Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Kellington’s head came up from the straw and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. By this time, Jax had pushed himself all the way off of her save his left arm across her back.

  “That,” he said, “is for your unruly tongue. I told you to curb it. I meant it.”

  Another whack stung her buttocks and she bit off another yelp.

  “That is for your father.”

  Another sharp spank.

  “And that is for resisting my army.”

  By the time he finished with the third and final slap, her buttocks were vibrant red. He had a big hand and a hard strike. Tears sprang to Kellington’s eyes and she squeezed them shut, even as he flipped her onto her back once again and grabbed her by the arms. Suddenly, she was gazing into his hypnotic dual-colored orbs, terrified and furious all at the same time. His expression was hard as he glared back at her.

  “Now get your clothes back on,” he growled. “You will accompany me back to the keep where we will speak on the riches that are now mine.”

  With that, he let her go and she fell back into the straw. He turned his back on her, going to stand by the cell door to wait for her to redress. Stunned, in tears, she struggled to reclaim both her senses and her clothing. She went about redressing, laboring not to make a sound even as tears poured down her cheeks. She would never again let the man see how badly he hurt or frightened her, although what he did was not nearly as bad as what he could have done. Even she knew that. But anger was growing to hatred.

  When she finally reclaimed her last leather slipper and put it on, she simply went to stand next to him. She never uttered a sound. The glare gone from his expression, Jax opened the door and allowed her to pass through before following. The vault was below ground level in the main keep, accessed only by a door from the outside, and he proceeded to follow her up the steps and into the bailey beyond.

  That was when all of Kellington’s courage fled. One look at the horrors of the bailey and the scream she had been trying so hard to suppress flew from her lips with surprising ease.

  There were dead men everywhere.

  CHAPTER THREE

  They weren’t simply dead; they were pitched on poles like a macabre army of scarecrows all throughout the bailey. It was a scene from Hell, although not even Hell could have been so horrid. Nothing could have prepared Kellington for the atrocities she would face and she instinctively turned away from the sight. Jax happened to be right behind her and she ended up with her face pressed into his chest.

  In a few seconds she was in full-blow hysterics. Jax felt no emotion whatsoever as he gripped her by the shoulders and turned her back around. He pushed her forward but she was having difficulty walking. Her hands were over her face and her breathing was coming in harsh, weeping gasps.

  “Into the keep, lady,” he rumbled behind her.

  Kellington was trying to move but she couldn’t seem to make her legs work. Her hands were still over her eyes as she took a few timid steps forward, hearing Jax march around her and his foot falls as they faded away. Then she was standing in the midst of the horror alone, weeping heavily and refusing to uncover her eyes. Her forward momentum came to a halt and she stood there, sobbing among the bodies of her father’s men.

  Jax was already at the steps that led into the big keep. He paused at the base, waiting for Kellington and noticing that she had come to a panic-stricken halt. She just stood there and wept. As he watched her, it began to occur to him that she had no intention of moving forward so he retraced his steps until he was standing in front of her.

  “You will walk, lady,” he said in a low voice.

  She was sobbing so hard that she could not catch her breath. One hand came away from a very red and very wet eye, struggling to not look at the bodies around her.

  “I… I…” she was weeping so hard that it all came out as a heavy stammer. “I… am trying but I cannot… I….”

  Something that he thought might be irritation swept him. But on its heels was another unidentifiable emotion that tugged at his chest again. For a man who had been emotionally dead most of his life, the sensations were bizarre. He didn’t like them one bit.

  “If you do not walk into the keep, I will leave you here for the vultures,” he said in a hazardous tone. “Walk or remain. You choose.”

  With that, he marched back to the steps of the keep, mounting them and disappearing into the second floor entry.

  Kellington didn’t know how long she stood there, weeping and sick. But eventually, the tears faded and an overwhelming urge to leave the area washed over her. She simply couldn’t stand in the midst of all of these dead men. Out of necessity, she removed the hands from her eyes, focusing on the bloody mud of the bailey and hoping that would prevent her from seeing anything that would cause her to lose the contents of her stomach. She could smell something horrible all round her, knowing it was the rotting bodies. It was beyond belief. She started to walk, went off balance dangerously, and fell to her knees.

  Jax saw her go down. He and his second in command had been standing at the lancet window of her father’s solar. The blond knight who usually led all interrogations looked at Jax.

  “Do you want me to go and retrieve her?”

  Jax’s dual-colored eyes gazed steadily at the limp form struggling to rise from the blood and muck. The tugging in his chest grew worse and his confusion over it was growing. It only made his manner snappish.

  “Nay,” he said, turning from the window. “She was strong enough to beg for her father’s life and accept my punishment. She is strong enough to walk into the keep by herself.”

  “As you say.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  The blond knight lifted an eyebrow as if confused by the question. “Exactly what I said.”

  Jax cast the man a long look as if trying to interpret a hidden meaning in his statement. Amadeo le Somes had been with Jax for six years, an efficient war machine like his liege. He was perhaps the only man in Jax’s Corp who could speak to him without cowering. After a moment, Jax realized he was being foolish and turned for the wine pitcher in the corner.

  Amadeo watched his liege take a long drink from the pitcher. He knew Jax well enough to know that something was bothering him. As emotionless as he was, the snappish manner was giving him away.

  “What is wrong, my lord?” he asked quietly.

  Jax swallowed with satisfaction, took a deep breath, and downed several more swallows before setting the jug down.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You seem edgy. Is something not to your liking? Do you have something more on your mind?”

  Jax shook his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Is she standing yet?”

  Amadeo’s gaze moved to the window and he peered outside. “Aye,” he said after a moment. “She moving slowly, but she’s moving.”

  “Good. Get her in here.”

  Amadeo quit the solar only to return a short time later with a disheveled figure. He held on to Kellington’s arm as if fearful she was going to topple again; she was still an odd shade of gray. Out of necessity, not kindness, he directed her into the nearest chair and she sat heavily, a shaking hand to her forehead.

  Jax stood several feet away; he watched her closely, almost curiously, wondering why she was so shaken by the sight of dead men. It occurred to him that some wine might fortify her. Without care, he poured her a sloppy cup and handed it to Amadeo, who thrust it into her face. She accepted it with quaking hands and drained the entire cup.

  “Now,” Jax would not acknowledge her behavior in the bailey. “We will move to the heart of things. You will list Pelinom’s sundry functions, no matter how small, and give me an estimate of return.”

  She looked up at him with her pale face. “May I have more wine?”

  Silently, Amadeo poured her another cup and the men waited while she drank half of it. Wiping her mouth delicately with her hand, she returned her gaze to the enormous warrior.

 
“Why did you do that to my father’s men?” her question was hardly above a whisper.

  He almost asked her what she meant. What he did was normal routine. But he realized what she was asking and instead of being inflamed by it, he actually searched for an answer that would make some sense to her. He had no idea why he should indulge her. Gazing into that lovely face, the tugging in his chest was beginning to overtake his torso. He was coming to hate the sensation.

  “That is the way of war,” he replied. “Your father is a warrior. Surely you understand something of it.”

  She lifted her slender shoulders, looking back to her cup. “Pelinom has been peaceful as long as I can recall. My father has only seen two skirmishes in the past ten years and both of those were on the borders, not at the castle. I’ve never seen a siege.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You had better become use to it.”

  Her head snapped up. “But you already have Pelinom. Why must I become accustomed to this… this horror? Why did you put those men on stakes to rot?”

  His dual colored eyes flashed. “I am not here to answer your questions, lady. You will answer mine. I will again repeat my demand of a tally of Pelinom’s sundry functions and take.”

  Her golden brown eyes flashed as well; some of the color was returning to her cheeks. “Pelinom has three hundred head of sheep, to be shorn twice year and the wool sold at market in Carlisle and Jedburgh. Depending on the market price, we can glean as much as ten gold marks per bale of quality wool. Three hundred head will bring fifteen hundred gold marks if the market is high, but this is also open to negotiation of which I am most proficient.” She was speaking quickly, angrily. “As for other sundry functions, we harvest lumber from the Lennel Forest to the north which we will also take to market at Berwick come spring. That is also when we do any major purchasing for the castle, such as manufactured goods. Berwick has more of an export market than Carlisle and we buy all manner goods from across the sea.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Honey, apricots and cherries in the spring and summer; cranberries, apples and pears in the fall. We have orchards of them.”

  “How much do those goods bring in?”

  “It depends on the market, but they can bring as much as one gold mark a bushel, and we will harvest hundreds of bushels. Honey will bring three times that, although we will not harvest as much.”

  “What do you measure honey by?”

  “A full or a half-head.”

  Jax digested the information. He knew Pelinom to be wealthy, but he honestly had no idea how wealthy until this moment. It would give him much needed funds for his coffers, to pay more men to fight for him, to purchase more weapons to take over the border between Berwick and Kelso, from the Hills of Teviot to the River Tweed.

  “Now that you know everything, are you going to put me on a pole like those men in the ward?”

  The lady’s soft voice came floating up to him, interrupting his thoughts of domination. He turned to her, his gaze drifting over her blond head and the sweet curves of her face. She had the most beautiful face, something that he had noticed from the beginning. There was something about the woman that intrigued him above any other woman he had ever met.

  It was his interest that decided she was of value to him. He was thinking with his loins and not his mind that usually made his decisions for him. The lady knew too much about Pelinom to so easily rid himself of her. More than that, he didn’t particularly want to dispose of her. This plucky, lovely, feisty little woman was a curiosity to him and until he figured it out, he would keep her around.

  “Not at the moment,” he answered her question, but any elaboration on his reply was cut short as several men entered the room. Jax poured himself more wine as the knights filtered in, his dual-colored gaze focusing on the men around them.

  “Since you will be captive in your own castle, I think it only fair you know the men who hold your life in their grasp and understand they are nothing to be trifled with,” he lifted his cup in the direction of the blond knight who had taken charge of her the night of Pelinom’s capture. “This is Amadeo de Somes; his mother is Roman, his father French, so he possesses all of the nasty temperament of those who hate England. Next to him,” he gestured to the knights standing to Amadeo’s left, “stand Henley de Cairon, Michael de Comlach and Caelen Penn. They are sworn to me above all else and would not hesitate to die or kill for me, so I suggest you learn to respect them.”

  Kellington’s gaze drifted over the four knights he had indicated; the blond was young and fairly handsome, while the other three were tall, broad, large and hairy, in that order. She could see nothing spectacular about them other than they were dirty, exhausted men with dirty mail, just like their liege. They gazed back at her with varied degrees of disinterest. The hairy one even picked his nose and looked away.

  “If you do not plan to impale me like those men in the bailey, what are your intentions for me?” she sounded suspiciously as if she was demanding. “Am I to be sent back to the vault or do you have other plans?”

  He poured his fourth cup of wine since entering the room. “You will return to the duties you assumed before I became Lord of Pelinom,” he said, taking a long swallow. “You will continue to administer her riches and maintain the keep as chatelaine. You will have as much freedom as necessary to complete your duties but you will not, for any reason, leave this keep. Is that clear?”

  “If you expect me to maintain my duties, then I must indeed leave the keep on occasion,” she replied. “We have orchards and herds, my lord. I must see to them with my own eyes as keeper of the stores.”

  He lifted a dark eyebrow at her. “Then let me rephrase my statement. You will not leave this keep without one of my knights as escort. To do so will incur my wrath and I believe you have already had a taste of that. A second taste will not be pleasant in the least.”

  He saw her cheeks flame just before she lowered her head. Jax watched her a moment, thinking such alien thoughts that it was difficult to grasp just one. Ideas that had not entered his mind since he had been a young, ambitious boy blossomed like unwanted bramble, cluttering up his thoughts to the point of distraction. He entertained strange things, like the color of her cheeks as she blushed. It was a lovely color.

  … lovely color?

  “If you have no more questions, then you may retreat to your chamber,” he was suddenly snappish, angry at himself. “You will not leave it until I send for you.”

  Her head came up, the golden-brown eyes fixing on him. “May I ask a question, my lord?”

  He had turned back to his cup by then, grunting by way of an answer. She took it as an affirmative.

  “Where is my father?”

  He drained the cup and set it down with a clang. When he turned to look at her, he could see enormous ponds of tears welling in both eyes. He had been prepared to dismiss her question but the look on her face caused his acerbic answer to die in his throat. God’s Blood, what was happening to him?

  “He is no longer any concern to you.”

  “But you said that he was alive still” she pleaded, blinking away the tears. “Please, just tell me where he is and I shall retreat to my chamber and not ask you again. Please.”

  Next to Jax, Amadeo snapped his fingers at one of the knights and the man moved forward and grabbed her by the arm. He was the broad one, rather short but with meaty hands that were biting. They squeezed her tender flesh as he yanked her towards the solar door. Kellington winced but she did not cry out.

  “Hold,” Jax boomed.

  The knight, Michael de Comlach, came to a halt. He faced his lord as the man walked upon him, towering above him by well over a head. But Jax’s focus wasn’t on the knight; it was on the lady.

  Without a word, he took her from his knight, with more power than brutality, and escorted her forcibly from the room. When the small solar was devoid of his overwhelming presence, Michael looked to Amadeo with confusion.

  “Was I not supposed
to remove her?” his Scots accent was thick. “Where is he taking her?”

  Amadeo shook his head, his pale blue eyes distant at the empty doorway. “Perhaps he is taking her back to the vault.”

  “I saw her in the ward,” the big and hairy knight, Caelen Penn, moved for the wine pitcher that his lord had nearly emptied. “She’ll not survive another bout out there. ’Tis no place for womenfolk.”

  Amadeo’s gaze lingered on the empty doorway a moment longer before moving to Caelen and pulling the wine jug away from him. When Caelen snarled at him, he drained the jug and smashed the earthenware pitcher over his head.

  Caelen staggered away but none of the other knights lifted an eyebrow. They were hunting for wine of their own; Michael caught a thin male servant hovering in the hall outside the sent the man to the kitchens for more drink and food. Henley, the only knight so far who had yet to speak or smash wine jugs, lingered by the lancet window with a singed oilcloth; it had caught fire sometime during the siege and now hung in tatters.

  “So where do we go from here?” he turned to Amadeo as the man walked up beside him. Together, they studied the ward outside.

  “To the southwest,” Amadeo replied, wondering just how much he should tell the man. There wasn’t much trust between Jax and Amadeo and the rest of the men; they’d seen too many turn to hold implicit trust. “White Crag Castle, I’m told. It’s about a day and half ride. And he’s called his generals from the Marches for a conference. They should be arriving in a few days.”

  “Conference?” Henley repeated. “What for? Those men already have garrisons to rule and prizes to be had. Why is he calling them to the Scots border?”

  Amadeo could hear the jealousy in his voice. “Because this border may prove to be more difficult,” he replied. “The Welsh are bad but the Scots are worse. He needs their council. More than that, they’re bringing fifty retainers each to reinforce our ranks. That’s three hundred more men.”