Obliteration: A Medieval Romance

Book 3: Guard of Six

by Kathryn Le Veque

Genres: Tudor Romance; Medieval Romance

Synopsis

It's another epic Guard of Six novel when one of the Six finds himself with an explosive inheritance that threatens to ruin his reputation as a noble knight.

An inheritance that involves... wine, women, and song??

***If you love Age gap Romances, Forbidden Romances, and a heroine with a ton of secrets, then this story is for you!***

Sir Jareth de Leybourne is the moral compass for the Guard of Six. He's the wise man of the group, rooted in reality, relying heavily on logic. But Jareth's family has a secret that is about to shake his very foundation.

Jareth's life is proceeding normally when he receives word that his father's brother, a rich nobleman with extravagant tastes, has passed away. Jareth is named as his heir. Summoned to his uncle's lavish manse in the vibrant city of Bristol, Jareth finds himself in possession of a productive business that has funded the building of a local church and a college, among other things. It seems that Jareth's uncle was heavily into philanthropy. But the truth behind the cash flow is far less noble.

The source of the money is a profitable brothel and gambling hell.

“Aphrodite's Feast” is very elegant house of ill repute and a gambling hell, so accepted by the populace of Bristol because of the money it gives back to the community, that it's the worst kept secret in town. Fine men publicly denounce it, but also visit it. The woman are the most beautiful in England and the food is exquisite, so the entire enterprise makes money hand over fist. And a very appalled Jareth finds himself the new owner of this... this... travesty!

Enter Lady Desdra de Daire.

Desdra ended up at the brothel for reasons beyond her control. She's not one of the working women, but instead, uses her education to run the entire venture. A spinster by choice – because who is going to want a wife who works at a house of ill repute? – she and Jareth go head-to-head from the first day they meet. But that friction soon turns into something else warm and romantic. However, beneath it all, an even greater enemy lurks.

As it turned out, Jareth's uncle had a very powerful enemy, one quite envious of the entire enterprise. Now, that enemy wants Jareth dead, but in a twist of fate, Desdra stands in the way... of her own father.

And Jareth must do everything he can to save her.

Join Jareth and Desdra and the fascinating characters of Aphrodite's Feast on a remarkable and unique journey though the seedier side of Medieval England, where the darkest of souls lurk and love always reigns supreme.

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Release date: December 18, 2025

Publisher: Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

Print pages: 278

Sample

PROLOGUE

Year of Our Lord 1271
Redcliffe Hill Manor
Bristol, England
“Quickly. There is not much time.”
The words were rasped, the last efforts of a dying man whose breath had become the faint
wisps of a fading world and whose blood was now slowing in his very veins as he spoke. A heart
that was struggling to beat and a body that had failed him.
Quickly. There is not much time.
That summarized the situation well.
In the chamber that was more lavish than that of a king, he lay upon his silks, feeling their
last bit of comfort before he transitioned to a place where no such creature comforts existed. That
was his greatest regret. That he couldn’t take his life’s work—and wealth—with him. Around
him, musicians played softly, gently easing him from one life to the next, which would have been
a delightful way to go if he were ready.
He wasn’t.
But Death waited for no man.
“What would you have of me, my lord?” A woman’s soft voice wafted amidst the notes from
the harps. “I have my writing kit. I will write whatever you wish.”
The man drew in a deep breath, trying to stave off the inevitable. His lungs didn’t want to
work any longer, but he forced them to. He had something to do and refused to go until he
finished it.
“You must send word to my nephew,” he said weakly. “He serves the king. His name is
Jareth de Leybourne.”
The young woman had her writing implements spread out on a nearby table, pushing aside
old food and cups with dried wine in the bottom of them. A cat suddenly leapt onto the table,
scattering her vellum, and she pushed the beast off as she scrambled to collect her parchment.
“Well?” the old man demanded. “What is happening over there?”
She put the vellum in front of her, grabbing for her quill as the cat jumped up again.
Frustrated, she eyed it before dipping her quill in her inkwell.
“Nothing is amiss, my lord,” she said. “I will write this missive to your nephew, Sir Jareth.”
“And you will send it to Westminster Palace.”
“Aye, my lord.”
The old man didn’t say anything after that. The young woman sat, ink poised above the
vellum, as she awaited his great words of wisdom and sacrifice, but he remained silent. Oddly
silent. By the time she looked up to see why, she could see a big smile spreading across his old
face. He was shaking.
He’s laughing! she thought.

“My lord?” she said timidly.
He let out a ragged gasp. “You do not know Jareth,” he said. “A fine man. A very fine man.
An elite knight who serves Henry. He is moral and brave. He is worthy of that which I will
bestow upon him. But I can tell you that he will not like it.”
The young woman gazed steadily at him. “He does not like money, my lord?”
The old man weakly shrugged. “A man must have money,” he said. “I have more money than
almost anyone in England, but alas, I have no sons. My brother, however, has two sons—his heir
and Jareth. Jareth will not inherit when his father passes away, so he will become my heir. You
will help him when he comes to Bristol, will you not, Desdra?”
Lady Desdra le Daire nodded slowly. “If you wish it, my lord.”
“I do,” he said. “You are very bright. Brighter than any woman I have ever known. You must
explain how everything works to Jareth when he comes.”
“I will, my lord.”
“And tell him not to give his brother anything.”
“I will, my lord.”
“Good lass,” the old man said, laying his head back against the pillow. He gazed up at the
ceiling, one that had been painted with a scene from the Bible on it. It was quite elaborate, with
stars made of real gold plastered to the ceiling. “That is where I am going, you know. Up there.
To a place with blue skies and gold stars.”
Desdra turned her gaze upward, seeing the ceiling as it was illuminated by the light from
dozens of tapers. It was truly a work of art.
“I hope so,” she said. “You have been kind to so many, my lord. You have done great good
for this town. I pray that God has a special place just for you, where you can enjoy your blue
skies and gold stars. You have earned it.”
He looked at her, his eyes yellowed from the disease that ravaged his body. “You are kind,
lass,” he said quietly. “Desdra… surely you know that you paid your father’s debt a long time
ago.”
She averted her gaze, looking at the vellum. “I know, my lord.”
“You are free to leave.”
Her gaze flicked up to him. “And go where?” she said. “Home? Where my father can sell me
again to pay his debts, only the next time, the creditor might not be so kind or forgiving? Aye, I
know I can leave. I know the debt has long been paid. But this is my home now and I will remain
and help your nephew manage your empire. It is a great empire, my lord. You said that he is
worthy of it. I can only pray that you are right.”
The old man smiled faintly. “You are the keeper of my legacy, are you not?” he said. “You
will ensure he is worthy, I am sure, and if he is not…”
“If he is not, then I will know soon enough,” she said. “You have been kind and generous
with me, my lord. I will repay the favor by ensuring your legacy is preserved. Now… what did
you wish to say to Jareth?”
The old man told her.
But he still couldn’t do it without laughing.

CHAPTER ONE

Westminster Palace
“Jareth, watch out!”
Jareth heard the warning before he hit the ground, face first, and a blade whizzed over his
head. Infuriated, and with a mouth full of dirt, he managed to kick his legs out and catch his
opponent by the ankles.
Stefan de Lohr went down in a heap.
Jareth sat up, spitting clumps from his mouth, as he pounced on Stefan and shoved the man’s
face into the dirt as well.
“That’s what you get, you overgrown child,” he said, rolling off the man when he resisted.
“Honestly, Stefan. Grabbing my ear and twisting? As if that would force me to capitulate?”
Stefan spat out some dirt of his own as he pushed himself onto his knees. “What’s that you
say?” he said. “I did not quite hear.”
Given that Stefan was mostly deaf, Jareth had learned to speak very loudly to him. They all
had. But sometimes Stefan used the deafness to his advantage and pleaded ignorance. Jareth, and
the rest of the Guard of Six, had learned that as well. Stefan may have been hard of hearing, and
they knew it was growing worse, but he was anything but ignorant or helpless.
The man was a beast in the best sense of the word.
“I said you are an overgrown child,” Jareth shouted at him, watching Stefan grin. “This was
to be a training exercise, not a brawl.”
Stefan stood up, reaching out a hand to pull Jareth to his feet. “It was great fun, whatever it
was,” he said. “You may not have the size of some of the others, but you are faster than
lightning. That makes you more dangerous.”
Jareth turned his nose up at him. “Do not flatter me,” he said. “I do not like you and I do not
believe you.”
Stefan started laughing.
The men known as the Guard of Six had been training in a smaller yard of Westminster
Palace beneath a May sun that was surprisingly warm. Tunics were off, shoulders were starting
to bronze up and burn, but they were enjoying every moment of it. Training, and practice, was
something that had been part of their lives since they were small children because, as English
knights, perfect skill and readiness was expected of them.
No one trained more diligently than Jareth. A de Leybourne son, he had an older brother, a
father, and an ancestral home named Tyringham Castle deep in the wilds of Cornwall. He’d been
raised in that mysterious land that was built on legends and blood, so there was something wild
in his soul. He wasn’t the largest man in the Guard of Six, as Stefan had mentioned, but he was
by far one of the most cunning. Jareth was as wise as he was ethical, as skilled as he was fast.
But he was not a small man by any definition. He was over six feet in height, with enormous
shoulders and big arms. But the Guard of Six, by the king’s design, comprised some of the

biggest, strongest men in the kingdom, so Jareth’s height against the others was all relative. He
was a big man in any room he entered and certainly the smartest.
He was also the bravest.
And everyone knew it.
Which was why Stefan’s comment about him being dangerous was true. When an enemy
sized up the Guard of Six, they often overlooked the man of shorter stature.
And that was a deadly mistake.
“I love you madly, Jareth,” Stefan said as Jareth brushed the dirt off his breeches. “You know
that you are the air in my lungs, the very blood that flows in me.”
Jareth looked at him, his lips pressed in a doubtful line. “You can take that statement and toss
it into the river with the rest of the rubbish,” he said, watching Stefan laugh. “Train with Dirk for
the rest of the day. If you try to twist his ear, he’ll cut your fingers off.”
The other Guard of Six members were chuckling at the pair, who were, in reality, the best of
friends. Stefan had officially joined the Guard of Six earlier in the year when Kent de Poyer, one
of the original Six, married and temporarily resigned his post to spend time on the Welsh
marches with his new wife’s family. Torran de Serreaux, the unofficial leader of the group, was
also the Earl of Ashford, so he spent about half of his time at his seat of Kennington Castle in
Kent.
That meant the Guard of Six, which had originally started with six men, needed
reinforcements.
Those reinforcements had come in the form of Stefan, who was a de Lohr and therefore from
one of the most powerful families in England, and another knight who was from the north of
England and came with an astonishingly deep pedigree.
Orion Payton-Forrester.
Annoying was where he started. Where he ended, one could only guess. He was big and
blond, with a dark blond mustache and a manner that was infinitely charming, bright, and
resourceful, but the man was so perfect that he was, predictably, annoying. Even now, as he tried
to engage Stefan into practicing some techniques with him, Jareth turned to watch the man. He
was the great persuader because he was so persistent that one gave in simply to shut him up.
Jareth took a drink of boiled water from a pitcher they had sitting on the stoop, swishing it
around his mouth and spitting out the dirt that was still lodged in his teeth. But his gaze never left
Orion as he finally convinced Stefan to work with him.
“He knows how to make grown men cry.”
Jareth turned to see Aidric St. John walk up beside him. Tall and fair, the man looked like a
Dane. He had a big, square jaw and strong features, far more of a follower than a leader, but he
was the Six’s secret weapon. He was the most vicious member of the group, someone that Stefan
and Orion wouldn’t spar with, not yet. They didn’t know him well enough, but they were
learning. Aidric had been watching them like a hawk since they had joined the group, and when
Henry traveled and the Guard of Six stayed close to him, as their primary function was as royal
bodyguards, Aidric took point because he looked positively terrifying. Stefan and Orion had
simply fallen in behind him.
But that was their lot in life these days.
If they wanted to truly be considered part of the Six, they had to earn it.
“Orion, you mean?” Jareth said. Then he snorted. “He’s getting better about it. Remember
when Britt slapped him early on?”

That had Aidric grinning. “Britt has no patience,” he said, referring to Britt de Garr, the least
tolerant of the group. “That slap at least forced Orion to think twice about his behavior. He does
not vex as he used to.”
“True,” Jareth said. “And before I forget yet again to tell you, Henry is planning on traveling
to Windsor next month to do some hunting, so we will be traveling with him. With Torran and
Kent away, I will take command.”
That was usual, so Aidric simply nodded. “Any instructions?”
“None yet,” Jareth said. “Henry may want us in the hunting party, so be prepared.”
“With pleasure.”
Hunting was always great sport. As they pondered what fun the journey to Windsor would
entail, Stefan and Orion began engaging in swordplay. They were practicing a particular
technique, joined by the final members of the Guard of Six in Britt and Dirk d’Vant, another
Cornwall native. Aidric ended up with them as well, working beneath the noon sun, and Jareth
was thinking of joining them when he caught movement off to his right.
Thor de Reyne was heading in his direction. An enormously powerful knight with black hair
and piercing blue eyes, Thor held the title of Lord Protector, the king’s personal bodyguard. He
worked autonomously from the Guard of Six because he literally stayed by the king’s side in all
things, while the Guard of Six formed more of a perimeter. Fortunately, they all worked very
well together and Jareth liked the suave and debonair Thor a good deal. He considered the man a
good friend.
“Did you come to see us beat de Lohr and Payton-Forrester into the ground?” he called to
him. “You are not too late if you wish to help.”
Thor started to laugh, watching the five members of the Six as they went through their paces.
“Is Payton-Forrester being a nuisance again?” he asked.
“A little.”
“A little beating now and again might solve that.”
“We’ve tried. He likes it.”
That caused Thor to laugh harder. “Then I cannot help you,” he said. “But I have come with a
missive. It came for you a little while ago.”
Jareth looked at him curiously. “Are you a messenger now?”
Thor shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “But I was at the gatehouse when it arrived, so I
brought it over.”
With that, he extended a vellum envelope, carefully folded and sealed. Curious, Jareth looked
at the seal—and there were three of them, all in a row—before realizing whose it was.
“My uncle,” he said, sounding pleased. “Christ, I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
Thor watched as Jareth broke all three seals. “Why not?”
“A few reasons, I suppose,” Jareth said. “The man is in Bristol. He hasn’t come to London in
years.”
“You can go visit him, you know. Bristol is not that far.”
Jareth shrugged. “No need,” he said. “He’s always come here, and we sup together when he
does. We’ve never been particularly close, but with him, at least the effort is made.”
“Unlike your own father.”
Jareth shook his head. “Nay,” he said without remorse. “My father only had time for my
older brother, who only had time for himself. When my father died a few years ago, Jasper
inherited everything and I’ve not heard from him since.”
Thor watched the man open up the envelope and inspect the careful writing. “Pity,” he said.

“Not really,” Jareth said. “My brother is an arse. In fact, I… Damn…”
He was reading the missive, and Thor looked at him with concern. “Is something amiss in
Bristol?”
Jareth didn’t answer for a moment. He just kept reading. “It seems so,” he said slowly. “It
seems that my uncle has died.”
“I am sorry for you,” Thor said sincerely. “Even if you were not close to the man, a death in
the family is regrettable.”
Jareth barely nodded as he continued reading. When he was finished, he read the missive
again. And again. Finally, he looked up from the vellum, appearing the least bit stunned. Even
Thor could see it.
“What is it?” he asked. “What’s happened?”
Jareth looked back at the vellum. “He has left me his entire estate.”
Thor’s eyebrows lifted. “Truly?” he said. “And you were not even close to the man?”
“I did not think so.”
“Evidently, your uncle thought differently.”
Jareth shook his head. “You do not understand,” he said. Then he read the vellum one more
time before letting out a guffaw of disbelief. “My God… everything.”
“What is everything? What do you mean?”
Jareth had to collect himself before he answered. “My uncle was my mother’s brother,” he
said. “My mother came from a noble family in Bristol, and when my grandfather died, my uncle
took over the family business. Shipping, mostly, but there is also a very large merchant stall in
the city where things from all over the known world were sold.”
Thor failed to see why that had Jareth so rattled. “Congratulations are in order,” he said. “It
sounds as if you are to be a very wealthy man.”
Jareth shook his head. “You do not understand,” he said. “This is not just wealth. My uncle
has turned the family business into an empire. He built a church in the town center as well as a
universitas. Can you imagine that? An institute of higher education. It is called the Temple
Generale and it teaches priests and knights in the Biblical arts, architecture, and mathematics. He
owns most of Bristol as it is—property and homes. The people who live in those properties work
for him or work his land and pay him a percentage. He has more money than most of the
warlords in England—combined. Rich does not completely cover how much he has.”
Thor grinned. “Well done, old man,” he said, clapping Jareth on the arm. “But why are you
not more pleased about this?”
Jareth had to pause and think on that question. “Because… hell, because the subject of the
man’s heir has never come up,” he said. “Not from my mother, not even from my father. My
father could not stand the man, in fact.”
“Why?”
“Because Uncle Chester de Long was twice as smart as my father and twice as ambitious,”
he said. “Chester could run circles around my father and my father hated him for it. Chester also
hates my brother, Jasper, and the feeling is mutual.”
“But he does not hate you?” Thor said. “Why?”
Jareth shrugged. “Because I am my mother’s son,” he said quietly, thinking on the woman he
loved dearly. “My mother was a sweet woman, Thor. We share the same dark hair and eyes. My
father once said that I have her smile. Uncle Chester adored my mother. Her marriage to my
father was arranged and Chester never forgave my grandfather for it. He did not think my father
was good enough for her.”

Thor understood. “Ah,” he said. “The protective older brother.”
“Indeed,” Jareth said. “Ironic he did not think my father was good enough, because we
descend from King Mark of Cornwall. Our bloodlines are royal. But Chester never liked my
father. Truthfully, he probably would not have liked any man who married my mother. When my
mother died when I was ten years of age, I do not think Uncle Chester ever spoke to my father
again. I seemed to be the only one he maintained a relationship with. Still, this missive comes as
a… surprise.”
A lift of the eyebrows emphasized his last word, and Thor could see that it was a complex
family matter. Anything involving relatives usually was.
“What will you do?” he asked quietly.
Jareth lifted his shoulders. “What can I do?” he said. “I cannot ignore this. My uncle had no
children, so I suppose I should, at the very least, go to Bristol and settle his affairs.”
Thor nodded. “But what about the empire?” he said. “What will you do with it?”
Jareth shook his head. “For all I know, it may not even exist any longer,” he said. “Mayhap
Uncle Chester let it all fall to pieces.”
“Would he?”
“I have no way of knowing until I go to Bristol.”
“Then you must tell Henry.”
Jareth cast him a long look. “He’s already lost Kent,” he said. “Torran is only here half of the
time. I do not think Henry will be too thrilled if I leave for months on end, but it cannot be
helped.”
Thor gestured to the vellum. “If I were you, I would tell him now,” he said. “You already
know you must go. You may as well ask permission.”
Jareth knew that, but the missive in his hand caught his attention again and he lifted it,
looking at the words again and suspecting his life was going to change from this point forward. It
wasn’t that the prospect of wealth didn’t interest him, because it did. But he wanted it on his own
terms, not his uncle’s. Chester had sent him a summons from his deathbed, informing him of the
path his future was about to take, and Jareth wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to go down that
road.
He wasn’t entirely sure about anything at the moment.
“I will,” he said. “But this is something I must ponder. This was not something I had
anticipated today. This will take some thought.”
Thor understood. Over in the group of training knights, someone had started an actual fight
and neither Thor nor Jareth was surprised to see that it was Orion. He had irritated Stefan, who
swung his big sword at him, much to Orion’s delight. The training was turning into something
else.
“This will not end well for Orion,” Jareth said, his focus shifting away from his uncle as he
watched Stefan stalk Orion. “Stefan may not be able to hear, but he can still fight better than
almost anyone in England. If I were Orion, I would be—”
He didn’t even get the words out of his mouth before Stefan launched a lightning-fast attack,
thrusting with his sword so that all Orion could do was defend himself. Orion was dodging a
move that came up from underneath him, turning his sword to counter it, but he failed to see how
close Stefan came to him until Stefan’s left fist made contact with Orion’s jaw.
Down he went.
Much to Orion’s chagrin, the laughter from his colleagues could be heard all throughout the
yard. Directed at him, no less. Nay, it was not his finest moment.

Training was over for the day. ...