England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “This is the Lady Chloë de Geld,” he introduced her. “That is her sister, the Lady Cassandra, under Michael’s protection. Ladies, this is my brother, Sir Kurtis St. Héver.”

  Chloë politely acknowledged him, relishing the gentle caress of Keir’s hand against her back but not entirely comfortable with it in a public venue. She discreetly moved away from him to recover her composure.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Kurtis,” she said.

  Kurtis dipped his head but said nothing. His eyes were the same color as his brother’s but they were somehow harder, more intense. He regarded the spectacular woman for a moment before returning his attention to his brother.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you would be at Pendragon.”

  Keir gestured to the women. “We have guests at Pendragon,” he said. “It is a long story, but suffice it to say that I am charged with the protection of Lady Chloë and Lady Cassandra for the time being. The ladies wished to do some shopping so here we are.”

  Kurtis’ cold gaze moved back to Chloë and then to Cassandra. “I see,” he replied, although he really didn’t. He refocused on his brother. “I am returning from Penrith on an errand for Northumberland. I sent a scout ahead about a half hour ago, meant for Pendragon, but he returned to say that he saw you in town.”

  “So that is why you were riding hard to reach us.”

  Kurtis nodded. “I wanted to surprise you. Perhaps even rob you if you had purchased anything worth stealing.”

  Keir just shook his head, grinning, and sheathed his sword. He watched Chloë as she moved a wide berth around Kurtis’ menacing charger to reach her sister. She whispered something to Cassandra, who nodded, and the pair moved off into another stall. Michael followed, leaving Keir behind with his brother.

  Kurtis dismounted his charger and removed his helm, scratching his white-blond hair beneath. He was a big man like his brother, shorter than Keir by a few inches, with a steely demeanor about him. He had a shadow of his brother’s good looks but not his pleasing personality. But there was no one in Northern England better with a sword and Kurtis had seen many battles against the Scots to cement his powerful reputation. His post with the Earl of Northumberland was a prestigious one. He eyed his younger brother as he fidgeted with his hauberk, his helm.

  “You are looking well,” he commented. “Old, but well.”

  Keir gave him a crooked grin. In spite of everything, he was very glad to see his brother. He slapped the man on a broad shoulder.

  “And you are every inch the idiot I remember,” he replied. “How is Northumberland treating you?”

  Kurtis nodded. “Well enough,” he replied. “I am now Captain of the Guard so I cannot complain.”

  Keir was impressed. “Congratulations,” he said. “I hope you choke on it.”

  For the first time, stone-faced Kurtis cracked a smile. “I fear I already have,” he muttered. “Speaking of choking, what are those women really doing at Pendragon?”

  Keir folded his big arms across his chest, shifting on his legs. “We attended a siege at Exelby Castle several days ago, defending those women and their family from an onslaught by Baron Ingilby,” he told him. “Ingilby wants to marry Lady Chloë but she wants nothing to do with him, so her father has asked that I take charge of both women and hide them at Pendragon until the situation settles down. Exelby is in ruins and they have nowhere else to go.”

  Kurtis listened intently. “John Ingilby?”

  “The same.”

  “The man is Northumberland’s kin.”

  “I know.”

  Kurtis scratched his chin with some agitation. “You are hiding the man’s betrothed from him? What if he comes to Northumberland to seek support to regain her? I will….”

  Keir waved him off. “She is not, nor was she ever, betrothed to him,” he clarified. “Ingilby simply cannot accept her refusal and resorted to laying siege to Exelby in the hopes of capturing a bride.”

  Kurtis wasn’t comfortable with the situation; that was clear. He spied the women in the distance, rifling through the goods of a merchant stall, and finally shook his head.

  “She is not your burden,” he told his brother. “You should have nothing to do with this.”

  Keir nodded. “I agree, but Coverdale gave me an order and I must comply. Exelby is an ally.”

  “Does Ingilby know you have her?”

  “He does not, at least at the moment.”

  Kurtis grunted. “When he finds out, he will come for her. I hope you are prepared for a siege.”

  “I am always prepared.”

  “I know you are, but this would be a waste of men and material. She does not belong at Pendragon.”

  “Then you go and tell Coverdale. Let us see if he will listen to you.”

  It was a sarcastic remark, one that Kurtis lifted an eyebrow at. He could see there was no simple answer to the situation so he shook his head again, eyeing the women in the distance. After several moments of deliberation, he sighed heavily.

  “This cannot be good for you,” he finally said, his tone considerably softer. “Having a woman at Pendragon… it simply cannot be good for you.”

  Keir knew what he meant and he averted his gaze, not wanting to delve into that touchy subject. “I am fine,” he insisted quietly. “Lady Chloë and her sister have been a delight.”

  Kurtis looked at him. “Truthfully?” he wasn’t sure he believed him. “For the man I have known over the past three years does not react well to the presence of women.”

  Keir’s manner was growing increasingly defensive. “I appreciate your concern, but I assure you that all is well.”

  Kurtis wouldn’t back down. He fixed on his brother. “I did not imagine your arm around her when I rode up,” he snapped softly. “What are you thinking, Keir? That perhaps you want another wife? I will protest that decision until the day I die because I know, for a fact, that you could not stand to lose another. I watched you go through hell after Maddie’s death and it nearly destroyed me as well. It was me who chained you to the walls of the vault so you would not kill yourself and me who sat with you day after day, making sure you had food and water, taking care of you because you were incapable of taking care of yourself. Get those women out of Pendragon, brother; get them out before they are the death of you.”

  Keir laughed bitterly. “So you think to box me up and keep me in solitude for the rest of my life? Why am I not allowed to reclaim the happiness I once knew?”

  Kurtis looked at him as if he were mad. “Are you actually considering it?”

  Keir threw up his hands. “I do not know,” he insisted, his hands coming to rest on his brother’s wide shoulders. “I appreciate your concern and loyalty, Kurt, I truly do and I love you for it. But you worry overly. I am fine.”

  The last few words were punctuated with a slap to Kurtis’ cheek. Keir smiled at his brother and removed his hands from his shoulders, his gaze finding Chloë and Cassandra as they moved to another stall with tall, broad Michael following. Kurtis, at a genuine loss for words, turned to see what had his brother so captivated. As he noted at the onset, the redhead was a lovely little thing, as was her blond sister. Kurtis had always preferred blonds and his eye naturally went to Cassandra. He finally grunted and looked away.

  “Are they both unattached?” he asked.

  Keir nodded. “Cassandra is the older sibling,” he told him. “Their father will not marry off Chloë until Cassandra is married.”

  “Chloë is the redhead?”

  “Aye.”

  Kurtis stared at the woman, nodding his head after a moment. “She is magnificent, no doubt,” he admitted. “I have seen many women in my lifetime but never one of such radiant beauty. No wonder Ingilby wants her.”

  Keir gave him a crooked grin. “True enough, but I need her sister out of the way before I can court her. Will you do this for me, brother?”

  Kurtis’ stone-like expression fractured into a sneer. “Never
,” he snapped, turning back to his horse. “Find someone else to do your dirty work.”

  Keir bit off his laughter. “Cassandra is a beautiful woman. Very intelligent also. She would make a fine prize.”

  Kurtis reached his horse and prepared to mount. “Go away and leave me alone.”

  Keir was starting to laugh. “You need a wife so you will not be so bitter and surly all of the time,” he told him. “You have the charm of driftwood, Kurt. A woman will do wonders for you.”

  Kurtis mounted, fixing his brother in the eye as he settled himself in the saddle. “Like a woman did for you? No, thank you. I do not want any part of that.”

  Keir’s laughter faded but his smile remained. “Do not let yourself be fooled,” he insisted softly. “The years I was married to Madeleine were the best years of my life.”

  Kurtis leaned forward on the saddle, his icy blue eyes intense. “Would you say that losing your wife and children in the end was well worth those wonderful years?”

  “So you would rather live your life a miserable man, safe from the threat of love?”

  “I would rather not lose something I so desperately loved that it took the life right out of me like it did you.”

  Keir’s smile faded completely and the pale blue eyes dulled. After a moment, he simply turned and walked away. With a heavy heart, Kurtis watched him go. Perhaps he had said too much but, in his opinion, Keir needed to be reminded of what a woman could do to a man’s soul. Infatuation could do much to cloud memories. He simply didn’t want to see his brother hurt again.

  He knew, for a fact, the man would not survive.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The bright silver moonlight streamed in through the lancet window, softly illuminating the chamber where Keir’s children had once slept. A fire burned low in the hearth, crackling, as Chloë slept warm, clean and cozy in a new sleeping shift and freshened bed linens.

  Chloë and Cassandra had spent most of their money in town, coming away in early evening with twelve new surcoats between them, shifts, pantalets, and all manner of combs, scarves, hose, oils, creams and soaps. They nearly bought everything the merchants carried, including a giant trunk made from cedar wood that one of the fabric merchants used to store his goods. Keir had purchased the trunk since the ladies didn’t have anything to carry their new things with. Since they hadn’t brought a wagon, the men-at-arms took turns lugging it.

  Better still, they were able to secure two women servants in town, older spinsters who were willing to work at Pendragon with the promise of good wages. They were old and ugly, as Chloë had insisted, but they cooked and cleaned like angels.

  The evening meal was delayed due to their late return from the town but the two older women managed to pull together a plain but plentiful feast of mutton, beans, peas and big hunks of brown bread and butter. While the knights and ladies ate, they had moved into the two chambers that Chloë and Cassandra were assigned and scrubbed the daylights out of anything with a surface. Places that hadn’t been cleaned since Madeleine’s death were now shiny and new again, properly cleaned for proper ladies.

  But it was a process that took time and it was close to midnight by the time Chloë and her sister went to bed. The rooms were swept and scrubbed, the linens marginally cleaned with the promise of washing on the morrow, so the women bid the men in the hall good eve and proceeded to bed. They were both exhausted. Dressing in a rough-finished sleeping shift with a heavier robe of rabbit-lined linen, Chloë had fallen into a deep, sweet sleep almost immediately.

  Now, in the dead of night, the moonlight was very bright and somewhere, an owl hooted into the darkness. Chloë was dreaming of bread custard her mother used to make, with raisins and nuts, dreaming that she was eating it as it snowed inside the hall at Exelby. It was very cold and she shivered, pulling the covers more closely around her.

  But warm dreams of bread custard faded as she awoke, groggy and half-asleep, to realize that it was freezing inside the chamber. She looked to the fire, seeing that it was still glowing, but her breath was hanging in the air. There was mist upon the wind and the hair on the back of her neck began to stand up. Suddenly, Chloë wasn’t so groggy any more. She was scared.

  Terror filled her and her heart began to pound against her ribs. Eyes open, she dared not move as her eyes darted about, searching for the source of her terror. She could feel it somewhere, knowing it was lingering close by but too frightened to move. She wanted to scream but couldn’t. As her eyes searched the darkness, a small, ghostly shape suddenly emerged from the wall near the hearth. It passed right through the stone and moved, shapeless and shiftless, near the bed.

  Terrified, Chloë sat bolt upright in bed as the specter of a little girl took shape. Gradually, she could see every detail of the child, from her long pale hair to her piercing black eyes. The child was shades of gray so she couldn’t discern any color, but she did think that the shape of the child’s jaw was familiar. She had a very square jaw just like….

  “Frances?” Chloë asked timidly “Is it you?”

  The little girl stared at her with her dark-circled black eyes. Then she pointed in the general direction of the big wardrobe, the wall. “Me-Me,” she hissed.

  Chloë was frightened but somehow, she felt as if the child were coming to her for answers or assistance. She wasn’t sure which. But this was the second night in a row that the phantom had appeared to her and she instinctively wanted to help. If this was true and she wasn’t dreaming, then Keir’s little daughter’s soul was not at rest and the thought was heartbreaking. The child needed, or wanted, something desperately enough to remain behind when she should have gone straight to heaven. The clue was in the asking.

  “Me-Me,” she repeated, whispering. “Are you looking for Merritt? I do not know where he is.”

  The wraith was still pointing at the wall. “Me-Me,” she murmured again.

  Chloë nodded, feeling a little braver. “Aye, Frances, I know about Me-Me,” she whispered. “But I do not know where he is. Are you looking for him?”

  The specter continued to stare at her, growing oddly paler by the moment. “Me-Me.”

  Chloë looked to the wall where the child was pointing. She couldn’t see anything there in the shadows other than the door, the wall and the wardrobe. Feeling increasingly sad and frustrated in her desire to help, she shook her head at the specter.

  “Me-Me is not here, sweetheart,” she said gently. “We do not know where he is, I am sorry. Do… do you know where he is, perhaps?”

  The phantom was beginning to undulate now, shape-shifting. “With thee…,” she murmured, “now I sleep.”

  With that, a huge icy wind suddenly arose, enveloping her, swirling over her and Chloë screamed in fear as the specter suddenly howled an unearthly roar and ballooned to titanic proportions, dissolving into mist and shadow. Chloë covered her eyes, terrified, as the phantom blew through her, lifting her hair like a wild wind. But in that contact between the spirit world and the world of the living, Chloë felt the overwhelming emotions of sadness, fear and pain. She could feel distress and terror on a level she had never before experienced. It filled every inch of her and she gasped as the sensation swirled through her body.

  She tried to stagger to her feet but ended up falling to the floor. As swiftly as the wind rose, it was abruptly gone, leaving horrific grief and sorrow in its wake. When it was vanished and all was suddenly still, Chloë found herself on her knees in shock.

  Mouth hanging open and hair askew, she found herself staring at her shaking hands as if hardly believing what had happened. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure it would pound right out of her chest and in the midst of it all she could smell a distinctive scent. It was something between dirt and roses, a warm, pervasive scent. Smelling her hands, it was strong. Sniffing her arms, and then her robe, she realized it was all over her.

  The smell was everywhere, the scent of a little girl lost. She burst into tears, sobbing into her hands as if her heart were br
oken. She fell forward, onto the newly swept floor, weeping pitifully. Outside her chamber door, she began to hear sounds as someone called her name and tried to lift the latch. But the door was bolted and she heard someone shout her name again.

  It was Keir. There was no mistaking his strong, booming voice. Chloë struggled off the floor, picking herself up and staggering to the door. She threw the bolt and yanked open the oak panel, sobbing deeply. Before Keir could ask her what the trouble was, she shoved her hands in his face.

  “Smell!” she wept, pushing her hands into his nose even as he reached out to steady her. “Do you smell her? She was here. She was here!”

  Keir had heard her screaming from downstairs. He had raced up the stairs only to find a locked bolt and the sounds of weeping from the other side. Chloë was pale and frantic, pushing her hands into his face, and he had no choice but to do as she commanded. He smelled her hands. Then his eyes widened.

  “What…?” he smelled again, deeply. “God’s Blood, what is that?”

  Chloë was struggling to calm herself but she wasn’t doing a very good job. She lifted her robe to his face, pushing it into his nose.

  “Do you smell her?” she asked, tears and mucus pouring down her face. “Do you smell Frances?”

  Keir’s face paled as he smelled deeply of her robe, her arm, her shift, anything she would lift up to him. He began to tremble.

  “I smell…,” he muttered hoarsely.

  “It is her,” she cut him off, putting her hands on his nose again. “She was here. She asked for Me-Me and then she went right through me. Keir, she went through me. Do you smell her?”

  Shaken, Keir began to tear up because he could indeed smell his daughter on the woman’s hands. He didn’t know how or why, but he could. He hadn’t smelled that wonderful smell in three long years and it was enough to choke him up. Kurtis was standing beside him, bewildered and mildly outraged, but Keir grabbed her hands and shoved them into his brother’s face.