by Shari Anton
“Certes, the manor guards bear the burden of running the thieves to ground, but the villagers could be of aid. I believe a bit of cooperation is in order.”
“We are farmers, not soldiers. Do you propose we abandon our plows to pick up swords?”
Joanna nearly shuddered at the consequences should they do so. Not only would some of the farmers hurt themselves beyond repair if given a sharp sword, but the planting must continue with due haste. Because of the plague, too much of last year’s crop had rotted in the field from lack of healthy hands at harvest. Without a bountiful harvest this autumn, all would face starvation next winter.
“Nay, but I do expect everyone to keep a keen eye out for signs of the ruffians, and to give chase when possible.”
“’Tis impossible for the villagers to overtake men on horseback. The responsibility for their capture must lie with the guards.”
Harold took umbrage. “Think you we have not followed the louts? They vanish as if plucked from the earth by the wind, leaving no trail! ’Tis uncanny.”
Wat huffed. “No one on horseback vanishes without trace. Perhaps your soldiers take their duty too lightly and do not search too hard.”
Harold half rose from the bench. “You dare accuse us of shunning our duty?”
“Halt, at once!” Joanna stared at Harold until he reluctantly resumed his seat, then shot Wat a withering glare. “The soldiers do what they can. I have no complaint of them. Besides, what is past is done. We need a plan, good sirs, of how to proceed from now on.” Again she glanced pointedly from one man to the other. “Might either of you have another suggestion?”
Neither of them offered a solution.
After several moments of silence, Joanna hushed the errant thoughts of self-doubt, squared her shoulders, and forged ahead.
“Since we cannot seem to deal with the situation on our own, then we must find someone who is able. I intend to hire a mercenary of some renown to augment our guard. His sole duty will be to rid us of these brutes.”
The announcement raised the men’s eyebrows.
“Who, milady?” Harold asked.
“Logan Grimm, if he is available.”
Wat’s head jerked back slightly at the man’s name, his eyes going wide. “Grimm?” he asked in a harsh whisper.
She could almost hear the thoughts flitting through the men’s heads.
Logan Grimm. Legendary mercenary. Reputedly the most fearsome fighter in the kingdom, Grimm charged a hefty fee, but he always won. Such a man could track down a band of outlaws and dispatch them with ease.
Harold said nothing, only gave her a somber look. Wat found his voice again.
“Milady, is it wise to bring a man of his ilk among the innocent folk of Lynwood Manor?”
Joanna stood up, unwilling to debate her decision. “A man of his ilk will ensure Lynwood Manor continues to exist. Harold, you will prepare to ride to London on the morn. I will give you direction and coin before you leave.”
With that, she spun around and returned to the bedchamber, hoping all the gossip she’d heard in her father’s hall about the legendary mercenary proved true.
’Twas said he was fierce, thorough, and completely loyal to whoever paid his fee. If Logan Grimm could rid her of this band of outlaws, give her the peace and security she craved, then by the rood, she’d find a way to pay his fee— somehow.
Logan Grimm nursed an ale in the taproom of the crowded, crude dockside inn he called home while in London, a place he didn’t visit often. Usually, he left the service of one lord only to head straight to another. ’Twas rare when he found himself without the prospect of work, rarer still when he suffered a wound from which he must recover.
The inactivity left him more restless and surly than usual, but he admitted the rest had done his body good. The gash on his thigh healed well, if slowly, with the resulting limp easier to hide if he didn’t overuse the leg. He would have a scar, but his body bore so many scars he no longer remembered from where they all came. It was one of the hazards of his profession.
As for work, something would come his way. It always did. Somewhere in the kingdom one lord wished to do battle with another lord, for righteous reasons or foul. Either the aggressor or the defender would seek out and hire Logan Grimm for his skill with a sword.
He hoped not too many lords had learned of how poorly he’d faired on his last job. The dent to his otherwise flawless reputation bothered him more than his wounded leg.
Habit shifted him on the stool when the door opened. The cries of fishmongers and the stench of muck-strewn streets invaded the inn as three men entered.
The two sailors joined a boisterous group of their fellows. The third man perused the room before winding his way through the crowd to the bar. A merchant, Logan guessed, from the quality of his garb. No threat, no prospect.
Logan downed the last of his ale, intending to get up and walk around to keep his leg from going too stiff. He had no more than put the mug on the table he claimed and shared with no one when Abigail, the innkeeper’s plump wife, headed in his direction with a flagon in hand. She was, in part, the reason he favored the Red Rooster. She kept his mug full and his bedding fairly free of vermin for a fair price.
He scowled at the woman. “No more, Abigail. If I do not get up and move I will rot here.”
“Not on my stool, ye will not.” She refilled his mug. “Man asking for you. Want to talk to him?”
Another reason he liked the Red Rooster. Hugo, the owner, considered it a great privilege to act as Logan’s go-between. A convenient and profitable arrangement for them both.
“Has he shown coin yet?”
“Enough to pay for his ale, and yours.”
“Say what he wants?”
“Same as they all want. Healed enough yet?”
Logan shrugged. “Send him over.”
Abigail placed a work-roughened hand on her ample hip and narrowed her eyes. “You sure?”
No man had dared to question Logan Grimm’s commands for many a year now, for fear of finding himself staring at the tip of a huge, well-honed broadsword. However, a man made allowances for the woman who picked lice from his blankets.
“Send him over.”
Abigail ambled back to the bar and pointed Logan out to the man he’d thought might be a merchant. Middle twenties or so. Garbed too fine to be a messenger, too drab for a knight or higher lord. Somber. Wary, possibly frightened. He didn’t want to be in this dockside inn. Only loyalty to the lord he served, or the prospect of a reward, forced him to pass through the Red Rooster’s door to find Logan Grimm.
A quick judgment, but likely accurate.
Over the course of his nearly thirty years, he’d made few mistakes when judging the men who hired him or those he fought against. He resisted the urge to rub at the wound that reminded him of the humbling misjudgment of his last opponent. He’d won the day and earned his fee, but at a price to his pride and reputation.
The man stopped a couple of feet away. “I am Harold Long, captain of Lynwood Manor’s guard. You are Logan Grimm?”
The man seemed too young to have risen to the rank of captain. Still, even given Harold’s discomfort, Logan liked the solid tone of the man’s voice. He waved Harold to a stool, not to put the man at ease, but because he didn’t like anyone hovering over him.
“I am.”
Harold glanced around before lowering onto the stool. He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table. “I am most pleased to have found you so quickly. Can you be ready to leave on the morn?”
An urgent matter, then. Of course, when men sought his services the matter was usually urgent.
“For the right price I can be ready to leave as soon as I finish my ale. Have you the right price?”
From the leather pouch tied to his belt, Harold plucked several coins and put them on the table. “This now, the remainder when your services are no longer required.”
A full week’s fee in advance? How unusual.
&
nbsp; “How long might that be?”
“As long as it takes for you to complete your task. Are you free to hire on?”
Logan took a sip of ale, debating the wisdom of engaging in battle so soon. “What must I do?”
“Lynwood Manor is harried by a band of outlaws. Her ladyship wishes you to dispatch them with all haste.”
Her ladyship. The hair on the back of Logan’s neck prick-led with warning.
“You come at the behest of a woman?”
“Lady Joanna, widow of Sir Bertrand de Poitou.”
Logan had no idea who either the lady or lord might be, but he didn’t need to know.
“Pick up your coins, Harold. I do not work for women, particularly widows. If you like, I can give you names of those foolish enough to do so.”
Harold paled. “Her ladyship wants you.”
“She does not get me. There are others—”
“None with your reputation. Surely her coin is as good as any man’s.”
Logan glanced at the lovely silver on the table. The coin might be good, but not enticing enough to lure him into working for a woman, especially a widow. He’d done so once. Never again.
“I do not work for women.”
Harold gave a resigned sigh, his chin hitting his chest. “These ruffians grow bold. The last time they raided the village, they not only stole a prize goose but injured several children. If they are not caught, the next time someone might be killed.”
Logan suffered a brief, sharp pang of what felt oddly like sympathy, an emotion a man in his profession couldn’t afford. Perversely, his curiosity prodded him to ask, “Children were hurt?”
Harold’s chin rose slightly. “Aye, four of them, including Lady Joanna’s daughter. Took seventeen stitches to close the gash on her little arm.”
The wound on his thigh required only ten stitches to close, and he could still feel the jab of the needle on each one. Seventeen stitches on one of tender age and skin … no matter, wounded children or no, he wasn’t taking this job.
“Perhaps the lady should apply to her overlord or her family for aid.”
Harold glanced away, hesitating before answering. “My lady prefers to resolve the matter herself, if she can.”
Logan knew he’d been lied to or, at the least, not given the whole truth. There were deeper problems here. Or was the woman simply mule-stubborn?
Compared to some of his past feats, this might be an easy job. Hell, he might not even have to draw his sword. Too bad a woman was involved.
Harold picked up one of the coins and twirled it through his fingers. “Could we not come to a bargain?”
“Nay.”
“Come with me to Lynwood Manor. Meet Lady Joanna. Judge for yourself the character of my lady and her need for your services.” He put the coin back on the table. “Should you then decide you cannot accept her offer, these are still yours for your trouble.”
Logan arched an eyebrow. “Does your Lady Joanna know you squander her coin so foolishly?”
Harold rose. “Think on it, Grimm. I will return on the morn for either you or the money.”
Logan was sure he’d made his position clear. “I have decided. Take the damn coins with you!”
Harold bowed as he took a step back. “Until morn,” he said, then nearly ran out of the inn.
Logan scooped up the coins, resisting the urge to fling them at the fleeing captain.
He’d not keep the money, of course, but give the coins to Hugo, let the innkeeper return them to Harold when he came back on the morn.
The coins warmed in Logan’s fist.
What a foolish man, offering a full week’s wages to take a ride in the country, to Lynwood Manor, wherever that might be.
Logan got up and adjusted the broadsword in the scabbard angled across his back, needing to stretch his legs as he’d been about to do before Harold showed up. He should walk out to the stable and check on his horse. The poor beast had been confined to the inn’s stable for several days, would likely welcome a long, hard ride.
Like a ride to Lynwood Manor.
Harold claimed all Logan had to do to earn the coin was to meet Lady Joanna, not work for her.
He glanced around the room, at the men quaffing ale, at Abigail bustling about to keep the mugs full. He could either take that ride to Lynwood Manor or remain here—nursing his wound, spending his hard-earned money on ale and stew.
Rotting on Abigail’s stool.
Or he could earn some coin to tide him over until he was fully healed and able to take an offer more to his liking.
Mayhap in Harold’s absence the outlaws who stole geese and wounded children had been caught. Perhaps there was no longer a need for his services.
Mayhap he’d been too hasty to refuse Harold’s offer, or more likely he’d simply lost his wits. Either way, Logan Grimm strode out of the Red Rooster, resigned to leaving on the morn to meet Lady Joanna of Lynwood Manor.
THE EDITOR’S DIARY
Dear Reader,
They say blood is thicker than water. But what happens when love is thrown into the mix? Find a comfy chair because you’re not going to want to put down TELL ME NO LIES and ONCE A BRIDE, our two Warner Forever titles this April.
Romantic Times calls Annie Solomon “a powerful new voice in romantic suspense” and it’s easy to see why in Annie Solomon’s latest book, TELL ME NO LIES. Alexandra Jane Baker has a secret. Thirteen years ago, her father jumped out of a window after being accused of embezzlement. Everyone called it suicide, but Alex knows the truth—it was murder. So she’s set a trap to catch the man who murdered her father and she won’t let anyone stand in her way—not even Hank, a homicide detective. To Hank, this is a textbook open-and-shut case … until he discovers a trail that leads directly to Alex. Beautiful and wealthy, she arouses his suspicions and stirs his desires. But as a new lead surfaces, uncovering a ruthless predator, Hank must break every rule and cross every line to protect Alex … before it’s too late.
Moving from the skyscrapers and the hustle and bustle of New York to the rolling hills and the intrigue of 13th century England, we present ONCE A BRIDE by Shari Anton. Rendezvous raves that “Shari Anton creates a spell that keeps her readers captured” so prepared to be ensnared. Eloise Hamelin’s life has been one nightmare after another. First her betrothed dies on the church steps. Then her father flees after being charged with treason. Worst of all, the king places her home in the hands of Roland St. Marten, the one knight she loathes and the one face burned into her memory. Roland is not exactly pleased with this assignment either. But his loyalty lies to the King and Roland must follow orders. Yet as sparks fly and their clashes become even more heated, Roland is drawn to her loyalty and fire. Any love between them would ruin him, but how can he turn his back on this irresistible woman who wants only to clear her father’s name?
To find out more about Warner Forever, these April titles, and the authors, visit us at www.warnerforever.com.
With warmest wishes,
Karen Kosztolnyik, Senior Editor
P.S. Spring is here and that means love is in the air! So don’t get left behind—grab our two Warner Forever titles this month. Kathryn Caskie pens a sexy and hilarious historical about a woman determined to avoid marriage and her two equally determined aunts who hatch schemes using an old military guidebook in THE RULES OF ENGAGEMENT; and Melanie Craft delivers a romantic screwball comedy about a woman who’s helping her reporter friend get the inside scoop from a millionaire who’s out to convince this respectable woman to pose as his fiancée in MAN TROUBLE.
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