Absolution: A Medieval Romance

Book : Part of: Guard of Six (1 books)

by Kathryn Le Veque

Genres: Ancient World Romance

Synopsis

Welcome to Book One in the exciting new series, Guard of Six! Historical Romance that can only be brought to you by the Queen of Medieval Romance!


We are protectors.
Defenders.
The shield between the king and those who threaten him.
We are the Guard of Six.
Fortitudo in unitate
Strength in unity.


Sir Torran de Serreaux is the leader of Henry III’s personal guard. Known as the Guard of Six, they are an elite group made up of knights from the finest and oldest families in England. They have a reputation for being powerful, fearless, and dedicated. When Torran fights, it is with his sword - Absolution - in his hand.

But he is also a man with more demons than most.

It has been three years since the fall of Simon de Montfort and, still, there are lingering de Montfort supporters in England that are being systematically rooted out and subdued. At a particularly nasty battle at Wellingborough Castle, Torran and the royal army manage to raze the castle and kill all but two members of the oppositionist’s family – an excitable young boy and a lovely young woman.

Torran is introduced to Lady Andia “Andi” St. Albans.

The family of St. Albans were great supporters of de Montfort. Torran takes Andia and her brother to London as prisoners. Henry, as punishment to the St. Alban’s family, orders the siblings thrown in the vault. Torran, who is fighting a great attraction to Andia, puts her and her brother into the dark recesses of the Tower of London with the greatest reluctance.

But only for a night.

After that, Torran takes the pair to his family’s townhome in London as his personal prisoners because the truth is that there’s something about Andia that intrigues him. She’s reserved, but very intelligent, but he is coming to suspect that Andia is hiding something. He can’t help but feel she’s harboring secrets, much as he is, and has he tries to figure him out, she is trying to figure him out as well. But all of the suspicion in the world can’t dampen the sparks that fly between them.

Passion that roars like a wildfire.

In the complex political world of England’s politics, Torran and Andia are major players. When the truth of Andia’s involvement in her family’s support of Simon de Montfort is revealed, Torran must make a choice. Can he forgive a woman he’s fallen in love with?

Or is he the one who must seek absolution?



Read in Kindle Unlimited!

Books in the Guard of Six series are:

• Absolution
• Destruction
• Anihiliation
• Obliteration
• Insurrection
• Retribution

 

Read more

Release date: September 30, 2024

Publisher: Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

Sample

PROLOGUE
Year of Our Lord 1268
Kennington Castle
“Mercy, my lord!”
“I cannot show you mercy.”
With that, the knight rammed his enormous broadsword into the man’s neck, straight down
so that it carved into his chest cavity.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
The knight who had killed him made the sign of the cross over his victim.
“I give you Absolution, my son.”
From his right, a man charged him, tripping over the bodies that were already littering the
ground. As he faltered, he was close enough that the knight was able to slice him through the
neck with his bloodied broadsword. As the man fell to the ground, the knight made another sign
of the cross over him.
“I give you Absolution, my son.”
Absolution was a legend that day. The longsword of Torran de Serreaux had a reputation
almost as much as the man who owned it. The enemy knew about the knight who was moving
through the battle and killing with a sword that was as long as it was sharp and deadly.
Absolution was its name.
And the knight was giving his enemy Absolution.
Overhead, a nasty storm had blown in. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed as Torran
worked his way through piles of the dead and dying. He wasn’t interested in those men—the
dead because they were beyond help and the dying because they would have to explain their
loyalties to God, and he didn’t want to interfere with that. Absolution was for the able-bodied,
men who were still fighting in a futile situation. Those were the men who needed Absolution the
most because they didn’t know that they had been beaten.
Torran would absolve them for the sin of pride.
It had been a nasty battle at the mighty bastion known as Kennington Castle, and it wasn’t
over yet. The lord of Kennington was a supporter of Simon de Montfort, who had been killed
about three years earlier. Henry, King of England, was fully in control of his country and of his

destiny with the death of de Montfort, and he had ordered those loyal to the Earl of Leicester to
seek out the warlords who had opposed him and punish them.
Kennington was part of that directive.
The royal army had been busy over the past three years, rooting out the enemies of the
Crown. They had been systematic in their destruction and on a cool October day, they had
marched north from London, gathering more troops at royal outposts as they went, before they
finally ended up at Kennington. They were joined by several other allied armies that had been
summoned, including the Earl of Canterbury, Daniel de Lohr, and the Earl of Radnor, Davyss de
Winter. The unfortunate fact was that Anselm St. Albans, Earl of Ashford, had been a de
Montfort supporter. A big supporter. His family, a very old family, had made its money in import
and export. They weren’t merchants, but they owned ships that merchants paid to have their
goods transported on, so Ashford had a good deal of wealth to put behind de Montfort,
something Henry was particularly upset about.
Therefore, Kennington had to be taught a lesson.
Henry wanted what Ashford had.
That was the punishment.
Although the royal army had a commander in an older knight by the name of Luc de Lara,
Henry had sent his entire personal guard into the battle as well. Torran and five of his closest
companions, only these weren’t just any companions. They were Henry’s private attack force,
men who not only protected him, but who also acted as spies and assassins, leaders of armies,
and anything Henry wanted them to do. They were some of the most elite knights in England,
highly skilled, highly experienced, and they were involved in Henry’s business perhaps more
than even Henry himself.
The Guard of Six, as they were known, took Ashford’s support of de Montfort personally.
Ashford had been a supporter of Henry at first, but somehow, de Montfort got to him and
extolled the virtues of a country managed by men and not simply by a king. Ashford fell for
those dreams, like a snake charmed by a snake charmer, and he’d taken his army and his money
to de Montfort’s side. Ashford had been a friend the men in Henry’s circle, so when he went to
de Montfort’s side, every one of those men felt betrayed.
Now, Ashford was paying the price for that betrayal.
Kennington Castle was the heart of Ashford’s earldom. It was the target set by Henry himself
and it took three days to not only decimate the countryside, but to weaken the gatehouse.
Kennington was a concentric castle, meaning it had two sets of walls—an enormous exterior
curtain wall and then a smaller interior wall. The portcullis for the exterior wall had been
partially breached because they’d managed to heat the iron with a pyre of flaming debris that
softened it up so much that they were able to twist it. That created an opening through which the
royal army was able to slip, but when they were through, they saw that Ashford’s army had
retreated to the inner ward.
That started the siege all over again.
The inner gatehouse did not have the iron portcullis that the outer gatehouse had. The inner
gatehouse had two enormous wooden gates that were made with great iron rivets holding the
wood together. There was also an iron frame built around the gates but it wasn’t nearly the
strength of the exterior portcullis and, therefore, when they started a pyre against those gates, it
was only a matter of time before the wood caught fire and the iron began to soften.
In a panic, Ashford’s men had come over their own wall, descending into the outer bailey to
stave off the complete collapse of the inner gatehouse. That had been a sight to see as soldiers

lowered themselves over the inner wall and attacked the royal army. Unfortunately for them, the
royal army was much larger than they were and that mode of defense was over before it really
got started. But, somehow, Ashford’s men still kept coming and the royal army realized it was
because they were coming from the postern gate. All of them, flooding out to defend the inner
gatehouse.
Torran wasn’t exactly sure who was leading the battle for the Earl of Ashford because it
seemed that in the beginning, someone who knew what they were doing was handling it, but into
the third day, it seemed as if there was little organization at all. Anyone with any manner of
military training would not have allowed men to go over the wall into the enemy, or open the
postern gate, so as the third day began to wane, the royal army could sense victory.
But it was victory at a cost.
There were many wounded and many dead, and most of them were from Ashford’s army. As
the storm overhead let loose, pounding the earth with sheets of rain, the blood from the dead and
the wounded mingled with the mud and created rivers that looked like rust. This rusty mud was
all over Torran’s boots as he stood just inside the outer gatehouse, watching that activity on the
inner wall. He was determined that the battle would be over by sunset because it was clear that
Kennington was falling. He didn’t want to risk any more men than he had to if the battle was
almost over, but he also wanted decisive victory, so he’d ordered his men to charge the inner
gatehouse. One way or the other, they were going to capture the castle.
“Torran!”
A shout came from the behind him, and Torran turned to see one of his dearest friends in the
world approaching. Sir Yancey de Mora, a knight with the House of de Winter, was coming
through the twisted iron, lifting a hand to Torran as he approached. But Torran waved him off as
if disgusted by the sight of him.
“So you come when victory is assured?” he teased. “Get out of my sight, Yance.”
Yancey grinned. He was tall and lithe, a bright mind and an even better sword arm. “Who do
you think burned that portcullis?” he demanded, turning to point at the smoldering ruins that
were now being pounded by the rain. “Who do you think inspires the men? Not you, de
Serreaux.”
“Not you,” Torran said, pushing back. “They see you and laugh.”
“They see you and drink.”
Torran quickly conceded the point. “True enough,” he said. “Fear will do that sometimes.”
“Fear and annoyance.”
Torran cocked a dark eyebrow at him, watching Yancey chuckle. “You think you’re so
clever,” he said snidely. “Very well. Show me how clever you are. Get through that gate and
claim this place in the name of Henry. I am tired of waiting and would genuinely like to sleep
tonight, and I cannot do that if this castle does not fall.”
Yancey grinned brightly. “So you call upon me?” he said. “Of course you would. Only I can
force this place to its knees. Well? Get out of my way, you dolt. Let me show you how this is
done.”
Torran snorted at the man when he moved past him and shoved him in the chest, not hard
enough to really move him but enough to be irritating. He stood there, shaking his head at
Yancey as the man slogged over to the inner gatehouse in about six inches of orange mud and
began shouting at the men trying to keep the flames going in the rain. As Torran watched Yancey
redirect the men, he caught a glimpse of someone standing beside him.
“So he’s trying to take the inner gatehouse once and for all, is he? I have to see this.”

Torran turned to Kent de Poyer. He was part of the Guard of Six, a very big man with dark
hair, dark eyes, and a brooding personality. As Torran nodded in resignation to Yancey’s antics,
more of the Six joined him.
All of them, in fact.
Torran found himself looking at men he had lived with, and killed for, for several years. Men
who were closer to him than brothers, all of them with intrepid spirits, honorable hearts, and
souls that were perhaps more tortured than most.
But he wouldn’t make a move without them.
Aidric St. John was the first one he saw, tall and blond and with fists that struck an enemy
like hammers. Dirk d’Vant was by Aidric’s side, another big blond knight with a full beard, a
quick wit, and a voice that could boom commands across half of England. Jareth de Leybourne
came strolling up, carrying a longsword that his father had given him long ago, one that was
allegedly hundreds of years old and stolen off a Celtic demigod. Jareth was their diplomat, but
even he hadn’t been able to negotiate any manner of surrender with Ashford.
The last member of the Six was Britt de Garr, a knight with curly brown hair that flowed
down his back. He kept it tightly bound up for battle, which was a good thing considering he was
always in the heat of a fight and hair would only get in the way of his flying sword and vicious
tactics. With his addition, now all of the Guard of Six were standing in front of the inner
gatehouse, watching Yancey work the men into a frenzy as they began smashing through the
burned sections of the gate.
“And now we are at the end,” Britt said, watching the battle for the inner gatehouse. “Has
anyone seen Ashford? He was on the outer wall when we arrived, but no one has seen him
since.”
Torran shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I was thinking the same thing earlier—I’ve not seen
him since we arrived.”
“Mayhap he is dead,” Jareth said. “There would be no other reason for a man to disappear
like that.”
“Possibly,” Torran said. Then he began to look around, noting a group of Ashford soldiers
that had been subdued by royal troops. “Speaking of a missing Anselm St. Albans, it seems to
me the tactics changed for Kennington midway through this fight. Did anyone notice that? At
first, they were tightly bottled up, and then…”
“And then they came rushing out,” Jareth finished for him. “I saw it, though I genuinely have
no idea why they should do that. They opened themselves up to defeat when they came forward.
When one’s castle is being attacked, one does not open the gate and invite the enemy in.”
Torran nodded. He found himself looking up at the inner wall, where soldiers were moving
around frantically. Perhaps Ashford was up there, somewhere, keeping himself concealed. Rain
was pounding him in the face and he had to wipe his eyes more than once. He thought he saw a
child, or children, on the wall, but with the rain, he couldn’t be sure.
But no Ashford.
“All I know is that I am increasingly weary of this,” he finally said. “Aidric, where are the
rest of the commanders? De Lohr and the others?”
Aidric looked over his left shoulder, down the long curtain wall of Kennington. “The last I
saw Canterbury, he was to the rear of the castle, at the postern gate,” he said. “De Winter was
with him.”
Torran returned his attention to the inner gatehouse. “And de Nerra is up with Yancey at the
gatehouse,” he said, referring to yet another earl in their midst, Becket de Nerra, Earl of

Selbourne. “Aidric, send for de Lohr and de Winter. I want them here when we breach the
gatehouse. But make sure they station men at the postern gate to catch anyone who runs.”
Aidric nodded, heading off down the long wall. He always moved as if he were hunting
something or someone. As Aidric went to find the Earl of Canterbury, Daniel de Lohr, Britt, and
Jareth strolled toward the gatehouse as Yancey screamed orders. That left Dirk with Torran,
watching the activity.
“Jareth is aching to use that sword on someone again,” Dirk said. “He says Annihilation
needs blood to keep it alive.”
Annihilation. The name of Jareth’s ancient sword. Every member of the Guard of Six had a
sword with a name, something that defined the weapon, giving it a sentient soul that was hungry
for warfare. Some men called it superstition, some a curse. But the Six believed that the swords
they carried were partners in positions they found themselves in. Guarding a king was serious
business.
It required a serious partner.
Torran grinned to Jareth’s comment.
“So I’ve been told,” he said. “Annihilation requires blood, Obliteration requires flesh,
Insurrection requires fear, and so on. It’s what feeds the steel beasts.”
Jareth looked at him. “What does Absolution require?”
“Souls.”
A smile played on Jareth’s lips. “Then it has been fed well today,” he said. “Now, shall we
join de Mora and the others at the inner gatehouse? I suspect it is time to breach the inner
sanctum of Kennington.”
Torran nodded. “Breach it,” he muttered. “Purge it, control it. It is time. I grow weary of
fighting in this weather, seeking a man who would have done us all a favor had he died at
Evesham with Simon. A pity he did not.”
Jareth couldn’t disagree. Together, they moved toward the gatehouse just as some of the men
were able to wrench some of the smoldering wood from the iron frame, widening what was
already becoming a man-sized gap. There were men on the other side of the gate who very much
didn’t want anyone to get through, so there were swords poking through the gap at the invaders.
That brought the Six.
It became a sword fight at the inner gatehouse as more of it was wrenched away. There was
now a significant gap, and Yancey was the first man through, using his sword on any resistance.
The lure of the inner ward and the keep were in his line of sight. In fact, he was hypnotized by it.
He managed to fight his way through soldiers who were crumbling to him and those who came
behind him, clearly already sizing up the keep because that was the last holdout.
“Torran!” he shouted, turning to see if his friend had come through the gap. When he spied
the man slicing through yet another Ashford soldier, he waved him on. “Come with me! Hurry!”
Torran had to shove a dead man out of his way, stepping over another one in his path, before
he was able to get through the gap.
“Wait a moment,” he called. “There may be more resistance waiting. Wait until we have
more men.”
Yancey laughed at him. The man turned to the keep once more and began to walk toward it.
In doing so, he came out from the protection of the gatehouse, out into the very small inner ward.
Torran was looking at him when something came down from the wall, straight onto Yancey’s
head.
The man fell like a stone.

Startled, Torran shoved his fist into an Ashford soldier to move the man out of the way so he
could get to Yancey. He could hear Britt and Jareth behind him, mostly because they were
ordering Ashford soldiers to stand down. Torran went right to the end of the gatehouse where it
opened up into the small inner ward and reached out a hand, grabbing Yancey by the foot. That’s
how close the man was. He pulled him back into the shelter of the gatehouse before flipping him
over so he could get a look at the man.
What he saw shocked him.
Yancey’s head was grossly distorted on the top and in the front where the projectile hit him.
Shocked, Torran looked at the object that had come down on the man where it rested several feet
away and realized it was an iron pot that had been filled with something. It had hit Yancey, fallen
to the ground, and then tipped over. It took Torran a moment to realize that he was looking at a
spill of dirt and rocks.
The dirt and rocks had made the pot quite heavy.
Fighting down his panic as men began to move past him into the inner ward, he put his
fingers under Yancey’s jaw, feeling for a pulse, but he couldn’t find one. He quickly moved to
assess the damage to the man’s head and, after a few sickening seconds, realized that his skull
had been crushed where the pot had hit him.
Yancey de Mora was dead.
“Torran?” Britt was beside him, reaching down to grasp Yancey’s arm. “We must take him
back to the wounded. The men are starting to enter and there will be another fight here shortly
with the remaining Ashford men.”
Britt was pulling, but Torran stopped him. “There is no need,” he said, his tone dull with
shock. “He’s dead.”
Britt’s eyes widened. “What?” He dropped Yancey’s arm and went to his knees, checking for
breathing, for a pulse, a heartbeat. Anything. But he, too, came up empty and looked at Torran in
horror. “Christ’s Bones, Torran. What happened?”
Torran was quickly reverting to the efficient knight he’d always been. He wasn’t one given to
emotion, not even with his friends, and especially not in battle. Men died in battle. Friends died
in battle.
Weeping wasn’t going to bring them back.
“An object came down off the wall and hit him in the head,” he said, pointing to the pot.
“That iron cauldron, full of dirt and rocks. Enough to smash his skull.”
Britt closed his eyes briefly in horror at the realization. “And he was not wearing his helm.”
“I doubt his helm could have saved him.”
“Do you want me to find out who did it?”
Torran almost declined. After all, it didn’t really matter, did it? Yancey was dead. Finding the
culprit wasn’t going to bring him back. But there was something in him, perhaps the part of him
who had loved Yancey like a brother, who wanted to know. The more he thought about it, the
more enraged he became.
Rage that turned deadly.
“Aye,” he said, standing and heaving Yancey’s body up. “Find out. Slay anyone who lies and
tells you they do not know. I shall return him to de Winter and then come back to see how you
have fared.”
Britt helped Torran put Yancey over one broad shoulder. Men were pouring in through a big
gap in the broken gates now, so Torran pushed through as men were rushing in. Britt watched
him go for a moment, feeling a genuine stab of grief because he genuinely liked Yancey, before

forcing that down and resuming his battle mode. Kennington was almost won and he wanted to
be part of it.
But first, he was going to find out who had killed Yancey de Mora. ...