Marek (The Knights of Stonebridge Book 1)
Read Marek (The Knights of Stonebridge Book 1) Online
Authors: Bambi Lynn
Marek
Book One of
The Knights of Stonebridge
Bambi Lynn
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Boring accountant, Kitty Petty, struggles to get through each day one at a time since the brutal murder of her husband. She spends every free moment caring for her young daughter, until the night she wakes to find her bed on fire.
Kitty doesn’t know how she got to the year 1196, much less how to get back. But if she doesn’t, her daughter will be institutionalized. Having failed to save her child from the clutches of a madman. Kitty vows to protect her future. But going back to her time means risking her own life and separating her from the knight she has grown to love.
Marek Stone wants to protect his wife from the people of Stonebridge. Katherine has been declared a demon after her miraculous rise from the funeral pyre, and the villagers want justice.
MAREK
by Bambi Lynn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by Bourdeilles Books at Smashwords
Copyright 2014 by Bambi Lynn
All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of the copyright holder.
ISBN – 13: 978-0-9914431-1-6
eBook ISBN – 13: 978-0-9914431-0-9
Cover Design by H. Smith
http://www.bourdeillesbooks.com
CHAPTER ONE
Norfolk, 12th Century
Marek Stone stood next to the small fire, gripping the torch he would use to light his wife’s funeral pyre so hard his knuckles ached. The flames sputtered and spit as a dusting of raindrops struck the wood. At first he had been unable to get even a small blaze going, so saturated was the wood his brothers had collected. The weather reflected his mood, dark, dreary, miserable. For a full turning of the moon, there had been little relief from the rain. It seemed the whole of England was drenched. It had taken the smith and his superior skill to step in and ignite the wood.
For a fee. He, no more than any of the other villagers, would serve his liege lord unless duly compensated or forced to do so. Marek’s father had not been well-loved in Stowbridge. That animosity had now been transferred to Marek. He glared down at the man kneeling in the mud, struggling to keep the fire going while the priest said the
eulogium
.
“Dear God, we ask your mercy, for the souls gathered today, heretofore ignorant of the sins of this woman and the spirit of Satan she brought into our midst. We ask also that You strike down those who have concealed her heresy, bringing them to equal justice.”
Irritation did not stifle the elation in his heart. It seemed Marek had waited an eternity to finally get rid of his cheating wife. He had not wished death upon her, but he could not be sad at her passing. He tapped the fingers of his free hand against his thigh, eager to set the pyre aflame.
Alas, Father Jacob’s voice droned on. “Good men, as though our own reflection, a corpse, brought to the church that God may have mercy on her, and bring her into the bliss that shall last forever. Wherefore each man and woman - be ready; for we all shall die, though we know not how soon.”
Pulling his cloak tighter beneath his chin, Marek tucked his head deep into the cowl of his hood. Scanning the small crowd gathered in the churchyard, he let his gaze rest on first one then another of those few who had sworn fealty to him. He had only become lord two years ago upon his father’s death. Most of the villagers despised their previous lord. They liked the new one little better. Food stores were depleted sooner than the farmers could till the soil and harvest new crops. The inlet had started shifting decades ago, making it more and more difficult for ships to enter the harbor. Naturally, the Lord of Stowbridge was to blame. Still, a few continued to pay him due homage. But on this dark day even they avoided their lord’s scrutiny.
“Bless her, O Lord, despite her misguidance. For she has suffered in death as she will for eternity.”
Marek ground his teeth and stared at the ground. He refused to look at the priest, yet another of Katherine’s lovers, anticipating the accusing expression he would find should he do so. Already Father Jacob had succeeded in planting seeds of doubt about their lord's piety and his ability to protect them, a simple task in such fertile soil.
“Bless, too, Holy Father, those at whose hands our lady has suffered. For many find themselves at the mercy of the few. Let her vengeance come from Thy hand, O Lord, for
Thou
art just. We await the day the soul of our mistress is avenged, that he who is truly responsible for her downfall, and our loss, faces judgment.”
Marek ignored the many glances that slipped his way on the heels of this blatant accusation. He saw them not – the looks of suspicion, fear…anger. But he
felt
them.
He struggled to remain calm by all outward appearances, fighting against the conflicting emotions warring inside him. Elation to be rid of Katherine. Annoyance at his vassals.
Ungrateful lot
. Had he, Marek, not brought the village back from the depths of starvation and despair since the death of his father? Had not their lives been even more destitute before? Just last year, he had allotted each family an additional acre. Was he to blame for weather that saturated seedlings during the dry season or baked the earth when it should have rained? Mayhap Katherine’s suspected association with the devil was true, and therefore they were all cursed.
He squeezed the club he held until his fingers became numb. Would Father Jacob never cease his relentless sermon?
He slipped one end of the log into the flickering flame of what should have been a bonfire. Fortunately, the wood had dried out enough to ignite. Circling the pyre, Marek held the flame to the kindling his brothers had stuffed between the soaked limbs.
Dear God
, Marek prayed silently.
Add Your power to the burning of this wood. Let this pyre burn as hot as the fires of Hell. Only then can I be assured her soul has been accepted back into the pit from which it was forged.
He bit the inside of his jaw, a weak attempt to contain his joy at such liberation. Perhaps if he could show actual pain in his expression, none would notice the laughter in his eyes, the lightness in his movements.
Forced to return again and again to light the wood that had sputtered to mere steam, Marek allowed the pungent smoke to tickle his nose, making his eyes tear at the irritation. He hoped to assure those watching he indeed felt remorse at his wife’s death. Had anyone realized the joy he felt at her sudden
passing
, they would surely drag him atop the pyre as well.
For her murder.
***
Maryland, Present Day
It was hot.
Too hot for October on the Eastern Shore. The over-bearing heat tickled Kitty Petty’s conscious. The medallion around her neck, the only heirloom she had from her mother, was strangely warm against her skin. She groaned.
It can’t be time to get up yet.
She was accustomed to rising early, going for a half hour run before starting the day. But lately, she had begun to dread every mile and found it hard to get out the door. Her accounting job at the Naval Academy had become a monotonous chore. The work was not hard, but she came home each day exhausted. After fixing something for her and her daughter, Vanesa, to eat, she often fell into bed, asleep almost as soon as she pulled the duvet up over her head.
Her limbs felt so heavy they seemed part of the mattress. She kept her eyes closed, hovering between sleep and awake, struggling to stay asleep. The medallion, even broken in half as it was, hung like a yoke and seemed to be getting hotter.
If she kept her eyes closed, maybe she could slip back into that dream she’d been having. She could still hear Vanesa’s voice in the dream. Her ten-year-old daughter had been calling her, laughing. Kitty's heart clenched at the sound she had not heard in too long. Vanesa had not spoken since the tragedy that changed their lives. In her dream, Kitty called back to her, holding her arms outstretched to take her child into her shielding embrace and protect her from the rest of the world. She smiled, watching the girl lope toward her, her chocolate-colored curls tumbling over her shoulders. Vanesa was the image of her mother, except for the emerald eyes she had inherited from Jake.
Sweat soaked the sheets beneath her.
If I just tiptoe into the hall and turn down the temperature on the air conditioner, maybe I can go right back to sleep.
Her heart shrunk.
The air conditioner’s broken.
A twitch in her bladder made Kitty start wiggling her foot. There would be no more sleep this night. Eyes still clamped shut, she rolled over.
I’m gonna
have
to get up to pee. I might as well open the window.
The heat of her mother’s medallion was becoming unbearable. Was the temperature in the room causing it?
Why was it so hot in here? Her dull brain recalled the forecast she’d seen on TV before going to bed. The weatherman called for overnight temperatures in the low 50’s. The breeze from the bay should make it cooler than this. Had she turned on the electric blanket and not realized it? She reached out to find the control.
Something bit her.
Kitty’s eyes snapped open. Blazing light blinded her. She squinted into what should have been darkness. Shielding her face with her injured hand, she realized she had not been bitten, she had been
burned
.
Burned by the fire that engulfed her entire bed!
Kitty bolted upright, pulling the duvet up to her chin. The bottom half had burned away. Hungry flames devoured the remainder as it inched towards her. She shrank from them. Her mouth went dry as a pang of fear gripped her. She coughed and fanned smoke from her eyes. The acrid taste of it shocked her tongue.
Kicking away the ruined blanket, she scooted back towards the headboard. Her eyes grew wide. The fire surrounded her. If she did not get out of that bed, she would be burned alive.
Vanesa
.
Intense dread washed over her. Nausea wallowed in her stomach. Was the entire house ablaze? She could not see beyond the wall of fire surrounding her bed. Her daughter’s room was just down the hall. Would she hear? When Kitty opened her mouth to call out, she inhaled a huge gulp of smoke that left her in a fit of coughing and made any warning she might issue fade away.
Panic consumed her. She had to get to Vanesa. She
had
to save her this time. But the scorching barrier left no opening. Kitty would have to leap directly into the flames if she was to have any chance of saving her.
Heartbeat sluggish with dread, Kitty climbed to her knees in the center of her king-sized bed. She shook with fear. She couldn’t breathe. She buried her face in the crook of her arm and took deep breaths, despite the smoke, trying to calm her nerves.
Little chance of that. Flames licked closer and closer, scorching her nightgown. Her skin tingled. She smelled burning hair.
She shook her head.
I can’t do it. I’ll be burned alive. I’m going to die in this fire, and without me, Vanesa’s life will be over whether she survives or not.
But the choice to save oneself or one’s child was no choice at all. Vanesa’s future depended on Kitty. She readied herself to jump. Fear bubbled up inside her before bursting forth in a blood-curdling scream.
***
Marek whipped his head up, his eyes riveted to the top of the funeral pyre. He saw nothing to cause such alarm despite the frisson twittering up his spine. He scanned the crowd, searching the faces of the nearly drenched villagers gathered in the churchyard. One of them must have been so overcome with emotion she had begun to wail, for surely the outcry was that of a woman. But indeed every pair of eyes remained transfixed on the blaze before them, roaring now despite the drizzling rain. The screaming continued, growing steadily more terrifying as the fire swelled.
Movement within the flames caught his eye. His heart fell to his knees.
Without another thought, Marek threw aside the limb he still held and hurled himself atop the pyre.
***
Screaming for help was suddenly no longer necessary or even possible. The most enormous man Kitty had ever seen knocked her from her bed. She didn’t really even see him. Just a blur, he materialized from the smoke and flames, flying into her line of vision, his body colliding with hers.
The brute landed on top of her. Through her fog of terror, Kitty wondered why the floor was wet. Her house was not equipped with a sprinkler system. He must be a fireman and had hosed down the area before rescuing her. Had Vanesa already been pulled from the burning house?
She could still detect the scent of scorched hair, mingled with the odor of melting nylon. The realization that her nightgown was on fire threw her into a panic, and she commenced once again to screaming, beating her fists against the man who held her.
Patting her down with rough hands, the fireman extinguished her smoldering nightgown, but the stench lingered. Patches of skin on her calves stung and blistered.
The floor seemed awfully soft, the carpet soggy. Would it give way in the blaze? Would they fall through to the first floor? Great. If she didn’t die from third-degree burns and smoke inhalation, she’d die from the fall.
Was it her destiny to die today?
Kitty did not know if her difficulty breathing stemmed from the smoke she’d inhaled or the fireman’s vast weight pressing down on her. She could feel the spray on her face from what must be a fire hose. Vaguely she realized they were outside. But how had they gotten out of the house? Was Vanesa still in there?
Shoving against the fireman, Kitty struggled to get up. She had to find out about her daughter. She had to see Vanesa for herself, to know that she was all right. But the mountain of man on top of her did not budge. As if from a distance she could hear him calling to her. But not by name. He called her -
wife
?
Her gaze snapped to his face. Relief swept her that it was not Jake. No, her husband had not returned from the dead.
The face of the man looming over her was dark in the dim light of early morning. A frightening scar trailed from near his left eye, disappearing amidst the wave of dark hair at his throat. Were firemen allowed to wear their hair so long? And what kind of uniform was he wearing?