Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Tye silently cursed. One against four. Hellish odds, and he still had to save Claire. His mother now had knife against her neck.

  “Would you like me to step in for a bit, Father?” Edouard asked, rolling his shoulders. “I can wear Tye down for you.”

  “Nay,” de Lanceau snapped. “No one fights this battle for me.”

  “I meant no offense, Father.”

  “I know. This fight is not just to determine who rightfully rules Wode,” de Lanceau said. “It has been a long time coming between me and Tye.”

  Tye kept his gaze upon his opponents, while he struggled with the conflicting emotions warring inside him. His sire claimed he hadn’t abandoned Tye. False words. They had to be.

  Otherwise, all that his mother had told him about his childhood was a lie, as Claire had insisted. As de Lanceau himself had said.

  Ah, God! What was the truth? Fury and torment whipped through Tye. From that maelstrom rose the question that had kept him awake too many nights to count. “Tell me this, Father. Why did you save my life at Waddesford Keep?”

  An odd emotion flickered in de Lanceau’s gray eyes, an emotion Tye couldn’t define.

  “’Twould have been easier to let me fall from the battlement,” Tye pressed. “Yet, you reached down your hand to save me.”

  “So I did,” his lordship muttered.

  “Why?”

  “Men have died from such falls. You were lucky you only fractured your leg—”

  “You were concerned I would die? You believed my life was worth saving?” How idiotic that he wanted his sire to say that Tye’s life did matter.

  A thin smile tilted de Lanceau’s mouth. “For the information you could have provided, aye.”

  “I told you,” Veronique sneered. “He offered help only because of what you could tell him. Not because you are his son.”

  “’Twas only a matter of honor between enemies then?” Tye said, “Naught more?”

  De Lanceau looked unsettled. He drew in a breath to answer, but Tye knew what that answer would be. His sire would never admit that Tye was his flesh and blood. He’d had opportunities before.

  Bellowing, Tye lunged. De Lanceau met his advance, retaliated, his sword grazing Tye’s cloak and slashing open the bag tied to his sword belt. Sheathed knives fell on the stone, along with the amber. The resin bounced, cracked, and broke into two uneven pieces, partially freeing the bee.

  Squinting down at the amber, Aldwin said, “You still have that?”

  Tye frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I gave that to you. You were just a boy…” For an instant, Tye saw a flicker of compassion in the crossbowman’s eyes. “I was once that bee, fighting to break free of my circumstances. I did. You can too, if you wish.”

  Tye choked down a cry. How did Aldwin know exactly how he felt?

  How did he escape? How?

  “Yield!” his sire commanded, striking out again. Tye met the assault, his blade ringing off his sire’s once, twice. Three powerful strikes in, his lordship stepped on black ice. He wavered, scrambled to find his foothold, and lashed out with a belly-level strike that forced Tye to jump back and turn so that their bodies were parallel to the battlement walls.

  Their swords crashed together. Step by step, they edged closer to Claire and Veronique.

  De Lanceau kept up a steady onslaught. Yet, he was tiring.

  “Kill him!” Veronique screamed.

  De Lanceau hit more black ice. He staggered. Pitching forward, he slid toward Veronique.

  Frantic cries erupted from Edouard and Dominic.

  A knife glinted. Veronique raced toward de Lanceau. Raising her dagger, she readied to plunge the knife into the side of his neck.

  “Nay!” Claire rushed at Veronique.

  Tye raised his sword. Lunged.

  As his mother’s knife flashed in its downward arc, Claire careened into her. Veronique screamed, struggled, struck out with the blade. At the last moment, Tye adjusted the fall of his weapon. Metal collided with a clank.

  With a pained cry, his mother dropped the dagger. It hit a merlon and clattered across the stones to stop against a mound of snow behind her.

  Eyes glittering with fury, she gaped at Tye.

  Silence carried across the battlement, broken only by the scrape of his lordship’s boots as he straightened. With tremendous relief, Tye saw Claire was unharmed. She also was no longer within his mother’s reach; she’d run behind him to Edouard and Aldwin. She was safe. Thank God.

  “Lady Sevalliere, are you all right?” Edouard was saying.

  “I am.”

  “I have a knife, milady. Let me free your hands.”

  Tye felt the punishing heat of his mother’s glare. Rubbing her hand, she asked, “What madness was that?”

  “As Father said, this fight is between him and me.”

  “Stupid boy! I could have gravely wounded him so you could slay him.”

  “And have the outcome of this fight questioned from this day on?” Tye shook his head. “I will win this fight fairly. I will be lord of Wode because ’tis my right.”

  Veronique moved toward her dagger. “After all the years I protected you? Raised you? After Braden risked so much to help me free you from Branton Keep?”

  “Braden,” de Lanceau echoed, and Aldwin, Edouard, and Dominic exchanged glances. They clearly knew what had happened to the man—and why he hadn’t returned to Wode.

  “What do you know of Braden?” Veronique demanded.

  “We captured him yesterday.” When Veronique gasped, de Lanceau added, “Dominic suspected the interrogator had used his influence to free you and Tye from imprisonment. One of Dominic’s men-at-arms recognized Braden in a nearby village, and we arrested him.”

  “I do not believe you!” Veronique sneered.

  De Lanceau reached inside his cloak. A gold skull ring flashed in the sunshine: Braden’s ring.

  “He…” Veronique choked out.

  “He died trying to escape last night,” de Lanceau said.

  Never had Tye seen such a tortured expression on his mother’s face. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she had loved Braden. A keening moan broke from her, swiftly replaced by a shriek of fury.

  “Braden is dead because of you, Tye,” she screeched. “You!”

  “That is not true, Mother.”

  “See what kind of man your sire is? You betray me this day to save him?”

  Keeping a watchful eye on his sire, standing silent but poised to fight, Tye said, “Mother—”

  “Why should I heed one word you say?” She bent to pick up the dagger. Black ice gleamed amongst the snow by her foot.

  “Beware!” Tye cried.

  Her hand closed on the knife, just as she slipped. She fought to regain her balance.

  Fear wrenched through Tye. His mother was too close to the battlement’s edge. Aye, he was furious with her, but he didn’t want her to fall.

  His sword raised to fend off an attack, he darted toward her, slipping on a patch of ice concealed by the mottled color of the stone.

  Screeching, she grabbed for the closest merlon. Her gnarled fingers caught hold, but her lower body continued to slide. Her heel knocked the stone, she twisted, and then, with a shrill cry, she tumbled through the gap between the merlons.

  “Mother!”

  “God’s blood!” De Lanceau muttered.

  Tye skidded over to the wall where she’d fallen. On his knees, his breath so tight in his ribs he could barely breathe, he peered over. She clung to the edge of the wall by her left hand, her knuckles as white as bone. She was still clutching the knife, little good ’twould do her now.

  “Drop the dagger. Let me help you.” Tye couldn’t let her fall. She’d never survive.

  He was vaguely aware of shouts behind him and others running to the wall walk. His mind numb with horror, he reached down to grab his mother’s arm. A memory flashed through his mind, of his sire reaching down to him months ago on another windswep
t battlement.

  His eyes stinging, Tye shoved the memory aside. His fingers closed around her wrist. “Drop the knife,” he called down to her. “Grab onto me. I will pull you up.”

  “You betrayed me.” Her eyes, blazing with fury, also glistened with tears.

  Tye fought for calm. “Please. I do not want you to fall.”

  “You chose him. You chose your sire over me. How could you?”

  “’Tis over, Mother—”

  “I should have killed you long ago!”

  “Mother!” Anguish lanced through Tye, even as the knife in her hand winked with deadly purpose. The blade slashed across her left wrist. Blood spurted. Crimson spattered her luxurious cloak and the wall.

  “Oh, God,” Claire whispered somewhere behind him.

  “Nay,” Tye whispered hoarsely.

  His mother’s red lips parted on a laugh as her head tilted back. He fought to keep hold of her, but the knife flashed again and cut his hand.

  At the stinging pain, he instinctively loosened his grip.

  Her wrist slipped free of his fingers.

  “Mother!”

  She fell backward into the icy water of the moat. A ragged cry seared Tye’s throat as he watched her broken, bleeding body submerge.

  Tye straightened away from the wall. His vision blurred. His mind reeled.

  Over the eerie whistling of the wind, he heard his sire approaching.

  Fight, his senses screamed. Fight! Yet, he had no desire to raise his sword.

  A solid object slammed into the back of his head.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Tye!” Claire screamed.

  He’d collapsed on the parapet, the right side of his face against the stone, his arms and legs splayed, his cloak tangled beneath him. His sword hit the battlement wall by its leather-wrapped handle and fell onto the snowy drift beside him.

  His expression grave, de Lanceau stepped away and lowered his blade that had subdued Tye with one calculated blow.

  Edouard brushed past. Cautiously, he knelt beside Tye and put his fingers to the side of his half-brother’s neck. “He is still alive.”

  “As I intended,” de Lanceau said. “I want him to answer for his crimes.”

  As Edouard pushed to his feet and joined his father, leaving Tye where he lay on the wind-scoured stone, despair swirled up inside Claire. Standing against the battlement wall which provided a solid, supporting weight behind her, she pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. Tye had lost the battle. He’d lost his mother, a vile woman, but the only parent he’d known. Soon, he might well lose his life. ’Twould be a tragic end for a man whose gallant heart proved he could have accomplished wondrous things, if only he’d been raised in a life of honor instead of vengeance.

  His lordship’s steel-gray gaze met hers, then those of the other knights. “Let it be known to all that Tye lost the fight. Wode is once again mine.”

  Aldwin stepped to the side of the battlement, put his horn to his lips, and blew. At the three crisp notes, clearly a signal for victory among de Lanceau’s warriors, cheers rose from the bailey and the grounds surrounding the fortress. Then, obviously seeing an opportunity in the fray, Aldwin primed his crossbow and fired into bailey, before nocking another bolt and firing again.

  “Well done,” Dominic said, clapping his lordship on the shoulder.

  De Lanceau smiled. The two men began talking in hushed tones.

  His lordship and his men rejoiced, but Claire’s stomach churned with worry and revulsion. Shoving away from the wall, she hurried to Tye, heedless of Edouard trying to intercept her. She dropped to her knees and gently swept back the sweaty, tangled hair that had fallen over Tye’s face. His eyes were closed, his jaw slack, his lips parted. His eyelids didn’t flicker, nor was there any other sign that he knew she was near.

  Was he dead? Had he perished in the moments since Edouard confirmed that he was alive? Nay. Nay!

  She placed her hand near Tye’s nose and mouth. With relief, she found he still breathed.

  “Tye,” she whispered, stroking his cheek. “Wake. Please.”

  No faint stirring. Not even the barest trace of a response.

  Oh, Tye. I cannot lose you. I will not, because I love you. A sob broke past her lips as she trailed her fingers over his brow and cheek. “Tye,” she whispered.

  Edouard crouched beside her, his smile kind. “Fret not, milady. Your ordeal is over now. The bastard got what he deserved.”

  “Did he? Forgive me, milord, but I do not share your hostility toward your brother.”

  Edouard’s eyes widened with surprise. “He took you hostage. I was his prisoner months ago at Waddesford Keep, and I know how you and many others will have suffered at his hand.”

  Suffered. She forced down frantic laughter. What Tye had done to her, shown her, could never be deemed suffering. Far from it. “I assure you, my relationship with Tye was far from unpleasant.”

  Astonishment now defined the young lord’s face. He glanced up at his father, who was still speaking with Dominic, and then back at her. “Well.”

  Claire almost laughed, except that Tye remained unresponsive on the cold, hard stone. Anger stirred within her that no one—not even his lordship—had bothered to check how badly Tye was hurt.

  Rage propelled her to her feet. She met de Lanceau’s curious stare.

  “I will do as you bade, milord,” Dominic said, stepping away. “Aldwin, we are to retrieve Veronique’s body and then help secure the bailey.”

  With a bow to de Lanceau, the blond crossbowman fell into stride alongside Dominic, and the two hurried into the castle.

  Claire became excruciatingly aware of his lordship’s scrutiny. There was no mistaking that this man was Tye’s sire; the resemblance was undeniable. Tye had the same gray eyes. He also clenched his jaw and slightly pursed his lips in exactly the same way.

  “I regret Veronique drew you into today’s conflict, milady,” his lordship said. “Are you all right?”

  “Forgive me, milord, but I am not all right. I am far from it.”

  His lordship’s brows rose, a mannerism that again reminded her of Tye.

  “With respect, I am worried about Tye. We must get him off this battlement to a place where he will be warm and comfortable. His wound needs to be tended.”

  “You sound as though you care what happens to him.”

  “I do.”

  After a moment, De Lanceau’s free hand moved in a silent command, and Edouard once again dropped down beside Tye, parted the hair at the back of his head, and examined the wound.

  “Why do you care?” his lordship asked.

  Because I love him. Because he has lost all. For those reasons, I will fight for him, fight to be with him, until my very last breath. “He…” She struggled to find the right words. “He proved to me that his life is worth saving.”

  Still on his knees, Edouard snorted, a sound of utter disbelief.

  “Forgive me, milady, but I find that hard to believe,” de Lanceau said, frowning down at Tye.

  “In his days as lord here, Tye showed me…that there was far more in his heart than a desire to kill and conquer.”

  Concern shadowed de Lanceau’s eyes. “I regret having to ask such an indelicate question of you, milady, especially after all you have endured over the past few days. Yet, as the lord responsible for this keep and all folk within its walls, I must. You seem to hold Tye in high regard—”

  “I do.”

  “Did he…seduce you? Make you—”

  “He did not force me or, to my knowledge, any other woman at this keep to couple with him. What I did, what Tye and I shared…was by my own choice.” Her face burned. However, she would not dishonor the memories of the pleasures she and Tye had enjoyed by denying the truth.

  “God’s bones,” Edouard muttered.

  “Indeed.” De Lanceau scratched his jaw with his gloved fingers. He looked uneasy. “If I may be so bold, are you are saying you and Tye lay together?”


  Her face must be scarlet, but she clung to her vow not to look away. “In a certain manner, aye.”

  “A certain manner?” De Lanceau’s gaze flickered with understanding. “Ah. Forgive me again, milady, for having to ask such a question. You are still a maiden?”

  She nodded. “Veronique drugged both of us and tried to make him…take me, but Tye…resisted. He did not want to ruin me. That, surely, proves he has some honor?”

  De Lanceau and Edouard exchanged glances again, while a nervous sweat beaded on her brow. Such discussion was most uncomfortable and unseemly, but she must persevere. No one else would champion Tye.

  Edouard pushed to his feet, wiping his bloody fingers on his mantle. “Father, he has a large welt at the back of his skull. However, the injury is not life-threatening.”

  De Lanceau nodded.

  Claire breathed a sigh of relief.

  “You continue to think favorably of Tye, Lady Sevalliere,” his lordship said. “Are you aware that he killed your betrothed, Henry?”

  “I am. Tye told me what happened that night in the dungeon.”

  “Really?” Edouard shook his head. “’Twould have been to his advantage, especially if he was trying to seduce you, to keep that a secret.”

  “He wanted me to know the truth,” she said firmly. “He said he did not want to kill Henry, that he tried to render him senseless so he could escape, but Henry…refused to stay down. Henry insisted on being a hero, and forced Tye into a situation in which he had no choice but to kill him.”

  De Lanceau seemed surprised by what she’d said.

  “Why do you look at me that way, milord?” Claire asked.

  “Several other prisoners who escaped that night, who were recaptured, gave a similar account. I did not believe them, of course.”

  Hope warmed Claire, a feeling akin to being caught in a flood of summer sunshine. “Tye’s trying not to kill Henry… That proves even further there is honor within him, does it not?”

  De Lanceau exhaled a heavy breath. “Milady—”

  “Surely, his gallantry is even more remarkable, considering he was raised by a mother who manipulated his every thought and deed. She loved him only for the vengeance he would exact upon you when she believed him ready.”