Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Terrified, Cantia was back to fighting him again, scratching and kicking, until he tried to slap her again but missed. Then she threw herself to her knees, trying to stop the momentum, but he simply pulled her along, dragging her through the grass and dirt, collecting leaves against her knees as he pulled. By the time they reached the shelter where Hunt and Arabel were sleeping, she was verging on panicked tears.

  “Please,” she begged. “Do not hurt me. Please.”

  He didn’t reply other than to yell victoriously at the crowd in the distance and throw open the shelter door, tossing Cantia inside.

  Cantia fell to the ground, nearly landing on Hunt. The boy had been awakened by all of the commotion and was sitting up, rubbing his eyes and crying when he saw his mother sprawled on the ground. His weeping woke up Arabel, who lay next to him but was too weak to sit up as he was doing. She just lay there, crying, with her hands over her face.

  On the ground, Cantia cowered as the man entered the shelter behind her and slammed the door. She was horrified at what she was sure was about to happen, in front of her son and Arabel no less, and the tears began to come. Still, she didn’t give up. As the man came close, she put up a booted foot to kick him away. She was going to fight him or die trying.

  But instead of descending on her, an odd thing happened. The man veered over to the wall where Cantia’s satchels sat, fairly intact. Cantia watched him, terrorized, and saw he was going for the bags. As she watched, he unfastened the leather ties and opened up the satchel. Then he began to rummage around.

  “You have some fine things,” he said, pulling out a luscious topaz-colored silk surcoat and holding it up to the muted light. “This is beautiful. Where did you get it?”

  Cantia was still on the ground, confusion mingling with her terror. She slowly began to push herself up.

  “I… uh, that is to say, I bought the material in London,” she said hesitantly.

  “Did you sew it?”

  “I did.”

  The man looked at her over his shoulder and she saw a glimpse of that insane smile once more. “You have great skill,” he said, turning back to the contents of the bag and pulling out a blue cotton surcoat. “If you are the viscount’s wife, do you not have women to sew for you?”

  Cantia eyed Hunt as the boy wiped tears from his face. “I do,” she said. “But I enjoy sewing.”

  The man simply nodded, throwing the topaz silk over his shoulder as he continued to rummage around in the bag. “My mother used to sew, and sew very well,” he told her. “I developed an eye for fine work. Based on your wardrobe alone, I believe that you are Winterton’s wife. It takes money to purchase what you have.”

  Cantia didn’t know what to say to that. She pushed herself to her knees and crawled over to the pallet where Hunt was sitting. She sat beside him, wrapping her arms around the boy to comfort him.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  The man finished with one satchel and began digging around in the other. Then he looked up at her, flashing that toothy grin. “Steal your clothing.”

  Cantia didn’t say anything. She wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, so she looked down at Hunt, kissed him on the forehead, and reached out a hand to hold on to Arabel, who was still lying there, weeping.

  “Please,” she said after a moment. “Can you not see that this child is very ill? We must return to Rochester.”

  The man glanced over his shoulder at the young girl still lying on the pallet. She was very tiny, very thin, and seemed to be unable to use her arms or legs very well. He shouldn’t have cared about it but he was curious nonetheless. In that curiosity was a fraction of inherent pity.

  “What is wrong with her?” he asked.

  Cantia held Arabel’s hand tightly. “She was born this way,” she said softly. “She is crippled and I am sure the abduction last night has severely weakened her. She cannot take such excitement. Please… have mercy and return us.”

  The man’s rummaging slowed to a halt. He looked at the trio on the pallet, seeing their scared and tired faces. For the first time that morning, he began to show signs of uncertainty and perhaps even remorse.

  “My name is Gillywiss,” he finally said. “These people, my people, live here because one way or another, we have been chased or scattered from our homes by men such as your husband. Why should I show mercy to you?”

  Cantia wasn’t without pity. She knew that those who did not live in castles were subject to terrible things. She knew that times were dark and desperate.

  “Because the children and I have done nothing to harm you,” she said softly. “We are innocent, just as you are innocent. Would you punish us for things beyond our control?”

  “No one is innocent,” he snapped softly. “Your husband is evil, lady.”

  “My husband is a good man,” she replied, anger now joining the other emotions she was feeling. “He is kind and generous and sweet, and he cares very much for his family.”

  “He is a murderer!”

  “He is commanded by those in power and does what he is told to do,” she fired back. “He does not murder for the sake of murdering. He is part of this terrible war that is going on, brother against brother, where all men suffer. I have suffered. I have suffered great loss because of this foolish contention between Stephen and Matilda, so do not think to lecture me on the evils of battle, for I have lived them.”

  He was not convinced. “What have you possibly suffered?”

  She looked away from him. “Death,” she muttered. “The death of someone very close to me. Never imagine you are the only one who has suffered through death and loss.”

  “Who has died?”

  Cantia looked at Hunt, her gaze soft and lingering. “His father,” she replied. “He was killed in an ambush, more than likely by people such as yours. You think my husband a murderer? Perhaps you should see it from my perspective.”

  “Winterton is not his father?”

  “Nay.”

  Gillywiss stared at her, surcoats in hand, preparing a sharp retort that simply died on his lips because she would not understand, anyway. But she had a point. He was an odd man, odder still because he stood up and pulled the surcoat over his head and tried to fit into it. Cantia watched, increasingly baffled, as the man tried to pull a substantially smaller garment onto his frame. When he caught Cantia and Hunt looking at him rather strangely, he flashed that crazy smile.

  “Lady, you will scream now,” he told her. “Scream until I tell you to stop.”

  Cantia still wasn’t over their conversation, but he apparently was. Like someone had lit a flame, his demeanor change was instantaneous. When he waved his hands at her as if to encourage her to obey him, she took a deep breath and screamed, perhaps fearful of what would happen if she didn’t.

  “Again!” he commanded. “Scream as if I am violating you in every possible way. Do it!”

  She let go of Hunt and moved away so she wouldn’t be screaming in his ear. She howled and cried, on and on for several minutes as Gillywiss tried on her surcoats and fine things. Belts that wouldn’t fit around his waist were put on his head, like a diadem, and he pulled the fine silk stockings onto his arms, smelling them. In fact, he smelled and touched everything, and when he came to a vial of expensive perfumed oil, he spread it liberally on his hands and inhaled the heady rose scent.

  After many long minutes of screaming, Cantia was growing tired and her throat was beginning to hurt. When she thought perhaps Gillywiss had forgotten about her as he focused intently on her clothing, he finally waved a hand at her and she ceased.

  “Well and good for you, my lady,” he said. “You scream like a stuck pig.”

  Cantia rubbed her throat, eyeing the man who had at least two surcoats pulled over him, one belt around his head and another around his neck. He had found her small and precious glass hand mirror wrapped up in her satchel and was using it to look at himself. All the while, Cantia’s eyes never left him. She had no idea what the
man was doing or, furthermore, what he planned to do. She was on edge every single second, watching and waiting.

  Finally, Gillywiss began to take everything off. He carefully rolled the surcoats, tucking them back where he found them. The belts were cautiously put back and the mirror was wrapped up in the heavy linen he had found it in. Everything went back as nicely and neatly as when he found it. When he was finished, he stood up and faced the three captives.

  “You did not see me do this,” he instructed.

  Cantia understood he meant the entire episode with the clothes because he was pointing to her bags with a wagging finger.

  “As… as you say, my lord,” she said, somewhat confused.

  Gillywiss put his hands on his hips and approached her, pensively. “And the screaming,” he said. “If anyone asks, you will tell them I ravaged you thoroughly. Is that clear?”

  Cantia nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  Gillywiss’ gaze lingered on her a moment before looking to Hunt and Arabel, both children gazing up at him with some puzzlement and fear. “You both,” he pointed. “You will not tell what you saw here today. Do you understand? If you tell, very bad things will happen.”

  Hunt and Arabel nodded apprehensively but said nothing, and Gillywiss returned his attention to Cantia. It looked as if he wanted to say more but refrained. Suddenly appearing rather depressed, a far cry from the animated man of earlier, he turned for the door.

  “I will send you food,” he said.

  He quit the hut, shutting the door behind him. Cantia stood there, staring at the panel, wondering what in the world had just happened. It was the strangest thing she had ever seen. Baffled, she sat down next to Hunt on the dirty pallet.

  “Mam?” Hunt tugged on her arm. “What will we do?”

  Cantia drew in a long breath as she looked at her son. “I do not know.”

  Hunt’s little brow furrowed in thought. “We should esthcape,” he said firmly. “We should run away.”

  Cantia had thought of that, too. She ran a hand over her son’s blond head. “We cannot,” she said softly, looking to Arabel, who was lying beside them. “We cannot leave Lady Arabel behind, and we cannot carry her with us, so we must stay here to protect her.”

  Arabel was gazing up at the pair. “Please,” she said softly, “if you escape and run back to my father, you can bring help.”

  Cantia smiled faintly at the girl. “That is very brave, but I will not leave you,” she said. “Until we can think of something else, we will all stay here together.”

  Arabel was coming to feel guilty, as if she were holding Cantia and Hunt back. “You cannot put yourself in such danger, my lady,” she insisted. “They will not harm me, but I fear they will do terrible things to you. You must escape and you must take Hunt with you.”

  Cantia reached out and grasped the girl’s hand, squeezing it. “I will not leave you,” she said softly. “There is nothing more to discuss. Meanwhile, we must figure out how we can get word to your father.”

  Hunt had all manner of ideas on how to send word to Tevin, not the least of which was catching a bird and tying a note to its leg. Then he thought they could catch a fox and tell it to run to Rochester. As Cantia gently shot down every idea Hunt had, Arabel was making plans of her own. She may have been crippled, but she wasn’t to be discounted in their quest for freedom.

  She would get them out of there.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “And I told you that I forbid you to go search for them at this time,” Geoff snarled at Tevin. “It is your fault they were abducted in the first place so I will not allow you to use my resources to hunt down a woman who is nothing more to you than a possession. I have had an entire patrol of men wiped out near the Dartford Crossing and have commanded you to drive back those who have now commandeered the bridge. I want it back.”

  Tevin was as close to striking Geoff as he had ever been in his life. Had de Lohr not been standing between him and Geoff, he more than likely would have ripped the man’s head off. Instead, he took a step back when Myles gave him a gentle shove on the chest, pushing him back and away from the confrontation. In the solar of Rochester, tempers were running high as precious time was wasted with Geoff’s delays.

  If Geoff knows of your feelings for Cantia, he will see this as a game. Val’s words were rolling over and over in Tevin’s mind and he struggled to keep his mouth shut about anything with regard to Cantia. Geoff could not know she meant more to him than anything on earth. In fact, Tevin did not use Cantia as the focus at all. He used someone else.

  “It is not Cantia I am after,” he rumbled. “I have explained this to you. My daughter is missing, Geoff, and I will find her. I am going in search of my child and you cannot stop me.”

  “I can!”

  “Then you shall have to kill me. Shall we retreat outside and face off against one another?”

  Geoff backed down, but only slightly. He was still red about the face, twitching with fury. He had been pulled out of a dead sleep to face a problem he should not have to be facing, and he was very angry at his cousin for creating the situation. High and mighty Tevin always thought he knew best. Geoff was both thrilled and angry that his arrogant cousin had made a mistake.

  “You should not have sent them away in the first place,” he pointed an accusing finger, spittle flying from his lips. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  Tevin cocked a dark eyebrow, fists resting on his hips. “You know why.”

  Geoff’s lips curled in a sneer. “If I knew, I would not have asked.”

  Tevin’s eyes narrowed. “Because you cannot be trusted,” he said. “You have no self-control when it comes to a woman, any woman, so in order to protect the women residing at Rochester, I was forced to send them somewhere where you could not get to them.”

  Geoff’s twitching grew worse. “You have no say in how I conduct my life, Tevin. I take what I want.”

  “You cannot take Lady Cantia, Val, or Arabel. In order to curb your temptation, I sought to move them out of your reach.”

  Geoff smacked the table in front of him. Then he threw the cups that were on it, followed by the pitcher half-filled with wine. Ruby red liquid sprayed on the stone walls as Geoff flirted with the boundaries of a temper tantrum.

  “And you were punished for it,” he seethed. “Val is injured and Lady Cantia and Arabel are missing. You were wrong, Tevin, not me. You cannot blame me for your failure.”

  Tevin’s composure slipped a notch. “If you had any self-control, I would not have had to send them away, so do not turn this around as if I am the one with issues. If you would act like a man once in a while and not a spoiled child, we would not have this problem.”

  Geoff ripped off a barbaric yell and charged Tevin. He ran at him crazily, hands out like claws, and Tevin easily side-stepped the man, causing him to trip over a chair and crash into a wall. As Tevin faced him, waiting for his next move, Geoff pulled himself off of the wall and plunged a hand into his tunic, rooting around until he withdrew a wicked-looking dirk. He flashed it at Tevin, and the stakes of the game changed dramatically.

  With another yell, he charged Tevin again, dirk held high. Tevin was prepared. As the man drew near, he reached out and grabbed his wrist, twisting it around until Geoff screamed with pain. Geoff ended up biting Tevin’s bare hand and when Tevin let go before he could break the skin, Geoff brought the dirk to bear on Tevin’s neck.

  In a movement for self-preservation, Tevin lashed up a big arm, blocking the dirk as he grabbed Geoff around the throat with his other hand. He’d only meant to disarm him but by the way he grabbed Geoff, he ended up snapping his skull upward at an awkward angle. Bones snapped. The dirk dropped, and so did Geoff.

  As quickly as the battle started, it was over. Tevin gazed down at his cousin as Myles, having been over by the door for the duration of the fight, rushed to Geoff’s side and felt for a pulse. After a moment, he shook his head and looked up at Tevin.

  “He is dead,” h
e said quietly.

  Tevin’s brow furrowed with disbelief. “He cannot be.”

  “He is.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Verily.”

  Tevin’s stunned gaze moved between Geoff and Myles. “But… but I was not trying to kill him,” he said after a moment. “I was only trying to disarm him.”

  Myles’ gaze lingered on Geoff. “I know,” he said. “I saw what happened. He was trying to kill you, Tevin. You did what you had to do.”

  Tevin wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse by that statement. Disbelief and shock overwhelmed him, so much so that he ended up stumbling back against the heavy table behind him as he attempted to wrap his mind around what he had just done.

  “Oh…God,” he hissed. “I did not mean to do it.”

  Myles could see how shocked he was. “Tevin,” he said softly, firmly. “The man was trying to kill you. You defended yourself. What happened was an accident. Although I normally refrain from speaking ill of the dead, you know as well as I do that Geoff was a vile, corruptible man. His death is not an unwelcome one by any means. You did us all a service.”

  Tevin was still struggling although he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was simply the swiftness of it and the fact that he truly hadn’t been trying to kill him. He and Geoff had been given to tussles in the past, but nothing like this. He looked at Myles, his dark eyes intense as he came to terms with what he had done.

  “The truth is that, at some point, Geoff would have tried to kill me or have me killed,” he said, his voice hoarse. “He both loved and hated me, but mostly, he envied me. I know that as well as anyone. But all I can think of now is that the women in my family are finally safe. If that is a selfish thought, then I do not apologize. It is the truth.”

  Myles nodded in agreement, making his way over to him. “There is something else you must think of also.”

  “What?”

  “You are now the Earl of East Anglia,” he reminded him softly, a twinkle in his eye. “Long live the earl.”