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Category:
Romance
ISBN-10: 1536917659
Type: Fiction
Pages: 278
Copyright: August 5, 2016
ISBN-13: 9781536917659
Price: $4.99 (eBook)
In the year 1306, the King's guard is exiled for a crime they witnessed. In direct defiance, the guardsmen return to their beloved Scotland and hide amongst their enemies. All are destined for the hangman's noose or the executioner's ax if found. They survive as soldiers of fortune. If you're lucky enough to run across them in the bonny hills, and are in a predicament, they just might give aid.
The Legend of the King’s Guard begins with CONQUERED HEART
In protecting the King of Scotland, Graeme Cameron will do whatever it takes to ensure Robert the Bruce’s safety. He and his comrades become the victim of circumstance and are now exiled. As they hide, they realize others are worse off and they hire themselves out as mercenaries.
Kerrigan Campbell is desperate to find her laird and protector’s son. Then she hears of the legendary king’s guard and seeks to plead their aid. She runs across their leader in the midst of a battle, but he’s not what she expects. When she and Graeme find an abandoned bairn, he asks her to locate its mother and in return he’ll recapture her laird’s son.
Graeme has challenges before him–how to keep himself and his comrades from being executed for doing their duty, aiding the sweet lass in recovering her charge, finding the bairn’s mother, helping their king defeat England’s army, and gaining a pardon for their involvement in the king’s misdoings. There’s one challenge that thwarts him though and that’s Kerrigan. She might conquer his heart and more…
Excerpt
Prologue
Clan Cameron encampment
Lochaber, Scotland
February 1304
Killing a man and watching him die wasn’t always easy. But this man deserved to meet his end by the thrust of his sword. Graeme, son of the chieftain and successor to the clan, knew he had to avenge his wife. Nothing deterred him from the sacred duty, not his father’s aversion of Sorcha or the clan’s acceptance of Ranall MacGilley.
Ranall lay on the ground and looked up, his expression bereft of guilt or remorse. Only the blood trickled from his mouth proved Graeme struck him through his torso. He didn’t show a reaction to being put through. The grievous wound would end the miscreant’s life. It was just as well since he’d be going to a dark place where the devil would consume what remained of his soul.
Harsh whispers arose behind him, but he ignored his clan’s affront. Time ceased, and no one moved. Whatever happened, even if he was put to death for what they considered an atrocity, he would face it with honor.
Waiting for a man to die was even more difficult because Graeme wanted to yank his sword free and thrust it again and mayhap again. Ranall betrayed him and took his wife in a dastardly way. No man should touch a woman with anger or vengeance. His foe taunted him with threats to Sorcha, but Graeme never thought he’d act on those vows. Theirs was a long-drawn-out battle of wills and his enemy more boastful than not.
Ranall hated the fact he was in line to succeed their father. There was only one thing wrong with his credence. Ranall was a bastard and even though the clan valued him, they would never accept his succession. Albeit Ranall gained the clan’s acceptance, his father wasn’t swayed by the man’s influence. He neither coveted him as a son nor belittled him as a bastard. Graeme was uncertain how his father felt about the man. His da wasn’t an easy man to figure out, for he wasn’t one to let his emotions or family ties motivate his responsibilities as laird.
The elders concerned Graeme more since they were the last word when it came to clan matters. He detested his da wouldn’t stand up to the council or make decisions based on his instincts. He allowed others to rule their clan, but Graeme held no hatred for him. Regardless of how his father ruled, he was still his elder and laird.
Graeme wanted Ranall MacGilley to realize his anger when he drew his last breath. His adversary would do well to know his wrath. A vision of his lovely wife standing before Ranall with a dagger pressed to her throat tensed his resolve. He shouldn’t allow the man a peaceful passing before death. Graeme closed his eyes against the image of the blade slicing Sorcha’s neck and blood flowing from the gullet of her delicate skin, turning her garments crimson.
“Come away, Graeme,” his cousin, Anselan said. He took his arm and tried to pull him away.
He shook his head but kept his eyes on the rabble at his feet. “Nay, I want to witness his last breath…to know he’s dead.”
“Your father stands yonder awaiting you. You should go to him and explain.”
“He will take MacGilley’s side. It matters not. I’ve done what’s right.”
“Aye, mayhap you should’ve gained your father’s permission before you sought retribution. The council is not pleased. The wergild will be high, aye mayhap even banishment.”
Regardless of the wergild, he would’ve done it. The price for killing a man was well worth the retribution. Graeme wanted to shout his denial at the irreverence. Heedless of their displeasure, he wouldn’t wait for justice and sought his own. It was his wife MacGilley attacked, his wife the man murdered before the clan. Did they expect him to stand aside and allow the barbarism? A man was nothing if he allowed his honor to be squelched. Honor demanded he take vengeance for his wife no matter what she’d done or was said to have done.
He reached down to grab his sword, certain one more thrust would do MacGilley in, but the rattle in his breath ceased. His body stilled. It was an almost joyful moment. Their clan’s war cry came to mind. He wanted with all his heart to shout the words so every person heard and knew how much he loathed the man. But feeding one’s flesh to the hounds wouldn’t be proper at such a moment.
Laird Cameron motioned to a man who hurried forth and covered his foe’s body with a cloak. Graeme was disappointed, for he wanted his clan to view the body of the man who killed innocents and thought he was free from the rules and laws of the clan.
“The elders are angry you took matters in your own hands.”
He firmed his mouth, knowing he would say something to offend. For they should be damned if they thought he would allow the miscreant to breathe another breath after this day. It was best he not respond.
“My son, Graeme, come away. We will discuss this in my tent where we can be alone.”
“There is nothing to speak. You saw what he did. How he cut down a young woman before all. What could she have done to cause his ire?”
No one responded to his question. Graeme cast his gaze through the onlookers and saw his mother standing aside, her hand covered her mouth in obvious shock. There was nothing to say to appease what he’d done.
“What say you, Da, where was Sorcha’s justice? You’d allow MacGilley to go unpunished. Should I bow my head to the filthy swine? I took justice, aye, for my wife, for myself, for our clan.”
“You have no right to decide what the justice be. Are you laird?” His father spoke low, soft enough only he caught the words.
He stood defiantly rigid. “Nay, not yet.” Graeme wanted to shout once he was laird injustices wouldn’t be tolerated. He wanted them to know he wouldn’t be a pushover like his laird.
“Aye and you might never be with that attitude. Come away, son, let’s discuss this. Your wife cuckolded you. What Ranall did was wrong, aye, but she caused her own anguish. You risk your neck for a mere woman. Are you not abashed?”
Graeme caught the blather being spread amongst the clan, but he didn’t believe the lies spoken of Sorcha. Was he a fool? Should he have avenged her? It mattered not.
“She was my wife and regardless of what she did, she didn’t deserve to be killed by him, murdered before all. If she needed punishment, it should’ve been my responsibility. I was her husband.” He spat on the ground and made certain all saw. His insolence implied and duly noted by the council.
“She was sinful and unfaithful, son. You didn’t deserve such a woman, one who took up with another. You should be glad Ranall rid you of her.”
“I should’ve embraced him? Shook his hand and gave gratitude? He deserved my blade and nothing more. Ranall forced her to accept him and would’ve stopped at nothing to have her and he did it to inflict my ire.” Graeme’s stomach churned at the thought his enemy deceived his clan into believing him trustworthy. MacGilley was far from that.
He couldn’t accept his father’s words. At one time he’d loved his wife and intended to make a good marriage. Where he went wrong, he wasn’t sure. Mayhap he’d gone off to war too often or sought entertainment with his comrades more often than he should have. Most wives accepted such traits of their husbands, and Sorcha was no different. She’d voiced no complaint.
“The elders will hold you accountable for slaying one of our clan. You won’t go unpunished for this, Graeme.”
“Let them do their will then for I’ve no regrets.”
His father motioned to two of his comrades who stepped forward and took his arms.
Graeme pulled free. “I won’t balk. Lead the way.” Acceptance of his fate would hopefully sway the elder’s decision, and even if it didn’t, he’d walk with pride to his death.
He followed the men to the pit where they kept captured enemies. Without hesitation, he jumped into the pit and peered upward at his friends. Their faces long at his situation.
Graeme stood in the center of the pit awaiting word of what was to become of him. The elders would debate for hours, probably days. Their decision would be his execution. They undoubtedly argued whether to behead or hang him. Neither death appealed.
Through the long night and the two days that followed, he heard little from his clan. Someone tossed a piece of bread at him towards the morning on the second day. None stopped by to see if he was well, to give an opinion of the matter, or to relate the happenings.
As dawn lighted the hole on the third day, voices drew close to the pit. A rope tossed down, and he took hold. When he reached the top, he saw the entire clan gathered.
Fergus, the eldest of the elders, stepped forward. “Graeme, we respect you. We respect your father, the laird. But when a man takes in his hands his own justice without the approval of the council, he must also pay the charge.”
He kept his gaze firm on Fergus as he continued his nonsensical reiteration of their rules. His end would come from the man’s lips eventually. Old Fergus dragged on with words. Many of his clansmen said the man was passionate. Graeme considered him daft and perhaps too prideful of his role within the council. He definitely wielded his power over the other elders and his father.
The elders’ role within the clan often caused contention between him and his da. Old ways were still revered by most of his clan, but what with the turmoil in the south, they needed to change their ways if they succeeded at supporting the new king.
“Most of us,” he said and motioned to the other elders, “wanted you to hang or banish you. Och your father suggested an amiable punishment. You are his only son and we cannot allow you to die—”
Laird Cameron stepped forward and cut off the elder clansman. “We follow Moray and Wallace in our fight against the English. We will send you to Robert Bruce, for he has our support in taking the crown of Scotland. You’ll stay with him for five years and do service to protect him.”
Graeme rubbed the whiskers on his chin and disbelieved the sentence. Before he might retort, his father pulled his arm.
“Come away before they change their minds. You will leave this day and shan’t be permitted on our land until your service is ended. I will send the writ to the Bruce letting him know, and you will honor our clan. When your service is finished, you’ll return and one day become laird.”
Anselan handed him a sack with his meager belongings.
Graeme flapped his hand. “I’ll have my sword.”
Anselan grinned. “Aye? Are you sure you want to take it with you? I always wanted it.”
“Hand it over.” Graeme would never leave the weapon behind. He needed it for his protection, and he cherished the sword. It belonged to his grandda who took it to the crusades. Its history long and triumphant if given what his grandda told him was true. No finer sword could be had, and he was honored when given it. His grandda had but one request that he use it on foes whose blood deserved the blade. MacGilley’s blood was worthy, and he worried not about the sword’s misuse.
He followed the men toward awaiting horses. Anselan and his brother, Ewan, mounted their steeds and waited for him.
Graeme looked into his da’s eyes. “Five years is a long time.”
His father pressed a coin into his palm. “To keep you safe.” The coin had been in their family for years and many tales told of its history.
He held fast to it. His father gave his unspoken approval and that meant much to Graeme. There were words he wanted to say, but he held silent.
“You beheld your grandda in better regard than me. He was a great laird, as you will be. Just don’t get yourself killed, son. I want your vow, and I want to see you back here.”
“I cannot promise, Da. You know how we Camerons like to fight.”
“Aye, aye. Be well, my son, until we meet here or in heaven.” His father turned and walked away. He’d never witnessed sentiment from his da.
Graeme took to his saddle and sat taller than he ever had. A sense of pride came for what he’d done. Avenging his wife and ridding his clan of the swine who plagued them. He rode next to his cousins and didn’t look back. His only thought to do his service and do it well. One day, he’d return to his beloved clan.
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