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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  William’s old, yellowed eyes were glimmering at her weakly. “Nay, it was not in the way I had expected. But from everything I have heard, it was definitely for the best,” he said. His attention returned to Caius. “Where will you go now?”

  Caius looked down at Emelisse. “To Richmond,” he said. “I have not been home in some time, so I shall return there and show off my great outpost to my wife and Hallam and Lady Chadlington. It’s strange… when I left Richmond those weeks ago at your summons, I left alone. I have always been alone. But now… now, I return with the part of me I never knew I was missing.”

  William rolled his eyes. “Cai, if you say anything more like that, I swear I shall become ill,” he said, standing up wearily. “Enough sentiment. It is time for supper and I have been smelling the beef all afternoon. Let us feast and speak on things that do not involve death and destruction and sappy love stories. Alice, darling, allow me to escort you.”

  He held out his elbow for Alice, who rose from her chair and gladly took it, smiling affectionately at her uncle as her husband followed a few feet behind. Caius moved to go with them, with Emelisse on his arm, but he could see Maxton and Kevin and William muttering between them. He came to a halt.

  “Aren’t you three coming?” he asked.

  Maxton shook his head. “I believe we are going to find our evening’s entertainment elsewhere,” he said. “My wife will not let me go to The Pox when we are in London together, and she is not here right now, so I do believe I shall visit our favorite tavern.”

  “I’ve never been,” William said, excitement in his tone. “I’ve heard my father speak of it, but he says it is a terrible place. I want to see it for myself.”

  Caius rolled his eyes. “God,” he groaned. “And you with your penchant for gambling. Max, if you take de Wolfe, you may find yourself in more trouble than you can handle. The lad will rob even the sharpest man blind with his gambling ways.”

  As William’s face fell, Maxton simply shrugged. “What’s wrong with that? It wasn’t a month ago that you were there, drinking other men under the table. We made a fortune.”

  Caius gave him a look to kill, tipping his head towards Emelisse as if to suggest he not say such things in front of her. But Maxton laughed.

  “Come with us, Cai,” he said. “Who knows when we’ll have this chance again. You can keep your squire out of trouble.”

  Caius realized that he wanted to go. Badly. But there was no chance he was going to take Emelisse there.

  “I should not,” he said. “Emelisse cannot go and I will not leave her alone.”

  “Why not?” Emelisse said. “If you want go to with your friends, then go. I will probably be conversing with Alice all night, anyway, so you may as well go and enjoy yourself. I do not mind.”

  He was greatly tempted, but as he looked at her, he felt the need to be completely honest. “Sweetheart, The Pox isn’t simply a tavern,” he said. “The filth of society goes there. The gambling games are… unique. Sometimes dangerous.”

  “Do you at least have a good time?”

  “Always.”

  “Then you should go,” she said. “I suspect you do not see your friends very often. You should enjoy the time you have.”

  Caius didn’t know what to do, but Maxton stepped in, giving him a shove towards the chamber door.

  “Cai, are you mad?” he hissed. “She is giving you permission. My own wife will not give me permission to go to The Pox, so take this great gift from her. Go.”

  Caius let Maxton push him to the door, lifting his hands apologetically to Emelisse, who was laughing softly at him as he was shoved out the door. Kevin followed close behind, grinning at her, while William slipped by her politely and ran after them.

  He wasn’t going to miss this for the world.

  It was an evening to remember for all concerned.

  Much later that night, as Emelisse slept soundly in the borrowed chamber in William Marshal’s townhouse, Caius returned to her very drunk and very happy, having won a beautiful new warhorse from his squire, who had been foolish enough to test him in a drinking game.

  William de Wolfe had learned the hard way, as Marius de Wrenville had also once learned, that men who compete against Caius d’Avignon seldom win.

  In any arena.

  The Britannia Viper was now, and forever, a champion for all seasons.

  EPILOGUE

  August, 1219 A.D.

  Hawk Mountain

  It was raining at Hawk Mountain, not an unusual occurrence, but the silence surrounding the rock formations was. Considering his wife and children were up here, Caius didn’t like the silence at all. He was fairly certain they hadn’t moved on to other areas; he would have heard them.

  Coming up the path from Hawkstone Castle, he followed the rocky trail that led to a rock formation known as The Gatehouse. His eldest son had given the rocks that name, even though they didn’t look much like a gatehouse at all, but Rupert d’Avignon thought they did.

  Caius was happy to let his child think so.

  As the mist gently fell, Caius left the path and crossed through The Gatehouse and into a cluster of rocks that his children called The Castle. It was really just a big area of rocks to climb on, and having three boys, they climbed on them regularly.

  This was their magical domain.

  It was lush with growth and trees, a perfect place for children to play. His smile broadened when a black-eyed boy with a big stick in his hand suddenly appeared before him. Caius opened his mouth to speak but the lad cut him off.

  “Halt!” the boy demanded. “Who goes there?”

  “Your father.” Caius came to a halt as the boy pointed the stick at him. “Where is your mother?”

  The boy jabbed the stick at him. “You will call me Sir Rupert.”

  “As you wish.” Caius’ black eyes glimmered with humor. “Sir Rupert, where is your mother?”

  Rupert Edward d’Avignon was a brilliant boy with his father’s good looks and imposing size. At five years of age, he was already big and strong, but his personality was purely his mother’s. He was strong-willed and opinionated, but sweet and imaginative. Caius had never been able to bring himself to discipline the boy, even when he threw his father’s boot down the garderobe chute, or put an old bucket on his younger brother’s head in an attempt to make a great helm. That wasn’t bad in and of itself, but he’d secured it with leather strips he’d tied so tightly that he nearly choked little Atticus before his father could use his dagger to cut the strips.

  Rupert had always been their bold, brave boy.

  Cheeky, too.

  “Mother is my captive,” Rupert said imperiously. “If you’ve come to save her, then you’ll have to fight me.”

  Caius put up his hands to show he had no weapons. “There must be an easier way to secure her release, Sir Rupert.”

  “Nay,” Rupert barked. “Fight me or else.”

  Caius thought on his options at that point. He sighed dramatically. “I would not presume to tangle with you, Sir Rupert,” he said. “May I at least see her?”

  Rupert considered his father’s request. After a moment, he gruffly motioned his father to follow him. Caius followed his son down a little path and into a larger, rockier area beyond. There were stone steps to the right, leading up to a big, flat rock where the boys liked to play King of the Castle. With the mist, there was a blanket of wet covering the stone steps as Rupert pointed to them.

  “She is up there,” he said. “But you cannot go and get her. You have to talk to her from down here.”

  Caius lifted an eyebrow at his son before turning to the keep. “Em?” he called.

  As soon as the sound left his lips, two young boys suddenly appeared at the top of the rock, just at the top of the stone steps. Caius grinned up at Atticus d’Avignon and Calix d’Avignon, aged four and almost three years, respectively, as they appeared with big sticks in their hands. Emelisse suddenly appeared behind them, wrapped in a cloak against the
mist.

  “Greetings,” she said, a wry smile on her lips.

  He grinned broadly. “And to you, my lady,” he responded. “I see you’re being held hostage.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at Atticus, who was nodding his head vigorously. The kid had big dimples and grinned at his father quite devilishly.

  “It appears that way,” she said, rubbing her swollen belly. “What are you going to do about it? I am growing weary.”

  Caius just shrugged. “Rupert says that I must fight him.”

  Emelisse sighed. “Then hurry up about it,” she said. “Calix and I need our naps, but Rupert is standing in the way.”

  Caius looked at his eldest son. “Do you hear that?” He pointed towards Emelisse. “Your mother is tired and needs to lie down. Can we move this fight to another day?”

  Rupert shook his head. “Nay,” he said decisively. “If you want her, you have to fight me for her.”

  Caius sighed dramatically, though it was good-natured. “As you wish.”

  He moved for Rupert, but the boy suddenly squealed and ran off. This brought Atticus and Calix down the slippery stairs, much to Emelisse’s horror. At eight months pregnant, she wasn’t moving very fast, so she gripped the stone outcropping as she made her way down after the boys, all the while calling to them to slow down. Caius, seeing this, diverted himself from Rupert to go and help Emelisse down the stairs, but he was intercepted before he could get to her. Atticus and Calix ran right into his legs.

  Someone hit him in the groin with a stick and he grunted, doubling over as his sons proceeded to attack him. But his pain was short-lived as he grabbed both boys and began growling like a bear, tickling squirming little children. Calix, not quite three, couldn’t defend himself very well and began to cry. He found himself back in his mother’s arms as Caius took on Atticus and Rupert.

  Atticus somehow had his father by the neck as Rupert held on to one big leg. The boy was wrapped around it as if he were holding on to a tree trunk. Emelisse, rocking the sleepy and weepy Calix, just stood there and shook her head.

  “I believe you are losing,” she told Caius.

  Atticus managed to knock his father’s Adam’s apple and he coughed as he shifted the boy’s arms.

  “It seems that way,” he told her as he lifted Rupert up by the ankles and listened to him yell. “But at least you are free of the tower. I am a willing sacrifice, my lady.”

  “My hero.”

  Caius grinned broadly as Emelisse moved in on the wrestling group and grabbed Atticus by the arm, pulling him off his father. Atticus hit the ground, tripped over Rupert’s foot, and fell to the muddy earth. Angry, he jumped up and tackled his brother, sending them both to the wet ground. Caius intervened before any punches were thrown, pulling the boys off of each other and sending each child in an opposite direction.

  “Enough,” he scolded gently. “It’s cold and wet out here and your mother must return to the keep. Move.”

  Rupert and Atticus obeyed, but they still had their big sticks and played swordfight all the way through The Gatehouse and down the rocky path. Meanwhile, Caius took Calix from Emelisse and held the sleepy boy as they began their mile trek back to the house. He collected Emelisse’s hand as they took the path back to the main road.

  “Do you feel well enough to make the walk back?” he asked her. “I can bring a palfrey up here if you wish to ride.”

  She shook her head. “I am well enough,” she said. “The walk will do me good.”

  “Tell me if you grow too weary.”

  “I will,” she said. Then, she eyed him. “Are you going to tell me who sent the missive you received this morning?”

  He glanced at her. “You saw that, did you?”

  She smirked. “We were just leaving for the mountain when it came. I saw the rider, but I do not recognize who it was from.”

  Caius shifted Calix as the boy lay his head on his massive shoulder. “It was from Warstone Castle,” he said. “Edward de Wolfe has passed away. I have been asked to attend a mass in his honor, but I do not want to go anywhere until this baby is born.”

  Emelisse was saddened to hear of the earl’s death, a man who had become their good friend. “That is terrible news,” she said. “We knew he was ill, but it did not seem too terribly.”

  “Apparently, it was worse than he wanted people to know.”

  She shook her head sadly. “He was a good man,” she said. “It is only a few more weeks until this child is born, but you should go to his mass. His eldest son is the new earl now, but as I recall, his sons are not terribly old.”

  Caius shook his head. “Robert is the new earl and he has seen twenty-one years,” he said. “He will make an excellent earl. I will send him my condolences as well as my support.”

  “That is a good idea,” she said. “Surely William will be attending his father’s mass. It was a sad day when he left us those years ago. I know you would like to see him again.”

  Caius held her hand as they moved down a particularly slippery part of the path. “I would,” he said. “But Edward wanted him to train at Northwood Castle and have the experience of an active border castle, and that is where he has been for the past six years. From all accounts, William has turned into a magnificent knight. Edward swore there has never been anyone like him.”

  Emelisse smiled at him. “He learned from the best,” she said. “He learned a great deal from you. Did the missive say when the mass would be?”

  Caius shrugged. “In two weeks and I want to be here when our child is born. It’s our first girl.”

  She had to laugh at him. The man had been positive the child was a girl from nearly the moment of conception and it had been a running joke between them.

  “Still certain of that, are you?”

  “I am.”

  “Had your fill of boys?”

  He kissed her hand. “Nay,” he told her. “But I’m excited for my first daughter. I hope she looks just like her mother.”

  Emelisse laughed softly, watching Rupert and Atticus duke it out with their sticks up ahead. “Rupert is the spitting image of you. Atticus and Calix look like me, so mayhap the chances are that this one will look like you.”

  He squeezed her hand again, watching his sons play. “I hope not,” he said. “I’d much rather have a daughter with your features.”

  “I will settle for a healthy baby with ten fingers and ten toes.”

  “As will I, whatever the sex.”

  The conversation faded for a moment as Rupert and Atticus grew bored with their sticks and began jumping in muddy puddles. Emelisse watched them get absolutely filthy, knowing she was going to have to wrestle a pair of little boys into a bath when they reached home. But it didn’t distress her; wrestling little boys was all part of the fun of life at Hawkstone these days.

  “You know what I was thinking?” she asked softly.

  He glanced at her. “What is that, sweet?”

  She watched the boys kick water on each other. “I’ve been thinking I’d like to name our daughter something Alice would like. She has been such a great friend and I would like to honor her somehow.”

  He squeezed her hand, knowing they were venturing onto a somber subject. Alice and Hallam, happily married all of these years, had not been successful in having live children. Alice had given birth twice to dead daughters, something that had been tremendously upsetting to everyone.

  But Alice had been strong; so very strong, as Hallam had wept in secret. Caius knew because he had seen the man break down. Emelisse has effortlessly given birth to three boys, and now the imminent birth of a fourth child, and Alice had been thrilled for her friend every time. She had even attended the births, helping the midwives, and it had been Alice who had told Caius each time that a son had been safely delivered.

  Alice and Hallam had turned out to be a wonderful couple and the most generous, giving friends Caius and Emelisse could have asked for.

  At the moment, however, Alice was pregnant ag
ain and it was more than likely her last chance. She was into her fourth decade now and the pregnancy had been extremely taxing on her. The midwives had put her on bedrest and that was where she had been for seven long months. As Emelisse actively attended not only Hawkstone, but Richmond when they were in residence, Alice had been forced to remain in the keep of Hawkstone, on the floor of private chambers she shared with Hallam, in the hopes that this child would live.

  It was something Emelisse prayed for daily.

  “I think honoring Alice is a very nice thing,” Caius finally said, not wanting to bring the tears that usually came from Emelisse when discussing Alice. “I am sure she will be delighted.”

  “I know she was going to name one of her babies Alix,” she said. “I would like to name our daughter after a child she hoped would live.”

  “I think it would be a sweet gesture. You must ask her when we get back.”

  “I will.”

  Above, the thunder rolled and Rupert and Atticus began jumping up and down, yelling in delight. Emelisse watched the boys, her mind wandering to the coming baby, to the future. Life as Lady d’Avignon had been so grand that she often wondered what she had done in life to deserve such happiness. Caius had been the model husband, a man she had grown not only to love deeply, but to respect greatly. For two people who had suffered such a traumatic introduction to one another, their married life had been anything but traumatic.

  It had been perfect.

  Her life was perfect.

  There were times, of course, when she thought about those first few days of their acquaintance. She thought of her father and brother, who now slept for eternity next to her mother in the churchyard at Whitchurch, and how they would have loved Caius. It had been Emelisse’s greatest regret that they never got to meet him, but she had always believed they were watching down upon her from above. They could see how happy she was.

  They could see how much she was loved.

  In the weeks to come, Alix d’Avignon never materialized. A massive little boy was born on the same day as Edward de Wolfe’s funeral mass, a black-haired son who was supposed to have been a blonde-haired daughter.