Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(218)

Romney, too, waited until his mother’s back was turned before shaking a fist at Gart, making horrible and threatening faces at him. Orin still had a stick and he whacked Gart on the back with it. Gart grabbed the stick and tossed it away but when Emberley turned around at the sounds coming from behind her, the four of them froze and smiled innocently at her. Emberley grinned and continued up the stairs.

The attack against Gart resumed all the way into the great hall above.



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The Thunder Warrior




Kathryn Le Veque

Enjoy a bonus chapter from Kathryn Le Veque’s upcoming release, THE THUNDER WARRIOR.





Part One




Winds of Fate

May



“In days of old,

With men so bold,

A storm was brewing brightly.

These men, it was told,

As knights so bold,

Were known to tame the lightning”

~ 13th century chronicles





Chapter One





Year of our Lord 1258 A.D.

Reign of Henry III

Oxford, England

It 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. Clément’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 room 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-blonde 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, leanly 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….”