by Shea,Lisa
Table of Contents
Preface
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
Creating Memories - Chapter 1
Medieval Dialogue
About Medieval Life
Glossary
Parts of a Sword
Medieval Clothing
Women’s Clothing
Dedication
About the Author
23 Free Ebooks
Namaste Aloha Servus
Trusting in Faith
A Medieval Romance
The Sword of Glastonbury Series
Book 5
Lisa Shea
Copyright © 2012 by Lisa Shea / Minerva Webworks LLC
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Lisa Shea
Book design by Lisa Shea
Visit my website at LisaShea.com
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 permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Printing: October 2012
- 11 -
Print version ISBN-13 978-0-9798377-3-9
Kindle ASIN B009S2ABGO
Dreams come true
Honor exists
Truth overcomes all –
You just need to believe.
Trusting in Faith
Contents
Preface
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
Creating Memories - Chapter 1
Medieval Dialogue
About Medieval Life
Glossary
Parts of a Sword
Medieval Clothing
Women’s Clothing
Dedication
About the Author
23 Free Ebooks
Namaste Aloha Servus
Preface
Welcome to my Sword of Glastonbury series. I’m thrilled you’ve joined me in this adventure! These full-length novels share my adoration for all things medieval. I’ve belonged to the Society for Creative Anachronisms for many years and delved fully into my medieval personae. I’ve researched the language, clothing, education, and outlook of medieval women. I’ve practiced swordfighting for years, too. I’m joyful to be able to share the fruits of this research with you!
Each of the novels in this series is fully standalone. While there is a sword passed from heroine to heroine to flow the stories together, each book can be read on its own and involves its own set of characters.
If you’ve read the series in order you’ve probably read this preface before : ). If you’re just joining us, then hello!
Did you know that many words like “wow” that we think of as modern are actually quite old? And that words like “hug” that we consider timeless are actually fairly recent? You can learn more about medieval language, clothing, and other related topics in my appendices in the back. Medieval people loved slang words, traded in goods from the far reaches of the Earth, and had some fairly “modern” views about what women could or could not do.
Especially during these Crusades years, when countless men were off at war, large numbers of public offices were held by women. Many keeps were ruled by women. Women fought with blades to defend their homes and keeps; some even went on the road to fight in the Crusades. Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine was a powerhouse of strength and a model for all women of these years. During this time it was wholly expected that women should be respected in positions of power and were quite capable of actively defending their lands.
It’s only later, when peace moved in, the Church solidified power, and courtly love traditions developed, that women were demoted to restrictively passive roles.
It’s good to shake off some of the misconceptions created by everyone from Errol Flynn to Game of Thrones and examine what our real-life history has to offer.
Trusting in Faith is a clean romance. The one scene of intimacy is done in a “fade to black” style with no description. The few swears are period-appropriate such as “God’s Teeth” or “God’s Blood.” There is sword-fighting but no explicit violence. As such, it is suitable for teens and up.
If you ever have any questions or comments for me, I would love to chat! You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Google+, Pinterest, Wattpad, and most other social networks. Just check the ‘about the Author’ section or do a search for Lisa Shea in your system of choice.
So sit back, relax, and enjoy a virtual vacation in the entrancing world of medieval England!
All proceeds from this series benefit battered women’s shelters. Be the change you wish to see in the world.
Chapter 1
England, 1191
Patience is a conquering virtue.
The learned say that, if it not desert you,
It vanquishes what force can never reach;
Why answer back at every angry speech?
No, learn forbearance or, I'll tell you what,
You will be taught it, whether you will or not.
--The Canterbury Tales, Chaucer
Sarah stretched low over the neck of her galloping horse, straining to maintain sight of the narrow deer path she traced through the dense, darkening woods. Even in the approaching dusk the stifling summer heat made the air almost liquid. The warmth from her steed washed against her in rolling waves, threatening to suffocate her. She longed to stop, to throw off the heavy black cloak she was wearing and to breathe, if only for a moment.
She knew she could not. Too much depended on her reaching her destination quickly and without being identified.
Sarah’s lower back ached with throbbing pain; she pushed the sensation away with practiced discipline. She had been on the road for over three hours, starting off at once when the summons came. Despite the urgency, she had taken all usual precautions to ensure she hadn’t been followed. Even so, her body remained at a tense alert. Nothing could guarantee safety from wolves’ heads – bandits who roamed the shadows, prey
ing on the weak.
The reassuring weight of her longsword on her left hip tugged gently at her; she took in a deep breath. She offered a silent prayer again to Constance, who had gifted her with the fine blade. Its presence helped reassure her in the dark woods. Sarah knew enough swordplay to keep herself safe from the casual cutthroat. It was these newcomers who concerned her - the disaffected who were returning from the Crusades with a penchant for crime. She understood her odds with realistic sobriety. An encounter with a man of that training would be brutal and short.
Lights flared ahead; she pulled her mount in hard. Her horse skidded forward a few feet with a loud whinny, sliding in the gravel to a rough, panting halt. Almost immediately, she was surrounded by a wall of glinting steel. She threw her hood back in the flickering shadows, shaking loose her long, tawny hair to show herself more fully.
“It is me, Sarah,” she called out in a low, urgent voice. “I am alone, I swear it.”
The swords were pulled back in an instant, and the crowd of men retreated a step to let her dismount. A tall, reedy, blond-haired man in his early twenties scurried forward to help her down from her steed. He assisted her with the leather bag she removed from the side of the saddle.
Once she was on her feet, he pulled her hurriedly through the crowd. His lanky body easily pressed through the roughly dressed men. They soon moved into the main clearing where a series of tents were set up around a campfire. There were a few simply garbed women and children scattered here and there, but the group was primarily comprised of armed men, suspicious, alert, and watchful.
Numerous pairs of eyes followed her as she ran toward one of the smaller tents.
She pulled open the coarse flap of fabric, took one look inside, and spoke calmly over her shoulder without turning. “Lloyd - go get me a pail of hot water, and some clean rags. Hurry.” She took another step forward, letting the cloth fall closed behind her, and moved in to kneel beside her patient.
“Shhhh, Abigail, you are doing fine,” she murmured soothingly to the young, willowy woman who lay before her. Sarah tenderly brushed back a few loose strands of blonde hair, and the teen relaxed slightly beneath her touch. Sarah then ran her hand with practiced ease over the large bulge in the woman’s stomach, feeling for the position of the baby’s head and limbs.
Sarah’s face eased into a smile. “Your child is just right. The head is pointing down, and everything feels proper. In a few hours you will be the proud mother of a beautiful son or daughter.”
She shook off her heavy cloak and laid it to one side. Even without the extra layer of fabric, the air in the tent was sweltering and close, like the inside of an oven. A surge of pity swept over her for the girl lying before her, drenched in sweat. “You might have chosen a better month to give birth in, though,” she added with a light tone.
Abigail attempted to smile at the quip, but another contraction shuddered through her, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. When it faded, she gasped, “I am afraid we were not thinking about a baby at the time ...”
Sarah nodded. “As is often the case,” she commented half to herself. “Still, here we are, and you will get through this fine, just as your mother did, and her mother before her. Focus on the thought that this is a short ordeal in exchange for a lifetime of joy.” Her eyes twinkled. “If birthing really was that awful, no woman would bear a second child!”
“My mother had three,” responded Abigail weakly, leaning back and closing her eyes. Sarah cleared out the floor space of the tent, arranging her bag to one side where it would be within easy reach. “Maybe she was a masochist,” the pregnant woman muttered under her breath. “It might explain her temper.”
Sarah chuckled. “I help many women who are on their second, third, or fourth child. They say it gets easier each time, and that the memory of the pain fades quickly when you hold your new child in your arms. This will be over soon. Just take it one moment at a time.”
She turned her head at a noise. Lloyd had returned dutifully with the cloth and pail and was standing nervously by the entrance.
“Thank you - now wait outside,” Sarah instructed him tenderly but firmly. “Stay within calling distance, but let her have her privacy.”
Lloyd’s face was creased with worry, but he nodded in understanding. He looked past Sarah to the woman lying on the rough blanket. “Abby - I love you,” he whispered to the young woman in labor. “I am right here for you.” Then another contraction began, and he closed the flap, leaving the women to their work.
Sarah washed and rinsed, then quickly prepared the cloths. She returned to the young woman and first helped her to a sitting position, then to stand. The low tent made them stoop, but they were able to walk small circles around the interior. Sarah moved slowly, helping to bear the woman’s weight. Abigail was a coltish girl of sixteen, maybe five-foot-four, awkward with her low belly and the pain spasms rippling through her. Sarah kept up a running commentary of soothing stories and advice, knowing that the teen she half-carried barely heard what she said. The important thing was to keep her body moving and her mind distracted as much as possible so that she would relax into her labor.
The hours passed slowly, with the pair alternating between moving and taking short rests. Even while Sarah spoke and sang, part of her continually evaluated the signs she received from Abigail’s body. Sarah had been helping deliver babies for eight years now - since she was fourteen - and had seen a wide variety of situations. She glanced at Abigail’s face and thought how common this story was.
“I know we have been meeting for a few months now, but I enjoy hearing the tale. Tell me again how you and Lloyd met,” she suggested quietly, looking to draw Abigail’s attention away from the pain of the contractions.
Abigail nodded, taking deliberate steps as she spoke. “I have known Lloyd for many years,” she explained, her voice rasping. “He cared for the horses in our stables. When he was able to, he would go riding with me to keep me company. He is the kindest, gentlest person I have ever met. He is five years my senior and always watched out for me.” Her face softened into a smile. “I suppose our falling in love was inevitable.”
She winced as another pain swept through her, and it was a moment or two before she could continue. “My mother caught us kissing behind the stables, and she was furious. She forbade me to see him ever again. It was too late, though – I was already pregnant. When she heard that, she threw me out of the house, saying I had disgraced the family name by pledging myself to a lowly stable boy.”
Sarah nodded, encouraging her. “Mothers can be like that. At least you two were not alone – Kyle came with you?”
Abigail focused on putting one foot in front of the other. “Yes, Kyle is like an uncle to me. He was our witness when we married in a nearby church. This group of wanderers was moving through the area, and we joined up with them to have food and shelter while we figured out what we wanted to do. They have been very good to us. They even agreed to find a fixed camp location so that I could give birth in safety. I knew of your reputation for discretion, and sent out a messenger. Now here we are.”
Sarah shook her head, moving slowly around the tent with her young charge. Would the mother really still deny the daughter if she could see her now, doubled over in pain, about to deliver a new life into the world? How did it benefit anybody to be so stubborn about who someone fell in love with?
There was a change in Abigail’s walking rhythm; Sarah pulled to a stop. She quickly evaluated the position of the baby and broke into an encouraging grin. “You are a lucky woman, Abigail. Your great health has brought your child out in record time!” She looked up into the woman’s eyes. “You are doing so well, Abigail; I am quite proud of you. Just a little while more, and your infant will be in your arms.”
She helped Abigail move over toward the clean cloths. “Squat down over this area. Spread your feet out to support your weight. There you go. Now, slowly, push. Push down, low and hard.”
Sarah knelt before A
bigail, and in a moment the girl’s thin hands were pressed into her shoulders for support. Sarah moved her own hands beneath Abigail. It was only a short while before she felt the head crown, and then slowly the rest of the body emerged. When the head was out, the baby gave out a lusty cry, and then, over Abigail’s moans, Sarah could hear a shout of celebration from outside the tent. Soon the cheers were echoing all around them, and Sarah held the newborn life in her arms. A slicing cut with the dagger she wore at her side, and the baby was free.
Sarah quickly cleaned and bundled up the young child, then helped the exhausted mother move onto the bed. She tenderly placed the infant into her mother’s arms; tears welled in her eyes as she saw that first look between parent and child. This moment was always special to Sarah - the ending of a dangerous ordeal, and the beginning of a new family.
She spent some time cleaning and checking on both patients. Many women in surrounding villages died during childbirth due to complications. Sarah prided herself on her attention to detail, checking carefully for tears or injuries. Luckily, there was little need for concern here. The baby was in perfect health, and the mother’s bleeding stopped almost immediately.
Worn down, Sarah pushed herself wearily to a standing position and gathered up her cloak and bag. Giving one last look around the tent, she moved to the entrance. Lloyd stood waiting, a wide smile on his face, shaking hands with a boisterous group of grinning men.
His eyes held hers, a flicker of concern showing. “She is fine? My wife?”
“Both your wife and daughter are perfect,” replied Sarah warmly. “You can go in and be with them now. Just wash your hands in the water first, please, to keep the baby clean.”
Lloyd needed no further encouragement, and was through the tent doors in a flash.
A weathered man in his late forties approached Sarah. “I am not sure if you remember me. My name is Kyle, and I am Lloyd’s good friend,” he introduced himself. “Come, let me find you a drink. You must be exhausted.”