Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Now, the true test of her strength would begin.

  “My Lord Earl,” she said steadily. “If you wanted to visit me, you did not have to break my door down or gore my friend. That was truly unnecessary.”

  Alphonse staggered a couple of steps and let his bloodied sword clatter to the ground. His eyes blinked slowly. He appeared dazed. It occurred to Josephine that after the initial burst into her chamber, he didn’t look the least bit agitated. In fact, he seemed oddly calm.

  “I told you we had much to speak of at the feast,” he said, slurring his words. “Now, we will speak.”

  “Of course. What do you wish to speak of?”

  Alphonse wasn’t expecting such a calm, level-headed woman. He was used to women cowering when he was around. He thought he might yell at Josephine, or even grab her, but he couldn’t seem to do either. All he could do was stare at her and say the first thing that came to mind.

  “Do you know that I have never in my life had anything pure and untouched?” he said. “I have decided that I will not touch you before our wedding.”

  Josephine was astonished to hear that. Her knees suddenly became weak and she whispered a silent, heartfelt prayer of thanks. Hopefully, he truly meant it because that declaration made all the difference in the world to her.

  “I am pleased that you would respect my wishes, milord,” she said, her voice trembling with relief. “Please sit, and I shall bring wine.”

  Alphonse looked around the room for a chair, staggering over to one near the hearth and falling into it. With a sharp crack, the chair disintegrated, depositing the earl onto the stone floor.

  Josephine’s eyes widened. She was positive he was going to rage. Instead, he laughed loudly.

  “Can’t the Scots do anything right, even fashion a decent chair?” he said, rising like a drunken sailor. He was so large that Josephine dared not help him for fear of being squashed. “I need another chair!”

  Josephine pointed to a bigger, heavier chair but he ignored it. Instead, he lumbered over to the bed and sat heavily upon it, looking at the furniture before shrugging.

  “Very well that this can hold me,” he said, then looked to Josephine. “Now, you will tell me of my brother. I understand you were pledged to him.”

  Josephine tried not to show her surprise at the question and, honestly, the apprehension. She was shocked that the earl had been told of her betrothal to Andrew and she knew, instinctively, that she must be very careful what to say. Alphonse had run off Andrew many years ago and she was afraid that hatred was still there. It was a very tricky situation.

  “He is a fair and honorable man,” she replied steadily. “He commands an army of a thousand men.”

  Alphonse pondered that in his drunken mind. “I am told he is The Red Fury.”

  “He is.”

  More silence as Alphonse mulled that over. “You know that he hates me.”

  “I know,” Josephine answered honestly.

  The earl looked at her for a moment, and then laughed. “Good,” he said. “I hate him, too. He was always father’s favorite son.”

  Josephine didn’t say anything. Truly, she didn’t know what to say, afraid that anything she said might enrage a man who was already dangerously off-balance. But Alphonse remained calm as he continued.

  “Andrew was a quiet child, and very serious. I, on the other hand, was more assertive. Father never liked that,” he said. “When father died, I was going to kill Andrew. Do not look appalled; it is true. He reminded me of what a failure I was in our father’s eyes, so I swore to be rid of him. But the little bastard escaped me when I banished him instead.”

  Josephine watched him silently. Wine certainly seemed to loosen him up, she noted. He was a pitiful creature and was absolutely terrifying at the same time, making it an odd paradox. But she had no sympathy for him. It would be misplaced as well as unhealthy.

  “And what of your mother?” she asked quietly, leading him into a subject she was very curious about. “Surely she did not have favorites among her sons.”

  Alphonse waved a sloppy hand at her. “Of course she did,” he said. “The bitch loved Andrew more than she loved me. In fact, she hated me.”

  It seemed to be a sore subject. Josephine knew it was probably dangerous to speak on his mother, but she couldn’t help herself. For Andrew’s sake, she found that she had to know.

  “Does she live in your home?” she asked, pretending to be ignorant.

  Alphonse shook his head, very nearly losing his balance. “She lives in my dungeons, which is where you shall end up if you do not please me.”

  Josephine was shocked to hear that. “She is still alive?”

  “Of course.” He waved another sloppy hand at her. “Her every need is tended to.”

  Locked up in a dungeon for years on end. What a horrible fate, Josephine thought. “It is cruel to keep your own mother locked away,” she said boldly. “After all, the woman birthed you.”

  Alphonse didn’t reply. He simply lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Josephine watched him closely, wondering if he was going to fall asleep in her bed. If he did, she was going to run and run fast. She found herself praying he would fall asleep but, after a few moments, he spoke again.

  “Talk to me,” he mumbled. “What have you been doing since you left the feast? That big knight took you away. Who is he?”

  “He is the king’s bodyguard.”

  Alphonse’s eyes opened and he turned his head to look at her. “Do you know what I have been doing since I left the feast?”

  She already knew but she didn’t want to tell him that. “What?”

  “Fucking,” he said as if he were proud of it. “Did you not hear the screaming earlier?”

  Josephine felt sick to her stomach. “I did,” she said reluctantly. “What happened?”

  He suddenly rolled onto his side, struggling to sit up. “You see, my lady, I have a problem,” he said. “My problem is that my male organ is as large as a prized bull’s and women, as a rule, cannot accommodate me. So what am I to do? Give up fucking altogether? Of course not. Women are like chickens; a penny for a dozen, so I shall never go hungry. What you heard tonight was just a dying chicken.”

  God, was he truly so callous? Josephine had never felt such horror in all her life. “And what about me?” Josephine demanded. “Am I a chicken, too? Do you intend to use me and watch me die?”

  He scratched his chin. “I have not decided yet,” he said. “Mayhap not. You are to be my wife, after all, and I should like to have sons someday to inherit my title. I suppose I shall have to be careful with you.”

  Josephine was so appalled at the whole line of this conversation that she was beginning to tremble. “It would be kind if you were,” she said. “I… I will be a worthy wife, my lord. I… I am sure I would give you fine sons.”

  She hated how she sounded as if she were pleading with him, trying to sell herself to him so he wouldn’t think she was another “chicken” to be plucked. Anything to keep the man talking, to keep him away from her, until Andrew or the king or someone else with a big sword and the ability to overcome the earl could arrive.

  But Alphonse seemed too drunk to really care. He managed to push himself off her bed, standing next to it and weaving dangerously as he looked at her.

  “You had better,” he said, his manner turning threatening. “If our firstborn is a daughter, I will drown both of you in the river. Remember that.”

  Josephine could feel the evil radiating off of him. She knew he meant every word. “I will, my lord.”

  He stared at her a moment longer. He could have been thinking about anything at that moment; it was difficult to tell. Josephine waited for the next vile thing to come out of his mouth but, instead, he simply turned for the door. As he walked past her, he reached out to pat her on the face. He probably really only meant a gentle pat, as one would pat a child or a pet, but with his strength and bad manners, he ended up slapping her. Josephine’s head snapped sidew
ays as he headed for the door.

  “I will be taking you back to Haldane Castle on the morrow,” he told her. “Be ready to travel at dawn. I will send my men to collect your baggage before sunrise, so be prepared. If you are not ready, I shall not wait. I will bundle you up in whatever state you happen to be in and toss you onto the wagon. Is that clear?”

  Hand to her stinging cheek, Josephine looked at the man as he neared the door. So he was planning on taking her immediately from Edinburgh? Her thoughts rapidly turned to the plans Andrew had spoken of, how he’d assumed the wedding would be at Edinburgh. He’d been wrong, but that wasn’t a bad thing – he wanted to challenge his brother on the open road. So if Alphonse was planning on leaving on the morrow, then that was perfect for Andrew’s purposes.

  At least, she hoped so. If they could find the man in time.

  “It is, my lord,” she said. “I will be ready. Good sleep to you.”

  Alphonse paused by the door, turning to look at her. But he was so drunk and so weary, that he simply stood there and weaved about. Unable to answer because she had given him the exact answer he had expected, and therefore had nothing more to threaten her with, he pulled back the broken panel that he’d come smashing through only to be met head-on by Alexander and several heavily-armed men out in the corridor.

  The first thing the king did was push through the broken door, positive he was going to find a broken, dead woman on the floor of the chamber, but was vastly surprised to find Josephine relatively unharmed but for an angry red hand print on her left cheek. With great concern, Alexander went to her.

  “Are you well?” he asked. “Did he harm you?”

  Josephine was very relieved to see him. “He did not harm me, at least not intentionally,” she said. “But he gored Nicholas. Is he all right? Will he live?”

  Alexander sighed heavily, great distress on his face. “He is dead,” he said. “There was nothing to be done for him.”

  Josephine’s eyes filled with tears at the death of her sweet, gentle poet friend. “I am so sorry,” she whispered, the tears spilling over. “He did not even have a weapon. The earl burst through my door and stabbed Nicholas when he tried to protect me.”

  Alexander’s features tensed and he turned to Alphonse, who was still in the doorway and unable to move forward because of so many armed men. As Josephine turned away and wept over her lost friend, Alexander went into a rage.

  “You killed my nephew,” he cried, grabbing Alphonse by the arm and trying to force the drunken giant to face him. “I should kill you myself!”

  Alphonse wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t rise to the threat. “What nephew?”

  “The man you killed in this chamber tonight!”

  Alphonse barely remembered Nicholas. “He threatened my life!” he boomed. “Am I not allowed to defend myself? He was also in my betrothed’s chambers, where he should not have been. I have a right to protect what belongs to me!”

  Alexander was beyond enraged. But above that rage, the sage politician was able to think clearly. He knew that imprisoning the earl would bring with it an abundance of trouble and, in truth, he didn’t need or want that kind of trouble. Poor Nicholas deserved justice, but in the world of political dealings and political balance, Alexander wasn’t willing to make an enemy out of Blackbank. Not even for Nicholas. But, God, this relationship was becoming more complicated, and more unsavory, by the minute.

  He was starting to wonder if the alliance was worth the trouble.

  “You will leave Edinburgh tonight,” Alexander snarled. “I want you out of my home. Go back to Haldane and be grateful that I do not seek revenge for what you have done to my nephew. But know this, the betrothal between you and my cousin is dissolved. I will not pledge her to such a fiend.”

  That wasn’t something that Alphonse wanted to hear. A massive hand shot out, grabbing the king by the neck as his men surged forward and tried to separate them. All the while, Alphonse was snarling in Alexander’s face.

  “She belongs to me,” he said. “I will take her with me or I will destroy this castle with my army. You will have a battle on your hands if you do not give me what you promised me!”

  Men were shouting and jostling around, and somewhere in the middle of it, Josephine suddenly appeared.

  She had heard the king’s command and it occurred to her that if she did not go with Alphonse, not only could Andrew not challenge the man once he left Edinburgh, but there may very well be a huge amount of trouble here at Edinburgh with an enraged Earl of Annan and Blackbank and the somewhat large contingent of men he’d brought with him.

  Men would die if there was fighting in the castle and Josephine wasn’t willing to chance that. She couldn’t see Donald or Sully or even Ridge or Andrew suffer because of her. She would have to trust Andrew to catch up to them as they traveled back to Haldane.

  She knew the man would save her.

  It was the only choice.

  “Nay, my lord,” she said to Alexander as he struggled in the midst of a sea of men. “I will go with him. That was the promise and it is not worth men’s lives to break that promise. Nicholas has already paid the highest price. I would not see more men dead because of me.”

  The jostling and shouting came to a halt as all eyes turned in her direction. Alexander, in particular, appeared stunned by her words. His face was red from where Alphonse had grabbed him around the neck and he was, in truth, still in Alphonse’s grip. But he looked at Josephine as if she had lost her mind.

  “Are you mad?” he asked. “You begged me not to betroth you to this man and now you wish to go with him?”

  Josephine looked at Alphonse, who had the look of a killer spread over his face. “My lord,” she said quietly. “Release him. I must speak to him.”

  Alphonse eyed her; what was the little witch up to? But he was rather softened by her pretty face and the fact that she said she would go with him. She was willing. That alone caused him to break his grip on the king and as men pulled him back, boxing him in and restraining him, Josephine took the king by the hand and led him over to the hearth, quickly, where they could speak in private.

  “Why would you say such a thing?” Alexander hissed at her. “Do you truly wish to be wed to such a man?”

  Josephine shook her head, still wiping at her eyes from the weeping she’d done for Nicholas. “Nay, I do not,” she whispered. “But if you do not let me go with him, it will tear Edinburgh a part. He has many men with him, my lord. You know this. If he is angry enough, men will die as he fights to take me back to Haldane. Nicholas was already far too high of a price to pay for that and I do not wish for any more men to die.”

  Alexander could see that she was very serious. “I am sorry I broke your betrothal with The Red Fury,” he said. “I see now that my choice, although something I felt strongly about at the time, was wrong. Blackbank is a beast; a beast who killed Nicholas.”

  It was a surprising apology about the betrothal. Josephine could see, in that moment, that he was grieving for the nephew he had been so hard on. She felt sorry for the man.

  “Then let me go,” she murmured. “But when I do, you must tell Andrew and Sully what has happened. They will come after me, have no fear, and Blackbank will be no more. In their actions, you shall have your justice for Nicholas. And for me.”

  It began to occur to Alexander what she was saying. “They will kill him?”

  She nodded firmly. “It is something Andrew must do,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “It is something he has sworn to do since Alphonse sent him away from Haldane when he was a youth. Andrew has carried this vengeance around with him all of these years and he cannot fail. Will you do this, then? Tell them I have gone with Alphonse. Sometimes, one man can do what an entire army cannot. Andrew will know what needs to be done. He has been waiting all of his life to do it.”

  Alexander could see the logic. The thought of The Red Fury punishing Blackbank for what he’d done to Nicholas was overwhelmingly satisfyi
ng.

  “If The Red Fury will do this for me,” Alexander said quietly, “then I can promise you that Torridon will never again have trouble with Colin Dalmellington.”

  Josephine could see what a beneficial deal this was for both of them. The only problem was that she was going to have to put herself in mortal danger before any of it could be accomplished. But somehow, it didn’t seem like danger. She’d faced the enemy and she’d established a rapport with him. She felt confident she could hold the man off, at least until Andrew arrived. And he would arrive.

  She was sure of it.

  “For Nicholas,” she said softly, feeling tears sting her eyes again.

  Alexander nodded, suddenly looking very old and very sad. It was apparent that his nephew’s death was more than he could bear.

  “For Nicholas,” he whispered.

  By midnight, Josephine was moving out with the Earl of Annan and Blackbank’s army, disappearing into the foggy Edinburgh night.

  PART FOUR:

  AND HELL FOLLOWED WITH HIM

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  At some point, Andrew realized he was staring up at an old, cracked ceiling.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at it but, at some point, it occurred to him that he was, indeed, looking at it. The ceiling was low, attached to walls that were equally crumbling and cracked, and as he turned his head, he could see the floor that was piled high with old, moldy hay.

  And the smell – it smelled heavily of urine in the chamber. It made his nose twitch, but the twitching nose pulled at his mouth and made him realize that he was gagged. When he tried to move, he was also bound hand-and-foot, tied to the bed. The only thing he seemed to be able to move freely was his head, and he looked around, noticing that he was tied up on a bed frame. He had no idea how he got here.

  There was some disorientation with that thought. Plus, his head was killing him. It throbbed as if he’d been on a week-long drinking binge and the stale air in the chamber wasn’t helping. There was a window cut into one wall, but it was covered with a dark oiled cloth that had holes in it. He could see daylight streaming in from the holes and, beyond the window, he could hear noise that sounded like a busy city.