England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She sighed faintly and pushed herself up off the wall, looking around the room as if searching for something. “My father was in Darlington when all of this started,” she murmured. “Is the castle badly damaged?”

  Keir finished fiddling with his mail. “Badly enough,” he told her. “It is not safe as it stands.”

  She looked at him and he noted the sad brown eyes. They were such lovely eyes, he thought, but just as quickly jolted himself from that line of thought. He’d thought it once before and that was forgivable, a natural reaction. But to think it twice was unnerving. It was too shocking and painful to even consider. He hadn’t thought on a lovely woman since….

  “Who attacked us?” Chloë asked.

  Keir realized he was struggling not to feel something soft or compassionate for the woman. It was purely based on her beauty, he knew that, but he was feeling something warm nonetheless. He was furious at himself, sick to his stomach, realizing he was weak and foolish to think such things. It was ridiculous. Taking a deep breath, he labored to shake off both the foolishness and fatigue.

  “They came from Sandhutton,” he told her. “We believe Ingilby is involved.”

  Chloë’s big brown eyes widened. “Baron Ingilby from Ripon?”

  “The same.”

  Her pretty, shapely mouth popped open in both outrage and surprise. Then she closed her mouth and turned away, returning with distraction to her search of the room. Keir stood by the door, watching her, as she came across what she had apparently been searching for.

  She shook out the cloak that had been wedged in behind her mother’s sewing chair, silently moving for the door as she swung it around her slender shoulders. Keir didn’t touch her as he preceded her from the room; not an elbow to take or an arm to hold. He was afraid of what would happen to his exhaustion-fed thoughts if he touched her again.

  Just as they were passing through the doorway, past the twisted charred wreckage of the chamber door, Chloë suddenly came to a halt and looked at him.

  “Did I hurt your fingers?” she asked.

  She seemed rather dull and somber, not at all like the firebrand who had given him a fight moments before. He gazed steadily at her.

  “Nay, lady, you did not.”

  She simply nodded, looking rather contrite. “I am sorry… well, if I hurt you,” she turned around and headed towards the stairs. “You must understand that strange and violent men have been attempting to get into the chamber for the better part of two days.”

  He watched her luscious red head as it began to descend the stairs. “I would imagine you would not have made it easy for them if they had managed to breach the door.”

  In spite of her fatigue, Chloë smiled faintly. “A piece of wood is no match for a man with a sword.”

  Keir grunted in disagreement. “You underestimate yourself, lady,” he said as they came to the landing on the third floor. “You are a formidable foe. My fingers can attest to that.”

  Her grin broadened and she turned to look at him. “You still managed to capture me.”

  Keir’s heart beat strangely at the sight of her smile, as beautiful and shapely as the rest of her. He shrugged, fighting down the confusing feelings brewing. “Perhaps,” he muttered. “But I almost lost an eye doing it.”

  That comment made her peer more closely at him, noting his ice blue eyes, so pale they were nearly white. “One of them is rather red,” she admitted. “I am sorry if I injured your eyes.”

  Keir almost took a step back as she leaned in to get a better look at his eyes, a natural reaction when something perfect and awe-inspiring makes its presence known. Already, he was fearful of the woman, one who could stir feelings in his chest without even trying. He didn’t want to have anything to do with her but on the other hand, in the few minutes he had known her, she had captured his attention no matter how resistant he was. It was an odd amalgamation of curiosity and fear.

  “I am fine,” he reiterated.

  He directed her towards the next flight of stone spiral stairs, this one leading down to the entry level of the dark and smoky keep. Chloë took the lead once again, followed by Keir who was trying very hard not to look at her or touch her in any way.

  “I have not seen you before,” she made conversation with him, perhaps out of guilt for having nearly blinded the man. “My father and Lord Coverdale have been allies for years. Lord Coverdale visits often and I thought I had seen all of his knights.”

  Keir had to pick up the hem of her cloak so he wouldn’t step on it. “I am a garrison commander for Coverdale,” he told her. “Usually, I am at my post. I do not make Aysgarth Castle my home.”

  “Where is your post?” she looked at him, an innocent question.

  He held up the edge of her cloak as she took the stairs. “Coverdale’s garrison in Cumbria.”

  She nodded in understanding. “I see,” she said as they reached the entry level. “Did he recall you to help regain my father’s castle?”

  Keir let go of the cloak, allowing himself to look her in the face. He could feel his palms start to sweat and his heartbeat pick up again at the sight.

  “I was at Aysgarth already when one of your father’s men came with the request to bear arms,” he told her. “My presence here is purely by chance.”

  Chloë smiled. “Then we are most fortunate for your assistance, Sir Keir,” she said. “I am sorry we had to meet under such strenuous circumstances but it was very nice to make your acquaintance. I hope that you do not hold the first few violent moments of our association against me.”

  Keir stared at her. She was sweet, intelligent and well spoken, something he found deeply attractive. She had such a sweet little voice, like the tinkle of tiny silver bells, and he swore he could have listened to that voice forever. As he opened his mouth to reply, he heard a roar off to his left and he turned to see a soldier he did not recognize charge from a shadowed alcove, a heavy broadsword leveled.

  Keir grabbed Chloë and pulled her away from the door, shoving her back behind him as he unsheathed his sword. He brought the weapon up just as the soldier brought his blade down, and sparks flew as metal upon metal met in the darkness of the entry hall.

  He was at a disadvantage with a lady to protect in a small space, but he made the best of it. Lashing out a massive boot, he kicked the man in the legs, sending him backwards, and went on the attack. Keir brought his blade down twice in heavy succession, eventually knocking the weapon from the hands of his weaker opponent. Then he grabbed the man by the head, pointing the tip of his razor-sharp blade at the man’s neck.

  “Mercy, milord, mercy,” the soldier threw up his hands, begging. “Don’t kill me!”

  Keir was emotionless and professional. Simply from the man’s rough pattern of speech, he realized that he wasn’t an educated or particularly intelligent warrior. He was simply a servant, doing as he was told. A more experienced man would have given him a better fight. Keir tossed him to the floor and put an enormous boot on the man’s neck.

  “Who do you serve?” he asked.

  The man could barely breathe. “I… I….”

  The boot pressure grew stronger. “Answer me or I will end your life now.”

  The man was struggling. “In…gilby….”

  Although they already knew as much, it was confirmation. Keir never took his eyes off his captive.

  “What were your orders?”

  The man was squirming, his face turning shades of red. “I…. don’t….”

  Keir put more pressure on the man’s neck. “Your orders or you die.”

  “The… goddess!” the man croaked.

  Keir cocked his head. “The goddess?” he repeated, confused. “Who is the goddess?”

  Out of the shadows, they both heard the response.

  “The goddess is me.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Keir looked to the sound of the voice. Chloë was standing near the stairs where Keir had shoved her. She emerged from the shielding darkness, wrapped in
the dusty brown cloak and looking rather ill. When she saw that Keir was looking at her, she met his gaze with some reluctance.

  “It is me,” she repeated softly. “That is what he calls me.”

  “Who calls you?” Keir asked, confused.

  Chloë sighed faintly. “Baron Ingilby,” she replied softly. “The man has been demanding my hand for two years but my father will not agree. Ingilby calls me the goddess. I suppose he was tired of the constant rejection and sought to take matters into his own hands.”

  Keir glanced at the soldier once more before returning his focus to Chloë. “Is that why he attacked Exelby?” he asked. “To get to you?”

  Chloë appeared hesitant, remorseful. “It is as likely an answer as any.”

  “Do you want to marry him?”

  She shook her head. “He is vile and arrogant. I want nothing to do with him but he cannot seem to understand that.”

  Keir held her gaze a moment longer before turning to the soldier and yanking the man to his feet. Keir snarled in his face.

  “I will allow you to live to carry a message back to Ingilby,” he growled. “You tell Ingilby that he shall never have the Lady Chloë or anything about her. She is beyond his reach and any further attempts to abduct or otherwise harass her will be personally answerable to me. Is that in any way unclear?”

  The soldier was frightened, cowering in the face of the big knight. “Who… who are you, m’lord?”

  Keir dragged the man to the entry door and tossed him out. The soldier tumbled halfway down the wet stairs before catching himself. Keir stood on the landing, his ice blue eyes blazing at the man. The rain pounded down, dripping off his blond lashes.

  “I am Keir St. Héver,” he told him authoritatively. “I am a former captain to King Edward, now Guardian of the Coverdale Barony. I am the man that all men fear. You tell Ingilby that any more attempts against the Lady Chloë and her family, and I will come for him personally with the king’s blessing.”

  The soldier slid down the remainder of the stairs and took off running. Keir watched the man go, noticing that Coverdale had control of the bailey now and there were pockets of prisoners being rounded up by Coverdale men. The bailey was a mess and piles of the dead were already being accumulated. It was still raining so it would be difficult to burn the dead. For now, all they could do was clean up and wait for the weather to clear.

  Keir turned away from the savage bailey scene only to find Chloë standing directly behind him. She was so close that he had nearly walked into her. She had pulled the hood of the cloak over her luscious red hair, her big brown eyes moving over the horrific scene below.

  The castle was upended, the entire place a mess of men, blood and war. It was a sobering sight. Keir watched her face a moment before reaching out to take her elbow. So much for resolving not to touch her – considering he had just appointed himself her personal protector, there wasn’t much point in maintaining a distance from her.

  “Come along, my lady,” he said quietly.

  She planted her feet and grabbed his enormous hand with both of her soft, small ones. Her expression was open and pleading.

  “What you told that soldier,” she said, lifting her shoulders as if searching for the correct words. “Thank you for your sense of chivalry and duty, but it will more than likely do no good. He has been threatened before.”

  Keir smiled faintly, wearily. “Perhaps,” he said. “But he has not been threatened by me. If the man makes another move against you, I will show up on his doorstep and it will not be pleasant.”

  Her lovely brow furrowed and she grinned simply because he was. “Although I appreciate your gallantry, you do not need to do that,” she told him. “My father has his own men to protect me.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, his smile fading. “A lot of good they did,” he jabbed a finger at the broken bailey. “If Ingilby is truly intent on abducting you, we have seen what the man is capable of. He does not fear your father or those who would provide you with protection.”

  Chloë looked around the yard, seeing her father’s soldiers mingled among the dead. She lowered her gaze, shutting her eyes against the ghastly sight.

  “So much waste,” she muttered with guilt, letting go of his hand. “Ingilby is bold and arrogant but I did not believe him capable of this. He waited until my father left Exelby with a contingent of men before moving to attack. He waited until we were weak.”

  Keir didn’t say any more, fearful that he might sound too interested in assuming the lady’s protection. He’d already said far too much. Part of him was the gallant man who would protect the weaker sex, but part of him wanted to return to Pendragon Castle and away from this beautiful woman who seemed so capable of effortlessly captivating him.

  In silence, he continued down the stairs, his arm held out in Chloë’s direction as she followed so she could grab hold of something should she slip. The old wooden stairs were soaked with rain, slippery and unsteady.

  Keir reached the bottom of the steps and plunged into several inches of deep, dark mud. In his heavy boots, he was well protected, but Chloë stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking at all of the mud with some chagrin. Keir started to walk away, thinking she would follow, but quickly realizing she had not. He retraced his few steps back to her.

  “Is something wrong, my lady?” he asked politely.

  Chloë didn’t want to be a bother but she also wasn’t equipped to walk through the heavy mud. With great reluctance, she lifted up her cloak and stuck out a dainty foot.

  “I only have my slippers on,” she told him, showing him a small leather shoe. “If you will permit me, I will return to my chamber in the keep to see if my boots are still there. I will….”

  He was already moving towards her, bending down to scoop her up into his arms. “The keep is cleaned out of most things,” he told her, lifting her slight weight into his powerful arms. “We saw the looting when we fought our way in. I doubt your boots, or any of your other possessions, remain untouched.”

  Swept into his enormous grasp, Chloë wrapped her arms around his neck for support, gazing into his square-jawed, handsome face. Her heart sank at his words.

  “Looting?” she repeated, disheartened. “But everything we own is in the keep – my clothes, my sister’s clothes, our plate, our….”

  “No longer,” he interrupted her quietly. “I suspect Ingilby will take it in punishment for not having obtained a betrothal. He will consider it compensation.”

  “But I was never, at any time, pledged to the man. Why would he steal from us?”

  “This I would not know. But he has.”

  With nothing more to say to that, Chloë remained silent as Keir carried her off across the great muddy bailey, past the mounds of dead men and the scores of wounded lined up against the wall to provide some protection against the rain.

  Keir was passing through the gatehouse, crowded with wounded, when he realized that Chloë had buried her face in the crook of his neck, blocking her sight of the devastation a rejected suitor had caused. He could feel her hot breath against his jaw, her warmth against his chest. It had been years since he’d felt such a thing and he was repulsed and thrilled all at once. The last woman he had held like this had been brutally murdered. Keir still hadn’t recovered from it. But Lady Chloë was awakening dormant emotions and it scared him to death.

  Against his better judgment, he pulled her tighter.

  *

  He had a squarest jaw she had ever seen, set like granite. When he smiled, which had only been once, she’d caught a glimpse of a handsome smile only dreamt of in fantasies of foolish girls with too many thoughts of men on their minds. His lips peeled away in a smile to reveal straight white teeth and big dimples in each cheek. His nose was straight enough, unmarred, and his pale blue eyes were both icy and smoldering at the same time. It was a devastating and captivating combination for the feminine appetite.

  As Chloë sat in a large tent with her mother and sister, she coul
d see outside to where her father, the fat graying figure of Lord Coverdale, and several knights, including St. Héver, were gathered. The women had been given as much comfort as possible in a dry place with a scorching stove that burned smoky peat, and big cups of warmed wine. As Chloë sat with her sister and sipped wine, her mother resumed her sewing as if nothing in the world was amiss.

  Chloë had been watching the activity outside when St. Héver had removed his helm and peeled back his hauberk, scratching his close-cropped blond hair that was wet with perspiration and rain. She could see the kinky texture, even at a distance. He was a tall man, taller than Coverdale and her father but not as tall as either of his two companions, the other knights that had escorted her mother and sister.

  Still, the sheer size of the man was something to behold. The size of his arms, chest and hands were like nothing she had ever seen before and when he had carried her to the encampment, she had felt his power. The sensation had captured her curiosity and her interest.

  So she sipped her wine and watched St. Héver as he engaged in deep and sometimes animated discussion with Coverdale and her father. The Coverdale encampment was filling up with soldiers returning from the cleanup of the castle and occasionally, groups of men and prisoners would block her view as she watched St. Héver in the distance. Eventually, her father broke away from the group of men and made his way to the tent where his wife and daughters were.

  Anton de Geld was the son of a noble family, having achieved wealth through the breeding and sale of sheep. He wasn’t a healthy man but he was bright. He had moments of weakness and foolery. As he entered the tent, Chloë rose from the small three legged stool she had been sitting on and offered it to her father. He took it gratefully.

  “What will we do now, Father?” she asked, glancing out into the encampment again and noting that St. Héver was still standing there, his head bare to the falling rain as he listened to whatever Coverdale had to say. Her eyes were riveted to the man. “It seems that you had much to discuss with Lord Coverdale.”

  Anton ran a hand across his thinning gray hair. “Much indeed,” he said. “This was Ingilby’s work, Chloë. He came for you.”