Medieval Romance
By Love Redeemed
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things . . .
Complete strangers on their wedding day and separated by war since their honeymoon, can they find true love together?
Even though their time together has been short, Prince Tom is eager for his bride’s return. Though his love for her has grown, Elizabeth makes it clear that she considers him a stranger, not to be trusted. Not to be loved.
Certain the lavish love he claims to have for her cannot be genuine, Elizabeth turns to a deceitful friend who feeds her doubts and insecurities, poisoning her mind against her young husband. Just as Tom’s patient tenderness and steadfast faith begin to soften her heart, he is left with a heavier burden. His brother the king receives news that threatens the stability of the kingdom and his marriage. Forced to go in secret to find the truth behind it, he leaves Tom to deal with the undercurrent of treason and treachery that lies beneath the deceptive quiet of the court. Will Tom be able to hold the kingdom together and win his wife’s heart? Or will she let a seductive stranger lead her away from his unconditional love?
Read An Excerpt
PROLOGUE
“That was not our agreement, my lord of Aberwain,” King Philip told the heavyset man that stood before his throne, his voice holding the soft tautness that Simon Taliferro instantly recognized as kingly displeasure. Doubtless the king meant to be well marked when he spoke in that tone, but Aberwain’s expression smacked of insolence rather than respect.
“The agreement I made was with your father, your majesty.”
You will have to be taught respect for your elders, boy, no matter how royal your blood. No king, especially a pup of three-and-twenty, is stronger than the nobles who support him.
Standing beside him in the great hall, awaiting his own audience with the king of Lynaleigh, Taliferro could read the words in Aberwain’s eyes as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud. He had listened to this man most of the afternoon, listened to his demands, to his petty quibbles over what was rightly due him as a lord of the realm. He had listened to the king’s voice grow colder and tighter as his patience thinned. All that day he had listened…listened and watched and taken note of everything.
They make quite a contrast, he thought, amused behind his grave demeanor at the fierce politeness of their contention. The young king was all lithe muscle, the fine scar high up on his left cheek adding a martial touch to his strong-willed, aristocratic handsomeness. Aberwain was a dark bear of a man, bearded and brawny, big boned, heavily muscled and fat to boot.
Both stubborn, Taliferro decided, but there was something solid and unshakable in the king’s assertions that the other man could not match. Aberwain will lose this debate.
“Then you admit to the contract,” the king said.
“I admit to an agreement with King Robert,” the burly man allowed. “He was willing to fight for my lands in exchange for my loyalty. You, if you will pardon me, my lord king, have given my lands away.”
“I gave away nothing,” the king said, an uncompromising lift to his square jaw. “That part of the Riverlands belongs to Grenaver. It was meant to be so and Lynaleigh held it unjustly.”
“A good two-thirds of that land you ‘did not’ give away, my lord king, was mine.”
“Land you took, my lord,” the king shot back, “without thought for what would be just.”
“That land was a sturdy buffer between Grenaver’s attacks and the rest of Lynaleigh, your majesty. Since you have let the finer points of law take precedence over the defense of your kingdom, surely you cannot expect my poor forces to keep that border safe. And I cannot speak for those nobles who, seeing how you have abandoned my cause, might question the desirability of allegiance to so changeable a monarch. What might our enemies do should they know how weakly we are defended?”
“I will see to my kingdom’s defense, my lord,” the king said tightly. “You see to those duties that belong to you. Loyalty, for one, and obedience. You agreed that, once the war was ended, you would bring your daughter to her husband. They have been apart too long already.”
Taliferro studied the young nobleman who stood beside the throne, a dark-eyed near-copy of the king’s long-limbed, powerful grace, and reviewed the details he had of him: Thomas Chastelayne, Duke of Brenden; brother to the king, younger by a scant ten months; staunch supporter of the crown; married two years ago to Elizabeth Briesionne, Aberwain’s daughter.
Since arriving that morning, Taliferro had seen him at the king’s side, had watched the two confer together in answering the day’s petitions, and, though Brenden said little for the ears of the court, there was sharp intelligence behind his warm affability, and his dark eyes missed nothing. Taliferro suspected it was the influence of this even-tempered younger brother, sweetened by the gentleness of the angel-faced queen enthroned at the king’s left and combined with Philip’s own passion for justice and truth, that made so young a ruler able to govern this war-ravaged kingdom and forge a reputation for wisdom and strength in doing it.
A threefold cord, Taliferro mused. Not quickly broken.
Aberwain gave his son-in-law a dismissive glance. “Your majesty, the marriage of my daughter and your brother was agreed upon in exchange for support of my rights in the Riverlands. Now that your majesty has, shall we say, grown delicate over the matter of right and wrong…”
The king’s frown deepened. “Lynaleigh never had true claim to the south of the Riverlands, my lord, and, had I been the one to make this agreement with you, it would never have included aid in so wrongful a cause. But that has no bearing upon this matter. They are married and the lands you want cannot be given you.”
“Suppose I grant your majesty the justice of returning those lands, might not my loss be replaced to make good the agreement between your house and mine?”
“Replaced?”
“There are rich lands belonging to the crown that might make me see your willingness to keep your father’s word and properly value my daughter. And my loyalty.”
“Where?” the king asked, his blue crystal eyes narrowing.
“Kingslynne touches my land on the north side.”
“That is the richest land in the kingdom!”
“It is less than half the lands I lost, your majesty.”
“That land you lost, that we fought over for mere vainglory, is no more than wasteland now. The war has stripped it bare. You cannot compare it to Kingslynne for richness.”
“The land I lost will be rich again someday, your majesty. What value might I put on it? I counted it worth my daughter once, and I cannot give her for naught.”
“You have given her, my lord. She is my brother’s wife already, and there is no changing that. We have been patient thus far, but there is a limit to what patience will bear. You will bring your daughter to her husband here before the middle of this month. That is not a request.”
Aberwain’s insolent expression did not change, had not all this while. “Surely you would not endanger the girl’s life, your majesty.”
“Her life?” the king demanded and there was a flash of concern in his brother’s dark eyes.
“She lies ill even now. To bring her here in the dead of winter and she so sick…” Aberwain shook his head in a show of regret. “I would be less than a father.”
“Sick,” the king said with contempt. “A very convenient sickness. And I suppose she has suffered this sickness these three months since the war’s end?”
Aberwain shrugged apologetically and the king’s eyes turned colder.
“And I suppose she would return to health were I to grant you Kingslynne now?”
“I shouldn’t wonder.”
The king drew a sharp breath, his tongue ripe for an oath, but he stopped himself when he saw the look on his brother’s face, a look that counseled discretion.
“Do not imagine, my lord, that I am too young or too raw to this game to play it well,” the king said, his voice icy with control. “As to your request, I will give it my consideration. Who is next, Tom?”
“The Baron of Warring,” Brenden murmured.
Pretending he did not notice Aberwain’s indignation at the summary dismissal, Taliferro straightened his narrow shoulders, then he heard the scribe read his name aloud.
“Simon Taliferro, Baron of Warring.”
He stepped forward and bowed low, humility in his deep-set eyes, eyes that were so black it was hard to distinguish iris from pupil.
“Your majesty.”
“My lord of Warring.”
Taliferro made his expression properly abject. “Your majesty, I have no demands for you, only a simple plea for charity.”
“Charity, my lord?” the queen asked, lifting her eyes for the first time to his and holding him for a moment speechless with their emerald luminance. The intelligence he had of her was that she was a woman of inestimable beauty and unassailable virtue. Now he could vouch for the first, and he wondered if he might sometime have opportunity to make trial of the second.
“Yes, gracious lady, for the people of Warring. There is such destruction there, such barrenness from the war, that every day more and more go hungry and naked, the old die, mothers have no milk for their little ones. It is a sight unfit for such lovely eyes as your majesty’s.”
“I have heard it so, too, Philip,” Brenden said, “though not to such a degree.”
Taliferro could almost feel his thoughts being sifted in the young duke’s dark eyes. There was no animosity there, only a piercing search for truth that the baron found vaguely unnerving.
“It is so, my lord,” he said earnestly, “and worse than I have said.”
“And have you made an account of what your people will need to set them towards prosperity again?” the king asked, catching up the soft hand the queen had laid on his arm in a silent plea for pity.
“I have, your majesty. I fear it is rather a prodigious amount, considered all at once.”
He handed the king his list and waited for reply, hoping it would be the one he sought.
“Prodigious, as you say, my lord,” the king said finally, and then he handed his brother the list. “Can we do it, Tom?”
“With God’s help,” Brenden said after a moment. “Perhaps not all at once, but enough that the people of Warring needn’t suffer so bitterly all the winter.”
“You will have to stay here in Winton, my lord, to oversee the collection of what you need and the transport of it back to your people,” the king said and Taliferro bowed his head, concealing his sly satisfaction.
“I thank you, my liege, I could not have asked a fairer answer. I thank you, as well, my sovereign lady, and you, my lord of Brenden. I shall make good use of my time here.”
“You are most welcome, my lord,” the king said. “Come to me tomorrow, and I will have direction for you in starting your venture. Who is next, Tom?”
OOOOO
“Warring’s ‘charity’ will drain the store we have from this year’s northern harvests,” the king told his brother as they conferred later alone. “But my lady will have no refusal of any beggar’s plea.”
Tom smiled. “I think the harvests were bountiful enough to share with the south. The war did hit them hard.”
“Well, we will grant Taliferro’s request, but I do not know that I can say as much for your father-in-law’s.”
“Give him what he wants, Philip,” Tom said. “Has it not been long enough?”
“I cannot.” The exasperation came back into Philip’s expression. “Am I to let him dictate to me? He held those lands wrongly. I could not justly keep them from Grenaver, and I cannot now give him what rightly belongs to the crown. He has no right to keep her from you, and I’ll not allow it any longer.”
“We cannot just take her from him.”
“She is your wife, Tom.”
“And as such, she is worth any amount of land to me. Give her father what he wants, take Brenden in its place. I care not, so I have Elizabeth.”
“You hardly know her. Why should you give up your dukedom for her?”
“Two years is a long time, I am tired of the waiting. She is Aberwain’s heir. When he dies, I will have back anything you give him, and I will give it back to you.”
“And meanwhile I let him bully me into what is unjust? No, Tom, I cannot even for you, but he will bring her, I promise you. Before Christmas.”
“That’s hardly a month away.”
“I will see to it.”
Tom was too familiar with the inflexible resolution in his brother’s face.
“Philip, I would keep peace with my lady’s father as well.”
“Trust me,” Philip said, and then he smiled. “What good is it that I am king if I cannot get you what you want?”
OOOOO
When court was held the next day, Tom was surprised to see all the nobility gathered in the great hall. In times of peace, they usually only met together in the council, or, if they attended court all at once, it was at the king’s command on some great matter of state. Tom was unaware of anything of such consequence on today’s agenda.
Aberwain was called first. Tom watched him make a swaggering bow before the throne, certain that such impertinence would not urge his proud brother towards compromise, wondering how much longer his wait was to be made because of it.
“I have considered your request, my lord of Aberwain,” Philip said, “and have this in answer. If you wrong me, I am bound in Christian charity to forgive you. But, if you wrong Lynaleigh, I am bound to defend her with every means in my power. You know, and every man here knows, what she has suffered from the war we have just fought. With every one of my nobles loyal, she will have difficulty enough recovering. If one of them, just one, puts himself ahead of her and leaves her weak before her enemies, she will be lost. Would you, my lord Darlington, leave her so?”
Darlington bowed his head. “God judge me, your majesty, not I.”
“And you, Lord Ellison?”
“Never, my lord,” Ellison swore, a look of contempt on his young face. His father had been killed in the war little more than a year ago, and he had little patience for those who did not uphold the king for whom that sacrifice had been made.
“My lord of Eastbrook?” Philip asked.
Eastbrook put his hand on the hilt of his sword, the gesture serving both as a pledge and as a warning. “You have my oath already, my liege. You will never find me slow to defend your right against any enemy.”
“And you, my lord of Aberwain?”
Before the calm authority of the king’s words, Aberwain’s smugness dissolved into uncertainty. A swift glance at the rest of the court showed him only suspicion verging on hostility. Tom could see that he realized only now that he had overplayed his hand in braving this king in his own throne room, before the solid support of his nobles.
“Your majesty–“
”I must refuse your request for Kingslynne, my lord of Aberwain,” Philip said, “in the best interest of the kingdom and independent of your threats.”
“Threats, your majesty?” Aberwain sputtered, and, refusing to acknowledge Tom’s silent plea for restraint, Philip numbered them on his fingers.
“Disaffection of the nobility, attack from the south, my deposition, shall I go on?”
Aberwain flushed red then white. “My lord, your majesty, I never so much as dreamed–“
”In whatever words you couch them, my lord of Aberwain,” Philip said severely, “are these not the promised results of your defection?”
“Defection?” Aberwain protested with another glance at the grim faces surrounding him. “My liege lord and king, on True Cross, I swear there was no thought of defection, nor anything else you have charged, ever meant in my words or my deeds.” He smiled thinly. “Surely you never thought so of me, son Thomas.”
“For my lady’s sake, my lord,” Tom said, “I hope I never need think so.”
Philip’s expression was stern. “Then I may conclude that your daughter’s health will improve so much that she will be with us at court before Christmas.”
Aberwain bowed in shamefaced defeat. “She will, my liege.”
“And, of course, I need not question your loyalty in defense of my southern border.”
“Of course not, your majesty, I swear it and overswear again my oath to you as my king.”
Philip let his expression soften. “Do not swear to me, my lord, I am but a servant of this kingdom. Swear, rather, to Lynaleigh herself, whom I know you love.”
Tom saw surprise and then relief in his father-in-law’s face as he looked up at the king, as he realized that Philip was willing to put this failed attempt at coercion behind them and let him prove his trustworthiness.
“I do, your majesty. Most truly, I do.”
Philip smiled a little at his fervent reply. “Have we not always found it so, my lords?”
There was a grudging murmur of assent from among the nobility and some of their animosity lessened. Tom exhaled a sigh of relief and rather poorly concealed a smile. That last touch of gentleness reminded him just how changed his brother was since the war’s end. The Philip of a few months ago would never have stooped to that, not before his court.
Tom breathed his thanks heavenward. He would have his Elizabeth and peace with her father and Philip’s sovereignty was intact. He could not have asked much more.
With a final word of gratitude, Aberwain bowed and left the court, apparently unaware of the piercing black eyes upon him. Tom noticed the tall, angular figure that glided towards the doorway after him, then Philip asked him who was next to be called and the rest of Taliferro’s movements went unnoticed.
