Autumn’s Touch
Seasons of Fortitude Series
Book 3
By
Copyright © 2017 by Elizabeth Rose Krejcik
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual organizations or persons living or deceased is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without the author’s written permission.
RoseScribe Media Inc.
Cover created by Elizabeth Rose Krejcik
Edited by Scott Moreland
Series By: Elizabeth Rose
Medieval Series:
Legacy of the Blade Series
Daughters of the Dagger Series
MadMan MacKeefe Series
Barons of the Cinque Ports Series
Legendary Bastards of the Crown Series
Seasons of Fortitude Series
Medieval/Paranormal Series:
Elemental Series
Greek Myth Fantasy Series
Tangled Tales Series
Contemporary Series:
Tarnished Saints Series
Western Series:
Cowboys of the Old West Series
And More!
Please visit http://elizabethrosenovels.com
To my readers:
It is best to read the series in order so no surprises will be ruined. However, each book also stands alone. This is the continuation of my Legendary Bastards of the Crown Series. The Seasons of Fortitude Series is about the sisters (really cousins) of the bastard triplets, Rowen, Rook, and Reed.
The books in the Legendary Bastards of the Crown series are:
Destiny’s Kiss – Series Prequel
Restless Sea Lord – Book 1
Ruthless Knight – Book 2
Reckless Highlander – Book 3
This is followed by the Seasons of Fortitude Series:
Highland Spring – Book 1
Summer’s Reign – Book 2
Autumn’s Touch – Book 3
Winter’s Flame – Book 4 (Preorder now)
Elizabeth Rose
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
From the Author
Chapter 1
Mablethorpe Manor, England 1372
Spirit keeps the mind strong and the soul alive!
It started out a day like any other. No one could have predicted how Lady Autumn’s life was about to change in ways she could never have even imagined. Wishes keep hope alive, but people must be careful what they wish for . . . because they might actually get it.
Black clouds covered the sky and thunder rumbled overhead. A threatening storm moved in fast, but Autumn was in no hurry.
“Lady Autumn, there’s a storm brewin’. We’d best be collectin’ our herbs and hightailin’ it back to the manor.” Nairnie, the old Scottish midwife, looked up at the ominous sky and squinted one gray eye, surveying the situation. “I dinna like this. I have a bad feelin’ within me,” she scowled, shaking her wimple-covered head of silver hair. Her long, gnarled fingers quickly reached out to collect her basket of herbs.
“I like storms, Nairnie,” said Autumn, plucking another handful of lavender, bringing the tubular stalk of tiny, purple flowers to her nose for a quick sniff of her favorite herb. The strong aroma filled her senses, making her feel alive. As a healer, Autumn had learned to use lavender for many purposes. It was beneficial in curing a headache, or using it topically on a wound. It also worked in repelling fleas and moths - used as rushes on the floor, or hung in the wardrobe with their clothes. Nature was God’s best gift to humankind and, for that, she was very thankful. However, many people were oblivious to the fact that everything they needed to heal themselves surrounded them in nature.
Storms didn’t worry Autumn in the least. She welcomed the changes of nature - even the thunder rumbling overhead like the belly of a starved beast. “Nairnie, go back to the manor. I’ll be there shortly. I just want a few more minutes to breathe in the fresh storm air.”
“Ye are actin’ nearly as addled as yer fool brathairs,” scolded the woman, talking about the bastard triplets of the king. Rowen, Rook, and Reed had grown up with Autumn and two of her sisters. They were considered siblings even though they were really cousins. It wasn’t until the boys were twelve years of age that they found out they were actually bastards of King Edward III. Their mother was his mistress, and also a twin of Autumn’s mother.
“You worry about me more than my mother.” Autumn smiled, thinking of her parents living in the Highlands. With her parents separated for most of her life, they recently reunited and had made amends from their troubles so many years ago. Two years ago, Autumn moved from her brother, Rowen’s castle in Whitehaven to Mablethorpe – an action of her own choosing. But lately, she’d been longing for the presence of her family. “Go on, Nairnie. You know I can run and catch up to you since you move so slowly. I will follow soon.”
“I am no’ slow. I’m just careful. I wish ye would be careful, too, because I have a bad feelin’ about leavin’ ye here alone.”
“I like to be alone,” said Autumn. “It’s peaceful. Lately, I’m feeling trapped at Mablethorpe and wish I could leave and be free from the illness and death that constantly surrounds us.”
“Haud yer wheesht!” exclaimed Nairnie. Her eyes squinted and darted around as if she were afraid someone would hear them. “Ye are a healer, lassie. Ye chose to give up yer life as a lady and live in poverty to help heal the sick and wounded.”
“Aye, I did,” agreed Autumn. “And I don’t regret my decision. I’m just . . . tired of it.”
“Then go back to Whitehaven and live like a lady, the way ye should be livin’.”
“Nay,” she said with a sigh. “That’s not what I want either. I wish I had excitement, challenge, and even a little danger in my life. I need to feel alive inside – and I don’t.”
“Fool child, ye dinna ken what ye’re sayin’! Now stop it and come back to the manor where ye’ll be safe. Yer plan to collect herbs outside the manor walls without an escort is danger enough.”
“We’re in no danger, Nairnie,” answered Autumn with a chuckle. “Now go. I’ll be right behind you, so stop with all the fretting.” Slipping the handle of her basket over her arm, Autumn proceeded to turn the old woman by the shoulders and send her on her way.
The sky flashed with a jagged bolt of lightning that seemed to stretch halfway across the channel of water that separated England from France. This was immediately followed by a loud crash of thunder. The storm was getting closer. The first few raindrops splashed down upon her arm, feeling cool and refreshing on this hot, autumn day.
Autumn loved the rain. She and her sisters, Summer and Winter, used to stay out in the rain for hours, catching raindrops on their tongues when they were children. She smiled and closed her eyes, looking up to the sky and opening her mouth to try to catch one j
ust for old time’s sake.
“Hurry, Lady Autumn, it is startin’ to rain,” warned Nairnie, hobbling back to Mablethorpe Manor as fast as her short legs would carry her.
“I’m not going to melt,” she called back, licking the drops off her lips. It made her feel alive.
Mablethorpe Manor was on the coast, once the home of nobles but now a hospice for men injured while serving the king. Of her own choosing, Autumn had come here at the young age of four and ten years to give service to those who risked their lives to keep her homeland safe.
For over two years now, she’d used her skills and knowledge of healing to aid the nuns in administering poultices and balms to the wounded men of war. It was her mission to help the wounded recover before they headed back to their homes or returned to King Edward’s side. Nairnie had come to Mablethorpe to be with Autumn, just as she had watched over Autumn’s sisters, Spring and Summer in the past.
Autumn was a caregiver and loved what she did. But lately, she wasn’t feeling happy here. A gnawing emptiness deep inside saddened her and made her miss her family tremendously. It was more than longing for her loved ones, because it felt as if there were a void in her life that needed to be filled. She had no idea how to remedy the situation. Her work was not nearly challenging enough anymore. She wanted more – needed more, but wasn’t certain what it was that she longed for.
Autumn was a problem solver. She loved the challenge of finding ways to make even the worst situations right again. Mablethorpe had become stagnant to her. The call of nature resounded in her heart and this storm only reminded her how exciting life could be. That is, life away from the dead or dying. A part of her had died at Mablethorpe and she needed to feel alive again.
“Lady Autumn, hurry!” came Nairnie’s voice on the distant breeze. The winds picked up, blowing the trees and swirling dead, knee-high grass. A field of lavender, rosemary, and sunflowers swayed back and forth, bowing down as if they were paying her reverence. More lightning flashed, followed by a crash of thunder so near and loud that it actually made her jump, almost spilling her basket of freshly-picked herbs.
She took one last look out over the cliff toward the sea. The angry waves were growing higher. The deep, blue waters churned, and the dark sky and gray clouds swirled above it, creating in her mind a beautiful, artistic painting of the moods of nature. When the rain started pelting down around her next, she turned and ran for the manor. She hadn’t gone far when she heard the squawking of a bird in distress, making her stop abruptly in her tracks. The poor thing sounded frantic. It needed her help!
Turning back, she spotted a small wren under a tree with its leg caught in a tangled vine. A second wren hopped around the ground next to it, watching intently as the first cried out for help. It looked to her to be a mother and its baby. Concern filled her being. Autumn knew what she had to do.
“I’m coming,” she said, running to the bird, only slowing when she got closer so she wouldn’t scare the mother away. “It’s all right. I’m here to help you.” She walked up and put her hand on the tree to steady herself. Then she slowly bent down, placing her basket of herbs at her feet. “Don’t be frightened,” she told the baby bird in a calm voice as it flapped its wings wildly and continued to squawk with the next crash of thunder. The mother flew up and landed on a branch directly overhead, scolding her. Or was she begging for her help, instead?
Rain poured down on her, but Autumn didn’t care about getting wet. This helpless little bird needed her. It was frightened. She wouldn’t leave it. Reaching out, she gently placed her hand on the bird’s back to keep it from flapping its wings and hurting itself while she quickly released the tangled vine from its leg. “You’re free now,” she said, standing up, holding the bird in two hands. The thought of no longer being confined and having the freedom to fly made her heart soar. She looked up to the baby bird’s mother and smiled. Then she slowly opened her hands to release the frightened wren. “Go to your mother, baby. You are free to go where you want in this world and no longer imprisoned by that vine.” Happiness swelled in her chest for the new fate of the bird. What must it feel like to be able to leave behind the ties that bound it?
The bird happily fluttered out of her hands and landed next to its mother on a branch of the tree. Then the two of them flew away into the sky even though it was storming.
“Odd,” she said to herself, realizing the birds must have been more frightened than she thought to venture out into a storm and not take shelter. Placing her hand on the trunk of the tree, she bent over to collect her basket of herbs. From the corner of her eye, she saw a bright flash of light. At the same time, it thundered. The sound of splintering wood from the tree made her jump.
Burning pain shot through her arm. A tingling sensation ran through her hand touching the tree, raising the fine, downy hair on her arm and at the nape of her neck. Her body stiffened and she couldn’t move. Vibrations hummed within her, causing her body to shake. Then a deafening, buzzing noise filled her ears. Her teeth chattered as if it were the middle of winter when it was really a warm day. Nothing made sense. Her heart beat furiously and the pain traveled from her hand all the way down to her toes.
Queasiness filled her and she felt a large knot forming in her stomach. Her knees shook beneath her, barely able to hold her weight. She felt her eyes roll back in her head and, at the same time, her legs gave way. As she hit the ground, she noticed the branch the birds had been perched on was now on fire! There was no doubt anymore what had happened. Lightning had struck the tree.
Blazing white light mixed with colors of vibrant orange and pink exploded behind Autumn’s closed lids. The buzzing in her ears sounded like a giant bee coming to consume her. Her head rolled to the side. When her eyelids fluttered open again, she saw blood dripping down her arm. She had hit a jagged rock when she fell and it pierced her skin. Excruciating pain shot through her like she’d never felt before. Then the oddest thing happened. In the next few seconds, it was as if her pain had been sucked right out of her body. As suddenly as it came, it disappeared.
“Lady Autumn!” came Nairnie’s cry as she ran across the field in the rain with two guards leading the way.
Autumn’s head dizzied and the sky spun above her. She fought the urge to fall into a deep slumber since she didn’t like to be the one who needed others’ assistance. Therefore, she willed herself to push up to a sitting position before the guards even reached her.
“My lady, you’re bleeding,” said Lester, the shorter of the two guards that had come to Mablethorpe from Whitehaven with her.
“We can carry you back to the manor,” offered Ardagh, the second guard, bending over to pick her up.
“Nay!” Her hand shot up in the air to stop him. “I can walk on my own.” She stood up while Nairnie collected her basket of herbs.
“That’s a horrible wound and will need stitchin,” remarked Nairnie, staring at her bleeding arm. “What were ye doin’ that ye werena headin’ to the manor as I suggested?”
“There was a baby bird in need of help.” Autumn held her hand over the wound, trying to squeeze her ripped flesh back together to stop the flow of blood. Nairnie was right. She would need stitches.
“Ye need to stop tryin’ to play mathair to all of God’s creatures and start worryin’ about takin’ care of yerself instead.” Nairnie waggled her finger in the air, scolding Autumn like she often did even though Autumn always ignored her.
Nairnie turned on her heel and waddled away with Autumn’s basket over her arm. She was a mysterious, old woman and never talked about her past. No one even knew if she had relatives alive somewhere since she never talked about them. She had first learned of Nairnie when the old woman lived in the Highlands with Shaw Gordon’s clan – Autumn’s sister, Spring’s husband.
“I can’t nor will I ever turn away anyone or any creature in need of help,” replied Autumn. Her words reminded Nairnie, once again, that she was a caregiver even if she had noble blood running through her vein
s.
Once they all entered the great hall inside the manor, Nairnie called for hot water as well as her needle and thread. The nuns gathered around, praying aloud, trying to comfort Autumn, asking God to heal her. Autumn didn’t need comforting, nor did she feel prayers were in order.
“Please, everyone, just go back to what you were doing,” said Autumn. “And stop the praying. I don’t need it.”
“That’s blasphemy to say such a thing,” retorted Sister Mary. “You need to start praying and strengthen your faith.”
“I do pray,” Autumn reminded her. “I’ve told you before, my faith is strong, although I am more spiritual than I am religious.” It didn’t matter what she said; they wouldn’t understand. “I also believe that God wants us to be self-sufficient and not bother Him for every little thing. I am sure He has much more important things to do than to be concerned with a mere scratch on my arm.”
“Hmph,” snorted Nairnie, shaking her head. “I dinna think a mere scratch would sever the flesh and cause so much blood to flow from the wound.”
“Aye, I saw the wound. It was far from a scratch,” agreed Lester.
“What happened?” asked Sister Angela, peeking over the shoulder of the oldest nun there, Sister Bertha.
“She was struck by lightnin’,” said Nairnie, wetting the thread by sucking it between her thin lips.
“It’s a sign from God,” said one of the nuns from the crowd, blessing herself as she spoke.
“She’s being punished for something,” agreed Sister Angela, nodding vigorously.
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