“Aye,” he said, tearing his gaze away from her and looking out over the glistening gray land. “I feel it. It is Wales, a place wrought of demons and wild men.”
Penelope looked at him; Kevin was an enormous man, like his father, with broad shoulders and big arms, but he had his mother’s coloring in his green eyes and dark hair. He was quite handsome, and he most definitely had his father’s temperament, rather calm and sedate.
“I have never heard of demons in Wales,” she said. “But I have heard of mysterious creatures and of strange magic. Uncle Paris once told me that the Northmen brought their magic with them and left it here long ago. He told me a story once about a Welsh enchantress who could change form at will.”
Kevin snorted. “Uncle Paris likes to tell stories.”
“You do not believe in magic, Kevin?”
Kevin fought off a grin as he looked at her. He didn’t want to seem condescending. “I believe in what I can see or taste or feel. If there is magic in this world, I have yet to truly see it.”
Penelope clawed a hand at him. “Be still, else I will turn you into a fish and throw you into the marsh over near those trees.”
His grin broke through. “So you think yourself a witch, do you?”
Penelope lowered the hand and giggled. “Nay, I am not a witch,” she said, her smile fading as she gazed upon the silvery landscape of the unfamiliar country. “If I was, then I would cast a spell so that I would not have to marry The Serpent. Why is he called The Serpent, anyway? Can no one tell me this?”
It was difficult for Kevin to bite his tongue. “He is said to be a great warrior and a great commander,” he said, feeling his heart tug with sorrow. “He is called The Serpent because his strike is deadly. He was at Llandeilo in the battle where we lost your brother, James. We were told he masterminded the battle. It was a vicious fight, to be sure.”
Penelope looked at him, sadness in her expression as she remembered that terrible time. “James died in Papa’s arms,” she murmured. “Papa has not yet recovered from it.”
Kevin nodded faintly. “Nor I,” he said. “James was a good friend. I miss him every day.”
Penelope thought on her tall, blond brother a moment. “That is why Papa has brokered this marriage,” she said, sounding as if she were trying to talk herself into the favor of the situation. “He does not want to lose another son in battle against the Welsh. I understand his logic although it does not make me happy to be the peace offering. Why could he not offer your sister, Rose? Why must it be me?”
Kevin had asked himself that same question a dozen times although he knew the answer. “Because you are the daughter of The Wolfe,” he said simply. “Rose is the daughter of a mere knight. It would not have the same impact.”
Penelope knew that. She grunted unhappily. “But Rose wants to remarry after James died last year,” she said. “She would make a much more willing bride than I do.”
Kevin was silent, his gaze moving out over the marsh to the north. “Do you not want children and a family of your own someday?”
He should not have asked it because the answer, either way, would hurt him. Still, he had foolishly asked. Penelope’s lips twisted wryly.
“I would not know how to be a good wife,” she said. “I have never had an interest in such things. Katheryn and Evelyn did, but not me. Never me.”
Kevin glanced at her, studying her glorious beauty in the moonlight and thinking of William and Jordan’s two other daughters. Katheryn, the eldest, was in Jordan’s image, blond and lovely, while Evelyn, the second daughter, took after the Scots side of the family with her pale skin and red hair. Penelope, however, was all William; she had his dark brown hair and hazel-gold eyes, giving her a most striking countenance.
It was widely accepted that Penelope was the most beautiful out of all of The Wolfe’s daughters except for the unfortunate habit she had of dressing, and generally acting, like a knight. It was that lifestyle that her mother had been fearful of, but one Kevin understood completely. He wondered if The Serpent would understand, too. After a moment’s reflection of a marriage to the woman he loved that would never be, he sighed sadly and looked away.
“Your marriage will be more prestigious than your sisters’,” he said, trying to sound positive when all he really wanted to do was beg her not to do it. “Katheryn married my older brother and Evelyn married Hector, but neither one of them will marry a warlord with such great stature. It is something you should be proud of.”
Penelope opened her mouth to speak but something in the distance caught her attention. There seemed to be something moving in the shadows of the marsh, something she couldn’t quite make out. It seemed to flicker and roll, and just as she narrowed her eyes to get a better look at it, it quickly vanished. Thinking it was a trick of the moonlight, she returned her attention to Kevin only to see her father strolling up in the darkness.
“Greetings, Papa,” she said as William approached. “All is well.”
William came upon the pair, glancing at Kevin to see if he could determine the course of the conversation and the mood in the air, but Kevin met his gaze steadily. There was nothing in his expression suggesting anything other than a normal situation and William was relieved.
“That is good to know,” he said, pausing as his gaze moved out over the ghostly landscape. It was indeed still and quiet. After a moment, he looked at his daughter. “Leave the night watch to Kevin. You must get some sleep. You have an important day ahead of you.”
Penelope frowned. “I will retire soon,” she said, trying to ignore her father now that she knew why he had come. “A few more hours and I will come to bed.”
“Nay,” William said, more firmly. “You will come now. Kevin can handle the north perimeter. Scott and Troy are off to the west while the rest of the knights are spread out. You are not needed.”
Penelope’s frown deepened. “Papa, truly, I am not tired in the least,” she insisted. “I do not want….”
She was cut off by an unearthly howl that came from the direction of the marsh. It was so loud that it literally reverberated off of the trees, tents, or anything else that happened to provide a measure of sound resistance. Penelope whirled in the direction of the marsh, as did Kevin and William. Penelope was armed, as was Kevin, and the broadswords came out.
It had been a terrible and shattering sound, one that sent hearts to racing with apprehension. In this vast and unfamiliar land, it was an unwelcome and unsettling noise. They stood there, watching and waiting, as the entire camp began to stir.
“What was that?” Penelope asked, rather breathlessly.
William was characteristically calm, his one good eye scrutinizing the moonlit lands. He slowly shook his head.
“I do not know,” he said. “A creature of some kind, I suppose. Hopefully the fires will keep it away.”
Penelope looked at her father with some fear in her expression. “A creature?” she repeated. “I have never heard any creature make that kind of noise.”
William wasn’t inclined to get worked up about it; the man was not easily spooked. He had learned long ago not to get agitated over things he could not control.
“If it shows itself, then we shall know what it is,” he said, his gaze lingering on the marshy area a moment longer before returning to his daughter. “Meanwhile, you will come with me and get some sleep. If you resist me, know that I will carry you over my shoulder.”
Penelope still had her sword up in front of her, defensively. The otherworldly howl still had the hair on the back of her neck on end. Before she could respond to her father, she could see a pair of men making their way towards them from the darkness of the camp. The first face she could make out was Kieran, looking as if he had just awoken from a deep sleep. He slept heavily and long these days, an old man whose health had seen better times. Next to him came another familiar face, a big and handsome man with graying blond hair. Penelope fixed on him.
“Did you hear that noise, Uncle Paris?�
� she asked eagerly. “Could that be the creatures you have told me lurk in these lands? The ones that followed the Northmen here those centuries ago?”
Sir Paris de Norville scratched his head as he glanced at William; William and Paris had been the best of friends since their days as squires, having served in the north and fought against the Scots side by side for more years than they cared to remember. Closer than brothers, they could generally read each other’s minds. At the moment, Paris was fairly certain that William was unhappy with him for filling Penelope’s head with wild tales of Wales. He tried not to look too guilty.
“It was an interesting sound, to be sure,” Paris said, avoiding her question. “We thought we heard it come from this direction.”
William nodded. “I believe so.”
“You did not see anything?”
“Nay.”
All eyes were trained on the marsh beneath the full moon. Paris pointed in the direction of the swampy and dark lands. “I saw a small lake to the north of the marsh when we rode in,” he said. “There is not much land in that direction. It all seems to be water.”
Kieran came to stand next to his son as Paris and William tried to calm Penelope. She had been trained as a knight, that was true, but she tended to get excited due to her young and passionate nature. As Kieran and Kevin scanned the silvery landscape for any hint of what might have made such a terrible sound, it was Kevin who finally spotted the source. He pointed a big finger towards the north.
“Father?” he said to Kieran, struggling to maintain a calm demeanor. “Do you see that?”
Kieran, old as he was, still had sharp eyesight. He was starting to see what his son was pointing at and he didn’t like it one bit. At first, he wasn’t sure he was seeing clearly but as the thing began to move and its form became clearer in the moonlight, Kieran fought down a sense of shock. He could hardly believe his eyes.
“Aye,” he muttered. “What in the hell is it?”
“I do not know.”
Kieran gazed at the sight a moment longer before turning to William, his expression grim. “How far is Rhydilian Castle from here?”
By now, William, Paris, and Penelope were also straining to catch a glimpse of what had Kieran and Kevin’s attention. They all saw it at nearly the same time, a very large and horrific vision that seemed to displace entire mounds of earth and swamp as it moved. Water sloshed and trees were uprooted in its path. It was, in truth, a terrifying and startling sight, and quite difficult to comprehend.
“Too far,” William growled. Still, he was on the move. “Too far but we have no choice. Rouse the camp and tell them to take only what they can carry on horseback. Leave everything else behind. Knights will hang back and form a line to give the others time to reach the castle. Kieran, Kevin; move.”
He didn’t even wait for the men to swing into action, knowing that they would without question. As Penelope stood there, eyes wide and mouth agape, William grabbed her and pulled her away with him.
The last thing Penelope heard as her father hurried her across the camp was another horrifying, unearthly howl, this one closer than the last. It was coming for them, this nightmare from the mysterious lands of the Welsh, looming closer and closer, perhaps attracted by the smell of human flesh. It was difficult to know why it came, only that it had, and all Penelope could think about was reaching her mother. She couldn’t even think about herself; all she knew was that she had to get her mother to safety.
Death approached.
Read the rest of SERPENT in eBook or paperback. Don’t forget to pick up a copy of THE WOLFE, the prequel to SERPENT.
Breath from the Sea
Book Three: Thistle and Roses
Eliza Knight
Dear Reader,
I’ve always been fascinated by female pirates, and being of Irish heritage, I was so thrilled to finally bring one to life! In Breath from the Sea, my heroine, Antónia, is the granddaughter of Grace O’Malley (Granuaille), one of the most infamous female pirates in history. She was Irish, and did in fact meet with Queen Elizabeth I, gaining a pardon for her son, Viscount Mayo, along with a stipend! She played both sides of the coin in the Irish rebellion. Her daughter did marry the Demon of Corraun, who is my heroine’s father (though there is no record of his children, convenient for me!).
Before you begin the prologue to my story, please read The Lore of the Lucius Ring! It is the legend behind the infamous ring in my story.
I do hope you enjoy this story, and how a bit of history has been weaved in with our legend of Theodosia and Lucius!
Best wishes,
Eliza
The Lore of the Lucius Ring
By Kathryn Le Veque
128 A.D.
The Junii Villa, 8 miles northwest of Rome
It was a strong breeze that swept of the Tyrrenhian Sea, a breeze that was a breath from the gods, from Poseidon as he bellowed angrily at the land which he could not dominate. This summer season had been unusually warm and the sea breezes reflected that unnatural heat. The locals said that it was because Hades had left the gates of hell open and what they were experiencing was the great belches of infernal fire, but Theodosia dismissed the native dramatics as she usually did. Moreover, she had no time for such things. These days, she had little time for anything other than her own grief.
On the placid morning, Theodosia sat upon a cushioned chair in the peristylium, a garden area that was towards the rear of her parents’ villa outside of Rome. It was a villa that had been in her family for generations, as her family, the Junii, were long-established nobility among the patrician society of Rome. Along with respect and wealth came privilege, and Theodosia’s entire life had been one of advantage and pleasure, and when it came time for her to marry, her father (much the slave to his daughter’s wishes), allowed her to select her own husband. Select she did, a young and dashing Roman officer from a good family named Lucius Maximus Aentillius.
Lucius.
The mere name entering her mind used to bring torrents of tears, ever since the letter from the governor of Londinium, addressed to her father, had been received those six months ago. It is my sincerest regret to inform you that the Twentieth Victorious Valerian Legion was discovered to be overrun upon the great Vallum Aelium. All within the legion were lost.
Lost….
Now, Theodosia pretended to be numb to the mention of her husband’s name because her constant tears frightened her young daughter. Lucius’ daughter. Whenever she looked into that little face, she saw her husband within in the depths; dark and curly hair, hazel eyes… all of this was Lucius. Mostly, she cried for the child that would never know her father and for the father who never knew he had a child. These days, Theodosia cried many tears for many reasons.
She also cried for herself.
Twenty-three years of age was quite early to be widowed, but that was the position she found herself in. Her family, as well-connected as they were, and with her father being a senator, she knew she would not be able to remain a widow much longer. Already, her father’s friend, Proculus Tarquinius Geganius, was filling her father’s ear with a stew of poisonous suggestions that would see his son, Marcus, married to Theodosia. Marcus didn’t like girl-children, however, so Theodosia’s young daughter, Lucia, would have to remain with her grandparents. In spite of the girl-child, however, Marcus was willing to marry the beautiful Theodosia.
Theodosia, however, was unwilling to marry him. Her life, void of joy and cast into a sea of turmoil those six months ago, was threatening to become worse with the axe of marriage hanging over her head. Despair and sorrow were her constant companions. If her parents had anything to say about it, she would marry Marcus and little Lucia would no longer be welcome to live with her mother, but Theodosia would not let that happen.
Above all else, she and Lucia would remain together.
On this warm morning, Theodosia watched Lucia play in the pond in the middle of the peristylium, her thoughts lingering on the day she and Lucius had
met. It had happened along the sea shore where she had been walking along with friends and collecting lovely shells. Lucius and some of his cohorts had rowed onto the sand from a Roman warship that had been anchored off shore, invading their shell-gathering, but no one seemed to mind at that point. Theodosia and her friends had been laughing, enjoying life and enjoying the sun, when six brawny soldiers disembarked from their cog.
It was a moment that changed Theodosia’s life forever.
The soldiers were quite interested in the women along the beach, but Theodosia’s friends fled, leaving Theodosia standing on the beach with her apron full of sea shells. Realizing she was alone, she had tried to flee but the sea shells had fallen to the sand and the next she realized, Lucius was helping her pick them all up. She gazed into the man’s gentle, warm eyes and she was lost.
A brief courtship followed in the usual fashion except she discovered her lover to be quite prolific with prose – Lucius would write her poetry, in secret of course, because if his cohorts in the legion caught wind of the fact that Lucius would write songs of love and beauty, he might have been laughed at. But, oh, the prose! The beauty of his words! And the last line, in anything he wrote her, was always the same:
Cum cogitationes solum de uobis. With dreams only of you.
Words that had such great meaning to them, in fact, that Lucius had them inscribed on the wedding ring he gave her. It was a family ring that had come through Lucius’ very wealthy mother whose family had descended from the Greek gods centuries before. It was said that Silvia’s family was half-divine, descended from Mars, and when Lucius gave Theodosia his mother’s family ring, he told her that the ring had come from Aphrodite herself. The ring, a very dark gold with a crimson-colored ruby, appeared old enough to have perhaps truly been forged by the gods.
Lords of Ireland II Page 40