A Light Within

by Darlene Mindrup

  A Light Within

  Darlene Mindrup

  Copyright

  © 1998 by Barbour Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  prologue

  At the beginning of its history, the land now known as England was shrouded in mystery. Little is known of the first human inhabitants, but they are believed to have been Stone Age cave dwellers.

  Between 8000 and 3000 B.C., settlers arrived from as far away as Spain and Brittany, in northern France. These people settled among the hilltops of southern England.

  Other people migrated there from the Rhine and Danube River regions of Europe. They wove cloth, mined tin, and made bronze tools. Among their most cryptic achievements were giant monoliths, such as those found at Stonehenge, that were believed to have been used as tribal gathering places and for astronomical inquiry.

  The first invaders of England were the Celts, who brought their nature gods with them. Their priests, the Druids, with their secret rituals and dark magic, added to the mystery surrounding the isle.

  When the Romans entered the small country, many of the secret practices of the Druids disappeared. The great Rome, although already set upon a path of self-destruction, brought peace and plenty to England—or Britannia as it was known at the time.

  Finally, Roman soldiers were withdrawn from Britannia in order to protect their homeland’s borders from warring invaders. With their departure, the small isle became helpless against the barbaric raiders who found the island among their sea travel routes.

  With each invasion a portion of England developed its own history, until at last the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes established a kingdom known as Angle-land.

  Torn apart by war, England fell into dark times. Superstition abounded, aided by the Christian church, which had been established during the Roman period. It was thought that only the clergy had the right to read God’s Word, and that the people should listen to what the church instructed.

  Education for the common man, and even for the noble, was practically nonexistent. Where there is lack of education, ignorance abounds.

  The people eked out an existence while in subservience to whichever invading power proved stronger than the rest. They did not even hope for a different way of life, for no other way of life was known.

  But into this darkness cut a ray of light. Though the people of England, finally united under one king, did not realize it, their final conqueror would set them free from the darkness that surrounded them.

  Duke William of Normandy fell upon the land with a rigor the likes of which the small isle had never seen. A fierce warrior hated by many, William’s rise to power as king of England brought much change to the land. With him, England began to prosper once again.

  Among William’s achievements were castles—first of wood, later of stone—that would finally secure the land from further invasions.

  Since William was French, he also brought a new language to the country. Most of the English people continued to speak Old English, but those who wanted power learned French.

  In time, conversing in French became fashionable, and many French words were taken by the English and added to their own language to form a new language, Middle English. After serving as king for over thirty years, this new language served finally to unite conqueror and conquered into one people.

  one

  A cold mist lay over the English countryside, a precursor of the winter to come. A lone rider approached the small village in the gathering twilight, a large man riding an even larger horse. His clothing proclaimed him a knight, but the likes of which no one in this little hamlet had ever seen.

  The black of his mail-link armor and his billowing cloak made the rider seem a colossus. A hawk rested quietly upon the arm he held out to his side, its feathers ruffled against the circling mist.

  The dismal day well suited Garek du Mor’s mood. Wherever he traveled across the English countryside, the Norman knight was met with hatred and fear. Although this bothered him little, the lives he had taken in response had made him bitter.

  He stopped at the first hut he came to and called out. Receiving no reply, he grew aggravated, for evidence of occupation was obvious: smoke curled lazily through a small hole in the thatched roof, and a soft light peeked from the small apertures serving as windows in the daub and wattle walls.

  Finally, a man stepped reluctantly out the front door. He was neither young nor old; Garek estimated him to be about a score plus ten.

  The villein studied the knight silently, hatred and fear blazing from his amber eyes.

  Doffing his helm, Garek fixed the man with a cold gray look that mirrored the leaden sky above. Shifting his mantle to the side, he exposed his huge broadsword.

  “Be you free man or serf?” the deep voice rumbled from the depths of the big knight’s chest. Although his French accent was obvious, his English was clear and articulate.

  The man’s chin lifted a notch. “Is any man free from the Normans?” he asked, bitterness evident in his voice.

  Again Garek studied the man. “Perhaps not.”

  They continued to measure each another, one full of anger and bitterness, the other curious and suspicious.

  Garek was about to speak again when the front door opened and a woman stepped out, her face hidden by the shawl thrown across her shoulders and around her face. Her trim shape was emphasized by the tightly cinched belt buckled at her waist. Garek wondered if her thin form was due to hunger.

  As the knight’s gaze wandered over the girl, the villein noticed the look and snapped at her angrily. The girl jerked to a stop, her eyes widening in alarm as she noticed for the first time the huge black-armored knight.

  Her shawl slipped from her head to nestle against her shoulders, and for a moment Garek found himself staring into huge blue eyes before the maid hastily returned to the cottage.

  Garek stared at the closed door and felt a strange urge to follow the girl. What had he seen in those incredible eyes that would give him such a thought?

  “What is it you wish of me, milord?”

  The villein’s sharp voice brought Garek’s thoughts quickly back to the mission at hand. His cold gaze settled on the man before him once again.

  “How far to Castle Fenlac?”

  Surprised, the villein took a quick step back. The fear seemed to intensify in his eyes; Garek could almost smell it emanating from his pores.

  The man pointed down the road. “About an hour’s ride that way. There is a shortcut through the woods, if you care to take it.” His voice lowered and Garek was quick to pick out the menace behind the words. “But have a care, for the forests contain many dangers of their own.”

  Sensing the threat behind the words, Garek sharpened his gaze on the man standing before him. He pushed his coif from his head, letting it rest across his shoulders, revealing the tousled blond locks beneath.

  The villein’s lips curled with contempt as he considered the Norman warrior with his short locks and clean face. His own full beard was his pride, and his brown hair lay long against his shoulders.

  “What is your name?” Garek demanded; he saw the man’s shoulders tense at the arrogance of the tone.

  “Edward,” he returned grudgingly.

  The hawk on Garek’s arm spread his wings and screeched a warning as another man appeared from around the side of the
hut. Before Garek could respond, the man turned and disappeared from sight.

  One blond eyebrow rose, but the villein offered nothing and Garek decided not to ask. There was something amiss here, but Garek didn’t have time to find out what it was. Already the twilight was deepening.

  Without another word, Garek turned his snorting destrier back to the road, not once looking back—though he was certain that if he had, the man would still be there. Garek could feel the man’s eyes upon his back.

  The mist seemed to be thickening into rain as Garek found the shortcut through the woods. His horse shied nervously as he prodded it forward, dark, shadowy fingers thickening all around them. “Easy, Corbeau,” Garek soothed, patting the beast’s huge neck, though he was none too relaxed himself.

  He was not a fearful man, but having the trees close in around him gave him pause. It wasn’t the things of the forest or the night that he feared, but the two-legged English miscreants who refused to accept William as their rightful king and even now were trying to gather their scattered people together to form a rebellion.

  The previous lord of this manor had been killed under suspicious circumstances—in a riding accident, as he was surveying his holdings in response to King William’s request.

  William had been furious and would have leveled the whole countryside in his wrath, but he chose instead to send Garek to seek answers and to maintain this essential holding until the English could be made to see reason. Garek had no intention of succumbing to the same fate as his predecessor.

  He hadn’t gone far when a movement to his left caught his eye. Reining his horse to a stop, he studied the darkening forest carefully, his soldier’s instincts on full alert.

  In the darkening twilight, he could scarcely make out a figure moving quickly toward him through the trees. He could see only one, but there could be others hiding in the dense foliage all around him.

  His heart began to race as the adrenaline pumped through his veins, and in one swift movement he sent his hawk screeching into the air as he drew his sword from its scabbard, ready for battle.

  ❧

  Brianna leaned her back against the wooden door, breathing rapidly. Her shawl dropped heedlessly to the floor as she moved to the small window opening at the front of the hut. The shutters had been left ajar so that some of the smoke from the fire pit in the middle of the room could escape.

  She could hear the voices of the big Norman and her brother, but she could not make out what was being said. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the man sitting so casually on his mount. Never had she seen such a large, imposing man.

  What was the Norman knight doing here? And all alone? She thought of the previous knight that had been given this fief by King William. That knight had been nothing like this dark warrior.

  Closing her eyes, she again pictured the man’s cold gray eyes as they had bored into hers. The darkness of his clothing seemed to well match his soul, yet in the moment their eyes had met, Brianna had seemed to see pain that was quickly veiled. Something within her had responded to the pain she beheld there.

  Her brother would be less than pleased with her thoughts, for he hated the Normans with a passion. He would never accept William as king, but why would it matter to her which man claimed to rule this earthly sod? Brianna longed for the day when the true ruler of all the earth would return, taking her home to be with Him. She was tired unto death of all the killing and hatred.

  The screech of the hawk returned her attention to what was going on outside. From the corner of her eye she noticed Thomas, the tanner. He was there for only a moment, then gone. Brianna felt herself go cold, for Thomas’s presence could only mean one thing.

  Another moment and her brother came into the house. He noticed Brianna at the window and frowned. “Get away from there.”

  She quickly did as she was told. Edward had a nasty temper and she had already tested it that day. The huge purpling bruise on her cheek gave mute testimony to the fact.

  A knock sounded at the door and Edward quickly opened it, motioning the figure inside. Thomas entered, his eyes swiftly going from Edward to Brianna and back again.

  “He is headed for the castle. Get the others,” Edward told him. Without a word Thomas slipped quietly back out the door.

  “What are you going to do?” Brianna asked her brother fearfully.

  He barely glanced her way as he went to the table in the corner to retrieve his knife. Shoving it down inside the belt of his tunic, he turned to Brianna. “Never mind. I will return shortly.”

  “Edward!”

  “Be quiet!” Glaring at her, he flung open the door and left.

  Brianna paced the confining space of their small hut, twisting her hands in agony. She had been unable to help the previous lord, but could she do something to help this man, whoever he was? She couldn’t let him be murdered when it was within her power to stop it.

  Lips set with resolve, Brianna grabbed her woolen mantle from the peg behind the door and hurried out into the fast-approaching night.

  ❧

  A small figure detached itself from the forest to his left and made its way in wraithlike silence to Garek’s side. A shiver flashed through him as a slim white hand reached up and pushed the mantle hood back, revealing the young maid he had seen at the villein’s cottage. Huge doelike eyes regarded him in silent entreaty, but he had no idea what she desired.

  “Milord, a moment please.” The melodious tone of her voice had a soothing effect on the knight and he slowly sheathed his sword. Lifting his arm, he made a loud screeching sound. A moment later his call was returned in kind, and Brianna could see a hawk circling overhead. Fascinated, she watched as the hawk glided downward, its wings back and claws extended. It landed with a soft thud against the knight’s gauntlet.

  Turning back to the girl, Garek tried to see her through the dim light. Her features were not clear, but the bruise on the side of her cheek was unmistakable.

  His eyes again met hers, and Brianna read momentary sympathy there before his face took on a closed appearance.

  “Speak,” he told her, his voice cold.

  Hesitantly, she approached his huge war horse, at the same time keeping a wary eye on the hawk. How old could she be, Garek wondered. She looked no older than a child. He could see her hands tremble at her sides as she moved closer. Something stirred in him that he hadn’t felt for a very long time, and he didn’t relish the feeling now.

  Frowning, he tried to shake off the compassion he felt for the maid. Such sentiment only weakened a man, made him vulnerable; but for some unknown reason, he wanted to know more about this girl.

  Licking suddenly dry lips, Brianna raised her gaze to Garek’s face. He was a handsome man, though a scar ran from one side of his forehead to just above his right cheekbone. Fleetingly, Brianna wondered how he had come by it, for it was obviously not a recent wound.

  “Milord, I beg you reconsider going farther into the woods.”

  Instantly alert, Garek’s eyes narrowed coldly on her face. “What say you?”

  Biting her bottom lip, Brianna tried again. “There are things in these woods that are dangerous. It is not wise to travel them alone at night. Especially not this night.”

  The warning was unmistakable, and Garek wondered why the maid should choose to caution an enemy. He looked forward along the road as though trying to see what lay ahead. Turning his attention once more to the girl, he settled back against his saddle.

  “What is your name?”

  “Brianna, milord.”

  Garek dismounted and Brianna hastily stepped out of his way as he settled the hawk on the pommel of his saddle. She had to look a long way up to see his features, straining to see them in the near darkness.

  Seemingly of its own volition, Garek’s hand raised and gently stroked the swollen bruise on the girl’s cheek. His voice was soft when he spoke.

  “Why seek you to save me, wench?”

  Heart thudding in response to his
gentle touch, Brianna could only stare at him. Why had she sought to warn him? Edward would consider her a traitor to England, and perhaps she was, but she’d had enough of death and vengeance to last her a lifetime.

  But then again, that was not it either. There was something about this giant of a man that had softened her heart. What was it about him that could do this?

  Garek’s eyes hardened perceptibly. “Or perhaps you fear for some other? Tell me plainly what you know.”

  “Milord, I cannot.”

  Growing angry, Garek grasped her by her upper arms, his fingers biting into her flesh. “Someone waits in the wood? Is this what you are trying to say?” When she didn’t answer, he shook her slightly. “Is it?”

  She could only nod her head, biting her lip in agitation. Releasing her, he glared down the road before looking back to Brianna. “How many?”

  Brianna shrugged her shoulders and then realized he probably could not see the movement in the now complete darkness. “I know not,” she told him, and he could hear the sincerity in her voice.

  Garek stood motionless a long time, trying to decide his best course of action. He didn’t altogether believe the maid though something about her inspired his trust. Sighing, he turned to Brianna. “Return to your home. I am in your debt.”

  “What will you do?” she asked him.

  He didn’t answer. Turning, he took his hawk upon his arm and swiftly mounted his horse. Surprised at her willingness to do so, Brianna reached out and gripped the reins he held clasped in his hand. “Please, milord. You won’t kill them?”

  It was then that Garek realized the woman’s husband must be involved. His gray eyes turned to slate. Had the woman betrayed her own husband and then hoped for Garek’s mercy, or did she perhaps hope that he would slay the man and so free her from his obviously abusive company? He almost snarled at the thought. All women were an unfaithful lot and no one knew it better than he!

  Jerking the reins from her hands, Garek spurred his destrier into a gallop. He could hear the woman calling to him from behind, but he closed his ears to the sound. Dark demons from his past reared their ugly heads and his anger grew. He welcomed the challenge of a good fight. That he was alone did not bother him. He was beyond reason.