Everwylde

by Donna Grant

  Everwylde

  The Kindred

  Donna Grant

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  EVEREYLDE

  © 2018 by DL Grant, LLC

  Cover Design © 2017 by Charity Hendry

  * * *

  ISBN 10: 1635760879

  ISBN 13: 9781635760873

  Available in ebook and print editions

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or transmit this book, or a portion thereof, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  www.DonnaGrant.com

  www.MotherofDragonsBooks.com

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Thank You!

  Never miss a new book

  Also by Donna Grant

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Writing is a solitary business where writers can immerse themselves in the worlds we create as characters come to life. But getting a book ready to hand to a reader takes a team. I’d like to take a moment to thank the wonderful people that make up my team.

  The beautiful covers and all the gorgeous graphics posted on social media are the work of Charity Hendry who never fails to deliver amazing work.

  The multiple reads of the book for editing and copy editing all falls in the very capable hands of Chelle Olson who always finds the small things.

  Next is formatting who is done by the amazing Frauke Spanuth at Croco Designs who puts in the beautiful touches at the end.

  I need to send another shout out to Charity and Chelle for our meetings were we toss ideas around about the series. Thank you for understanding the vision I first saw for this series and for joining on the ride with me.

  Last but not least is you. Yes, you, the reader. You’re part of the team. I might dream up these worlds and character, but you help breath life into them. That makes you an important part of the team. So thank you for coming along on the journey.

  Chapter 1

  October 1349

  This wasn’t war. Carac fought against the rising tide of anger that rolled violently through him as he watched the army fighting his men die in droves—without his men lifting a finger.

  He drew his sword and prepared to ride into battle to...hell, he didn’t know what he’d do, but he couldn’t stand by and watch a slaughter.

  “Hold.”

  He clenched his teeth and slowly turned his head to stare at Lord John Atwood. “You called me here to fight for you.”

  “And you did.” John’s brown eyes met Carac’s before the lord adjusted his horse’s reins in his hands. He then glanced at the woman beside him.

  Carac had taken an instant disliking to her. While she was pretty enough with her golden blond hair and clear blue eyes, there was something about her that rankled him. She hadn’t said more than two words in front of Carac, but John seemed to turn to her for every decision.

  And the way she watched the carnage on the field before them, with a smile of enjoyment, sent foreboding snaking down Carac’s spine.

  “It does not appear as if you needed my men,” he stated.

  John’s brown head turned to him. “You question me, Sir Carac?”

  This was one of the times that Carac wanted to shout the secret he kept buried. It was his choice to keep his true identity hidden, but the longer he was in John’s and Lady Sybbyl’s company, the harder it was to hold back.

  Before he could think better of it, Carac said, “I do.”

  “A pity.” Boredom contorted John’s face as he turned his attention back to the battle.

  “You’re butchering men. Men, I might add, who are simply fighting for their lord. You promised Lord Randall the five hundred acres between your holdings.”

  John sighed loudly as irritation laced his words. “I changed my mind.”

  In other words, Sybbyl changed his mind. Carac didn’t understand how the woman had such a hold over John. In fact, had anyone asked Carac three months ago, he would’ve said John preferred the company of men.

  Carac looked at the spot between his stallion’s ears as he struggled to get his frustration and disdain under control. It was the jingle of a bridle that drew him out of his thoughts.

  Sybbyl moved her mount between him and John. She stared at him a long while before Carac finally acknowledged her. Only then did she ask, “You do not care for me, do you?”

  “Not particularly.”

  She smiled shrewdly. “A man who speaks the truth, regardless of whether it will benefit him or not.”

  He was in no mood for such talk. Especially with her. The need to put distance between them warred with his desire to get to the root of why he disliked the woman so. “What is it you want, Lady Sybbyl?”

  “Carac,” John admonished.

  “It’s fine,” Sybbyl said and laid a hand atop John’s arm. Then her gaze slid back to Carac. “John told me you were a man of war, that you served him well once.”

  Carac looked back at the field where not one of his men had so much as a scratch on him as they cut a swath through their enemies. “Aye, I did. When it was a fair fight.”

  “Fair?” she asked with a laugh. “Are you suggesting your men are not more skilled than their adversaries?”

  He hated when people twisted his words. “I’ve fought alongside some of those currently being butchered, my lady. I know just how skilled they are.”

  “Apparently, your men are more so,” she replied.

  “That would be rather difficult since I’ve trained some of Lord Randall’s men myself.”

  Something dark flashed ever so briefly in Sybbyl’s eyes. “You are making this difficult, Sir Carac.”

  “How so?”

  “Enough,” John snapped.

  Carac looked between Sybbyl and John. “Aye, I do believe it is enough.”

  Without another word, he turned his horse and rode back to his tent where his squire rushed out to meet him. Carac dismounted before his horse had even come to a stop. He strode into his tent and began yanking off his armor without waiting for the young lad to help.

  When he was free of the armor, Carac shoved the flap aside and walked outside to find Simon waiting for him astride his bay gelding.

  Carac walked to his stallion that stood munching on grass. He rubbed the animal’s sleek white neck and eyed Simon. “Say it.”

  “You normally hold your temper better.”

  Carac looked into the dark brown
eyes of his best friend and shrugged. “There is something going on here. I feel it in my bones.”

  “I, as well, old friend. But we can do nothing.”

  And that’s what infuriated him. Carac got on his horse and nudged him into a run. He had to put some distance between him and John before Carac did something stupid.

  He didn’t slow his mount until they reached the village. Carac halted his stallion before the tavern and dismounted with Simon following only seconds behind him.

  They shared a grin before entering the building. Carac made his way to the back of the pub and took an empty table. Once Simon sat, and they ordered, Carac ran a hand down his face and sighed.

  “This is wrong. What is happening on that battlefield is wrong.”

  Simon smiled at the barmaid who brought their ale and flipped her a coin. He took a long drink after she left before wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Remind me again why you choose to hide who you really are? This is one of those times I wish others knew.”

  Carac shook his head and lifted the ale, but he didn’t let it touch his lips. Not after watching his father sink into his cups every night. “You know why.”

  “Explain it to me again. Because I think now is a good time for John to find out who he’s been speaking to so insolently. Innocent men are being killed.”

  “Men are always killed in battle.” While Simon’s words were true, they still didn’t sit well with him.

  The men dying might not be innocent, but that didn’t mean their deaths didn’t matter. There was something at work here, and Carac wanted to figure out what it was. Because he might enjoy a victory—but only those he truly won.

  When Simon raised a dark brow, Carac nodded. “I know. I know.”

  Simon quickly finished off his drink and switched his mug with Carac’s. “Tell John who you are.”

  “I hide my identity so I did not receive special attention. And you, above all others, know that I wished for a simple life.”

  Simon sat back as his lips compressed. “That was a long time ago, Carac. We were skinny lads then. You earned your knight’s spurs quickly, proving that nobility is not a birthright, but something some men have. And most do not.”

  Carac scratched his temple. “Everyone said I was too old to be a squire.”

  “You were,” Simon replied with a grin. “But you have always gone after the things you wanted. Being a knight was all you talked about. You trained harder and longer than even I.”

  “I would not have made it without your friendship.”

  Simon let out a guffaw. “This I know.”

  Damn, but it was good to have friends he could trust. Carac knew the acrid taste of betrayal all too well. It was what made him choose his friends—and the company he kept—carefully.

  “You can stop this. Tell John who you are,” Simon urged.

  “After all the years I deceived people, there will be fallout. Especially among our men.”

  “Your men. And you’ve always known this. However, I do not believe it will be as bad as you fear. Some will not like discovering that they treated nobility so...wretchedly.”

  That was all true, but Carac preferred for people to treat him in a way befitting who he was rather than for his title. But something was holding Carac back from revealing his identity at last. If only he knew what it was. “If I do tell John, it might end this battle. Maybe. Then what?”

  Simon lifted the mug of ale. “You return home.”

  “And you?”

  “I accompany you, of course,” Simon said with a wink before taking a big gulp of ale.

  The idea of going home had entered Carac’s thoughts more and more over the last three years. Thanks to Simon’s visits there and the steward in place to run things, Carac wasn’t missed. But he had begun to long for the moors and all the bleakness and wildness that came with them.

  “You know I love a good battle, but that is not what is happening out there. There is something else at work here,” Carac said in a low voice as he leaned his forearms on the table.

  Simon nodded, his face cut into lines of distress. “I agree.”

  “I could stop the massacre,” Carac agreed, his gaze moving to the side. “Then we would leave, but I know it would begin again.”

  Simon leaned close and glanced around to see if anyone were listening. “You think John wanted this?”

  “As peculiar as he is, he’s never gone back on his word before now. The truce between him and Randall was agreed upon weeks ago, with John returning the land his grandfather took from Bryce’s.”

  “John’s honor will be in question now.”

  Carac nodded. “Exactly. No man would purposefully do that unless he had a bigger plan already in place.”

  Simon’s face went slack as he sat back and snorted. “He wants Bryce’s land.”

  “It would double John’s holdings. Randall does not have an heir, which means, if he dies, his title does not pass on.”

  “That still does not explain why John is doing all of this.”

  Carac heard the laugh of the barmaid, who bent to show off her ample cleavage to a patron. “Sybbyl.”

  Simon gave him a flat look. “I will be the first to admit that a woman who can work her wiles can get a man to do many things. But we both know John is rarely seen with females.”

  “Maybe he likes both sexes. Or perhaps there is something else she can give him.”

  “Like?”

  Carac shrugged. “Information.”

  “You think she knows something about Randall John has not shared with you?”

  Carac drummed his fingers on the table as he slowly sat back. “Actually, the more I think on it, I believe Sybbyl is the one with the plan, and that she is using John.”

  “No woman has that kind of power.”

  “Men have long feared the minds of women. It is why females are used as nothing more than chattel, but that cannot last forever. What if Sybbyl found a way?”

  Simon frowned and drew in a deep breath. “What is in it for her?”

  “I have not worked that out yet. It could be anything. But look at the facts. She arrived with only one maid and no other escort. Within a few hours of her appearance, John sent for me. Instead of allowing me to plan the battle as I usually do, he and Sybbyl did that.”

  “That is a shite load to muddle through,” Simon muttered. “How did you discover all of this?”

  Carac shot his friend a smile. “I asked around the keep. John’s men like to talk. Especially to those they think they can trust.”

  “You make it sound as if you believe Sybbyl is the cause of all of this.”

  “I think she is.”

  Disbelief fell over Simon’s face. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I have known a few women intelligent enough to do this. Can you honestly say that you do not believe females capable?”

  “I have not thought about it. I will certainly be looking at women differently now,” Simon said, a deep frown marring his forehead.

  Carac chuckled at his friend’s response, but the laughter died. “It would be easy for me to stop John, but I am more concerned with Sybbyl. She has power over him somehow, and I need to figure out why.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We find out what it is she is after. Because whatever it is, it is on Randall’s land.”

  Simon rolled his eyes and blew out a breath. “And you want me to go to Bryce Castle to find out.”

  “You read my mind,” Carac replied with a grin.

  Simon raised his mug in salute. “You owe me a barrel of ale when I return.”

  Carac watched his friend drain his mug. They exchanged a glance, but no more words were needed. They had been down this particular road before. No one could infiltrate an enemy camp like Simon.

  Chapter 2

  The village was like all the others she had seen before. But this time, Ravyn was close to locating the woman responsible for wiping out her loved ones.

 
Every time she closed her eyes, she dreamed of the night her family was killed.

  And she heard the witch’s laughter.

  “This is a mistake,” Margery muttered for the hundredth time.

  Ravyn looked at her traveling companion as she maneuvered her horse to a stop. “I told you not to come.”

  “As if I would let that happen after what Leoma went through.”

  “She was not alone.”

  Margery sighed loudly. “Braith does not count.”

  “Oh, I would not say that,” she replied with a smile before dismounting.

  “Do you ever think about anything other than lying with a man?” Margery asked irritably.

  Ravyn came around the front of her horse and raised a brow at her friend. “Let us find you a man tonight so you can rid yourself of your maidenhead and learn the truth for yourself.”

  Margery’s russet-colored eyes quickly lowered to the ground as she adjusted her skirts and smoothed her hand along her sandy blond braid. “Nay.”

  “I was terrified my first time.” Ravyn tied her mount to a post and ran a hand down the mare’s neck. “You need to find the right man. Someone who knows what he is doing, and who will make sure you feel pleasure, as well.”

  “Enough,” Margery said and turned her back to Ravyn.

  She came up alongside her friend. “Stop being a prig. I have seen the way you look at men. There is nothing wrong with being curious about your body.”