One Winter Knight

by Townsend, Lindsay

  Richard was steadily making his way toward Noelle. With a sure hand, she nocked another arrow into the bow and aimed.

  Richard stopped a few yards from her. “Ye can’t kill us both, lass—me an’ your soon-to-be groom, here,” he mocked.

  “Ride out of here and leave us be. No one else will have to die this day,” she said. Her voice was clear and certain.

  Richard laughed. “Too late for that. Ye’re not here alone—so…someone else is going to die.” He moved toward her slightly. “Where is Brian?” He rose up on the balls of his feet as if to look past her into the barn, searching for their fourth man. “What have ye done, lass…”

  Logan tore himself away and crept to the back door, opening it stealthily. If he left it ajar, of course McTierney would assume someone had escaped—and he would follow. Richard had been told not harm Noelle—if she didn’t shoot him first.

  Though it was Logan’s first instinct to protect Noelle, to do so would distract her. And he wanted McTierney.

  As Logan slipped inside the back door, he peered toward the front of the cabin. McTierney had not fully entered, but he’d opened the front door a few inches and stood looking over his shoulder at what was transpiring between his henchman and Noelle, by the barn.

  Logan, seeing McTierney’s attention was elsewhere, crept into the kitchen and out of McTierney’s line of sight, should he turn toward the interior of the cabin. The door opened another couple of inches, and Logan froze, his dagger drawn and ready.

  McTierney called out something taunting to Noelle, but still he stood on the cottage porch, hand on the door.

  A sharp cry sounded from the front of the house and Logan seized that moment to rush into the front room and yank the door free of McTierney’s unsuspecting grip.

  McTierney stumbled back and grabbed for his dagger. He missed the top step and rolled to the ground, and Logan followed.

  The fall broke the shaft of the arrow Noelle had put in his shoulder blade, and he cried out, but came to his knees quickly as Logan threw himself atop him.

  They rolled back into the snow that had already turned pink from McTierney’s blood.

  “She is mine!” McTierney snarled up at Logan.

  “Never!” Logan held McTierney’s wrist tightly as the brawny blond desperately tried to grip his dagger.

  “O’Malley—you—always take—”

  “Our clans agreed to this marriage.”

  McTierney bucked and rolled, coming atop Logan. “I didn’t agree, you bloody bastard. The lady Breasal will…be…mine!”

  Logan pushed, landing a punch to McTierney’s nose as he did so.

  Noelle screamed, and Logan was dimly aware of a man shouting something. Richard. Through a red fog of pain and rage the words sank in.

  “I will kill her! Stop!”

  Then there was the sound of another man’s voice. Keiran.

  Logan’s attention drifted for an instant, and McTierney seized that moment to deal him a blow to the side of his head.

  But Logan brought his knife up and plunged it into McTierney’s belly.

  Surprise and shock registered on McTierney’s face. “You’ve…murdered me…you damn…pig bastard…”

  Logan shoved him to the side as he fell forward, dead. Keir’s worried face swam into his vision, but the words he was saying didn’t register. Then, the world went black.

  ****

  Through murky depths, Logan began to come to himself once more. Someone lay beside him. The air smelled spicy, and though his side pained him, it was manageable.

  His fingers moved through silk…Noelle…that was the way her hair felt…like silk. And her body next to his…the fit was also unmistakable…

  But where were they? His eyes cracked open slightly. “Noelle…” he whispered.

  She raised her head. Her smile was like the rising sun.

  “Where…”

  “We are here at Castle O’Malley, my lord. Your home. Your chamber.”

  “How...God…I’m so thirsty.”

  Noelle sat up carefully then poured him a fresh cup of water from the bedside pitcher. She held it to his lips until he’d had a few sips.

  “You killed Dalon McTierney,” Noelle said, setting the cup down.

  Logan relaxed back into the familiar bed, remembering... “I heard a cry from the front of the barn…I came through the house and fought him…”

  “Yes.” Noelle looked down. “I missed when I shot the arrow at Richard. He ran at me and threw me to the ground. That was when I cried out. I–I fought with him, but…he was too strong. He pulled me up from the ground, and just when he called to you to stop, you stabbed McTierney.”

  “Then…how did you get…free?” Keir…Keir had been there.

  Just then, the door opened and Keir walked in. “I finally got the chance to rescue you!” he claimed, a wide smile on his face at seeing his brother awake. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m all right…” Logan assured him. “Just thirsty. What happened to you, Keir? After you left for help…”

  Noelle gave Logan another drink, and Keir went on with the story.

  “When I reached Castle Breasal, McTierney had attacked. The master-at-arms, Conal, was mortally wounded. I—pardon me, Lady Noelle—had never seen a fortress so vulnerable. Our men took charge, and I left O’Donnell in command. Then, I brought some of the others and we rode back to the cottage.

  “We got there just in time to force Richard to release Lady Noelle—if he wanted to live. Sadly, though he let her go, he tried to take us on, and met his end.”

  “Are you…hurt?” Logan turned his gaze to Noelle. She shook her head.

  “Ach. He asks after you, but does he have a word for his brother?” Keir teased. “I’m fine, too, Logan.”

  Logan gave a weary smile. “Stay with me.” His gaze held Noelle’s.

  “Me? Well, sure an’ I’ll be glad—”

  Logan gave a shake of his head, impatient at his brother’s infernal teasing. “Not you, Keir.”

  Keir laughed and walked to the door. “Back to your old self, I see.” He turned back to Logan as he opened the door. “I’m out here, if you need me, brother,” he said seriously. “After all the years of you sayin’ that to me, now, it’s finally my turn.”

  “Thank you…brother.”

  As Keiran left, Logan looked up at Noelle once more. “Are you…angry with me? For not telling you who I was at the cottage?”

  A smile lurked in her eyes, as if she had a mighty secret. “No. If you promise not to be angry about…something…”

  Immediately, Logan shifted in anxious anticipation. Though he’d not known Noelle long, it was not her way to keep secrets. “What, pray tell, could you possibly do to arouse my ire, Lady Breasal?”

  She sat beside him, then leaned forward and kissed him gently. “I am no longer Lady Breasal. I’m afraid I’ve gone and gotten myself married.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.

  “Everyone thought it for the best if we were wed immediately,” she went on. “So…we were married by proxy—since you were quite unable to participate.” She watched him for his reaction. When he said nothing, she lifted her chin. “I’ll be wantin’ another wedding, as soon as—as possible, Logan O’Malley. I’m glad you lived. I’m glad we—we shall have a long life together.” Her lips trembled and she looked down when he still said nothing. “Did you mean it when you told me you loved me, Logan, or…was that a wishful dream on my part?”

  Logan smiled and pulled her close as he thought back to the moment he’d spoken those words, thinking she was asleep. “I meant it, lass. Every word of it,” he said, his voice rough and low. “You said you wanted to wed a man who would cherish you and love you for the person you are…I am that man, Noelle. You will always be my dearest ‘forever love’.”

  She pulled him to her gently, and as their lips met, her heart became his. The Fates had smiled on her. The man she loved would be her husband for the rest of their d
ays. Her “forever love” was here to stay.

  About the Author—Cheryl Pierson

  Cheryl is a native Oklahoman with eight novels to her credit as well as numerous short stories and novellas. Founding Prairie Rose Publications with Livia Reasoner is a dream-come-true for her—there’s something new every day. Helping other authors is at the top of her list, and she enjoys every minute of it. Cheryl has two grown children and lives with her husband and her rescue dog, Embry, in Oklahoma City.

  See Prairie Rose Publications’ website for more of Cheryl’s work: www.prairierosepublications.com

  Amazon link: www.amazon.com/author/cherylpierson

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cheryl.pierson.92

  Beyond All Else

  Keena Kincaid

  His honor is the only reason she is alive, but his misplaced chivalry could get them both killed.

  Prologue

  Northern England, 1152

  “Arrêtez, arrêtez,” Alais sputtered, skidding to a stop on the slick, wooden shingles of the roof. She looked past her toes to the ground below, stepped back. Tremors worked through her body as her heart pounded.

  God’s gold, she hated heights.

  The wind picked up, blowing hair across her face. She pushed strands out of her eyes and forced herself to ignore the thunder rolling in behind her. “Breathe, breathe, breathe.”

  Blows of rain beat upon her back and cheeks and hands. The water came from all around her, swirling out of control like the last few days. She pushed away painful memories as she wiped water from her eyes. Squinting against the rain, Alais studied her landing, a small, two-wheeled straw cart that looked impossibly far away. Air caught in her chest.

  “Breathe,” she told herself, “you have to keep breathing.”

  “She is here! Find her!”

  The shout startled her. Lights appeared one by one in the windows of the wayside village. A woman screamed, and Alais thought she smelled smoke. Surely, her cousin wouldn’t burn the place just because he thought she was in it. The lie in that thought chilled her. If de Mowbray had killed her brothers, why wouldn’t he kill simple crofters?

  Another scream. And another. Alais saw a woman dash across a small yard. A shadowy figure followed. It looked like Johanna, the girl who had hidden her this morning—her friend. Guilt stabbed Alais. This was her fault. Why had she ever thought she would be safe here? She would never be safe again; at least, not while de Mowbray lived, not after what she’d done to his son.

  Suddenly, flames licked the far end of the roof. Heat spiraled around her. Time had run out. She took another deep breath, exhaling slowly like Patric instructed. Closing her eyes against the agonizing memory of her eldest brother, she flung her long braid over her shoulder, then forced herself to look down. She reached for the rosary she always wore around her neck, but Mama’s beads were missing. She glanced around the roof but didn’t see the silver strand and knew she didn’t have time to hunt for it.

  It was one more thing lost to her.

  Biting her lower lip to keep from crying, she leaned forward. “One,” she whispered, bending her knees slightly. “Two.” She bent her knees more. “Three!”

  Letting loose a string of words she’d learned from Richard, she closed her eyes and jumped, bringing her knees up to make sure she landed on her bottom. The air rushed past her ears in a dizzying roar. She hit the wet, sticky straw, jolted against the cart bed, bit her lower lip.

  She swiped at the trickle of blood and pushed herself off the cart. Sprinting for the woods, she froze at a small cry, like a wounded kitten, to the right. With a glance over her shoulder, she ran toward the noise until she stumbled over Johanna.

  The girl sat on the grass, sobbing in eerie silence into the hem of her dress. Beside her lay her mother. Alais didn’t need to look twice to know she was dead. She had seen too much of death lately not to know the signs.

  “Au moi.” She pulled on Johanna’s arm. After a moment, Johanna turned large, shadowed eyes to Alais.

  “They wanted ye, no’ us.” The girl looked from her mother’s body to Alais.

  “I know.” Alais pulled Johanna to her feet. “Come. You will be safe in the woods. I will protect you.”

  “I can no’ leave Ma,” the girl wailed.

  Alais’s gaze darted around the clearing. The roof burned, glowing in the night sky like a beacon, and she could see the rain-distorted figure of de Mowbray…or one of his sons. If he hadn’t heard Johanna’s sobs, he heard that shout. Alais understood the pain Johanna felt, but there wasn’t time to give vent to that grief. Without bothering to talk her into it, Alais grabbed Johanna by the arm and propelled her into the woods, refusing to slow down even after the shadows swallowed them.

  Chapter One

  Inglewood Forest

  Near Castle Carlisle

  St. Paul’s Day 1154

  St. Paul's Day

  If St. Paul's Day be fair and clear,

  It do betide a happy year.

  But if it chance to snow or rain,

  Then will be dear all kinds of grain.

  If clouds or mists do dark the sky,

  Great store of birds and beasts will die.

  And if the winds do fly aloft

  Then wars shall vex the kingdom.

  The will-o-the-wisp flickered through the trees, a shimmering lure that drew her deep into the heart of the forest. Alais followed, focused solely on the light winking at her.

  “Will you slow down? Not everyone is the size of a brùnaidh.”

  Alais looked back at her friend, who struggled to free the right side of her tunic, snagged on a thorn bush. “I am not that small.”

  “You are a good deal smaller than me.” Johanna yanked her sleeve, then frowned in disgust at the torn fabric. “What is your hurry? We have nowhere to go to beat the storm, and war already vexes the kingdom.”

  War did more than trouble a kingdom. Half the world seemed drawn into the fight between King Stephen and Empress Matilda for the Angevin throne. But she had bigger worries than what might vex a kingdom. A death sentence hung over her head—and at least one sheriff seemed determined to deliver it personally.

  “Well? Why the hurry?”

  Alais tugged Johanna’s sleeve from the thorns. “Do you see the light over there?”

  Johanna squinted through the trees. “The fire?”

  The faint orange light glowed a few hundred paces ahead of them. If Johanna saw it, then it wasn’t a fairy’s light. “Aye,” she said, almost preferring a magical ending to this day. ’Twould be good to disappear with the fae.

  Johanna grabbed her elbow. “Fires do not light themselves, Alais, and we are in the midst of the wilds. No one pleasing would be here.”

  “We are here.” Ignoring her friend’s disgruntled snort, Alais slipped as close as she dared, circling the small clearing. No silhouettes ambled around the light. That eliminated outlaws, or the sheriff and his men. Either group would post a guard. Nor would a troupe of players or other thieves be so careless as to let their fire grow so bright.

  That left a drunk.

  Or a fool.

  Or a trap.

  “On any other day, I would be the first to creep into that camp, but Fortune has deserted us,” Johanna said. “The dogs. The river. The hanging.”

  Shivers danced over Alais’s skin. The man had twisted at the end of the rope, skin slowly blueing. His eyes had bulged from the sockets and his tongue had thickened and pushed out of his mouth. The man had died badly, convicted of a murder he didn’t commit. She’d seen the killer. Not his face, perhaps, but enough of him to know the man who’d hanged was innocent.

  “Alais?”

  “No one who is a danger would build a fire so easy to see,” she said. “This is a traveler; someone returning home from Yule and lacking sense enough to conceal himself.”

  The wind swirled around her. A cold wet drop hit her cheek. Alais looked up. Snow filled the gap between earth and moon. Thick and close, flakes
began falling around them. Their dark clothes were no longer a benefit as they moved closer. The fire had burnt to the embers, but still threw out enough light to clearly show that the shiny object was a sheathed sword. A line of gold on the hilt reflected wealth and power. A stride beyond the sword, a man slept, his back to a tree. A fur-lined cloak covered most of his body and face. In the quiet, Alais heard the low snort of a horse as it moved on its tether.

  “Do you hear the horse?”

  Johanna nodded, then shook her head. “I know that look. You wore that expression when you said you could relieve that lord of his coins with none the wiser. Look how that turned out.”

  Alais dropped her hand to the pilgrim’s scrip she wore at her waist. The dagger and coffret of coins were snugly wrapped in the wimple she never wore. “None know his coins are missing.”

  “Aye, but his murderer knows you were there.”

  “And with a horse we can be leagues north of here by the time the sheriff resumes his search.”

  “How far north?” Johanna asked, the skepticism in her voice colder than the air that swirled around them.

  “My mother’s people live deep into Scotland. We would be safe there.” If anywhere. For the first time in weeks, her heartbeat steadied. The more she thought through the plan, the slower her blood pulsed. Just having a plan made her feel better, more in control. If she planned for it, she could control it. “The sword, too.”

  “That sword is almost as tall as you. You will not be able to swing it.”

  “I do not want to swing it. I shall sell it.” She blew curls out of her eyes. Gold trim meant gems; gems prised free meant money; money meant security.

  Silence held for a few steps, then Jo asked, “You do not think the sheriff will give up the hunt, do you?”

  “He does as the nobleman orders.” And Alais didn’t know if she could run far enough to escape the man’s reach, but she would try. She would not die like the man this afternoon.