She shrugged. “It was very important to you,” she said. “I did not wish to burden you with this.”
He just stared at her, agony filling his expression. “Emilie, please,” he whispered. “Did you truly think you were not the most important thing in the world to me? That our son was not the most important thing to me? You told me once that you believed you were not a priority to me. God forgive me if you still feel that way because I have tried to show you that you are. Is that why you did not tell me?”
She was starting to tear up, feeling the grief that was pouring out of him and into her. “I told you why,” she said. “It was the truth. It was not that I felt this situation was unimportant. It was that… David, you have had such agony in your life. Losing your parents at a young age, feeling as if you had no home. You told me that; do you recall? And then you lost your brother, who was miraculously discovered to be alive. I made the choice to let you experience that joy, the reconnection with someone you thought you had lost. My withholding the information was not about feeling that I was not a priority to you; it was about loving you enough to let you experience some joy for a little while. Losing our son… we would grieve for him soon enough.”
David closed his eyes to her words, feeling every one of them as if she was pounding them into his brain. He couldn’t even become angry that she had kept the news from him; in truth, he understood why she did it. It was the most selfless thing he had ever heard of. It was the greatest sacrifice he’d ever known.
At that moment, he came to realize what it truly meant to love and be loved. Emilie had showed him that. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes. He took her hands between his two big gloved ones, holding them to his lips.
“I have done many things in my life that I am not proud of,” he murmured. “I never thought I have lived a particularly pious life. But, at this moment, I am coming to think that somehow, someway, I must have done something extremely good to warrant a woman like you. For the times I have made you weep, I throw myself at your feet and plead forgiveness. For the times I haven’t shown you or told you what you mean to me, I beg your mercy. I have lived my life the way I have seen fit, only thinking of myself, until I met you. Now I know what it means to have a good woman by my side, for I never truly thought I would. You have changed that for me, Emilie. You have changed everything. I am more of a man than I ever was because of you. And I am home to stay, forever. I hope you can stand me for that long.”
Emilie laughed softly, tears of joy streaming down your face. “I can stand you,” he said. “And you are the greatest man I have ever known. I consider myself the most fortunate woman in the world to call you my husband.”
He kissed her again, passionately. “I never thought I would like to hear that term when it came to me.”
“And now?”
“I bear it more proudly than any man ever has.”
David wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, knowing that no matter what came, he and Emilie were strong together. They had suffered through events and situations that would have destroyed lesser people, but they were made of strong stuff. Too strong to destroy. Too strong to break.
As strong as a heart of steel.
Both of them.
* THE END *
Canterbury’s Elderflower Sambocade
A lovely recipe for a festive Medieval feast, a pie that David de Lohr loved very much.
1 nine-inch pie shell
1 ½ lbs. of cottage cheese (or a mixture of cottage and ricotta)
1/3 cup sugar
Whites of 3 eggs
2 tbs. dried elderflowers
1 tbs. rosewater
Combine all ingredients and blend thoroughly (a food processor or blender will do nicely). A Medieval cook would pulverize with a mortar and pestle. Pour mixture into pie shell and back at 350 degrees for 45 minutes to an hour, or until filling has set and the crust is golden brown. Let cool and serve to the hungry knights at your table.
(Elderflowers can be found at natural food stores, herb and spice specialty shops, etc. Don’t use a substitution – the flavor of elderflowers is unique and the overall flavor of the final product depends on the real thing.)
SHADOWMOOR
A Medieval Romance
Book Six of the de Lohr Dynasty Series
By Kathryn Le Veque
CHAPTER ONE
March 1236 A.D.
West Yorkshire, England
The clouds are rolling in….
Gazing up at a sky the very same color of his eyes, a knight dressed in expensive protection and riding a sleek black Frisian inspected the swollen dark clouds that were rolling in from the west. The wind was blowing, wet and damp, and he could smell rain upon it. Birds scattered overhead, sensing a change in the weather.
A storm was brewing.
The knight’s blond hair was blown about in the breeze as he looked at his surroundings, trying to determine the best route to stay ahead of the rain. He was surrounded by moors and hills in the stark green and brown colors that were so vibrant it was as if the hand of God had slashed the shades across the landscape in the undiluted brilliance of a heavenly touch. The sun was near mid-point in the sky, creating grand illumination for the vivid imagery but that would soon be muted when the clouds began to gather.
The town of Bradford was about an hour behind the knight, to the south, and to the north he really couldn’t recall any major town that might provide him with shelter to weather the storm. An inn, a stable, or even a castle or manor house would do at this point. He didn’t want to be caught out in a Yorkshire gale because it would likely blow him right over. Therefore, he decided to turn around and head back to Bradford where there was a particular inn with a particular wench he had spent the previous night with. He wasn’t completely opposed to returning.
So he reined his big horse around and headed back in the direction he had come. The road was rocky, uneven, and well-traveled as the only road from Bradford and Leeds to the northwest of England and into Scotland. His horse kept kicking up rocks as it trotted along, that jaunty trot that was so indigenous to the Frisian breed, and the knight knew it was because the horse knew he would be returning to the stable he had been housed in the night before where the stable boy had fed him grains and honey out of a bucket. The horse had quite a memory and the knight slapped the big black neck affectionately.
“More gluttony, my fine friend?” he asked the animal. He laughed softly when the horse tossed his head as if to agree with the question and he patted the big neck again. “You and I are much the same, Ares. I am rather looking forward to gluttony as well. With some debauchery thrown in. We shall make a time of it, my fine lad.”
The horse snorted. Grinning at his horse with the big appetite, the knight’s mind wandered back to the inn he had stayed at in Bradford, The Cow and Calf, and he rather found himself looking forward to a good bed and warm fire. So many of his nights were spent sleeping beneath the stars as he traveled that a bed was always welcome. Such comforts were few and far between.
He was a wanderer, this knight. He had never been able to settle down in one spot, much to his father’s disappointment. He loved his father very much and hated to disappoint the man, but it simply wasn’t in his nature to settle down. He much preferred the life of a wanderer, the Prodigal Son as it were, always traveling, sometimes being paid to fight for lords who needed his highly-trained services or sometimes entering tournaments for the money the purse could provide.
Money had never been an issue with Sir Daniel de Lohr, the only son of the Earl of Canterbury and a very important member of the House of de Lohr, inarguably one of the greatest houses in England. His uncle, Christopher, had been King Richard’s champion many years ago and the man was now the Earl of Hereford and Worcester, the biggest landholder on the southern Marches.
Daniel had, therefore, fostered at the finest homes and he’d been trained by the finest men. He knew that, some day, he would be forced to settle down in Canterbury an
d assume the title Earl of Canterbury upon the passing of his father, which was something he didn’t like to think about. In spite of his wandering ways, he was a very sensitive and emotional man, and he loved his family a great deal. He missed them. But that wandering spirit in his soul kept him traveling and seeking new adventure. Perhaps it always would.
But that was his life right now. He had freedom and no commitment, and that was exactly what he wanted. Life was good now and he loved his ability to go where he wanted to, when he wanted to, without anything holding him back. Even now, he had been on his way north to visit a friend’s Northwood Castle. William de Wolfe, the great Wolf of the Border, was one of Daniel’s dear friend, as were most of the de Wolfe pack knights – Paris de Norville, Kieran Hage, and Michael de Bocage. The de Lohrs and de Wolfes were intertwined, their fathers having been great friends and allies, so Daniel and William and the other knights had served together, several times, in situations where strength in numbers and knights were needed.
It was a strong association and Daniel enjoyed visiting William. The last he had seen the man at Northwood Castle, William’s seat of service, had been six years ago but he’d seen him twice since then; both times in London. They’d had a great time together, as usual, but William had just gotten married to a Scots lass and wouldn’t shut up about her. Daniel finally tried to strangle him just to have some peace from the love-struck knight, although it had all been in good humor and they’d both been drunk at the time. Still, Daniel had good memories of it. But more good memories at Northwood Castle would have to wait until the fickle weather held long enough for him to make it to Northumberland.
The wind was picking up as he headed back to Bradford and the clouds were beginning to fire big, fat drops at him. Not a lot of rain, but enough to be annoying. Reaching behind him, strapped onto the back of his saddle, he moved to collect an oiled cloak used against the elements. He didn’t want to be soaked through by the time he reached Bradford. As he fumbled with the fastens, the wind began to howl in his ears, racing across the flat moors until it hit a windbreak, namely him, and it was quickly reaching the point where he needed protection against it. Just as he moved to untie the last leather fasten, he caught sight of movement on the rise to the east.
It was a child, running as fast as his little legs would carry him. The hill he was running upon was open for the most part, with no trees or foliage, but there were rocks and crevices, making a straight run impossible. Daniel watched curiously as the child drew closer, leaping over rocks, falling down and rolling a few feet, before leaping to his feet again and running as if his life depended on it. Indeed, it was a most curious behavior and Daniel found himself wondering what had the child so inspired to run like a rabbit, recklessly and swiftly. He soon had his answer.
Over the rise, following the path of the child, came a big man on a well-fed brown rouncey. Whereas the child had found a path among the rocks, the man on horseback swung wide of the rocks, which took him off his path slightly, but made for a clearer run. It soon became apparent that the child, and the man on horseback, were coming straight at Daniel and the child, as he came closer, appeared to be a little lad. Furthermore, there was no mistaking the expression of fear upon the child’s face.
Already, there was a hint of fear in the wind.
“Help me!” the child burst in a breathless, terrified voice. “Please, help me!”
Daniel frowned, looking between the child and the man who was quickly closing the gap. He didn’t want to interfere with a child running from his father but, somehow, this didn’t seem to be the case. The man on horseback was well-dressed against the coming storm while the child was clearly in rags. Something didn’t seem right. Daniel let go of the oil cloak he was unfastening from his saddle and turned in the direction of the child.
“Why are you running?” he asked, glancing to the man on horseback. “Why is that man chasing you?”
The child reached Daniel, tripping and falling at Ares’ feet. The big black horse danced about nervously as the boy picked himself up and tried to move behind the horse to use it as a barrier against the approaching rider.
“Please, help me!” the child cried again. “Don’t let him take me!”
Daniel tried to follow the child as he attempted to run behind the horse. Ares was dancing about, trying to kick out at the little boy. “Hold,” he commanded firmly. “Stop trying to get behind my horse because he will kick your head off. Now, why does this man want you? What did you do?”
The child was in tears, with blond sandy hair and a round dirty face that was streaked where he had wiped at his eyes. “Sir, I did nothing,” he sobbed.
Daniel lifted his eyebrows. “Nothing?” he repeated. “That does not make sense. Why does he want you if you did nothing?”
The little lad used his dirty tunic to wipe his nose. “He wants my sister,” he said. “He kept me in the vault because he wants her to marry him, but I ran away! I escaped and he wants to put me back! Please don’t let him!”
Daniel scratched his head, greatly puzzled by the accusation. But one thing was clear; the child was terrified and disheveled, a dirty little creature who, upon closer examination, only had one shoe. And he wasn’t very good at listening because he still kept trying to move behind the horse to hide. Like any scared creature, it was an instinct to protect himself and it occurred to Daniel that the child’s swift answers to his questions bespoke of the truth. No hesitation, no struggling for words. Everything had come forth fluidly. Swiftly, Daniel reined Ares about and managed to bend over and grasp the boy by the arm. As the child wailed, Daniel lifted him up and laid the boy across his lap, holding him firm.
The wind was whipping around them now and the man on the fat rouncey was very close, slowing the pace of his steed as he came upon Daniel. Daniel looked closely at the man. He was very well dressed in an expensive cloak and well-made boots, and his horse was quite fine. It was clear the man had money. As the man drew close, he pointed to the child in Daniel’s lap.
“My thanks for capturing him,” he said pleasantly. “I shall take him off your hands, friend.”
Daniel didn’t make any move to surrender the child. “Who is he to you?”
The man lifted a gloved hand in a dismissive gesture. “A servant,” he said. “A very naughty servant. I will take him from you.”
“I am not a servant!” the boy cried, trying to slither off of Daniel’s lap for fear that he would soon be back in the hands of the man he had been running from. “He kept me in the vault! I want to go home!”
“Shut your hole, boy,” the man growled, then looked to Daniel with growing impatience. “Give him to me and you shall be on your way. We will not trouble you further.”
Daniel wasn’t going to hand the boy over until he got to the bottom of what was really going on. Based on everything he’d seen and been told, something told him not to reject the boy’s claims so easily.
“He says he is not your servant,” Daniel said, trying to remain neutral. “He also says that you kept him in the vault because of your desire for his sister. Is this true?”
Overhead, thunder rolled as if to punctuate the seriousness of the conversation now. Gone was the friendliness from the man’s expression.
“That is none of your affair,” he said. “Give me that boy.”
The man’s reply told Daniel most of what he needed to know, including the fact that the boy was more than likely not lying. The expression on the man’s face was vicious, as if Daniel had stolen something from him. There was outrage and hazard there, a hint of the true darkness beneath the expensive clothing and feigned friendly manner. Daniel was a good judge of character; he’d always had the gift, and didn’t doubt the child in the least now.
The man before him was not as pleasant as he wanted Daniel to think he was.
“The lad has asked for my help,” Daniel said. “I would be a less than chivalrous knight if I did not determine why you are chasing a small child across the moors. Why
would he tell me this story if it were not true? He does not know me and I do not know him. Why would he create an elaborate story to ask for my assistance?”
The man was starting to grow red in the face. “You will give him back to me if you know what’s good for you,” he growled. “You do not know who you are toying with.”
Daniel would not be threatened. “Neither do you,” he said.
The man’s eyebrows flew up in outrage. “Just who in the hell are you?”
“You first.”
Now the man was growing agitated at this big, blond stranger who evidently couldn’t be bullied. “I am a nephew of Henry,” he said through clenched teeth. “I would assume you know who the king of England is? I am of royal blood, you fool, so if you do not want the entire royal household down upon you, then you will give me that boy and forget you ever saw him. Is that clear?”
Daniel was struggling not to laugh at the man’s conceit. He had a way of provoking men into madness, toying with them, driving them daft with frustration while he remained cool and collected. It was a game he particularly enjoyed with the arrogant and ridiculous, including the idiot before him.
“It is clear,” he said evenly. “But it is also clear that you do not know it is my uncle who commands the royal military on the Marches, as the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. High Sheriff of the Marches, I believe his title is. And my father is the Earl of Canterbury, who has command of four royal garrisons in Kent and Sussex. Between my uncle and my father, they control thousands of royal troops in southeast England as well as on the Welsh Marches so, clearly, you do not know who you are dealing with. I am a de Lohr, heir to Canterbury, and if you have not heard the name, then you are most definitely the moronic buffoon I thought you were. Is that clear?”
With the reveal of the de Lohr name, the man’s expression seemed to change somewhat. He was still red in the face but not nearly so aggressive. “De Lohr,” he hissed. “I know the name.”
The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 159