Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Madelayne shook her head. “I cannot rest,” she whispered. “Not when the castle is being overrun and Kaspian is in the midst of it. Not when he could be….”

  Mavia quieted her. “You’ll not think like that. He and Thomas have been fighting battles for many years together. They’ll survive.”

  Madelayne turned to the woman. “You’ve not seen Thomas since yesterday. He didn’t even come down here to say farewell when Kaspian locked us up. Why not?”

  Mavia’s brave smile vanished and she lowered her gaze. “He’s not speaking to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because… well, suffice it to say that he is not.”

  “Because of Nicholas?”

  A look of extreme guilt crossed Mavia’s face. “It would seem so.”

  Madelayne’s attention was momentarily diverted from Kaspian and their predicament. “Mavia, you haven’t…?”

  She wouldn’t answer directly. “Thomas has been so cold to me for most of our marriage,” she said. “Now, suddenly, he is wildly jealous. Sometimes I feel as if I cannot breathe the way he clings and spies.”

  Madelayne was quiet a moment, trying to think of something tactful to say. “You have paid quite a bit of attention to Nicholas.”

  “It is my duty.”

  “It is my duty as well but Kaspian bade me stay away from him.”

  Mavia grew flustered. “Therefore, I must make up for the attention you have denied him. He is our guest, after all.”

  Madelayne could see that she was defensive and decided to let the subject drop. Moreover, the servants in the corner had big ears. Her attention inevitably turned back to Kaspian and the battle above.

  Leaning against the bars, as if that somehow would bring her closer to Kaspian, the sounds of shouting and scuffling could be heard up above. The noise grew louder and the women in the cell grew increasingly fearful. Suddenly, great bangs could be heard and the women started, one of them beginning to cry. Though terrified, Madelayne tried hard to be brave.

  “Kaspian won’t let anything happen to us,” she said confidently. “He’s the greatest warrior on the border. He’ll chase off those Welsh in no time at all.”

  Before anyone could reply, a great clamor was heard at the top of the stairs. Bodies were suddenly racing down the steps, whooping and yelling, looking for anything to burn or steal or destroy. Madelayne fell back, away from the bars, as the women in the cell cowered in terror. It took little time for the Welsh rebels to the see the women behind bars.

  They slowed in their chaos, men who were apparently peasants with some form of weaponry. They were dirty and coarse, and they eyed the women with something of surprise and a good amount of glee. The first man walked up and rattled the locked door, thwarted to find it secured. A second man came to help him and then a third. Finally, all five of them were rattling the bars as if to pull the gate from the stone itself. Mavia screamed in terror and closed her eyes, but Madelayne watched them closely. The stone mortar that held the iron didn’t look close to breaking, but she did not want to take the chance. Empowered with the need for self-preservation, she grabbed the torch from one of the other women and thrust it at the men’s hands.

  “Get back!” she hissed. “Go away or I’ll burn your hands off!”

  She had already burned a couple of them seriously enough so that they quit the vault in search of more easily obtained booty. But three of the men stayed behind, leering at her, smirking. “Why would ye do that, luv?” the first man asked. “We’re only tryin’ tae free ye. Why would ye hurt us?”

  “We do not want to be freed,” Madelayne snapped. “Go away this instant!”

  The first man meandered near the bars, his eyes drifting over Madelayne in the most seductive way. It was apparent that he was thinking of all the wicked things he could do to her. “What’s yer name, luv?”

  “My name is for those I choose to associate with. Not for the likes of you.”

  The men laughed at her. The first man moved closer to the bars. “Spitfire lass. Do not ye want tae come out o’there?”

  Her answer was to thrust the torch at him again and light his beard ablaze. The man yelped and, with help from his companions, put the fire out. His happy demeanor had vanished with the whiskers on the left side of his face.

  “Stupid wench,” he snarled. “What’d ye do that for?”

  Madelayne would not back down. The iron bars between them fed her courage. “I told you to go away,” she hissed. “I meant it. Come any closer and I’ll burn you again.”

  The man leapt at the bars, rattling them terribly. Mavia screamed, as did the other women, but Madelayne merely thrust the torch at him again as promised. But in their deadly game of thrust and parry, she came too close and he reached between the bars and grabbed the torch, unable to pull it through but able to knock it out of her hands. Pulled forward by the momentum, Madelayne fell against the bars and the man grabbed her around the neck.

  “Now, wench,” he spat in her ear, “ye’ll pay for the blow ye dealt me!”

  It was apparent he meant to snap her neck. Madelayne struggled and fought, but he was too strong and had the advantage through the bars. He hit her repeatedly in the head, trying to subdue her, and her pretty face was turning shades of red. It was apparent she couldn’t last much longer. Mavia, seized with panic, picked up the torch from where it had rolled against the wall and shoved it into the man’s face, lighting the rest of his beard afire and part of his hair. Screaming, the man fell back and dropped Madelayne. Mavia dragged her unconscious form well away from the bars as the man, once again, put out the fire on his face.

  “Bitches!” he screamed. “Ye’ll all die now, do ye hear? Ye’ll die!”

  Unable to claim the women as spoils of war, the men were now determined to destroy them. They had ceased to be viewed as chattel and were now the enemy. The man and his two remaining companions collected whatever they could find in the vault that was flammable, which wasn’t much; a couple of stools and some old, urine-soaked hay. Putting it into a pile near the cell, they lit it afire. Slowly, an orange flame appeared and puffs of smoke began to pour out. Mavia and the other women watched the growing blaze with terror.

  The rebels left the vault without another word. The fire continued to grow and the ladies knew that the flame wouldn’t kill them, but the smoke would. Panicked, Mavia struggled to revive Madelayne. When that didn’t work, she went searching her gown for the key to the cell and was stricken to realize that it was nowhere on her person. As the smoke in the vault increased, she and the serving women fell to their hands and knees, searching for the key that they knew Madelayne had possessed. Suddenly, one of the servants cried out and pointed to the floor just outside the cell. There, almost hidden beneath the burning straw and stools, glittered the old iron key.

  “My God,” Mavia gasped as she stared at the key. “It must have fallen off her during the struggle. I cannot believe those ruffians didn’t see or hear it. Can anyone reach it?”

  The three women strained to grasp the key, obviously several inches from their reach, but none would admit it. The smoke was now reaching annoying proportions and they began coughing, trying to devise ways to pull the key to them. Mavia removed an iron hairpin and tied it to a strip of cloth she tore from her dress, hoping to hook the key. But the pin had no effect against the iron. They grabbed thick pieces of straw, hoping to budge it. All they succeeded in doing was pushing it further away.

  The straw and wood was smoking heavily now. The women had to lay on the ground, under the smoke, but the black air was filling their lungs, threatening to choke them. Mavia tried again to rouse Madelayne, but she was out cold. Her forehead was turning shades of purple where the man had hit her and Mavia reasoned that if she had to die, then at least she was unconscious and there would be no pain about it. The other two women were already incapacitated by the smoke, but Mavia would not give up. Looping the strip of cloth that had once held the hairpin, she struggled to catch the loop aroun
d the end of the key and pull it toward her.

  Time was running out.

  *

  Kaspian couldn’t remember seeing such rain. It literally poured down in sheets, making it difficult to see just a few feet in front of him. There were Welsh everywhere, looting the interior of the keep, killing his men, and generally wreaking havoc. His thoughts began to turn toward abandoning Lavister, simply to regroup and reclaim; he hadn’t enough men to fight off the onslaught and he knew it. He needed the rest of his army back if he was going to do anything of measure. At the moment, it was a losing battle.

  His thoughts turned to the women in the cell down below and his need to free them upon relinquishing the castle. Fighting off one man who suddenly jumped out at him from the mist, he strained his torso badly with the final deadly swing of his broadsword and he had to make a conscious effort not to hold his side, as had become something of a habit.

  Stomping through the mud on his way to the gatehouse, he swung his sword at anything that came close to him, including a couple of his own men that he barely missed. Thomas was nowhere to be found and he seriously wondered for the man’s health, but he could not be concerned about that at the moment. His greater concern was to free the women and take them to safety. Confiscating several Lavister soldiers to aid him, and sending yet others to spread the word that they were abandoning the fortress, he was within a mere few feet of the gatehouse before he saw it; dark smoke billowing from the opening.

  Kaspian stared at it a moment as if he could not believe his eyes. Then, with a surge of terror, he thundered through the opening, choking on the black smoke, calling Madelayne’s name in a tone that bordered on panic. The smoke was so thick he could hardly see and at the bottom of the stairs, he and the soldiers that had followed him fell to their hands and knees, crawling through the blackness towards the cells. It brought great relief to him to hear coughing and he could see the supine outline of several figures in the distant chamber. Mavia’s panicked face greeted him through the gloom.

  “My lord!” she cried. “The key is in the fire!”

  Kaspian rounded the burning mound, searching desperately in the area Mavia was pointing. Locating the key, he picked it up with his mailed glove, feeling the heat burn through the mail and leather. His eyes watering to the point of blindness, he fumbled with the lock until the door swung open. While the soldiers helped the servants out, Kaspian fell to his knees beside Madelayne’s limp form.

  “What in the hell happened to her?” he demanded.

  Mavia coughed and sputtered. “Some Welshmen came down here and tried to break into the cell. Madelayne bravely fought them off until one of them caught her through the bars and tried to choke her.” Mavia touched the bruised forehead. “He smacked her soundly, my lord.”

  His expression was beyond grim. “Did they start the fire?”

  “To kill us when we wouldn’t come out.”

  Without another word, Kaspian collected Madelayne into one arm while crawling across the floor beneath the smoke. When they hit the top of the stairs leading from the gatehouse, he collected her into both arms and headed for the staircase that led to the caverns below. With the gatehouse so compromised, it was the only safe way to take the women. Somewhere across the wet bailey, Thomas joined them but refused to speak to or even assist his wife. Devastated, Mavia clung to Kaspian and the exodus proceeded down into the bowels of the mountain that supported the castle.

  As the stream of Welsh poured in, raising the blue and white flag of Dafydd ap Gruffydd, a line of English poured out, single file, from the southern side of the mountain.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Daybreak saw the ragtag army from Lavister Crag Castle at the gates of Kirk Castle, about fifteen miles south of Lavister. They were an Edwardian supporter and the closest ally that wasn’t under attack. Several of the Lavister men were on horseback, inferior mounts stolen from the Welsh rebels.

  Kaspian rode astride a great, gray, draft horse with Madelayne cradled carefully against him. She hadn’t woken yet, but the color was coming back to her cheeks and he was sure she was merely sleeping at this point. Kirk Castle loomed in the distance, manned by a huge combined force of Welsh and English, loyal to Edward at the moment. In this terrible weather, Kaspian felt it was their nearest option for safety.

  Owain, or Lord de Kirk as he was known, was the Lord of Kirk Castle and also the heir to the princes of Powys, rivals of Llywelyn and Dafydd. Kirk was a massive fortress and Kaspian felt considerably better when his troops were welcomed and given shelter. Owain’s wife, Hawys, was kind enough to prepare rooms in the enormous keep for Kaspian and Madelayne, and the embattled couple of Thomas and Mavia. The woman went on the assumption that Madelayne was Kaspian’s wife, and Kaspian was not in any mood or condition to explain the situation. When the woman finally left them alone and bustled off to tend to other duties, Kaspian closed the chamber door and lay Madelayne on the bed in their cramped, borrowed room.

  She was so very still as he examined the bruising around her neck where the rebel had attempted to strangle her. He felt so much disgust and remorse for what had happened. Carefully, he stripped off her wet clothing, admiring her completely nude body for the first time before covering her up with the heavy linens. He then removed his hauberk and unstrapped his broadsword, placing both on a chair along with the rest of his mail. The damp padded tunic came off and ended up somewhere near the fire.

  After that, all he could smell was smoke and his own bad scent. But they were alive, no matter how bad the situation was, and that was all that mattered. He had to get word to Nicholas immediately as to the situation, else the man would be returning home to a fortress full of Welsh, but he had a feeling that Thomas had already taken care of that. Last he saw of the man, he was ignoring his wife completely and disbanding the army.

  Kaspian sat on the edge of the bed, holding Madelayne’s hand and staring at her sleeping face. He kissed her hand a couple of times, interrupted by a knock on the door. An older couple respectfully entered, carrying hot water and food. When they left, Kaspian took a moment to wash himself with borrowed soap and a rag, and took a few bites of the meal, wanting to save the majority for Madelayne when she awoke. Exhausted himself, he could no longer stay on his feet and stripped off the rest of his clothing, climbing into bed beside her and carefully taking her in his arms.

  Her breasts brushed against his chest and he could feel the moisture from her nipples. He knew, as she had so often put it, that she was full to bursting and the thought of suckling her brought instant peace to him, and instant arousal.

  Reckoning that he could not let her become so completely uncomfortable, he slid down in the bed and took a nipple in his mouth, drawing from her the rich, sweet fluid that seemed to content him like nothing else he had ever known. She was warm and delicious and naked against him and, feeling like a cad, he allowed himself the stolen pleasure of touching every inch of her body. His exploring fingers parted the delicate curls between her legs and to realize she was drenched with moisture hardened him like a rock.

  “You would take advantage of me, then?” she whispered.

  His head came up from her breasts and he felt rather like that cat caught with the mouse. “Madelayne,” he murmured. “You are awake.”

  Her eyes opened and she smiled at him. “Of course,” she said. “How could I stay asleep during all of your attention?”

  He looked rather sheepish, propping himself up on one elbow so he was looming over her. “I could not help myself,” he said. “I hope you will forgive me.”

  She reached up, touching his stubbled cheek. “There is nothing to forgive. We are betrothed and I am your property. It is your right to inspect me.”

  “You make it sound as if I’m purchasing a mare,” he said, a tinge of irony in his tone. His gaze fell on the lump on her forehead and he touched it gently. “Speaking of my property, how do you feel?”

  Her fingers flitted over the lump. “I’ve a headache,” she said. �
�Otherwise, I do not feel overly terrible. But what’s all that smell of smoke? And where are we?”

  “We’re at Kirk Castle,” he said. “Lavister was overrun and we were forced to abandon it. As for the smell of smoke, that occurred when the rebels who had tried to kill you decided to finish the job by lighting the vault afire. Thank God I got you out in time.”

  She was quiet a moment, letting the ominous news sink in. “Will Edward punish you now that Lavister is lost?”

  Kaspian shook his head. “Of course not,” he said. “We were simply outnumbered and there is no shame in a retreat under those circumstances. But I’ve got to get word to Nicholas that Lavister is now under Dafydd’s control and discuss the alternatives therein.”

  “He doesn’t know?”

  “Officially, he does not, but I suspect word has already been sent to him by Thomas or Lord de Kirk.”

  “What do we do now?”

  Kaspian lifted his big shoulders. “Amass an army to take the fortress back,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I am going to head south to Shrewsbury Castle because there is a big contingent of Edward’s troop there. I must converse with the garrison commander. I’ll need his help.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  He shook his head. “I would feel better if you would stay here. You’ll be safe.”

  She didn’t want to stay in this strange place. She had heard of Kirk, but wasn’t exactly sure where it was. Everything was alien and foreign to her except for Kaspian and now he wanted to leave her. Her head began to throb and she rolled onto her side, away from him, lest he see her grim expression.

  He had seen it nonetheless. “Do not turn away from me,” he commanded softly. “What is the matter?”

  She curled onto her side. “I’m just… tired,” she said. It wasn’t like her to complain, especially when he had greater things on his mind. “Do not worry about me.”