The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  But the well-dressed man was looking at her rather pleasantly, as if all of this were just some leisure gathering of friends. He even had a cup of wine in his hand that Emelisse didn’t see until he raised it and took a casual drink.

  He seemed quite untroubled by everything.

  “Lady Emelisse de Thorington,” he finally said, his eyes raking her from top to bottom. “Christ, you’re beautiful. I’d hear rumor, but I’ve not seen you in an exceptionally long time.”

  He was looking at her the way every man looked at her – with interest. Full-breasted and full-hipped with a narrow waist in between, Emelisse oozed womanhood. Her figure was alluring enough, but coupled with seductive blue eyes and blonde hair that fell in copious amounts to her buttocks, she was a specimen among women.

  Even Covington could see that.

  “You do not remember me, do you?” he said.

  Emelisse looked at him, long and hard. “I do not recall.”

  “I am Covington de Wrenville.”

  Her eyes widened. “It is… you?” she gasped. “You’re Covey de Wrenville?”

  He smiled. “Then you know my name.”

  Emelisse looked at him in horror. Truly, she didn’t know how to respond. She’d never been this close to him, never in all of the years she’d lived at Hawkstone. Of course she knew the name; he was the Lord of Winterhold, Baron Darliston, a man who had been incredibly quiet until three years ago when he decided that he wanted what Hawkstone had.

  As Emelisse looked at him, she found herself wishing that she had a dagger. She wished she had a very sharp dagger and she wished that her hands were not bound, for surely, she would plunge the dagger right into Covington’s fat, blobbish chest. His whole body was blobbish and round, his jowls jiggling, his body as soft as his morals and his standards.

  It sickened her to be this close to him.

  “Why?” she finally hissed, her guard going down. “Why have you done this to us? We have always been peaceful. We never troubled you. We were good neighbors. Why did you do this to us?”

  Covington was undisturbed by her pain. “I am told your brother is holding the keep,” he said, completely ignoring her questions. “You will tell him to surrender.”

  Emelisse stiffened. “I will not,” she hissed. “Have you no heart, no compassion? We have done nothing to provoke your aggression. Release me immediately so I may see to my father.”

  His gaze lingered on her. “As I mentioned, I have not seen you in many years,” he said. “I can see now that you will make a fine prize for my son. Marius will be most pleased. Truly, your father should have accepted my marriage offer in the first place. It might have avoided these… unpleasantries.”

  “Marriage offer?” she gasped. “What marriage offer?”

  “The one I sent to your father. Surely he told you about it.”

  Emelisse stared at him a moment, baffled, before her eyes suddenly widened. In that split-second, she realized what he was saying.

  “You mean…” she sputtered. “That missive we received about three years ago?”

  “It is the only missive I have ever sent to your father.”

  A creeping sense of horror filled Emelisse. Covington was correct; it was the only missive he’d ever sent to Hawkstone. A few sentences about discussing the possibility of a marital alliance between Emelisse and Covington’s son, Marius.

  It had been quickly read, quickly forgotten.

  It hadn’t seemed like a serious situation at the time. The missive had been very casual. There had been no demands, only a polite suggestion to open a dialogue. But Emelisse’s father had swiftly refused, informing de Wrenville that his daughter was not accepting marital prospects at that time. It had been the truth.

  But de Wrenville clearly had been carrying a grudge about it.

  Is that what had caused these three years of hostilities?

  After three long years, the realization hit her like a hammer.

  “Is that what this is about?” she demanded, straining against her bindings. “A rejected marriage proposal?”

  Covington regarded the wine in his cup before replying. “When my men told me that they’d captured you, I immediately sent word to my son,” he said. “He will want to inspect you for himself. Now, tell your brother to surrender the keep so we may be finished with this madness.”

  “I told you I will not.”

  “Please, my lady. We do not want this situation to become any more barbaric than it already has.”

  She was so angry that she was trembling. “That is your fault,” she said. “You are the barbarian, not I. Not my family. We are defending what is rightfully ours. All because my father refused a solicitation of marriage? Why did you not speak to him about it rather than immediately going to arms?”

  Covington didn’t reply. He looked to the battle-worn knight standing across from him. “Show her what I mean.”

  The knight turned away, heading over to Rupert as he lay face-down on the ground. Flipping the man onto his back, he stood over him, watching for any hint of life. He could see what Emelisse couldn’t see – Rupert’s face. He could see how badly the man had been beaten, his nose broken, teeth knocked out. All from the breach of the gatehouse that the old man had no business defending.

  “Hallam,” Covington said, his voice stronger. “Show her what I mean.”

  But the knight shook his head. “It would not do any good, my lord,” he said. “The man is dead.”

  Emelisse yelped, throwing herself onto the floor, trying to roll or squirm her way over to her father.

  “Nay!” she cried. “He is not dead. Let me see him. Let me help him!”

  Covington walked past her as he headed for Rupert’s supine form. In fact, he stepped over her as she writhed on the floor, trying to get to her father. As Emelisse struggled for every inch gained, Covington stood next to Hallam, both of them looking down at the still form of Rupert de Thorington. Covington just stood there, looking at him, and it was Hallam who called over one of the physics in the hall attending the de Wrenville wounded.

  The physic was a big man with big arms and black teeth. He bent over Rupert, listened to his mouth, his chest, and then rolled him onto his side. He began sticking his fingers into the man’s mouth, pulling out teeth and clotted blood. Then, he gave him a slap on the back to dislodge anything else and perhaps get him breathing again, but Rupert remained still.

  Finally, the physic stood up.

  “He’s gone,” he said. “Might have choked to death on all of the blood from his face. It’s pooled back in his throat.”

  Emelisse heard him. She was still trying to wriggle her way towards him but the tears came, slowing her progression. There was such pain in her heart that she couldn’t begin to manage it. It bled out all over the place, spilling out of her, and she wallowed in it even though she was trying not to. She was trying to get to her father.

  She wanted to help him.

  He can’t be dead!

  “Da,” she wept softly. “God, please… Da…”

  Covington heard her. He looked up from Rupert, realizing Emelisse was very close. She was covered in dirt, in soot, fighting for every inch gained to get to her beloved father, but he was unmoved.

  “I will say this one more time,” he said coldly. “Tell your brother to surrender the keep. Agree to this and I shall let you tend to your father.”

  Emelisse paused in her struggle, considering his demand. Whether or not her father was dead or alive had no bearing on her stance. She knew that Rupert would not want her to give in to Covington’s demands. He’d been fighting a battle for three years that had evidently been caused by bruised pride and Emelisse wouldn’t surrender what her father had fought so hard for. The sheer ridiculousness of Covington’s motivation was not lost on her.

  She couldn’t believe it had come down to this one dark and agonizing moment in time.

  “I will cut my tongue out before I tell Caspian anything,” she grunted, tears rolling down he
r face and onto the dirty, stone floor. “Stop asking me, for I will not do it.”

  Covington’s jaw flexed at her insolence. “You will regret your choice,” he said. Then, he turned to Hallam. “Put her in the vault. Mayhap time spent in that nasty hole will help her see the error of her ways.”

  Emelisse found the strength to roll onto her back, her watery eyes blazing. “I will never help you, you vile bastard,” she hissed. “God will punish you for this, Covington de Wrenville. He will wipe you and your abominable family from the earth and if he does not, I will. I will kill you myself!”

  Hallam moved to her before Covington could order him to do something unsavory to her. He wasn’t beyond that when provoked. Hallam lifted Emelisse up by her bound arms and heaved her over his shoulder, turning to depart the hall before any further words between the pair were spoken.

  The last vision Emelisse had of her father was the one she would remember the rest of her life, regrettably so. She was able to lift her head enough as Hallam carried her off to see the man fully. She saw the black clots of blood on the ground next to him, the missing teeth, the face that was smashed.

  She saw it all.

  At that point, she could only hope her father was truly dead to end his suffering, an unworthy ending for a kind and generous man.

  At that moment, something in her changed. Became hard.

  Died.

  That day, part of Emelisse de Thorington’s soul ceased to exist.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Truly, my lord, you did not have to ride with the army,” Caius said. “Your hospitality and the use of your men have been quite enough. I am sure The Marshal never meant for you to ride to battle with us.”

  It was a surprisingly brilliant day for the dead of winter. In fact, the winter itself had been strangely mild. It was just after the new year and although they’d seen chill temperatures, the season hadn’t been particularly wet. The entire ride north from London had been almost pleasant – no storms, no rain, no snow, only icy temperatures. Those were tolerable providing it wasn’t wet. Chain mail, gloves, weapons – anything steel – could turn into blocks of ice and make for truly miserable conditions.

  In fact, the weather was so mild that the Earl of Wolverhampton, Edward de Wolfe, had taken to riding north with Caius and Maxton and the army. Considering de Wolfe wasn’t a great warrior, or at least he hadn’t been in years, it was unexpected. He rode with Caius on one side and Maxton on the other, and his youngest son, who was almost as tall as his father in spite of his young age. Edward kept turning around to smile at his twelve-year-old son, William.

  “Not to worry, Cai,” Edward said after turning around for the twentieth time that morning to glimpse his son, who was riding alongside his cousin, Morgan. “There is no reason I should not ride with you to Winterhold. It is not far from Wolverhampton and I’ve not seen Covey de Wrenville for about a year. He is my vassal, you know. ’Tis good for me to see the man and reaffirm those bonds so he remembers who he has sworn fealty to.”

  It sounded like a threat, something that had Caius glancing at Maxton, who simply lifted his eyebrows. Edward had seemed rather perturbed by the entire situation, all of it directed at Covington. Caius returned his focus ahead to the road, to the winter-dead landscape, thinking on what they would face when they finally reached Winterhold.

  He wasn’t holding out much hope that he would find favorable conditions.

  Caius, Maxton, Kevin, Peter, Morgan, and Gareth had all arrived at Warstone Castle two nights ago, late into the night, only to find thousands of Pembroke and Hereford men in the vast bailey. The armies had arrived that very same day and there were exhausted men feasting the night away.

  Edward had been waiting for the command team.

  Over boiled beef and good wine, what Edward told them had been interesting and far more than The Marshal had told him. Even now, as they plodded along the road that would take them straight to the village of Chetfell and then the castle of Winterhold beyond, Caius was mulling over everything Edward had told him. It was a good deal of information that might possibly affect how he dealt with the situation.

  “After what you’ve told me about de Wrenville, this conflict is starting to make more sense,” he said to Edward as they clopped along. “I do not think The Marshal knows what you know about it. It was wise for him to send me to you before proceeding.”

  Edward scratched at a helm he hadn’t worn in a while; it was chaffing his ear. “I hadn’t heard about Covey’s marriage to Margaret’s daughter, Alice de Gras, so you came bearing information as well,” he said. “It certainly complicates things for The Marshal because to have his niece marry into that family cannot be pleasant. You know that I named my youngest son for him, don’t you? William, I mean. My son, William, was named in honor of William Marshal.”

  They veered to the subject of Edward’s youngest son and Caius turned around to glimpse the big lad astride a heavy-boned Belgian warhorse. He was plodding alongside Morgan, who was smirking as the boy struggled with a horse that was too much animal for him. William was starting to fill out a little, as boys did at that age, and it was clear that he was strong from the way he wrestled with his horse.

  “I did not know that was the origin of his name,” Caius said after a moment, returning his focus to the road. “You have two other sons, do you not?”

  Edward nodded. “Robert and Jonathan,” he said. “They are twins, not much older than William is. They are fostering at Alnwick Castle.”

  “They are younger than Morgan, are they not?” Caius said. “Forgive me, my lord, but your sons seem much younger than Morgan and his brothers. His father is your brother, correct?”

  Edward nodded. “Dear Arthur is my younger brother,” he said. “He married at a very young age, while I was forced to wait until my child bride came of age. Arthur already had four sons by the time I married. Good lads, all of them. Two of them fostered at Warstone, with me.”

  “What of your youngest? Hasn’t William gone to foster yet?”

  Edward appeared the least bit uncomfortable. “He has been at Kenilworth,” he said. “He’s very smart, very diligent, and already quite skilled as a warrior. But he also has a wild streak in him and the master knights of Kenilworth have had their hands full. It grew to be such an issue that the garrison commander, Michael Wellesbourne, separated William from his troublemaking friends. He came home about a month ago and he has been perfectly behaved since. Personally, I think the trouble is with Kenilworth. William says they have no idea what they are doing there and I am coming to believe him.”

  Caius had to fight off a grin at a father’s utter belief that his son could do no wrong. He looked at Maxton, who was close to laughing at the statement. It was well-known that Kenilworth Castle was where the elite knights of England were trained, so if they didn’t know what they were doing there, they had fooled a great many people.

  “You do not think that, mayhap, there is some truth to your son’s wild ways?” Maxton said before Caius could. “Lads at that age can be a bit unruly.”

  Edward glanced at Maxton, shrugging. “Wellesbourne said something about my son setting up gambling games by having one of his friends wrestle other squires,” he said dismissively. “The lads were evidently becoming quite rich from the games, but the master knights discovered what they were doing and confiscated the money. They sent William home to me and his friends, Paris and Kieran, back to their families also. It is all rather unnecessary, I think. Boys will be boys.”

  It was clear that Edward was convinced that his son was completely innocent and Caius and Maxton exchanged amused glances before looking at the boy again. William did seem far more mature than his twelve years in simply the way he carried himself, but sometimes looks were deceiving. He was either a good lad, wrongly accused, or an evil genius in disguise.

  “I have a suggestion, my lord, but please tell me if it is out of the question,” Caius said. “If you would like to leave William with me, he can squir
e for me while I tend to the situation between de Wrenville and de Thorington. It might give him some experience outside of the world of Kenilworth. He could also learn from Morgan, who is my second in command and a worthy trainer. Mayhap you could even send him with us to Richmond Castle when this unpleasantness is finished at Winterhold. He can learn a great deal there.”

  Edward looked at him with surprise. “That is quite a generous offer, Cai,” he said. “William could learn well from The Britannia Viper. Chris always spoke highly of you, by the way. But not Maxton; he thinks the man is a boor. Do not tell Chris that I told you.”

  Caius grinned his charmingly crooked smile, mostly laughing at Maxton, who shook his head as if disgusted by the entire conversation. The contention between Christopher de Lohr and Maxton was well-known among The Marshal’s men, two fellow knights who were fiercely competitive with each other, yet would die for one another. It was one of the more interesting relationships in The Marshal’s band of agents, but never one that caused trouble. Both Christopher and Maxton were professional to the bone.

  “My lips are sealed,” Caius said. “But I think you hurt Maxton’s feelings.”

  Edward turned to Maxton, his lips twitching with a smile. “I did not know you were capable of having your feelings hurt.”

  Maxton cocked a defiant eyebrow. “I am not, and certainly not by de Lohr.”

  Edward snorted; he couldn’t help it. He was very close to Christopher and he knew Maxton well, and it was always great fun to taunt them about each other. As he chuckled, Caius came to Maxton’s rescue from a touchy subject.

  “Think about my offer for your son, my lord,” he said. “But let us discuss de Wrenville and de Thorington again – one of the things you mentioned, that The Marshal must not be aware of, was The Roden Twins. I had not heard of them.”