Forbidden Realm

Book 5: Forbidden Series

by Diana Cosby

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander

Synopsis

“Diana Cosby is superbly talented.” —Cathy Maxwell, New York Times bestselling author For the price of honor, he must walk away from the woman he loves… Orphaned young, a childhood of loneliness and brutality led Sir Ronan O’Connor to join the Knights Templar and vow never to return to Ireland. But now a mission to transport a cache of Templar armaments for King Robert the Bruce forces the knight back to his homeland. Under his protection on the journey is an Irish nobleman and his daughter, Lathir McConaghy. Trained in combat, Lathir will bend to no man . . . After the death of her betrothed in battle, Lathir guards her heart fiercely. Until an attack at sea forces her and Ronan to rely on each other for their survival. In the storm-filled days adrift at sea, a passionate bond forms between Lathir and the fierce warrior. In a realm torn by treachery and turmoil, they fight for their future even as secrets threaten to destroy their mission, and any chance at love. Praise for the novels of Diana Cosby “Cosby gives you it all—passion, danger, lush history and a touch of magic. Excellent reading.” —Hannah Howell, New York Times bestselling author “A sexy new voice in historical romance. Scottish historicals have a bright new star.” —Sandra Hill, USA Today bestselling author “Diana Cosby writes wonderful historical romance!” — Susan King

Release date: April 14, 2020

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 202

Sample

Chapter One

Scotland, March 1309

The late afternoon sun provided little warmth as a frigid blast of wind hurled past Sir Rónán O’Connor. He glanced toward Stephan MacQuistan, Earl of Dunsmore, a friend and a fellow Knight Templar, then nodded to the guard holding open the intricately carved arched door of St Andrew’s Cathedral as they strode past.

The rich scents of frankincense and myrrh filled the air as he halted inside, then dusted off the thin layer of falling snow from his cape. However thankful to be out of the cold, unease rumbled through him at King Robert’s request for his presence, more so that it involved the Earl of Sionn, a powerful Irish nobleman.

A soft groan sounded as the guard pulled the entry door shut, then the man glanced to the earl. “My lord.” Then he turned to Rónán. “Sir Rónán, King Robert is meeting with the Bishop of Dunblane. He bids you to wait in the solar until I bring word that he will receive you.”

Rónán nodded.

The guard stepped back. “If you would follow me.”

“’Tis unnecessary,” Stephan said. “My wife is there. I will show him the way.”

“I thank you, my lord.” The steady pad of steps faded as the guard departed the massive entry and headed toward a nearby corridor.

Waning rays of golden sunlight streaming through an ornate arched window entwined with torchlight illuminated the grand interior. In awe, Rónán studied the massive columns lining each side of the cathedral. He glanced toward the nave, framed within the rows of highly polished pews leading to the chancel adorned with carvings of Christ and other well-crafted tributes honoring the Lord surrounding the grand altar.

“’Tis beautiful,” he breathed, “and incredible craftsmanship. Nay doubt Templars were involved in the construction.”

“Aye, ’twas my thought the first time I came here.” Stephan headed in the opposite direction the guard had taken. “This way.”

They passed a fresco mural of Christ. “With the significant number of clergy and nobles arriving for King Robert’s first parliament,” Rónán said, “I should have expected to find you here.”

“I arrived two days ago with the Bishop of Dunblane. We are to listen to the Bruce’s strategy for quelling the English and Lord Comyn’s resistance, and to offer insight.”

“With Lord Comyn believing he is the rightful claimant to the Scottish throne, ’tis a fight he will never abandon. Unlike King Edward II, who hasna the taste for power like his father.”

“Indeed,” Stephan agreed. “’Tis the blasted lords who have the young sovereign’s ear and press him to continue the battle to conquer Scotland.”

Rónán shot him a wry smile. “Nay doubt they are furious that King Philip of France has recognized the Bruce as the King of Scots.”

A satisfied look settled on Stephan’s face. “’Tis certain that news put a burr in their arse.” He nodded respectfully to a monk garbed in a brown robe as he passed, then glanced at Rónán. “I didna expect to see you here. Did you travel with one of the representatives in support of King Robert?”

“Nay. ’Tis an unexpected trip. I was at Tiran Castle, attending Sir Cailin’s wedding—”

“Wedding?”

“Aye.” In brief, Rónán explained having been sent to aid Cailin in reclaiming his birthright, Tiran Castle, and discovering Cailin’s father hadn’t been murdered in Cailin’s youth as he’d been told by his treacherous uncle, but was alive and locked within the dungeon. Then, Rónán told Stephan the unusual circumstances of their friend meeting and falling in love with Elspet McReynolds.

Stephan shook his head in disbelief. “’Tis remarkable.”

“Indeed. I was there, and I am still stunned by the extraordinary chain of events.” Thoughts of their friend—also a Knight Templar—made Rónán smile, more so due to the happiness Cailin had found in his lovely and spirited bride. “’Twas after the wedding when the king’s runner delivered a missive that the Bruce requested my presence in matters concerning the Earl of Sionn.”

The faint murmur of voices echoed from down a corridor, and the scent of venison, onions, and herbs sifted through the air.

Rónán’s stomach rumbled, a reminder he hadn’t eaten since dawn. But that would have to wait until after he’d met with his sovereign.

His friend guided him down another hallway, this one smaller but as grand. From the ornately framed paintings, the discreet carvings straddling the walls, ’twas clearly the king’s private area.

“Have you ever met the Earl of Sionn?” his friend asked.

“Nay, only heard that he is a man well respected by his warriors.” Learned during a time in his brutal youth he’d rather forget, a place filled with naught but pain and fear. Nor did he ever intend to return to Ireland, a promise he’d kept after his adventures had brought him to join the galloglass, where a year later he’d met and given his vow to the Brotherhood in France. He’d sailed away with a Templar crew and never looked back.

Cold fury lanced his gut as he thought of the Knights Templar, who’d been betrayed by King Philip, of the false charges leveled upon an elite Christian force who’d displayed naught but the highest ideals and principles for nearly two centuries.

Yet, for all the French king’s conniving to replenish his coffers with Templar wealth, in the end he’d claimed naught but a pittance of their gold.

Warned in advance of King Philip’s nefarious intent, Rónán, along with a sizable portion of the Brotherhood, had loaded most of the Templar treasures aboard their ships and sailed from La Rochelle before the arrests began. Five galleys and their crews had headed to Scotland, led by the fierce warrior at his side. The remainder of the fleet had traveled to Portugal.

Though a year and a half had passed since the arrests had begun, heartache still filled Rónán at the loss of men who were like brothers. Nor could he forget the brutality endured by those still imprisoned in France.

“During my last meeting with King Robert,” Stephan said, drawing Rónán from his somber musings, “he mentioned that he is seeking support from Ireland.”

“’Twould explain why Lord Sionn is here, but not the reason the Bruce would request my presence.”

“Perhaps the king seeks a trusted Irish adviser.”

Rónán shot his friend a skeptical look. “As I havena been in Ireland since my childhood, that I doubt.”

“But with your Irish roots, along with our king’s Templar ties, a motive that makes sense.”

Learning King Robert was of the Brotherhood over a year before had left Rónán stunned. Stephan’s reasoning could indeed explain why the monarch had asked him here, a rationale Rónán prayed was wrong. The very thought of returning to the land of his youth chilled him.

“If Lord Sionn has joined the Bruce’s cause,” Rónán said, shoving aside the dreaded possibility, “Lord Comyn and the English will be irate.”

His friend grunted. “There is that.”

Paces ahead, torchlight illuminated a statue of Jesus, and another of the Virgin Mary.

“I regret to have missed Sir Cailin’s wedding,” Stephan said.

Rónán smiled at memories of his friend’s marital vows. “You would like Elspet. In addition to being beautiful, she is an intelligent and strong woman. A fine match for Cailin.”

Humor twinkled in his friend’s eyes. “Mayhap a union in which our king had a hand?”

“A thought I considered. Though Cailin protests that fact, he canna deny that King Robert sent him to meet with her father.” In brief, Rónán explained.

Sadness edged Stephan’s face as he passed below an arched, stained-glass window softly illuminated by the last rays of sunset. “I regret the lass had to endure such treachery from her liege lord and stepbrother. That justice has been served, and she and Cailin have found love, is what is important.”

“Indeed.”

Eyes softening with humor, his friend arched a brow. “Mayhap ’tis why the king has called you here, not to have you meet the Earl of Sionn, but to announce the lass you are to wed.”

At his friend’s teasing, Rónán shook off the claw of dread sliding through him and forced himself to shrug. “With the Bruce preparing for his first parliament and nobles and clergy arriving in force, I far from think he has time to ponder the future of an unwed knight.”

“Mayhap.” Stephan waggled his brows. “But the earl has a beautiful daughter, one who accompanied him to St Andrews.”

Far from worried, a smile touched Rónán’s mouth. “A woman who I will never meet, nor will she play a part in my life.”

“Given the dangerous situation created by those seeking to dethrone King Robert, that her father allowed her to travel with him is surprising.” Stephan shot him a wry look. “Unless her presence here, like yours, was requested by the Bruce.”

“I am without a title, a rank her station demands when she weds. Nor does this conversation hold any relevance. ’Twas only the Earl of Sionn who was mentioned in the Bruce’s writ.” He held up his hand as Stephan started to speak, missing their verbal spars over the years, appreciating that regardless whether his friend had reclaimed his father’s title, their strong bond of friendship hadn’t changed. “As for a reason she accompanied her father, I remember another stubborn lass who confronted our king in her efforts to accompany our force as we sailed to seize her home.”

Stephan turned a corner, the waning sheen of colored light sifting through the crafted glass window lending a demure cast over the corridor. “’Twas a different circumstance.”

“Indeed, but unlike you, I willna marry the lass, much less meet her,” Rónán said, amused at his friend’s attempt to make him worry about Lord Sionn’s daughter. “Speaking of beautiful women, when I first saw you in the stable, you mentioned that Lady Katherine is here. Nor have I congratulated you on the birth of your son.”

Pure joy swept Stephan’s face. “I thank you. Three years ago, I never could have imagined myself married with a child; now I canna imagine myself without them. And King Robert has agreed to be Colbán’s godfather.”

“Wonderful,” Rónán said, surprised by the tug of envy. Why? He’d never pondered thoughts of marrying, much less of having a family. That his friend had found both was a blessing, but not a life for him.

With Scotland far from united, the years ahead would be dedicated to fighting beneath King Robert’s standard. Though Rónán had somehow managed to retain a sense of humor and an appreciation for friendship, ‘twas a foil against the bitterness in his heart, one forged by his brutal youth, many battles fought, and of witnessing too many of his friends dying beneath a blade.

A familiar trickle of laughter sounded from an open door ahead, an elaborate crucifix centered above the entry.

“’Twould seem,” Stephan said, “that my wife has found something to amuse her.”

Recalling Katherine’s humor during the time they’d spent aboard ship with Stephan and the other Templar knights over a year before, an idea sprung to mind. “Does your wife know I was summoned by the king?”

“Nay, neither of us were informed you were to arrive. The only reason I saw you was because I was outside when you rode in.”

“Is your son with her?”

He shook his head. “Colbán is asleep in our chamber, his nursemaid nearby.”

“Then,” he said with a smile, “wait here and let me surprise her.”

His friend chuckled. “If you think you can. I doubt you will get the best of her.”

“We will see. ’Tis time for me to pay her back for the last prank she played on me.” With stealth, Rónán crept to the entry, but his view was blocked by a large carved statue. He peered between the figure and the wall.

A slender woman stood with her back to him. She had long blond hair, and wore a stunning blue wool gown that hung to her ankles. Celtic designs braided in gold decorated the hem, a sgian dubh secured at her waist, and an intricate silver torque encircling her neck.

Though over a year had passed, he’d recognize Katherine anywhere. Pride filled him as he thought of their time onboard the Templar cog. And when attacking her castle to reclaim it, she’d proven over and again that she was a woman who, when determined, could accomplish all she set out to achieve. To find a lass of such integrity, oh, were he to be so fortunate…

Stunned, he smothered the thought. Nay, he sought naught but the life of a warrior. That his friends had found women to love was a fate he didn’t seek.

The soft murmur of another woman’s voice had him glancing over, but with his limited view, he couldn’t see farther into the room. Nor did it matter. Rónán glanced back at Stephan.

Down the corridor, a smile curved his friend’s mouth as he leaned against the hewn stone wall and folded his arms across his chest.

Turning, Rónán focused on Katherine’s back. With a plan in mind, he crept around the statue and started to lay his hands over her eyes. “Guess wh—”

In a blur of movement, blond hair slapped his face as a woman he’d never seen before whirled to confront him. He caught a brief glimpse of smooth features and glittering eyes a second before her leg swept out and hooked his knees.

Off balance, Rónán caught her shoulders to steady himself.

She jerked back.

Air rushed down his throat as they started to fall. Blast it! He shifted his body, taking the brunt of the impact as they landed.

Sprawled atop him, gray eyes narrowed with fury, she unsheathed her dagger.

God’s truth! Rónán caught her wrist. “Lass—”

“Release me!” she warned.

Her rich, lyrical brogue had him hesitating. With the Bruce’s first parliament soon to be held within these walls, he’d expected to find travelers from Ireland. So why did her body pressed to his, combined with the wild flash in her eyes, make him hesitate? “With pleasure.” He caught her blade with his free hand, jerked it away, then let her go.

Her breath coming fast, she scrambled up.

Considering the speed and accuracy with which the woman had withdrawn her sgian dubh and aimed it at his throat, she must be trained in combat. Nor was he surprised by this discovery. ’Twas naught uncommon for women in Ireland to hold rank, be educated, and trained for war.

“My mistake for surprising you,” Rónán said, pushing himself to his feet. He extended her weapon to her handle first.

Eyes wary, she snatched her dagger.

“Sir Rónán?”

He glanced right to find Lady Katherine stepping toward him, her eyes warm with surprised welcome, the reaction he’d anticipated a moment before.

“Whoever this stranger is,” the lass snapped, “he has the manners of a lout.”

“Lady Lathir,” Lady Katherine said with a chuckle, her voice growing fond. She walked over and rested her hand upon his arm. “May I introduce you to Sir Rónán, a friend and a man I would trust with my life.”

The lady took an almost insulting length of time securing her blade, then gave him a cool nod. “Sir Rónán.”

“Sir Rónán,” Katherine continued, “I am pleased to introduce to you Lady Lathir. Though you two have just met, I believe that you will get along well.”

With the daggers shooting from the other woman’s eyes, that Rónán doubted. Intrigued now that their scuffle was over, he studied her. Wary gray eyes, ones he noted had a hint of lavender, held his without apology. She was fair, even-featured, with lush lips. A beauty by all standards. And she’d felt very soft and womanly in those brief moments she’d lay upon him on the floor.

Most women would have jumped or screamed at his unexpected presence, but like a trained knight, she’d gone on the attack. A mystery. Nor did this incident hold importance in the scheme of things. Once he’d spoken with the king and was given his mission, he would depart and, thankfully, he and the lass would never see the other again.

But he did owe her an explanation. “My lady, I regret startling you. Lady Katherine and I have a history of playing pranks upon each other. As you have a similar appearance and height, and I heard her voice, I believed you were she.” He offered her a warm smile that had charmed many a lass. “I had meant to surprise her.”

“I see,” she said, her words clipped.

From her cool manner, he suspected otherwise. He shifted his gaze to Katherine. “’Tis wonderful to see you, my lady.”

“And I you.” Katherine smiled. “I wasna informed you would be here.”

“Which is what I explained to Rónán when I saw him,” Stephan said as he entered the solar. He crossed to his wife, then nodded to Lady Lathir. “My lady, ’tis good to see you again. I regret the confusion. These two can be like scrapping siblings trying to outdo the other.”

“Lord Dunsmore,” she said, her tone warming to a sincere welcome. “The knight’s action is inconsequential, and as he explained, ’twas a mistake.” She took a step toward the door, a tight smile on her lips. “Nay doubt you wish to reminisce with your friend.”

Worry filtered into Katherine’s gaze. “Please stay. Once Sir Rónán learns that—”

“An explanation that is unnecessary. Enjoy your reunion. We will talk later.” She nodded. “If you will excuse me.”

With exquisite grace, she exited the solar, her blue robe swirling around her slender curves with a royal flare. Without a glance toward him, Rónán noted, though he found himself watching her departure. As the last tantalizing wisp of the lass disappeared from view, he grimaced. “She is a bit skittish.”

“Nay, anxious,” Stephan said. “En route, her party was attacked a league outside St Andrews. During the fray, two men rushed Lady Lathir.”

“God’s truth,” Rónán hissed, “they tried to kill her?”

“We believe the warriors meant to abduct her for ransom,” Stephan said, “or to use her to force her father to withdraw support for King Robert.”

“But,” Katherine said with pride, “she killed the. . .