The Arrangement, page 1
The Arrangement
A MEDIEVAL NOVEL OF ROMANCE AND ADVENTURE
LU ERICKSON
Copyright
Copyright © 2022 by Lu Erickson
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my critique partners, Kathy Coatney and Jennifer Hansen, who have celebrated and agonized with me. Your love, support, and thoughtful advice, not only on writing, but also on life, are a true blessing.
Thank you, Anna and Julia, for always being in my corner, propping me up with your love and laughter. Thank you to Tony and Tom for always being in their corners.
Thank you, Stella and Addie, for bringing the sunshine.
And finally, thank you, Pete, for being my compass, my rock, my love.
The Noble Hearts Series
When I was a girl, I loved Saturday afternoon television—that's when the networks would broadcast classic movies. I was mad for the swashbucklers—the Spanish Main, The Adventures of Robin Hood, Captain Blood, The Sea Hawk. These films filled me with vicarious thrills as I, curled up safe and cozy on my living room sofa, delighted in romantic pirate adventures or tales of sword-wielding knights and their ladies fighting for honorable causes. Oh, to be living a life in sweet jeopardy!
These stories inspired me to write the Noble Hearts Series, medieval adventures of passion and honor, with a little pride and prejudice thrown in for good measure. In romantic tradition, the heroes are handsome and strong and, while acting with the noblest of intentions, do not know quite as much as they'd like to think. The heroines are capable and principled, yet at times delightfully naïve in the ways of romance. The villains (of course, there have to be dastardly villains) are dangerously wicked and blinded by their quest for power in one form or another.
I hope these tales will sweep you away to a faraway land filled with suspense, simmering romance, and ideals worth fighting for—just like those classic movies that inspired them. Happy reading!
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To those noble hearts that hold the
line with steadfast dedication to truth and kindness.
I neither die, nor live, nor heal,
I do not feel my suffering, although it is great,
Because I cannot tell the future of her love,
Whether I shall have it or when,
For in her is all the grace
that can raise me up or make me fall
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~ Cercamon
12th Century Troubadour
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Also by Lu Erickson
About the Author
1
1176, Hexmoor Forest, Southwest England
The two men rode side by side down the narrow dirt road that cut through the heart of Hexmoor Forest. Although the sun shone high in the sky, little light penetrated the thick green canopy of oak and ash woodland, and the air felt oppressive and damp.
Lord Ranulf Audley eyed the man riding beside him with distaste. Hubert de Guildfry had been a disappointment almost from the day he'd married Audley's sister, Adele.
"When I generously settled a third of the border property on my dear sister as her dowry," Lord Audley said, "you agreed to pay to me a portion of all tariffs and taxes collected. Now I hear that you have thoughts of amending our agreement, yet have neglected to tell me directly."
Hubert de Guildfry shifted his gaze and peered into the thick woodland that edged the path as his horse ambled along. That very morning Lord Audley had rather stridently invited him to hunt on his land, an offer rarely extended to anyone, let alone to de Guildfry. He'd been suspicious of Audley's intentions at the time, and now the mystery was solved.
"I don't know what you've heard, but I assure you there is no truth to it."
Lord Audley feigned confusion. "And yet it comes from an extremely reliable source who also told me that you have on two occasions met with Aidan Blakeslee. Now, what could you, my dear brother-in-law, have to discuss with my staunchest rival?"
De Guildfry's horse pricked his ears at a rustling sound coming from the underbrush. Hexmoor Forest teemed with game, but the thrill of the hunt had suddenly deserted de Guildfry. He dragged a forearm over his perspiring brow.
"I have no idea what you are talking about. What use have I of Blakeslee? He has no love for me, knowing my loyalty to you. You must believe that I am content in our original agreement."
Audley raised his long, narrow nose, as if he could sniff out de Guildfry's duplicity. "It will go better for you if you tell the truth. You are my sister's husband, after all. We are family. All I seek is that you confess your perfidy so that we can undo the damage and begin anew. As family, we are bound, are we not?" he added with a mild smile.
Guildfry scratched nervously at the side of his face. "Honestly, Brother, what would I possibly have to say to Blakeslee? Who is telling these tales against me?"
Ignoring the question, Audley turned his gaze back toward the road. "The King's right-hand man would want nothing more than to be handed the means to take me down. If Henry were to discover we had resumed communication with Lords Leicester and Mortrain, and are sympathetic to their cause, that would give Blakeslee the axe to separate my head from my shoulders. Tell me straight, have you spoken to Blakeslee of our dealings with the rebel barons? Have you said anything to him about the boy?"
"Of course not! I would hardly wish to join Leicester in the Tower!"
"Yet, perhaps you have ensured your freedom by turning against me."
"That's preposterous!" de Guildfry sputtered. "I demand to know who is spreading these lies! You know that my heart has always been with the rebel barons. King Henry reduced my lands by half when he ascended the thrown. I'd scarcely forget that. And you wouldn't even know the boy existed if it weren't for me."
Audley eyed de Guildfry. "I've also heard that Leicester is to be released soon. It may have taken him three long years since the battle of Fornham, but he has convinced the King that he has seen the error of his ways and desperately wants to make amends. Of course, we know that Lord Mortrain will settle for nothing less than the return of his ancestral castles and lands and a stake in the governance of England, and if it means toppling Henry in the process, all the better."
De Guildfry opened his mouth to respond when the horses began a violent dance. As Audley and de Guildfry struggled to calm their mounts, a wild boar bolted from the brush and charged onto the path.
De Guildfry's mount reared and whinnied with terror. The boar fled, its mouth foaming. De Guildfry toppled from his horse onto a downed tree. He cried out in agony as blood gushed like a fountain from his inner thigh, pierced by a broken branch.
"Christ's Blood!" he cried against the pain as he pushed his palm into the rip in his flesh. "Help me, man!"
Audley snatched a cloth from his bag, quickly slipped from his saddle, and advanced on de Guildfry. He knelt beside him, the cloth hovering over the wound. Audley stared into de Guildfry's eyes.
"Hurry! What are you waiting for?" De Guildfry made a grab for the cloth, but Audley held it just out of reach. De Guildfry gripped Audley by the neck of his tunic. The widening pool of blood engulfed them both.
"Brother," de Guildfry pleaded.
Audley's eyes narrowed. "Fate has stepped in. I fear that to interfere would be an arrogance."
"Ranulf! Help me or I shall die!"
Audley wrested his tunic from de Guildfry's grasp and backed away.
De Guildfry crawled toward him, trailing a swath of blood and calling his name. "Think of Adele," he whispered. "Will you make her a widow?"
But there was no turning back now. If he let de Guildfry live, he would never again be able to trust him. The benefit of controlling de Guildfry's lands and fortune through his widowed sister began to present itself. With de Guildfry out of the way, Adele would need guidance, and Ranulf, good brother that he was, would be there for her. As added benefit, he could again barter a prosperous marriage contract for her with a husband more reliable than de Guildfry.
De Guildfry reached out. Audley quickly stepped back to avoid de Guildfry's bloody fingers. If anyone asked, he would say that they'd separated to track a buck and when de Guildfry failed to meet up at their arranged spot, Audley had circled back to discover his cold, bloodless body. How bereft he w
When de Guildfry appeared to have breathed his last, Audley knelt down and turned him over to ensure he was truly and completely dead. Eyes that had shifted anxiously such a short time before now stared vacantly.
A hunting accident. Such a tragedy. But he would be there to comfort Adele, to see to his sister's every need during her bereavement, to guide her to a brighter future.
2
Six Months Later, The Three Barrels Tavern, Southampton, England
Kevin Blakeslee raised his tankard high, beckoning the barmaid.
“Maisie, darlin', another pitcher!"
Maisie flashed Kevin a smile and wove her way through the raucous crowd, a fresh pitcher held high above her head.
A boisterous mood filled the Three Barrels, with knights shouting out their finest tournament moments, challenging one another over who'd been the bravest and most daring in the melees. Kevin shook his head with a grin as each retelling became more and more outrageous. His friend Rowan, flush faced and glassy eyed, broke into an improvised bawdy chorus celebrating his own prowess, though not on the tournament field, and if Kevin knew his friend, the ditty had its roots more in wishful fantasy than reality.
Maisie reached the table, wearing a saucy smile, her blond curls bouncing. As she refilled Kevin's tankard, splashing ale over its rim, she leaned in just enough to present him with a fine glimpse of her voluptuous breasts.
"Anything more I can do for you, Sir Kevin? You know that wicked smile of yours could make a woman lose all sense."
Before Kevin could reply, Sir Rowan offered up his own cup for filling. "A man could die of thirst while you fawn over the likes of him. While here I sit, right parched from all my lovely singing."
"Patience, Sir Rowan," Maisie replied sweetly. "Good things come to them that waits."
"A kiss is a good thing," Rowan said with a hopeful grin. "How long, sweet Maisie, will you keep me waiting for one of yours?"
Maisie tapped him on his reddened nose. "Who knows what the future might hold, eh?" She topped off Rowan's mug, gave Kevin a wink full of promise, and spun back toward the kitchen, full skirts swirling.
Rowan sighed. "What I'd give to spend a few hours in your boots. Or out of them. I guess we all know where you'll be spending this fine evening."
"Aye, given half a chance." Kevin grinned and raised his tankard. "To fast friends, good spirits, and comely women!"
They drained their mugs and laughed heartily as they wiped the foam from their mouths.
Ale soaked Kevin's right sleeve, for it seemed enough pooled on the table to fill a pitcher, and his eyes burned from the haze of the badly vented fireplace. But he was content, his senses softened by the effects of the drink and warmed by the camaraderie of his friends. It was damn good to be back on English soil.
He set his mug on the table and ran a hand through his overly long hair—he'd be requiring a decent shearing once he arrived home.
"Now the tournaments have ended, what's next, friend?"
Rowan pulled a face. "What else but to beg room and board from that miserly brother of mine. Though it pains me to grovel before him, what choice have I?"
Kevin frowned in confusion. "What of your tournament spoils? Did I not see you yesterday, leading a cart filled with your opponents' chainmail and weapons, and three fine warhorses trotting behind?"
Rowan scratched the back of his head. "Aye. But sadly, that was one sunrise, one sunset, and numerous games of chance ago."
Willan Handley, a tall, lean, flaxen-haired knight, leaned in from across the table, almost scorching the sleeve of his tunic on a sputtering candle. "I've got a right fix for you, Rowan."
"And what's that?" Rowan picked up a few walnuts from the bowl and smashed them on the table with his palm. "I've not the nerve to turn highwayman, if that's what you're proposing."
"Nay, this proposition will not risk the hangman's noose. I've had word that Hubert de Guildfry died in a hunting accident six months past, leaving his widow with full coffers, a rich estate, and an empty bed. The mourning period has not yet concluded, but soon Lady Guildfry's suitors will be queuing up. We should travel there to make our case."
Rowan frowned while picking pieces of nutmeat from the shattered shell. "Lord Guildfry's wife? Why, she must be nigh on thirty years old."
Will shrugged his broad shoulders. "You'd only have to bed her once to seal the marriage, then never again worry about the certainty of your next meal. You'd be lord of your own estate. The keep must hold a fetching kitchen wench or two to warm the master's bed."
Kevin snatched up some of the walnut pieces before Rowan could swat away his hand. "Isn't she Lord Audley's sister?"
"Aye," answered Will, "the very same."
"Then no need to waste your time," said Kevin. "Audley will have chosen a husband for her, and it won't be some second or third son with no dower or prospects."
Rowan gave a wounded look and placed his hand on his heart. "Must you speak so harshly of our sad circumstances?"
The others laughed.
Will pulled thoughtfully on his blond beard. "Yet, as a widow, she has final say in whom she marries, if she chooses to remarry at all."
Kevin rubbed the smoke from his eyes with thumb and index finger. "So says the law, but how many daughters and sisters have you known to go against the dictates of their families? Man or woman, we are all groomed to do our duties. And like it or not, second and third sons are not in high demand."
"Need I remind you," Rowen replied indignantly, "that you are sitting right beside me in this boat we row."
"True enough, my friend," Kevin replied with a grin. "But searching out rich widows, I am not. Unlike you, I am perfectly content with my lot. My brother may have all of the family riches, but he also has all the obligation, which I will happily do without."
"And unlike me, you know you will always have a warm bed and a full stomach due to Lord Faringdon's generosity. My brother sees me coming and rushes to bar the gate!"
"Aye," Will replied sadly, "'Tis not much more welcoming at my uncle's keep."
Rowan refilled his tankard. "As I recall, Kevin, isn't there bad blood between Ranulf Audley and your brother?"
"Aye, bad blood doth continuously flow. They both sit on King Henry's council and without fail settle into opposite sides of an issue."
Kevin had met Ranulf on several court occasions. He was a reedy fellow with beady eyes and a large aquiline nose that he kept raised in the futile hope of looking aristocratic. If the grieving widow's appearance favored Ranulf, her new husband would indeed have his work cut out mustering the steel to consummate the marriage.
"Are you serious about the Widow Guildfry?" Kevin asked.
Will grinned. "As serious as a lance to the chest. I've got nothing else to occupy my time until the next tournament season. What say you, Rowan?" Will ruffled Rowan's head of sweaty chestnut curls. "How about we clean ourselves up and go a-courting?"
Rowan released a resounding belch. "Aye, you can count me in."
"What of you, Kevin? What can we say to convince you?"
