England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

He looked sharply at her, seeing that she was growing upset. He silently cursed himself for his tactless words as he made his way back over to her. He was a truthful man but not always diplomatic. He went to his knees before her, his big hands on her arms.

  “Chloë, love, listen to me,” he begged softly. “My wife and I loved each other. I had a glorious life with her and my children. When she died, something in me died also, but the past few days with you have seen a resurgence of those warm, wonderful feelings I once knew, even greater than I ever experienced with Madeleine. It is true that I loved the woman but when I look at you… God, I know I could love you so much that it would rip my heart and body and soul to pieces to even be away from you for a single minute. You already consume me as Madeleine never did, not ever. I cannot stomach to think of you with another man yet it scares me to death to think of you with me. You would consume everything about me, Chloë. You would become my all for living. But the fear of losing you as I lost my wife and children terrifies me more than you can possibly comprehend. I survived the loss of Madeleine and my children and by God’s good grace stand here before you a sane man. But if something were to happen to you… I would explode into a million pieces of heartbreak. There would be no recovery. My fear of that has the better of me right now.”

  Chloë stared at him, fat tears rolling down her porcelain cheeks. Her lower lip trembled and Keir clucked softly, sympathetically, and gently wiped the tears away. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her cheeks gently.

  “Do not cry, love,” he whispered as she sobbed softly against him. “Please do not cry. I cannot bear it.”

  Chloë sobbed deeply and threw her arms around his neck, holding him fast. “I want to go home,” she wept.

  He held her tightly, rocking her gently in the darkness of the night. “Your home is destroyed, sweetheart,” he said. “You must stay here for now.”

  She shook her head, suddenly pulling away from him. Her glorious hair was snagged on his mail and he tried to pull it out even as she stood up, ripping strands from her head.

  “Then send me to Aysgarth,” she sobbed. “I cannot stay here with you. I cannot be with you… around you every day and know there is no hope between us. I was so happy to come here with you because I had hoped… oh, they were such foolish hopes but hopes nonetheless. I hoped I could make you want me, that perhaps we could be happy together. All I have known in my life are insufferable fools and old men who want to marry me but you are everything I could ever dream of and more. I see something in you that I want very much.”

  Keir watched her, feeling heartbroken and shaken. “As I see in you,” he insisted softly. “Perhaps… you must give me time to understand this fear and reconcile it. Perhaps in time….”

  She shook her head, turning away from him angrily. “I will return to Aysgarth tomorrow and marry Ingilby and be done with it,” she wept furiously. “You are the only man I have ever felt anything for, Keir, but if you do not want me, then I must leave here and never look back. I cannot stay.”

  Keir stiffened at the mention of Ingilby. He was on her in three big strides, grabbing her by the arms and spinning her around to face him.

  “Listen to me and listen well,” he growled. “You are not going to marry Ingilby, not ever. Do you understand me?”

  She struggled to break free from his grip. “You cannot dictate whom I shall marry,” she snapped. “At least Ingilby wants me.”

  He wouldn’t let her get away. “I never said that I did not want you,” he shook her gently in the hope she would focus on him and stop struggling. “I want you in the worst way but I am scared to death. I simply do not know what to do. If you cannot understand that, I am not sure how I can explain it any better.”

  She ripped her arms free of his grasp and stumbled away from him, turning her back to him. “Go away,” she wept, feeling weak and sorrowful more than angry. She buried her face in her hands. “Get out and leave me alone.”

  Keir stood there, watching her heaving shoulders and feeling as bad as he could possibly feel. He didn’t want to leave her, not like this, but he suspected they had moved past the point of rational conversation for now. She was upset and exhausted, and he was confused as hell. But he just couldn’t let her go.

  Slowly, silently, he walked up behind her. He didn’t want to put his hands on her and risk another physical struggle so he bent down, slowly, and gently shoved his face into the left side of her head. Chloë weakly tried to move her head away from him but she didn’t go far; Keir pressed his face against her hair, his nose inhaling her sweet, musky fragrance.

  “Please do not hate me,” he murmured. “I want to love you, Chloë, I swear it. I just need… time….”

  She burst into a new round of sobs, tears streaming down her face. Keir threw his arms around her and she didn’t resist. He rocked her gently, feeling the sobs wrack her body, wishing he hadn’t upset her so. But he had been truthful.

  After several minutes of holding her close, he swept her into his arms and carried her back to the bed, laying her softly upon the mattress. He pulled the covers up over her, tucked her in tightly, and then lay next to her on top of the coverlet. Putting his big arms around her, he pulled her close against his chest and buried his face in the back of her head.

  Chloë didn’t resist. More tears ensued as she reckoned it would be the closest she was able to get to the man, right here, right now, in this little bed in the spooky, shadowed chamber. She would take what she could get, if even for a stolen moment. Her hand came up, reaching up to touch his cheek as he buried himself in her head. He kissed her hand repeatedly, his big fingers coming up to intertwine in her small, soft fingers. He hand her hand to his lips, holding her tightly in the darkness, until she fell asleep.

  Keir stayed awake all night. He didn’t want to miss a minute of having the woman in his arms. He wondered if he held her long enough, if his fear would go away.

  Unfortunately, it only grew worse.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It was raining heavily this night as Alphonse and four of his men left Hellbeck Castle and made their way east, following the narrow road that wound through the dark and cloudy Pennine dales and on into North Yorkshire. From there, they would cut south to Ripon. Truth was, Alphonse wasn’t so sure he wanted to reach Ripley any time soon, at least until he figured out what he was going to tell Ingilby. At the moment, he was at a loss what to tell the man and his apprehension was growing. Stain did not have the boy.

  Alphonse had spent three days at Hellbeck, trying to negotiate the sale of the boy with a truly insane man, one who would talk to the moldy green walls and try to burn his fingers in the great yellow licks of a blazing fire. Everyone at Hellbeck was mad as far as he was concerned and Stain would never give him a direct answer as to where St. Héver’s boy was. It had made for an odd and somewhat harrowing visit.

  Alphonse had therefore sent his men searching as he kept the crazy old fool occupied and his men had come back empty handed. It was only by chance, and a greedy servant who demanded payment in exchange for information, that Alphonse learned Stain did not have the boy. He never did. And with that, Alphonse and his men gladly left the dark, turbulent castle of Hellbeck.

  Now it was a matter of dealing with Ingilby. The man would consider Alphonse’s trip to Hellbeck a failure if a boy was not produced and he was less than eager to return to Ripley. It was then that Alphonse began to realize that he needed to find a replacement child, something that Ingilby could present as St. Héver’s son. It didn’t matter if it was not the correct child – all that mattered was that they had a child, any child. St. Héver and Coverdale would not know the child was not St. Héver’s son until everything was said and done with, and Ingilby had Lady Chloë. So Alphonse went on the hunt for his mission objective.

  They traveled by night through the pass and emerged into North Yorkshire by morning. It was still raining heavily when the rode into the small village of Bowes on the edge of the mountains and took shelter in the
only tavern in town.

  Alphonse had discussed his idea with his men, all Spaniards who were loyal to him, and the five of them set out to capture a boy under the age of five years. All they knew was that St. Héver’s son had been very young when he had been captured so it was the best they could do. But the boy came in the gift of the tavern keeper’s son, a five year old with white hair and big brown eyes. He helped his father tend the tavern and when Alphonse caught sight of the child sweeping the floor, he knew he had his target.

  The operation worked well enough. As morning dawned, three of Alphonse’s men got the horses ready while Alphonse and another man lay in wait for the child. Around the nooning hour when the clouds began to clear and the sun emerged to dry up the oversaturated earth, the little boy went to the well to gather water and was set upon by Alphonse. Hand over the child’s mouth, he slipped to the waiting horses and tore off into the town with his stolen property. The tavern keeper and his wife would never know what happened to their bright, helpful son.

  The child showed a good deal of strength and kicked and screamed over the thundering miles of road as Alphonse and his men sped southward. Alphonse finally had enough of the boy and tied him up, throwing him into a sack and tying that sack onto his saddle. When the horse raced off again, the sack bounced against the side of the horse and the child eventually quieted. Alphonse didn’t stop to check on the boy’s welfare until they were well clear of Bowes. The boy was bruised and scared, and a little sick, but unharmed.

  The sight of the child fed Alphonse’s courage. Giving the boy a piece of hard bread crust, he tied him back up in the sack again, listened to him cry, and continued on his trek to Ripley Castle.

  *

  Seven days later

  Pendragon Castle

  The rain that had saturated the countryside for the better part of the last two months had subsided over the past several days and the sun had emerged, gaining strength as the wet spring months morphed into drying summer months.

  The land was still vibrantly green with a gentle breeze caressing the fields. The bailey of Pendragon had dried up and Keir had his soldiers fill in the great holes created by the rain so that the bailey was now a smoother crossing. The ward covered a relatively small area and he didn’t need men falling in holes and breaking legs, so it was more of a necessity than an aesthetic repair.

  Since the weather had been so agreeable for the past few days, Chloë and Cassandra had made it a daily ritual to break their fast and then go outside to walk among the enormous earthworks and causeways of Pendragon’s layout. They would walk and talk until finally finding a place to sit. The two old and ugly female servants followed them around carrying small stools and sewing. When Chloë and Cassandra would find just the right spot, the serving women would lay out a blanket and the stools.

  Today was no exception. The temperature was warm enough that Cassandra actually fanned herself as she sat in the sun, working on a small piece of embroidery. They had picked up the thread and fabric when they had visited town earlier in the week, a little kit containing colored silk thread, needles and thimbles. Chloë had her hands on an enormous ball of yarn of very fine lamb’s wool, gold in color, and she was knitting furiously with two small ivory knitting needles. She had a talent at knitting, something she had learned when she was young, and the long robe she was making was already taking shape.

  The knitting kept her mind off of Keir. Since their admission to each other nearly a week before, she had kept a distance from him. Her feelings for the man were growing stronger by the day and she was terrified that he was going to break her heart with his fear and confusion, so she thought it best to stay away from him. She could see the disappointment in his face when they took their evening meals with everyone in the great hall but he made no move to get closer to her. It was as if he understood her distance, protecting herself, just as he was protecting himself. It had made for long and painful days and nights for them both.

  On this lovely day, Chloë sat on her little stool in the sun, focusing on her fingers and trying not to think of the massive knight with the piercing blue eyes. Cassandra lay on her belly on the blanket, carefully stitching a hummingbird. No less than four soldiers were assigned to watch over them, standing a respectful distance away even as Michael watched them from the gatehouse and Keir watched them from the castle. Cassandra was rattling on about something but Chloë wasn’t paying attention. Finally, she heard her sister sigh.

  “You have not heard a word I have said, have you?” Cassandra sat up and looked at her sister. “What is wrong with you? You have been like this all week.”

  Chloë looked up from her knitting. “Like what?”

  Cassandra wriggled her arched eyebrows. “Quiet and morose,” she said. “What is the matter with you?”

  Chloë shook her head. “I do not know what you mean,” she said, refocusing on her knitting. “There is nothing wrong with me.”

  Cassandra gazed at her sister, not believing her for a moment. After a slight pause, she sighed sympathetically. “Sweetheart, have you spoken with him since…?”

  “Nay,” Chloë cut her off. “I do not want to speak to him and you are forbidden to speak his name. Please, Cassie. I cannot bear it.”

  “But you….”

  “Cassie,” Chloë snapped softly, her brown eyes sad and irritated as she looked at her sister. “You know what my issue is so why do you ask such foolish questions? Do not ask me again, please. I am not so fortunate that I have two men vying for my hand.”

  Cassandra fought off a smile, the same smile that came about every time she thought of Michael of Pembury and Kurtis St. Héver. Not to diminish her sister’s misery, but she was quite happy at the moment, happier than she had ever been. She had the attention of two fine knights and was enjoying it immensely. She gazed off towards the gatehouse where she knew Michael was watching her.

  “Michael is a sweet and considerate man,” she said dreamily, rolling on to her stomach again, “but there is something about Kurtis that I find very attractive.”

  Chloë was focused on her task. “Kurtis barely speaks,” she said. “What on earth to you find attractive about him?”

  Cassandra’s smile grew. “It is not how much he speaks but what he says when he does,” she said. “He is very intelligent and he has a very funny sense of humor. He makes me laugh with his dry comments. You should see the way he baits Michael.”

  Chloë looked up at her, then. “I have seen it,” she said, a reluctant smile playing on her lips. “I was in the hall when Michael drank from the cup that had the rim lined with soot. The man walked around with a foolish black smile drawn on his face for nearly an hour before Keir took pity on him and told him why everyone was laughing at him. I thought he was going to kill Kurtis.”

  Cassandra rolled onto her back, giggling as she gazed up at the blue sky above. “It was rather funny.”

  “It was dastardly.”

  “You laughed.”

  “I did not say that it was not funny – it was. But it was also dastardly.”

  Cassandra continued to giggle and Chloë finally broke down into soft laughter. Over the past several days, Michael and Kurtis had entered into a contest for Cassandra’s attention and it was quite hilarious at times. Kurtis would put soot on the rim of Michael’s cup and Michael would put saffron in the water Kurtis shaved with, turning the man’s face yellow. Michael was extremely tall and extremely big, but Kurtis was built of pure muscle, making a physical confrontation at some point both a frightful and interesting prospect. Keir had managed to head the two off of each other but they all knew, at some point, an explosion was inevitable.

  Cassandra was the only one who delighted in the possibility. She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her hand, her gaze now on the castle looming behind them. The tall gray walls were foreboding as she looked at the battlements, seeing men moving along the parapets. One man in particular seemed rooted to one spot, right at the corner of the walls with the b
est view of where the ladies were.

  Cassandra didn’t have to see the details of the man’s face to know it was Keir. She had seen the way Keir looked at her sister and she knew the man felt for Chloë as Chloë felt for him. She also suspected he was hurting just as her sister was, if not worse. The expression on his face every night at sup when Chloë would not speak to him told the tale.

  “If Keir were to pledge for your hand, would you accept?” Cassandra asked softly.

  Chloë faltered in her knitting. “Cassie….,” she groaned.

  “It is a reasonable question, sweetheart,” Cassandra insisted. “Is he simply an infatuation with you or do you believe you could happily spend your life with the man?”

  Chloë missed another stitch and, frustrated, she plopped her hands and the knitting into her lap. “Have you ever known me to have an infatuation?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then you ask a foolish question.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  Chloë had enough. Bolting from her stool, she set her knitting down and began to walk away from her sister, across the rolling green earthworks with the rows and rows of spikes hammered into the sides to repel invaders. Cassandra called to her sister as she walked away.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  Chloë waved an irritated hand at her. “Nowhere,” she snapped. “Just…leave me alone. I do not want to speak right now.”

  Cassandra kept her mouth shut and Chloë kept walking. She wandered across the enormous earthworks, looking over the surrounding landscape from her elevated position. It was a beautiful view and she struggled to clear her mind. Above her, clouds skittered across the sky as the gentle breeze blew and it would have been a lovely day entirely had she not been so saddened. It began to occur to her that she would remain saddened as long as she stayed at Pendragon, caged with a man who could not decide whether or not he wanted her. More and more, she knew she had to leave for her own sanity. She had to leave and forget about Keir St. Héver entirely.