Seeking The Truth - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 11)

by Shea,Lisa

  “You could not have been expected to,” smiled Morgan in understanding. “It was important you be misled, so that we would keep Cassandra in the trap.”

  Sean looked to his aunt. “Lady Donna, do you have the ribbons I asked for yesterday?”

  Lady Donna reached into the pouch at her side, withdrew a pair of rose colored ribbons, stepping forward to hand them to Sean. He took them with reverence, turning to stand before Morgan with them.

  “Morgan, I was always told by my mother that I should only say ‘I love you’ to a woman when I was immediately prepared to follow it up with ‘will you be my wife.’ She taught me that love was a serious emotion, only to be entered into when a lifetime commitment was soon to follow.”

  He looked down at the ribbons, and then back up into her eyes. “I understand your desire to take this slowly, and I echo your feelings. Anything worth doing is worth doing with attention and care. There is no rush to marry when we will be together an entire lifetime. Haste is for children afraid of losing something; patience is the hallmark of adults who trust. I trust in you.”

  He held forth the ribbons. “I offer myself to you in a handfasting. We will bind ourselves together for a year and a day. We will live together at the keep, learn about each other, grow to understand each other. When that time is done, when the engagement period is complete, then we can return, together, to this chapel to take our next step.”

  He stood very still, his eyes on hers.

  “What say you, my love?”

  Morgan’s world closed in, and it seemed a glistening moonbeam shone down on Sean’s face, on the pair of ribbons he held patiently before him. He had understood her fears, had not dismissed them, and had found the perfect solution. She looked around her, seeing the proud eyes of her parents, the encouraging gazes of her friends, the support of her community and fellow soldiers. She turned back to meet Sean’s gaze, to take his hands.

  “I love you,” she vowed softly, “and I will join with you.”

  “You are sure you will not regret it?” he prodded gently, running a thumb along her skin, his mouth curving into a smile.

  She stepped forward to press herself fully against him, bringing her mouth up to his, drawing him into a long, languorous kiss. Her eyes were smoky with passion when she drew back, and she smiled to see the same hot desire reflected in his gaze.

  “Every morning I awake, I will count my blessings,” she vowed in a whisper, “and every night -”

  Sean groaned softly, sliding his arm around her waist, turning to bring her up to the altar. “Let us get this over with quickly,” he growled under his breath, “so I can thank you properly.”

  She moved alongside him, drawing her eyes up to meet his as they stepped up toward the altar. “Keep this up, and you may know what it feels like to sleep with a married woman,” she chuckled, her voice rich with promise.

  “Maybe you will finally sleep with a married man,” responded Sean, his voice thick, turning to face her, his eyes shining.

  The priest stepped forward, taking the ribbons from Sean, lacing them up and over and around their joined hands. Morgan held her gaze on Sean’s, swept away by her emotions.

  “Forever,” she whispered, squeezing his hands with the lightest of touches.

  The priest gently snugged the ribbons which held them together, then moved back, ready to begin the ceremony.

  “Forever,” agreed Sean, and his voice echoed with warm promise, with heartfelt desire, with the strength of an unshakable vow.

  Chapter 24

  Six Months Later

  Morgan looked with fascination around the docks of Liverpool. “This is amazing! Every part of England has a completely different flavor to it.”

  Sean smiled in agreement. “It’s part of why Peter, Roger, and I enjoy our profession so much. We get to explore this great country of ours.” He drew her close. “Still, you won’t mind when we retire in a year or two, will you? To be at home more and spend more time with Donna?”

  Morgan grinned. “I won’t mind at all. I’m missing Christian and Oliver already. Although I think Christian and Latisha might get married before we do. She seemed a little … round … the last time we visited.”

  His eyes shone as he took her in. “Have you thought about …”

  She pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Yes. Lots of kids. And we will have the happiest, most chaotic, most wonderful family that has ever been seen. Full of love and exuberance.”

  He drew her in against him, holding her tight. “You are an amazing woman. Do you know that?”

  She chuckled. “Only because you tell me every day.”

  He nuzzled in against her. “Then let me tell you again …”

  A woman came striding down the docks, dressed in a pale tunic and pants. She had an empty scabbard at her hip and her long, blonde hair was drawn back tight from her face. Her eyes were shadowed with weariness.

  “Sean?” she asked.

  Sean nodded, drawing his arm around Morgan. “And my soon to be wife, Morgan.”

  Morgan nudged him. “Six months. We’re still in the handfasting phase.”

  “Five months and twenty-nine days,” he countered.

  Sadness echoed behind the woman’s eyes, and she deftly changed the subject. “I’m Kath, with the Irish brigade. I’m looking for a man. Roger. Dark hair, soldier’s uniform, probably drunk.”

  Sean nudged his head. “Two streets down – seems to be where the darker bars are clustered. He’s probably in one of those.”

  She gave a wry sigh. “And I guess I’ll have to go delving into every single one to find him. Just my luck.” She looked at her hip. “And some jokester decided it was a fine time to hide my sword on me, too. As if I don’t have enough grief to deal with.”

  Morgan listened to her accent. “Where in Ireland are you from?”

  The woman’s face shadowed further. “I’ve just been training there for six years. But where I’m from … well, it’s south of here, but it isn’t there any more. Pirates made sure of that.”

  Morgan’s heart went out to her. “I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded automatically. “Happens up and down the coast here. It’s why we’ve been sent. To try to rein the bastards in.”

  Sean spoke up. “It’s my unit’s task as well, although we’re about to rotate out. I think you’re coming in to fill that. I wish you luck. It’s not an easy job – but it’s very worthwhile. You can make a difference.”

  A faint light lit her eyes. “I hope so.” Again the darkness returned and her hand swept her hip. “If I had something other than my fingernails to fight with.”

  A soft buzzing came from Morgan’s hip. From the sword that Catherine and Jack had given her, as they prepared to re-start their destroyed homeland. And here, in front of her, was a woman who seemed to be on the same mission.

  What was that that Catherine had said?

  Do not become too fond of Andetnes. When you have at last found contentment, there will be another whose fate balances on the point of a pin. You will know when it is right. And the sword will have a new mistress.

  Morgan’s eyes went to the pale woman. “What’s your name?”

  “Kath,” she responded. “I’m from … I was from … West Kirby.”

  Morgan waved a hand toward an outside tavern set up along the pier. “Kath, do you have twenty minutes for an ale? I think I have a perfect solution for your weapons issue.”

  Kath looked for a moment down the trash-strewn alley behind them, and then she nodded, a soft smile coming to her lips. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

  Morgan put a hand on her arm. She had a feeling that Andetnes was ready to do its miraculous work for someone who deserved it immensely.

  *

  The Sword of Glastonbury series continues with Book 12, Looking Back –

  http://www.amazon.com/Looking-Back-Medieval-Romance-Glastonbury-ebook/dp/B007L8G2YW/

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  As a special treat, as a warm thank-you for reading this book and supporting the cause of battered women, here’s a sneak peek at the first chapter of Looking Back.

  Looking Back - Prologue

  England, 1208

  “Learning is not child’s play –

  We cannot learn without pain.”

  — Aristotle

  Lucia gazed out at the faire’s dense throng, the thunderous applause rolling over her in waves, a hot flush coursing through her as she took in the admiring gazes of a weathered fisherman with muscular shoulders, a sun-browned farmer winking a twinkling eye, a slender potter flexing delicate fingers, a swarthy butcher flashing a sharp smile, even a bright-eyed tinker with a blush. They were all staring at her, all coming up to the edge of the wooden platform to cheer their praise for her singing. Each man wanted to be the one to offer a hand, to help her down the short step onto the lush grass of the town green. The spring sun glowed warmly across the swarm of people; a gentle breeze tickled the ribbons on the maypole into a fluttering, swirling spiral.

  A strong grasp latched securely on her arm, and she was pulled roughly from the maelstrom of adoring fans, dragged over to the shelter of the ancient oak on the eastern edge of the fairgrounds. A pair of stormy eyes looked down at her with jealous heat, and his voice ground out low and tense.

  “You should have waited for me before you descended into that mob,” Roger growled, his dark brown eyes sweeping possessively down her delicate face to the long, spiraling curls of blonde hair which trailed down the back of her buttercup-yellow dress. “You could have easily been hurt.”

  Lucia’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “Always giving orders, never discussing.” The corner of her mouth quirked up as she soaked in the heat in his gaze. She leant back against the gnarled trunk, pulling Roger in against her, her eyes sultry. “Besides, I like being pressed in,” she murmured, bringing her hands up against his back.

  Roger let out a sharp breath, and then he was up against her, kissing her hard, and she brought her hands into his thick, dark hair, breathless with the power of his strong muscles, his sturdy build sandwiching her against the strength of the oak. The kiss enveloped her for long minutes before he reluctantly drew away, his eyes smoky with passion.

  “Maybe I should not let you sing again, if it causes such a sensation,” he muttered hoarsely, looking down into her green eyes with barely restrained desire.

  “You are not my husband yet,” she smiled up to him with a teasing lilt. “I have every right to do as I will. If I want to sing, if I want to go walking with another man -”

  His eyes flashed with sharp anger. “Do not push me,” he bit out. “If I were ever to find you in the arms of another man -”

  “You had best keep me content, then,” she whispered mischievously into his ear, withdrawing herself from his arms, turning to look out over the throngs of the faire, at the assortment of booths and minstrels and livestock. Her eyes lit up with delight as a trio of young blond boys came racing up to clamor at her side. She grinned with pleasure, drawing them in against her. Each child received a fond hug before she tousled the hair of the eldest, prodding him with a gentle shove.

  “The fun is over; my song is done. Back to the stall with you all,” she ordered with mock severity. “I am sure father needs you to lay out fish or help with packing for customers. We may have our best day yet, at this rate!” The three turned in a tumble, scampering off with exuberance in the direction of her family’s booth.

  She turned back to face Roger. “So, speaking of dueling for my hand,” she mused with a sparkle in her eye, “I will be turning sixteen in another month, you know. If you delay over long in making us official, I may just have to run off with a tinker.” She winked at him, the corner of her mouth turning up in a grin.

  Roger’s eyes narrowed. “Do not even joke about that,” he retorted with a snap. “You know we barely hear from my older sister, and she has been gone several months now.”

  Lucia spun in a circle, her arms out at full stretch, soaking in the bright sunshine of the spring day. She took Roger’s hand in hers, pulling him along as she moved toward a stall flowering with ribbons and bows. “You are so serious, and you are barely twenty,” she grumbled cheerfully. “Your sister followed her heart! She is off on a grand adventure with the man she loves! What could be better than that?” As they reached the vendor’s booth she ran her fingers along a pink piece of fabric, admiring its texture. “Genevieve’s life certainly sounds more entertaining than mine. I am stuck in this gossipy small town gutting fish all day.” She wrinkled her nose, then began sorting through the ribbons, separating them out between her fingers to get a better look.

  “You want a better life, and that is why we must wait,” insisted Roger, his voice tense. “I have explained this to you many times. My father is just a woodcutter; we do not have money saved. Once I join the soldiers, things will be better.”

  “Better?” Lucia’s voice was skeptical. “If you became a soldier, you would change. You would learn how to hurt people, how to kill. Best we stay far away from those types.”

  “You know soldiers are not all like that,” he quickly contested. “I promise – I would not be hardened by it. I simply do not have many options for earning the money we need. If I just save up for a year or two -”

  Lucia stamped her foot, turning to stare up at him, shaking her head. “Another year?” she moaned in frustration. “I want to be married now! I want to be an adult, to do what I want to do, to get on with my life!”

  Roger took in a deep breath, gazing down at her wide eyes, and let it out in a long sigh. He laid a hand tenderly against her soft cheek, his eyes gentling. “We have our whole lives in front of us,” he soothed her, his voice becoming a caress. “There is no rush. What is another year or two, so that we build a strong foundation for our life?”

  Several of the ribbons blew free, and he knelt in an instant, catching them in his fingers. Lucia looked down, running a hand fondly through the hair at the back of his head. “I need to re-trim that cowlick of yours,” she commented with a smile. “It always stands up after a day or two.” She peeled a yellow ribbon from his fingers, then turned to the store keep, handing him a small coin. The item paid for, she wove the ribbon through her long blonde curls.

  When she was done, she took him by the hand. “Why do you want to be a soldier, anyway?” she asked, meandering along to another booth. “All those swords, and think of the danger. If you feel we need money, why not work with leather, or build furniture?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, glancing down at the heavy muscles of his arms. “Soldiering seems to be what I am best suited for,” he commented, “and besides, it appeals to me to help protect the innocent.

  “I am innocent,” she offered in a low voice, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “Who will protect me?”

  He groaned beneath his breath, pulling her close, bringing his lips down to kiss her. The kiss coursed through her body, sending her toes tingling, her heart racing. She was breathing deeply by the time he released her.

  “You are a vixen,” he growled tenderly, gazing down into her eyes.

  “Then maybe you should not desert me for a year or two,” she teased him with a twinkle. “Who knows if I would wait even another day.”

  “Lucia, please …” he sighed, his voice low. “It is best for us.”

  She grinned, then glanced up at the sky, drawn by the incandescent orange streaks which were streaming across the royal blue. “Dusk is coming – I need to head home to prepare for tomorrow. It looks li
ke we will need all of our spare stock to get through the faire’s final day. You will be here?”

  “Since you will be here, I would not choose to be anywhere else,” he agreed with a smile, drawing her hands into his own.

  “Unless you run off to become a soldier in the meantime,” she pointed out, her face widening into a grin.

  “Unless that,” he chuckled.

  “Or unless I run off with that tinker from Birkenhead because I tire of waiting for you,” She teased, winking at him.

  He pursed his lips, but did not respond, only bringing her hands up, lowering his head to tenderly kiss them.

  She gave his hands a final squeeze, then pulled her own free. Lucia turned and headed out, her feet lightly skipping over the grass as she moved from booth to booth along the way, examining a ring, then running her hands along a bolt of fabric.

  Roger watched her go, as always captivated by her beauty and innocent grace. She reached the end of the fairgrounds, then looked back to give him a wave. He raised his hand in farewell. She smiled, then turned her head and vanished into the forest beyond.

  http://www.amazon.com/Looking-Back-Medieval-Romance-Glastonbury-ebook/dp/B007L8G2YW/

  Medieval Dialogue

  I’ve been fascinated by medieval languages since I was quite young. I grew up studying Spanish, English, and Latin, and loved the sound of reading Beowulf and the Canterbury Tales in their original languages. I adore the richness of medieval languages. How did medieval English people speak?

  There are three aspects to this. The first is the difference between written records and spoken language. The second is the rich, multi-cultural aspect of medieval life. And the third is how to convey this to a modern-language audience.

  Let’s take the first. Sometimes modern people equate the way medieval folk would talk, hanging around a rustic tavern, with the way Chaucer wrote his famous Canterbury Tales. Something along the lines of this (note this is a modern translation, not the original Middle English version):

  “Of weeping and wailing, care and other sorrow

  I know enough, at eventide and morrow,”