The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 136
Teodora looked up at her mother and broke down into soft laughter. “Of course not,” she said. “But Holly already had a pony and now she’ll have two. Cullen and I were just discussing that.”
Antoinette smiled as her daughter came near, reaching out to pat her belly. “This baby shall have a pony, too, if Brafe has anything to say about it,” she said. “Mayhap you should not have come in your condition, Teddy. We would have understood.”
Regal, seated in a comfortable chair, her sightless eyes imagining the three little girls with the white-blonde hair that she could hear screaming with delight, reached up a gnarled hand to touch her granddaughter.
“Teddy is strong,” she said, her hand feeling across her granddaughter’s ribcage until she came to the pregnant belly. “This is a woman who was riding to battle when she was carrying Holly. She is stronger than we know, Toni. Besides… I want her here. I have missed her terribly.”
Teodora bent down, giving the old woman a gentle hug. “I have missed you, also,” she said. “Mother says you have not been very well, but you look fine today.”
Regal snorted. “It is simply old age,” she said. “It cannot be cured.”
Teodora laughed. “Speaking of cures, you will never guess where Cullen and I were last month.”
“Where?”
“Remember Chad the physic?”
“Of course I do.”
“We were at Geddington Castle last month attending his wedding,” she said. “He married Dessa, Lady Geddington’s sister.”
Regal’s mouth popped open. “That wild girl?” she gasped. “I remember her well. When Cullen and I lived in the outlaw village, she would come to visit him a great deal. She was sweet on your husband, you know.”
Teodora grinned. “I know,” she said. “You told me. Owen told me. Cullen even told me. But she fell in love with Chad when he went to tend Owen because the man had contracted a terrible illness last winter. William Marshal sent Chad to Geddington Castle to see if he could help Owen and the man never left. He married Dessa and seems to be very happy.”
“That is good,” Regal said, satisfied with another happy ending. “From what you have said, the physic was an excellent friend to you those years ago. I am glad the man has found happiness, even if he did marry that wild girl.”
“That is what Owen said.”
Regal grinned, patting Teodora’s hand as she rested it on the old woman’s bony shoulder. “And you, sweetheart?” she asked. “I do not even have to ask if you are happy, too. I can hear it all around me.”
Teodora was watching her father as he set up tiny barriers for the twins to “jump” their ponies over. Bradford was enjoying every minute of it, enough to cause her to smile when he showed the girls how to jump by pretending to jump over the barriers himself.
“I am so happy that there are no words to describe it,” she said wistfully. “I have found my happy ending, but it has not ended. It goes on in my children and in the child I carry. But I do hope this one is a boy or Cullen has threatened to trade it for a boy-child somewhere.”
Antoinette laughed softly as Regal shook her head. “It will be a boy,” she said confidently. “God knows that it is time you should have one to balance out the lasses. Have you decided on a name?”
Teodora’s hand was on her belly as she leaned down and whispered in Regal’s ear. “Robert,” she murmured. “That is our birthday gift to you, Grandmere. For the love that never saw fruition, we have decided to honor it. And you. I hope you are pleased.”
Regal’s expression slackened and the sightless eyes began to fill with unshed tears. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathed. “I… I do not know what to say.”
Teodora hugged her. “You do not have to,” she said. “We both know what it means to you, your Robert. We will honor him by naming our son after him and the fact that he is our child’s great-grandfather only makes it more of an honor. I am sure Father will be happy to know we are naming the child after his father.”
Regal was overcome with emotion, patting Teodora’s hand, reflecting on Robert de Rivington once again. Even at her age, there wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t think of the love she had lost, now to be honored by Cullen and Teodora.
She could think of no greater gift.
She could think of no greater love.
Three months later, on a stormy autumn night at Quellargate Castle, Teodora gave birth in typically quick fashion to a healthy baby boy, christened Robert Owen de Nerra. By the time he was joined by brother William Bradford a year and a half later, in Cerenbeau Castle on the other side of England, their great-grandmother was breathing her last.
On a morning much like the last morning Regal had ever kissed Robert, the old woman drew in her final breath to the sounds of her daughter’s weeping. When next she opened her eyes, she was in a land much like the green fields of England she was so familiar with, and her sight had been restored. Her hands, so gnarled for all those years, were smooth and young again, and her hair had turned blonde again, long and soft and flowing.
Someone was calling her name.
Regal!
Turning, Regal could see a strong, young knight crossing the grass toward her, a face and body that she much recognized. It was Robert, as she remembered him, and when he extended his hand to her, she took it firmly. Joyfully, he held her, gazing into blue eyes that were much the same color as her granddaughter’s, whom she had much resembled in her youth.
Regal had watched everyone else in her lifetime know their happy endings, but it had been the one thing that had escaped her in her mortal life. In the afterlife, however, it would not escape her, and joy such as she deserved would now be hers – for eternity.
Regal de la Chambre finally had her happy ending, too.
Post semper amare.
Love ever after, indeed.
* THE END *
Children of Cullen and Teodora
Holly
Lily & Ivy
Robert
William
Bennett
Westley
Crisantha
GODSPEED
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
Book Two in the Earls of East Anglia Series
Motto: Mors in victoria
Victory over death
Author’s Note
Welcome to Dash and Belladonna’s tale!
This is a perfect example of how a writer can find inspiration anywhere – this story is based on the Edmund Leighton painting God Speed. It’s a famous painting, and very Medieval, and I’ve always found it hauntingly beautiful. The lady in the painting is tying her favor on the arm of a knight who is leaving for battle. You can see the distress on her face and the calmness on his. I wanted to give that painting a backstory, including that very scene, so here it is. I hope Mr. Leighton would have been proud of it.
Now, on to the characters.
Our hero is Dashiell (pronounced da-SHEEL) du Reims. He is the son of Talus du Reims, eldest son of Tevin du Reims (While Angels Slept). In Godspeed, Talus is currently the Earl of East Anglia and Dash is his heir, a man who had been serving his father until he came to serve his current liege, the Duke of Savernake (pronounced SAVE-ur-nāke). What was supposed to be a temporary post became a long-standing one, for one good reason – our heroine.
A little history on the Earls of East Anglia – originally, the earldom was with the de Gael family (historically factual), but in my novel While Angels Slept, it went to the House of du Reims. It remains with du Reims until 1300 A.D. when, in my novel Swords and Shields, a de Winter marries the last du Reims heiress, daughter of the last earl, Christian du Reims. Then, it becomes a de Winter title, making the de Winters powerful warlords in both Norfolk and Suffolk.
If you’re keeping track of the family tree, Christian du Reims is Dashiell and Belladonna’s grandson, the eldest son of their eldest son, Tobin (see the list of children in the epilogue). While it’s unfortunate that the du Reims line had to die out because Christian only had a daughter, it’s not so unfortunate when you consider du Reims blood mixes with de Winter blood to continue the strong bloodlines for the Earls of East Anglia. I think Dash and Bella would have been very happy with that. Also, it wasn’t unusual for a man marrying an heiress to take her family name to continue that family’s legacy, so the du Reims name could continue, after all, if the de Winter earl decided to take on that family name.
Another power player in Godspeed is none other than my go-to guy, Christopher de Lohr. Christopher’s story is told in Rise of the Defender, which happens about twenty-five years before Godspeed. Tevin du Reims had a sister, Val, who married a knight named Myles de Lohr. Val and Myles are the parents of Christopher and David de Lohr, meaning Dashiell is a close cousin to Christopher and David.
You will also note that Ajax de Velt is mentioned in this novel. Ajax’s story is told in The Dark Lord and, for a very long time, it was my best-selling novel. If you haven’t read it yet, it’s a must-read. In another novel, Devil’s Dominion, Ajax and Christopher de Lohr become friends (in a funny moment), so that’s another novel you should read to gain perspective on Ajax as well as Christopher.
One of the familiar characters in this story is Gavin de Nerra, the eldest son of Valor de Nerra (Vestiges of Valor). We have seen Gavin before, when he was a toddler, and then both he and his twin brother in Shield of Kronos. In this story, Gavin has taken over his father’s position of Itinerant Justice of Hampshire. Also, you’ll get a glimpse of my new hero, Bric MacRohan, who will have his own novel High Warrior in April 2018.
So many recognizable and new faces in this history-heavy book (which follows the end of King John’s reign accurately), and a brand-new hero to swoon over in Dashiell du Reims. Truly, he’s one of my favorites already and I think you’re really going to love him.
So, without further ado, on to GODSPEED.
Hugs,
Kathryn
“Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say…”
~ William Shakespeare’s King Lear
PROLOGUE
Early December, Year of Our Lord 1215 A.D.
Driffield, south of Scarborough
“By the power of God given me this day, I absolve you of your sins, all of you, poor wretched creatures given whim to earthy sins!”
It was a loud and booming voice that could be heard over the rumble of battle. An elderly man stood amid the fighting, garbed in robes and finery, seemingly having no idea that he was in mortal danger.
On the contrary – he was blessing the men in battle with all of the pomp that the pope would bless his congregation on Easter Sunday. The only problem was that this congregation wasn’t receptive to the blessing and was prepared to demonstrate that unhappy position with the swords, maces, and flails they happened to be holding.
The man giving the blessing had no protection at all.
“Oh… God.” A knight in heavy armor stood over the man he’d just killed. He could see the elderly man trying to bless the combatants, only to be pushed aside or ignored altogether. He began to run towards him. “Christ, who let him run onto the field of battle?”
It was a question to no one in particular, but a question of great angst. Sir Dashiell du Reims began stumbling over the dead, trying to make haste across a rain-soaked field that was slick with blood and body parts. It was the conclusion of a skirmish between the King of England, John, and the barons who very much wanted the man off the throne.
John had been campaigning through England, laying siege to rebel barons and simultaneously trying to raise support for his cause. But he was playing a cat-and-mouse game with the rebels; the mighty Savernake army along with several other allied factions had caught the king’s men just as they left Scarborough, and tore through them in devastation. The king’s army wasn’t nearly ready to face another battle after their siege of Scarborough and the north, and they certainly weren’t ready for Savernake supported by the House of de Lohr, the Lords of the Marches.
It had been a great victory for the rebel barons, but Dashiell wasn’t feeling the victory at the moment.
Only panic.
His liege, the Duke of Savernake and kin to the House of Plantagenet, was running amok on the battlefield. Normally, it would be the man’s right to shout his victory, but not in this case. The man, unfortunately, was quite mad, and he cared not for his victory. He had men who minded him, but the minders were nowhere to be found as Dashiell raced towards his liege as fast as he could go.
The bloody fool is going to get himself killed!
Suddenly, Dashiell could see another knight approach Savernake, being gentle with the man and clearly suggesting that his safety was in danger. But Savernake lifted his hand to the knight and, as Dashiell watched, the knight crossed himself as one does when in church, after prayer. But after the sign of the cross given by the knight, Savernake seemed to be more than willing to do as he was asked, which was remove himself from the dwindling battle.
Dashiell slowed his frantic pace, propping his helm up to wipe his sweaty forehead. It was a gesture of relief, of frustration. He was going to have to take a stand against taking a senile duke on a battle march. The men liked to see their liege leading the army and draw strength from it, but the truth was that Savernake was a danger to himself and to others. Any man who believed he was Paul the Apostle, and therefore invincible, was clearly a danger to everyone around him.
“So he wandered into the battle again, did he?”
The question came from behind and Dashiell turned to see his cousin, David de Lohr, approach. David was the Earl of Canterbury, dressed in well-used and bloodied armor, as he’d been in the heart of the fighting for most of the day. To his cousin’s question, Dashiell nodded his head wearily.
“Again,” he said. “He was blessing the men.”
David grunted with annoyance. “Jesus,” he muttered. “He still believes he is immortal?”
“Still.” Dashiell shook his head, frustrated. “He cannot come on anymore battle marches with us, David. The man is going to get himself killed. Bent had to intercept him on the field as it was, and that puts Bent at great risk. I do not like it when my knights are put at risk like that. I want to know how in the hell Savernake wandered away from his minders and they did not see him.”
David cocked a blond eyebrow; handsome and muscular, he was the younger brother of Christopher de Lohr, a man deeply entrenched in the politics of England for many years. As the powerful Earl of Hereford and Worcester, Christopher commanded half of the Marches while his brother commanded a good portion of Kent. With the de Lohr brothers united, victory was assured, and the winds of politics often hinged on their support.
But the de Lohrs had a long-standing hatred for John. The family had always been avid supporters of the crown, but seventeen years of John’s rule had been their limit. They could only take so much of his foolery and debauchery. Within the past year, they had removed their support from the crown. John had been devastated by their loss, making battles like this one most important.
“The duke is sly, even in his madness,” David muttered. “If he wants to escape, he will. Besides… you know as well as I do that Clayton wants him dead. You know that is why he insists on bringing him and he probably paid the minders to turn their backs for a moment, allowing the duke to slip by. The husband to the heiress of Savernake would be very happy if the duke got himself killed.”
Dashiell scratched his chin unhappily. “That is not going to happen so long as there is breath in my body.”
“Ever the old duke’s protector, Dash.”
“I have been from the beginning.”
“Then Clayton le Cairon is in for a very long wait. Nothing but God himself could tear you down, Dash, or cause you to falter in your duties. You are the strongest man I know.”
With that, David slapped him on the shoulder, a gesture of support, and headed off into the dying skirmish. Dashiell’s focus, however, was on the duke, as the knight who had removed him from the battlefield continued to move him away from any fighting.
But it was much like herding a duck. The knight motioned the duke to go one way, but the duke went the other. Moving quickly to catch up to the pair, Dashiell came up behind the knight and put his hand on the man’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. It was also one meant to release the man from his burden. The young knight turned to see Dashiell with welcome relief.
“Dash,” Bentley of Ashbourne, a young and powerful knight, spoke with gladness. “Our Lord was… well, he was blessing the battlefield.”
Dashiell nodded. “I know,” he said quietly. “I saw.” Then, he raised his voice to speak to the elderly man in Bentley’s grip. “My lord, you must not venture into the heat of battle as you did. We have discussed this before. It could be very dangerous.”
Lord Edward de Vaston, the hereditary Duke of Savernake, turned to see his most treasured and powerful knight, the man who was in command of his armies. Though elderly, Edward was still strong and active, tall and lanky with a full head of graying red hair. But his mind had left him years ago, an unfortunate circumstance for a man who had always been sharp and vital.
Dashiell remembered the days when he had been a young knight and serving the duke had been a pleasure. He’d learned much from the kind and patient man.
Now, it was his turn to be patient.
“Ah!” Edward said, smiling broadly. “My greatest follower. Be at peace, my son.”
He lifted his hand in a gesture of blessing, something he did with everyone, and Dashiell was obliged to cross himself. No one greeted or otherwise had interaction with Edward without crossing themselves. It was simply what the duke expected now that he believed himself to be Paul the Apostle. Dashiell had even seen the Archbishop of Canterbury, Stephen Langton, cross himself and kiss Edward’s hand. It’s simply what one did when meeting the man who believed he was a messenger of God and, as Langton put it, perhaps he really was.
