Epic Knights of Legend and Steel

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Year of our Lord 1258 A.D.

Reign of Henry III

Oxford, England

I t was a day of days, a mild spring day that was perfect in every fashion. The sun was brilliant against the deep, blue expanse of sky with nary a cloud to hamper the view. Days like this were rare, neither hot nor cold, but in that perfect temperature that seemed to bring out the best in both man and beast. A breeze, as soft and caressing as a child’s whisper, whistled through the busy and proud town of Oxford.

The Street of the Merchants was a bustling road that was lined on both sides by close-quarters buildings, stalls and shops that were manned by aggressive salesmen determined to push their wares upon a spend-happy public. Between St. Clement’s Church and the castle stretched the main thoroughfare through the town, and travelers spilled into the Street of the Merchants, just off the main road. This created a crowded bottleneck at the head of the street.

Four armed knights pushed themselves through the bottleneck and ended up in the crowds shopping along the avenue. The smells from the bakers on the next street wafted heavily in the air, the scent of yeast and of hard, brown crusts making for hungry shoppers at this time in the morning. Near the middle of the avenue near a fabric vendor’s stall, a man playing what looked like a crudely made vielle stood in the tiny gap between two buildings while his daughter, a round girl with a big mouth, sang quite loudly and somewhat off key. All of it, the sights and smells of the day, contributed to the hurried setting.

“Licorice root, wasn’t it?” one of the knights asked the group. “And spiced wine?”

The knight in the lead, a very large man with massive shoulders and a crown of dark, wavy hair replied. “Wine with marjoram,” he said. “She was specific. It settles her stomach, as does the licorice.”

The knight who asked about the licorice root made a face. “Have you ever tasted licorice?” he asked. “It is most foul and turns your tongue black.”

The knight in the lead turned to look at the licorice-hating knight, who was now sticking his tongue out to demonstrate his aversion. Sir Maximus de Shera, a brawny beast of a man with enormous shoulders and a granite-square jaw, shook his dark brown head at his younger brother’s antics.

“It does not matter what you or I think of it,” he said. “Jeniver is feeling ill from her pregnancy and Gallus asked us to find her some.”

Sir Tiberius de Shera put his tongue back in his mouth but he still wasn’t convinced. The very tall, lean, muscular brother was animated to a fault and opinionated until the very end.

“The spiced wine would do better,” he said. “Moreover, why are we running Gallus’ errands for him? His wife is the one feeling ill. He should be the one to come and fish for stinking roots and rotten wine for her.”

Maximus grinned. “Will you tell him that to his face?”

Tiberius shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “Much like you, I do as I am told by our illustrious, older brother. Let us get this over with. I will head down to the end of the avenue and see if I can find an apothecary. You stay here and see if you can locate the wine with all of the dried weeds in it.”

Maximus merely waved Tiberius on and the man headed down the street with another knight in tow. Maximus cocked an eyebrow.

“He does not understand,” he said to the knight who had remained with him. “He is not yet old enough to realize that a man will do anything for the woman he loves. He’s not yet had experience with love like that.”

The knight who had remained with him, a hulking man named Sir Garran de Moray, glanced at Maximus with his onyx-black eyes.

“You speak as if you have known an affair such as that,” he said. “I did not know that about you, Max.”

Maximus pulled his muscular rouncey to a halt and dismounted. “It was a long time ago,” he said, muttering, as if he did not want to spare thought to those memories. “I was seventeen years of age and she was fourteen. We were madly in love.”

“What happened?”

Maximus grunted. “A de Shera cannot marry below his station,” he said, somewhat sarcastically. “She was the smithy’s daughter. When my father found out, he sent both her and her father away. I heard that she died later that year of a fever. I have always wondered if….”

He trailed off, disinclined to continue, as he tethered his horse to the nearest post. Garran dismounted beside him, unwilling to push the subject of his young and tragic love. Garran had known Maximus and this was the first time he’d heard such a thing, but he wasn’t surprised. Maximus tended to keep silent on personal matters. He wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve or speak on things even remotely private. Keeping that in mind, Garran pointed to the building in front of them.

“A wine and spice merchant,” he said, changing the subject. “It is my guess we will be able to find a myriad of things to settle Lady de Shera’s belly. If the wine doesn’t make her drunk enough to forget her ills, then we shall find a spice that will make her giddy enough to not care.”

Smirking, Maximus moved into the shop with Garran on his heels. Inside, it was dark, cluttered, and smelled of great and exotic lands. Mustard, nutmeg, and cardamom were in great baskets lining the walls, and there were spices from The Levant, Egypt, and darkest Africa. It made him sneeze. The merchant, a fat man dressed in silks and speaking with an odd accent, tried to sell them all manner of mysterious ingredients, including flakes of gold that were said to ward off the demons of sickness.

Maximus didn’t want golden medicine. He simply wanted licorice root for his brother’s wife’s nausea. The merchant, however, steered him towards chamomile and assured him that it would soothe an upset belly, so he ended up buying that as well. As the merchant tried to interest him in some dark seeds that looked like bugs, seeds that also promised to ease Lady de Shera’s bellyache, screams could be heard out on the avenue.

At first, Maximus didn’t pay any attention although Garran did. As Maximus paid the spice vendor for the products he had acquired, Garran went to the door of the stall and casually looked out to see what the fuss was about. He caught sight of it about the same time a massive wave of smoke blew into the spice merchant’s stall, catching Maximus’ attention.

“What is it?” he said to Garran. “Where is the smoke coming from?”

Garran’s features were bordering on concern as he pointed to the south. “A building is on fire,” he said. “It looks as if people are trapped.”

Thanking the merchant, Maximus went to the door, looking in the direction that Garran was indicating. Across the avenue and on the corner of the street where several hostels were located, smoke was billowing out of the first floor of a three-storied building. The entire area was filling up quickly with smoke and people were beginning to panic. A fire such as that, in the cramped quarters of the city, could spread quickly. Already, merchants were starting to pack up their wares with the intention of fleeing. As people began to run away from the fire, Maximus handed his recent purchase back to the merchant for safekeeping as he and Garran headed towards the flames.

As the knights drew closer, they could see that the first floor of the building was quickly becoming engulfed. A layer of heavy smoke was clogging the avenue and they could see through the haze that there were people on the second and third floors of the building that was burning. There didn’t seem to be any flame on those levels but it was only a matter of time. Smoke was already filling the rooms, swirling from the windows as the people inside began to throw their possessions out the windows. In fact, people were starting to come out of the windows as well.

Two women and a small child jumped onto the street below, suffering no injuries by pure fortune. The crowd gathered at the base of the building was carrying buckets to extinguish the fire, encouraging the people trapped inside to jump. As Maximus and Garran came to the west side of the building, the side that fronted the Street of the Merchants, a young woman and a girl appeared on the third floor above.

The young woman, coughing as the smoke swept upward, had what looked to be a rope of material of some kind in her hands. It was clear that she had tied items together to form a rope, a very clever and resourceful action, and Maximus and Garran ran towards the rope as she lowered it.

“Make sure you secure the end of it,” Maximus shouted up to the young woman. “Tie it tightly. We will help you!”

As the young girl cowered in the window, the woman disappeared inside and they could feel the cloth rope tugging.

“Hopefully she is tying it to something sturdy,” Garran said, squinting up at the smoke-filled window. “What is this place, anyway?”

Maximus, holding on to the end of the rope, glanced about. “I am not sure,” he said. “A hostel, mayhap? People are throwing capcases and satchels out into the street.”

Garran glanced around, too, and was forced to agree. There were possessions strewn out all over the avenue. As he watched, a pair of children stole a few items in the mud and ran off with them, disappearing into the quagmire of alleyways and avenues beyond. Garran cocked a disapproving eyebrow.

“And they are making it easy for thieves,” he commented, returning his attention to the women above them. “She had better hurry, the fire is gaining. It will reach the upper floor soon.”

He was correct. It had already reached the second floor and had engulfed at least two of the rooms. More people were jumping, landing in the mud and hard-packed earth of the avenue below, but those on the third floor, as this woman and girl were, had a bit more of a challenge. It was more of a jump. As they seriously began to wonder what happened to the young woman, she suddenly appeared into the window next to the girl.

“Hurry down the rope!” Maximus yelled up to her. “Send the little one down first!”

Already, the young woman was rushing the girl onto the rope, but the girl was frightened. She wept and struggled a bit, fearful of the general chaos going on around her. The young woman was firm, however, and she coughed, laboring against the smoke, as she forced the girl onto the linen rope.

Once the girl was on the rope, she froze, crying, as the young woman encouraged her to slither down. Garran, seeing that the girl was very uncertain on the rope, positioned himself underneath her should she fall. His instincts had been correct, for the girl had hardly moved at all before she lost her grip and, screaming, tumbled right into his arms. A flailing fist caught Garran in the mouth, drawing blood, but he didn’t utter a word about it or even acknowledge it as he carried the girl away from the burning building. He was well clear when he set the terrified child to her feet.

“Are you well, lass?” he asked her, not unkindly. “Did you hurt yourself?”

The girl sniffled, wiping her running nose with the back of her hand. “N-Nay,” she stammered. “I did not hurt myself. But you must help my sister!”

She was pointing to the third floor where the young woman was trying to mount the rope. The smoke was thicker now, billowing out of the window in great, black clouds and swirling around the young woman as she tried to get a good grip on the rope, repeatedly trying to gain purchase on it. It became evident that her palms were sweating, or perhaps injured, because she was having a difficult time grasping it. The more she tried, the more it seemed to slip through her fingers.

Maximus was standing directly beneath the rope that the young girl had attempted to use. He could see that the woman was nearly swamped with smoke at this point and flames were beginning to shoot from the windows of the chamber next to hers. There was no more time to delay, sweating palms or no, and he took hold of the end of the linen rope, holding it steady.

“Lass!” he boomed up to her. “Come now! Use the rope!”

The woman was hurrying. He could see it. Her movements were quick, determined, yet futile in most instances. Maximus could see the orange glow behind her now as the flames made their way into her chamber and the woman, feeling the heat behind her, made a desperate leap onto the rope.

Unfortunately, her grip wasn’t very strong. As the flames began to flick out from the window, the woman tried to lower herself down the rope. She slipped, but caught herself, desperately attempting to hold on to the linen that seemed as slippery as silk. Maximus held on to the other end of it, holding it steady, as she lowered herself slowly and precariously.

“That’s it, lass,” Maximus called up to her, encouragingly. “One hand over the other. Do not panic, steady, lass, steady.”

The woman was able to lower herself to the second floor level, which was a miracle considering her weak grip and uneven progress. She was valiantly trying to descend and Maximus watched her with some concern as she made progress. Gazing up at her feet and at the dark green surcoat as it blew about in the wind that the firestorm was creating, he realized he could see up her skirt and was trying not to look at her very shapely legs. He could also see the hem of her fine white shift and, as it billowed about, he’d caught a glimpse of naked buttocks.

Maximus wasn’t hard-pressed to admit that he found the show tantalizing, but he knew his thoughts were grossly out of place considering the circumstances. Therefore, he tried to focus on her hands and the upper, well-covered portion of her torso. Anything to keep his gaze from wandering to her legs and smooth arse. Unfortunately, the Winds of Fate had other ideas.

Abruptly, the linen rope went slack as the fire burned through whatever the young woman had anchored it to. All Maximus could see was the woman as she came sailing down upon him. The skirt, caught by the wind as she fell, belled out and Maximus soon found his head covered by it. Her feet hit his shoulders and glanced off, her heels sliding down his shoulder blades as her bum came to rest on his collarbone.

It was a hard hit against his throat and he pitched backwards with the momentum of her fall, realizing that a woman’s pink, tender center was suddenly in his face. It was the only thing he could see. As he hit the ground, the woman fell atop him, her fuzzy notch squarely on his face.

Maximus lay there as the woman essentially knelt over him in an extraordinarily provocative position. From the way they had fallen, her skirts were tangled around them so she couldn’t rise immediately. He was trapped, his face against that sensual core, and in spite of the circumstances, it was the most arousing experience he’d ever known. Had he stuck out his tongue, he could have easily lapped her. But she was grunting unhappily, struggling to climb off him, and Maximus had to pull himself away from that rather beautiful sight to restore the woman’s dignity. He shifted so she could at least pull her skirts out from underneath him.

“Sirrah!” the woman gasped, trying to yank her tangled skirt away from his head. “Let me go !”

Maximus realized that his arms were tangled in her skirts as well. “I am trying, my lady,” he assured her. “Kindly push yourself up and I will be able to move.”

Evidently, the woman could feel his hot breath against her woman’s core as he spoke because she suddenly shrieked and began pummeling his head, still half-wrapped up in her skirts.

“You beast!” she cried. “You dirty, foul beast! Remove yourself!”

She was landing some heavy blows to his head and Maximus put his hands up, grabbing her fists as they swung at them. He could only see her with one eye because of the skirts still around his head, but that one eye was glaring.

“You will cease your fit,” he growled. “I am not here by choice, lady. You fell on top of me . If anyone should be angry between us, it should not be you. Now, stop beating me and pull your skirts away from my head unless you wish to remain in this position for the rest of your life.”

The young woman was embarrassed and frustrated. Maximus could see it in her expression. She was also the most utterly beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. With long, blond hair secured in a braid, she had a sweet oval face, lush lips, and big eyes the color of a hot, summer sky. She was absolutely ravishing. But that beautiful face was twisted into a serious frown.

Grunting miserably, the woman yanked at her skirts, trying to push herself off of him. Maximus was able to get his arms free and he reached out, taking her by the waist as he sat up. He was able to set her to her feet before rolling over and rising to his knees. He watched as the woman ran over to the young girl, pulling the child into a relieved embrace.

“Are you well, Issie?” she asked softly. “Did you hurt yourself?”

The young girl shook her head, holding tightly to the woman. “Nay,” she replied, looking at Garran, who was standing a few feet away. “He… he saved me.”

The young woman looked at the big, black-eyed knight. “You have my thanks,” she said sincerely. Then, she reluctantly turned to Maximus, who was just rising to his feet and brushing the dirt off his leather breeches. It was clear that she was torn between her embarrassment and her gratitude. “And to you, sirrah… I suppose I should thank you also. Had you not been here, the outcome might have been considerably different for my sister and me.”

Maximus moved away from the flaming structure, which was starting to collapse. Pieces of building were falling onto the avenue and, silently, he and Garran moved the women away from the danger to the other side of the street. It was a chivalrous habit to protect the weaker, female sex and had nothing to do with his overall concern for the women. Considering the ungrateful lady had beat him around the head, he would just as soon leave her where she stood.

“Your gratitude is unnecessary,” he said, realizing he was having difficulty looking her in the eye and not thinking of that sweet morsel between her legs that had presented itself so unexpectedly to him. “If you are uninjured and do not require further assistance, then we shall be along our way.”

He didn’t even wait for an answer. He found that he was increasingly confused as to his reaction to the woman, as if she had somehow cast a spell over him. Something about her was pulling him towards her whether or not he wanted to and he didn’t like it, not one bit. As he and Garran turned away, heading back for the Street of the Merchants and to the business they were there to conduct, the young woman’s soft voice called after him.

“Sirrah,” she said. “I should like to know your name so that I may tell my father. He will want to thank you.”

Maximus paused and he turned to face her. Her voice had a silky, sensual quality, something he found quite alluring. A siren’s song , he thought ominously. She is trying to bewitch me with that honeyed tone.

“As I said, gratitude is not necessary,” he said somewhat stiffly. “We were honored to be of assistance.”

He turned to leave but, again, the woman stopped him. “Wait, please,” she said. By the time he turned around with some impatience to look at her, she was walking towards him, clutching the little girl beside her. Her lovely features were considerably softer. “I… I am sorry I became angry with you when you were only trying to help. I am afraid that my fear got the better of me. If you would forgive my behavior, I would consider it a personal favor.”

Lord, but that tone was smooth and gentle. He almost closed his eyes to it, letting it flow over him, infiltrate him, and he knew that if he let himself go that she could talk him into anything with those dulcet tones. He wanted to walk away from her and away from the situation. He truly did. He had no involvement here and was anxious to be about his business. But gazing into those bright, blue eyes, he realized he couldn’t simply walk away from her. Something about her had reached out to grab him.

“There is nothing to forgive, my lady,” he said, less stiffly. “Your fright is understandable.”

She smiled faintly and Maximus went weak in the knees. He simply couldn’t help it. He’d never seen such a beautiful smile. “You are too gracious,” she said. Then, she indicated the girl in her grasp. “This is my sister, Lady Isadora de Lara. I am Lady Courtly. My father is Kellen de Lara. Mayhap you know of him.”

Maximus cocked an eyebrow. “The Lord of the Trilateral Castles?” he asked. “Trelystan, Hyssington and Caradoc Castles. Your father is Viscount Trelystan.”

Courtly nodded. “He is, indeed,” she said, surprised that the man should know her father in such detail. “Then you know him?”

Maximus nodded. “I do,” he replied. He had a mind like a steel trap and never forgot anything once he’d learnt it. “The Marcher lords of de Lara hold nearly the entire southern portion of the Welsh Marches as the Lord Sheriffs. Everyone knows of your family, my lady. They are great and powerful. And I know your father well. He is a fine and just man.”

Courtly’s smile grew. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I should like to tell him who saved my sister and me from certain death.”

Maximus hesitated for a moment. A modest man, he wasn’t one to easily accept praise or accolades, but he saw no harm in giving the lady his name. Moreover, he wanted her to know it. As foolish as it was, he wanted her to know him .

“De Shera,” he replied. “I am Maximus de Shera and my counterpart is Garran de Moray.”

He was pointing to Garran beside him but Courtly didn’t look at Garran. She was focused on Maximus as the smile faded from her face.

“De Shera,” she murmured, mulling the name over. “I believe I have heard my father speak of you. You have brothers, do you not?”

“Two.”

She nodded as her recollection returned. “Indeed, I have heard my father speak of you and your brothers,” she said. “One of your brothers is an earl, is he not?”

“The Earl of Coventry.”

“My father says the de Sheras are de Montfort’s muscle.”

Maximus shrugged. “De Montfort has many men that fit that description,” he replied humbly. “We are simply part of a group under de Montfort’s command.”

Courtly eyed the very big, very broad knight. He had brown hair, close-cropped, and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that embraced his square-jawed face. His eyes were a very dark green, a color of the jade stone she had seen once on a piece of jewelry her father had given her mother. His features were even and well-formed, and he had shoulders so broad that she was sure the man couldn’t fit through a doorway with ease. His hands were the size of trenchers.

He was exceptionally handsome, which did nothing to ease the embarrassment of what had happened when the linen rope had given way and she had fallen on top of him. The man’s face had been pressed right up against her genitals. She could still feel his scratchy beard against her tender core. The recollection of it sent shivers through her body, a quivering she did not understand, but all she knew was that it fed her embarrassment and caused her palms to sweat. Or perhaps there was more to it than simply embarrassment, something primal and wanting. She simply didn’t know. All she knew was that she’d never known anything like it.

“I am sure you are being modest,” she finally said. “I am not even a warrior, yet I have heard the de Shera name frequently. I am honored and fortunate that you were here to save my sister and me. It will make a fine story to tell my friends, in any case. They will be quite envious.”

A flicker of a smile twitched on Maximus’ lips. “I hope it does not cause them all to run out and set buildings on fire, hoping I will come around to save them.”

Courtly laughed softly, displaying lovely, white teeth. “Would it be such a burden, then?” she teased. “You are a hero, after all.”

He shook his head firmly. “I am nothing of the sort,” he said. “I happened to be here at the right time and that is all.”

Courtly’s eyes glimmered. “As I said, we were most fortunate.”

Maximum simply nodded. The conversation was dwindling but he didn’t want it to. He rather liked talking to her. Her voice was like music to his ears and her smile made him forget all time and space and reason. It was hypnotic. He could have spent all day listening to her laugh. If she were a siren, then he was gladly, and quite happily, succumbing to her deadly charms. He didn’t care in the least. But he didn’t want to make a fool of himself by lingering over a dying conversation so he cleared his throat softly, sorry to see it end.

“I will take no more of your time, my lady,” he said, eyeing the little girl clutched against her sister. “Before I go, however, tell me where your father is so I may send him word of your predicament. Surely he will want to know.”

Courtly looked at the hostel, which was now crumbling with flame and ash. Men were attempting to douse the fire with buckets of water, sending great plumes of white smoke into the air.

“I am not entirely sure where he is,” she said. “He said he had business to attend this morning but did not say where. My sister and I have nowhere to go at the moment. I suppose we should simply wait here for him to return.”

Maximus, too, watched men struggle to put out the flame. The building was a total loss as people scrambled to keep the fire from spreading to the other closely-crowded buildings surrounding it.

“Have you no one to wait with you?” he asked. “No servants or soldiers? None of your father’s men?”

Courtly shook her head. “He took his men with him,” she replied. “My sister and I had a secured room and our nurse has gone to do some shopping. We were alone when the fire started.”

Maximus turned to look at her. “Do you know how it started?”

Again, she shook her head. “I do not,” she replied. “We heard the shouts and I went to open the door to the corridor and found it was filled with smoke. That is when I tied the bed linens together to make a rope.”

Maximus was intently studying her lovely face as she spoke. He realized that she had a slight lisp, which he found very sweet. There was nothing imperfect about the woman as far as he was concerned.

“That was very resourceful of you,” he said. “Not many women would have had the presence of mind to do that.”

Courtly smiled bashfully. “It seemed the right thing to do,” she said. “I certainly wasn’t going to wait for the flames to consume us. I had to save my sister.”

He nodded his approval. “And you did,” he said. “I shall wait with you until your father returns. That is the least I can do for the woman who saved her sister.”

Courtly was back to laughing softly, now feeling giddy in his presence. She’d never felt giddy in her entire life so this was something new and rather thrilling. Contrary to their embarrassing introduction, she was quickly overcoming it and was now feeling at ease with the man. He was kind and considerate. She rather liked talking to him.

“Truly, that is not necessary,” she said. “I am sure my father will return any moment.”

Maximus simply nodded. “And I will leave when he comes,” he said, eyeing her. “But not before.”

Courtly wasn’t sure what to say to that. She was very flattered that he should take it upon himself to remain with her until her father returned. She wanted to pretend he was doing it because there was something about her personally that he liked, not simply because he felt a sense of chivalry towards her, but it was a foolish hope and she knew it. Still, it was fun to pretend. She would probably never see him again after this so she would take what time she could with him, a handsome and honorable knight of the highest order, and make the most of it.

“You are kind, my lord,” she said, looking away rather coyly when he turned his gaze to her. “Now I am feeling quite guilty for having called you a foul beast. You are nothing of the kind.”

Maximus suppressed a grin. “You have already apologized for that.”

She glanced at him. “I realize that, but I want to make sure you understand that I am truly sorry,” she said. Then her focus moved to the building in front of them, now a heap of flaming ruins. She sighed heavily. “Oh, dear… all of our possessions were in there. I did not even have time to throw them into the street. I suppose I really did not think to because it all happened so fast.”

Garran, standing on the other side of the ladies, heard her. “Mayhap it is good that you did not, my lady,” he said. “There were thieves running off with the possessions that had been thrown out into the streets. Had they run off with yours, we would have had to tear apart the northern end of the city looking for them.”

Courtly looked at the big, broad knight with the black eyes. “I would not have asked that of you, I assure you,” she said. “But I find it quite sad that people must steal because they do not have food to eat or clothing to wear. That is why they steal, you know. They have nothing else.”

Garran glanced at Maximus over the lady’s blond head, seeing his own thoughts reflected in Maximus’ eyes. She is na?ve, this one. A crystal princess raised in a crystal palace with the only true grasp of the world being what she had been told. Women such as Lady Courtly rarely had a true idea of the evils of the world, protected as they were. Garran cleared his throat politely.

“Mayhap, my lady,” he replied. “But it is also equally as likely that they are simply greedy or wicked. It could be any number of reasons.”

Courtly was still watching the smoldering ruins. “Poverty does terrible things to people.”

Maximus was looking at her. There was something sad in her tone. “Poverty and greed drive men to do bold and wicked things,” he said, changing the subject because he didn’t want to debate the morals of mankind with her. He’d seen far more than this guileless lady could ever lay claim to. “I seem to recall that the de Laras have a townhome in Oxford. Why is it that you did not stay there instead of this hostel?”

If Courtly noticed the obvious change in focus, and she would have had to have been daft not to, she didn’t comment on it. She smiled politely.

“You know a great deal about us, Sir Maximus,” she said. “I wonder what else you know?”

He gave her a half-grin. “I have always been one to remember tiny, little details,” he said. “Once I hear or read something, I never forget it. It is a gift or a curse, depending on how one looks at it.”

“How do you look at it?”

“It depends upon the information.”

Courtly’s smile turned genuine. “I think it is a wonderful gift,” she said. “As for the de Lara home, we have one in Kennington, which is a few miles south of Oxford. However, my father’s sister is in residence right now and he dislikes her intensely, so we must stay in town.”

Maximus snorted. “I had an uncle like that,” he muttered. “My father could not stand to be around him for a variety of reasons. He is the uncle that we used to… well, it does not matter what we used to do. In any case, it is a pity your stay in town resulted in the loss of your possessions, but at least you retained your lives. That is what matters most, is it not?”

Courtly was watching him intently. “What did you used to do to your uncle?”

Maximus shook his head. “Childhood antics, my lady. Not worth mentioning.”

“Will you tell me if I ask very nicely?”

“Nay.”

“Why not?”

“Because we were terrible children and I do not want you to think ill of me.”

Courtly laughed softly. “I would never do that,” she said, a mischievous glimmer in her eye. “I will beg you if I have to.”

“Do not beg.”

“I will. I am about to do it. I swear, I will.”

Maximus was trying not to grin, trying not to look at her, but she was being very charming. It was extremely difficult to resist.

“Beg all you like,” he said, turning away from her so he wouldn’t have to look at that lovely, charming face. “I will never tell you. I would rather die than tell you.”

Courtly could sense a game afoot. “That seems rather harsh,” she said, feigning seriousness. “Did you steal from him, then?”

“Nay.”

“Beat him?”

“Nay.”

She sighed deeply. “Then I cannot guess what it is,” she said, pretending to be resigned and miserable. “It would seem that I must go to my grave not knowing what you and your brothers did to this uncle. It is a terrible curse you have put upon me. Do you not know that a woman’s curiosity must be satisfied or else?”

He looked at her then, grinning. “Or else what?”

She could see she had his interest and she looked away, being playful. “I cannot tell you,” she said, turning the tables on him. “You would not like the answer.”

“Tell me.”

She shook her head. “I would rather die than tell you,” she said, using his own words. “And do not beg because it will not do any good.”

She was clever, this one. Maximus appreciated her quick wit very much, seeing how she had turned the tables against him. Oddly, it made him respect her, for this was no simple-minded woman. She was sharp. With that in mind, he sighed in contemplation.

“Very well, then,” he said, folding his arms across his broad chest and pretending to be cross. “I will tell you what my brothers and I did to our uncle if you will tell me what happens when a woman’s curiosity is not sated.”

Courtly looked at him, pointing a finger at him. “Quickly,” she hissed. “Tell me swiftly. It will be less painful that way. Hurry! ”

Maximus did as he was told without hesitation. “My uncle would fart uncontrollably when he slept and my brothers and I would light his farts a-fire,” he said. “One time, we burned up his breeches.”

Courtly burst out in a loud guffaw, slapping her hand over mouth to stifle the laughter. “You didn’t!”

“We did.”

She snorted into her hand, laughing deeply, but Maximus feigned a scowl at her. “Stop laughing,” he muttered swiftly. “Quickly, tell me what would have happened had I not sated your curiosity.”

Courtly removed her hand from her mouth, displaying her lovely smile in full bloom. “Nothing,” she said, throwing up her hands. “I simply said that so you would feel sorry for me and tell me what I wanted to know.”

Maximus pretended to be very cross when, in truth, he was swept up in her gentle flirt as surely as a leaf swept up in a breeze. He had no control over anything at the moment. He was purely at her mercy.

“You are a terrible woman to tease me like that,” he said. “Can you not see how gullible I am?”

Courtly’s smile never left her face, her gaze riveted to him as if he were the only man in the entire world. “I cannot imagine the great Maximus de Shera to be gullible,” she said. “I would imagine you are the smartest brother of all. You said so yourself.”

He shook his head. “I did not say I was the smartest brother,” he corrected her. “I simply said that I remember everything I am told. If my brothers heard me say that I was the smartest of all of them, they would beat me and roll me in pitch.”

Courtly giggled at his admission. She was coming to find the man very humorous and very delightful. As she opened her mouth to reply, a distant shouting stopped her. Both she and Maximus turned in the direction of the avenue leading from St. Clement’s Church in time to see well-armed men on expensive horses heading in their direction. Maximus recognized the de Lara bird of prey immediately.

Through the smoke and ash, armored men surrounded them and the man in the lead, riding a big, dappled charger, leapt from his steed. His gaze was on the women and on Maximus in particular. His confusion, and his concern, was apparent.

“De Shera?” he addressed Maximus, his brow furrowed, before looking to Courtly. “Court, what has happened? What goes on?”

Courtly pointed to the pile of smoldering ruins that had once been their hostel. “There was a fire, Papa,” she told him seriously. “Sir Maximus and Sir Garran saved our lives. We had to jump from the window and they were here to save us.”

Kellen de Lara, Viscount Trelystan and Lord Sheriff of the Southern Marches, looked at his eldest daughter with horror. A man in his early forties, he was fair and handsome, his face weathered from the years of harsh elements and harsh campaigns. His gaze moved between the smoking building and his daughter’s earnest face. Stunned, he simply shook his head.

“Sweet Jes?,” he murmured, reaching out to grasp his daughters, the both of them. “Is this true?”

“It is.”

“And you jumped from the building?”

“Aye, Papa.”

Kellen was nearly beside himself. “Are you well?” he demanded softly. “Did you hurt yourself in any way?”

Courtly shook her head. “We are well,” she replied, her gaze moving to Maximus. “It is Sir Maximus you must thank, Papa. He was a hero.”

Maximus, embarrassed by the praise, was already shaking his head even as Kellen turned to him. “It was not as much as that, my lord,” he said. “Your daughter was quite resourceful and constructed a rope from bed linens, using it to lower herself with. All we did was hold the rope steady and make sure she and her sister came to no harm.”

Kellen was pale with shock. “I can never thank you enough, Sir Maximus,” he said. “What you have done… you have saved my children. I am in your debt.”

Maximus shook his head, uncomfortable. “That is unnecessary, my lord,” he assured the man. “I was happy to help. But now that you are here, I must go about my business. I did not want to leave your daughters unescorted until you returned.”

Kellen was overwhelmed with the situation and with Maximus’ chivalry. He knew the man in name and reputation only, as he’d never had the opportunity to work closely with him. De Montfort kept the de Shera brothers close to him, like personal attack dogs, so it wasn’t often that the brothers mingled with the other barons. Now, Maximus was in his midst and had evidently done him a great service. He owed the man.

“Again, you have my deepest thanks,” he said. “You as well, Sir Garran, have my thanks. May I at least invite you both to sup with us this eve? I should like to demonstrate my thanks for your heroics. Invite your brothers as well. I’ve not had the opportunity to converse with the three of you other than cursory discussions.”

Maximus was hesitant. “Your offer is generous, my lord, but my brothers may have other plans,” he said. Then, he caught a glimpse of Courtly’s hopeful expression and he knew that, come what may, he was going to accept de Lara’s invitation. It would give him another opportunity to see Courtly again. “I, however, have no such plans. I would be happy to sup with you.”

Kellen smiled and Courtly positively beamed. “Excellent,” Kellen said. Then, he turned to eye the heap of ashes behind him. “We have been supping at the hostel but it would seem our dining hall has been burned to the ground. Come out to Kennington House, south of Oxford, and we shall dine tonight in the halls of my ancestors. We shall put on such a feast as to impress even the likes of you. Will you come, then?”

Maximus nodded, trying not to stare at Courtly, who was smiling at him quite openly. “I will be honored, my lord,” he said. “I will see you this eve.”

With that, he nodded his farewells to the de Lara group, excusing himself, and together he and Garran headed back down the avenue, back to the spice merchant to reclaim the licorice root and other things he had purchased. Already, he was thinking on the evening and the time he would spend gazing at Courtly de Lara’s magnificent face. Already, he was missing her as he headed back down the avenue.

It was an effort not to turn around and look at her, but he didn’t want to do it and seem over-eager. His thoughts, however, lingered on the lovely Courtly as her father took charge of both her and her sister, ushering them onto horses and making their way to Kennington House where the vile de Lara aunt resided.

Even as they reached the spice vendor, Maximus was thinking on gold-spun hair and on luminous, blue eyes. As Garran collected the packages they had already paid for, Maximus caught sight of an entire shelf of perfumed oil. He gazed at it, a thought coming to him, as Garran headed out of the stall.

“We must find Ty,” Garran said, squinting down the avenue to see if he could catch sight of the youngest de Shera brother. “We need to get this stuff to Lady de Shera.”

Maximus was still looking at the perfumed oil, breaking from his train of thought as Garran spoke. He eyed Garran, eyed the oil, and then pretended to look at other things.

“Go and find my brother,” he instructed. “I will look the wares over one more time to see if there is something else we can purchase to help Jeniver’s belly.”

Garran went without another word. Maximus peered from the doorway of the stall, casually, watching the knight head down the avenue in search of Tiberius. When he was positive that Garran wasn’t going to turn around and head back in his direction, he went straight to the spice merchant and pointed to the perfumed oils on the shelf.

A few minutes later, a beautifully wrapped phial of rose-scented oil was tucked safely in Maximus’ tunic, intended for a certain young lady when he saw her at sup that night.