  The first sight that greeted him was Joselyn, heading towards him from the east side of the room. She was dressed in the cranberry wool, her luscious figure emphasized by the cut of the garment. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face and the pale blue eyes were brilliant. Stephen watched her with appreciation as she smiled and curtsied politely.

  “Welcome home, my lord,” she said, glancing to de Lara and bobbing another curtsy. “Lord de Lara.”

  Tate acknowledged the lovely woman, grinning at Stephen when the man turned to look at him as if to reaffirm the fact that he had married a truly beautiful lady. Removing his helm, de Lara scratched his head and, still grinning, moved off towards the dais where a huge table of food was spread out.

  Stephen didn’t notice that Tate had left; he was entirely focused on his wife. She looked absolutely radiant, a far cry from the cold and dirty creature he had met last night. Sleep, new clothing and an improving relationship with her new husband had worked wonders. He could hardly believe it was the same woman.

  Joselyn gazed up at him, feeling the intensity of his stare as if he had reached out and grabbed her. Her cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink.

  “I hope the meal pleases you,” she said, sweeping her arm in the direction of the table. “There were virtually no provisions left at the castle and we only had what your men brought in since yesterday.”

  Stephen knew that the city of Berwick, including the castle, had basically been starved out during the siege but he made no reference to it. He didn’t want to dampen the mood and there was no point in reiterating what they both knew. So he took her gently by the elbow and escorted her to the heavily-laden table.

  “The fare looks quite generous, my lady,” he reassured her.

  In fact, he was quite surprised to see all of the food. There were dishes everywhere, things he didn’t even recognize. But he remembered that during that unpleasant encounter last night she had told him that the nuns of Jedburgh had taught her the art of cooking. He had no idea what she meant until this moment. He gestured at the table, somewhat in awe.

  “Good Christ,” he couldn’t help the soft exclamation. “Did you do all of this?”

  She nodded, somewhat modestly. “Your men brought flour, salt, bags of dried currants and apricots, wine, a few jars of honey, bags of nuts, and slabs of mutton and pork. I did what I could with it.”

  He looked at her, stunned. “Surely you had help.”

  She shrugged, reaching down for a wooden plate filled with something gooey and sweet-looking. “There were two women that aided me. Berwick has no cook, so the servants take turns.” She lifted the plate. “These are sweet cakes with apricots, nuts and honey. Would you try one?”

  He just stared at her. Then, he reached for one of the pastries, realized he had his mail gloves on and paused to rip them both off, tossing them to the bench. He then took one of the pastries and put the entire thing in his mouth. Joselyn watched with trepidation as he chewed a couple of times, stopped, and then resumed at a slower pace.

  “Is… is it not to your liking?” she asked timidly.

  Stephen chewed a few
more times before swallowing. He licked his lips and looked at her. “Lady, that was by far the most marvelous thing I have ever eaten and if you let anyone else have one, I shall be sorely disappointed. I would have them all for myself.”

  She grinned brightly and he returned her smile, adding a bold wink with it. In truth, the little cake had been luscious. He gestured at the rest of the table. “What else do we have that is decadent and wonderful?”

  Everything was. She had cooked the pork in honey, the mutton in rich gravy, and had a variety of completely fattening breads about the table. The only vegetable they had were carrots, which she had boiled in honey and cloves, the only manner of spice that they had. They were exquisite. Stephen sat down next to his wife and ate until he could hardly move. Even then, there was still more food on the table and he continued to try everything put before him. As the night wore on and de Lara joined them, Stephen was so gorged that he was sure he would become ill.

  Tate was no better off. He, too, had eaten himself sick and he finally excused himself as the hour grew very late. As Stephen licked his fingers of the last of the apricot pastries, he watched de Lara wander away to sleep off his overindulgence. Joselyn sat next to her husband, her trencher licked clean of the pork she had stuffed herself with. When Stephen glanced at her, he caught her staring at him and he smiled.

  “Lady, if I had not already married you, I would have married you this instant based on the skill of that meal alone,” he said, watching her blush furiously. “Do you mean to tell me that the nuns at Jedburgh taught you to cook like this?”

  She shrugged modestly. “My tasks were mostly kitchen-related. One of the nuns was from Paris and she was a wonderful cook. I learned a great deal from her.”