Castles, Knights, and Chivalry: 4 Medieval Romance Novels

by Ruth Kaufman

  “Laird?” Lia asked in alarm. “In Scotland?”

  “Aye. He is the MacGrigor. He be too weak tae travel here.”

  Lia shook her head. “I am sorry, but the healer is old. She has too many people here who need her. She cannot make such a journey.”

  The blond man’s face grew pained. “Lassie, please, at least allow the healer tae hear our plea.”

  Lia studied them a long moment, recognizing the desperation in their expressions. She had seen it too many times from others in similar circumstances who came seeking Sueta’s aid. She sighed heavily.

  “I am truly sorry, but the healer is an old woman. She would not be able to survive such a journey.”

  The red-haired man shook his head, his blue eyes piercing. “It is said the healer cares not for nations, that any in need be equal in her eyes.”

  “Aye,” Lia said, nodding. She also knew exactly where the conversation was heading. “The fact he is a Scotsman is not the reason why she cannot go to him. I tell you truly, she is too old to make such a journey.”

  “Lia, come with me,” a voice said.

  Lia jumped and spun, shocked to see Sueta standing behind her, her body bowed, leaning heavily on her staff. The old woman’s long gray hair hung around her face and shoulders like the branches of a weeping willow. Her wrinkled skin looked like leather, but her green eyes were still bright and unclouded. Her stern countenance never seemed to ease. “I would have a word with you,” she said.

  The two men stared at the healer and once again looked at each other, their faces paling at the same time. Now perhaps they truly realized Lia had not exaggerated.

  “Milady, please,” the blond man said, stepping forward. “Hear us out.”

  “You two, wait outside the door.”

  Lia’s heart hesitated and her spine stiffened as she followed Sueta into the hut. What was she planning?

  The Scotsmen stopped before the door, and Lia firmly closed it behind her. A whisper of fear coiled through her when she saw her own medicant chests standing open before Sueta. The old woman muttered to herself as she sorted through all the jars and various linen bags. She removed items from her own table and put them into the chests.

  “W-what are you doing, Mistress?” Lia asked.

  Sueta grunted. “You will go with them.”

  The blood drained from Lia’s face. “Nay, Mistress.”

  The old woman stopped sorting and frowned at her, her wrinkled brow cratering into deep furrows. “’Tis time, Lia, I grow old. I have taught you everything I know.”

  “You . . . you are sending me away?”

  Sueta gazed at her a long moment, her expression gentling. “This time has been long in coming. You can’t continue to hide here with me, girl. It is time for you to find yourself, to find your own future.”

  “But my future is here, as a healer.”

  “As a healer, aye,” Sueta said nodding. “And you are becoming a fine one. But your future does not reside in England. It resides in Scotland. ’Tis time for you to take the first step of your journey.”

  Lia’s heart pounded wildly. Sueta and her tiny hut were the only safety she had known since that terrible day of fire. “Please don’t send me away.”

  “Lia, you hide yourself away here as if you were a leper. You have grown into a beautiful young woman. You have strength within you. It is time you discovered the facts of not only your heritage but of what you can become.”

  “My . . . my heritage?” Lia stared at the old woman. Many times she had asked Sueta about her family, but the old woman had claimed she did not know.

  “The truth does not reside in England, child, but in Scotland.”

  “Scotland? How do you know?”

  Sueta smiled and patted her arm.

  “Do you know this laird?”

  “I’ve heard tales of the clan a time or two. The clan has been persecuted in the past by both their own people and by the English. The young laird that governs them now is said to be a good man, a fair man, and one with a passion for life. That is what keeps him alive now.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Sueta laughed softly. “How long have you been my apprentice? You still do not realize how much information I gain as a healer. People from all over the country gather here. You need only to listen and learn.”

  Lia ducked her head, her face burning with embarrassment. She had not listened to the stories much; she really didn’t care. She had a home here. The outside world seemed so far away, or so she had thought.

  A chill possessed the core of her being as a little voice whispered in her heart. A part of her had always known this day would come, and a part of her had always feared it. The thought of leaving the only home she had ever known filled her with dread.

  “Please, Mistress, do not send me away.”

  “Lia,” Sueta snapped then drew a deep breath, struggling to rein in her temper. The old woman once again sorted through items on the table. She picked up several sheets of vellum which Lia had bound together with string—the journal of healing Sueta insisted that she keep. She tucked it safely into one of the chests. “You have your whole life ahead of you while mine dims.” She paused, gazing at Lia. “You need to do this, girl. You need to go to this laird lest he lose his life and his soul.”

  “But why me?”

  Sueta paused, looking at her a long moment. “You are young and strong. As you said, I am old. I will only slow them down. This laird fights for his life. You dare not take too long.”

  Lia stared at the floor, fighting back her tears. “Is . . . is this the only way?”

  “Remember when I first found you? I once traveled the land helping people who could not come to me. It wasn’t until my age made it too difficult that I came here. You can do the same. Think of the people you can help. Go to Scotland.” Sueta handed her a pack with her meager belongings. “I’ve stowed some food for the trail for you. You can do this, Lia. Remember all I have taught you, and you will save many lives.”

  “I pray you are right, Mistress.” Still fighting back tears, Lia hugged the old woman.

  Surprisingly Sueta laughed. “There, there child. Do not fret so. It will be all right, you will see.” She released her and guided her out the door. “You two,” Sueta snapped at the Scotsmen. “Do you have a mount for the girl?”

  The two Scotsmen blinked at Lia.

  “Aye, Mistress,” the blond man said.

  “Take the medicant chests. Do you have a mule? They must be secured properly. I will personally lop off your heads if you break anything.”

  “Aye, Mistress,” the blond man said again. He entered the hut and picked up one of the chests.

  “Hold,” Sueta barked sternly. “This girl has been my apprentice since she was a small child. Now I give her into your care. I would have your word that you will allow no ill to befall her, that you will defend her with your lives.”

  The two men looked at each other in confusion. Finally, the blond Scot turned to Sueta. “Aye, Mistress, ye have our word.”

  “Good, for you dare not abandon her. Once she leaves with you, she will never be able to return here.”

  Lia gasped and stared at Sueta in shock.

  “Mistress, why fault the lass for our need?” the red-haired man asked.

  “Are you both daft fools? This is not my choice,” Sueta growled. “If the lass tends to your laird, she cannot return to English soil. If the crown hears of what she has done, she will hang as a traitor.”

  Lia swallowed hard, a new terror rising within her. She almost bolted from the room. How could she put her life on the line for someone she did not know? But she looked at Sueta and saw the determined glint in her eyes. The old woman had just described how she used to travel the land. No doubt she had faced similar situations. If Sueta could do it, so could Lia.

  “I would have your word as Scotsmen that you will not forsake her.”

  “On our honor and the honor of Clan MacGrigor, we will watch over th
e lassie. We willna forsake her.”

  “Good.”

  The red-haired man stared at Lia a long moment. “Let us be off, then. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

  Lia fought to keep her tears at bay, but she could not deny the fear raging within her.

  Terror clawed through Ronan’s mind. Laughter resounded, mocking him; le March’s voice whispered through his thoughts.

  “Now you will pay!”

  Ronan snarled in fury, fighting with everything in him. A fist smashed into his jaw, sending him to the floor. He tasted blood. Agony almost stole his awareness. He tried to open his eyes; his vision blurred but he thought he caught a glimpse of a room that was not his prison . . . his own solar.

  He battled to awaken from the nightmare, but the pain ripped at his mind and tore at his soul. Le March’s laughter rang over and over again.

  “You will never be free.”

  “Nay!” Ronan roared. He pulled himself up, battling to clear his vision. Where was he? Blessed saints, he had escaped, hadn’t he? Nay! It couldn’t have been a hallucination.

  “You are my prisoner!”

  “Nay!” Ronan cried. He lurched forward, slamming into the wooden floor. Fear wrapped around his thoughts. Again the vision of his prison blurred before him. But for an instant, it cleared, and he saw a young woman, cowering from him in terror.

  Desperate for hope, he reached for her. The sound of his chains rattled sharply. “Help me,” his voice grated hoarsely in his own ears.

  The woman screamed. “The demon!” she sprinted through the door and abruptly vanished.

  “Nay!” Ronan cried. “Dinna leave me!”

  But she was gone, leaving Ronan alone, imprisoned.

  Only death awaited him here.

  Le March’s maniacal laughter did not stop. “I own you now. You will never be free.”

  Ronan raged in fury and terror. It could not be true. Lies! All lies! He tried to haul himself up, to prove he was no longer a prisoner, but his body refused to obey him. He could only lie on the floor, in agony and unable to move. No one would help him.

  He was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

  Ronan bellowed his anguish, and consciousness mercifully abandoned him.

  Lia clung to the saddlebow in fear, certain she would fall at any moment.

  “Relax, lassie,” the blond Scot said, giving her a gentle smile.

  They had been on the trail two days and already it felt like an eternity. Lia had never ridden a horse before. “You’re Connell, right?”

  “Aye,” he said and his smile grew. “The other is my friend, Robert.” He eyed her another moment. “If ye relax, it will make it easier for ye tae balance.”

  She started to relax, but at that moment the horse chose to toss its head violently. She squeaked and clung to the saddlebow again.

  “’Tis all right, lass,” Connell said. At least he had a rope tied to the horse’s bit and secured to his saddle.

  “I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride a horse,” Lia said softly. “But these aren’t the circumstances I was imagining.”

  “I understand,” Connell said.

  Lia tried to divert her thoughts from her aching body and fear of falling. Why had Sueta said Lia could only find her path in Scotland? Did that mean she knew something of her past? She had always insisted she didn’t. She had only found Lia after the night of fire, wandering lost in the smoking rubble of broken stone and smashed wood, crying for her mother.

  Lia shivered and shoved the memory away before it awoke more . . . unpleasant ones.

  “Tell me about your home, about your laird.”

  Connell’s expression changed to one of sadness. “The MacGrigor, he is a good man, lassie. I have been proud tae fight with him, tae defend our homes against the English.”

  “I must admit I don’t pay attention to politics or wars. Only that when one starts, Sueta and I are busier than ever.”

  “Aye,” Connell said. “We . . . as in Robert and I, grew up with the MacGrigor brothers. Ronan and his brother, Aidan, were mischievous, full of life and laughter.” He hesitated, a fond but sad smile on his lips. “It seemed we were all in endless trouble. But the MacGrigor’s da was a fine man, a fine laird, tae hear my own da tell it. The MacGrigor be just as honorable. Our clan has been prosperous under his leadership.”

  “And with the war?”

  “The MacGrigor has tried tae keep us out of it for the most part. He says when kings argue, ’tis the common man who ends up doing the bleeding. But there have been times when he’s had no choice. We rallied under his banner. He and his brother . . . ne’er have I seen two men work as one before.”

  “Really? It seems in all the tales I’ve heard, the younger is always jealous of the elder.”

  “Aye, ye have it aright, but not with these two. Aidan has no desire tae be laird. Too much responsibility. He is more than happy tae allow his brother that.”

  “They work well together, then.”

  “Aye. ’Twas his brother who sent us for ye.”

  “So what happened?”

  “We battled the English. The MacGrigor, he understands strategy as few men do. He kens our strengths and our weaknesses as well as that of the enemy. There is a baron in service tae an earl who MacGrigor has defeated more than once, le March. He and other English have taken tae calling the MacGrigor the Scottish Demon. They hate him because he is such a difficult foe. The MacGrigor leads our cavalry and his brother the infantry. They work together like none I have ever seen. They dinna need tae speak tae each other. They just know what tae do.”

  “That is surprising.”

  “Aye, the two brothers were on opposite ends of the field. The MacGrigor brought the cavalry tae flank the English. I saw the MacGrigor’s horse fall and did my best tae fight my way tae him, but I was too far away. No one kens exactly what happened after that, but we think the MacGrigor was injured when his horse was slain. That be the only way the English would have been able tae take him without a fight.”

  “So the English captured him?”

  “Aye. Aidan immediately started searching for him, hoping tae ransom him back from the English. It took three days for us tae hear word of where they held him.”

  Lia swallowed hard, fearing she knew exactly what happened. “His wounds . . . they were not from the battle.”

  “Nay, lassie,” Connell replied, his voice thick. “They tortured him.” He paused and shivered. “Never in my life have I seen such abuse. But there is one thing ye need tae understand.”

  “What is that?”

  “After three days, they didna break him. He freed himself, lassie. He freed himself and crawled a quarter mile on his belly tae escape. That’s when Aidan found him. The MacGrigor refused tae die. That’s what gives us hope; that’s why his brother sent us tae fetch ye.”

  Lia swallowed hard. That the laird survived all he had said much for his strength of soul. She only prayed he would have the strength to continue fighting until she arrived.

  Voices screamed in his thoughts, ripping at his sanity. The whip sang and cracked, laying open the flesh on his back. Ronan battled his chains, but fighting was useless. It only brought more pain.

  Hot irons seared his back; the stench of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils. He howled against the agony.

  “I own you,” le March’s voice whispered. “Your soul is mine.”

  It is a fever dream! his thoughts cried. It is nothing more than a fever dream. I must awaken! I must!

  Ronan battled to pry open his eyes, but when he did, horror clawed at him. All he saw was his prison before him. Nay, this was not possible. He was free.

  “You will never be free!”

  Suddenly, he was in the black mud, in the deep crack in the earth, pulling his way out, fighting for freedom.

  Born from the depths of hell, its muck still clung to him. A stain of evil on his soul that would always remain.

  “Nay!” Ronan cried.

&nbs
p; He levered upward, his eyes rolling wildly, battling to breathe, pain radiating through the deepest part of his being. He was in his bed in his solar.

  Alone.

  Ronan staggered from his bed, the floor undulating beneath his feet. He reached out and caught the bedpost. He had to get control of himself. He was free. He was safe at home. But as his vision blurred again, he feared it all a hallucination, that he would again awaken in his prison.

  His entire body shook. A high-pitched whine sounded in his ears. A strange euphoria settled over him. Nay! Not again, please God, not again!

  He pitched face-first onto the floor as the attack took him full force.

  They had crossed the border days ago and traveled deeper into Scotland before finally stopping to camp for the night. According to Connell, they had two more days of travel before they reached Castle MacGrigor. Lia longed to see an end to the journey, but she could not deny her nerves coiled tighter the closer they approached. What would happen if their laird had died before she could reach him? Or even worse, what if he was so far gone she could not save him?

  She shoved her worries aside and concentrated on dinner. The Scotsmen were quite adept at cooking on the trail, but she found the fare a bit bland. Another thing she had learned under Sueta’s tutelage was cooking, and the people she met as a healer had only added to that knowledge. At least Robert and Connell seemed to appreciate her efforts, and it was something she could do so she didn’t feel like such a burden to them.

  The men worked to finish setting up camp. As the sun disappeared behind the western horizon, Lia spooned the thick stew into bowls.

  “Ah, thank ye, lassie,” Connell said as he sat on a log near the campfire and took the bowl from her. “Since ye took over the cooking, the food is finally fit for a weary man tae regain his strength.”

  Lia felt her lips tug upward.

  “Aye,” Robert said as he too sat and took a bowl from her. “Much better than the swill Connell was tryin’ tae poison us with.”

  “Hey now,” Connell said in warning. “Poisoning yer food can be arranged.”

  “Shut yer trap,” Robert snapped. “The poor lassie be weary and doesna need tae hear yer weak threats.”