Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  How he even found her didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that she had trusted him completely. And she had; well, after a few minutes, anyway, once she figured out that he’d come to help her. Then, her own foolishness nearly destroyed his attempt, but he’d salvaged it beautifully. And the fight; it had been like watching him at practice as he’d neatly dispatched the men thrown at him. To watch him made her chest feel strangely tight, her heart beating in her ears. It had been pure excitement to watch him, despite her concerns and the danger involved.

  Josephine would admit, only to herself, that she was glad The Red Fury had come to Torridon. He was proving to be a welcome diversion for her during a period that seemed to hold little more than anxiety and grief.

  As Josephine was lost to her thoughts, Andrew had some thoughts of his own with her sweet body pressed up against him. He, too, was secretly glad he had come to Torridon. Much to his surprise, he had never felt more at peace than he did now, riding through the peaceful trees with a gentle breeze lifting tendrils of Josephine’s hair until they tickled his cheek. Feeling her against him was the most natural thing in the world. He had never in his life experienced such things, not with any woman he’d ever known. Somehow, Josephine was different. He found himself looking forward to the coming months and wondered what they would bring.

  He wondered how long he could stretch out his contract at Torridon.

  “How did you find me?” Josephine’s question distracted him from his thoughts.

  He had to focus on what she was asking, so carried away with daydreams he was. “We followed you as you chased after the two children,” he said. “Why were you chasing them, anyway?”

  She felt foolish explaining what had started the ruckus. “They had stolen two pies from the kitchen,” she said. “I did not want them to get away with it, so I ran after them. I would have caught them, too, had I not been hindered by this heavy surcote.”

  He smiled, looking off into the forest. “All of that was over two pies?” he asked. “I thought they had stolen the family jewels, at least. Or, mayhap coin. Or, Christ, the gold plate straight from the great hall, or even….”

  “I get the point,” she said, cutting him off with a grin and turning in the saddle to look at him. He was dangerously close, closer than was advisable. Her initial intent had been to throw him a threatening look, but the expression faded at the sight of his beautiful face and she found she had to turn away quickly lest he see the blush in her cheeks.

  But, in retrospect, the taking of two pies by two hungry children did seem like a foolish reason for endangering her life and the lives of those sworn to protect her. She began to feel a little sheepish and decided to change the subject.

  “Where were you born, Andrew?” she asked.

  Andrew hadn’t missed the flush of her cheeks when she’d turned away. He thought he might have had a bit of a flush in his, as well, mostly because the last time she’d been that close to him, he kissed her with a hunger he’d never before experienced. He’d like to try it again sometime, hoping she wouldn’t bite him again if he did.

  Somehow, he suspected she wouldn’t.

  “England,” he said after a moment.

  “Where in England?”

  “Near Haldane,” he said distantly.

  She should have picked up on his reluctant tone, but she didn’t. To her, it was a pleasant conversation. To Andrew, it was dredging up things he worked hard to forget.

  “Haldane is almost in Scotland,” she said. “You look decidedly more Scot, with your red hair. You do not speak like a Scots.”

  “Nor do you.”

  Josephine shrugged. “My mother thought we should not speak so,” she said. “She had an English lady-in-waiting who taught my brother and sister and me how to speak the way of the English. And what of you? Why do you not speak like a Scots?”

  “Because I fostered in England.”

  “But you seem to be based in Scotland,” she said. “Do you have kin in Scotland?”

  His soft brown eyes darkened. “My mother was Scots, but she spent most of her time in England,” he said. “My father was English. That is how they met.”

  “Oh?” Josephine’s eyebrows lifted in interest. “Where was your mother from?”

  “Dumfries.”

  “But she lives in England now?” Josephine asked, oblivious to the dark memories she was awakening in him. “What says she to your mercenary way of life?”

  He didn’t want to talk about things that upset him, and he most certainly didn’t want to talk about his mother. Her chatter was growing annoying now. “I have not seen my mother in several years,” he said, his tone bordering on sharp. “I believe she is dead and we will not speak on her.”

  Josephine was a little shocked at his tone and shut her mouth immediately. Realizing he’d sounded harsh, Andrew was sorry he had snapped at her. He’d not meant to, but where his mother was concerned, he was emotionally unsteady. The last time he’d seen his mother, she was being dragged to her chambers by his brother’s men and there wasn’t a damned thing Andrew could do to help her. Nay, he didn’t want to talk about the gentle Elaine.

  The woman he’d failed those years ago.

  The destrier came out of the woods and stomped up onto the dirt road, heading towards Torridon, which loomed in the distance. For a ride that had been so pleasant a short time ago, Josephine could not wait for it to end. She had no idea why Andrew was angry with her and, in truth, he had hurt her feelings with his sharp tone. But why did she care if he was angry? Whatever she’d said to anger him, she didn’t care any longer. She wanted to get back to Torridon, off of the horse, and away from the moody Andrew d’Vant.

  So much for the warm attraction she felt for him. It had been a fleeting thing.

  They rode to the castle in silence and entered the outer bailey. People were milling about, hurrying to their destinations, and a flock of loose chickens squawked in panic as the horse walked through them. Somewhere overhead, she heard a knight bellowing orders up on the wall.

  A sense of relief and familiarity flooded into her as they crossed into the inner bailey. She was glad to be home. But her anger and confusion had not abated and, immediately upon crossing the threshold into the inner bailey, Josephine pulled herself from Andrew’s grip and slid to the ground. Without so much as a word, she marched off across the mud and straight into the keep.

  Andrew watched her ramrod-straight back as she mounted the stairs and disappeared into the bowels of the castle. He knew he had hurt her feelings, but he could not apologize without including an explanation and he wasn’t ready to do that yet. His past, his secrets… they were for him and him alone. They weren’t for him to share with someone he’d only known a few days.

  Even if he was wildly attracted to her.

  As Andrew turned the destrier towards the stables, a smile played on his lips. All was not lost; he would see Josephine at the evening meal and, mayhap, he could make amends without apologizing for his shortness with her. Women had always told him that he possessed uncanny charm. If that were truly so, then it would come in handy tonight, as the thought of Josephine angry with him strangely disturbed him. He didn’t want her to be angry with him.

  Tonight, he would do what he could to change that.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Come the evening, everyone in the castle and most everyone in the village knew of Lady Josephine’s afternoon adventure. But, at what usually happens with a tale, it transformed as it passed from person to person, and soon villagers were chatting excitably about the rape of Lady Josephine and how the mercenary lord, The Red Fury, had charged in to save her by chopping off the heads of fifty gypsies single-handedly. By nightfall, it was a truly unbelievable tale.

  As the sun dipped behind the gentle western hills, and the sky became rich hues of purple and pink, torches were lit about the castle and the village to the south. The villagers still talked of the ordeal and of the larger than life Andrew d’Vant while their su
ppers inside their warm huts went cold.

  Inside the castle, now locked up against the night, everyone was converging in the great hall where tantalizing smells of venison and pork beckoned them. The hall was alive with torches and musicians, with people taking their seats as servants rushed forward to assist them. Several knights already sat at the head table but did not eat, as they were correctly waiting for their mistresses. They spoke quietly between themselves as to the events of the day, clarifying what had actually transpired and speculating as to the very reasons in the first place. The fact that it had ended well made the situation seem almost comical in retrospect.

  But there were a few who weren’t laughing, Donald Muir being one of them. He sat with the knights, his eyes blackened and his swollen nose bandaged. He listened with awe and regret that he had not been able to assist Josephine in her hour of need. That was what his father had sent him for, after all. But he had spent last night and all day sleeping off the poppy Josephine had given him. He’d missed all of the excitement and felt rather worthless for it.

  As Donald wallowed in guilt, Josephine was up in her bower as she prepared for the evening meal. She sat at her dressing table clad in a magnificent pink silk. It turned the tint in her cheeks and lips to an almost identical color. Her hair was pulled back and was secured in a bun at the nape of her neck, covered by a glittering silver net that started at the crown of her head and swept down the back like a glistening waterfall. A few tendrils of hair caressed her chin and neck.

  It was a beautiful image, in truth, but Josephine’s expression was anything but pleasant. She stared at herself in the mirror, reluctant for what she must say this night.

  She was back to where she was before the escapade of the stolen pies. She was back to delivering the news of the king’s visit to Sully and the rest of the inhabitants of Torridon, and she was back to feeling nervous and uncertain about it. In desperation, she had sent Ola for Sully – she had decided it was best that she inform him first, before the rest. She would need his wisdom and guidance, hoping he could give that to her and not rage out of control.

  Josephine’s stomach churned as she looked at her reflection. How could the king ask her to marry Colin? Especially when he knew the long, bloody history and the deep-seated hatred the families harbored against each other? He was as much as condemning her to death. Of course, she didn’t know if that was what the man was going to ask of her, but to travel all the way from Edinburgh simply to visit her… something was in the wind. The king was coming with a purpose.

  It was her wild imagination that told her what the purpose was.

  A knock at the door roused her from her thoughts and Josephine rose from her dressing table. Taking a deep breath for courage, she bade the caller to enter and Sully opened the door, closing it softly behind him. When his gaze fell upon her, he smiled warmly.

  “Three days of events seem to not have an adverse effect on you,” he observed. “How are you feeling?”

  Josephine shrugged. “I am weary,” she said. “But I did not send for you to speak on my health. I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

  He saw the expression on her face and felt a twinge of apprehension. “Of course, my lady,” he said. “I am at your disposal.”

  Now, the time was upon her. Nervously, Josephine looked away, as if trying to find the correct words.

  “I received a dispatch from King Alexander three days ago,” she said finally. “He is coming to visit next week.”

  Sully’s eyes widened. “The king? At Torridon?”

  “Aye.”

  Sully was at a loss. “Why was I not notified of this before now?”

  Josephine turned to him. “Because I told the gatehouse guards not to tell you,” she said. “A missive from the king is worrisome enough without you breathing down my neck to know the contents.”

  He looked at her, perhaps a bit cut down by her words. “I did not realize that I breathed down your neck.”

  She relented a bit. “I did not mean that,” she said. “I simply meant that I wanted to read the missive and digest it before speaking to you about it.”

  “And have you?”

  She nodded, looking the slightest bit sickened. “It simply says he is coming to discuss important matters, but I believe I know what they are,” she said. “You know that Colin Dalmellington has been pestering the king to name him as rightful heir to Torridon and I believe he intends to inform me of his decision. Personally.”

  Sully looked at her suspiciously. “What decision?”

  Josephine looked long and hard at him before answering. “Sully, you are sworn to obey me, are you not?” she asked firmly. “You will do whatever I ask of you?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “To the death, my lady.”

  “Then if I comply with the king’s wishes, you will do as you are told?”

  He read defeat in her eyes and felt his heart sink. “I will always do as you wish.”

  She lowered her eyes, feeling so very disgusted at what she was about to say. “I believe our king will wish for me to marry Colin and turn Torridon over to him as my dowry,” she said, her voice hollow. “That is not what the king’s missive said, but something inside of me tells me that is his purpose.”

  Sully could feel the blood drain from his face as realization dawned. Marrying Colin Dalmellington had never entered his mind, probably because the very thought of Josephine marrying anyone crazed him. But marriage to evil Colin? He thought, mayhap, that the king would simply demand she turn over Torridon and end the bloodshed once and for all… but marriage to an enemy?

  Sully’s mind reeled at the mere thought. He had to turn away from her. No wonder she had made him swear his loyalty first; she knew exactly what his initial reaction would be. But he couldn’t help himself. God help him, all he could feel was blind rage.

  “I shall kill him,” he finally growled. “Before I witness any such union, I shall kill him.”

  Josephine wasn’t sure if he meant the king, or Colin, or both. She knew he would react in this fashion and she had dreaded it. But because she was prepared for his outrage, she was able to deal with it and not buckle under.

  “Nay, Sully,” she said calmly. “You will be of no use to me dead, which is exactly what you will become should you defy King Alexander’s wishes. I need you alive.”

  His jaw flexed as he looked away from her. Josephine knew the dilemma and she knew his pride. She also knew his undying loyalty to Hugh, and allowing Josephine to marry Colin Dalmellington would be failing his master. Her heart ached more for his internal conflict than it did for her own future.

  Josephine went up behind him quietly, putting her arms around him and laying her cheek on his warm back. It was a gesture of friendship, of family, and of sadness. But to Sully, it was far more than that; it was a touch that took his breath away, that doused the anger in his heart. It was a touch he would have given the rest of his life for had it been a touch of affection or even love. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling her touch down to his very bones.

  “Please, Sully,” Josephine begged softly. “You and Justine are all that I have left. I lost my father and my brother. I do not want to lose you, too.”

  He shook his head. “You will never lose me, my lady,” he said huskily. “This, I promise.”

  “Then you will swear no violence towards the king or his directive.”

  Sully hesitated. “No violence, I swear.”

  Josephine wasn’t sure she believed him, but she didn’t press him. “Whatever the king asks of me, we will obey peacefully. Agreed?”

  “As you wish.”

  Josephine released him and he turned to look her. She was so lovely in the flickering light. A tug-of-war ensued in his mind, a fight between rage and softness. Rage at the king and his horrid agenda, and softness towards Josephine. She was in no position to defy the king and they both knew it. He wished he could think of a way to help her out of it.

  Sully had been a soldier since his yo
uth. The ways of court and diplomacy did not come easily to him. Military tactics and planning were as natural as breathing, and he was always correct in his judgment. Therefore, it was very difficult for him to stand helplessly by while his mistress was at the mercy of the king, and there was nothing he could do to protect her. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t fully prepared to risk his life for her.

  Without a word, he knelt down before her and took her right hand into his. His pale blue eyes were intense as he gazed up at her.

  “You are my commander, Lady Josephine de Carron,” he said hoarsely. “I have been and always shall be yours. Whatever you ask of me, I shall do without question. But if that should include serving under Colin Dalmellington, know that I will do it under great personal protest. But I will never, ever leave you.”

  Josephine could hear that angst in his tone. She could see it in his eyes, and she hurt for him. “It pains me to ask you to serve Dalmellington when you have as much hatred for them as I do,” she said. “Believe me, I derive no pleasure from the thought of sharing Colin’s bed.”

  Sully’s jaw ticked at the mere thought. God, he was sickened by it. But looking up into her pale face, it occurred to him how selfish he was acting. Josephine would be the one at the center of the storm. He was only a bystander, yet he was acting like he was to be directly affected.

  “Hopefully, it may not come to that,” he said softly. “Mayhap, God will grant us a miracle.”

  Her smile faded. “Mayhap,” she said wistfully.

  But she wasn’t counting on it.

  *

  The mood of the Knight’s Haven was, to say the least, somber.

  The knights of Torridon, plus Josephine, Andrew, Thane, and Donald had taken the evening meal in the great hall and, upon the conclusion of it, Josephine proceeded to inform the knights of the king’s visit and her suspicions as to the reason. Once she was finished, the room was deathly still with shock and disbelief. Josephine had never felt more like crying in her life. For Torridon to come to this end was sorrowful.