Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Before she left the hall, however, Josephine passed a final glance at her husband, sitting at the feasting table and laughing at something Donald had said. It made her heart swell simply to look upon the man. She told him once that he was her sun and her moon, and that statement had only grown more true and powerful as time went on. She adored him more than words could express, this man who had reinvented himself not once, but twice – once as a powerful mercenary, and now as a benevolent lord. She knew that there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do if he set his mind to it.

  Except one thing.

  He couldn’t change the sex of the baby Josephine gave birth to two months later into a boy. After a very fast and easy delivery on a rainy night in July, Josephine found herself looking at a big, healthy girl delivered by Oletha, the healer that traveled with Andrew’s former mercenary army. Andrew had requested the woman be present for the birth of his son, and she was.

  But no amount of checking the baby’s body would indicate that the initial diagnosis that it was a girl was, in fact, a mistake, and Josephine was genuinely concerned that Andrew might be upset about it. But once the new father was brought in to see his wife and child, and handed the mewling infant, the fact that it wasn’t a boy didn’t seem to upset Andrew in the least. He was utterly, deeply in love with the infant as only a new father could be, but he had insisted on naming the child just the same. He’d had the same name picked out whether it had been a boy or a girl, and Josephine had tears in her eyes when he told her his choice.

  Joey Elaine Nicola d’Vant.

  For The Red Fury, for Josephine, and for those so deeply intertwined in their lives, it seemed that life had come full circle, indeed.

  * THE END *

  THE DARK LORD

  A Medieval Romance

  By Kathryn Le Veque

  ‘Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,—Woe for that man who in harm and hatred hales his soul to fiery embraces’

  —Beowulf, Chapter II

  CHAPTER ONE

  May, 1180 AD

  Scots Borderlands, England

  He had her by the hair; strands of spun gold clutched in the dirty mailed glove. Perhaps it was because she had tried to bite him and he did not want to chance another encounter with her sharp white teeth. Or perhaps it was because he was a brute of a man, sworn to Ajax de Velt and knowing little else but inflicting terror. Whatever the case, he had her tightly. She was trapped.

  The woman and her father were on their knees in great hall of the keep that had once belonged to them. Now it was their prison as enemy soldiers overran the place. There were memories of warmth and laughter embedded in the old stone walls, now erased by the terror that filled the room.

  Pelinom Castle had been breached before midnight when de Velt’s army had tunneled under the northeast tower of the wall, causing it to collapse. The woman and her father had tried to escape, along with the populace of their castle, but de Velt’s men had swarmed them like locusts. It was over before it began.

  Around her, the woman could hear the cries of her people as de Velt’s men ensnared them. She had been captured by an enormous knight with blood splashed on his plate armor and she had understandably panicked. Even now, trapped against the floor of the great hall, she was panicked and terrified. Tales of de Velt’s atrocities were well known in the lawless north of England, for it was a dark and lawless time. She knew they were about to enter Hell.

  From the corner of her eye, she could see her father on his knees. Sir Keats Coleby was a proud man and he had resisted the invasion gallantly. Why he hadn’t been outright killed, as the garrison commander, was a mystery. But he was well-bloodied for his efforts. The woman couldn’t see his face and she fixed her gaze back to the floor where the knight held her head. He very nearly had her nose pushed into the stone.

  There was a great deal of activity around them. She could hear men shouting orders as the screams of her people eventually faded. Horror consumed her, knowing that de Velt’s men were more than likely doing unspeakable things to her servants and soldiers. Tears stung her eyes but she fought them. She wondered what horrors de Velt had planned for her and her father.

  She didn’t have long to wait. With her face nearly pressed to the stone, she heard a deep, rumbling voice.

  “Your name, knight.”

  The woman’s father answered without hesitation. “Sir Keats Coleby.”

  “You are commander of Pelinom, are you not?”

  “I am.”

  “And the girl?”

  “My daughter, the Lady Kellington.”

  The silence that filled the air was full of anxiety. Kellington could hear boot falls all around her, though it was difficult to see just how many men were surrounding them. It felt like the entire army.

  “Release her,” she heard the voice say.

  Immediately, the hand in her hair was removed and she stiffly lifted her head. Several unfriendly faces were glaring down at her, some from behind raised visors, some from helmless men. There were six in all, three knights and at least three soldiers. There could have been more standing behind her that she did not see, but for now, six was enough. Kellington’s heart was pounding loudly in her ears as she looked around, waiting for the coming confrontation. The knight to her right spoke.

  “How old are you, girl?”

  She swallowed; her mouth was so dry that there was nothing to swallow and she ended up choking. “I have seen eighteen years, my lord.”

  The knight shifted on his big legs and moved in front of her; Kellington’s golden-brown eyes dared to gaze up at him, noting a rather youngish warrior with a few days growth of beard and close-shorn blond hair. He didn’t look as frightening as she had imagined, but she knew if the man was sworn to de Velt, then he must be horrible indeed.

  “Does your husband serve Pelinom?” he asked, his deep voice somewhat quieter.

  “I am not married, my lord.”

  The knight glanced over at Keats, who met his gaze steadily. Then he turned his back on them both, leaving them to stew in fear. Kellington watched him closely, struggling to keep her composure. She wasn’t a flighty woman by nature, but panic was the only option at the moment.

  “Are there any others of the ruling house here?” the knight paused and turned to look at them. “Only the garrison commander and his daughter? No sons, no husband, no brothers?”

  Keats shook his head. “Just my daughter and I.”

  He deliberately left out ‘my lord’. If it bothered the knight, he did not show it. Instead, he turned his focus to the gallery above, the ceiling and the walls. Pelinom was a small but rich and strategically desirable castle and he was pleased that they had managed to capture her relatively intact. The chorus of screams that had been prevalent since the army breached the bailey suddenly picked up again, but the knight pretended not to notice. He returned his focus to Keats.

  “If you are lying to me, know that it will only harm you in the end,” he said in a low voice. “The only class spared at this time is the ruling house. All others are put to death, so you may as well confess before we kill someone who is important to you.”

  Keats didn’t react but Kellington’s eyes widened. She had never been a prisoner before and had no idea of the etiquette or behaviors involved. Living a rather isolated existence at Pelinom for most of her life, it had left her protected for the most part. This siege, this horror, was new and raw.

  “What does that mean?” she demanded before she could stop her tongue. “It is only my father and I, but my father has knights who serve him and we have servants who live here and…”

  The knight flicked his eyes in her direction. “You will no longer concern yourself over them.”

  She leapt to her feet. “My lord, please,” she breathed, her lovely face etched with anguish. “My father’s knight and friend is Sir Trevan. He was with us when you captured us, but now I do not see him. Please do not harm him. He has a new infant and…”

  “The weak and small are th
e first to be put to the blade. They are a waste of food and space within a military encampment.”

  Kellington’s eyes grew wider, tears constricting her throat. Her hands flew to her mouth. “You cannot,” she whispered. “Sir Trevan and his wife waited years for their son to be born. He is so small and helpless. Surely you cannot harm him. Please; I beseech you.”

  The knight lifted an eyebrow at her. Then he glanced at the other knights and soldiers standing around them; they were all de Velt men, born and bred to war. All they knew was death, destruction and greed. There was little room for compassion. He looked to Keats once more.

  “Explain to your daughter the way of things,” he turned away from them, seemingly pensive. “I will listen to what you tell her.”

  Keats sighed heavily, his gaze finding his only child. Though a woman grown she was, in fact, hardly taller than a child. But her short stature did nothing to detract from a deliciously womanly figure that had come upon her at an early age. Keats had seen man after man take a second look at his petite daughter, investigating the golden hair and face of an angel. He was frankly surprised that the de Velt men hadn’t taken her for sport yet, for she was truly a gorgeous little thing. He was dreading it, knowing it was only a matter of time and there was nothing on earth he could do to stop them. The thought made him ill.

  “Kelli,” he said softly. “I know that you do not understand since you have never seen a battle, but this is war. There are no rules. The victor will do as he pleases and we, as his prisoners, must obey.”

  “He will kill a baby?” she fired back. “That is unthinkable; it’s madness. Why must they kill the child? He’s done nothing!”

  “But he could grow up to do something,” Keats tried to keep her calm. “Do you remember your Bible? Remember how the Pharaoh killed all of the first born males of Israel, afraid that one of them would grow up to be the man prophesized to overthrow him? ’Tis the same with war, lamb chop. The enemy does not see man, woman or child. He only sees a potential killer.”

  “You understand well the concept of destruction.”

  They all turned to the sound of the voice; a deep, booming tone that rattled the very walls. Keat’s had the first reaction all evening, his brown eyes widening for a split second before fading. Kellington stared at the man who had just entered the great hall as all of the other men around her seemed to straighten. Even the knight who had been doing the questioning moved forward quickly to greet the latest arrival.

  “My lord,” he said evenly. “This is Sir Keats Coleby, garrison commander of Pelinom, and his daughter the Lady Kellington. They claim that they are the only two members of the ruling house.”

  The man who stood in the entrance to the great hall was covered in mail, plate protection and gore. He still wore his helm, a massive thing with horns that jutted out of the crown. He was easily a head taller than even the tallest man in the room and his hands were as large as trenchers. The man’s enormity was an understatement; he was colossal.

  He radiated everything evil that had ever walked upon the earth. Kellington felt it from where she stood and her heart began to pound painfully. She resisted the urge to run to her father for protection, for she knew that no mortal could give protection against this. The very air of the great hall changed the moment the enormous man entered it. It pressed against her like a weight.

  The great helmed head turned in the direction of the knight who had been doing the interrogation, now standing before him. Then he loosened a gauntlet enough to pull it off, raising his visor with an uncovered hand. The hand was dirty, the nails black with gore.

  “I’ve been told the same,” he replied, his voice bottomless. “We counted only four knights total, including Coleby, so this is the lot of them.”

  “Would you finish questioning the prisoners, my lord?”

  For the first time, the helmed head turned in their direction. Kellington felt a physical impact as his eyes, the only thing visible through the helm, focused on her. Then she noticed the strangest thing; the left eye was muddy brown while the right eye, while mostly of the same muddy color, had a huge splash of bright green in it. The man had two different colored eyes. It unnerved her almost to the point of panic again.

  “I heard some of what you were saying,” the enormous knight said, still focused on Kellington. Then he looked at Keats. “Your explanation was true. You comprehend the rules of engagement and warfare so there will be no misunderstanding.”

  Keats didn’t reply; he didn’t have to. He knew who the man was without explanation and his heart sank. The knight continued into the room, scratching his forehead through the raised visor. Kellington followed him, noticing he passed closely next to her. She barely came up to his chest.

  “I am de Velt,” he said, returning his attention to both Kellington and Keats. “Pelinom Castle is now mine and you are my prisoners. If you think to plead for your lives, now would be the time.”

  “We must plead for our lives?” Kellington blurted. “But why?”

  The massive knight looked at her but did not speak. The second knight, the one in charge of the interrogation, answered. “You are the enemy, my lady. What else are we to do with you?”

  “You do not have to kill us,” she insisted, looking between the men.

  “Kelli,” her father hissed sharply.

  “Nay, Father,” she waved him off, returning her golden-brown focus to de Velt. “Please, my lord, tell me why you would not spare our lives? If you were the commander of Pelinom, would you not have defended it also? That does not make us the enemy. It simply makes us the besieged. We were protecting ourselves as is our right.”

  De Velt’s gaze lingered on her a moment. Then he flicked his eyes to the man at his side.

  “Take Coleby.”

  “No!” Kellington screamed, throwing herself forward. She tripped on her own feet and ended up falling into de Velt. With small soft hands, she clutched his grisly mail. “Please, my lord, do not kill my father. I beg of you. I will do anything you ask, only do not kill my father. Please.”

  Jax gazed down at her impassively. When he spoke, it was to his men. “Do as I say. Remove the father.”

  The tears came, then. “Please, my lord,” she begged softly. “I have heard that you are a man with no mercy and it would be easy to believe that were I to give credit to the rumors of your cruelty. But I believe there is mercy in every man, my lord, even you. Please show us your mercy. Do not do this horrible thing. My father is an honorable man. He was only defending his keep.”

  Jax wasn’t looking at her; he was watching his men pull Keats to his feet. But the older knight’s attention was on his distraught daughter.

  “Kelli,” he hissed at her. “Enough, lamb chop. I would have your brave face be the last thing I see as I leave this room.”

  Kellington ignored her father, her pleas focused on Jax. “If there is any punishment to be dealt, I will take it. If it will spare my father and our vassals, I will gladly submit. Do what you will with me, but spare the others. I beseech you, my lord.”

  Jax’s face remained like stone. Seeing that the enormous knight was ignoring her, Kellington broke free and raced to her father, throwing herself against him as de Velt’s men pulled him from the room. Keats tried to dislodge her, but his hands were bound and men were pulling on him, making it difficult.

  “No, Father,” she wept, her arms around is left leg. “I will not see you face the blade alone. They will have to kill me, too.”

  “No,” Keats commanded softly, hoping the knights dragging him out would at least give him a moment with his only daughter. He lifted his bound arms and looped them around her, pulling her into an awkward embrace. “It is not your time to die. You will live and you will be strong. Know that I love you very much, little lamb. You have made me proud.”

  Kellington wept uncontrollably. Her father kissed her as their brief time together was harshly ended. There were many men attempting to separate them and someone grabbed her around h
er tiny waist and pulled her free. It was de Velt.

  “Lock the girl in the vault,” he commanded. “Take the father to the bailey and wait for me there.”

  He handed her over to the blond knight, who heaved her up over his shoulder. As he turned around to follow the father and other knights from the room, Kellington’s upside down head found de Velt.

  Please spare him, my lord,” she begged. “I will take all of his punishment if you wish, but do not harm him. He is all I have.”

  Jax watched his knight haul her away. She wasn’t kicking and fighting as he had seen her do earlier when she had first been captured. She looked somewhat defeated. But the expression on her face was more powerful than any resistance. He gaze lingered on her a moment before pulling on the loose gauntlet.

  He had no time to waste on mercy. He was, after all, Jax de Velt.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kellington had been in the vault of Pelinom before, but never as a guest. When she was a child, she used to play games in it, hiding from servant children. Even when they found her, she would declare victory. Such was the life of the spoiled only child of the garrison commander. Whatever game she played, she always won. It had been a sweet life.

  Except this game – it was not a game. It was harsh reality. De Velt had invaded her lovely castle nestled near the Scots border and she was understandably bewildered. So she sat in the corner of the vault, grieving for her father, for his knight and for her friends who were at the mercy of a madman. She wondered if she would be the only one to survive the siege, forever locked up in the bowels of a mossy vault with only rats and vermin to keep her company. She wondered if her fate would ultimately be those of her family and friends. In any case, her future was a bleak one.

  She had spent at least two days in the vault. She knew that by the amount of meals she had been given, catered to by silent soldiers who were as wary of her as she was of them. Time passed, she ate, she slept, she mourned. She had no real concept of day or night, or even of time. Everything was surreal and dour.