She reached up, touching his face sweetly. “Only if you’re certain.
“Never more certain of anything. You are what is most important to me now.”
Lysabel leaned in to him for a hug and he kissed the top of her head. But as she looked at the hall, she spied her father and Gaston sitting at the very end of one of the tables, deeply involved in their conversation.
Two great knights with their empires laid out before them, and their children marrying to cement a great legacy. It was a proud and powerful dynasty they both shared, The Dark One and the White Lord. Lysabel’s gaze lingered on Matthew.
“My father seems much happier the past few days,” she said. “Don’t you think so?”
Trenton spied the two older men also. “Aye,” he said. “He is back to hugging me again. He has not done that since this whole thing started.”
“He loves you,” Lysabel said. “He has always loved you. I think he feels bad for the way things went, for the position he had to take. Truthfully, now that things have calmed down and everything worked in our favor, I understand what he was trying to do. It was a terribly difficult position for him, though.”
Trenton nodded. “It was,” he said. “In hindsight, if the same thing had happened to Cissy or Cinny, I cannot say that I would not have reacted just as your father did.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
“Why don’t you do that now? I want to see my daughters before they go to sleep. Come up when you have finished with my father and bid them a good sleep.”
Trenton’s gaze lingered on his father and Matthew, seeing how wrapped up in their conversation they were. He could only imagine what they were discussing; the past, their dedication to each other, and their dedication to a braver, stronger England. Perhaps, they were discussing the future. Trenton could only imagine Matthew’s grief at facing a future without his very best friend, because it was a grief that Trenton suffered every single day, knowing that each day with his father was precious.
And each day might be the last.
That was why he was so glad his father was here with him now, seeing his joy as he embarked on a new life with the woman he loved. It had been a hard-fought battle, but they’d been victorious, and it was a victory for all to share. Trenton had already discussed with Lysabel the importance of spending what time he could with his father at Deverill Castle, for as long as he could. She wholeheartedly agreed.
It was something more to love her for.
“I will talk to him,” he said. “But give the old men their time together. That time between them is rare and few these days. For now, I have something else to do.”
“What?”
“I have a man to thank.”
Lysabel knew who he meant.
Ranse de Troyes hadn’t attended the wedding, or any of the festivities even though he’d been invited. He’d politely declined, instead preferring to remain at his post to ensure Wellesbourne Castle was safe and the wedding uninterrupted. It was his wedding gift to the happy couple, but Lysabel suspected there was more to it. It would have been difficult for any man to witness a marriage that should have been his, and she didn’t blame him for staying away.
The man who had made this all possible.
Therefore, she smiled in understanding at Trenton’s statement and kissed him before heading from the hall, following the path of her mother and mother-in-law as they’d taken her girls to bed.
Trenton watched her go, his heart fuller than he ever knew possible. A new wife, new daughters, and a baby on the way made him more content than he’d ever been. A whole new life was laid wide before him and the world was at his feet. Together, with Lysabel, he would conquer it all.
He would be the man his father had always wanted him to be.
As Trenton headed out of the hall on his way to thank de Troyes, he looked up into the brilliant night sky and remembered that on a night very similar to this one, he’d discovered the love of his life in an abused, beaten lady who, in spite of her sorrows, had never let it destroy her. Her strength and her dignity were the things legends were made of, but the adoration he felt for her was something only dreamt of.
Trenton de Russe had finally learned the meaning of what it meant to love.
* THE END *
Children of Trenton and Lysabel
Cynethryn
Brencis
Raphael (Rafe)
Gaston
Brandt
Matthew
Trevor
Kristienne
Lucian
DARK STEEL
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
Author’s Note
Welcome to Dane Stoneley de Russe’s story!
When I first wrote about Dane, it was as a secondary character, and the son of the heroine, in THE DARK ONE: DARK KNIGHT. Dane was a precocious but adorable seven year old, constantly getting himself (and others) into trouble. Therefore, I had to think about Dane before I started writing about him as an adult – what kind of man did he grow up to be?
The answer was: a good one.
With Remington as his mother, and Gaston as his stepfather, he couldn’t help but grow up properly guided. He’s grown up into a thoughtful, career-oriented knight. But Dane’s problem? He’s trusting. Sometimes too trusting.
While Dane’s brother, Trenton (Dark Moon), grew up into a hardened assassin, Dane didn’t go in that direction. He’s a virtuous, chivalrous man, but he has a flaw – he lets his emotions get the better of him sometimes. Sometimes he acts before he thinks (and we saw that when he was a boy). He never outgrew it.
Enter Grier de Lara.
Smart, and rather naïve, she has the same trusting manner that Dane has, but she has a bitter streak in her as well. You’ll discover that. It was such a joy to write about this pair and I hope that joy shows. Now, there are a few Welsh references in this book, as it’s set on the Welsh Marches, so I’ve once again provided a pronunciation key to help as you go along:
Idloes: EEED-loys (much like the pronunciation of Eloi, from H.G. Wells “The Time Machine”)
Grier: Greer
Eolande: Yo-LAWND (her nickname is Landy, which is pronounced LAWNDY)
Moria (as in the Mother Abbess): Moriah/Mariah
That’s about all of the “odd” pronunciations in this novel, so read on and hopefully enjoy Dane’s story. It’s a very fast and thrilling adventure, so hold on for a swift ride!
Love,
Children of Gaston and Remington de Russe
Trenton (Gaston’s first marriage to Mari-Elle de Russe) married to Lysabel Wellesbourne
Dane (Remington’s first marriage to Guy Stoneley) married to Grier de Lara
Adeliza (married, has issue)
Arica (married, has issue)
Cortland (Cort)
Matthieu (married, has issue)
Boden
Gage
Gilliana
The Shrewsbury (Salop) Battle Horn
(Folk song, author unknown, melody unknown.
Thought to have been composed in the 14th century)
In days gone by
A rallying cry,
Meant for one and all.
As brave men would fight,
Deep into the night,
For the safety of those at Salop.
Heeding this cry,
A devil’s son,
Became a duke of Salop.
A man so true,
No who knew,
The pain he suffered through.
A lady fair,
No man would care,
To call upon her heart.
But the devil’s duke,
Beyond rebuke,
Loved her as none would dare.
(chorus repeat)
In days gone by
A rallying cry,
Meant for one and all.
As brave men would fight,
Deep into the night,
For the
safety of those at Salop.
For the lady and her Duke of Salop.
De Russe motto: Et est spes est virtus
“In Valor there is Hope”
Shrewsbury Motto: Tantum in me, Deus, et rex fortis dominabitur
“Only God and the King shall rule me”
PROLOGUE
1519 A.D., October
Battle of Erwood Castle
Welsh Marches
The Shrewsbury horn had blared.
“Dane! Behind you!”
Sir Dane de Russe heard his brother’s cry, bending in with the plaintive cry of the battle horn, and he ducked low and tried to spin away from whatever was coming up behind him. But he wasn’t fast enough, nor was his body pressed low enough. A blow from a shield, the broadside shoved at him, caught him on the head and shoulder, and down he went over the side of the embankment.
Sliding, spinning, out of control, the weight from the armor he wore carried him down the side of the slippery slope. It was pouring buckets, the angry pewter sky above sending a deluge down to the earth as the Shrewsbury army and an angry Welsh army faced off at the base of Erwood Castle.
Water and mud ended up in Dane’s mouth as, halfway down the slope, he finally rammed a dagger into the hillside like an anchor so he wouldn’t slide all the way down into the moat. Down there, men were up to their waists in muck, struggling to not only stay alive, but struggling to kill the men who were trying to kill them in return.
It was sheer madness.
But it was worse up above. At the top of the embankment, where there was a partially destroyed wall, men were fighting with swords and pikes. But when they lost those, fists were flying. As a result, some of the battle had turned into a massive fist fight, and men were sliding down the slope and into the moat on a regular basis to the point that there was more fighting going on in the moat than on land. Dane didn’t want to make it into that moat; once men went in, they were stuck.
They were dead.
Overhead, the sky lit up with thunder and lightning, creating a brilliant display, but in the mud lands of Erwood, no one noticed. They were all trying to keep alive, caught up in their own battles as the Duke of Shrewsbury’s army tried to regain control of Erwood, a small but vital outpost along the Welsh Marches in the very southern fringes of Shrewsbury’s territory that was disputed between the English and the Welsh. Shrewsbury claimed it, and had for decades, but a resurgence of Welsh rebellion, very unusual in this day and age, was trying to gain it back.
And that was why the English were here, sliding down slippery slopes and ending up in a moat of mud and blood. Dane had managed to avoid most of it so far. As he reached the top of the embankment, he paused, catching his breath and looking out over the great mass of fighting, dying men. It was beyond chaotic, and he found himself reflecting on how he’d come to this moment in time, fighting on the Welsh Marches for a slip of a castle that everyone wanted.
Truthfully, he didn’t want to be here.
But he had little choice.
Dane had assumed control of one of his father’s outposts along the Marches not quite a year ago, and what a glorious year it had been. Blackmore Castle had become his, along with the lordship, and for the first time in his life, Dane had been in complete control of something that was his very own.
Not that he minded serving his father, the Duke of Warminster. In fact, he’d loved serving his father as the captain of his army, but a man wanted more in life than to be subservient to a parent. His father knew that, as did his mother, so when Gaston de Russe had purchased Blackmore Castle from the king, he’d given it to Dane with the provision that Dane remain loyal to the Dukedom of Warminster.
That hadn’t been a difficult task.
Taking a younger brother with him, Dane and Boden de Russe had set out for Blackmore Castle with four hundred de Russe troops and another knight, William Wellesbourne. It had been a great adventure for the de Russe brothers, and the Wellesbourne knight, but when they got to their destination, they’d discovered Blackmore Castle to be a rather dilapidated bunch of stones.
Still, it didn’t matter; to Dane, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and a scant year later, Blackmore was mostly rebuilt thanks to hard work and de Russe money. Dane had built friendships and alliances among the border lords, including the elderly Duke of Shrewsbury, which was how he found himself here.
Aye… he remembered well how he got to Erwood.
Shrewsbury.
Old Garreth de Lara, Duke of Shrewsbury and Lord of the Trinity Castles, knew Dane’s father and had taken an immediate liking to Dane. Shrewsbury wasn’t far from Blackmore, only a half-day’s ride, and Garreth came to visit Dane and Boden and William nearly every other week. He brought men with him, men he’d given to Dane to plump up his army of four hundred into an army of seven hundred, and he’d brought gifts and horses and food with him. He even brought his captain, Sir Dastan du Reims, a god of a man who had women falling all over him in spite of the fact that he was married. They would all sit together at night, feasting and telling stories. Garreth loved Dastan, but he loved Dane more. He showered the man with gifts.
It was as if Dane had a rich uncle who had suddenly died and left him everything.
Only Shrewsbury wasn’t dead, and being that he was in good health, he wasn’t even close to meeting death. He was simply a lonely old man with no sons and an only daughter who was off in a convent somewhere. He took great delight in Dane and his brother, and in William Wellesbourne, whose family was so close to the House of de Russe that he was considered family, too.
Family…
That part of his family was here, fighting in this mess, and thoughts of William and Boden shook Dane from his reflections. Those two were around here, somewhere, as was the duke, and Dane was coming to think he needed to locate the pair sooner rather than later. With all of the chaos going on, he wanted to make sure they were well.
He wanted to make sure Garreth was well, too.
The old duke had no business in a battle but because it was his property, he had insisted on coming. Dastan had tried to stop him, as had Dane, but Garreth wouldn’t be dissuaded. He had a contingent of bodyguards that he kept with him. But for Dane’s own peace of mind, he wanted to make sure the old warrior was in one piece. The battle had been particularly brutal, especially with the Welsh involved, so something told him to find Garreth and ensure the man’s safety even though he was fairly certain Dastan hadn’t let the old duke out of his sight. Still, Dane might even be able to talk him into returning to camp, but something told him that wasn’t a possibility.
Heaving himself up from the muddy slope, Dane went on the hunt. Almost immediately, he could see Boden over by the keep. His brother was whole and sound, shouting to some Shrewsbury men, so Dane didn’t worry any more about him. Now, he turned his attention to the twin baileys, faced with a writhing mass of men.
One man found, two to go.
The castle, as a whole, was perched on the top of a hill, one that had been leveled off to build the structure, but the entire thing sloped downward, so as Dane walked from the inner to the outer bailey, he found himself slipping and sliding in the very wet mud as he went. By the time he’d reached the outer bailey, he’d slipped so much that he’d nearly fallen, twice, and with his broadsword in hand, he charged into the melee in the outer bailey.
Quickly, he spied William Wellesbourne, the fiery youngest son of Sir Matthew Wellesbourne. He was called Willie, or Dimwit, or anything else his family and friends could hurl at him because William had a wild and reckless streak in him a mile long. He’d come with Dane at Matthew’s request – something about wanting his son to grow up – but so far, William hadn’t done much growing up. He was still the same loveable, brilliant imp. He was too much fun to punish and too foolish to believe at times, but it was all part of the man’s charm.
Dane spied William as he hacked away at a Welshman who wasn’t very skilled, but who was very strong. He had a shield he k
ept up and William was slashing away at him. Dane suspected that the Welsh warrior was simply waiting for William to wear himself out so he could strike a deathblow, so Dane charged at the pair, the dark steel of his sword swinging at the Welshman and catching him off guard. Dane caught the man across the chest and shoulders with the sharp end of his blade, wounding him badly. As the Welshman fell away, William turned to Dane.
“What are you doing down here?” he demanded. “I thought you were going for the keep?”
Dane turned to the keep at the top of the rise, in the inner ward. “The Welsh have it,” he said. “Boden is trying to organize a charge, but it’s my sense that Shrewsbury is going to have to move some war machines in here if he wants to take the keep. The Welsh are dug in like rabbits in a hole. Where is Shrewsbury, anyway?”
William began to look around. “I saw him not too long ago with his personal guard,” he said. “They were over by the bridge that crosses into the inner ward the last I saw. Didn’t you come from that direction?”
“I did.”
“And you did not see him in the inner ward?”
Dane shook his head. “Nay.”
“Then you’d better look in the moat below the bridge,” William said, warning in his tone. “The last I saw, Shrewsbury was right by the bridge.”
“Where is du Reims? Isn’t he with him?”
William shook his head. “Du Reims took a bad blow to his shoulder,” he said. “He could not even lift his sword. He has been sent back to camp.”
“So Shrewsbury is alone?”
William nodded ominously.
Somewhere up near the keep, the Shrewsbury battle horn sounded again, their rally cry. It was an alarm that the Shrewsbury army always carried with it, and always responded to. That horn was famous up and down the Marches. But Dane ignored the muted wail; he was feeling some trepidation now at William’s words. So many men had fallen into that moat; not only did it surround the upper bailey, but the lower one as well. He couldn’t imagine that an old man in armor would fare very well in it, so he motioned for William to follow him and, together, they made their way back up the slippery outer bailey towards the bridge that crossed into the inner bailey. It was a bridge that the English were trying to prevent the Welsh from actively destroying.