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The Promise Table of Contents
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 1
England December 1356
“Help!” The cry echoed in the bitter cold and seemed to somehow become muffled by the heavy snow.
The mount beneath Sir Gavin of Ashburn snorted.
He pulled at the reins and stopped, listening for the sound again. He didn’t have to wait long to hear desperate weeping, followed by vicious laughter.
Ulric pulled in his horse. “Should we intervene?” he asked.
“Since when have we not intervened?” Gavin asked as he slipped off his courser.
Ulric followed suit. He looked over at his companion, and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m asking in case you wanted to forgo being a hero today.”
Gavin grunted but didn’t reply. He lifted the longbow that he usually carried over his shoulders and hung it off the saddle. Then he unsheathed his broadsword.
It wasn’t the most ideal place to stop, he knew. But he couldn’t leave a man in peril, especially since it was nearing Christmastide, and the outlaws were out in full force. He clenched his teeth at the thought. Robbers and outlaws were the pests of society. They patrolled the King’s highway looking for easy gain, often killing and maiming innocent travelers so that no witnesses would report them to the sheriff. God knew, they had inflicted enough pain and suffering in his own life. Gavin shook his head, fighting back the familiar tightening in his chest. Now was not the time to think about the past, he reminded himself.
Gavin gripped the hilt of his sword. Still, the idea of freeing the world of society’s scum had a certain appeal.
“The sound is coming from there, beyond the trees,” Ulric said, breaking into Gavin’s thoughts.
“Let’s go.”
They crept through the trees, the deep snow slowing their progress. Soon enough the murmuring voices grew louder.
Gavin stopped behind a large birch tree and peered over the side.
There sitting on a horse, was tall, lean man. His face, marred by battle scars, seemed somehow different from his peers, as if he had once held a military position of rank. Judging from the clothing the motley crew wore, and the way they carried their swords, Gavin surmised that they were disgraced fighting men.
Five of the underlings forced a man of obvious wealth to the ground. One robber tore open the nobleman’s coat. He ripped off the money pouch that was attached to his belt, and tugged at the rings on his fingers.
Not far from the nobleman lay the dead body of his military escort.
“Did you get of all his valuables?” asked the man on the horse.
The robber let out an ugly laugh. He was squat, with a face that seemed as if someone had deliberately stepped on it. “Aye, I think we took all the coins and jewels he has,” he said in a rough voice, “We should take his fine clothes too.”
The nobleman whimpered, and pulled his legs up to his chest in an attempt to make himself as small as possible and avoid their notice.
“Shall we kill him? ‘Twould be the perfect Christmastide gift for his family,” another man suggested. The squat man laughed as if he had never heard of anything so funny.
“Nay!” the nobleman shouted, his voice sounding thin and high pitched. He scrambled up on his knees, his palms together in prayer. “Please, I do not want to die. I have three grown daughters to care for…”
“Let’s do it; let’s kill him,” another outlaw said. He touched the nobleman’s expensive coat, almost caressing it. “This rabbit fur trimmed coat will fetch us a pretty gold coin from the tailor in the next town,” he tugged at the coat, “Take it off.”
Out of desperation, the nobleman shoved the man away. Surprised by the sudden movement, the robber stumbled backwards and lost footing. His companions laughed at him. When he regained his balance, his pock marked face turned red with fury. “I gave you a chance to take the coat off willingly,” he growled. “But never mind that. The blood will wash off once I take it off your dead body.” He raised his sword to strike the defenseless man.
For a moment, the nobleman’s eyes widened with fear. “Nay, oh God!” He tucked his chin sharply into his chest, his arms held tightly over his head, bracing against the killer blow to come.
Greed. Gavin’s grip on his sword tightened. It sickened him to think that someone he loved had fallen under the mercy of criminals like these. There wasn’t anything he could do to bring Annabelle back, but he could at least save this man from the same fate.
Gavin stepped out from behind the tree. “That’s as far as you need to go,” he said. Ulric moved to the other side of him, his face grim.
All six outlaws whipped their heads around in unison; their movements stilled by the sound of Gavin’s voice.
But their skittish behavior faded when they saw that it was just Gavin and Ulric.
The leader gripped at his reins with one hand, and placed his other hand on his sword belt. “Move along, brother,” he said. “This does not concern you.”
“I’m afraid that I cannot allow you to kill a defenseless man,” Gavin said.
The nobleman on the ground lifted his head, a hopeful, desperate look in his eyes. “Help me, sire,” he said. He clasped his palms together, pleading. “I’ll give you anything you desire. Anything!”
“You,” the leader said to one of the robbers who looked like he had only recently emerged from behind his mother’s skirts. “Stay with the quarry.” He then waved at the others. “The rest of you surround these men.”
Gavin brought up his sword. He could feel every muscle in his body tightening as the robbers made a wide circle around him and Ulric.
“We can share some of the spoils with you,” the leader said, speaking slowly. He pointed to the road beyond the trees. “Just leave us and forget what you saw.”
“Are you mad, Thomas?” hissed the pock faced man. He gripped his sword tighter as if he wanted to thrust the blade into the leader. “Why should they get anything at all when we did all the hard work to capture the quarry?”
“Don’t mind him,” Thomas said, his eyes fastened onto Gavin’s face. “The nobleman carried enough jewels and money with him that we can spare you some for your silence.” His gaze locked with Gavin. “Will you accept?”
“This is the best offer I’ve had all day. Unfortunately I can’t abide by the words of men without honor.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes. “You would dare insult me when you and your man are outnumbered? I once lived by what you define as honor, but ‘tis a useless concept when you’re out here,” he waved at their surroundings. “I wanted to give you a fair bargain since we’re fighting men. But since you’re determined to live by your precious honor, you’ll see first hand how little it’ll help when you gasp for your last breath.”
He pointed his sword at them. “Attack, men!”
But instead of his men running forward to attack on his co
mmand, the other robbers continued to hesitate, watching the two knights as if they were dangerous, unpredictable animals.
“You cowards!” Thomas shouted. He shoved a foot at the man that stood nearest to his horse. “I said attack!”
The push lent the robber new courage, and he raised his sword, letting out a loud war cry. The energy of that roar spurred his peers into action.
Then with a bearing of recklessness abandon, they charged.
The air became alive with the sounds of grunts, yells, and of metal clashing against metal.
Gavin deflected one blow and then another, slashing, and sidestepping the attackers as if he was part of an intricate carol.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the squat man running at him from the side, his weapon held high over his head. Gavin turned just in time to face his attacker, plunging his sword into his gut.
The man’s unearthly scream caused his companions to stop and retreat.
The five remaining outlaws looked over at their lifeless companion on the ground, their shoulders heaving heavily from exertion, their mouths opened in disbelief and horror.
“Come,” Gavin said, his voice sounding calm. “Attack us, and we’ll hurtle you into hell after your friend.”
Thomas looked one last time at the dead robber before he tugged at his reins and forced his horse to turn and flee. His men, meanwhile, scattered among the trees.
Ulric made a move to go after the outlaws, but Gavin clasped his shoulder. “Let them go,” he said. “There is no point in going after them now.”
A sob sounded behind them.
Gavin turned and looked over at the nobleman.
Tears sprung from the man’s eyes. “Thank you, Sir…?”
“Sir Gavin the Bold,” Ulric answered for him.
The man nodded eagerly. “Thank you for helping me, Sir Gavin the Bold,” he said, his voice shaking with relief and gratitude. He brought a trembling hand to his forehead as if to assure himself that he really had escaped from death’s grip.
Gavin wiped his blood stained sword onto the snow. “You can thank me by honoring me with a favor,” he said.
“Anything!” the man said. “Just name your price. I can give you a flock of geese —”
“I don’t care for geese,” Gavin interrupted. He slipped his sword into his scabbard. “I overheard that you have three grown daughters. I will take one of them to wed.”
The lord’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Wed one of my daughters…?”
But before the nobleman could respond any further, a rumbling sound could be heard off in the distance, coming closer by the second.
All too soon, a troop of knights dressed in black and blue livery were upon them.
“There is Lord Cedwick!” a squire shouted, pointing to them.
“Sires!” the commander’s voice rang out. He abruptly stopped his horse, his eyes focusing on Gavin and Ulric. He drew his sword. “You shall pay for attacking our lord.”
Lord Cedwick held up a hand to stop his commander from continuing. “‘Tis all right, Sir Etienne.” He got up from the ground, and dusted the snow off his fur lined coat. “These were not the men who attacked me.”
Sir Etienne eyed Gavin and Ulric and then at the two dead men on the ground before turning to his lord. “The squire said that you were attacked by outlaws, my lord. We came as fast as we could.” His eyebrows knitted and his mouth curved into a frown. “If these men are not those who attacked you, then what has happened here?”
“We saved his hide, is what happened,” Ulric said.
Sir Etienne looked over at them, a puzzled expression still on his face. “Who are —?”
But before he could finish his question, Lord Cedwick said with a slight quiver in his voice, “I want to go home.”
Sir Etienne looked once more at the lifeless men, one hand stroking his beard. Then he shook his head, not bothering to question his lord’s authority. “Sir John, go fetch a man with a cart and clean up this mess,” he said to a guard on his right.
Then turning to the nobleman, he said, “‘Tis lucky that you were not far from the castle, my lord.”
Lord Cedwick drew in a shaky breath. “I had only planned to go visit my brother in the next shire. I didn’t think I needed a full entourage.” He grimaced when he noticed some more dirt on his woolen coat. “I will not make that mistake again,” he said, his voice now sounding firmer. “Let us leave this awful place.”
When the lord straightened up again, he no longer resembled the cowering man that lay on the ground minutes ago, pleading for his life. In fact, he seemed quite eager to get away and forget the entire incident.
“I shall come for what is owed to me,” Gavin said, reminding him.
The nobleman waved a hand at him.
But whether the lord waved to acknowledge his words or not, Gavin wasn’t sure. The nobleman climbed onto a spare courser that his men provided, and without another look, they rode swiftly past them.
They watched as the troop disappeared among the trees. “You asked for quite the payment from the lord,” Ulric said.
“He did say I could have anything I want.”
“And you think that a wife will solve your dilemma?”
Gavin nodded. “Aye.”
Ulric shook his head. “I have doubts that the lord intends to keep his promise.”
“We’ll just have to pay a visit and remind him of it,” Gavin said.
CHAPTER 2
“We’ve come to collect the bride of Sir Gavin the Bold.” A man’s deep voice rang out in the great hall. A murmur rumbled throughout the large room. Several of the men–at–arms looked at each other, their eyebrows raised at the brash statement.
The man stood at the entrance while a second man stood slightly off to the side, hidden in the half shadow.
The first knight stepped forward. His dirty wheat colored hair reached his shoulders, and a beard covered half of his broad face. A large cloak draped his body, but the thick woolen material couldn’t hide the dense muscles underneath, muscles that must have been forged from years of battle and war. He had a bearing of someone used to authority, and the ferocious gleam in his silver eyes showed no fear, even when faced with a room filled with warriors. He slowly scanned the wide–eyed onlookers, defying them to question his purpose.
Lady Estella de Leraye watched as Sir Etienne, the garrison commander stood up. He grasped the edge of the trestle table, his mouth tense. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Baron Clifton de Leraye, Lord of Cedwick upon seeing the large stranger, dropped the ladle in his hand, his face turning as pale as the table cloth on the trestle table.
The knight ignored the commander’s question, and boldly stepped toward the dais. He leaned forward, and lifted Estella’s father by the collar, pulling him out of his chair. “You promised one of your daughters to my master,” he growled.
Lord Cedwick clawed at the iron grip on his tunic. “You must be mistaken,” he gasped. “I’ve made no such promises!”
“I held witness to your pledge,” the knight said, his voice menacing.
“Let Lord Cedwick go,” Sir Etienne said, springing up to disentangle his master from the knight’s powerful grip.
“Tell your man to stay where he is. We don’t want bloodshed. We only want what is owed to Sir Gavin.”
Her father waved his hand for Sir Etienne to be seated. The commander paused, unsure whether he should ignore his master’s instructions.
Estella stood up. This is madness, she thought frantically. This stranger dared to insult her father in his own home. Who did he think he was? She glanced at her sisters who sat frozen, as if they watched a horrific murder scene unfolding in a village play.
“Release my father at once!” Estella said.
Her younger sister Alys gaped at her for a second before clutching at her arm, trying in vain to pull her back down onto her seat.
But Estella remained rooted in her spot. Her heart raced a
t the prospect that her life was probably going to end right here, right now. But she couldn’t allow her family’s honor to be disgraced in this manner. She swallowed hard when the strange knight focused his grey eyes on her.
“Who are you?” Estella demanded loudly. “How did you get into our castle?” She narrowed her eyes at the man. “‘Tis upsetting that you have come into our home —”
“Enough,” a voice boomed near the hall’s entrance.
At hearing the commanding voice, the knight abruptly released his prisoner and pushed him back. Lord Cedwick slumped into his chair. Sir Etienne tried to steady him, but he pushed the commander’s hands away.
“I have come for what is owed to me. As for how we got in, that is something to ask of your sleeping porter. You can find him trussed up on the ground. I’m certain a firm reprimand will correct any future carelessness.”
Estella looked past the first knight, and when she saw an even larger one, her eyes widened in alarm. In the full light, this second knight looked even more frightening and dangerous than his companion. Every step he took seemed deliberate and commanding, as if he was a lion surveying his domain. The air surrounding him crackled and even from this distance, Estella could sense the power that emanated from him.
Like his friend, he wore a thick woolen cloak that accentuated his warrior’s physique. The material stretched across his broad shoulders and draped over his massive chest.
He glanced her way as if he was aware of her intense perusal of him. His unwavering gaze made Estella flush.
He searched her face, his eyes lingering on her countenance for what felt like an eternity. It was as if he could see through to the center of her being, could hear her thoughts. But how could that be? She had never met this man in her life. And as far as she knew, no one could read minds, could they? Her fingers dug into the trestle table, needing somehow to feel something solid, something to steady her trembling limbs.
His eyes scanned over the rest of her body, his gaze settling on her breasts and then her hips. Estella felt an inexplicable urge to cover herself as a wave of heat coursed through her body. He raised his eyes to hers and time stood still.
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