Montreau Keep—Spring 1142
Silent as North Sea raiders of old, the three longships
slipped on to the sandy beach of Montreau Bay.
Lord Jared of Warehaven leapt from the centre boat, his
booted feet splashing in the shallow water. Sword raised, he
pressed forwards, leading his men into the cover of the tall
grasses.
He glanced back towards the beach that had once been so
familiar, but a thick cloud covered the moon, and hid his
vessels from sight. Only in his mind's eye could he see the
great dragon heads guarding the prows, each fierce beast
nearly identical except for the colour of their jewel-toned
eyes.
Jared turned to the task at hand. Anticipation rippled
through his muscles. Smoothing his lips into a grim line, he
headed for the cliff tops.
Situated between King Stephen's supporter, the Earl of York,
to the south and the Empress Matilda's maternal uncle, King
David of Scotland, to the north, Montreau was a choice bit
of property. Especially now that its lord was dead, leaving
only a lady in charge.
The same lady who had once promised to become his wife.
Jared pushed the wayward thought aside. He had no time
for reminiscing. The task at hand needed his complete attention.
After seven long years of a seemingly never-ending war for
the crown, Empress Matilda, his deceased father's
half-sister, had had an uncharacteristic change of heart.
Her first order had been to take Montreau by force and hold
it as her northern base.
But for a reason Jared could barely fathom, she'd changed
her mind. While he was still to take the keep by force if
necessary, he was ordered to retain Mon-treau's neutral
position in the war and see to the safety of its lady and
people.
The only true differences between the orders was that now
lives would not be lost if the people didn't resist. And the
Lady of Montreau would not be stripped of her holding.
Instead, she would remain as a guiding hand—one that
reported to him. A position he would relish until Matilda
decided otherwise.
In an odd way Matilda's decision did make some sense. If
nothing else the move would keep King David's men from
gaining more ground in England, which in turn would keep
Matilda from having to evict him once she attained the
throne that rightfully belonged to her.
While his aunt disliked warring against family, she would do
so if backed far enough against a wall. Jared well
remembered his father's hasty exit from England.
Once Matilda decided to fight Stephen, Randall of Warehaven
had chosen the safest option for himself and his
family—he'd agreed to take charge of his wife's lands
in Wales. That had left Jared in control of Ware-haven and
the task of choosing a liege.
An easy choice for Jared to make, considering King Stephen
had wanted control of Jared's ships, whereas Matilda had
vowed she'd do nothing so foolish. Thus far she'd stood by
her word.
It would be interesting to see what Stephen would do once he
discovered a small part of Warehaven's fleet in Montreau Bay
and Jared in control of his runaway betrothed's keep.
At the top of the cliff separating the beach from the
demesne land, he stared across the distance toward his
target. The wavering light of numerous torches lining the
walls showed that the messenger's description hadn't been
exaggerated.
While Montreau was little more than a partially lit outline
in the night, gone was the wooden tower keep with its timber
pales encompassing the bailey. Now, even a fool could see it
was more royal castle than keep. Larger than most stone
keeps, it would not be easily taken.
What kind of reception would be waiting for him? He narrowed
his eyes and smiled with wicked mirth. The lady would be
shocked and outraged at his arrival. Jared tapped his weapon
against his leg, ready for the confrontation to begin.
Soon, all would know if Montreau would remain neutral. And
soon, he would know the sweet taste of revenge. He motioned
the first group of ten men forwards.
***
A red-faced guard bolted through the double doors to the
Great Hall. He dropped to one knee before the armed chair on
the raised dais. 'My lady.' His head still bowed, he paused,
gasping for breath, then he continued, 'The ships have beached.'
Lady Lea of Montreau pulled her sapphire-hued cloak tighter
around her shoulders before once again glancing at the
crinkled, well-read missives in her hand.
She'd known this moment would come. Three days ago a
messenger from the Empress Matilda had delivered one missive
announcing that a man would soon arrive to protect her and
Montreau's future.
Lea had read between the lines more times than she could
count. This unnamed man was being sent not just as a
defender of the land, but as a prospective husband.
Five days ago, King Stephen had also sent a missive. His
note had been more to the point. If Lea wished to retain
control of Montreau, she had but a few months to deliver
Montreau a son, or else wed one of Stephen's men.
She'd been widowed just over two weeks. Her husband had
chosen a fine time to drown. He could have at least waited
until she was with child. She shivered at the thought. It
had been hard enough to be in the same room with Charles,
let alone in his bedchamber—or bed.
The one time they'd tried to share a marriage bed had ended
badly. Thankfully, in their four years of marriage, Charles
hadn't found the desire to repeat the event.
If either royal liege thought she'd meekly accept another
husband, they would be wrong. She'd had one husband and as
far as she was concerned, that had been one too many.
She'd given her heart away many years ago, only to have it
trampled beneath duty and honour. Thankfully Charles hadn't
expected, or wanted, her love. By the time they'd wed she
had learned to live with her broken heart and shattered dreams.
'My lady?'
Lea pushed away the thoughts and attended to the guard. 'How
many ships?'
'Three dragon prows.'
The room spun and the floor beneath her chair tilted. Lea
swallowed her gasp and closed her eyes, forcing herself to
remain calm enough to think. After receiving the king's
missive, she'd frantically summoned Montreau's midwife,
knowing there was no man on her land who would fulfil her
need of getting with child. Besides, she didn't want the man
around afterwards to claim the child as his. Everyone needed
to believe the babe was Charles's, conceived just before his
death.
Uncertain how to find such a man on extremely short notice,
she'd requested that the old woman create a charm that would
quickly draw someone to her.
She had no use of a husband. In fact, she was much better
off without one. The happiest days of her marriage had been
the ones when Charles had been away from the keep. She and
marriage simply did not suit. Her parents had made her aware
at an early age that husbands and wives were little more
than bitter enemies living beneath the same roof.
However, she did have need of a man.
The midwife had created many charms for her, some so
malodorous that she'd not subject the pigs to the stench.
Lea had chosen a dream charm—one that would enable her
to dream of the man who would best serve her needs.
While the charm had filled her dreams with visions of the
man, unfortunately, he'd not appeared fully formed. He'd
been nothing more than a vaporous warrior disembarking from
a dragon prow before leading his men to her keep.
But Lea hadn't needed to see his face to know his identity.
She'd yet to say his name out loud, because she had feared
giving it voice would make it true. She had prayed hard and
long that it would not prove true, that he would
not come to Montreau and would remain only a wispy dream of
the past.
Her prayer had been in vain.
What would she do now? She desperately needed a child, but
not by him. Dear Lord, not like this. Her stomach
knotted. She longed to run away, to hide, to simply vanish
from Montreau. Anything, so that she didn't have to face the
past.
But that wasn't going to happen. Whether Empress Matilda had
sent him on purpose or not made little difference, her fate
had been sealed. If she wanted to retain possession of
Montreau, she had to produce a child.
Agatha, once her nursemaid and now her lady's maid, stepped
closer to ask in a whisper, 'Lady Lea, what are you thinking?'
'You know what I must do.'
Agatha rested an age-gnarled hand on her arm. 'Nay, this is
a choice you need not yet make.'
Lea shivered, wishing it could be otherwise. But there was
no heir for Montreau and Lea would rather take her own life
than pledge herself to one of Stephen's men.
She never should have taken Agatha into her confidence. But
what was done was done. She ignored the maid to once again
address the waiting guard. 'Tell the men to pull back into
the courtyard.'
He said nothing, only rose and rapped his fisted hand to his
chest before leaving to do her bidding.
'You will give yourself to the Empress Matilda's man simply
to create a child?' Agatha's tone of censure said more than
her question had.
Lea glared at the woman. 'Not just a child. An heir for
Montreau.'
Her words had been clipped and steady. But her insides were
a-quiver, trembling like a child frightened of a storm.
After a quick glance around the hall to make certain none
was within hearing, Agatha queried, 'Is this stone keep
worth more than your virtue, is it more important than your
honour?'
Lea gripped the arms of her chair and leaned forwards. 'Yes.
It is.' Until she could sort out her feelings and fears, she
had to brave this through. 'What would you have me do? You
know as well as I that if Stephen or Matilda controls this
keep, our men will be forced into this war. How many lives
should I sacrifice?'
Why did Agatha not understand? Montreau had been her entire
life. As their only daughter, Lea had been groomed with the
same goal in mind that they had had for her
brother—until his death—and that was to retain
control of Montreau. That was the only thing her parents had
ever agreed upon.
They had raised her like the queen of a small country. Just
like her brother Phillip, she'd been educated at great cost.
They'd made certain she could read, write, speak French,
Latin and English and understand mathematics. She'd not let
their sacrifices and training be for naught.
Her family held this keep by the grace of King William I.
The sealed writs were in a trunk at the foot of her bed. She
would not permit Stephen or Matilda to drag Montreau into
their war. Her men would not die in vain.
'But, my lady—'
'No!' Lea lowered her voice. 'Stephen offers nothing but
war. Matilda offers neutrality—for a time.' She was
well aware that the Empress could and did change her mind as
often as the barons changed their allegiance. 'We will
welcome her man into this keep.' Lea pinned her maid with a
hard stare. 'Somehow, I must see to it Montreau gains an heir.'
'Lady Lea, you cannot place all your faith in dreams.'
Because she hadn't wanted to speak his name, she hadn't told
Agatha the man's identity. As far as the woman knew, Lea had
dreamed of a faceless man.
'I don't place all my faith in dreams.' Lea reached into her
cloak to pull a small sachet free. Holding the yarrow dream
charm in her hand, she mused, 'But sometimes dreams and fate
are all that's left.'
Her gaze lingered a moment on the sachet before she lifted
her head to once again face Agatha. 'You have always placed
your trust and sometimes my well-being in midwife Berta's
hands. Should I now turn my back on what you have taught me
not just by word, but by deed?'
Agatha's face crumpled as she lowered her gaze to the floor.
'No. I only ask you to have a care for your own safety and
give a thought to your virtue.'
'Would that I had the opportunity to do so.' Yet deep
inside, she knew time was of the essence.
But her thoughts at the moment were focused on more than
just her virtue. The man who had so ruthlessly tossed her
love aside had come back. Not to—or for— her,
but because he'd been ordered to guard Montreau.
And Jared of Warehaven always followed his liege lady's orders.
She should be outraged—and Lea knew that she would
be—later. Right now, though, she risked becoming lost
in memories and thoughts of what might have been.
No.
She couldn't allow that to happen. If she didn't want to
relive the pain of loss—and she didn't—then she
needed to act as if the past had never happened.
If she treated him like a stranger perhaps then she'd be
able to see her plan through—somehow.
Her other worry—the one that should be at the
forefront of her concerns—was about Montreau's men. If
they thought her life was in danger, they would defend her
and the keep to the death.
It was imperative that she keep her wits about her. She'd
not have unnecessary bloodshed on her hands, nor on her
soul—not when it was within her power to prevent it.
Lea rose and lifted her face to the cool draught ever
present in the Great Hall. 'Do you not feel it, Agatha? Can
you not sense the change in the air?'
She folded her hands and stared at the doors. 'I may stain
my virtue in your eyes, but in the end Montreau will remain
safely in my hands.'
'My lady.' Agatha rested a hand on Lea's shoulder.
She patted the maid's hand, hoping to alleviate the woman's
worry without divulging how familiar this man was to her. 'I
do not fear what need be done. Have I not dreamed of this
warrior? His arrival in a dragon prow only confirms the
rightness of this decision.'
The maid sighed, then lowered her hand. 'What would you have
me do?'
'Take yourself from the hall. Be safe and keep well until I
have need of you.' Lea glanced at Agatha, adding, 'I would
not rest, knowing you were in harm's way.'
Once the maid exited the hall, Lea debated whether to meet
him here, on the wall, or in the bailey. Her experience with
men was limited to having her heart broken by one man and
being wed to another who had proved how much he despised
being married to her at every turn.
No. She'd not think of failure. She could do this.
But how was she to set her plan in action without her lack
of experience proving her downfall?