Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Kellington’s hands were over her head as she tried to protect herself. But she had a view of what was going on. “Why would they do that?” she gasped. “Jax, I swore to them that you would not attack Alnwick. It never occurred to me that they would attack you.”

  Jax could see that the battle had moved from projectiles to hand-to-hand combat over to the west. Already he could hear the screams of the injured and the sounds of metal upon metal. Things were escalating quickly.

  “Not to worry,” he said steadily. “I will make short work of this army.”

  Kellington knew her father was somewhere in the mass of fighting, dying men. She tried to spot him amidst the madness. “My father…,” she looked up at Jax. “I realize… I know that he is in the battle, somewhere. I will not ask you not to kill him if he tries to kill you, but I will again ask you to be merciful. He is my father, after all. No matter what he has said, I know he is only trying to save me from you.”

  Jax glanced down at her golden brown eyes. “If your father is foolish enough to come after me, then he will pay the price. I will say no more.”

  She stopped and he nearly pulled her over with his continued momentum. But he came to a halt as well, meeting her intense gaze.

  “Please, Jax,” she said quietly, firmly. “He is my father. If you can help it, I would ask you not to kill him.”

  He was about to firmly refute her again but he ended up crumbling like an idiot. There was a battle going on around him and all he could do was think of Kellington, of the look in her eyes, and of the seriousness of her request. He finally gave a sharp nod.

  “I will do my best,” he said reluctantly. “But I can promise no more.”

  “Then that is all I can ask for.”

  He shook his head at her, reproachfully, but he gathered her up against him once more and very quickly proceeded towards the northwest section of the camp that did not seem to be under attack. It was fairly quiet, a small enclave of horses surrounded by dense trees. But as soon as they reached the cleared area where the chargers were being saddled by several grooms, the thunder of cavalry suddenly washed upon them. Like an unwelcome surge, several de Vesci men mounted on horseback plowed through the trees, ripping apart the place with their morning stars and weapons of destruction.

  Kellington shrieked in fear but Jax did nothing more than try to position her behind him so that she was out of the line of fire. They wanted him, after all. He raised his broadsword as three large chargers rode up on him. The man astride the big black charger suddenly came to a halt, his helmed head gazing down at Jax and Kellington. As the horse danced excitedly, the man silently indicated for the other chargers to surround Jax and Kellington.

  Soon they were surrounded by men on horseback and Kellington clutched Jax’s torso from behind, terrified for him. She knew they would not harm her, but she was panicked that they were about to kill Jax right before her eyes. He was far enough away from the bulk of the battle that he was without reinforcements. It took her a moment, even to her naïve warring mind, to realize that the chargers had more than likely been waiting for him to come to his destrier. They had been lying in wait, and she and Jax had walked right into them.

  Denedor’s voice suddenly emerged from the helm of the figure before them. “Take the lady,” he instructed to the men surrounding them. “Treat her with great care. I will take care of de Velt.”

  Jax spun the broadsword in a very skilled, very deadly move. “If any man moves to take the lady, he will not survive this day. She is mine.”

  Kellington recognized Denedor’s voice and she poked her head out from behind Jax. “Denedor?” she asked, frightened and shocked. “What are you doing? Where is my father?”

  Denedor, to his credit, did not respond to her. This was between him and de Velt. He indicated to his men again.

  “Take her.”

  Kellington screamed, moving to stand in front of Jax and away from the men on horseback behind her. Both de Velt and Denedor realized something very quickly; she had placed herself in a bad position between them. Neither man could move against the other with her in the way. Jax held on to her with one arm and wielded his sword with the other.

  “Call your men off,” he ordered Denedor. “If this is between you and I, then let it come. But the lady remains in my custody until our battle is decided.”

  Denedor removed his broadsword from its sheath against his saddle. He spun it menacingly in much the same way Jax had.

  “I came for the lady, de Velt,” he said. “You do not dictate terms as to how I will accomplish that.”

  Kellington suddenly spun to him, still pressed against Jax. “I cannot believe you would do this,” she hissed. “After I promised you that Jax would not attack Alwick, you betray that peace and attack Jax instead. That is unworthy of a knight of your standing.”

  Denedor’s helmed head turned to her. “My lady,” he said in his patient, deep voice. “You do not know what transpires in the hearts of men. Understand that there are some things worth fighting and dying for by any means necessary. This is one of those times.”

  She was furious, frightened. “So that is what this is all about? Fighting for me?” she shook her head sadly. “You loved your wife, Denedor. Surely you understand what it is to love someone and want to be with them. Why can you not understand that it is Jax I wish to marry?”

  Denedor swung the sword again. “This is not about you. It is about finally quashing once and for all an army that has been the scourge of four countries. This is about doing a service for all of mankind by wiping de Velt from the face of the earth. It is about regaining something which never belonged to him in the first place. It is about seeking vengeance for all of those men de Velt put to the pole while they still lived. This is about justice.”

  It was a passionate speech. Kellington looked up at the man as if he had lost his mind. “It is for God to dispense justice.”

  “Then consider me God’s right hand,” he swung the sword with deadly precision again and his charger reared nervously. “De Velt, I would suggest you remove the lady. To be standing against you is not the best place to be.”

  Kellington was sharp; she realized that the only thing preventing Denedor from crashing down on Jax was her presence. She threw her arms around Jax’s torso.

  “I am not moving,” she declared. “You will have to kill me first.”

  Denedor flipped up his visor, his pale blue eyes blazing. He was looking at Jax. “Move her, de Velt. Men with swords are tricky things. I should not like for her to become injured if someone gets overzealous.”

  Jax was in a bad position. He knew there were men behind him who could just as easily gore him in the back while his attention was on Kellington. His dual-colored eyes glimmered intently on Denedor.

  “I repeat my original terms,” he said steadily. “The lady remains in my custody until this is decided between us. I suspect she will not remove herself otherwise and we will be in for a long day.”

  Denedor’s jaw began to flex. His gaze moved between Jax and Kellington, his resistance evident. He was not about to let himself be ordered about by de Velt, no matter what the circumstances. There was a measure of pride at stake. With a heavy sigh, he slammed his visor down and lifted his sword.

  “Edward,” he boomed. “You and your men remove the lady and do not harm her if you can help it.”

  The men on horseback behind Jax suddenly came alive, charging Jax and Kellington. Jax lifted his sword, ramming it into the chest of the knight nearest him and listening to Kellington’s screams. It took him a moment to realize that her screams were not of horror because he had gored a man but because two other knights had hold of her. He yanked his sword from the dying knight and arched it in the direction of the men who had Kellington. In the blink of an eye, he sliced through the left arm of one of the men, completely separating it from his body. As the man screamed in pain and bolted off, Jax went for the second man with his hands on Kellington. Before he could reach him, ho
wever, Denedor charged in between them and Jax found himself fending off a blow to his head.

  Jax simultaneously deflected the blow and took hold of Denedor’s leg, yanking hard. Denedor lost his balance and tried to right himself, but his charger took a sharp turn to the left and he fell off completely. He hit so hard that his helm came off and bounced away. When he rolled to his knees, he looked up to see Jax bearing down on him.

  Denedor raised his blade to prevent Jax’s first blow from cleaving him in half. He managed to shove the man away and gain his footing as the battle of his life commenced.

  Kellington heard the blows of sword upon sword. Still in the grip of a knight she did not know, she was terrified on many levels. The knight had her by the arm even though he was still mounted. His tugging was causing her some pain and she fought to unpeel his fingers from her arm. He was taking her further and further from Jax and Denedor and she did not want to go; for lack of a better action, the only thing she could think to do was to somehow startle the war horse so that the knight’s attention, and hopefully his grip, would be diverted from her. Balling her fist, she drove it into the flanks of the big brown horse and the animal started.

  It was enough of a movement to cause the knight to loosen his grip. When Kellington twisted violently, he lost it completely. Like a rabbit freed from a snare, she was giddy with panic as she ran away, not really sure where she was going until she caught sight of Jax and Denedor several feet away. Behind her, she could hear the knight cursing as he regained control of his animal and made his way back to her. Kellington turned to the sound of the oncoming hooves, knowing he would catch her again if she didn’t do something. She had to help herself.

  A few feet away on the ground lay the knight that Jax had impaled through the chest; she ran to the man, fell to her knees, and removed his broadsword. But the sword proved too heavy to manage so she dropped it, going for the dirk embedded in the man’s belt. Removing it, she wielded it in front of her as the knight rode upon her.

  “Get away from me,” she hissed, holding the blade up. “Leave me alone or I’ll kill you, I swear it.”

  The knight came to a halt, holding up his hand in surrender. But Kellington did not trust him and kept the dirk raised. Behind her, she could hear Jax and Denedor’s sword fight as it continued. She glanced over her shoulder, watching as Jax overwhelmed Denedor with his sheer power. For a moment, she was entranced; she had never seen a real swordfight and watching Jax was like watching a carefully choreographed dance. Everything was smooth, fluid, one movement flowing into the next, each position of the blade carefully planned. It was an amazing sight. But as she watched, she didn’t realize the knight on horseback had dismounted and was stalking her. Startled when he grabbed her, she swung the blade around and accidentally plunged it into the man’s belly.

  The knight grunted and fell away, an eight inch blade in his gut. Aghast, Kellington stood frozen as the man collapsed to the ground. He was bleeding to death before her eyes. Overcome with dismay, she went to the man as he wallowed on the ground.

  “I am sorry,” she pleaded. “I did not mean to. It was an accident….”

  The knight groaned. Kellington started to cry, horrified at what she had done. She lifted the man’s visor with shaking hands to get a better look at him, to plead forgiveness for what she had done. She was not prepared for what greeted her.

  It was Keats.

  Kellington let out a scream of pain and sorrow so loud that even Jax and Denedor paused to see what had happened. When they saw Kellington on the ground beside a fallen knight, at first they both thought that she had been injured. Denedor even lowered his blade as his focus shifted from Jax to Kellington. But Jax took advantage of that moment of distraction and lifted his sword. He brained Denedor on the back of the skull and the man fell like a stone.

  Kellington didn’t see Jax’s blow. She was lying over her father, weeping uncontrollably. Keats tried to put his arms around her but he was quickly weakening.

  “Kelli,” he murmured. “Lambchop, look at me.”

  Kellington’s head came up, her lovely face coated with tears. “Father,” she wept. “I did not know it was you. I did not recognize you.”

  Keats patted her head as best he was able. “Borrowed mail,” he muttered. “I know you did not know it was me. I intended that you not.”

  “But why?” she begged. “You should have told me.”

  Keats’ face was white. His limbs had a strange, fuzzy feeling to them and he knew that he was not long for this world. But he struggled to say what he must to his only child.

  “Because I said…awful things to you,” he was having difficulty forming the words. “It was easier to be unknown to you. At least you let me get near to you. I was afraid if you knew it was me, you would… resist.”

  Kellington sobbed, her gaze moving to her father’s torso and the big dirk she had planted there. Blood was running down the borrowed mail and pooling in the soft green grass beneath him. She put her hand on the dirk to pull it out but her father stopped her.

  “Nay, lambchop,” he said. “’Twill do no good. Leave it be.”

  She wept loudly, knowing he was right but straining against that knowledge. “I am so sorry,” she repeated, laying her head against his chest and feeling his unsteady breathing. “For everything, I am sorry. I never meant to disappoint you.”

  Keats’ mailed glove came to rest on her golden head. “I know,” he whispered. His breathing was growing more unsteady. “Forgive… me….”

  He let out a long, harsh rattle before falling still. Kellington’s head came up and her tears stopped momentarily, shocked at the fact that her father was no longer breathing. But a split second later, the tears returned en force and she buried her face against her father’s armored chest, weeping pitifully.

  Kellington lost all concept of time as she wept for her father. She no longer heard the sounds of battle around her, the sounds of men dying. All she knew was that she had killed her father, accidentally though it might be, and the knowledge was more than she could bear. He had been her entire life up until a few weeks ago. Now that life was gone.

  “Kelli,” she heard a soft, deep voice behind her. “We must leave this place.”

  It was Jax. Her eyes flew open, the tears stopped, and she bolted into a sitting position. The golden brown eyes were wide with shock and joy as she gazed up at him.

  “You are alive,” she gasped. “I did not know… I did not hear anything and….”

  Jax would not let her finish; he knew how upset she was and he did not want her to wallow in grief. He had more critical things on his mind at the moment, like removing her from the battle and away from men trying once again to separate them. He reached down and gently grasped her arms.

  “Come on, love,” he pulled carefully to help her stand. “I must remove you from this battle.”

  She let him pull her up, into his arms where she collapsed against him. He held her tightly for a moment, relieved and deeply thankful.

  “But what of my father,” she whispered through new tears. “We cannot simply leave him.”

  Jax was about to reply when he suddenly lurched forward. Kellington was spared the brunt of the fall as he turned slightly to absorbed most of it. She suddenly caught sight of big black boots standing a few feet away as Jax rolled off of her. Struggling from beneath his fallen body, she ended up in a sitting position, gazing up into a figure outlined against the mid-afternoon sky.

  Denedor had the tip of his broadsword against Jax’s throat. He had a distinct frown on his face and a trickle of blood coming from his left ear. Kellington sat on her buttocks, gasping with distress, overcome by the events of the day and struggling to orient herself.

  “Denedor,” she breathed. “Please, I beg you. Do not kill him.”

  Denedor was furious; that much was evident. His normally even expression was tense, his cheeks flushed with rage. He ignored Kellington for the most part, his fury focused on Jax. There was much turmo
il in the pale blue eyes.

  “For you, I shall be merciful,” he finally growled. “You will not find your death on the end of a pole. You will find it now, swiftly, and without pain, although I should make your death as agonizing as possible for what you have done to countless men in such horrifying ways.”

  Jax lay on his back, his two-colored eyes without fear as he looked up at Denedor “Do what you must,” he said quietly.

  Denedor gazed down at the man who had struck terror in to the hearts of most of England and Wales for the better part of nine years. He could end so much pain and suffering with a stroke of his sword. But he was a man with a conscience. Though Jax de Velt might not be, Denedor was, in fact, a man of great honor. He believed in mercy and compassion. He believed that men were good for their word and that there was still some joy in life when all others believed it to be a waste of effort.

  “Denedor, please,” Kellington was rising to her feet, her lovely face pale with dread and too much weeping. “Please do not kill him, I beseech you. I have already lost my father this day. Would you take the only other man that I love?

  Denedor’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened. God, he could end so much at this moment. But he realized, as he gazed into Jax de Velt’s strangely colored eyes that he could not do as he should. He could not kill a man who was on his back, openly surrendering, while the lady pleaded for his life. That would make him no better than de Velt himself. And he considered himself a much better man.

  “God knows I should kill you,” he said after a moment, staring into de Velt’s brown and green eyes. “For all of the pain and suffering you have caused, I should end it all right here. But I am going to show something you have thus far been incapable of displaying, and that is the quality of mercy. Remember this day, de Velt. Remember when another man showed you leniency as you lay at the tip of his sword and perhaps the next time you are in a similar position, you will remember this day and you will honor it. Perhaps this day will sink deep into your soul and you will never kill another man as long as you live because somewhere, at some time, another knight showed you such compassion as you have never had the heart to feel.”