Castles, Knights, and Chivalry: 4 Medieval Romance Novels

by Ruth Kaufman

  He nodded and also left the room.

  Lia handed her roundels to Aidan and closed the door.

  “What is this, lassie?” Ronan asked. “I haven’t seen such a variety of food since Christmastide.”

  “You mentioned that as you grow older your tastes are changing,” she said and stepped next to him. “Choose whatever you might fancy.”

  “Cook must be vexed with ye,” he said, eyeing the food. He was hungry and it smelled wonderful.

  “Nay, for I cooked it myself.”

  He looked up at her in surprise. “Another talent ye havena shared with me?”

  She laughed softly. “Many who came seeking Sueta’s help did so with their families accompanying them. Sometimes those family members cooked for us and since Sueta places such import on diet, both she and I learned how to cook various things from all over.” She paused, her smile growing. “I promise you, with my cooking, you will never grow bored.”

  He grinned up at her, but his gaze returned to the food and his stomach rumbled even louder. “And ye simply want me tae pick . . . anything?”

  “Aye.”

  His gaze swept over the food again. He spotted a thick stew in a bowl, a rabbit that had been spitted and cooked over open fire, a game bird that had also been cooked similarly, but then his gaze landed on the fish. It was a large filet, deboned, but it had been cooked differently from what he was familiar with. He reached for it. “What is this, lassie?”

  “Trout from the river, caught this morn,” she said and sat next to him. “But this is pan seared. The trick is to get the pan hot enough that when I put the fish into it, it cooks all the way through almost instantly but not so hot that it burns. It will blacken the outside just a bit. I then added roasted vegetables for extra flavor.”

  Ronan took a tentative bite; the fish fair melted in his mouth, various flavors dancing over his tongue. He hesitated and stared at Lia.

  Her smile faded and she watched him. “You . . . you do not like it?”

  “Like it?” he asked softly and grinned at her. “Lassie, I love it.”

  She instantly relaxed and her smile returned.

  Ronan chuckled softly and returned to his food. The fish was lighter fare, and he looked at the other dishes Lia had provided. He thought to try another, noting that Lia and Aidan had not yet moved to claim their own.

  “Will ye two no’ eat?”

  “We will,” Lia assured him. “I want you to have free choice here.”

  He nodded and looked again to his plate. “I thought I might grab another but . . . honestly, lass, I think this will suit me fine.” He glanced at his brother, who stared at the food, nearly salivating.

  Ronan bit back a laugh, looked at Lia, and inclined his head toward Aidan. “Now I just feel cruel.”

  Lia’s hazel eyes sparkled with mirth. “Go ahead, Aidan.”

  “Thank ye,” Aidan muttered and grabbed the game bird. He attacked it with a ferocity that made Ronan laugh. Yet he too hesitated and stared at Lia in awe. “Lassie, this is amazing.” He paused and glared at his brother. “Remember our conversation when this plague first started . . . at the base of the stairs?”

  Ronan’s humor instantly faded. “Aye,” he said softly.

  “She stays, and that’s all there is tae it.”

  Ronan had to bite back a laugh lest he choke on his food. He winked at Aidan. “Aye, brother.”

  Lia looked at them in confusion. “Pray pardon?”

  “Never mind us,” Ronan said. “’Tis only my brother doing what he does best and giving me grief.” He jabbed his eating dagger at the remaining plates. “Now, lass, eat. I’ll not have ye go hungry.”

  Over the next few days, Lia finally brought Ronan’s infection under control. The two most stubborn wounds on his back were clear and closing nicely. She documented these results as well as the food he chose.

  Every meal offered a variety, and they always allowed Ronan to choose whatever he willed before she and Aidan made their choices. Anything left over they gave to Alba, Lachlan, and Marta, much to their delight.

  The only thing Lia worried over was the lack of grain in Ronan’s diet. But until the clan was able to purchase more, there was little she could do about it. But grain needed to be a staple.

  “How are you feeling?” Lia asked as she changed the bandages on his back. He no longer needed them on his chest.

  “Much better, thanks tae ye.” He paused and looked over his shoulder at her. “Mayhap I can go below stairs today?” He had asked the same question daily.

  Lia saw his energy returning and had no desire to keep him cooped in one room, knowing what it did to him. “For a time,” she said, smiling at him. “But you must promise me you will not allow yourself to become overtired, otherwise you will find yourself cooped in here longer.

  His entire body trembled under her hand. “I vow it, lassie. This last fiasco has taught me a valuable lesson. I shall heed yer words in their entirety.”

  “Good,” she said, knowing his resolve would not last for long.

  She helped him with his tunic and boots, noting the enforced captivity had also lessened the swelling in his leg. He might not even need a cane were it not for the stairs.

  Ronan descended the stairs and stopped in shock. There were no more ill lining the floor; cups and medicants no longer graced his high table. “Lassie?”

  “The last of the sick have recovered, Ronan,” she said smiling up at him. “There are only two in the village remaining, and they are well on their way to returning to full health.”

  He gazed at her, his throat growing tight. He had been so cruel to her. He swallowed hard. “Lassie, if it had not been for ye—” His voice cracked and he sucked in a breath. “Thank ye.”

  Her beautiful hazel eyes grew liquid as she gazed up at him. “I wish I could have done more.”

  “Nay, Lia,” he said firmly, his fingers catching her chin. The pad of his thumb swept along her jaw and he again noted how soft her skin was to the touch. “Ye did all ye could; ye saved many lives.”

  “Except . . . ” She paused and a frown marred her brow. “Where is Connell? I have not seen him in days.”

  Ronan also frowned. It was not like Connell to remain out of sight for so long. “Lachlan,” he called to the lad as he crossed the great hall. “Have ye seen Connell?”

  The lad hesitated. “Nay,” he said thinking for a moment. Then his head came up and his face paled. “The dead . . . they were too many for us to bury in the churchyard. The priest consecrated new ground outside the walls to bury them. The last I saw him was there . . . days ago.”

  Ronan spun around and headed for the door.

  “Ronan,” Lia, said tugging on his arm. “Please, you will overextend yourself.”

  “He is my friend,” Ronan growled.

  Lia hesitated only a moment then fell in step beside him. “And mine.”

  The new cemetery was closer to the village than to the castle, and out of the way. If the keep should fall under siege, it was unlikely the burial grounds would be close enough for the enemy army to desecrate. Ronan quickly realized, for him, it was not within walking distance.

  “I should have fetched the wagon,” he muttered as his limp grew worse.

  Lia moved to support his other side. “I think I see Connell.”

  Despite his lame leg, Ronan lengthened his stride.

  Indeed, Connell was at the burial grounds, on his knees before three crosses. From the looks of him, dirty and disheveled, his long hair tangled and a scruffy beard growing from his chin, he had been there for some time. They quickly approached. Ronan called his name several times, but Connell did not turn around.

  “Connell,” Ronan said, gently gripping his friend’s shoulder.

  Connell looked up, startled, tears streaking muddy paths down his cheeks. “M-MacGrigor?” He blinked rapidly. “Lia?”

  Lia knelt next to him. “Lord be merciful, Connell, how long have you been here?”

  He
shook his head, his gaze returning to the three crosses before him. “I . . . I canna convince myself they’re gone.”

  “Blessed Mary,” Lia whispered. She looked up and locked Ronan in her gaze, shaking her head.

  Ronan was uncertain of the message she meant to convey to him, only that he knew they had to get Connell back to the castle . . . and away from the graves.

  “Connell, come with me,” Ronan said.

  “Nay, I canna leave them.”

  Lia gently pushed his matted hair away from his face. “You must. ’Tis not good for you to remain here.”

  Again he shook his head, tears coming to his eyes.

  “Connell,” Ronan said, his grip tightening on his shoulders. “Ye ken I would give anything for ye. What do ye need?”

  “What I need be no’ in your power tae give.”

  “Name it.”

  “I need my family.”

  Ronan thought his heart would shatter at that moment.

  “Connell, listen to me,” Lia said, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. “Would your family want you doing this to yourself? Would your wife want this?”

  Tears dripped down his cheeks anew. “Nay,” he said softly.

  Ronan changed his grip on Connell, moving his hand under his arm. He gently but firmly tugged the man upward. “Dinna make me haul ye tae the castle by yer scruff.”

  Lia gave him a sharp look. Connell hung his head, but Ronan knew his friend well. Connell acceded to his pull and rose, unsteady on his feet.

  “He’s been here too long,” Lia said.

  Ronan looked over his shoulder, glad to see Lachlan had trailed after them. Beside him stood Robert. He waved them both over. Lachlan trotted up to them, looking at Connell in concern.

  “I tried tae get him tae leave,” Robert said softly. “He refused, drew steel on me, and threatened tae run me through if I didna leave him alone.”

  “He’s grieving, Robert,” Lia said gently. “Be patient with him.”

  “Get him back tae the keep,” Ronan said.

  “I will tend to him,” Lia said. “Do not allow him to go anywhere, but get him cleaned up and get some hot food into him.”

  “Aye,” Lachlan said.

  Connell shot another look at the graves over his shoulder, but Lia moved so that she stood between his line of sight and the crosses.

  “Too many have lost their lives,” she said softly but firmly. “I’ll not abide another soul.”

  He looked at Lia, then his gaze slid to Ronan.

  Ronan nodded and Connell turned away from the graves. As Ronan and Lia followed him back to the keep, Ronan noted he did not look back again.

  Ronan made it up the stairs and into the keep through sheer willpower alone. He hesitated, watching Lachlan and Robert led Connell away, wanting to follow and make certain his friend would be all right.

  Lia caught his arm. “To the solar with you,” she said firmly and tugged.

  Ronan looked down at her and took a breath to argue.

  “Now,” she said between clenched teeth.

  His eyes widened; he had not heard her quite so ferocious before. Instead of continuing to tug on his arm, she walked to the stairs then hesitated when he did not follow. She turned around and shot him a glare that would have melted stone.

  Your mother must have had the patience of Job, she had said. Ronan felt his lips tug upward. Too bad he didn’t have the energy. He would have shown her exactly just why his mother had indeed possessed the patience of Job. His smile grew. Lia would soon learn, he decided.

  “Now,” she growled again, her fury radiating in her hazel eyes. She tore her gaze from his. “Alba, I need hot water to the solar,” she snapped.

  Alba stared at Lia wide-eyed. “Of course, milady.” She looked up at Ronan as she walked past him as if she too wondered where this wildcat had come from.

  “I dinna ken,” Ronan whispered to her. “But I suddenly fear the healer more than ye fear me.”

  Alba coughed and Ronan realized she had bitten back a laugh. He winked at her and limped toward the stairs, obediently following Lia.

  Upon making sure he was indeed following her, Lia hurried up the stairs and into the solar. By the time Ronan arrived, Lia had her herbs and potions out, sorting through them with unusual speed. “Lassie?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.

  “Where is that water?” she muttered, not pausing to look at him.

  Ronan scowled and realized this was much more than irritation with him. He leaned forward and caught her arm. “Lia, peace.”

  She stopped, her anger fading away to be replaced with worry.

  “What is wrong?”

  “The last time you overextended yourself,” she paused and drew a deep breath into her lungs, “let’s just say I do not want to revisit that.”

  “I dinna either, lass, but I do not feel as badly as I did on that day.”

  “Good, but I do not wish to take chances.”

  He nodded and released her. Lia returned to her medicants, but her pace was calmer and not as harried as before. He noted she pulled out her normal mortar and pestle. After that, she withdrew a second one out of a bag, made of gray stone. He frowned. He had never seen her use two before.

  Lia, with an exasperated sigh, faced the door yet again. “So help me if I have to go—”

  A knock sounded before she could finish her threat. Ronan rose but hesitated before opening the door. This time he traced his fingers through her beautiful auburn hair. “Peace, lassie,” he said softly.

  Lia looked up, her hazel eyes liquid. She bit her lip, and in that instant, the desire to kiss her roared through him. Ronan was certain he would go mad. Never had he felt such a thing so unexpectedly or so powerfully. He started to lower his head in spite of himself when the knock sounded again. With a soft sigh, he pulled away and opened the door.

  Alba once again held a pot of hot water. “MacGrigor,” she said. At least this time she did not appear to be a terrified little mouse wanting to bolt.

  “Thank ye, Alba,” he said and took the pot from her. “But why don’t ye stay here, and I’ll go below stairs?”

  “I heard that!” Lia snapped.

  Alba grinned and Ronan returned it, closing the door. He noted Lia glaring at him again.

  “Forgive me,” he said and handed the pot to Lia. “But at least Alba smiled.”

  Lia’s expression eased as she took the pot from him. “Please put the bar in the hearth fire to heat so I can make some mulled wine.”

  Ronan nodded and did so then returned to his chair, spinning his cane absently as he watched her work. She still moved with an urgency he did not like, but again it was calmer than before. After watching her so often, he knew her routine, and he also knew the minute she deviated from it.

  She opened a large corked vial and carefully measured what appeared to be dry herbs into the stone mortar—but only a tiny amount. She then added a bit of hot water, and using the pestle, mashed the herbs into a thin gruel-like paste. From there, she added more water until the gruel became something akin to the consistency of broth. Setting it aside, she mixed other herbs into her regular mortar but did not add water. Finally, she poured a cup of wine, mixed the dry herbs into it, and stirred. After that, she carefully added the strange brew she had made, using a separate utensil to stir again. She fetched the hot iron and dunked it into the wine. The liquid hissed and spat, boiling for an instant. She withdrew the bar and sat the cup before him.

  “Give it a moment and it will be cool enough to drink.”

  “What is this, lassie?”

  “Something that will help lessen the frequency and severity of your fits.”

  He blinked at her. “I thought—”

  “This is not a cure, Ronan,” she said quickly. “You will drink this every day, and unfortunately, I fear there is little I can do to improve the taste.”

  He stared at the cup and scowled.

  “Remember how I said this would be
a process?”

  “Aye.”

  “This is part of it. At first, it may not seem that the medicant helps at all, but as I adjust various ingredients, you should eventually see improvement.”

  His gaze fell on the extra mortar. “And what be these ingredients, lass?”

  She stared at the floor and swallowed hard.

  His pulse jumped and the suspicion he thought defeated rose unexpectedly. “Lia, look me in the eye and speak the truth.”

  Slowly, she lifted her gaze, but he did not like how she wrung her hands. “Many do not realize this ingredient is commonly used to treat this illness and a few others.”

  His mouth went dry and he rose, towering over her. “What is it?”

  She did not look away from him, nor did she blink. He had to commend her for that. She drew a deep breath into her lungs and said, “Hemlock.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ronan’s heart dropped to his boots and his hands trembled.

  Poison? Ye be trying tae poison me? He only just stopped himself from seizing the cup and launching it across the room. Then he only just stopped himself from seizing her by the throat and squeezing the life out of her.

  But she held his gaze with a courage that surprised him, although he saw the pulse jump in her throat.

  “So, ye be a spy after all,” he growled.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Then I am a terrible one. Why would I tell you what I put in your cup if I intended to poison you? I could have told you it was simply valerian root and you wouldn’t have known the difference.”

  He stared at her a long moment. Damnation, she had a point.

  Ronan picked up the cup and sniffed it, curling his lip. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he muttered. “It stinks.”

  “And I told you the truth there too. There is little I can do for the taste.”

  As he gazed upon her, a sensation he had never felt before rose within him. He not only admired the bonny lass before him, he wanted to believe her. He looked again at the cup he held. She should have never told him what it contained, but she had, and now she held his gaze unflinchingly.

  Had the English actually sent her as a spy?

  He reached up and gently cupped her face with his free hand. She didn’t shy away from him; she didn’t start. He saw no sign of deceit in her beautiful hazel eyes.