Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Oh, the name changes that went on in this book! I have a confession – my heroine had a different name in the beginning, which I thought was pretty and unusual, but then I worked with a girl (back in the day when I worked in an office) with the same name and far be it from me to judge people, but she turned out to be a terrible co-worker, so I quickly changed the heroine’s name. Ha! The hero’s name was also different but that, too, changed a few times – yes, a few times – until I settled on the one you see. This novel had a bit of a difficult time finding an identity, but it has finally come into its own and now I am proud to present it to you. One thing that didn’t change is the name St. Hèver – our hero, Kaspian, is a cousin to Kenneth St. Hèver (ISLAND OF GLASS) from the Dragonblade saga. Since Kenneth’s father, Kurtis, only had one brother, we will assume that Kaspian’s father was a cousin to Kurtis and his brother, Keir (FRAGMENTS OF GRACE).

  A few things to note in this book – there is a mixture of real and fictional castles as well as real and fictional lords and princes. Some places, like Hawarden Castle and Beeston Castle, are real places that played a role in the Welsh wars, but our main castle, Lavister, is fictional. The location where I placed it, however, really does have a hilly crag, a perfect place for such a fortress to be built – if it existed. There is some adventure in this book, a little bit of politics, and a whole lot of unusual romance.

  A little erotic? Definitely. Like I said, very different from my other novels. Keep an open mind and I think you just might like it…!

  Love,

  Kathryn

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lavister Crag Castle, South of Chester along the Welsh Marches

  May, Year of Our Lord 1320 A.D.

  “We’ve got to move, man. Where have you been?”

  The question came from a very large man, dressed from head to toe in enough armor and weaponry to single-handedly conquer a small country. He had his helm in one hand, revealing cropped blonde hair and a granite-square jaw, but the light in the pale blue eyes was cold, cold as the snows on an early winter morning.

  It was, in fact, an early winter morning and the mighty garrison of Lavister Crag Castle was mobilized, organized and driven by the man with the ice-cold stare. Kaspian St. Hèver was a man not to be crossed or trifled with, and he certainly wasn’t a man to be disobeyed. He had the St. Hèver size, command ability, and lack of pleasant temperament. His question was focused on a big red-haired knight who had just emerged from Lavister’s significant keep, a man who smiled weakly to St. Hèver’s query.

  “I wanted to see Madelayne one more time before we left,” he said. “Dolwyd will not let her come down to see me off and she is quite upset by it.”

  Kaspian eyed the man, trying to shift from command mode into some semblance of a compassionate mode. The situation warranted it.

  “Is she well?” he asked.

  Cairn l’Ebreux nodded his red head, plopping his helm on to cover his skull. “She is,” he said. “She is worried, of course. She fears the child will be born whilst we are away. I have assured her that this quest will only take a week at most, but she is still frightened.”

  Kaspian wasn’t one given to fits of mercy or humor in any given situation; therefore, moments like this were difficult for him to gauge. He didn’t want to sound completely heartless, but his was a world of battle and it was to battle his men were headed, including Cairn, who was an excellent knight from a fine family. But Cairn was also the husband of a woman who was on her second pregnancy in as many years, the first pregnancy having resulted in the loss of a premature son. The woman was terrified for this child and rightly so. But the fact remained that Lady l’Ebreux’s fear and her pregnancy were not his problem.

  “The physic is with her,” Kaspian finally said, turning away. “Leave Dolwyd to tend your wife. I need you with me. I need your mind with me, Cairn. If you are distracted, you are of no good to me or yourself or your wife. I do not want to return to tell her that you have been killed.”

  Cairn knew that was about as close to a compassionate statement as Kaspian could make. The two of them had worked together for years and although Kaspian wasn’t a man to cultivate friendship, Cairn considered him a friend. But Cairn was far more compassionate and feeling than his big, blonde counterpart and his heart, his soul, was with his wife up in their chamber.

  He’d left her weeping, something he hated to do, but she wept a good deal these days. She was frightened for their child and now frightened for Cairn as he left to tend to a skirmish over at Beeston Castle, but the Welsh were on the march these days.

  Led by Dafydd ap Gruffydd, or at least led by his supporters, the Welsh had been hitting English castles along the Marches, and inside Wales, more actively this year than in the previous ones. Sometimes they charged with a thousand men and sometimes it was just a few hundred. They weren’t particularly skilled for the most part but they could do damage if unchecked and they were bothersome. They tried to gain access to a castle any way they could and had been beaten back by the English time and time again.

  They were bothersome and they were time consuming, proven today as the men of Lavister Crag Castle gathered again for yet another show of support against the Welsh. Lavister was a military outpost with a rather small feasting hall and few living quarters, and those quarters they did have weren’t very comfortable. The army lived in two big, long houses with pitched roofs on the east side of the bailey, and they also lived in shelters some of the soldiers had built outside of those barracks because they could be very crowded. St. Hèver kept almost a thousand men in this close-quarters castle as the knights and their wives lived in the keep. Thick, moss-covered stone comprised the keep and the small rooms within were cheerless. It was a hellish place for a man much less a woman.

  A hellish place for a child to be born.

  But Cairn shook off the morose thoughts. St Hèver was correct; distraction in his business could be deadly and he most certainly wanted to return to the wife who was far too beautiful for him. Madelayne Gray l’Ebreux was his everything. He had cherished her since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, the daughter of wealthy merchant. Even now, on the cusp of battle, he remembered the day he first met her, passing through the town of Wrexham and witnessing beauty such as had never been seen upon the earth. He’d offered for her hand that very day and a month later they had been married. It had been the best day of Cairn’s life.

  But even as he adored her, he knew that she didn’t return the sentiment. She was kind and polite to him, and laughed at his jests, but he knew there was no fire in her heart for him where he was concerned. It didn’t bother him too much because he was certain that, someday, he could earn her love. But it was becoming increasingly discouraging. The harder he tried, the more politely she smiled at him. He only wanted her to be happy. But selfishly, he wanted to be the source of that happiness.

  He shook himself again, content to reflect upon the sentimental past when St. Hèver was demanding his attention. Sometimes Cairn was too sentimental for his own good.

  “You have my full attention, Kaspian,” he said quietly, pushing past the enormous knight. “Let us make short work of the Welsh so we can return soon. I promised Madelayne I would.”

  Kaspian watched the man walk by, knowing that his statement about his attention had been a noble lie. He didn’t have the man’s full attention and they both knew it, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. Cairn was very attached to his beautiful wife and rightly so, but Kaspian shook his head faintly, with regret, for a man who was attending battle without his full focus. That would mean Kaspian would have to keep an eye on him. Kaspian didn’t like that because it meant his attention would be divided, too.

  “Cairn, wait,” he said, watching the knight come to a halt and look at him. “I cannot have you join a battle in your current state. You will not live to see the sun set if that is the case.”

  Cairn’s brow furrowed curiously. “I am quite well,” he assured him. “Let us leave n
ow. The longer we delay, the more Beeston is chewed up by those aggravating mites called Welshmen.”

  Kaspian gave him a long look, one of great doubt. “You are not going,” he said. “You are going to get us both killed.”

  Now, Cairn was becoming offended. “Why would you say such a thing?” he asked. A man of mild temper, he rarely raised his voice or became irate. “Have I ever failed you in battle, Kaspian?”

  “You have not.”

  “This will not be the first time.”

  With that, he turned and headed for his warhorse, being held steady near the enormous gatehouse by a soldier. In fact, all of the soldiers were milling about, waiting for orders to move out, and Kaspian’s three other knights were waiting for those orders as well. Kaspian could see Sir Thomas Allington-More, Sir Ewan de Poyer and his younger brother, Sir Reece de Poyer, already mounted and waiting in the mouth of the gatehouse. Everyone had been waiting for Cairn to say farewell to his sickly, pregnant wife. Now, Kaspian sighed heavily at the sight of Cairn marching for his steed as if charged up for the battle that lay ahead. It was an act, Kaspian knew. The man wasn’t charged up for anything.

  “Cairn!”

  A female voice came from the entry to the keep; the entry was on the ground floor, unusual to most keeps, but the door that held the entry was made of iron that could not be broken, melted, softened, or breached. It was the Door to Hell, as some called it, but now within that door stood a small, titian-haired woman, very pregnant. Even as Kaspian and Cairn turned to look at her, as did most of the other men in the bailey, she lifted her hand and waved at her husband.

  “Cairn!”

  Kaspian was unbelievably frustrated by this point. His jaw began to tick and he turned away from Lady l’Ebreux as her husband, startled by her appearance, began to run in her direction. Kaspian hadn’t taken but a few steps when Lady l’Ebreux called to him as well.

  “Sir Kaspian?” she said. “May I humbly ask a question, my lord?”

  Jaw still ticking unhappily, Kaspian politely turned to her. “My pleasure, my lady.”

  She smiled, a gesture that Kaspian had always thought was the most lovely smile he had ever seen. Lady l’Ebreux was, in fact, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and he truly didn’t blame Cairn for the way the man fell all over himself when it came to his wife. But Kaspian wasn’t in the habit of thinking on other men’s wives so his thoughts of Lady l’Ebreux went no further. Still, the shapely figure, auburn hair, and green eyes were quite a glorious spectacle.

  “Thank you,” the lady said sincerely. “I know you are ready to depart and I am very sorry if I am delaying your army, but Cairn tells me that this skirmish should not be too difficult. I fear he tells me this to ease my mind. Is it true?”

  Kaspian cleared his throat softly as Cairn ran past him to his wife. The red-haired knight immediately put his arms around the woman. “What are you doing out here?” he demanded softly. “You must return to bed immediately. Where is Mavia?”

  “I am here,” a blonde woman emerged behind Lady l’Ebreux. Lady Allington-More, wife of Sir Thomas, gave Cairn a rather remorseful expression. “She wanted to speak with you, Cairn. I could not stop her.”

  Cairn looked at his wife with as much impatience as he could muster. “What is so important that you had to leave your bed, Madelayne?” he asked. “You should not be here and you know it.”

  Madelayne returned her attention to Kaspian. “I came to ask Sir Kaspian a question,” she said. “Cairn, I fear you would tell me what I want to hear simply to ease me. I want to know the truth.”

  Everyone was looking at Kaspian now and he felt his patience slip. He should have been on the road a half hour ago and the delay because of Lady l’Ebreux was testing his temper.

  “My lady, I have no way of knowing how bad the situation at Beeston actually is until I get there,” he said, rather pointedly. “The messenger from Beeston said it was a mild attack compared to some, but I cannot know if this situation has changed. You will forgive me for being short, but the longer you delay us, the more difficult it may become. The Welsh may have time to summon reinforcements, as well. Good day, my lady.”

  With that, he bowed his head crisply in her direction, spun on his heel, and marched off towards his waiting army. Cairn, frustrated with Madelayne and not particularly pleased at Kaspian’s blunt response to her, turned to his wife.

  “You see?” he pointed out. “You have upset him. Now I have to go on a battle march with a man who will be annoyed with me. Get back to bed or I will take a switch to you. Do you hear me?”

  Madelayne looked up at him with big eyes. “Will the Welsh really call for reinforcements?”

  “Go.”

  He wasn’t meant to be disobeyed. Rebuked and upset, Madelayne turned for the keep but not before Cairn kissed her forehead to show he wasn’t too entirely angry with her. With Lady Allington-More pulling her back into the darkened, musty keep, Madelayne’s last look at her husband was as he followed St. Hèver towards the gathering of men at the gatehouse. Big, broad Cairn, a sweet man of infinite patience and kindness, a man she was fond of.

  Perhaps someday she would even grow to love him.

  He would be home to her in a week.

  *

  Beeston Castle

  Welsh Marches

  Two days later

  The skirmish at Beeston had been much worse than the men from Lavister Crag had been led to believe. Hundreds of Welsh were attacking the place, made difficult by Beeston’s position on a rocky hill in the midst of the Shropshire plains. The castle was positioned much like Lavister, built on an elevated position so it could dominate the countryside. There were tunnels and caves beneath it, dug down into the rocky hills, used by men for centuries before the coming of the Normans and the building of the mighty castles that lined the Marches.

  Beeston was purely a military fortress with little by way of comfortable accommodations, but it was manned by a big army because of its strategic importance on the Marches. The Welsh knew this, which is why they were quite determined to remove the English and replace them with a Welsh garrison. The English, as usual, resisted the invitation to leave and the battle that ensued was fierce. Kaspian and Cairn saw the ferocity the day they arrived and, two days later, it was still going on although the fervor was weakening. Men were exhausted, dying or dead, and the battle for Beeston was now mostly on the plain below where there were pockets of steady fighting.

  There has been cause for English hope that morning when a small contingent of men from Anchorsholme Castle, about a two day’s ride from Beeston, arrived on a cold and smoky dawn. Anchorsholme was part of the de Cleveley lands and they were loyal to Edward, so the king staffed a small contingent of crown troops at the castle.

  It was this contingent, led by Sir Nicholas de Dalyn, who rode upon the battle at Beeston and immediately began dispatching any Welsh they came across. There were only about two hundred men, however. Not a huge amount of men against so many Welsh, but they had been a fresh and welcome addition to the English nonetheless.

  “My lord!” Nicholas called out to Kaspian as he fought his way towards the massive knight. “You have my thanks for holding the battle until we arrived. My men and I have been without action for so long that this excitement is a welcome change!”

  Kaspian very nearly grinned at the humor; he knew Nicholas and had fought with him before. De Dalyn was an excellent commander and a powerful knight, which gave Kaspian a good deal of relief to see him. But he was also arrogant and ambitious; Kaspian seemed to remember hearing, long ago, that de Dalyn was one of those men who had no problem stepping on, or eliminating, others in order to see his goals achieved, but Kaspian had never experienced such a thing. He was simply glad the man had come with reinforcements. His character, for the moment, was not at issue, at least not in the midst of the battle.

  “We have been holding the battle, indeed,” he said, kicking aside a Welshman who had been trying to gore one of his soldiers
with a spear. “Now that you are here, we can stop dancing with these fools and go in for the kill.”

  De Dalyn grinned. He was big, blonde, and handsome. “I would be agreeable to that,” he said, holding his big, brown warhorse steady as the animal tried to charge forward. “How long has it been like this?”

  Kaspian looked up at the structure of Beeston high on its rocky hill. “The Beeston commander tells me that the Welsh have been at him, periodically, for the entire month but only in the last week has it grown this serious. My men and I have been here for two days and it has been a steady fight, just as you see it.”

  Nicholas, too, looked up to the castle on the hill as the battle went on up at its gates. “Then I say we end this,” he said. “I have been bored out of my mind at Anchorsholme, to be truthful. I would much rather have a command at Beeston or Lavister Crag.”

  Kaspian smiled, a humorless gesture. “You cannot have it,” he said. “It is a prestigious castle and a world of my own to govern. If you want the command, you will have to wait for me or l’Ebreux to be transferred to another post or die. We like it here.”

  Nicholas had his attention on a fighting group that was moving in his direction. His broadsword was at the ready. “Will you not reconsider?” he asked. “I will gladly surrender Anchorsholme to you.”

  “I do not want it.”

  “What about l’Ebreux?”

  “I will not let him leave me.”

  Nicholas shifted his broadsword so that it was closer to the men who were moving in his direction. He seemed to be off the subject of moving to Lavister, at least for the moment. There were more important things at hand.

  “I have already seen the de Poyer brothers, somewhere off to the north,” he said. “Is l’Ebreux here, too?”

  “He is,” Kaspian said, eyeing the same group of battling men shuffling towards them as they fought and grunted. “The last I saw him, he was over near the road that leads up to Beeston. He and his men were fighting off a pack of Welsh. Find him and help him.”