A Knight’s Quest
Falling For A Knight Book One
Lana Williams
Medieval Romance
Lady Sophia struggles to gather the pieces of her life after the devastating attack on Berwick, Scotland, that tore her world apart. Now head of her family, she does all she can to keep them safe and help the people of her city regain what they lost. The arrival of an English knight raises her distrust, especially when he suspects her of stirring unrest.
Sir Garrick de Bremont’s secret mission in Berwick is to seek out signs of discord. His quest should be simple, yet nothing comes easily in this troubled city where no one is who they seem. The English are not welcome here, especially English knights, who laid siege to the city and killed thousands.
Sophia has no reason to trust this man but her attraction to him is undeniable. When he helps protect her, she realizes this is a knight like no other. Though he is English and she is firmly on the other side of the border, he makes her long for things that cannot be.
Rebellion brews in this bustling market city. Can Garrick uncover the cause before he and Sophia lose not only their love but their lives?
To Brandon, for plotting assistance,
for action scene assistance,
and for sharing my love of all things medieval.
Love you!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Other Books by LANA WILLIAMS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER ONE
England, 1298
Sir Garrick de Bremont heard the riders coming before he saw them. The clink of armor and the muffled sound of horses’ hooves on hard-packed earth heralded the unwelcome arrival. His own horse tossed his head at their approach. He didn’t bother drawing his sword for he knew both who the riders were and what they wanted. That didn’t mean he liked it.
Dusk was falling on Garrick’s third night on the road. Days were still short and the air often bitter this time of year. March was a foul time to travel as the condition of the roads was unpredictable, but he had no choice. Duty called. He nearly smiled at the sense of purpose he now had. That purpose had eased the loneliness that filled him the moment the gates of Staverton Keep, his family’s home, closed behind him. But the time had come to forge his own path away from the intimidating reputation of his grandfather, father, and brother.
He stood, hands on hips, awaiting his guests, doing his best to shove aside the doubt that had been his constant companion since he’d agreed to this mission. Doubt that he could fulfill his oath. Doubt as to why he’d insisted on taking his brother’s place on this quest to Scotland.
Before he could dwell on his worries any further, two riders entered his camp. The large, armed knights appeared ready for battle with mail and helms in place, and swords strapped to their sides, but Garrick wasn’t concerned at their fierce appearance.
“Tell me you brought something for our supper,” he called out as they drew to a halt.
The two men shared a glance before removing their helms.
“Damn that second sight of yours, Garrick. It steals the joy from our lives.” Braden shook his head, his long dark hair and beard something admired by all the ladies they encountered. “We had hoped to give you a scare.”
“Greetings, cousin,” Chanse said with a grin. He had lighter hair, was a bit shorter than his brother but stockier and far more charming.
That the two were related was undeniable, and both bore similarities to their father, Garrick’s Uncle William. Family resemblance ran strong in the de Bremont’s as Garrick was tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair and blue eyes like his sire.
Garrick shoved aside his pang of regret at Braden’s words. He was well aware his second sight gave him an unfair advantage. Yet he had no way to halt the gift. It was like seeing or smelling for him. It simply was. Many times, he wondered where he’d be without it. In truth, he was afraid to find out, part of him fearing he’d be found lacking as though fighting a battle with no weapon.
“You didn’t think we’d allow you to take all the glory of fulfilling a mission for the king, did you?” Braden asked.
Chanse eyed him for a moment. “How long have you known?”
“That you were coming?” Garrick folded his arms across his chest. Though these men were his cousins, he was never certain how much to share with them. He well knew the less he spoke of his second sight, the better. His father had taught him that from the time he was old enough to walk. Yet he also knew Chanse’s question was asked with good intent. “Last night as I made camp.”
“Damn,” Braden said and tossed his brother a coin.
Garrick frowned in disbelief. “You wagered on it?”
Chanse scoffed. “You should know by now we’d wager on most anything.”
Garrick could only laugh. Though he’d wanted to complete this mission on his own to prove to himself that he was truly a man worthy of the title of knight, he knew his journey would be much more enjoyable with them at his side.
The brothers saw to their horses while Garrick built up the small fire he’d laid. He was traveling light, hoping to make good time. That meant he didn’t have much food to spare. He carried only enough for another day or two. He’d planned to find a town soon, where he might restock his supplies.
His destination was Berwick, a market city on the northern border of England. He was eager to reach it and begin his quest.
“We rose early this morn with the hope of catching up with you,” Chanse said as he carried a large leather bag to where Garrick knelt, adding wood to the fire.
“You must’ve left home shortly after I did.”
“We were a half day behind you, according to your brother. You haven’t yet had your supper?” Chanse asked.
“Nay. Dried venison and cheese was all I had planned.” He couldn’t help but watch with hope as Chanse withdrew the contents of the bag.
“We can do better than that.” His cousin set several bundles on the ground then handed Garrick a small pot. “Make yourself useful and fetch some water.”
Garrick didn’t consider protesting. He’d traveled with Chanse before and was familiar with his cooking skills. The idea of a hot meal had him quickening his step to the small creek nearby. By the time he returned with the water, Chanse had assembled a metal stand with an adjustable pothook over the fire.
“Where did you come across that?” Garrick asked, shaking his head in amazement as Chanse hooked the pot onto the stand, suspending it over the fire before adjusting the hook to lower the pot closer to the flames.
Chanse grinned. “A man who’d been on a crusade had it at a tournament. I had our blacksmith make one that I could carry with me. Much easier than trying to find the right size sticks only to worry if they’ll catch fire.”
“Clever.” Garrick glanced over at Braden who rubbed down their steeds with dried grass. “Still tends his babes, does he?”
“He loves animals of any sort, but horses are his favor
ite. He treats them far better than he treats me.” Chanse continued his preparations, cutting dried meat and adding it to the pot. Then he opened another bundle, revealing dried, chopped onions, turnips, and carrots. He tossed those in the steaming water as well. The next pack he opened contained what looked like dried weeds.
“What is that?” Garrick asked.
“Rosemary.” Chanse lifted a branch and sniffed it, then handed it to Garrick.
Garrick smelled only to ease back at the strong scent. He couldn’t help but rub his nose as the odor lingered in his nostrils. “Smells a bit like pine. Hard to believe something like that will flavor the soup.”
“Used sparingly it does indeed. Herbs are good for more than healing.”
“Don’t tell our grandmother.” They shared a laugh as their grandmother, Lady Alyna, was a gifted healer. She preferred to use herbs in remedies to heal rather than to season food.
Soon enough, an appetizing aroma scented the air, causing Garrick’s stomach to growl as he gathered more firewood so they’d have plenty for the night. Darkness fell quickly as clouds rolled in, hiding the moon and stars.
Braden retrieved another bag, pulling out wooden bowls and some bread.
The men settled around the fire, their chores done for the moment, with nothing to occupy their time other than waiting until Chanse declared the soup ready.
“What made you two decide to join me?” Garrick asked. He’d seen them at a family gathering nearly three months past. They hadn’t mentioned anything about going to Scotland then.
“We’ve been a bit restless, and Mother suggested we needed more of a purpose for the coming months than driving her mad,” Braden said with smile.
Garrick well knew his Aunt Cristiana didn’t have an idle bone in her body and would want her sons to serve a purpose. Braden was a year younger than Garrick and Chanse two years.
“Father wanted us to visit his other holding in the south. But when we heard where you were going, we thought that sounded much more interesting,” Chanse added as he stirred the simmering soup. “We decided you might need us.”
Garrick frowned. “Did my father put you up to this?”
“Nay.”
Though they denied it, Garrick couldn’t help but question how they’d known when he was leaving. If his father had so little faith in his ability to succeed that he’d sent his cousins to watch over him, Garrick wondered if he should’ve taken this mission. It would be a difficult one, of that he had no doubt. He and his older brother, Rylan, had discussed the delicate situation at length. Rylan had no second sight, but had hoped that Garrick’s ability would aid him in this quest.
Rylan had not accompanied King Edward on his march to Scotland two years past. After hearing of the devastation the king’s army had caused, Rylan was pleased he’d missed it. In his anger at Scotland’s agreement with France, Edward had ordered seven thousand lives to be taken—men, women, and children alike—to teach Scotland a lesson. The king had told his men he wanted the mills to flow with the blood of the people of Berwick. He’d insisted that a strong show of force would prevent further deaths.
While Rylan had fought with the king in France and found much to admire about the man and his courage, his brutality in Scotland was difficult to understand. Garrick had to agree. No wonder unrest was spreading. Getting to the bottom of who was causing turmoil and perhaps even stopping it was Garrick’s daunting mission.
Chanse declared supper was ready and ladled generous portions of the savory soup into bowls. As the three men ate, they discussed the massacre and what it might mean for those who had survived.
Braden shared Rylan’s view—that the king had gone too far. “If such deeds had been committed against my family, I would seek revenge.”
“Indeed,” Chanse agreed. “His actions created a deep, burning hatred that may cause many to seek retribution.”
“The leaders of Scotland are surely against riling the king again,” Garrick argued, “though many desire Scottish rule rather than English.”
“Either path will leave some unhappy. Another revolt will no doubt come soon unless Scotland can unite in its goal.” Braden set aside his empty bowl. “We will need to tread carefully.”
Garrick nodded. “Rylan cautioned against asking too many questions. When we arrive, we will focus solely on forming a trading agreement. As English wool is prized for its fineness, that should be fairly simple. Once we’ve gained the trust of some of the townspeople, we will see what we can discover.”
“Father said he would be pleased to have an additional market for his wool as well,” Chanse offered. “Between both our families, we should have more than enough wool to peak someone’s interest.”
“We’ll mention we’re dissatisfied with the prices offered in London, which is true. Transporting the wool north to Berwick instead will not cost much more, assuming the price is right.” Garrick had gone through the details in his mind many times. He needed to treat this trade agreement as if it were his sole purpose.
“Were you given any names as to whom they suspect?” Chanse asked.
“Though Sir William Douglas was removed as governor of the city and remains imprisoned, his family still lives in Berwick. They are among the suspects.”
“Who now serves as governor?”
“Sir Gilbert de Umfraville, and he is under suspicion as well. He has strong ties to England but often sides with Scotland, depending on which side offers more benefit.”
“Have you seen anything to hint as to what we’re up against?” Braden asked, brows raised to emphasize his meaning.
Garrick shook his head. “Nothing clear yet.” He’d had several visions of a strange city, of different people, but nothing on which he could act.
As his cousins’ voices continued, a mist clouded his sight, muffling the sounds around him. The sensation was familiar, as though he was swimming underwater. Everything slowed. An image filled his mind, the location unclear. He saw the back of a woman, her long dark hair unbound. She turned to him, smiling as she looked up at him, her warm brown eyes alight with joy. Her slim figure curved in all the places that pleased a man.
His chest tightened as he drank in her beauty. Her large eyes were framed with dark brows that arched slightly in the center. Her lashes were long, her cheeks pink with good health. He reached out and she placed her hand in his, holding tight. Desire, strong and swift, poured through him, filling him with need. Her eyes heated as she drew nearer, her gaze catching on his mouth. He leaned closer, anticipation washing through him, for he knew her passion would match his. As his lips met the softness of hers, the vision vanished abruptly.
“Garrick?” Braden’s voice jerked him back to the present.
He rubbed a hand across his face. This was one vision he had no intention of sharing. “My apologies. I must be more tired than I realized.” The desire pulsing through his body was impossible to ignore. Who was that woman?
“I was asking if you wanted more soup.”
“Nay, I’m full.” He patted his belly. “I’ll rinse the dishes since Chanse prepared our meal.”
He quickly gathered the bowls and spoons and carried them to the stream, anxious to have a moment to gather his thoughts. The problem with visions was that he rarely had a sense of time with them. It might be years before he met her, or it could be on the morrow.
He hoped for the latter as he was most anxious to meet the mysterious woman who stirred him so.
~*~
Lady Sophia Douglas dressed for the day with the grim determination of a knight preparing for battle. She slipped the brown homespun kirtle over her linen chemise, smoothing the coarse fabric into place, so different from the velvet and satin gowns she used to wear. Next came the simple leather girdle that sat low on her hips and a small but sturdy knife to tuck in its scabbard. Her jeweled girdle had been one of the first of her belongings she’d sold. She looped a small leather purse onto the girdle she now wore as well. Unfortunately, few coins weighted it.
Her shoes had seen better days but should last into the summer if she took care. With quick fingers, she plaited her hair, not bothering to check her appearance in the small sliver of mirror that sat on a nearby table. She didn’t need to see the shadows under her eyes to remind her how tired she was. After tossing and turning most of the night, she’d overslept this morn. By the look of the empty pallets surrounding hers, her younger sister and her brother’s wife had already risen.
This day, she hoped to persuade Edgar, one of the most powerful merchants in the city, to help free her brother. But in order to do so, she needed to find a way to aid Edgar. Everyone wanted something, and he was no exception.
In the past two years, as tempers had slowly cooled and emotions had eased, she’d become adept at connecting those with goods or services to trade. That had enabled her to collect a few coins to keep food on the table and a roof over her family’s heads.
It hadn’t been easy. A few merchants refused to work with her because they blamed her brother for the siege that had devastated Berwick. Others were grateful for assistance. Edgar’s wealth and influence had grown considerably in the past year, and so she’d determined he was the most suited to aid her.
She lifted her chin, mentally preparing herself to face the day, then moved aside the cloth that served as a door to their sleeping chamber and stepped into the living area of the small cottage in which they now lived. Two pallets marked the spots for her younger brother and their maidservant, but neither was in sight.
The room was empty save for Eleanor, her brother’s second wife, who scowled at Sophia. “How can you bear it?” Her gaze took in Sophia’s attire with narrowed eyes.
“What?” Sophia was slowly losing patience with Eleanor. While she had suffered much since the English king had forever changed their lives, she made no effort to improve what little they had.
“To wear those rags each day.” The bitter twist to her mouth warned Sophia of the tirade to come.
A Knight's Quest (Falling For A Knight Book 1) Page 1