“You’ll need help to secure and restore Bristol,” Geoffrey insisted.
“Aye, and I have help. Hugh will stay, and I plan to ask Thomas to take a permanent position here. You’re needed at Kenshire.” Bryce looked back and forth between two sets of eyes that matched his own, startling blue and unflinching. His brother had the uncanny and singular ability to make him break eye contact.
Yet he would not back down, both for the reasons he had given Geoffrey and for others he didn’t wish to share.
“If you wish.” Geoffrey gripped his arm. “I’m proud of you.”
His chest constricted, but the feeling did not have time to take root. Geoffrey had already turned away to say something to their uncle.
Five years they’d sought their revenge. The Scots who’d invaded their home and killed their parents were finally defeated. Driven out. But now that the day of reckoning had arrived, Bryce felt unexpectedly devoid of emotion. He stared at the building in front of them, an old tower at the center of the manor. From the outside, it looked the same.
He’d balled his fists in anger when they went inside earlier. The manor’s decorative features were now distinctly Scottish. He would rectify that immediately.
“Excuse me, Uncle. Brother.”
Walking through the courtyard, Bryce surveyed his land as he looked for his steward. Or the man he hoped would be his steward.
Built on river basin two days’ ride from the border, Bristol Manor had started as nothing more than a single defense tower and an attached hall. Though it was still no grand castle like the one Geoffrey now occupied, it was a handsome stone structure that had been improved enough throughout the years to make it worth capturing. Surrounded by a curtain wall, an addition courtesy of Bryce’s father, it was large enough to house the men who’d fought for them that day, but not many more. Bryce’s father had also added the buildings he now passed, including the solar block, storerooms, and stable.
Finding his right-hand man in the courtyard was easy, for Thomas’s long brown hair and beard made him appear as wild as the bears they had hunted as boys. Bryce, on the other hand, shaved nearly every day. It was a habit from his days as a squire, one of the many quirks he acquired at Huntington.
“Thomas.”
Although they had height in common, their resemblance stopped there.
Thomas clapped him on the shoulder in greeting. “So grim for such a great victory. We lost just one man and Bristol is yours again.”
“We’ll celebrate once we’ve secured the area and stripped it of the Kerr stench. The hall reeks of Scots.”
“We can be sure it’s not you.” Thomas leaned in as if to smell him. “I’ve yet to meet a maid that bathes as much.”
Thomas didn’t have a serious thought in his head. Bryce gave him a look that said as much.
“Very well.” Thomas abruptly stopped smiling, drew his bushy eyebrows together, and gave him such a deliberately serious look it almost made him laugh.
Almost.
“Any news?” Before the raid ended that morning, he’d charged Thomas with scouting the area beyond Bristol in every direction.
“Aye,” Thomas said, finally offering some useful information. “Most of the men have returned save those who were sent north. The village is secure, and there are no signs of Clan Kerr to the east or west.”
Bryce frowned, and he watched as Thomas’s easygoing grin transformed into a scowl that matched his own. He knew without asking that they were entertaining the same thought. In all likelihood, the usurpers had fled north, toward the holes from which they’d crawled in the first place. Which meant some ill fate might have befallen their men.
“The scouts should have returned by now,” said Bryce.
“Most of that group are from Kenshire,” Thomas offered. “Perhaps they’re unused to the terrain?”
Both men looked in the direction the scouting party would have traveled. The lush, flat land where they stood gave way to rolling hills. From this distance, with spring finally upon them, the rising slopes appeared green and smooth. The terrain appeared ideally suited for an afternoon ride, but Bryce knew the reality of those mountains from experience. Only borderers could appreciate the stark contrast that was Northern England. One day’s ride could offer wide-open fields, roaring rivers, and treacherous inclines which taxed all but the heartiest of steeds bred for such terrain.
“Thomas.” Bryce put aside the thought of potential trouble to the north for a moment. Steeling himself for the possibility his friend would deny him, he said, “Will you stay on at Bristol Manor as its steward? I can offer continued raids, battles with our Scottish neighbors, and very likely retribution from Clan Kerr.” He wished he were exaggerating.
The large knight gestured to the mostly muddy courtyard of the manor they had fought to reclaim.
“So tempting.” His trademark grin returned. “It would be my honor. Mayhap I can even coax a smile from the Slayer as Bristol’s new steward.”
Thomas knew he despised that nickname, which was exactly why he’d used it. Unfortunately, it was not a comment on Bryce’s battle prowess, as it sounded, but on his effect on women.
“Maybe not,” Thomas said.
“When you’re done joking, can you alert Geoffrey and Hugh? I’m going to find the search party.” He sensed Thomas’s displeasure but knew his new steward wouldn’t attempt to dissuade him.
“You’ll take men with you?” Thomas asked.
“Aye.”
It appeared they may have started celebrating too soon.
She was going to have one hell of a headache. Father Simon and his penance be damned for using such a word. She hadn’t said it out loud, after all.
Catrina Kerr had never felt a more intense pain in the twenty and two years she’d been alive. It shot from her head down through her back, which was currently prone on…
Where am I?
It hurt to open her eyes even though the sun was nowhere to be seen.
She heard the sound of trickling water moments before she registered the water penetrating her shoe. The river, then.
Toren! The raid.
It all came back at once. The bloodcurdling screams. Her brother’s frantic yells for her to hurry.
One minute, she had been sitting on a low rock wall behind the manor watching the sun rise—just as she did nearly every morning. The next, shouts had come from every direction. Before the danger could sink in, her clansmen had pulled her from the wall and practically dragged her to the front of the manor house. How could she forget Toren’s gut-wrenching screams as he called her name?
Where was her brother?
She had to get up.
Catrina tried to sit, but her head felt as if someone had taken a war hammer to it.
Where is everyone?
Dizzy and panicked, she lay back down and closed her eyes.
The Lord’s Captive is Available Now on Amazon
About the Author
Cecelia Mecca is the author of medieval romance, including the Border Series, and sometimes wishes she could be transported back in time to the days of knights and castles. Although her actual home is in Northeast Pennsylvania where she lives with her husband and two children, her online home can be found at CeceliaMecca.com. She would love to hear from you.
Stay in touch:
info@ceceliamecca
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my husband for his endless patience and support. From starting the tub while I sneak in a few chapters or entertaining the loves of my life while I escape to Starbucks to edit, he is my real-life knight in shining armor.
Thank you to my mother and siblings who are not allowed to read The Thief’s Countess due to graphic content. With any luck someone will tell them I’ve acknowledged them in this book.
Twenty years ago when research was conducted in the library, not the internet, I began writing this book and am grateful for so many people that helped turn a dream into reality. Madeline Martin, Emma
Prince and Keira Montclair came into my life at the time I needed each most. Thank you to my amazing editor, Angela Polidoro, whose input has been invaluable. I’d also like to thank Kim Killion for designing the best version of a book cover imaginable.
And to all those who have lent support and continue to do so including business partner, my Diva girls and all of my family and friends who have endured years of listening to me talk of knights and castles . . . thank you.
Last but not least, thank you Border Ambassadors and readers for enjoying The Thief’s Countess and spreading the word about the Border Series. I look forward to sharing more stories that allow you to step back in time just as my favorite authors have allowed me to do for so many years.
Copyright © 2017 by Cecelia Mecca
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-1-946510-00-6
The Thief's Countess (Border Series Book 1) Page 26