The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “According to this missive, Richard is the captive of Duke Leopold and Emperor Henry,” Lyle replied to Brickley’s statement. “William Marshal asks me to provide him what coinage I can for Richard’s ransom whilst also asking me to provide men and material to fight off John. Richard is still very much king, Brick. We must do as we are asked so that lazy-eyed bastard who covets the throne of his brother shall not have it.”

  Brickley sighed faintly, deeply unhappy. He was too old to fight in the field; at least, that was the way he looked at it. Not only did he not want to leave Canterbury, but he didn’t want to die fighting a band of mercenaries who would probably disband in a few months when John’s revenue dried up. He thought the whole thing to be rather ridiculous but he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, disobey or even question Lyle. Not when he wanted something from the man.

  He wanted Emilie.

  Brick had spent the past four months trying to woo a woman who wouldn’t even look at him. She was still smitten with David de Lohr and nothing Brickley could do or say would bring her around. Even Lyle spoke to her about being so deliberately rude to Brickley, but it was to no avail. She still wanted nothing to do with him. The harder Brickley had tried to entice her, the more resistant she was. It had been a difficult task.

  And then the missives began coming.

  The task to attract Emilie became more difficult then. Brickley was in command of the soldiers and that included the sentries and those who manned the ancient gatehouse. It was a rather large gatehouse with two guard rooms built into the lower level. One of the rooms used to be for Brickley’s personal use but the room didn’t drain well and in big rains, the entire dirt floor became flooded. So Brickley turned it over to the soldiers and took another room on the second floor of the gatehouse, a room where he spent a good deal of his time. It was also a room where no one saw him burn the missives that had been coming to Emilie from David de Lohr.

  There had been at least one a month because he had burned four to date. A messenger would come from London, wearing de Lohr colors and bearing the missive, and every time the messenger would ask to wait for reply, which Brickley always denied him. He would then take the missive meant for Emilie and go up to his room to read it. The first three had been generally sweet, speaking of daily events and inquiring about her health, while the fourth missives had politely wondered why she had not written him back. Brickley had burned that missive with particular glee. It was his hope that, eventually, David would just stop sending them and Emilie would think that the man had forgotten about her. That was his plan, anyway.

  He didn’t feel particularly guilty about it, in fact. He was doing what was necessary in his opinion. But the fact remained that Emilie wouldn’t even acknowledge him, which was increasingly difficult for him to bear. Moreover, he was worried that if he went north with the troops, a de Lohr missive might slip through and make it to Emilie. He wouldn’t there to intercept it. That was perhaps the most predominant reason he didn’t want to go north to fight John’s army.

  He had a battle of his own going on, one that he intended to win.

  “Brick?” Lyle said. “Did you hear me?”

  Brickley realized he had been daydreaming on thoughts of David de Lohr’s missives as Lyle had expected an answer from him. “I did,” he said. “Sorry. I was thinking of what the future might bring now with news of Richard’s captivity.”

  It was a lie but Lyle believed him. “It means that you will take eight hundred men north to Nottingham,” he said. “Mayhap you should stop and see your son on your way north. Isn’t he fostering at Barnwell Castle?”

  Brickley nodded. “He is,” he replied. “I have not seen him in almost a year. Hux is nearly sixteen years of age now and the commander at Barnwell says that he already fights as well as any knight.”

  Lyle looked up from the vellum, grinning at the pride in Brickley’s voice. His son, Huxley de Dere, had lived at Canterbury up until six years ago when his father sent him to Barnwell to foster. Huxley was a big lad, bright, with his father’s big blue eyes. He had also been a cohort in crime with Nathalie and Elise, the one who had usually taken the blame to their tricks and pranks.

  “I hope the lad has learned to speak up for himself these days,” Lyle said. “Many was the time when Nathalie and Elise would wreak havoc and Hux would take the fall for them simply because he would not speak up.”

  Brickley grinned. “I hope he has learned to speak up for himself as well,” he said. “I often chided him on the account but he simply chose to take the blame rather than see the girls suffer. He is a truly chivalrous, I suppose.”

  Lyle shrugged. “You are more than likely correct,” he said, looking back to the vellum. “In any case, you may visit your martyr son on the way north.”

  Brickley laughed softly but his humor quickly faded, once again reminded of the unsavory task ahead. He sighed, somewhat disgruntled. He hoped Lyle hadn’t heard him.

  “When do we leave?” he asked.

  Lyle moved away from the hearth, to the big oak table that held things like map rolls, quills, a stack of vellum, and other things used to administer his lands and household. He set the vellum down on the tabletop.

  “The Marshal asks for such things right away,” he said. “I suppose you will leave as soon as you can assemble eight hundred men. But I do not want to be left wanting while you are away, Brick. If you take eight hundred men, that only leaves four hundred with me. Go out through my lands and see if you can find one hundred more farm boys or other men who would be willing to swear fealty to me on the field of battle in exchange for food and clothing. There should be at least a few we can convince. I would have the new men reinforce the existing troops.”

  Brickley nodded. “That will take me at least a week.”

  “Then get on with it.”

  Brickley was prepared to head out of the solar when something stopped him. Actually, it wasn’t a random thought; it was the same thought he’d been having for nearly the past year, but now that he was to be sent off to war, thoughts of Emilie were heavy in his mind even as he knew he had duties to attend to.

  He didn’t want to leave the room without speaking on something that had become so important to him, something that would even cause him to behave in ways that weren’t normally his character. Burning de Lohr’s missives was one of those behaviors. Now that war was on the horizon, he couldn’t leave without pressing his suit.

  When he returned, he wanted it to be to Emilie.

  “My lord,” he said, pausing by the door. “May… may I speak with you about a personal matter before I go?”

  Lyle didn’t even have to be told what it was. He already knew. He’d been watching Brickley for the past few months now, ever since they had departed London, trying to warm Emilie to him, and he had further seen when Emilie had flatly ignored him. Unless her life depended on it, or unless she had no other choice, she would not speak with or acknowledge Brickley.

  Aye, Lyle knew what Brickley was going to say before he even said it and he braced himself. It wasn’t as if he could avoid this conversation. Lyle was sure the Marshal’s missive had something to do with Brickley’s willingness to once again speak on the subject of Emilie.

  In Lyle’s view, however, it was like beating a dead horse.

  But so be it.

  “What is it?” he asked, wondering if the dread he was feeling reflected in his tone.

  Brickley quietly closed the door to the solar. When he looked at Lyle, it was with hesitation. Finally, he simply lowered his gaze and shook his head.

  “It is about Emilie, my lord,” he said. “I am sure you have deduced that. I… I would like to ask if you have made any decision regarding my offer of marriage for her. If you recall, I made the offer last summer and with my leaving for war as it is now, there is a chance… that is to say, I would like to know I have something worthy to return home to. It will help me in my darkest hours of battle knowing that I will return to Emilie when I come home.”

>   Lyle felt a good deal of pity for Brickley. He really did. The man simply didn’t have a clue that none of this was going to come about. Still, he kept hoping beyond hope. Lyle sighed heavily, thoughtfully, as he sat down in the chair next to his table. He scratched his head before answering.

  “Brick,” he said, “you know I am fond of you. Quite fond. You and I have seen a good deal of life and death together, have we not?”

  Brickley nodded. “I consider you my family, my lord,” he said. “Other than Hux, I have no family.”

  Lyle averted his gaze. “I know,” he said. “We are all fond of you and we consider you part of the family, too. But I must be honest when I tell you that David de Lohr has made an offer for Emilie as well.”

  Brickley’s features tightened. “I assumed as much,” he said. “I did not ask you because it is frankly none of my affair.”

  Lyle shrugged. “In a way, it is,” he said. “I cannot help but notice how Emilie has ignored you since we left London. She will not speak with you and she will not talk to you. I am assuming you have noticed the same thing.”

  Brickley cleared his throat softly and lowered his gaze. “I have,” he said. “But I am not discouraged. I am certain I can warm her to me, eventually.”

  Lyle sat back in his chair, studying the man. “Are you?” he asked. “Because I am not so certain. She has an aversion to you right now and I cannot, in good conscience, agree to your marriage proposal when your relationship with her is so sour. That would make her miserable, and you miserable, and me miserable. She would hate us both. Do you understand that, Brick?”

  Brickley’s jaw ticked furiously. “So you intend to betroth her to de Lohr?”

  Lyle shook his head. “I did not say that,” he said. “All I know is that I will make no decision now and I certainly will not grant you permission to court her given how she feels about you. It would only make matters worse. You will go and do what needs to be done against the prince and then we will revisit the matter when you return. But I cannot promise you more than that.”

  Brickley was grossly unhappy. “What if I do not return, my lord.”

  Lyle looked at him, his eyebrows lifting. “So you think that I would betroth you to her now and make her a widow?” he asked. “That is selfish, Brick. Terribly selfish.”

  Brickley knew it was but he didn’t care. “I would be a good husband, my lord,” he pleaded. “You have said that I am family – I would truly like to become family. Please do not deny me.”

  Lyle put up his hands to ease the man, who was close to begging. “Brick, I must do what I feel is right,” he said. “This is no reflection against you or favoritism towards David. I love my daughter and want her to be happy, and right now, she would not be happy with you. Would you agree with that statement?”

  Brickley persisted. “But if I could make her happy?”

  Lyle shook his head. “You will not pester her,” he said. “That will only make matters worse. The more you push her, lad, the more you will push her away. Mayhap a separation would be a good thing right now. Mayhap it will ease her stance against you, putting distance between the two of you. I fear that it may be the only solution right now.”

  Brickley was in denial. He didn’t want a separation from Emilie and he was trying not to bully Lyle about it. As he and Lyle continued to discuss his suit of Emilie, the very object of their conversation was outside in the bailey, walking the dogs beneath the crystal blue spring sky.

  *

  Of course, Emilie had no idea that Brickley and her father were discussing her. Even if she had known, she wouldn’t have cared. There was nothing about Brickley that interested her these days. The man could be a ghost for all she cared. The only man she was interested in was evidently not so interested in her and she was genuinely crushed by the thought.

  He had promised. That was all Emilie could think of, what kept her rising every morning with hope in her heart – that David had promised to contact her, to either visit her or send missives, so four months with no contact whatsoever had her nerves on edge.

  She knew he wouldn’t lie to her so she began to fear that perhaps something had happened to him, something terrible. Had he become sick or injured in the past four months? She knew he was to remain in London, so it was possible that something had happened in London with Dennis de la Londe or the Sheriff of Nottingham, men that had been trying to kill him since nearly the day she met him?

  Fear filled her heart at that thought.

  But she didn’t voice her fear. There seemed to be an increasing divide between her and her sisters as of late and she didn’t feel comfortable confiding anything to them, especially to Nathalie. Ever since the prince’s mask in London, Nathalie had been quite withdrawn from her and had even reverted back to the nasty tricks she used to play with Elise. The two of them terrorized the soldiers, and Brickley in particular, and Emilie had been increasingly withdrawn from them, isolating herself from everyone but her father and Lillibet. But even Lillibet was distanced at times because she spent so much time with Nathalie and Elise. Either they were all pulling away from Emilie or Emilie was pulling away from them. She couldn’t quite decide which was actually happening.

  But one thing she did know was that Brickley’s attention towards her had gotten more intense. She wanted nothing to do with the man and had made the repeatedly clear… repeatedly. But Brickley didn’t let that stop him; he was at her door in the morning to escort her on a walk that she always refused. It got to the point where she was afraid to open her chamber door any longer, afraid that Brickley would be standing there. She didn’t want to see him. Finally, about a month ago, Emilie asked her father to speak with Brickley so that the man wasn’t so cloying and it seemed to have helped, but Brickley hadn’t stayed away from her entirely.

  She wished he would go away and leave her alone.

  On this spring day in early May, Brickley was, fortunately, nowhere to be found and Emilie was enjoying a walk in the bailey with Cid and Roland. The big dogs knew the soldiers at Canterbury so they would run around, chasing feathers or anything else that happened to be blowing on the ground, and then they would run up to the soldiers who happened to be near them and jump on them. Men would push the dogs away, or they would pet them, and Cid and Roland would move on to the next men they saw. They were, in truth, good natured dogs and well-liked around the castle.

  They found curiosity with everything. Emilie was trailing behind them as they neared the gatehouse, watching them sniff the ground determinedly and occasionally lift a leg to piss. Sometimes they even lifted a leg on unsuspecting soldiers. Emilie’s thoughts were on the weather when they weren’t on David, and even now she was looking up into the sky, thinking that the weather was pleasant enough to go for a ride on her swift mare. She had mentioned the horse to David, a little mare who was faster than any other horse in their stables. Emilie grinned when she imagined that the mare could even beat David’s big rouncey. She hoped the little mare would have the chance someday.

  As she was nearing the old gatehouse, a structure with Roman origins, she heard the sentries above as they called out the approach of a rider. Emilie didn’t think anything of it but she did want to capture the dogs before the portcullis lifted and they were giving the opportunity to escape to wide open spaces.

  She picked up the pace and ran after Cid, catching him first, and turned him over to the nearest soldier. Then, she went on the hunt for Roland, who had entered the gatehouse and was sniffing furiously nearly the iron-fanged portcullis. She quickly moved to the dog, grasping him by the collar, but as she did so, she happened to glance up and see the approaching rider.

  The sun was glaring a bit but she could see him for the most part. As he drew closer, the man had her interest because he was wearing a tunic that had been ingrained into her memory.

  De Lohr blue.

  Dear God, is it really possible? Finally, after all of this time!

  Heart in her throat, Emilie clutched Roland by the collar
as the portcullis lifted and the rider drew near. Without thinking, she found herself walking outside of the gatehouse, passing beneath the portcullis, and making her way to the rider. It was if her feet had a mind of their own because surely she couldn’t stop them. She didn’t want to stop them. Four months without any word from David and now a de Lohr rider was on her doorstep.

  She was ready to eat the man alive.

  “You, there!” she called. “You are bearing de Lohr colors!”

  The rider pulled his frothing, sweaty horse to a halt. “Aye, my lady,” he said. “I have come bearing a missive for Lady Emilie Hampton.”

  Emilie was so excited that she let go of the dog. “I am Lady Emilie,” she said, rushing the rider as Hampton soldiers came out of the gatehouse, following her. “Is the missive from Sir David?”

  The rider nodded. “Aye, my lady,” he said. “I have been asked to wait for a reply.”

  Emilie was beside herself with glee as Roland ran off in to the meadow to the east, followed by two soldiers who were whistling and trying to coerce the dog into coming back with them. She didn’t even pay attention to the dog, for her thoughts were only of the missive the rider bore.

  “Of course I will reply,” she said, breathless, as she took the missive from the man. It was neatly folded and sealed with a wax stamp with wax the color of a sapphire. “Is David still in London?”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  With shaking fingers, she broke the beautiful de Lohr seal. She was so excited she could hardly stand it. “He must have been quite busy if this is the first missive he has sent,” she said. “What is happening in London these days? Have things been very busy?”