Wild Lavender
Page 1
Wild Lavender
The Aurelian Guard - Book One
Nicole Elizabeth Kelleher
Copyright
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008
New York, NY 10016
www.DiversionBooks.com
Copyright © 2013 by Nicole Elizabeth Kelleher
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com
First Diversion Books edition March 2016
ISBN: 978-1-62681-933-7
This book is dedicated to my mom, a practical woman who loved a good story as much as she loved a good recipe. I miss her every day.
Prologue
In the Thirty-First Year of the Great Peace in the Realm of King Godwin of Aurelia
King’s Glen
She would pay dearly if her family discovered that she had slipped from their quarters, but it had been worth the risk. When would she ever be at High Court again and have a chance to see the royal stables? Her stolen two hours were over, and it was time to return before her absence was noted. Navigating the many corridors of the castle undetected would be simple enough; her training included the art of stealth. And as long as her younger sister Claire had not wakened, none would be the wiser.
Voices brought her back on point, and she slowed her pace as she approached the King’s Royal Hall. It seemed the lords and ladies at court and the men of the Royal Guard never slept, preferring rather their games and flirtations.
Light spilled across the cobbled floor in a broadening wedge. She ducked behind a tapestry and flattened herself against the stone wall of the passageway, turning her toes inward lest they peek from beneath the wall hanging and betray her presence. Just in time, she thought, as she heard the gentle patter of a lady’s slippers racing past. When the light in the corridor dimmed, she knew the Royal Hall’s door had been closed once more. Anna darted past, heart galloping in her breast.
The safety of her room was nigh; only two more deserted corridors, and no one would know of her forbidden adventure. She was congratulating herself on her own success when an arm struck out across her path. With the collision, her breath exploded from her chest in an unladylike grunt, and before she could collect herself, she was drawn into an alcove and pressed against its wall. Her mind reacted instinctively, gauging all possible means of escape. Damn her long cloak, for it kept her legs from kicking out at the man who held her. Patience, she told herself, an opportunity would come.
“Shh,” he whispered to her, “you’ll wake the castle.” His voice seemed to bore into her heart and soul, resonating deep inside.
Anna stretched her neck to see over his shoulder. She was taller than most, boys included, but this man, as she pushed at his chest ineffectually, towered over her. Exposing her neck to him had been a crucial error on her part, and in the dark of the alcove she saw the outline of his head dip down. Lips and whiskers met her skin, creating the most unusual sensation. Far from finding it unpleasant, she found herself tilting her head to better give him access. It was then that she noticed how hard the muscles of his chest felt under her fingers, and she pressed her palms against the beat of the heart racing in time with hers.
She knew she should stop him, and she would, soon. It must be the thrill of her earlier foray, she determined, that kept her from calling out. She was sixteen, after all, old enough to marry though not yet promised. His fingers traced down her back, and his lips lifted to nibble at the bare lobe of her ear. His hands came around to open her cloak.
He nipped gently along her jaw, searching for her lips while his fingers sought to undo the ties of her breeches. Never in her life had she been kissed by a man, Anna thought with growing anticipation. His lips were so close to hers; she held her breath. But no kiss was forthcoming, and when the warmth of his exhalation cooled, her eyelids fluttered open. Eyes as dark as sin stared back at her.
“What game is this?” the stranger all but seethed under his breath. She felt the sting of each word. He must have thought her frightened, for he swore an oath.
“Do you comprehend how dangerous—” he started, taking a step back, and then closed his mouth as she edged warily away. “You need not worry; I am no ravager of maidens.” He eased farther away, trying—and failing—to appear less menacing. Only, Anna was anything but daunted, and he must have sensed her mettle, for his appraising gaze washed over her.
He leaned out of the alcove and peered down the deserted passageway, and she could tell from his bearing that he was a noble. “Well, as you are not who you are supposed to be,” he scolded, “you had best return to where you belong.”
She felt her face go hot, and she narrowed her eyes at him in what she hoped was a scathing look. He mirrored her expression, and then raised his eyebrow in amusement. Anna gave him a wide berth, skirted the recess, and backed her way down the corridor. She glared at him even as she turned on her heel.
“Wait,” he called to her, and she stopped, shifting her weight to her toes, poised to flee like a deer if necessary. “What is your name?” he asked.
“Anna,” she said breathlessly, her grin as mischievous as it was sweet. His return smile, barely visible in the dim corridor, had her heart tripping in time with her feet as she dashed away.
“I’m Lar—” he called after her, but she did not quite hear. She turned to ask him what he had said, but when she noticed a flickering light approaching from the opposite direction she realized that fortune was nipping at her heels. Every second she delayed was a risk that her nighttime escapade would be reported to her mother. She spun around and raced to her quarters.
Chapter One—The Journey
Two Years Later
They headed north to the old forest, six men and Aubrianne of Chevring. Well, no longer Aubrianne of Chevring, she admitted to herself. She was now Lady Aubrianne of Stolweg. Her husband of half a day, Lord Roger of Stolweg, rode next to her. Much like their betrothal and wedding, their pace was quick and without impediment. The fields and crops passed behind them as the distance to the Chevring forest shortened. No one spoke, leaving Aubrianne to her thoughts. She allowed her steed to fall back from her husband’s so as to gaze discreetly at him.
Like everything else about him, his profile was perfect. His nose was straight and sharp, but not pointed. His mouth was set in a firm line with lips that were neither too full nor too thin. Strangely, the bright day did nothing to lighten his blond hair; instead, his golden streaks deepened in the sun. Aubrianne was reminded of harvest time at Chevring, when the wind blew over the wheat fields and caused the heavy stalks to undulate and shine. She wanted to reach out and touch his hair, knowing that the strands would not feel silky like so many with fair coloring, but strong and thick. Like the wheat, it would bend; it would not yield.
She remembered the first time she had seen him. It seemed like years ago, but in truth it was only months. It had been a beautiful day, much like this one.
She and her destrier Tullian had been galloping for the sheer, heart-bursting joy of speed. Tullian, over nineteen hands, was a gray blur against emerald pastures. His ash-colored coat was dappled with charcoal smudges, as if he’d rolled in the sooty remains of a campfire. His mane, tail, and fetlocks were as dark as charred wood. Aubrianne remembered how her long braid had trailed behind in the aftermath of their passage and how she had laughed aloud.
Anywhere else in the realm, she and her war horse would have seemed outrageous. But not at Chevring. The people of Chevring were horse people. With no male heir to carry on generations of horse breeding and training skills, her father had turned to Aubrianne. The family’s rigorously guarded secrets of producing the finest destriers would not be lost. No other family in the realm could be trusted to breed the mounts destined for the King and his Royal Guard. It came as no surprise that Anna had a way with the horses not seen since the days of her great-grandfather. Horses were in her blood.
Aubrianne smiled at the memory of Tullian’s hooves pounding the fertile ground. The air around them had been filled with the sounds of rending stem and root, and grating horseshoe and soil. Wild grass and loam had exploded below like shot from a trebuchet, great clods thrown to the sky.
Her mother had told her not to go for a ride that day. She was to remain near the castle. But Aubrianne had never been one to listen to another’s counsel. It hadn’t been half past ten in the morning when she turned back; hours yet remained before the first meeting of betrotheds. Returning from her ride, she had spared only a moment to check her appearance: mud-spattered. At least her mouth was clean, she had thought, and then grimaced, feeling the grit in her teeth.
She had felt the drag of decorum growing stronger with each stride closer to the castle, her momentary sense of freedom gone. In one last act of defiance, she opened her arms and embraced the buffeting wind.
Already eighteen years of age, Anna hadn’t been surprised that her parents had arranged her marriage. At the time, she had only thought her wedding would be more romantic, perhaps to the dark and dangerous lord who had haunted her dreams for the last two years. Hadn’t her grandmother promised that love would find her?
A ghost of a smile touched her lips as she continued to reminisce: that morning, she’d nudged Tullian into a high-stepping trot as they entered the confines of Chevring’s wall and found her intended groom waiting in the courtyard, her impatient mother next to him. Under her mother’s glare, Aubrianne had remembered herself and quickly masked her doe-eyed surprise at seeing such a well-made man. She sat taller in her saddle under his scrutiny. There had been a flash of disapproval in his eyes, but then he strode forward to greet her with a smile.
The sound of stumbling hoof on root drew Aubrianne from her reverie. Her husband was still ahead of her, paying her no mind. He would be surprised if he knew just how different she really was from other girls, she mused. Yes, she knew how to be a chatelaine; her mother had made sure her instruction was complete. As such, she was well versed in the healing arts, for it would be her duty to help the sick and wounded of her new home.
Additional lessons included a thorough history of Aurelia and Nifolhad, two countries separated by the Western Sea. It had been the Great War between these two realms that had shaped the kingdom of Aurelia. Once, there had been many territories, all ruled by lesser kings, but to overcome the powerful and united Nifolhad, a High King had been chosen. His descendant, King Godwin, now sat upon the throne. Of the two and twenty regions that had once existed, only eight remained; most had been absorbed into the area surrounding King’s Glen, King Godwin’s seat. Although they each kept their own castles, the lords of these smallholds spent most of their time at court.
The remaining eight regions accounted for more than two-thirds of the realm, the largest being Whitmarsh. Stolweg, to which this road now led, was second in size. Each region had its own castle, and each castle was the center of commerce for its region. Their lords and ladies were the meters of both justice and care. Anna sat straighter in her saddle. She was the Lady of Stolweg, and its import finally penetrated her mind.
Of her education, her husband knew that she was practiced in such skills as were needed to run his castle, Stolweg Keep, as it was called. And he also knew of her unconventional abilities with the horses. In fact, that was one of his reasons for wishing their union. For with their marriage, he had secured what no one else in the realm had—the secrets of breeding and training Chevring destriers. In return, he had loaned her father enough coin to keep Chevring from ruin. The years of peace between Aurelia and the kingdom of Nifolhad had whittled away the family’s once-great fortune. With no battles to be fought, King Godwin no longer required stables of destriers for his lords and Royal Guard, and the demand for war steeds had dwindled.
Roger had explained that the King was establishing a series of tournaments to keep the many unlanded noblemen in Aurelia occupied, and those men would require proper mounts.
“Aubrianne. Aubrianne.” It took her a moment to realize she was being addressed. She just wasn’t accustomed to her formal name of Aubrianne. Everyone at Chevring had simply called her Anna. From every word spoken to her thus far, Roger was proving himself to be a man who preferred formality.
He dropped back next to her. “We shall make camp in a few hours.” His expression was mild, but his eyes searched her face. “What has occupied your thoughts so thoroughly?”
“I was thinking of the King’s tournaments,” she replied. “Will you compete?”
“Most likely,” he answered. “Of course, doing so means I will have to leave Stolweg Keep often. I am pleased to see that you do not appear to be worried. Your mother assured me that you were up to the running of the keep in my absence. And, you have yet to meet my arms master, Cellach. He is quite capable.” Roger looked back at his men. “Everyone at Stolweg is capable of their assigned duties. You see, even my stableman has your dowry in hand.”
Anna regarded Gilles with an assessing eye. The stable master was doing well. It was no easy task controlling Anna’s dowry, five prime broodmares from Chevring. When she turned back to Roger, he had pulled ahead, once more leaving her to her thoughts.
Her husband seemed a traditional man. One who would want his wife in her proper place, a true lady to run his castle. He impressed her as a man who was practical both in mind and in heart. Despite this conservative nature, he had chosen her, a woman more apt to ride astride a horse than sidesaddle, as she did now in her split-skirt riding habit.
For once, Anna would heed her mother’s advice and not divulge her other talents to Roger. Even now, the tools of Anna’s training were following behind in the cart, concealed in a secret compartment in one of her trunks—armor, centuries old, sized for a woman and handed down through the generations of women in her line. Not only armor, but sword and shield too, specially balanced for a woman’s weight. And bow and quiver. Few in the realm knew of Anna’s ancestors, for their names had changed as they married into other noble families across Aurelia. Anna could name them. She had studied every one of these leaders who had risen to fight alongside men in the upheavals that had peppered the history of the realm.
But she had her father’s line to thank for her innate ability with horses, and her favorite weapon, a dagger once wielded by her father’s father. Her mother’s side had gifted her with a talent for weaponry skills—the likes of which hadn’t been witnessed since her great-great-grandmother. She prayed that her skills did not foretell some major change in the realm.
She gazed upon Roger’s straight back and proud stance. No, she would not reveal her secret yet. Still, she hoped, perhaps the King’s tournaments would come to Stolweg. It was not unheard of for ladies to enter archery competitions. Mayhap her husband would not mind if—“Your Tullian looks as if he’s aching for a gallop, Aubrianne,” Roger said, interrupting her thoughts once more. “What say you to a good run?”
Hearing Roger’s voice, Anna was pulled from her memories of Chevring and focused instead on his words, “…it is perhaps two or three miles to the forest.”
She was glad for the distraction. While she felt that she could ride forever, Anna was tired of the monotonous scenery. Hill after rolling hill, on a road that ran as straight as a mason’s rod, had her mind running in circles.
“Tullian has wanted to gallop since we departed,” Anna replied. “He’s never thrown me, but I thi
nk he might if I don’t give him his head.”
Roger clucked his tongue, and Anna watched as he dug his heels into his horse. Tullian held himself in check until receiving his signal from Anna. When she subtly shifted forward in her saddle, her horse shot out after Roger’s, catching the roan-colored destrier in only ten strides. She reined in her horse, for something inside her warned against making this into a race, especially one Roger had no chance of winning. Though his mount was a noble steed, it was not of the Chevring line. Tullian and his ilk were kings and queens among horses. To prove it, Anna’s steed gave a disgruntled snort and nipped his competition’s rump, disrupting its smooth gait. Roger deftly pulled his horse back under his control, taking no note of the equine power struggle.
Chapter Two—Rivals
Lady Caroline’s breath came fast as Lark’s hands skimmed down her waist. “And here?” he asked, kissing her collarbone as he reached lower, lifting her skirts. Oh, what he planned to do to her.
“Larkin,” Lady Caroline moaned.
He pressed her against the wall of her chamber, and then lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. “The bed,” he demanded, and carried her across the room to the waiting platform.
“Now, Larkin, please,” she pleaded. “I can’t wait one more moment.”
Always willing to oblige a lady in distress, Lark took Lady Caroline until both were sated. He held her in his arms and listened as her breath calmed.
“Such a gentle name you have, Larkin,” she said, turning to him. “A true misnomer if ever there was one. You are rarely tame, especially in bed. The pleasure you give is cruel, for it spoils a woman for all other men.”
He started to worry that Lady Caroline’s thoughts were turning toward something more permanent. She was smiling at him now, and he was surprised to hear her throaty laugh.