Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Rem,” she said with gentle firmness. “Your friends are coming to see you. We must change your clothes so that you can play with them and give them your gifts. Don’t you want to give them your gifts?”

  Rem was such a handsome young lad with his dark hair and bright blue eyes. He frowned at his mother but had, at least, stop kicking for the moment. “Is Cade here?” he asked.

  Joselyn nodded patiently. “He is coming with the Earl. You want to see your brother, don’t you? Then we must hurry and change our clothes.”

  Rem began to scramble up the stairs. Joselyn watched him clamor up the stone, puffing out her cheeks and exhaling sharply as she turned to her husband. She indicated the baby in his arms. “Can you at least manage to keep Sebastian clean while I take care of these two?”

  He smiled, moving to kiss her sweetly. “I will endeavor to do my best,” he kissed her again. “You had better hurry before Rem tears his room apart looking for clean clothes.”

  “He will tear his room apart in any case. He is such a terror that I am fearful of what will happen when he grows older.”

  Stephen wriggled his eyebrows. “I am still bigger than he is. Hopefully I shall be able to hold my own as he grows older.”

  Joselyn shook her head and grinned, holding her daughter by the hand as she carefully helped the child up the steps. Stephen watched them go before wrapping the swaddling tightly around the baby and taking him out into the cold winter weather.

  The bailey was full of horses, men, and three heavily packed wagons. A large carriage was off to the left and Stephen’s eyes fixed on it as he descended the stairs from the keep. A smattering of clouds was depositing a dusting of snow crystals into the air, sticking on the ice-cold stone structures. As Stephen walked around one of the big wagons, a shout caught his attention. He turned in time to see Toby heading towards him with several children in tow.

  She was wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, smiling from ear to ear. She had three children following her; young Arabella was seven years, holding the youngest child, two year-old Sophie, on her hip while four year-old Dane was lured by the snowy mud puddles like Rem and Ashton had been. Toby grabbed the boy before he could get into trouble. She opened her arms, giving Stephen a warm hug as she focused on the baby in his arms.

  “’Tis so good to see you,” she told him although she was looking at the infant. “And this must be Sebastian. Stephen, he’s beautiful.”

  Stephen smiled proudly, barely having time to say a word before she was pulling the baby out of his arms. She cradled the infant, rocking him gently and cooing soft baby talk to him. Sebastian rewarded her with a smile and Toby crowed with delight.

  “He is wonderful,” she declared, smiling up at Stephen. “I believe I will take him home with me.”

  Stephen lifted an eyebrow. “You will have to take that up with my wife. I am not entirely sure she would be willing to give him up.” He watched Toby laugh softly. “Besides, you have your own brood.”

  He put an enormous hand on Dane’s head as the boy came close, mussing the dark hair. Toby cast an affectionate eye over her youngest three children. “Roman, Dylan and Alex are on their way here from Kenilworth,” she said. “I have not seen them since the summer. I miss them terribly.”

  Stephen snorted. “I have heard that they have single-handedly taken over the castle,” he laughed. “The earl fears your sons. He says he is going to turn them loose on the Welsh.”

  Toby lifted an eyebrow. “Beware, Pembury. They will be here in a few days. Be careful that they do not take your castle out from under you.”

  “At least your husband will be here to help me fend them off,” he said, looking around. “Speaking of your husband, where is he? And where is Cade?”

  Toby lifted her eyebrows. “They both went to go fetch Cate from Windsor,” she replied. “She is eight years old and already entrenched in the court. Tate misses her so much that he went to retrieve her himself, and you know that Cade is quite fond of her as well. I do believe we will be related in a few years by marriage, Stephen.”

  Stephen put his hand over his heart and rolled his eyes. “I cannot believe how these children are growing up.”

  Toby grinned. “Just so you know, Tate is extremely protective over Cate and views your son as a threat. But he loves the boy and approves of him, so he is somewhat torn. Be prepared to receive all manner of lecture from him.”

  Stephen couldn’t pass up the opportunity to jab at Tate, for any reason. “Hmmm,” he looked thoughtful. “I do believe that I will bring up the subject of his daughter’s dowry. My son will marry no pauper.”

  “He should be here in another day or so and you can discuss it with him then. But I would be prepared to defend myself if I were you.”

  Stephen laughed softly, watching Arabella set Sophie to her feet and then snorting as Sophie and Dane did exactly as his youngsters had done. They went straight for the snowy mud puddles. But a firm word from Toby stopped them and Stephen raised his eyebrows.

  “I have not yet learned that particular command when it comes to children,” he commented. “My children do as they please no matter what I say.”

  Toby shook her head reproachfully. “Stephen, you command hundreds of men and a powerful empire. Do you mean to tell me that you’ve not yet learned to control your children?”

  He looked ashamed. “My wife does but, unfortunately, they do not seem to listen to me very well. That is why Joselyn did not meet you in the bailey, in fact. I allowed Rem and Ashton near the mud puddles and, well….”

  Toby shook her head, laughing at his sheepishness. “Do not feel so badly,” she told him. “Kenneth is the same way with his boys and I never thought I’d see the day when the mighty Earl of Wrexham would lose control of any man.”

  Stephen grinned, thinking of Kenneth, having gained an earldom by marriage, and his two blond-headed sons, Brennan and Evan. “Aye, but the difference is that his boys are polite and well behaved and he need not worry. I fear I am raising a pack of wild animals.”

  “Do you not remember how Dylan and Alex were at that age?” Toby reminded him. “Though they are no longer uncontrollable, they still get into mischief. I cannot tell you of the countless missives Tate receives from Kenilworth on the subject. All he asks is that they not beat the boys. Other than that, the punishment is up to the knights.”

  Stephen shrugged in agreement, knowing he would probably be facing the same thing with Rem. As if on cue, his eldest suddenly bolted from the keep, racing down the stairs as much as his baby legs would allow as Joselyn suddenly appeared behind him. She admonished him to be careful as she held Ashton’s hand, helping the little girl down. Toby and Stephen watched as Rem ran right for his playmate, Dane, and promptly shoved him into the mud. The boys began tussling and Joselyn moved to intervene before she even said a word of greeting to her guests. But she waved at Toby apologetically and Toby laughed.

  “Do you remember those years ago at Cartingdon when I first met you and Tate and Kenneth?” she asked softly.

  Stephen nodded, thinking back. It was eleven years ago but seemed like a lifetime ago. “Aye,” he replied. “I remember entering the church in Cartingdon and watching you argue with your father in front of the townsfolk because he wanted to support young Edward’s fight against Mortimer and you did not want to get involved. I remember thinking what Tate was thinking; that you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen but with insufferable manners.”

  Toby pursed her lips angrily at him while he snorted. Then she grew serious. “Did you ever imagine your life would turn out as it has?” she asked.

  Stephen’s humor faded as he watched Joselyn deal patiently with Rem and Dane. His heart softened at the sight of her, the woman he loved with his entire being. He couldn’t imagine his life without her.

  “Nay,” he said softly. “It is beyond my wildest dreams.”

  “Happy?”

  “Ecstatic, and then some.”

  With Sebastian still in one
arm, Toby slipped her hand into the crook of Stephen’s elbow. “Shall we go and greet your entire reason for living, then?”

  Stephen looked into Toby’s almond-shaped eyes, twinkling up at him. He suddenly felt very emotional although he did not know why. “There are no words, Toby. No words at all to describe the joy of these days.”

  She nodded with understanding. “I know, Stephen. I know.”

  Tate, Cade and Cate arrived the next day, followed shortly by Kenneth, his lovely wife Bella, and their two young sons, Brennan and Evan. Roman, Alex and Dylan arrived last, big boys ready for their holiday celebration away from their training at Kenilworth.

  The night of the great Christmas feast, Stephen sat in the hall with Tate and Kenneth, watching Roman, Alex and Dylan play with the younger children while Cade and Cate sat in a corner in private but proper conversation. Toby, Joselyn and Bella sat near the hearth, fussing over baby Sebastian, their laughter filling the hall now and again.

  Stephen glanced over at his friends, men he loved like brothers. He was so content, so overjoyed with the blessings in his life, that he could not describe his elation. As he was thinking on his good fortune, Rem suddenly broke off from the group of children, being chased by Brennan and Dane. Brennan managed to tackle Rem, sending him to the ground as Dane fell on top of them. The boys were rolling around like puppies fighting and Stephen looked at Tate and Kenneth, who merely shrugged in succession with the resignation that fathers tended to show when their boys rough-housed.

  As the mothers rose from their seats to break up the fight, Stephen lifted his cup to his friends. Tate and Kenneth lifted theirs as well, knowing instinctively what the man was thinking because they were all thinking the same thing.

  “To the next generation,” Stephen said softly.

  As the years passed, more children were added to their collective families. The years to come saw Stephen add two more sons, Seton and Brenton, who, along with their brothers Rem and Bastian, grew up to serve Edward the Black Prince and his son Richard the Second while their sister, the lovely Lady Ashton, became one of the most sought-after women in England and eventually married the commander of Northumberland’s armies.

  Kenneth had one more child, daughter Witney St. Héver, who married a great Welsh warlord. Brothers Bren and Evan became two of the more powerful knights along the Marches, following in their father’s footsteps as fair and wise men. But it was Tate de Lara’s legacy that had the greatest impact. As the man who should have been king, his progeny followed great and prominent paths.

  Roman became the next Earl of Carlisle and gained a reputation for wisdom and generosity. Cade Pembury served as the commander of Roman’s armies and the two remained lifelong friends as well as brothers when Cade married Catherine de Lara.

  Dylan and Alex de Lara, the troublemakers of the bunch, ended up serving the hot-headed Black Prince as his most trusted knights, with Dylan unfortunately losing his life at the Battle of Poitier. It had been Alex, Brennan and all five Pembury brothers who had escorted him home for burial.

  Arabella de Lara married into the English royal family while Dane de Lara became a powerful garrison commander for Tate’s brother, the great marcher lord Liam de Lara, along the Welsh border, eventually taking a Welsh wife and gaining lands and titles of his own. Sophie de Lara married a prince of Denmark and became mother to a future king.

  As Stephen had once said on that wintery night in the year 1337; to the next generation. It was Tate who added the rest; and to the generations to follow.

  The legacy of Dragonblade and his knights lived on.

  * THE END *

  THE QUESTING

  A Medieval Romance

  By Kathryn Le Veque

  Dedication

  To my Team – the best team an author could have:

  Kris – who harped on me for a year and a half to finish this book (harped in a good way!). You have motivated and inspired me!

  Scott – a kick-ass editor if there ever was one. Thank you for your feedback, your wit, and your friendship.

  Also, to fellow authors Suzan Tisdale and Tanya Anne Crosby, who are a constant source of knowledge, camaraderie, and humor.

  And finally, to my readers – you keep me striving with every click of the keyboard for a bigger, better novel. My deepest thanks for your support.

  Love to all!

  PROLOGUE

  July 22, 1298 A.D.

  Falkirk, Scotland

  The skies had opened up sometime around mid-afternoon, pounding the gently rolling hills with a terrible onslaught of rain. It had rained the day before, too, soaking the already saturated ground to the point where it could no longer absorb the water that was now falling from the angry black clouds in buckets.

  In a field to the south of what was known locally as Callendar Wood, a drastic scene was taking place; Scotsmen, led by William Wallace, were taking a pounding from the English who outnumbered them by more than two to one. Wallace, an excellent tactician, had his pikemen in four great armored groups, called “hedgehogs”, making them difficult to penetrate by the English. The Scot archers hadn’t fared so well. They were already mostly destroyed by a wave of Sassenach knights who had descended on them with all of the good manners of a horde of starving locusts. The battle between the mounted cavalry and the archers on foot had not lasted long.

  Now, the English archers had been called in and the knights had fallen back, allowing the archers to bombard the hedgehogs with their spiny arrows in great falling clouds, more numerous than the raindrops falling from the sky. After a few rounds of well-aimed English arrows, the small number of the Scots cavalry abandoned the battlefield, leaving the pikemen in their hedgehogs to face the barrage alone. Those men were now falling, too, and the English were sitting atop a great victory. It was only a matter of time.

  Near the east end of the field, there was still a bit of skirmish going on between the Scottish cavalry and the English knights that had blocked their escape. There were no more than thirty or forty mounted Scots against two dozen English knights, big men on big horses, well armored and well trained. The lesser trained Scot cavalry never stood a chance as the English knights swarmed them.

  A big knight on a bay charger finished off two Scotsmen, toppling one off of his horse by punching him squarely in the chest and then using his broadsword on the other. It was brutal, and messy, but it was a job well done. He was still in combat mode when another knight came up behind him, startling him.

  “Ease yourself, Edlington!” the man shouted, holding up his sword to fend off Edlington’s powerful blow. The man flipped up his visor, a grin on his face. Dark eyes, as black as night, glimmered humorously. “You have them on the run, man. Ease down that vicious weapon.”

  Sir Robert Edlington grinned at his fellow knight, a friend, lifting his hinged visor and wiping the sweat that had trickled into his right eye. Edlington was a handsome man with blue eyes and dark blond hair, now plastered against his wet forehead.

  “I think we all have them on the run,” he said, turning to gaze off towards the west where the last remnants of the battle were occurring. “Edward’s might once again rules the day.”

  The other knight nodded as he, too, looked off into the distance where the Scots were making their last stand. The stench of defeat was heavy in the air, leeching into the Scot soil upon which they stood.

  “Indeed it does,” the knight with the black eyes said. “Mayhap now we can finally return home.”

  Edlington glanced over at the man. “Until the next time,” he said, almost begrudgingly. “We shall all end up in Wales next time, scaling those jagged mountains with a rope in one hand and a sword in the other. Edward would have us fighting like mountain goats.”

  The knight with the black eyes snorted. “He does not care how you fight for him, as long as you do,” he muttered, watching the clash in the distance. “Mayhap we should join the others. This will go a lot faster if we help, you and I. I suspect they are waiting for us to d
eliver the death blow.”

  It was a humorous quip, one that set Edlington to laughing. Just as the man reached down to gather his reins and prepared to follow his friend back to the heart of the fighting, they both heard a high-pitched buzz overhead. Too late, they realized it was an arrow and before either one of them could move, Edlington was struck squarely in the chest. The blow of the arrow was so forceful that it knocked the man cleanly off his horse. Edlington went flying off backwards, hitting the mud behind him with a sickening thud.

  His friend, his companion, was off his charger in a moment, falling to his knees beside Edlington.

  “Sweet Jesus,” the companion breathed as he realized that the arrow had struck Edlington cleanly in the middle of his torso. “Let me see, Rob. Let me get this out of you.”

  Edlington lay on his back, gazing up at the sky. He was stunned, that was true, but he was also rather bewildered.

  “A… Scots arrow,” he said with disgust. “I… I thought the Scot archers were all dead.”

  His companion was tearing at his tunic, pulling it back so he could get a look at the arrow where it had pierced the mail and entered Edlington’s chest. But what he saw sickened him; the arrow had been what was called a “blunt.” The head of it was sharpened but it didn’t follow the usual shape of an arrowhead. It was meant to enter the body and tear great holes in its victim, which is what it had done to Edlington.

  There was a big hole in him, sucking in air as the knight struggled to breathe with the arrow buried several inches deep into his body. The companion could see that he was going to have to work quickly in order to save the man’s life, if it were at all possible. He didn’t want to entertain the thought that there was no hope, not now. Not when they were so close to victory. But deep in his heart he knew that it was already over. Edlington was already dead.