Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “What is this?” he asked quietly.

  She was still trying to catch her breath, but she craned her neck around and was barely able to see the angry red welt left by her mother’s bowl. Two choices raced through her head; either the truth or a plausible lie. She settled for both.

  “I was in my mother’s room and accidentally bumped my shoulder,” she said.

  Tate’s face was expressionless. “You should be more cautious.”

  “I know. I am clumsy at times.”

  He didn’t reply, but there was something in his gaze that suggested he did not believe her. Later, when she climbed into bed beside the sleeping Ailsa, visions of Tate Crewys de Lara danced in her head.

  CHAPTER THREE

  At dawn it was dark, foggy and wet. Toby rose after a weary night of light sleeping and donned a garment of heavy gray wool with a matching cape. It was an elegant dress meant for travel and she wore layers of soft woolen undergarments to guard against the freezing temperatures. She was still struggling to awaken as her servant brushed and plaited her long hair, catching it up in a heavy net so that it would not get wet in the disagreeable weather.

  The corridor was dark as she tiptoed towards the stairs. It smelt of soot. Her father would be up soon in spite of his usual night-long drinking binge, but her mother would sleep until noon. As she passed her mother’s door, she heard the recognizable groaning. Feeling the familiar anxiety rise in her chest, anxiety she had felt since childhood, she paused and the groaning ceased. But the moment she tried to move again, her mother called out. How she wished she could simply keep walking. Resigned, Toby went into her room.

  It was nearly pitch black, stinking to the rafters of feces. Toby knew her mother had soiled herself and she called softly for her mother’s servant, an older woman who was deaf in one ear. The woman woke from her pallet in the corner of the room and went to get some water at Toby’s request.

  Judith was loud and miserable. “So you would leave me here to rot, would you? Where are you going?”

  “I am going to conduct father’s business.”

  “You are running away!”

  Toby tried to keep her quiet. “Mother, I have business to attend to. I shall return shortly, I promise. Hegeltha will see to your needs this morning.”

  The old servant came back into the dank chamber and Judith eyed her. “I do not want that old witch near me. She bites.”

  “Nay, she does not.”

  “She does, I tell you!”

  Toby’s patience was waning. “She does not bite you. She is kind to you and you would do well to appreciate her.” She turned away from her mother, looking at the serving woman. “Clean her up as best you can. See that she takes some nourishment this morning.”

  The woman nodded. Judith extended her good hand to her daughter. “Please,” she rasped. “Please do not leave me.”

  Toby paused to look at her mother. The woman was pathetic, but still, Toby could not summon the emotion to feel pity for her. That had been taken advantage of long ago.

  “I must. I shall see you when I return.”

  “Nay, please. Please!”

  Judith’s hand was reaching out for her, begging for contact. Against her better judgment, Toby took the outstretched fingers and was rewarded by Judith digging her jagged fingernails into her flesh.

  “Do not leave me!” she hissed.

  The nails drew blood immediately. Toby yanked her hand free, examining the four crescent-shaped wounds on her wrist. Judith began to twitch and cry, as close as she could come to a tantrum, as swiftly Toby vacated the room. Shutting the door to the chamber behind her so that her mother would not wake the house, she re-examined the bloody cuts in her soft flesh. They were swelling already and they were painful. Wincing, she pulled on the glove for that hand so that no one would see what her mother had done. To Toby, her mother’s abuse was normal, but she was ashamed to let anyone else see her misery.

  Toby had left orders the night before to have her horse and a light meal ready before daybreak. The meal was waiting as she descended the stairs and entered the great hall. A fire had been started, but the room was still very chilly and smelled of old rushes. She found Tate and his party milling about the room, having already eaten some of the food laid upon the well-scrubbed table. The squire was huddled near the fire while the knights, heavily dressed and armed, stood off in the darkness. Toby heard their low voices, ceasing altogether as she entered.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she found Tate. He was standing with Stephen near the hearth, his large physique outlined by the backdrop of the blaze.

  “Good morn to you, my lord,” she said.

  He dipped his head in response to her greeting. “We are ready to depart, mistress.”

  It was a rather clipped greeting but she didn’t care. Much to her horror, she realized that she was glad to see him. She had no idea why. It was a terrible realization and she struggled to shake off the unfamiliar feelings.

  “I am ready,” she said. “Did you get enough to eat?”

  “We did,” he said. “Perhaps you should take something with you.”

  She took a small wedge of cheese, trying to delicately shove it into her mouth as they vacated the hall and moved out into the misty morning. Everything was soaking wet, including the horses. A couple of the dogs came sniffing around, recognizing her as she mounted her leggy warmblood. They yipped at the knights but kept a distance, especially when Tate threw a well-aimed rock at one of them. When the party moved out, they followed.

  The group took the road to the northwest. The field where the herd grazed was three miles out of town. It was cold and sodden and silent but for the noise from the horses as they made their way along the rocky path. Toby was slightly in front of the rest of them, trying to keep her mind from wandering to Tate. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was watching her. She fidgeted with her reins; anything to keep from looking back at him.

  “Do you ever have trouble from raiders?”

  Tate’s voice came from slightly behind her. Startled, she glanced over to see that he had reined his horse close to her. He seemed to have a habit of sneaking up on her. She had been concentrating so hard on ignoring him that she hadn’t heard the obvious.

  “Sometimes,” she replied. “Mostly border Scots who come to steal our sheep. Father had a long-running problem with the Elliot clan near Jedburgh but he solved that by donating ten head of sheep to them every fall. They have a sizable herd now.”

  Tate nodded in understanding, his gaze moving off across the land. Instead of lightening with the rising of the sun, it seemed that everything was growing darker.

  “I will apologize for forcing you to endure this weather,” he said. “Hopefully this will not take long and you can return to a warm fire.”

  She shook her head. “I love this weather.”

  He cast her a long glance. “Why is that?”

  “Because there is peace to it. It is soothing. Sometimes with the sun there is such bustle and chaos. Everyone is out and about. With the fog and rain, no one is out. It is quiet and soft.”

  “Is your life so harrowed that you find bad weather comforting?”

  “I take comfort where I can find it.” The reply had slipped out before she had thought about it. Uncomfortable, she made a rapid attempt to change the subject. “You mentioned that you have not spent much time in your lordship. Do you like traveling so much?’

  “I do not,” he said. “I would much rather settle down in one place and live a peaceful life.”

  “Your life is not peaceful?”

  He shrugged, his big shoulders lifting. “I am a warrior. I reckon that my life is not meant to be peaceful by virtue of my profession. That does not stop me from wishing, however.”

  Toby glanced at the knights riding behind them, massive men on massive horses. “And your companions,” she said. “Do they travel everywhere with you?”

  “They have for many years.”

  “I
have never been out of Cartingdon,” Toby said. “Someday I would like to travel to the places that you have perhaps been.”

  “Where would you go?”

  She thought a moment, visions of exotic cities in far off lands filling her mind. Some days, when her father drank himself into oblivion and her mother was out of control, she would sit and dream about being somewhere else. It was a game she sometimes played to keep her sanity.

  “I would like to see Paris someday. But I have a stronger desire to see Rome.”

  “I have been to Paris many times but never Rome.”

  “If you ever go, will you come back and tell me about it?”

  There was something wistful in her tone that made Tate take a closer look at her. “Do you think you will never go? Perhaps your husband shall take you someday. Surely he would do this for you.”

  She gave him an ironic smirk. “I thought I clearly established that I will never marry. If I go, I shall have to go alone.”

  “Unacceptable. If it comes to that, I shall take you myself.”

  She laughed, a gesture that lit up the sky. “My lord, although your offer is most gracious, I will not hold you to it. You could barely stand to be near me for an evening. How on earth could you stand it for months on end?”

  Tate was completely entranced by her smile; it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “If you laugh like that more often, I should easily stand it.”

  His tone was quiet, sincere. It made Toby’s heart leap. She looked at him, amazed he would say such a thing, uncertain why he would. Not knowing how to respond, her cheeks burned brightly. It was a delicious spot of color amongst the gray of the morning mist, not lost on Tate.

  “Is Wales like this?” she asked.

  The change in subject was blindingly swift. Tate nearly had his head ripped off at the rapidity of it and he had to turn away lest she see him grin. “Beg pardon?”

  “Wales. I hear that is where you were born. Is it like Northumberland?”

  “In a sense; Wales is more mountainous.”

  “I hear that it is a wild place.”

  “No wilder than the borders of Scotland.” He rubbed his chin with a gauntlet-clad hand. “What were we just speaking? Oh, yes. Laughing. I would suspect you do not do it nearly enough. Perhaps if you did, it would ease your brutish manner. It might make you more attractive to a husband.”

  She raised her eyebrows at him. “How did I graduate from an appalling manner to a brutish one?”

  He was struggling not to smile at her, but he couldn’t help it. He had a devilishly attractive smile, his teeth straight and white. “Forgive me for moving you up the ranks so swiftly.”

  “At least have the courtesy not to do so until I have done something to warrant it.”

  “Of course, mistress. My most genuine apologies.”

  “Accepted.”

  Much to his surprise, she was showing a delightful sense of humor. He would never have guessed. “Thank you,” he covered his heart with one hand sincerely. “Now, tell me; why do you not laugh more often than you apparently do?”

  “How often do you know I laugh? You have known me for less than a day.”

  “I can see it in your expression. It is as if your entire face is surprised to show a measure of delight.”

  She looked away peevishly, but it was in jest. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Is your life so bad that you have no reason to laugh?”

  “The sheep should be up this road about a mile and a half. If we pick up the pace, we will be there in well less than an hour.”

  “I do not want to pick up the pace and neither do you.”

  “I do not?”

  “Nay. But you do want to answer my question.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “I see a pattern in you. Last night, you bullied me about marriage. Today, it is laughter. You talk more than any man I have ever met.”

  “Not really.”

  The conversation had been flowing easily until that moment. Suddenly, Tate seemed to quiet and Toby found herself sorry she had shut him up. She truly hadn’t meant to; she had been enjoying the conversation very much. With every step the horses took, the silence grew more and more deafening.

  “I smile as much as I am able, I suppose,” she finally said. “It seems as if there is not much reason to at times. I rise in the morning and take care of my invalid mother before I go and assist my father in conducting business with his farm. My father rises early in the morning and is usually drunk by noon and cares little for the daily operations of our farm. He did, once, but no longer. By the time I am finished handling his affairs, I must tend my mother again and my younger sister and see to the management of Forestburn. If my manner seems appalling to you at times, it is perhaps because it has to be. There is no one but me to see to the care of my family and this business my father has worked so hard to achieve. I am strong because I have to be.”

  By the time she had finished, Tate was gazing at her intently. The mist had turned to freezing rain, dripping off of his dark lashes. He spurred his charger up a few paces until he was next to her, looking down at her from a gray warhorse that was a head taller than her mount.

  “If I offended you with my comments on your demeanor, then I am truly sorry,” he said quietly. “I can see now that my observations were incorrect.”

  “Not necessarily. I can be quite aggressive at times.”

  “It seems to me that you have had much responsibility laid upon you and instead of allowing it to crush you, you became strong with it. I would not call that aggressive. I would call that survival.”

  She was coming to feel foolish for telling him everything about her when they hardly knew each other. Moreover, the man was her liege, not a peer, and the realization made her feel increasingly awkward. But she didn’t have any friends to speak of, at least no one she could confide in, and the words had just tumbled out. There was far too much familiarity with Tate. Self-preservation swept her when she realized his last statement sounded too much like pity.

  “Forgive me for explaining too much,” she sounded crisp. “I was not complaining and my apologies if I sounded as such. My life is truly nothing to be sorry for. We are better off than most people.”

  Where Tate had seen vulnerability moments earlier, it was swiftly replaced by the guarded woman he had come to associate her with. He liked the vulnerability much better.

  “I never thought you were complaining, mistress. You were simply answering my question.”

  He didn’t think she would reply to his statement and he was correct. She pointed a glove hand down the road.

  “The village of Lorbottle is north of here,” she said. “I can have the sheep brought to market there, as they have a rather large livestock grounds. It is popular with the border Scots.”

  “That sounds reasonable.”

  “Where shall I send the money?”

  “That depends. How long do you think it will take to sell everything?”

  “Within a day with the proper buyer. I would say at this time of year, we will find the proper buyer within a week. This is the middle of the season, and most sheep are not shorn until spring.”

  “Then send the money to Harbottle Castle. I have other business to conduct in the region and will expect it there.”

  “As you say, my lord.”

  He watched her from the corner of his eye, wanting to say something more to her but not sure he should. He hardly knew the woman, yet he felt an inexplicable draw towards her. He recalled yesterday how he had thought her beautiful, but lacking in other fine qualities. After their conversation today, he wasn’t so sure that was true. She had great strength of character and a sharp sense of humor. But she was also too stubborn for her own good. The woman was a paradox.

  They drew near the field where the sheep were kept, a vast foggy land with a hint of green where the grass lay. Toby reined her horse to a stop along the stone wall that fenced in the herd.

&
nbsp; “They are out there, somewhere,” she indicated the field that disappeared into the mist. “In this weather, however, they will blend in with the fog and we will never find them.”

  Shrouded in the clouds, they could hear bleating. It was one or two of the sheep at first, followed by several responses. Toby dismounted her horse, followed by Tate and the others. Deftly, she jumped on to the top of the rock wall and slid down the other side into the wet grass. She knew this field well and it seemed oddly quiet to her.

  “We have three men that tend the herd,” she looked around. “I do not see them. I will go and call for them.”

  Gathering her skirts as much as possible to keep them out of the wet, she walked out into the misty field. Tate and his men fanned out slightly, their eyes ever-watchful.

  “Gordon?” she called out. “Emmit? Can you hear me?”

  There was no answer. The sheep suddenly started bleating wildly. Concerned, Toby picked up the pace in the direction she thought the sound was coming from. Soon, she was running, unaware that Tate and his men were keeping pace behind her. The mist was denser the further she ran into the field. Something suddenly flew past her ear and she yelped, startled. As she tripped and fell to her knees, she bumped into a mass on the ground. A shepherd lay there with an arrow through his neck. Before a scream could bubble to the surface, a warm body fell atop her and she was buried underneath it, sandwiched between the wet earth and a pile of armor.

  Tate had thrown himself on her when he realized arrows were flying. His arms were around her head lest an arrow come flying in that direction. Toby could hear the zinging sound of the projectiles sailing over them.

  “Bandits!” she gasped.

  Tate could not disagree. But their situation was precarious. They were in the mist, shielding their enemy from them, with nowhere to hide. Their survival now would depend on a combination of skill and luck. He called out to his men.