Medieval Master Swordsmen(472)

“No!” Roselyn threw her hands up. “No wild horses!”

“But…,” Austin began.

“I say not!” Roselyn turned to Derica, grasping her mother by the arm. “Please, Mother; tell them to leave my betrothed alone. No wild horses, no swords that are weighted with lead, and no wine that has been mixed with pepper so that he will cry for days. Please make them stop!”

Derica looked at her boys, the exact image of her own brothers in spirit and demeanor. Daniel, Donat and Dixon would have been proud. She had grown up with this kind of madness, never dreaming she would also breed it. Weston, Davin and Austin were loving, strong and powerful, but with a wild streak in them that would test God’s patience.

“Your sister has requested you not chase her intended away,” she lifted an eyebrow at the handsome faces. “You will kindly obey her wishes or my punishment shall be swift. Do we, in any way, misunderstand one another?”

Davin was the first to shake his head. “Nay, Mother,” he assured her. “We understand perfectly.”

Weston and Austin nodded sincerely but there wasn’t a bit of truth to it. Derica lifted the other eyebrow at her boys to reinforce her request just as Austin’s white stallion reared up and dumped him onto the dirt of the bailey. The horse ran off as Weston and Davin laughed uproariously.

“Austin, I find you in this position far too often,” Garren suddenly emerged from the resident hall, pulling on his massive leather gloves as he descended the stairs. He had missed the bucking stallion. “One would think with your size and strength, you would be able to best your brothers when they toss you around.”

Austin picked himself up, brushing off his bum. “It wasn’t my brothers,” he lifted his hand in the direction of the open portcullis. “It was the horse.”

“The new one I just purchased for you?”

“Aye, Da.”

Garren came to a halt next to his wife and daughter, still fumbling with his gloves. He lifted a threatening eyebrow at his youngest son.

“Then what are you doing still standing here?” he asked. “Go get that animal. It cost a small fortune.”

As Weston and Davin snorted, Austin turned for the stable yard, making a face at his brothers. Davin made one in return, Austin rushed him, and soon the two of them were rolling around in the dirt throwing punches. Derica rolled her eyes and looked at her husband, suddenly noticing a little body standing behind him. She motioned to the tiny figure.

“I did not see you, sweetheart,” Derica said. “Come to me.”

Twelve year old Lily le Mon went to her mother, allowing herself to be cuddled. As the youngest child in the family, she was sweet and spoiled. If her mother wasn’t cuddling her, her father was In fact, Garren was rarely without his little shadow. Lily was as beautiful as a new spring morning with her blond hair and big blue eyes. While Roselyn had a lush, seductive beauty, Lily looked like a sweet little poppet. At twelve years of age, she should have left to foster long ago but her parents couldn’t bear to part with her, so she remained at Beaucaire.

As Derica hugged her youngest, a tall, black-haired young man suddenly emerged from the resident. He, too, was pulling on his leather gloves, much like Garren had been. In fact, their actions were almost identical. Sian le Mon had grown up idolizing the big, blond knight, so much so that he was very nearly the spitting image of him in action and mindset. As the eldest of the le Mon brothers, he acted more like Garren than any of his brothers did. Even if he wasn’t Garren’s son by blood, he was certainly his son by spirit and nature.

“We should get going before the day grows any deeper,” he said to his father as he came down the stairs. “The shops in town will be closing early for Vespers.”

“Where are you going?” Derica wanted to know.

Sian leaned over, kissed her cheek, and continued down the steps to the bailey. “Into town,” he replied. “The tavern keeper at the Pig and the Fife said that he received a massive shipment of St. Cloven ale all the way from England. Father and I are going to buy as much as we can for Roselyn’s wedding feast.”

“If the groom ever gets here,” Davin was picking himself out of the dirt as Austin struggled to his knees. “Maybe he is not even coming. Maybe he has decided to marry someone else.”

Roselyn’s big green eyes welled up. “Dada,” she sniffed. “Tell them to stop being so hateful.”

Garren stopped messing with his gloves and eyed his middle son. “Enough, Davy,” he ordered quietly. “Upset your sister again and I shall take it out on your hide.”