England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Lance found the pair of protective inner gloves he had been searching for. “She was only three when I left home to foster and had not yet learned to speak,” he said. “By the time Stephan returned, she was eleven. Kermit, her childhood tutor, kept her sequestered in the solar most of the time, teaching her to read and figure mathematics. I suppose that is why the solar is still her favorite place; she can hide from the world within its shielding walls. It is the only safe haven away from those who would taunt her.”

  Ian shook his head in disgust, moving to the lancet window. Unlatching the latticed grate, his gaze wandered over the brightly colored grounds below, inspecting the visitors that had begun arriving yesterday. Many more were expected during the course of the morn, for the tournament was scheduled to begin after the nooning meal.

  “She still hasn’t recovered from the old man’s death, you know,” he said quietly, watching the du Bonne standards whip about in the brisk wind. “You were not here when he died last winter, hunched over his books in the solar. Father swore he’d never seen a more dedicated servant. But Summer viewed him more as the grandfather she never knew, not the aged steward with a blind eye.”

  Lance fumbled with one of the soft woolen gloves, remembering the servant that Summer had been so fond of. He had been a man who had treated her with dignity and respect, ignoring her flaw because he had shared a similar affliction. The beautiful young maiden and the gnarled old man had shared a strong attachment and his death had hurt her deeply.

  “Summer says she is going to name her firstborn son after the old steward,” Lance said after a pensive pause, still toying with the glove. “God help her husband with a son by the name of Sir Kermit.”

  Ian snorted, his smile returning. “Little Kermy. How touching.” Unwilling to linger on the thoughts of his baby sister and her flaw, he refocused on the day at hand. “Would you hurry? I can see more guests on the horizon and whether or not you are the center of the celebration, I doubt they will be willing to wait for your lazy hide.”

  Annoyance making a return, Lance scowled at his older brother. “I would have been ready this minute had my chamber not been so completely out of order. With all of the servants we have to cook and serve and clean, how can such a thing be possible?”

  “It’s possible because you are a complete pig,” Ian said frankly, laughing when his brother shook his fist threateningly. As Lance opened his mouth to refute his brother’s assessment, a polished, familiar figure appeared in the doorway. The last of the du Bonne brothers had arrived.

  “What’s so humorous?” Stephan du Bonne moved into the chamber with the grace of a cat, tossing his youngest brother the long-anticipated tunic. “God’s Beard, Lance, aren’t you finished dressing? The men-at-arms have already formed escorts and are awaiting our presence to lead them in guiding our guests.”

  Ian snorted with amusement as Lance glowered. “I’ll be ready shortly,” Lance snapped without force, slugging his giggling middle brother in the arm when the man refused to silence himself. “I was waiting for my tunic.”

  Stephan cocked an eyebrow; devilishly handsome with pale green eyes and beautiful reddish-blond hair, he was considered the most comely of the three brothers. He also possessed charm that had caused many a woman to swoon.

  “It was finished last night,” Stephan said, moving to shove Ian away from the window so he could cast his own experienced gaze over the grounds. “Had you not been so drunk, you would have heard Genisa when she offered to bring it to your chamber. As it was, I attempted to deliver it to you after you retired but my knocking could not be heard over the grunts of pleasure coming from within the chamber.”

  Ian laughed loudly as Lance scowled and turned away, laying the brilliant tunic on the jumbled bed. “I am sure that I wasn’t the only one filling my chamber with the sounds of pleasure,” he said sarcastically. “And speaking of Genisa, where is my delicious sister-in-law?”

  Stephan was moving for the armor against the wall; the squires were nearly finished and the time was past to commence dressing his slothful brother. “Where else? She and Summer have perched themselves on the battlements to watch the influx of guests. It should be quite a spectacle.”

  Ian’s humor faded somewhat as he moved to help his older brother with Lance’s protection. “Do you think it wise to allow Summer to mingle with the guests without one of us as her escort?”

  “Genisa is with her. Summer will not come to any harm or embarrassment with my wife by her side. Moreover, Genisa prattles so that even if Summer attempted to speak, she would be unable to get a word in.”

  Stephan sounded confident; but, then again, he always sounded confident. Ian and Lance trusted him. With thoughts of Summer and Genisa and the state of Lance’s slothful nature shoved aside, the three brothers prepared for the day with a good deal of mounting vigor. The excitement in the air was a palpable thing.

  *

  “Do you see the Lady Isobel?”

  The Lady Genisa Rilaux du Bonne jabbed a slender finger to the green and silver party that had recently passed under the portcullis and into the bailey. Hidden behind the thick walls of the battlements, Genisa and her sister-in-law had been observing the invasion of guests since the early morn. Nearing noon already, the last stragglers were arriving and the bustle of Chaldon was chaotic.

  But the chaos had yet to reach the parapet above the bailey, high on the defending walls of the old Norman fortress. The two giddy young ladies had spent a wonderful morning inspecting the guests from their private haven when they should have very well been tending to the masses.

  “There, Summer – see?” Genisa poked her tapered finger into the air once more. “Good Heavens, look how fat she has become! Why, I remember when she was the fairest maiden in the shire. Thank Goodness that marriage hasn’t turned me into a cow as it has apparently done to poor Isobel.”

  “You are the f-fairest maiden in the shire, Genisa,” Summer du Bonne’s soft golden eyes were riveted to the rotund woman below. “My brother surely would not have m-married you if you had been second best.”

  Genisa smiled, a toothy, lovely grin that had captivated Stephan’s arrogant heart. She was indeed a beautiful woman, flashy and blond and finely sculpted. She had been pursued by nearly every eligible knight in the province, and sometimes even the ineligible ones. But the knight managing to capture her heart had been none other than the illustrious Sir Stephan du Bonne, a knight who had amassed a small fortune and a certain degree of fame by way of the tournament circuit. One eve in Stephan’s arms had been enough to convince her.

  Her gaze was upon him even now as he spoke kindly to the Lady Isobel and her portly husband. Stephan had ridden escort from nearly a half mile out, his powerful frame unmistakable atop his chestnut charger. Even after two years of marriage, Genisa’s heart still fluttered wildly at the sight of him.

  “Where do you s-suppose Ian and Lance are?” Summer burst into her sister-in-law’s thoughts.

  Genisa tore her gaze away from her husband’s imposing form to glance disinterestedly about the surrounding area. “I do not know,” she said truthfully. “They escorted the last party in, the both of them. I can hardly imagine that they would simply disappear when they know all of the guests have not yet arrived.”

  Summer snorted delicately, her full lips curving into a magnificent smile. “Knowing Ian, they have indeed disappeared. They are p-probably planning to wreak some sort of mischief upon the festivities.”

  “But this is Lance’s celebration. Why would he jeopardize his own party?”

  “Who can say?” Summer tossed her exquisite mane of honey-blond hair over one shoulder, stroking the ends absently. “Ever since Lance returned home, it has b-been the same story. Ian leads and Lance follows.”

  Genisa’s gaze focused on her sister-in-law now that Stephan had vanished from view. Staring at the woman’s exquisite profile, she thought back to the previous subject of conversation; she knew for certain that she was not the fairest maiden
in the shire. From the moment she laid eyes upon her future husband’s sister, she knew that she had been living in a fantasy world where she alone was the most beautiful object of worship in all of Dorset. There was another of greater glory.

  Genisa learned that the du Bonnes had been harboring a great secret within the stone bosom of Chaldon Castle. The secret of a woman so beautiful, so magnificent, that she was kept sequestered from the outside world of mortals unworthy to gaze upon such loveliness. Her beauty was as fragile as porcelain; long, silken hair the color of honey and a sweet oval face with big, beautiful eyes of an amber-golden color. Delicately arched brows hovered over the thick-lashed gems as defined cheekbones tapered to a delicate chin and delectable mouth. In truth, Summer du Bonne was a treasure that remained hidden from the world.

  Although Genisa had not lived that far from Chaldon, as her wealthy merchant father had owned a manse in Swanage, she had never once heard mention of a du Bonne daughter in possession of such unearthly beauty and was angered into a jealous fit by the unwelcome surprise. But that was until she attempted to speak with Stephan’s young sister; then she became aware of the reasoning behind the careful shielding of the Lady Summer du Bonne. They did not hide Summer to horde her beauty – they hid her because she stuttered. It wasn’t every time; mostly words that began with the letter B or F. But it was pronounced when she did it. Stephan and Ian and Lance tried to protect their baby sister from the reactions of a cruel world and Genisa labored to do the same. She, too, took up the fight to protect Summer.

  Her thoughts moved away from her sister-in-law and back to the bailey below, now thinking of her husband’s two younger brothers and their tendency for foolery. She responded belatedly to Summer’s assertion.

  “Stephan will have their hides if they do anything foolish today,” she replied. “He and your father have endeavored to make this a successful day.”

  Summer shrugged, rising from her crouched position and moving across the battlement to the opposite side. Genisa followed and from their perch upon the wall, they could see beyond the fortress into the green countryside beyond.

  “Look,” Summer pointed into the distance. “Stephan is riding out to greet another party.”

  Genisa shielded her blue eyes from the brilliant sun. “I cannot see the standards from here. They’re too far out.”

  Summer smiled faintly. “That should be the last of the guests. The tourney is scheduled to b-begin in two hours.” Forgetting about the incoming party, her smile blossomed into a radiant gesture. “I have never seen a tourney, Nise. I can hardly stand the excitement!”

  Genisa grinned. “It’s a wonderful spectacle of arrogance and humiliation. I have seen Stephan compete in at least six.”

  “And he won every b-bout?”

  “Every bout, as you well know. Stephan does not lose.” Genisa grasped her sister-in-law by the hand, pulling her toward the portion of the battlement that straddled the portcullis. “We can see the incoming party better from here. If this is indeed the last group, then we must ready ourselves for the afternoon of competition.”

  “And f-food,” Summer said eagerly. “I have b-been smelling roast beef all morn.”

  “Me, too,” Genisa giggled, waving one of the tunic-clad men-at-arms away from the spot she wished to gaze from. The tournament field in the near distance was revealed, several of the guests having already established small tents about the perimeter, and the two women found their attention occupied by the colorful display of shelters. “Look at all of the tents, Summer. There must be hundreds.”

  Summer cocked a well-shaped eyebrow as she totaled the sea of tents. “I count eighteen. B-but we certainly may have one hundred before the day is through.”

  Unaware that she had been subtly corrected, Genisa continued to stare out over the bright turf as the flags of various houses were secured to the lodges. One hundred or eighteen was all the same to her; unlike her intelligent sister-in-law, Genisa could not read or write or calculate numbers. The fine arts of needlework and music and painting were all she had ever been required to learn.

  Suddenly, her bright expression faded. When Summer glanced at her sister-in-law to say something to the woman, she noted the change in countenance.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “There’s the Kerry tent,” she replied, indicating the fanciful shelter of yellow and white. “Good Heavens, I wish they hadn’t been invited. I do not know why Stephan insisted on inviting Breck Kerry and his stupid brother.”

  Summer gazed at the brilliantly colored tarp, its towering standard snapping loudly in the breeze. “Isn’t he the knight who b-broke Stephan’s wrist last year?” she asked.

  Genisa nodded grimly. “He’s an unscrupulous knight. Stephan says his tactics are foul and questionable, but his peers tolerate him because his father was a great knight for King Richard the Lion Heart.” Pensively, she sighed and leaned forward on the parapet. “I wish he hadn’t come. I shall worry terribly about Stephan now.”

  Summer’s gaze drifted over the other tents surrounding the tournament field, an area coming alive with guests and knights and ladies in fine clothing. “Stephan and F-father invited all of the knights on the circuit, men Stephan and Ian have competed against for several years. It would be unfair to invite some and not others for this celebration.”

  “I know, I know,” Genisa sighed unhappily. “Still, I wish he had somehow managed to exclude Breck. I do not want him here.”

  Summer smiled, attempting to alleviate Genisa’s fears. “Not to worry, darling,” she said soothingly. “Stephan is the b-best knight on the circuit, is he not?”

  Genisa shrugged carelessly, her chin in her hand as she leaned forward on the stone ledge. “So he says,” she muttered. “I have only heard him mention a few others, men who give him steady competition. There is one knight I have heard him mention above all others, a man who… look there!” As usual, Genisa had difficulty maintaining her concentration for any length of time and she stabbed her finger into the air, pointing to the road that moved through the town and snaked towards the mighty fortress. “Look at all of the knights in that party. Five in all.”

  Summer studied the approaching party, beginning their ascent up the wide pebbled road towards Chaldon. She could see the five knights in immaculate armor, riding chargers that were heavy with battle armor. A collection of men-at-arms accompanied them, as well as a wagon, a few servants, and a tiny man riding a mule. Strangely, there were no women to attend the party and Summer found her interest strangely peaked by the all-male retinue.

  “There aren’t any ladies with them,” she said to Genisa. “And look at the standard; black and silver and white. Good Lord, what sort of b-beast is that on the banner? I have never seen such an animal b-before.”

  Genisa shook her head, her blue eyes narrowed at the approaching group. “Stephan is riding escort,” she murmured, attempting to decipher the beast emblazoned across the massive standard. “I have seen the banner before. But, for the life of me, I cannot remember who it belongs to.”

  “Someone great?”

  Faintly, Genisa nodded. “Someone great, I am sure. But I am not sure….”

  Her words were abruptly cleaved by a howling roar. Genisa and Summer screamed loudly with surprise and fear, turning in the direction of the harrowing cry. The battlements were practically devoid of soldiers; however, closing in on the ladies with malevolent intent were two armored bodies with the mask of a dead pig where a helmed head should have been.

  As the ladies gaped with shock, the pig-masked assailants roared again, fingers clawing at the air. Not surprisingly, Summer and Genisa decided the battlement was no longer the ideal place to linger and they wisely scattered. Lance and Ian had made their appearance and the game was afoot.

  Prank or not, there was no real pleasure in being captured by the pig-masked fiends; once, Ian had tickled Summer until she cried fat tears. Another time, Lance had hidden Genisa in a room in the castle and fed Stephan cl
ues of her whereabouts until the enraged husband finally located his hysterical bride, sobbing and sick with apprehension. Stephan had punched Lance so hard that the man had tumbled down a small flight of stairs, cracking a rib.

  Their father, Edward, had made weak attempts to curb the activities of his two younger sons after that, but their immature spirit would not be quashed. Even though they continued to harass their sister and sister-in-law with their pig-skin masks, the punishment should the women be captured was far less strenuous these days. Thanks to Stephan’s threats, the next time Lance had entrapped Genisa, she had been released after he had forced her to kiss the pig-mask on the nose. And the last time Summer was captured, she had to endure three huge “freckles” made from soot. Mere child’s play compared to the punishment their former imprisonment had entailed.

  Still, the sight of the horrifying masks was enough to wreak terror into their hearts. In spite of the fact that they pretended to loathe the chase and subsequent capture, in truth, there was a great deal of fun in attempting to elude their antagonists. Even now, racing across the battlements with break-neck speed, there were more giggles than screams.

  They made quite a quartet; Summer and Genisa shrieking at the top of their lungs, racing to reach the turret with the flight of stairs that would take them to the bailey, while Lance and Ian, when they should have very well been acting the proper hosts at their celebration, were intent to act like a pair of pre-pubescent boys. The grotesque pig-masks roared, the women screamed, the entire bailey could not help but be aware of the strange chase.

  Unfortunately, the turret Summer and Genisa were striving for was blocked by several men-at-arms. Rather than wait for the men to disband and thereby risk capture, the women slithered along a particularly narrow bridge that linked the southern battlements to the western wall and proceeded to race madly for the northeast turret.