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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “When will you remove the vault guard?” she asked.

  He was still feeling her hand on his arm, like a ghost of things that would never come to pass.

  “Give me a half-hour,” he said. “The sun will be down by then and I will call him away on some pretext. Move swiftly and try not to be seen, especially by your husband. Lock Lady Emelisse away safely. We do not need her trying to escape and finding herself in a worse position than she is now.”

  Alice nodded, picking up her needle once more but making no move to actually sew. “I will be ready,” she said.

  Hallam simply nodded, perhaps thinking to say more to her but unable to summon the will. As he’d said, anything more said between them was futile. It was like self-torture, something neither of them wanted to indulge in. It would not change the situation.

  But the situation itself could not change what was in their hearts.

  With sorrow, Hallam quit the chamber as Alice silently wept.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  To the scent of rot and the sounds of sick men’s laborious breathing, Emelisse had fallen asleep, her head against the slick stone wall of the vault. She was cold and hungry, but her weariness superseded her other needs for the moment. Sleep was what she needed most.

  To sleep and forget.

  When next she realized, a soft female voice was filling her senses.

  She awoke with a start.

  “All is well, my lady,” a woman said, a warm hand on her arm to calm her. “Hurry, now. Help her to stand. We must remove her quickly.”

  Suddenly, Emelisse was being pulled to her feet. She was so exhausted and disoriented that she had no idea what was going on until she caught a glimpse of a rather plain woman in a wildly ornate gown. She had jewels around her neck, on her ears, and in her hair, and it seemed so very strangely out of place in the filth of the vault. Emelisse looked at her, blinking.

  “Am I dreaming?” she whispered. “Who are you?”

  The woman simply smiled at her. It wasn’t an attractive gesture, but it was a kind one. Before Emelisse realized it, she was pulled from the cell by several well-dressed female servants, up that treacherous stairwell, and out into the night beyond.

  The icy air of winter hit her like a slap to the face.

  She was a little more lucid now, enough to notice that she was being quickly moved by at least four servants from what she could see. The bejeweled woman was moving swiftly beside her, making sure her servants were huddled around Emelisse like a shield, urging them to move very quickly. She kept looking around nervously, which told Emelisse that she was afraid of being seen. It was very confusing.

  What in the world is going on?

  The servants took her in through a kitchen yard, which was vast and well-kept. The sharp animal smells assaulted her nose. The clouds had rolled in sometime during the day, covering up the moon, so the only light was from the torches on the wall of the fortress and the fires in the kitchen yard. They came up behind the keep and in through a door built into the lower level.

  It was dark in there, smelling of straw and grain. Emelisse didn’t sense danger or hazard from the women, which was why she was so willing to go with them. Anything was better than that hellish vault and they seemed to want to help her. Someone lit a pair of tapers and they hurried up a spiral staircase built into the wall of the keep, a narrow thing just like the staircase that led from the vault. Up and up they seemed to go, higher and higher, until they finally emerged onto a landing.

  “Hurry,” the well-dressed woman urged softly. “Take her in there.”

  She was pointing and the servants moved swiftly. Emelisse was pulled into a larger chamber, through it, and into a smaller chamber off to the side. It was there that her flight came to a halt and the bejeweled woman with the taper shut the door behind them and bolted it. Holding up a taper to get a better look at Emelisse, she studied her for a moment before speaking.

  “Forgive me for the swiftness of our actions, my lady, but it was necessary,” she said softly. “You are Emelisse de Thorington?”

  Emelisse looked apprehensively to the women around her before answering. “I am.”

  The women nodded. “I am Alice, Lady de Wrenville,” she said. “Covington is my husband.”

  Emelisse wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She looked around at the serving women again, a small army who had moved her out of the vault, and she began to grow fearful and defensive now that she knew who the woman was.

  Was she about to face a fate worse than the vault?

  “Why have you brought me here?” she asked. “If your husband has sent you to interrogate me, then I will give you the same answers I have given him.”

  Alice shook her head. “You misunderstand,” she said. “You do not belong in the vault, even if you are a prisoner of war. You will be held in this chamber, but you will be made comfortable and treated as a lady should be treated. I do not like that my husband put you in that terrible vault and if it was not for Hallam, I would not know anything of it.”

  “Hallam?”

  “Hallam Chadlington. My husband’s knight.”

  Emelisse wondered if she was referring to the knight who took her to the vault and a wave of shock rolled over her. He didn’t believe she belonged there, as he’d told her, but duty had dictated that he obey his liege. But he’d said nothing about going to Lady de Wrenville with the situation, who was probably the only person in Winterhold who could contest or even amend her husband’s wishes. The power of the Lady of the Castle was not to be underestimated under most circumstances. Both shocked and relieved at the turn of events, Emelisse began to relax.

  “You are gracious, Lady de Wrenville,” she said. “Your kindness is appreciated.”

  Alice eyed her for a moment before turning to her servants and issuing a quiet series of orders – food, clothing, bedding, and a bath were being discussed and as the five women huddled together, hissing and whispering, Emelisse tore her gaze away from them to look at her surroundings.

  She was in a small chamber at the very top of the keep, she assumed, because the ceiling was wooden and vaulted. There were beams overhead and beyond that, the pitched roof, which was actually quite low. It gave the chamber a cramped feeling. A small but empty bed was shoved against the wall along with capcases, trunks, and a wardrobe that had seen better days.

  Clearly, it was a storage chamber or servant’s alcove considering they had passed through a larger chamber to reach it. Whatever it was, it was peaceful and chilly. And very barren. Emelisse hugged her arms against her body as she looked at the small hearth, dark and cold. As she wondered if she would be permitted to have a fire, the servants fled and Lady de Wrenville shut the door behind them, bolting it.

  Everything was suddenly still and awkward with only the two of them in the small chamber. The servants had taken one taper with them, leaving the other one for Lady de Wrenville. When her gaze locked with Emelisse’s, she smiled wanly.

  “You shall have warmth and food soon enough, my lady,” she said. “I do apologize this is the best I can do for now, but it is best this way so my husband will not find you.”

  Emelisse eyed the woman in the darkness. “But if he goes looking for me in the vault, I will not be there.”

  Lady de Wrenville snorted softly. “My dear, he would never set foot in that vault,” she said. “He only knows what he is told. Hallam knows I have you, so if my husband wishes to see you, Hallam will come for you. You needn’t worry about Covington simply showing up.”

  Emelisse could sense a hint of disapproval in Lady de Wrenville’s voice when she spoke of her husband. Or perhaps it was even loathing.

  Anything was possible when it came to Covington de Wrenville.

  Though the woman was closing in on middle age, she was still too young to have a son the age of Marius. Although Emelisse had only met Marius twice, both times when they were younger, she knew he was older than she was by a few years. Lady de Wrenville didn’t look old enough to have gi
ven birth to a man of Marius’ age.

  The situation was a little perplexing. But then she recalled that de Wrenville’s wife had died years ago. All that had happened was muddling her mind.

  “May… may I ask why you should do this, my lady?” Emelisse asked. “You are going against your husband and I should not wish to get you into trouble with him. My trouble is my own, though as I said, your kindness is appreciated.”

  Lady de Wrenville didn’t say anything right away. She walked over to one of the two windows in the chamber, both of them shuttered, and released the fasten on the shutters. She pulled them back, allowing frozen air into the chamber, but it was also fresh air, cleaning out the staleness of the room.

  “Clouds are gathering,” she said, looking up at the sky. “Mayhap it shall snow. It has been a mild winter, though not having been at Winterhold very long, I would not know if this is normal. Someone told me that it makes its own weather, which is why they call it Winterhold.”

  As Lady de Wrenville stood at the window, Emelisse studied her a little more. Her clothing was quite beautiful and quite expensive, her hair carefully arranged. Everything about her screamed of money and breeding, but in her simple statement, Emelisse gathered that the woman was new to Winterhold.

  New to the House of de Wrenville.

  A new wife?

  “It is the mountains to the east that make their own weather,” Emelisse said after a moment. “Sometimes, we have storms where there should not be one. Where did you live before?”

  Lady de Wrenville turned to her. “Dudley Castle,” she said. “It is south of here.”

  “Is that where you were born?”

  “Aye,” Lady de Wrenville said. “Where I was born and where I was certain I would remain until my recent marriage to Covington. Do I not appear old for a new bride? Surely that is what you are thinking. It is true, however. I do not fault you.”

  Emelisse shook her head. “You do not look old for a new bride,” she said, though it wasn’t entirely true. “I saw a bride once who had grandchildren. It was her second marriage.”

  “This is my first,” Lady de Wrenville said. When Emelisse didn’t have anything to say to that, she smiled faintly. “My first and, God willing, my one and only. If this is what marriage is like, then I could not endure it again. But forgive me; I should not be speaking so. I suppose… I suppose I brought you here because I feel pity for you, my dear. I married Covington de Wrenville two months ago and in that time, all I have heard about is Hawkstone Castle and the cursed de Thoringtons. I have come to live in a warring household, which is unpleasant at best. I heard rumor today that your father was captured, but I did not know you were captured until Hallam told me.”

  More and more, Emelisse didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure if she should defend herself, her family. Surely she had no intention of speaking out against de Wrenville, not to the man’s wife. It might change her situation drastically and she very much wanted to stay in the small chamber under Lady de Wrenville’s watchful eye.

  “Given the circumstances, you are showing great compassion to an enemy,” she said.

  Lady de Wrenville cocked a heavy eyebrow. “Enemy?” she said. Then, she shook her head. “It is not true, is it?”

  “Is what true?”

  “That you are loyal to the French king?”

  Emelisse blinked, shocked. “God’s Bones,” she muttered. “Who told you that?”

  “I have heard it from my husband. He says that is why he is sending his army after you.”

  Confusion swamped Emelisse. “Because we are loyal to Philip?” she said in surprise. That was something she’d not heard. “My lady, I assure you, that is not true. My mother is long dead, God rest her soul, and I swear upon her grave that it is not true in any fashion. Earlier, when I saw your husband in his hall, he told me that my father should have accepted his marital offer between his son, Marius, and me. It seemed as if that was the reason for his attacks against Hawkstone because, up until now, we have had no idea why he should be so aggressive against us. He never gave us the courtesy of a reason.”

  Lady de Wrenville stared at her before shaking her head sadly. “He told me it was because of your loyalty to Philip,” she said. “Are you saying he has lied to me?”

  Emelisse nodded firmly. “My lady, he has lied. I swear to you upon my own soul that he has lied. We are not loyal to Philip. My father has never even been to France. We hold no loyalty to that country at all.”

  Lady de Wrenville began to chuckle, but it wasn’t a humorous sound. It was a bitter, hard sound.

  “I did not think so,” she murmured. “He has lied about nearly everything else. This is nothing different.”

  Emelisse was coming to think that she had Lady de Wrenville’s sympathy, if not her loyalty. Loyalty in the sense that even she knew what her husband was doing was wrong. Emelisse thought that if she could somehow endear the woman to her, it might go even better in her favor. Perhaps Lady de Wrenville, unlike her husband, had a heart and soul.

  Emelisse was willing to take the chance.

  “Have you never heard of Hawk Mountain, my lady?” she asked.

  Lady de Wrenville shook her head. “I have not,” she said. “What is it?”

  Emelisse smiled, a gesture that was known to soften even the hardest of hearts. “Hawk Mountain is named by the Welsh because of the birds that live there,” she said. “On my father’s property rises a mountain, and on that mountain are many things – the birds, as I mentioned, but there are also caves and ponds and waterfalls. It is a magical place where I spent many happy years. Hawkstone Castle is my home and until this madness with de Wrenville, it was a wonderful and peaceful place. There are many rocks on the mountain and pathways between these great, gray rocks. As children, my brother and I used to pretend that Hawk Mountain was our castle to defend from wicked pirates or evil Welsh armies.”

  Lady de Wrenville listened with a smile on her lips. “It sounds like a castle of dreams.”

  “It is, my lady,” Emelisse said fervently. “There is a pond at the base of the mountain that is a color of blue you have never seen before. If you look above it, there are rocks with streaks through them of the same blue color. The pond is so blue that it nearly glows. My father says it is a magical pond, but when we grew older, we realized it was simply the rain and water washing the blue ore off the rocks and down into the pond. But Papa had us fooled for a while.”

  Unexpectedly, she teared up at the thought of her father, lying dead in the great hall. She blinked quickly, trying to chase away the tears, but she wasn’t fast enough. Tears escaped and she turned quickly to flick them away. It was a gesture not missed by Lady de Wrenville.

  “I realize the situation seems dire,” she said quietly. “I wish I could offer you words of comfort. I will speak to my husband about sending you home.”

  But Emelisse shook her head firmly, wiping away the tears that had escaped. “Nay,” she said. “As I said, I do not wish for you to assume my troubles. The situation between Winterhold and Hawkstone has been going on well before you came here, though I will confess we did not know de Wrenville had married again. I remember when his first wife died. My father even attended her mass at St. Nicholas’ in the village of Chetfell. Our relationship with Winterhold has not always been as you see it, my lady. Once, we were neighborly.”

  As Emelisse said it, she trailed off, thinking of those days. It seemed like another lifetime ago. Lady de Wrenville stood by the door to the chamber, watching her, feeling a good deal of sorrow for the young woman simply by her expression. War was a terrible thing at any time, but this… it just seemed so terribly excessive and unnecessary. She was about to say so when there was a knock on the chamber door.

  Emelisse instinctively gasped, whirling in the direction of the door even as she backed away from it. Lady de Wrenville rushed to the door, listening for sounds on the other side.

  “Who comes?” she demanded.

  “Matilde, my la
dy.”

  Lady de Wrenville yanked the door open, admitting one of her well-dressed maids, who had laundry stacked in her arms. Behind her came food, drink, a copper tub, and buckets of hot water. Lady de Wrenville organized them like a master sergeant, directing the servants to set down the food and drink, to fill the tub, and sent others off for still more items.

  It was an efficient army.

  Emelisse watched from her position back by one of the windows in the chamber. It was the one that Lady de Wrenville had opened and, having enough of the chill wind, she shut the shutters as a servant started a fire in the hearth. Wood was laid down first but it was followed by big chunks of black coal, so prevalent to the area. Once the wood started burning, it ignited the coal, and the servant piled more on. Soon, Emelisse could feel the first strains of heat wafting into the chamber. Just as she headed for the hearth, holding out her hands to warm them against the glow, Lady de Wrenville caught her attention.

  “Now, my lady,” she said briskly. “We shall bathe you and feed you. It is the least we can do after your harrowing day.”

  Emelisse had to admit that it sounded good. Certainly, she was in the bosom of the enemy, but she was cold and hungry, and filthy from having rolled around on the floor of the great hall. There was some trust established with Lady de Wrenville, so she would permit the woman to tend to her needs.

  But there was something else she wanted from her, something she couldn’t shake from her mind. She was safe for the moment, on her way to being warm and fed, but her father…

  She simply couldn’t pretend that her heart wasn’t broken.

  “Before you do, may… may I ask a favor, my lady?” she asked.

  Lady de Wrenville nodded. “If I can.”

  Emelisse took a deep breath, trying to stave off the tears that were close to the surface. “I was brought here with my father,” she said. “The last I saw of him, he was in the hall. They told me that he was dead. If it is not too much trouble and would not put you in danger, would it be possible to discover what has become of him? My fear is that he may not be dead at all and they simply said that to upset me. Your husband was trying to force me into telling my brother to surrender the keep, so it is possible… mayhap my father is not dead at all.”