Guardian of Darkness

Copyright 2009 by Kathryn Le Veque
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Printed by Dragonblade Publishing in the United States of America

Text copyright 2009 by Kathryn Le Veque
Cover copyright 2009 by Kathryn Le Veque

A good portion of this book is about brothers;

I only have one,

William Ralph Bouse III

(a.k.a., Billy, Bill, Unco Bee or just plain Bee)

His spirit and character are embodied in the de Reyne Brothers.

We should all be so lucky to have such brothers.

Other Kathryn Le Veque titles include

Resurrection

Lady of Heaven

The Crusader

Kingdom Come

The Legend

The Titan

Steps of Glory

The Dark Lord

The Falls of Erith

Lespada

The White Lord of Wellesbourne

The Dark Knight

Spectre of the Sword

The Whispering Night

The Dragonblade Series

Dragonblade

Island of Glass

The Savage Curtain

Kathlyn Trent/Marcus Burton Adventure Series

Valley of the Shadow

The Eden Factor

Canyon of the Sphinx

On Amazon.com

Lord of the Shadows

Lady of Heaven

CHAPTER ONE

Scottish Borders

May 1200 A.D.

The knight walked into a trap.

Whack!

The blow landed on his forehead, sending him to the ground.  The torch butt was tossed aside as the attacker ejected herself from the tent.  From the moment she struck the man who was coming to see to her comfort, she knew that there was no turning back. She had decided on this course of action earlier in the evening when panic and despair were bedfellows in her fragile mind.  She wanted no part of this insane agreement her father called a peace accord. She would not be a hostage for the sake of harmony.  She wanted to go home.

Unfortunately, she had not thought beyond the initial escape attempt.  Thoughts of collecting her horse were quickly dashed when she realized that she would not have the chance. It did not occur to her, given that her tent was in the middle of the Sassenach encampment, that anyone would notice she was missing. She rather hoped she would have the same consistency of a ghost.  Unfortunately, she was not difficult to miss; a tiny woman with long hair the color of a raven’s wing.  In a camp full of soldiers, it had been idiotic to imagine that she would not stand out. The moment she fled from the tent, someone saw her and, of course, the game was afoot.

Alarms went out all over the camp.  The sentries sounded the cry in the damp, heavy night air; she could hear them. Her heart began to race as she pounded her way across the wet grass that had been mashed by the contingent of soldiers sent from Prudhoe Castle.  She would not cooperate with their assignment. She did not want to live in an English castle as a hostage, insurance that her father would behave himself and enforce the peace from Carter Bar to Yetholm.

She honestly thought she could outrun anyone who might attempt to chase her down, at least until she lost herself in the trees. She had always been a fast runner.  But what she did not count on were the destriers in pursuit, massive war horses bred for battle. They were enormous beasts and she could hear their thunder approach. The trees were in the distance, a dark indistinguishable line too far for her to reach before the warhorses were upon her.  She knew she was about to be caught. But she would not give up without a fight.

A huge mailed hand reached down and grabbed her by the arm.  Swinging her little fists, she fought and kicked as the English knight unceremoniously threw her over his lap. Though she struggled valiantly, she was no match against an armored warrior.  But that did not stop her from resisting him all the way back to the camp.

When the knight finally let her go, she tumbled to the ground and ended up on her arse. Furious green eyes, the color of emeralds, glared up at the warrior. She shook a fist at him.

“Ye should have let me go,” she bellowed. “I will only run again.”

The knight had his helm on, visor lifted so he could get a good look at her. From what she’d been able to gather, he was the captain of the men who held her captive.  He was very tall, with dusky blue eyes and a thin blond mustache.  And the look upon his face suggested he would not tolerate her rebellion.

“Lady Carington,” he braced his gloved hand against his thigh and leaned on it. “I thought we were clear on this matter. Your father has offered you to my liege, Lord Richard d’Umfraville of Prudhoe Castle, in exchange for peace between Prudhoe and Clan Kerr.  This has come after several years of bitter conflict to which I am personally witness. Even if you should make it home, which would be a miracle in itself, your father would simply turn you back over to us.  You do not seem to understand that you have no choice.”

The Lady Carington Kerr picked herself off the ground with as much dignity as she could muster. She knew his words were true, but still, she resisted. Yet her actions were borne of fear more than of true rebellion; she was terrified at the prospect of being a hostage. Her father had been unclear with respect to the duration of her captivity.  Surrounded by strangers, enemy strangers no less, she was full of the Devil. Perhaps if she seemed mean nasty enough, unruly enough, they would leave her alone.  It was all purely in self defense.

“Stay away from me, Sassenach,” she growled. “Tell your dogs to leave me be.”

Sir Ryton de Reyne could see that he had his hands full.  His lovely little hostage had been relatively quiet until just a few minutes ago when she smacked one of his knights so hard that the man was still seeing stars.  Dismounting his Belgian charger, he handed the steed off to the nearest soldier and took a few steps towards her. But he made sure to stay out of arm’s length, just in case.

“I can personally vouch for my men, my lady,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “Like you, we are simply doing as ordered. We are taking you back to Prudhoe. You alone have the power to make this a pleasant journey or an unpleasant one. Rest assured that we can play any game you like, and play it far better than you. So I would ask, for your sake, that you accept the situation for what it is. If I have to tie you up for the rest of the journey back to Prudhoe, have no doubt that I will do it.”

Carington gazed into his dusky blue eyes, having little reservation that he meant what he said.  For the first time since her mad dash to freedom, she seemed to show some uncertainty. When she did not reply right away, Ryton took the opportunity to present her to the knights surrounding them.

“If you please, my lady,” he began casually. “I would introduce you to the knights under my command. You will be seeing much of them and proper introductions are in order. Perhaps it will make you feel more comfortable.”

Carington took a step back from him; he had come too close and she was still skittish.  Ryton indicated the man immediately to his right. “This is Sir Stanton de Witt. If you do not recognize him, you should - he is the one you tried to behead. Next to him are Burle de Tarquinus and Jory d’Eneas.”

Carington looked at the knight with the huge red mark on his forehead; he was young, pale featured, with big eyes and an angular face.  He nodded politely at her and she suddenly felt guilty for striking him. Next to him, Sir Burle was a very large man, older, with receding blond hair and round cheeks. He was very nearly as wide as he was tall, but she could see that with age he had mostly gone to fat.  His mail jiggled when he moved.  The final knight indicated was a short man with non-descript brown eyes and a head of wavy brown hair.  But there was something about his eyes that unnerved her.  It was like gazing into a bottomless pit.

At this point, however, everything unnerved her. As she continued to gaze warily at the collection, the sound of hooves approached from behind and she started.  Thundering down upon them was another knight, a figure that cut a massive path through the grass.  He was, in fact, a massive man; Carington had seen quite a few large men in her time, being Scots, and was accustomed to big men with loud voices. But this knight was different; he seemed to take up all of the air around him, sucking it dry as he reined his fire-breathing charger to a halt and dismounted.   When he flipped up his three-point visor, focusing on the group of knights and one small lady, she swore she saw lightning bolts shooting from his eyes.  That was her first impression of the man. She resisted the urge to flinch and step away.

“The perimeter guards have been calmed,” the man’s voice was so deep that it was like listening to the sound of distant thunder.  His gaze barely lingered on the lady before turning back to the knight in charge. “I see you have captured the escapee.”

Ryton nodded, still looking at the lady even as he gestured towards the enormous knight. “My lady, this is Sir Creed de Reyne,” he said. “I would suggest you make no move against him. He doesn’t like women in general and you would be taking your life in your hands.  If he gives you a directive, I would strongly advise that you follow it without hesitation.  In fact, that goes for any of my knights.  What we do, we do for your safety and not out of some misguided sense of punishment.  We are not here to harm you, but to protect you as we have been ordered to. Is that clear?”