Dedication:
For Carmetta Jean Adamson, my best friend.
Published 2005 by Medallion Press, Inc.
225 Seabreeze Ave.
Palm Beach, FL 33480
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is a registered tradmark of Medallion Press, Inc.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment from this “stripped book.”
Copyright © 2005 by Trenae Sumter
Cover Illustration by Adam Mock
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Printed in the United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Sumter, Trenae.
Knight’s legacy / Trenae Sumter.
p. cm.
ISBN 1-932815-00-7
1. Women stunt performers--Fiction. 2. Knights and knighthood--Fiction. 3. Americans--Scotland--Fiction. 4. Time travel--Fiction. 5. Scotland--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3619.U48K58 2005
813’.6--dc22
2005020730
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
To the Father of celestial lights for “every good gift and
every perfect present” for writing is a “good gift.”
To my dearest husband of twenty-nine years, Joe. It’s still fun to have coffee with you every morning.
To Winona Sumter Cole who believed in me and my dreams before I did.
To Leslie Metcalf Burbank,
my literary fairy godmother.
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 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Author’s Notes
Chapter One
He that is slow to wrath is of great understanding, but he that is hasty of spirit exalteth folly.
~Proverbs 14:29
SCOTLAND, 1230
The warrior knight wanted to kill a man. He looked forward to it. His righteous rage at what he had seen demanded retribution. The village had been laid waste. Women and children were ill and starving. His loyalty to his King was the only thing that stayed his hand.
Sir Roderic de Montwain had been sent to appraise the conditions of the small clan of Mackay in the Scottish Highlands. He was to bring back a report to the King. More and more his mind screamed at the injustice of it. The outlaw Scot responsible for this was going to be rewarded, and King Alexander tolerated this travesty for one reason only. A woman. He wanted an alliance, a marriage.
Roderic was to marry the daughter of this renegade who had literally sacrificed his child for his own freedom.
King Alexander would bargain with a demon to fulfill a promise made long ago to Elizabeth Mackay. As Roderic viewed the handiwork of Calum Mackay, he concluded that dealing with Lucifer would be preferable.
The outlaw Scotsman was a nuisance to the King. Alexander wanted him banished, or dead. Roderic would prefer dead. Yet, he held in his possession the very document that would free the man; a decree of clemency signed by the King. He was to present it to Mackay the very day his marriage took place.
Roderic had sworn his allegiance to the Scottish King, so he would marry. These lands would be his and these people of the clan, so skinned and tossed about, his responsibility, but he had no longing to marry, even at his age of eight and twenty.
The King wanted peace in this land and an agreeable marriage for Brianna Mackay, although his affection for the daughter of the outlaw was a puzzle to Roderic. King Alexander had not seen the girl since she was a child when her mother held a special place in the King’s heart, and he had given her a promise to see her daughter wed properly, in spite of her father.
Roderic’s loyalty was tested by the request. He had spoken freely of his feelings to the King.
“The daughter of such a man could indeed share her father’s character, sire.”
“No. I disagree. She was a sweet-tempered child, like her mother. I must hope that this marriage will be the saving grace for all concerned, Roderic. I hate with a passion the very thought of the pardon. Mackay deserves to be hung a thousand times for his sins, but I must think of the clan, and the girl. You are needed there, and the marriage is necessary. The clan willnae accept you without it, for you are English. You must wed one of their own. Who better than the daughter of the Laird?”
So, it was done. Roderic stood ready to meet his bride.
Gavin MacLaurin approached, and Roderic turned to his friend. “Still no message?”
Gavin’s handsome face glowered in rage. “None. Tell me the insult is enough to attack the scurvy dog and be done with it!” His tone was contemptuous, despite the soft burr of his speech.
“I struggle with my own self-control, Gavin. Do not tempt me to override it. The insult to me is of little consequence when we see the pain these people have suffered. Mackay feeds his band of thieves and leaves the women and children to survive alone!”
“Yet, he escapes again. I only hope your bride is worthy of such a mercy,” Gavin said.
“Aye,” Roderic agreed.
“She must be fair indeed, if she favors her mother. The King has spoken of her beauty, has he not?”
Roderic smiled and inclined his head. “Gavin, trust you to turn our discussion of battle to that of a woman’s beauty. You are entirely too enticed by the subject of wenching.”
Gavin chuckled. “I agree, ’Tis true. Yet, it is a subject on your mind, my friend. Why not speak of it? You stand ready to marry a woman you have never seen. How can you not be curious, or concerned with the prospect you may be enchained to a homely shrew, or a goddess?”
Roderic gave an impatient shrug. “I will be content should she prove to be somewhere between. It matters not. I will not expect the lass to swoon with pleasure at our first meeting.”
Gavin stared at his friend and silently disagreed. Roderic was a massive, self-confident presence. His profile was rugged and somber, and his strong features held a certain sensuality that never failed to attract the ladies. His hair was a shade between black and brown, silky straight, and fell past his shoulders. Gavin had witnessed many a lass strive to catch his friend’s eye. He even used it to his own advantage by consoling their hurt feelings.
“This marriage is something I will endure, no more. It is for the land and the good of these people. My wife will not change my goals. It is her duty to obey her husband,” Roderic said.
Gavin smiled indulgently. “In my judgment, few women understand the concept of duty and honor. A wife will be no exception. Perhaps you can instruct her on the responsibilities of a capable wife, but dinnae be misled. A woman will allow many things, but being ignored is not one of them.”
; “I have no intention of mistreating my wife in such a way, Gavin. I do not share your jaded opinion. Women are fascinating creatures. I love their scent, their softness, the way they move. I find them capable of honor and courage. If treated tenderly, with the right amount of firmness, they can, and do display loyalty.”
There was a sparkle in Gavin’s green eyes as he raised a brow. “The same can be said of a good horse,” he drawled.
Roderic smiled, brown eyes warm with amusement. “I thought nothing could make me smile today. I understand they have killed some of their horses for food?”
“Aye, though I thank all that’s holy they had them.”
The two men turned to the sound of voices suddenly raised in argument. A thin woman with pale, sallow skin and brown hair was trying to struggle past one of Roderic’s men.
“Leave her, Alec,” Roderic ordered.
She pushed the man’s grip from her forearm and faced Roderic, standing proudly, defiantly, her blue eyes snapping to his. She took a deep, unsteady breath and looked at him intently.
“Ye be Montwain?” Her voice was brittle. “I am,” Roderic said.
He was unprepared for the sight of the woman dropping to her knees before him. She took his hand and kissed it, her hot tears bathing his wrist, and he felt her body shudder with emotion.
“I be grateful to ye.” She looked up into his eyes. “My name is Mary. Ye have saved my bairn by giving us food. I’ll not forget it. I will pledge my fealty to ye this day, do ye want it.”
Roderic’s brown eyes were warm with compassion as he gently reached down to help her stand. “I do, milady.”
She inclined her head in a respectful nod. “Ye be a mon of honor. Ye have shown kindness to this clan, so I will beg of you to extend your mercy to another.”
“If you ask for Mackay …”
“Ach! May that devil die in hell,” she hissed. “The mon raped my sister when she was little more than a wee lass, and died birthin’ the babe, Kenneth.” Her expression softened with the name. “He be a lad now of only four and ten summers, with bright red hair, but he is mute, never spoken a word. Mackay doesnae claim him as his own, but he willnae banish him from the keep. When you attack and breach the walls, I beg ye to spare him. Although fey, he wouldnae hurt another, for he is a gentle lad, and he dinnae rate a sword in his belly because his father is wicked.”
“It is my hope that it will not come to that, milady. I cannot speak to you of matters of war. Yet, no one here save the warriors of Mackay will be put to death. If I see the boy, I will look to his safety,” Roderic said.
“Bless ye, sir. I now at least have hope.” She turned to leave them, her steps proud and strong when she walked away.
Roderic muttered furiously to Gavin. “God, give me the strength not to kill him.”
Wanting to be alone with his anger, he turned on his heel and marched away from the camp, Gavin in step beside him.
“Do we charge now?” Gavin asked.
Roderic soon spoke to him over his shoulder. “Nay, we will not attack the keep at this time. We will give him two more days. Have all the children been fed and looked after?”
“Aye, we have fed them from our own stores. Some are ill. We have done our best to make them comfortable. None are beyond recovery,” Gavin said.
“ ’Tis a blessing,” he sighed. “I would dread the prospect of presenting the King with word of yet another death at Mackay’s hand.”
The thin old woman took another cruel blow to her cheek. Her stubborn resolve alone saved her from crying out, but a groan escaped her lips when she fell to the stone floor.
“You lied to me, you old witch,” the burly Scot bellowed as he stood over her. Calum Mackay kicked the woman viciously, and she curled up before him in agony.
“You helped her escape! I should kill ye now, ye worthless bitch!”
Angus Mackay ran to shield the woman, his powerful body moving with an easy grace. He shook his head with defiance.
“Nay! Leave her be, Father.”
Angus stepped in front of Edna. The kindly lady with the long gray hair had saved him many a beating as a child by keeping him out of the way of his father’s wrath, and he would do the same. Angus would fight the man, kin or no, for he respected the woman’s courage. She had stood up to Calum Mackay in spite of his rage.
Angus felt Edna’s hands wrap around his ankle as she placed her face gently on the back of his calf. His leg was bare, for he wore a kilt, and could feel the blood streaming down her face.
“You dinnae know what she’s done! The little whore is gone! My own daughter has defied me! She’s run off to rut with that Kincaid whelp!”
“Dinnae call Brianna a whore! How can ye speak in such a way of your own kin?”
The older man had a cold-eyed smile when he snarled his answer.
“She’s no kin a mine! From this day she is dead to me! If I ever see her again I’ll kill her myself. What do you ken we tell the English bastard waitin’ at our gates to marry? I will have that clemency and be gone, or we will all be put to the sword!”
Angus shook his head in disbelief. “Brianna is truly gone?”
“Aye, every inch of the keep has been searched and there’s no sign of her! Her horse is missing too, and I be more heart-sore for the animal than the girl.”
“If it be true, she could not have gone far,” Angus replied. He reached down to help Edna stand, and spoke to the woman in a whisper. “Go, now!”
Edna walked away as quickly as her trembling legs could carry her, and Angus continued.
“I’ll find her. If not, we shall do something else to appease the King.”
Calum grasped his son’s shoulder in a punishing grip. “All else be lost! There is nothing that will satisfy Alexander now except to see the lass wed. You find the little bitch and bring her back. If I don’t see the pardon promised by the King, I’ll burn this keep to the ground a’fore I allow the Englishmon a hold here! We must stall for time! I’ll send a message to Montwain that his bride will be prepared to wed him in a week’s time. Take Graham with you! I don’t care what ye must do, but find her!”
Angus nodded curtly, and walked briskly from the keep to the training field. Spying Graham in the distance, he put his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. Graham came his way at a trot, and Angus studied the old warrior. Barrel chested and short, he had white hair and beard, arms with the strength of some one half his age, and a perpetual frown. Angus did not trust the old thief with his horse or his coins in any wager, but the man was more skilled at tracking than any other in the clan.
“Brianna has run off. We must go and fetch her, or there will be hell to pay.”
“Aye. Calum willnae come with us?”
“Nay, he must try to bargain for time.” They were silent as they gathered provisions and packed them on the sturdy mounts. One horse was chestnut in color, a stallion that belonged to Angus. He frowned at the old brown horse Graham mounted. “Ye won’t keep up on that animal.”
“Aye, I will, for though he be not as swift as your red, he is agile on the cliffs, and willnae be dumping me from the saddle. What possessed the lass to leave us?”
“She wants to wed Kincaid,” Angus grumbled.
“The Laird?”
“Nay, she cares for Alistair, the Laird’s younger brother. Although I pity her going to the Englishmon, I dinnae believe she would defy Father, and I curse her folly.”
They rode on for an hour until the tracks bore witness of another rider. Graham was on one knee as he studied the signs in the ground, and shook his head. “Laird or brother, it matters not.”
“Aye.” Angus knew the young man well; he was of the Kincaid clan to the north. Apparently, he had come for Brianna and stolen her away.
By nightfall Angus knew it was useless. They were too close to Kincaid lands, and he would accomplish nothing save their own capture if they crossed the border. Kincaid had Brianna now. They would be married, and she would become part o
f a clan in the Highlands that was both strong and formidable.
Alastair Kincaid was younger brother to the Laird, and he would call hundreds of his warriors to fight before they would give up one of their own. Calum Mackay faced enough tribulation with the King and Montwain ready to make war on him. He dare not attempt a rescue that would start another war with a rival clan. Brianna was lost.
The holding and all the land would go to the Englishman, and they would do well to escape with their lives. There was no way out.
Finally, their horses bone weary, they stopped near a waterfall, bedding down in the forest. Neither he nor Graham wished to think of the fight to come with Montwain. It would be the death of them all.
Chapter Two
… but time and chance happeneth to them all. For man also knoweth not his time.
~Ecclesiastes 9:11-12
SCOTLAND, OCTOBER 2000
Follow the lavender mist? You can’t be serious! You’re daydreaming of mythical fairies again.”
The tall man with the sandy blond hair laughed as he parried the sword thrust of his opponent.
Catherine Terril turned with the grace of a ballerina and made a wide swing to counter with five lightening-quick thrusts of her own. She knew all of David’s tricks. He used mundane conversation to distract her, but she didn’t allow it.
Cat worked very hard at her job as a stuntwoman on the film crew. They were choreographing a scene of sword fighting, and it had to be perfectly timed before they could present it to the actors.
“Don’t play innocent with me, David. I know you’re behind the joke. I didn’t recognize the actor, but I know you talked him into it. The old man had a thin face, long, white hair, his eyes were bright blue, and he wore a long, black monk’s robe. He pulled the cloak off his head, stepped in front of me, and said, ‘Follow the lavender mist.’ “
Cat whirled and drop-kicked David in the back of the calf just as he came close to disarming her. It was one of the more difficult parts of the scene, and she executed it well.
Cat was dressed as a medieval squire in black tights and a leather tunic. David was her boss, the stunt coordinator of the film, and he, too, was in costume. She continued to elude him while he used the familiar strategy of rapid, continuous blows designed to weaken her wrists.
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