Storm Trilogy Page 2

  “But Your Majesty,” Erik began but stopped when the king held up his hand. Erik knew at that moment, the issue was not up for discussion. The matter was already decided and closed.

  Erik’s cold blue eyes blazed as they never strayed from the king. He had thought to plead his case against such a union, but he clamped his jaw firmly and gave only the briefest of nods in capitulation. This show of insolence was not usually tolerated and Erik risked incurring the wrath of this sometimes unpredictable and volatile monarch. Instead, the king gave the young knight a bit of leeway not only because of his past service, but because he was the son of a powerful lord and knight of the Realm in his own right. Sir Rurik Ragnorsen had proven himself a valuable ally and so the king turned a blind eye to this blatant show of disrespect by Sir Erik. He would not allow much more of it; that was certain. He watched as the tall blond with the cold blue eyes masked his annoyance. Finally he said, “Sir Erik, have a care. We are not above schooling you in the proper etiquette befitting Your king.”

  Erik nodded again and rose. “By your leave, Majesty.”

  “Aye, prepare to leave for the du Montefort holdings by the new moon.”

  The new moon? Bloody hell, that barely gave him three days! Erik could hardly contain his anger and dread at that command. With a brief bow and salute of his fist to his heart, Erik turned on his heel and strode from the sight of the king. Cursing under his breath again, he fumed at the decree. He did not want to be married to anyone, let alone to a conjuring old crone. Why just thinking upon the idea turned his stomach sour. Erik had grown up in the shadow of chivalry and he knew that when the king was of a mindset, there was nothing that could be done to deter him. But to be saddled with a heathen hag who none else saw fit to marry was asking much of a loyal Knight of the Realm. Given the choice, Erik would have rather been sent to the middle of a raging battle than to be forced to marry this old witch. Grumbling to himself he said, “Mayhap I will be lucky enough to be killed in battle before I must wed the hag. Please Lord, mote it be.”

  ~~~~~

  Not usually prone to carousing and partaking of too much drink, it was odd to find Erik Ragnorsen in a local tavern, well into his cups. Drew Brandham, Erik’s captain of the Elite Guard sat beside his friend and motioned for the maid to bring him a round. Taking a gulp of the cool ale, Drew said, “In all the years we have spent as foster brothers and friends, I have never seen you taking more than an ale or two. Nor have I seen you dally with maids, such as the one you are fondling. What gives?”

  Drew eyed the pretty little tart with her backside nestled on Erik’s lap. Her ample bosom pressed to Erik’s chest.

  “Oh, I am celebrating, my friend. Have you not heard the good news?”

  Drew could detect the slurring in his friend’s speech. “Celebrating, is it?”

  “Aye, for I am to be wed. We leave on the morrow to meet my lovely bride.” Drew stared in disbelief at Erik’s proclamation. He thought for a moment that perhaps Erik was sporting with him. He said, “Wed? Nay, I don’t believe it.”

  “Aye, but t’is the truth. Andrew, old boy, by the king’s decree I shall be a very rich man, for my bride is an heiress complete with lands and a keep of her own.” Drew smiled tenuously and said, “Then why the…maid?”

  Erik pinched her bottom, causing her to squeal and giggle. “Oh, Annie, here? She is keeping me company this night for alas, it would seem my blushing bride is a hag who practices the dark arts. Annie may be the last pretty face I ever see.”

  Drew rolled his eyes at the seemingly melodramatic statement of his usually unaffected friend. He had fought beside Erik and had always known him to be cool and stoic. He did not frequent establishments or for that matter, ladies of this ilk. The women who warmed Erik’s bed were usually high born; oft times young widows and most times beautiful. Erik remained unattached to the trappings of love, as he himself had, but Drew had been much less discriminating than Erik had. This was completely out of character for Erik. Drew knew that Erik would regret his decision after he had a chance to sober up so he did what every good friend would do. He slipped the girl a coin and he whispered for her to go. Swallowing down the last of his ale, Drew said, “Come with me now, Erik. Time to go. Annie has other…uhm…guests to tend to.”

  “Nay. She is mine tonight. What did you do to make her leave? I know; you want her for yourself.”

  Shaking his head, Drew said, “Nay, my friend. Not tonight. For if we must leave on the morrow, it would be best we settle our affairs and ready ourselves for the trip. T’is late. Come with me. I will see you to your bed. You are going to have a nasty aching skull come morning as it is.”

  Erik tried to shrug Drew off. Had he not been drunk, the blond giant would have easily thwarted Drew. Instead, Erik stumbled on his feet and missed his mark sorely. Shaking his head with a smile, Drew Brandham grabbed hold of Erik and he said, “Up we go now. Come on.”

  Drew seemed to always have Erik’s back. Truth be told, they were more like brothers. They had taken turns saving each other’s lives in a battle or two. Drew owed Erik his life. The last time his friend pulled him from Death’s grip had been a close call. Drew frowned when he thought about that horrible day and it was then that he had sworn allegiance to Erik Ragnorsen, his foster brother and best friend. Drew knew that the Ragnorsen name was well respected. He was not going to let Erik dishonor himself with raucous public drunkenness or lewd dalliances. Drew knew that Erik prided himself on self-restraint and cool headed logic and discipline.

  Obviously, the king’s decree to marry the supposed craven heiress had truly rattled the carefully guarded knight and warrior. Drew would daresay that he could not really blame his friend. Erik could have the pick of any woman and oft times women tripped over themselves just to get a chance in his bed. Neither men had ill-luck, nor for that matter, lack of willing women to warm their beds, but where Drew never craved the intimacy that came with relationships; Erik did. Erik often joked that his Viking blood, although generations removed, flowed in his veins and he would never settle down. Drew knew differently. Erik wanted a family. He and Drew were very different in that regard. Erik grew weary of casual bed sport and his mood would many times change when he had spent too much time with meaningless bedmates.

  Drew, on the other hand, never felt the pull to settle down. Drew did not think about marriage or for that matter, love. But he knew that despite his words, Erik did. The cold façade was only set to mask the tender heart that beat beneath his most trusted friend’s chest. Erik craved love. Drew knew that, though Erik would never admit it, he longed for a family of his own. Erik would make a very good husband someday. It was too bad that love was not playing a part in this arranged marriage, because his friend deserved to be in love.

  As Drew led Erik to his quarters, he pondered the predicament his friend now faced. If the wench was truly old, Erik would have no choice but to take a mistress in order to beget sons. Drew knew that thought would be abhorrent to his friend. Erik’s own father and mother were completely devoted to each other. Drew had grown to love his foster family as much as his own. He admired the bond Sir Rurik had with Lady Brekka. Drawing in a deep sigh, Drew helped Erik to bed and then retired to his own. He hoped the king had not made a grave mistake in forcing Erik’s hand to marry a woman that was on in years; for dishonoring any vows went against Sir Erik’s sense of chivalry and integrity. Drew knew that those things were most important to Erik and without them, he would forsake all he held dear. Drew admired his friend’s devotion to the codes of honor. There was no one more honorable than Sir Erik Ragnorsen; that was certain.

  ~Chapter Three~

  Rhianna read the missive again. Her mouth was set in a grim line as she assessed the news. An envoy from the king himself had brought the distasteful tidings to her doorstep. She had read it so many times, she had memorized each letter and word, but she could not help herself from staring at the cursed scroll that suddenly felt like a stone slab in her hands. Rhianna thought by
re-reading it again and again, that she could somehow change the message it bore.

  Edward, the King, in his infinite wisdom or love of manipulation of his subjects, saw fit to betroth Rhianna to a man she knew nothing about. His name was abhorrent to Rhianna, for it sounded like one of the Norse invaders that had laid waste to her country and ancestry so long ago. Hatred ran deep, even after all this time, and Rhianna did not forget that they had come; wreaking havoc on the land and its people. No amount of centuries between those times could erase the scars that were born from one whose lineage ran through his veins; just as her very own heritage did.

  Rhianna, herself, had been raised in the shadow of the lineage of both her mother and father. Her mother was Welsh and Rhianna learned the many aspects of the Old Ways from that part of her heritage. Her beloved father was a direct descendant from the line of the “Conqueror”, it was believed. Somehow, the idea of those Norse barbarians, though, set her stomach roiling. She tried the name of her intended on her tongue. Ragnorsen! Rhianna grimaced. It sounded like some Viking aberration.

  Men! She thought bitterly. They always seemed to think they knew what was best for women. Rhianna had taken care of herself, her people, and her lands quite well. Yes, the keep was vulnerable with Randall missing, but she still had loyal men who would guard and protect it with their lives. She trusted them and felt quite secure under their protection. She did not want to think…no, she would not think about how quickly their defense could be brought to destruction. Men needed a leader to follow and while Rhianna was far from a timid mouse, she was not delusional about her abilities to command an army against foes. She was also not naïve enough to think that the threats, which she had thus far avoided, did not exist. She knew there were threats. She knew it was only a matter of time until one or more of said threats came to her doorstep.

  She cringed, thinking about one of the neighboring barons who would do anything to garner her rich lands and prosperous village as his own. Rhianna had turned down his request for her hand and Randall had wholeheartedly supported her decision. Aaron Jasper, the lord of Morcar Keep, had made no qualms about his desires for the du Montefort holdings. Rhianna felt a chill race through her at the memory. She shuddered at the thought. He was a large man and what had possibly once been muscle had turned to gelatinous fat. His lank blond hair, well she supposed it was blond, hung greasily across his broad forehead dipping just over his piggish eye. Pockmarks marred his overly ruddy cheeks and Rhianna was certain the scars were from the pox itself. At the mere thought of Aaron Jasper, Rhianna was filled with unease.

  The man was positively evil. The way he leered at her with unabashed lust made her blood curdle in her veins. The man practically salivated like a rabid animal when she had the displeasure to be in his presence. He had been disfigured during some sort of fray causing him the loss of an eye. He wore a hideous patch with a monstrous looking eye painted on the flap that could send children running. A jagged scar ran from his temple, cutting into his pock-marked cheek. When he smiled, it was more like a snarl, showing pointed teeth that had broken off in places from rot. Rhianna had no doubt, that given half a chance, he would force himself upon her. She also knew that thwarting his advances had made for a strong and dangerous enemy.

  She was not so innocent a girl to not realize that she was in grave danger from any number of foes that would end up at her doors since Randall was missing. Still, the new threat in the form of a supposed protector named Ragnorsen did not seem any less ominous than the threat of marriage or war from Aaron Jasper and she could not be certain that Sir Erik Repugnarsen would be any less odious.

  Rhianna tried to rationalize that being a member of the order of Chivalry had some merits but she did not want to give the man any credit whatsoever. He represented an end to her life as she knew it. She crumpled up the missive and tossed it into the fire. Rhianna stormed out of the main hall. It did not matter if her betrothed waged an entire army against Aaron Jasper. She would still not marry him.

  Passing Andarra in a swirl of her skirts and with ire forcing her to react sharply, Rhianna stormed up to the battlements, where the captain of the du Montefort forces was stationed with the guards changing shift.

  “Tristan, may I have a word with you?”

  “Of course, m’lady. What may I do for you?”

  “It would seem the king has decided to arrange for my betrothal.”

  “That is wonderful news m’lady.”

  “Nay, it is not. I have no intention of marrying the odious lout who merely wants my lands and holdings. Therefore, I fully intend to make this fine suitor understand he has no place here at du Montefort Keep. I want you to double the guards and upon his approach, make him know he is most unwelcomed in our home. Am I understood?”

  Tristan nodded, but he did not think he agreed with the young mistress of the keep.

  “My lady, you know I am ever at your service but.…”

  “But what? If you are loyal to du Montefort, there is no question as to what is to be done. This usurper is not going to get my lands without a fight. At the very least, I would think your guards can send him a clear message that we are not a force to trifle with.”

  Tristan nodded sadly and his shaggy brows were knitted in dismay.

  “My lady, I have ever served your father and then your brother thereafter. I would serve you as well and never question your wisdom, but what you are asking me to do is to wage war on one of the king’s knights, which is as good as waging war on the king himself. The king will take it as an act of treason.”

  Rhianna frowned. She truly had not thought of that, but she was not going to just open her gates to the man who would insinuate himself into her home and for that matter, between her thighs! Rhianna was not usually prone to such rash and sour moods, but she was furious at the turn of events that would change not only her world but the world of her people in the course of a day. Stiffening her spine in defiance, Rhianna icily addressed the steward.

  “Tristan, then we are to bar the doors and refuse them entry. If they forcibly try to gain entry, then I authorize our bowmen to take aim. I know nothing about this man. I will not have my people suffer his dominance over them. He is one of those cursed Vikings and is no doubt, used to crushing people who defy him. He will learn that this demesne thrives because our villagers are treated well.”

  With head bowed and eyes lowered, Tristan said quietly, “Alright, my lady. I am your man.”

  Tristan was not used to seeing the mistress of the keep so upset. She was not usually a headstrong girl, but he was not sure she was thinking rationally this time. In truth, he did not want to go against the king, but his back was up against a wall. He was loyal to Rhianna and if that meant fighting the king’s man, Tristan reluctantly would oblige. He could not voice his thoughts that the local villagers would more than suffer because of Rhianna’s actions. The wrath of the king was not something Tristan wanted to bring down on the heads of his people.

  Tristan found it hard to cross Rhianna, who was the daughter of his liege. It was true, his master had been dead a long time, but he had vowed to protect the daughter of the man he respected and sworn fealty to. He glanced at Rhianna. She had grown into a beautiful, independent and courageous woman. It was time she wed and settled down; more than time. Why, any man would be lucky to wed her. Tristan had watched her grow up without the guidance of her parents.

  She had blossomed despite the tragedy that had nearly destroyed her young heart. Rhianna had not let the ever present pain of so dear a loss bring her to her knees. Instead, she rallied to the cause, taking on the role of Mistress of du Montefort Keep. She had been a Godsend to the locals as she brought healing and help to all who had need of her. She had studied the properties of the plants and herbs and was often called to help a sick villager or child. Many times, she had left in the middle of the night to aid some poor sick baby. She never complained. Tristan would watch her return in the early morning hours after nursing a wee babe all night. She
was selfless and beautiful. She dealt with those who needed her with unceasing kindness and compassion.

  Never had Tristan seen her react with such anger and malice. Then again, never had something threatened her world so completely as the king’s edict to marry. Tristan realized that perhaps, for the first time in her life, Lady Rhianna was truly afraid. No amount of courage could prepare her for the impending marriage to a man that may or may not be kind. More often than not, the arranged marriages were barters to the highest bidders, where the woman’s feelings were rarely taken into consideration. Tristan hoped, for the sake of his mistress, that was not the case and that the match would be a good one. Without speaking his dissention, Tristan knew he would have a hard time obeying Rhianna’s orders this time.

  ~Chapter Four~

  Erik’s head throbbed with each hoof beat beneath him. He silently cursed the drink that caused the constant pounding inside his skull. Erik cursed the king and his decree that had forced him to overindulge in the drink in the first place. He cursed the du Montefort crone, and most of all, he cursed himself. He should have sought private council with the king to plead for his cause, but because of his foolishness, Erik was in no condition to speak to anyone, let alone his king. The sun seemed excessively bright this morn and it caused his eyes to water. The lurching of the beast beneath his saddle was wreaking havoc on his already roiling innards. Muttering an oath again, Erik reined in his warhorse. This caused the line of his men to stop abruptly. They waited for his instructions but for the moment, there were none forthcoming.