by Jody Hedlund
Books by Jody Hedlund
Young Adult: The Lost Princesses Series
Always: Prequel Novella
Evermore
Foremost
Hereafter
Young Adult: Noble Knights Series
The Vow: Prequel Novella
An Uncertain Choice
A Daring Sacrifice
For Love & Honor
A Loyal Heart
A Worthy Rebel
The Bride Ships Series
A Reluctant Bride
The Runaway Bride
The Orphan Train Series
An Awakened Heart: A Novella
With You Always
Together Forever
Searching for You
The Beacons of Hope Series
Out of the Storm: A Novella
Love Unexpected
Hearts Made Whole
Undaunted Hope
Forever Safe
Never Forget
The Hearts of Faith Collection
The Preacher’s Bride
The Doctor’s Lady
Rebellious Heart
The Michigan Brides Collection
Unending Devotion
A Noble Groom
Captured by Love
Historical
Luther and Katharina
Newton & Polly
Evermore
Northern Lights Press
© 2019 Copyright
Jody Hedlund Kindle Edition
www.jodyhedlund.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are accordingly inevitable. All other characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Emilie Hendryx of E. A. Hendryx Creative
Table of Contents
Half-Title
Books by Jody Hedlund
Title Page
Copyright Page
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About the Author
Young Adult Fiction from Jody Hedlund
More from Jody Hedlund
Chapter
1
Adelaide
“I shall ride the final course.” I grabbed the great helm. “You know I have the better chance at vanquishing Lord Mortimer.”
“No, Adelaide.” Mitchell reached to divest me of the helmet, but I sidestepped him and thrust it on before he could wrest it away.
“I shall pretend I am you, and Lord Mortimer will be none the wiser.” My voice was hollow against the conical metal hood that covered my entire head except for the narrow eye slits and the small pricked breathing holes. I fumbled at the leather chinstrap, determined to tie it into place before Mitchell stopped me.
“Adelaide,” he said in a puff of exasperation. But his voice wasn’t as angry as it was frustrated. Whether he said so or not, I understood him. He was irritated more with himself than with me. Thus far during the jousting tournament, he’d tied with Lord Mortimer, which meant if we didn’t win the fourth and final course, we’d go home without the coveted purse of gold.
If we returned to Langley without the gold, the physician wouldn’t come to heal Aunt Susanna, and we would forfeit the expensive medicine she so desperately required.
“We need this victory more than any other.” I stiffened my shoulders as Mitchell began to thread the belt from my cuirass to the cross-shaped hole at the base of the helm. Though I couldn’t see Mitchell anymore, I sensed his troubled gaze upon me. With the customary Langley brown hair and eyes, he was small of stature for a man, more scholarly and interested in his studies than in tournaments. However, like any good nobleman’s son, he’d been trained to use both his mind and body.
Much to the chagrin of my aunt and uncle, I’d trained right alongside Mitchell and my other cousins. Aunt Susanna oft lamented I was too much like my cousins and that she’d failed to raise me as a proper lady. I oft replied I would have it no other way.
The great helm lay heavy against my chain mail hood and padded coif. I was smaller than Mitchell, but we were close enough I’d jousted in his stead at tournaments. Always in the past, I’d enjoyed the challenge of taking part in competitions disguised as Mitchell. And always in the past, he’d humored my whims, relieved to escape his obligations.
However, the stakes of the tournament were higher this time. Not only did we need the purse of gold to pay the physician, but Lord Mortimer had also recently made known he had designs for me to become his next wife. He’d said as much to Mitchell during a recent hunting expedition.
As Lord Mortimer still mourned the loss of his first wife to childbirth, I hadn’t given the gossip much credence. Mitchell, on the other hand, had been uneasy ever since, speculating what the lord might do if he became serious about the matter.
“That monster will not have you,” Mitchell had declared viciously after the hunting party. “Though you would be harder to control than a wild coyote, I would sooner marry you myself.”
I’d laughed at Mitchell’s passionate declaration. Only months my elder, he wasn’t my cousin by blood or birth. In fact, we weren’t related in any way. But I saw him as none other than my true kin. We’d been inseparable growing up, and he was my steadfast friend.
Even now, I held out my gauntlet-gloved fingers and waited until I felt his hand in mine. “We shall prevail, Mitchell,” I assured him. “And if Lord Mortimer ever discovers our duplicity, he will certainly put his thoughts far from me, for he will not be able to abide a wife who has knocked him from his horse.”
I didn’t wait for Mitchell’s response. Instead, I shoved aside the tent flap and proceeded toward the lists. With spurs jangling and armor clanking, I joined the other knights with an air of confidence from years of training.
I rode Roland, Mitchell’s bay roan, to the cheering of villagers who sat on the ground as well as the wooden benches that had been erected along the cordoned-off center field. The colorful pavilions with their more elaborate galleries provided seating for the nobility, a place to which I’d been relegated too many times in the past.
Disguised as a squire, Mitchell took his place next to me, straightening the caparison covering the horse. The flowing cloth was patterned with a red vertical stripe across white with a golden eagle at the center, the Langley family coat of arms.
“Remember everything I have spoken.” He moved to the front of the charger and inspected the chanfron, making sure the iron shield sat securely in place over Roland’s head. “Especially keep in mind that Lord Mortimer is weaker on the left side.”
I nodded in reply and refrained from telling him I’d seen Lord Mortimer p
erform more times than he had and was familiar with every nuance of the lord’s strategy and maneuvers.
Mitchell patted the charger one last time and whispered an endearment in his ear before going after my lance. I, too, leaned into Roland and rubbed the roan’s shoulder with affection. He nickered his response as though he sensed how much was at stake.
“We shall do just fine,” I said more to myself than to the horse. I’d ridden Roland as much as Mitchell—if not more. As a charger and medium-weight horse, he’d been bred for agility and stamina. He wouldn’t be as muscular or heavy as Lord Mortimer’s warhorse. But I’d learned size didn’t necessarily equate strength, that strength could be found in many different forms.
Mitchell handed me a lance made of solid oak and decorated with red and white to match the Langley heraldry. I braced the long weapon under my arm and against my ribs, tilting it slightly forward to maintain my balance. I pressed my thighs into Roland’s flank, needing to become one with the beast. This tournament was a partnership. I couldn’t succeed without Roland’s cooperation—his measured speed, his balance against the pressure of our opponent, and the ability to sense my needs.
“God be with you.” Mitchell gave my gloved hand a final squeeze. He spoke with confidence, but I could still distinguish a thin strand of anxiety in his tone. Not only was he worried about his mother the same as I was, but so many responsibilities had fallen on his shoulders, including the weight of the earldom, a weight that had been growing steadily heavier.
As the youngest of three brothers, Mitchell hadn’t expected to carry such burdens. But Norbert had died in youth, and Christopher had run away five years ago. Older than Mitchell and me by two years, Christopher had a courage of both body and spirit I admired greatly. While I’d never been as close to Christopher as I had to Mitchell, I still held him in the highest regard.
A time had once existed when I’d fancied Christopher. Thankfully, my handsome cousin had been too preoccupied in those last days before his leaving to notice my increasing fascination. I’d surely have embarrassed myself if he’d stayed. Nevertheless, I’d allowed a secret hope to settle inside my young heart. A hope that someday he’d come back and fancy me in return.
Uncle Whelan had died unexpectedly, two years after Christopher’s departure. We hadn’t expected Christopher to return for the funeral since he was considered an enemy of King Ethelwulf. Thus, when he’d secretly visited, I’d been excited, wanting him to see me as the young woman I was becoming, not a little girl or his cousin. But he’d hardly noticed me and had remained only a day since his presence had posed a danger to us, especially because he’d pledged his services to the neighboring king of Norland.
With no one else to aid us, Mitchell and I had done what we could to survive. And now that he was twenty and I almost so—we’d learned to take care of ourselves and were doing what we needed to help Aunt Susanna.
Through my eye slits, I focused on my opponent on the other end of the list. Lord Mortimer was a formidable foe. Nigh on thirty, he was strong and experienced. But a greater weakness than his left side was his arrogance. He would expect Mitchell to come at him with his usual quick and powerful thrust. He would pride himself on knowing Mitchell so well.
But if God looked upon me graciously this day, I would deliver a thrust Lord Mortimer wasn’t expecting.
I raised my lance high to signal my readiness, and Lord Mortimer did likewise. Then I couched my weapon in my armpit and settled myself more securely in the high-backed saddle. Although the April day was cloudy and the air heavy with moisture, sweat had already soaked the silk-lined doublet and padded collar I wore beneath my armor. The padded coif under my helm stuck to my head and my plaited hair.
Many times, I’d debated shearing my golden hair to a man’s length so it would rest at my shoulders rather than waist. But Mitchell had cautioned me against doing so, convincing me I would draw unnecessary attention to myself and perhaps alert others to our duplicity.
The bugle call rent the air, clear and strong, quieting the crowd. Roland started forward, needing no urging on my part. His pace was perfect, providing adequate speed but smooth enough I could keep my balance.
With the thundering of horse hooves filling the silence, I focused on the part of Lord Mortimer’s armor I intended to hit. I ground my teeth together, tightened my grip, thrust the lance, and then braced for impact.
My weapon glanced off the upper cannon protecting his arm and shoulder. But his made contact with my cuirass directly above my heart. The collision was hard and jolted me back against my saddle. I would have flown over Roland’s hindquarters if I hadn’t tightened my grip on the reins.
The crowd cheered at Lord Mortimer’s contact. For a second, I wondered if I’d been too hasty in taking Mitchell’s place in the contest. Perhaps I was the one with too much pride and needed a reminder to remain meek of spirit.
I rolled my shoulder and winced at the pain in my chest. “God, if you must teach me humility this day, I believe the bruise is a sufficient lesson.” My whispered prayer was loud inside my helmet. “In fact, it will remind me for quite some days of the need to banish pride.”
We returned to our respective corners of the list, raised our lances, and then began to ride toward each other once again. I bent closer to Roland, needing his strength, begging him for it. Then I put all thought out of my mind, save one—the target on Lord Mortimer’s chest.
Roland’s gait lengthened. His canter quickened. And the pounding of his iron-shod hooves echoed the thud of my heart. I sensed we were working together. We were a team. And this time I had to hit my mark.
We drew nearer, but I waited, my gaze fixed and unwavering. Then at the last second, I drove my lance hard, feeling Roland thrust with me.
The crack of splintering wood was followed by Lord Mortimer’s muffled cry of distress. The blow knocked into his chest at the same moment his lance hit me again. The power of the strike drove the wind from my lungs, and I felt myself sliding sideways. I clung to Roland desperately with my thighs. As though feeling my struggle, the charger compensated for my weakness, lowering himself just slightly so that I might jerk back up.
As I righted myself in my saddle, the crowd erupted into wild cheering. I ambled to the end of the list before turning Roland around. At the sight of Lord Mortimer sprawled on the ground and his warhorse at the opposite end of the field without him, a relieved thrill of victory coursed through me.
We’d won.
Tears stung my eyes, and I was glad for the great helm hiding them. I wasn’t prone to fits of weeping or emotion. But this victory meant we could pay our debts to the physician. We’d already used his services countless times over recent weeks. Now he refused to come again until we paid him for his previous visits. With the diminished supply of the particularly rare and exotic powder that came from embalmed mummies, we needed the physician to bring Aunt Susanna more.
I glanced to where Mitchell stood and prayed I’d be able to convince my cousin of our need to ride out tonight after we were presented with our prize. Mitchell was never one to forgo a feast when available. But with the direness of his mother’s health, maybe he would listen to reason this time.
Lord Mortimer’s squires had begun to assist him to his feet. From what I could assess, he’d been stunned but hadn’t suffered any serious injury. Even if I didn’t harbor fondness for the imposing lord, I still wished him no ill on account of our joust.
The herald blew the bugle again, quieting the crowd. Before he could pronounce me the winner, a harried and breathless man burst through the onlookers. “Sir Mitchell!” he shouted.
I swiveled toward Mitchell, and then realized the man was speaking to me. That he, like everyone else, believed I was Mitchell.
The newcomer towered above the other spectators by several handbreadths. I immediately recognized the thin stature and earnest expression. Tall John, our steward. From his red face and the perspiration ring at his hatband, I guessed he had travelled strenuousl
y and without stopping.
“I have news!” he shouted. “Urgent news regarding your mother, the Countess of Langley.”
My heart dropped into the base of my chest, leaving a painful empty void in its place. If Tall John had ridden several hours to find us, he surely didn’t bear good tidings. I feared the worst.
“She is on her deathbed,” Tall John called, heedless of the mass of people witnessing our exchange. “And she asks that you return home with all haste.”
Chapter
2
Adelaide
I sprinted ahead of Mitchell, my boots slapping against the long passageway of Kentworth Castle. Upon reaching Aunt Susanna’s chambers, I didn’t bother knocking. I threw open the door and raced inside, praying we weren’t too late.
I’d already sent Tall John straightaway to the physician’s home, giving the steward a portion of the gold Lord Mortimer had bestowed upon Mitchell in a short ceremony. Though Lord Mortimer was proud and overbearing in many ways, at least he had the kindness of heart to allow us to be on our way as quickly as possible.
Mitchell and I had ridden well into the night before reaching home. We were exhausted and had pushed our horses much too hard. But I was determined to fetch the physician and purchase the costly medicine for Aunt Susanna.
“Aunt Susanna!” I crossed the room, which was lit by a lone candle on the bedside table. A maidservant rose from a pallet on the floor at the foot of the bed. At the sight of me, she curtsied.
“How is the countess?” I pushed aside the thick curtain surrounding the bed.
“She was restless all day,” the servant replied, “but fell asleep a short while ago.”
I peered down at the dear face of the only mother I’d ever known. The past months of illness had taken their toll. Her once full form was now skeletal and sunken, her lustrous hair thin and dry, and her body weak and lifeless. Whatever the malady, it had ravaged her until only a shell remained of the lively woman she’d always been.
Her eyes were closed, but her chest rose and fell with the breath of life. Weak with relief, I gripped the bedpost to keep from trembling. As soon as the physician arrived with more of his medicine, she would begin to revive.
