Timeless Tales of Honor (37 page)

He stopped for a moment to look at the beautiful woman he had married. “Are ye certain ’tis all right to do this? I dunna want to bring you any discomfort.”

“The only discomfort you’d bring me is if you stop now,” she whispered in his ear as she pressed her fingers into his back, urging him to continue. “Now haud yer wheesht and love me.”

C
opyright
2012 by Kathryn Le Veque

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

P
rinted
by Dragonblade Publishing in the United States of America

T
ext copyright
2012 by Kathryn Le Veque

Cover copyright 2012 by Kathryn Le Veque

T
he old stable
was dark and dank, smelling of horses and urine. The icy fingers of winter extended from the walls as an armored figure cautiously entered the structure.

Sir Richmond le Bec's breath hung in the damp air, a dense fog that vaporized as he passed through it. Hesitantly, he moved deeper into the stable, his blue eyes observing all within the confines of shadowed stalls.

"Richmond!"

Richmond turned in the direction of his whispered name. Without delay, he moved deep into the bowels of the structure.

At the far end of the stable in a corner stall, two figures huddled for warmth against the cold December night. There was no light to illuminate the musty straw, only the dim moon glow casting weak beams of light. Richmond could make out the forms of a man and a woman.

"My lord?" he asked softly, puzzled. "I have come as ordered."

A face became clear in the obscure light, features the young knight was well acquainted with. Young Henry, Duke of Hereford and King Richard's cousin, gazed at his mighty comrade, already powerful and established at the tender age of twenty-two. Le Bec was a warrior to be trusted without hesitation.

Tears suddenly spilled down the duke's cheeks, quickly dashed away by his female companion. Richmond could see that the man's arms were occupied; he held a bundle.

"Richmond, I must ask of you a most vital task," Henry whispered, gazing tenderly at the parcel he cradled. "You must take this parcel and guard it with your life."

Richmond gazed at the bundle curiously, wondering what was so important to have Edward III's grandson reduced to tears. His perplexed attention shifted from the heap of blankets to the two cloaked figures once again; it took Richmond a moment longer to realize that Henry's companion was not his wife.

The mystery deepened. Yet, he did not hesitate in his obedient response. "Without question, sire."

Henry sniffed loudly and his companion shakily wiped at her own face, revealing a delicate beauty of porcelain features. Shocked, Richmond recognized his superior officer's wife, the Lady Ellyn.

"My lady," he said with concern. "Are you...?"

Henry did not allow him to finish. He thrust the bundle at Richmond. "You must take this precious package and see that it is delivered to the Earl of Berkshire, William de Lohr. He’s expecting it."

Richmond grasped the bundle with mailed hands, only to discover that it was a very soft, very limp mass of swaddling. When the woolen blankets let out a weak cry, he nearly dropped the parcel out of pure astonishment; he was holding a child.

"God's Teeth," he muttered, clutching the babe against his broad chest. His bafflement increasing by the moment, his eyes sought the duke. "Henry.... what
is
this?"

Henry put his arm around the woman, who began to weep softly against his shoulder.

"My daughter," Henry whispered, gazing at the bundle in the knight's massive arms. He tore his eyes away, meeting his friend's stunned expression. "De Lohr is expecting her. You will take her to Lambourn this night and remain as her Great Protector."

Richmond shook his head, his bewilderment expanding. "Remain as her
protector
? But...?"

Henry let out a harsh sigh, putting both arms around the Lady Ellyn as her sobbing deepened. "God's Blood, le Bec, do you need for me to spell it out? She’s my bastard, the result of a liaison between me and the Lady Ellyn. Her husband has threatened to kill the child, for he knows it not to be his. You must take her."

Richmond was shocked as well as baffled. "But.... Captain de Worth would never do such a thing. He’s King Richard's household captain, sworn to uphold the codes of chivalry."

"He’s also an enraged husband whose wife has managed to bear another man's child," Henry snapped savagely, clutching Lady Ellyn fiercely. "Charles de Worth doesn't love her, Richmond. Only I love her. We have created this child with our love and you have been delegated the duty of protecting my daughter until she becomes of age. Will you do this for me?"

Richmond blinked; reeling with the shock, he was literally speechless. But his astonishment gave way to a surge of defiance. "I... Henry, I am a knight, not a nursemaid. Why would you....?"

"Because you are the only man I can trust for this most important task," Henry insisted. "Do not question my orders, Richmond. You will do as I say."

Richmond's jaw went slack, his eyes wide as Henry's command sank deep. "But you would demand that I remain at her side, always, as her.... her guardian? I am not trained for this variety of work. I am a warrior, Henry."

"You are a knight of the realm," Henry's tears were drying, his pale eyes sharp. "And I am a prince of the realm. Damnation, Richmond, you shall do as I say without reserve. There is nothing more important in this life than the child you clutch.
Nothing
."

Richmond swallowed hard, his gaze once again moving to the plump bundle. His stubbornness was dissolved by the very real fact that he could not deny a direct order. He was, in fact, a warrior, and sworn to obey without question.

"I... I am a knight," he repeated weakly, knowing the basis for his argument was slipping through his fingers. "Fighting is my vocation, not child-rearing. How can you ask this of me?"

"You are my friend," Henry's voice was equally feeble. After an eternal pause, he sighed with great emotion. "Richmond, as my friend, will you grant my request? I need you, more than I have ever needed you. Will you help me?"

Richmond's head came up from the warm bundle of swaddling, his blue eyes locking with those of his friend, a man he had come to know well during his years of training at Kenilworth. Aye, he was a knight, a warrior to the very core. But he was also a loyal friend, a man whose dedications ran deep.

Gazing into Henry's desperate face, he nodded faintly. "Completely, sire."

Henry's moist gaze came to rest on the parcel cradled in the knight's steel-clad arms. Richmond's eyes returned to the child as well, the Lilliputian face partially obscured by the heavy blankets. With thick, timid fingers, he carefully drew back the folds.

A newborn squirmed restlessly, trying to capture tiny hands within her toothless mouth. Richmond stared at the babe, a perfect little cherub with a thatch of dark hair. The longer he gazed at the child, the more a peculiar warmth settled over him; as with all things tiny and new and perfect, there was a certain enchantment to be experienced.

"Her name is Arissa," came a soft voice.

Richmond glanced up from the infant, finding himself looking at Lady Ellyn's anguish-filled green eyes. Wiping the remainder of her tears from her face, she gently tore herself free from Henry's embrace and moved towards the massive knight.

"The Lady Arissa," she repeated softly. "She’s five days old, having been born on the first of December. She’s a good girl, healthy and beautiful."

Richmond stared at the woman, his gaze shifting between her lovely features and that of the babe's mewling face. "It.... it will take me several hours to reach Lambourn, my lady. I.... that is to say, obviously, I cannot feed her. What shall..?"

Lady Ellyn moved away from him, swiftly retrieving a small satchel tucked into the straw. "I have packed clothing and two milk bladders. You may feed her cow's milk. Even goat's milk will do, and she should be ready to eat in two or three hours. She will tell you when she’s hungry."

His dark eyebrows rose slightly. "She will
tell
me?"

Lady Ellyn forced a tremulous smile, running a tender finger across a tiny satin cheek. "When she screams like a banshee. 'Twill make your hair stand on end."

Richmond looked to the babe uncertainly. "Is that so? In that case, my lady, I shall prepare myself. I think."

Henry stumbled to his feet. Richmond glanced at the duke, wondering how a young nobleman of eighteen years managed to become involved with a married woman of twenty-five. A most perplexing circumstance, one that Richmond found himself swept up in.

Richmond’s gaze lingered on the babe a moment longer before looking to his royal friend. "Henry, certainly I do not mean to be difficult, but you are aware that I am sworn to King Richard. If I am to disappear, 'twill reflect poorly on my reputation. The king will...."

Henry shook his head firmly, pulling Lady Ellyn into his embrace once more. "I petitioned for your services this morning, Richmond. As far as my cousin is concerned, you are returning with me to Kenilworth."

"What of Lady Mary?" Richmond asked softly. "Surely your wife will inform Richard that I am not in your personal service when I fail to appear at Kenilworth."

Henry kept his gaze on the babe. "You needn't worry about her. As you know, my wife and I have lived apart for several months due to her fragile health. Your primary concern in this life is the child you hold; whether you serve by my side or at Lambourn makes little difference," his pale eyes sought out Richmond's bright blue eyes imploringly. "You must do this for me, my friend. You are the only man I trust to accomplish this task."

Richmond's gaze lingered on the duke before returning to the dozing child. Observing the sweet face, the chubby cheeks, the peculiar warm feeling enveloped him again. He'd never held a baby in his entire life until this moment and was struck with the wonderment and apprehension it provoked. He also realized that he was holding his destiny.

The tiny little life in his arms somehow managed to ease the sting of rebellion in him, convincing him with her tiny coos that she was worth his devotion. Unknowingly, she was melting his staunch facade.

"At your service, my lady," he whispered to the babe, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "'Twould seem that you and I are to be constant companions."

Henry sighed raggedly, his relief evident as Richmond accepted his mission. Arissa's parents gazed at her a moment longer before turning away, seized by the finality of the moment.

"Take her, Richmond," Henry's voice was raspy, tight. "Now, before I break."

Richmond did not hesitate. Without another word, he swept the child into the icy winter night, ignoring the renewed sobs of the heartbroken mother. He would do as ordered, just as Henry and his companion were doing what was necessary to preserve the life of their child.

The child in his arms cooed, distracting him from his thoughts. Casting her a glance, he was somewhat surprised to see that her eyes were open. In fact, she was gazing up at him and he found himself peering closely at the cross-eyed babe.

A beautiful infant
, he thought, although he was no expert on children. But staring into the flawless little face, he realized he was at least willing to learn the finer elements of raising a child. Aye, he would guard her because above all else, he was a knight and he would complete his sworn duty or die in the attempt.

The babe cooed again and his gaze sought her once more, thinking she sounded much like a small animal.
A kitten.
When his eyes met with the wee little face, perfect and porcelain and curious, he would swear until the day he died that she was smiling at him.

In spite of the chill cloaking the air, bugs danced upon the surface of the water like a thousand happy fairies, frolicking in the damp mist. In the reeds, frogs burped and water lillies hovered silently as small fish nipped hungrily at their edges. All would have been peaceful and serene in this delightful, icy little world had it not been for The Horde invading the shores of the blissful sanctuary.

The Horde was not comprised of a host of vicious cutthroats as indicative of such a title, but rather of three delicate, well-born young ladies. William de Lohr, part of the powerful de Lohr family and Earl of Berkshire, had saddled the women with the term because he was positive they were England's secret military weapon. Not because they were born and bred for warring; their fragile white hands were barely beyond mastering a needle and thread much less a dagger. Lord de Lohr knew that he could have destroyed any foe simply by lodging the three young noblewomen into the heart of the enemy's cause. Within an hour, their incessant female prattle would have driven God himself daft.

And this day was no different. As it was rapidly approaching the nooning meal, not one of the three realized the time. They had been too busy talking.

"I cannot believe you would venture into the lake, Emma. It's far too cold."

Lady Emma, skirts hiked up to her knees, smiled. "'Tis refreshing, Riss. Come in, 'else I shall be forced to throw you in myself."

Arissa de Lohr wrinkled her pert nose distastefully. "I had a bath this morn and I shall not contaminate myself with that muck-polluted water."

The blond companion seated on the cool grass beside her nodded in agreement. "Your legs are already turning green, Emma."

"Her legs
are
green," Arissa giggled.

Emma put her hands on her hips irritably. "They match your teeth."

Arissa stuck her tongue out at her friend before bursting into a fit of snickers, revealing teeth that were anything but green. Straight, white, and beautifully complimented by a bow-shaped smile. But it was not merely the smile that was beautiful; the entire package that comprised the Lady Arissa Ellyn de Lohr was more magnificent than mortal man could comprehend. Barely eighteen years of age, she was a rare and precious enchantress.

Hair as black as a raven's wing, satin and sheer with a hint of curl, tumbled to her buttocks. A sweet oval face displayed sensuous lips that men would gladly die for and eyes of the palest green hovered beneath delicately arched brows. With her thick lashes and pink cheeks, she was a beauty to behold.

"Is your surcoat finished for the celebration tomorrow night?" Arissa's dry companion inquired.

The raven-haired beauty turned her attention the fair young maiden she had known since childhood. "Mother is finishing the surcoat herself. She insists that she’s the only seamstress qualified to work on it. Sweet St. Jude, 'twill be a miracle if she allows me to wear it at all given the care she’s given the garment."

Emma sloshed onto shore with muddy feet. "Penelope made her own surcoat," she said with a twinkle to her eye, demonstrating as she spoke. "The neckline is cut to her navel and sure to drive Daniel to his knees."

As Arissa and Emma giggled, Penelope flushed. "Not true, you little pigeon. It is a tastefully designed surcoat."

"Aye, and he shall be able to taste all of you," Emma snickered, sending Arissa into gales of laughter.

Flustered, Penelope turned away. Arissa knew how sensitive Penelope was when it came to her strong young knight. She put her hand soothingly on the pale blond head.

"Do not be so serious, Pen,” she said. “We have the utmost respect for Daniel."

"And Daniel's good taste," Emma couldn't resist adding the final insult.

Penelope fixed her younger friend with a vicious gaze. "At least I have a man, Emma. Pray, darling, can the same be said for you?"

Emma's smile faded. As sensitive as Penelope was about Daniel, Emma was equally sensitive of the fact that at sixteen years of age, she hadn't yet been presented with the opportunity of courtship. Very pretty in her own right, with dark blond hair and a tendency for fat, she was an unfortunate pale shadow in comparison to Penelope's fragile blond grace and Arissa's magnificent beauty.

"You can have all of my suitors, Emma," Arissa said, casting Penelope a reproving glance. "In a few weeks, I shall have no need for any man."

The focus immediately shifted from Emma's shame to Arissa's future. Gone were the smirking expression and taunting smiles.

"Do you have to go?" Penelope asked softly. "We have never been apart, not even for a small amount of time. Knowing that we may never see you again...."

"Whitby Abbey is so far away," Emma agreed, wriggling her toes in the mud. "North Yorkshire is nearly to Scotland."

Arissa sighed, brushing a stray lock of black hair away from her face. "'Tis my destiny, ladies. I was pledged to the abbey at birth and they are expecting me and my substantial dowry. Surely they will perish without us both."

"But you shall be a nun," Emma shook her head sadly. "No more suitors, no more parties, no more... no more anything. How can you give it all up so easily?"

Arissa shrugged. She, too, wondered how she was going to be able to relinquish all of the material delights that brought her such pleasure. Certainly she was being selfish in her thoughts, for it was an honor to devote one's life to God. But she was feeling particularly selfish on the eve of her eighteenth birthday.

"I shall simply have to," she said after a moment, forcing bravery that she did not feel. "Which is why Mother is throwing a grand party for my birthday. Mayhap I shall simply indulge myself until I cannot stand the sight of another sweet cake or the feel of another corset about my waist. Mayhap I shall make myself so sick of material delights that to retreat far from the sinful pleasures of life will come as a welcome blessing."

Neither lady believed her, but they said nothing. The thought of Arissa going away, never to return, left them feeling hollow and empty. Arissa could read their melancholy but she refused to allow it to settle.

"The de Beckets should be here this eve," she said brightly, struggling to divert the subject. "Emma, certainly you remember Ronald?"

Emma, emerging from her depressing thoughts, blinked thoughtfully. "Ronald de Becket? Isn't he the knight with the mole on the end his nose that makes him look like a troll?"

Before Arissa could respond, Penelope shook her head. "Nay, Emma, he’s the knight with the receding blond hair. Not un-handsome by any means."

Emma thought a moment. "Aye, I remember him. He kept scratching his arse the last he was here. I heard the men say he has saddle warts."

"Saddle warts?" Penelope looked puzzled.

Arissa cleared her throat delicately. "A most painful malady, the poor fellow. I understand they bleed and.... well, it is most painful to evacuate one's bowels."

Emma's face lit up with malicious humor and she crowed with laughter. "I have heard that they can grow as big as melons and then burst!"

Penelope made a horrified face as Arissa fought off the urge to join Emma's mirth. "Surely not, Emma. How awful."

Still snorting, Emma turned away from shore and forged deeper into the water, digging her toes into the silky mud. "Who else is coming?"

Arissa looked thoughtful. "Nearly every important house within twenty miles. The de Rydals, the Wendovers, the de Clares. Pen, don’t the Wendovers have a son?"

Penelope nodded. "He’s fostering in Durham. Daniel told me that Tad de Rydal has recently returned from Derby Castle."

"I understand he was serving the Earl of Leicester," Arissa mentioned. "I wonder why he has returned?"

"Who can say?" Penelope shrugged, picking at a blade of grass. "Will Richmond be here?"

The mere sound of his name was enough to knock the wind from Arissa. She swallowed hard, trying to control the quivering that had suddenly overtaken her hands. Unable to find a casual position for the appendages, she sat on them.

"My father seems to think so," her voice was quivering, too. She wondered if Penelope and Emma could detect it. "He’s been in London for several months, you know. I.... I have no way of knowing if he even received the invitation."

Emma was still sloshing about in the pond; only Penelope saw the trembling and observed the faint mottling around Arissa's cheeks. She always reacted in the same fashion when they spoke of Richmond le Bec. She'd been in love with the man for as long as any of them could remember.

"He shall be here," Penelope said softly. Richmond was a subject off limits to the usual taunts. It ran far deeper than Arissa would ever admit; in fact, she'd never admitted to anything at all. As of late, she'd tried her hardest to remain distant on the subject of the mighty knight, to assume a neutral manner when his name entered the conversation. But as hard as she tried, she was not always successful.

"I care not, truthfully," Arissa said as steadily as she could manage. "The man is a friend of my father's and sworn to the service of King Henry; he’s of no concern to me. Now, as I was saying, I believe the House of Harcourt will...."

"Aren't you the least bit awed by the man?" Penelope was not about to let her slip away so easily. "After all, he organized Henry's armies against his cousin Richard II and nearly single-handedly secured the throne for our king. 'Tis said that he and Sir Henry Percy of Northumberland are blood brothers. Doesn't his reputation impress you in the least?"

Arissa slanted her friend a wavering glance. "Of course not. Why should it?"

Before Penelope could reply, Emma turned about and began to wade onto shore once again. "The man is a god. Too bad he’s so old."

"He’s not old!" Arissa said hotly, defending Richmond before she could control herself.

"Bartholomew says he’s thirty-nine," Emma wandered onto the grass and wiped the mud off her feet. "He might as well be one hundred."

Arissa lowered her gaze, toying with the icy clover beneath her hand. "My brother doesn't know everything. Richmond is ageless. He has remained the same in manner and appearance for as long as I can remember."

Penelope leaned back on her arms, eyeing her raven-haired friend. "I would wager to say I have never seen a more handsome man. Rich brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that makes me swoon simply to think on it. And, of course, being as tall as the sky certainly doesn't hurt," she winked at Emma. "Aye, I would say he was the image of a god. Only a god would be so fortunate."

Arissa did not reply; she did not want to think on Richmond le Bec. She'd spent the past several months attempting to forget him and a part of her hoped he would not come to the celebration on the morrow. But a major portion of her whispered desperate prayers that he would make an appearance, if only so she could gaze into his amazing face one last time before she was shut away from the world.

Even as she pledged to distance the man in hopes of complete abandonment, she knew it was a foolish venture. She had grown up living on the sight of Richmond, sustaining herself on his rich baritone voice and anticipating the moments when he would turn his incredible blue eyes on her fondly. Six years, eight years, twelve years old... she couldn't remember when Richmond le Bec hadn't been an integral part of her daily existence. She couldn't remember when she hadn't loved him.

As Arissa lost herself in thoughts of Richmond le Bec, a lanky, aged knight came marching across the dead winter grass. His lined face was grim.

"Have you no idea what time it is?" he demanded.

The three women jumped. Penelope was startled into a sitting position, her eyes wide at the man.

"It's... it's, uh...," she turned helplessly to Arissa and Emma, who were quickly regaining their feet.

"It's time for the nooning meal," the knight said sternly, resting his large fists on his hips. "God's Truth, Penelope, if I hadn't fathered you myself, I would swear you'd been born without a brain."

Penelope rose to her feet, her gaze sheepish. "We lost track of time."

He rolled his eyes, beseeching the gods for patience. "And if I hear that excuse one more time, I swear I shall do something drastic to the lot of you," he pointed a gloved finger at the fortress. "Inside. Now."

Penelope brushed off her surcoat and scampered past her father. Emma followed in close pursuit, while only Arissa seemed unfazed by the knight's anger. She smiled pleasantly at him.

"Good day to you, Sir Carlton," she said, trying to ease his fury. "How goes the preparations for my party?"

Sir Carlton de Long gazed at his little mistress, wondering how his daughter was going to survive when the Lady Arissa left to join the cloister next month. The two had been inseparable since three years of age, long enough to form an unbreakable attachment. He, too, would miss her terribly. She was a bright, wonderful bit of sunshine.