The Lord of Merewood Keep

Book 1: Mo Ghrá Mo Chroí Go Deo Series

by C.H. Admirand

Synopsis

C.H. Admirand sweeps her readers back into the past to Medieval England with her Mo Ghrá Mo Chroí Go Deo Series beginning with book 1: The Lord of Merewood Keep. This re-release has been re-edited and freshened up. For readers who have already read this Medieval series, I have changed the love scenes to appeal to a broader range of readers, by giving Lady Jillian and Garrick of Merewood their privacy during those intimate moments. Never fear, the romance is still the most important part of Lady Jillian and Garrick of Merewood's story.

A marriage arranged for freedom and a dowry not of gold, but of honor. Garrick of Merewood's vows are tested, and Lady Jillian's life had been threatened. Love and trust must overcome deceit and treachery if they are to survive. Together they must stand against her guardian, and their King, to find the love of a lifetime.

Release date: September 30, 2014

Publisher: C.H. Admirand

Print pages: 397

Sample

Chapter One

1072 Northumbria 

“He said no, milady.”

Lady Jillian’s heart skipped a beat. “Did he say why, Stephan?”

The stable lad gripped the hem of his dirt- brown tunic and started wringing it.

When he  remained  silent,  she  prodded the young man, “Did you tell him Owen of Sedgeworth has imprisoned his brother?”

Stephan looked up at her, “’xactly like you said, milady.”

She could not believe it. “He’s not going to help us?”

What would she do now? Her plans of escape evaporated. The man she’d thought to be her savior was refusing to help. Struggling to keep her composure, she dug deep for a calm she didn’t feel.

A horse whinnied from the stall behind them, startling them both. To cover the way he jumped at the sound, Stephan kicked at the dry straw covering the stable floor.

Mayhap he spoke to the wrong man! “This man you spoke to,” she began. “Was he tall with light hair?”

Stephan nodded, and she asked, “Fierce- looking, built like a warrior?”

The young man grabbed her hand, “I spoke to the Lord of Merewood Keep.”

“You’re sure?”

“He’s every bit as tall as MacInness the Scot … just as broad through the shoulders.”

The look of awe in Stephan’s eyes convinced her.  Garrick of Merewood was reputed to be   a giant, like the tall Scots mercenary who’d befriended her. “Did he speak at all?”

Stephan looked down at the hard-packed earthen floor and the bare spot he’d made in the thin layer of straw. “Aye.”

“What did he say?”

His shoulders slumped. “He laughed.”

Jillian stepped closer to him and placed her work-roughened hands on his bony shoulders.

“But not at you?”

He refused to meet her eyes and her stomach clenched. A tight knot of fear began to form as a grim thought took hold. “Did he try to hurt you?”

He looked up at her then. “Nay, he said seeing’s how you knowed so much ‘bout his warrior skills, you’d know he don’t need no help. ‘Specially from no lady.”

Her hands tightened reflexively on his shoulders. Every word was true. Garrick of Merewood’s reputation with sword and axe were a vital part of her plan to regain her family’s holding. Without the Lord of Merewood Keep, she would be doomed to fail.

But what he didn’t know terrified her. If her guardian followed through with his threat … she caught herself starting to grind her teeth. In a bid to stop the damning habit, she closed her eyes. Immediately, the face of Garrick of Merewood’s youngest brother appeared in her mind’s eye. So handsome, yet arrogant while kissing her hand. But his arrogance dissolved into a look of stark terror as the hammered tip of a claymore hovered at the base of his throat. Fear sprinted through her heart. Her guardian had threatened the young man’s life right before imprisoning him. Her eyes shot open. “Garrick doesn’t know how badly Lord Owen wants the alliance.”

She paced back and forth; stirring up tiny motes of dust with each step. “He’ll not stop until he can sink his greedy fists into Merewood Keep’s revenues.”

“Lord Garrick’s smart,” the young lad said, “he don’t need to worry ‘bout Owen.”

Jillian stopped dead in her tracks; took a look around the stable to make certain they were alone. “Shhh … lest someone hear you. I’ll not have Lady Haldana use her switch on you, too.”

Unconsciously, she rolled her shoulders to relieve the constant ache in them. The newly healed layer of skin across the top of her back pulled. She stopped before it could split open again.

Stephan put a hand on her arm, “’Tis not right that she beats ya.”

Staring down at her self-appointed protector, Jillian’s eyes filled with tears. Orphans no one wanted, they’d looked out for one another for the last three years.

Smoothing a fat blond curl back off his dirt- smeared forehead, she rasped, “You’re a brave lad to watch over me. But you must understand, we don’t always have a say in how our lives turn out. ‘Tis the will of God.”

Her thoughts drifted back to a time when her life was far different. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost see her parents walking arm in arm across the bailey as they stopped at the keep’s well where her father always snuck a kiss.

Lost in the past, Jillian tilted her head to one side. If she listened hard enough, she could hear a whisper of her mother’s soft laughter. The memories made her smile.

“Milady?”

“Hmmm?” Small  hands  were  grabbing her arm, shaking her. “Oh! Sorry, I was just thinking … ”

“Why does the mistress beat ya?” His face was lined with worry.

“I do not know. Mayhap I don’t work fast enough to suit her.”

“But you’re always breaking your back toiling over some such—”

“Hush now,” she placed a finger to his lips.

“It matters not why she does, it just is. If I could just meet with Lord Garrick and convince him

… ” her voice trailed off.

“That’s it!” She grabbed the boy and hugged him hard. If she could meet the Lord  of Merewood Keep face-to-face and explain the dire situation, mayhap he’d have a change of heart.

Hope speared through her. There was still a chance.

***

Jillian crouched low behind an ancient oak tree, the last hiding-place  between  the  edge of the forest and the curtain wall surrounding Merewood Keep. Her body was stiff with tension from waiting.

Lifting her shoulders to ease the pressure sent shards of pain slicing through her. Her vision grayed as the skin pulled and stretched. Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath, she waited for the pain to subside.

She looked up. A cloud was inches away from the moon. Gauging the distance one last time, she rose up on the balls of her feet and prayed her stiff muscles would obey.

“Now  or  never,”  she  whispered  into  the darkness.

The moonlight faded as she ran toward the curtain wall. Fear had her heart pumping in her breast, giving her feet wings. This would be her last chance to change her life and put an end to the beatings. She was taking it.

Thin rays of moonlight silvered the ground around her as she dove through the break in  the curtain wall. Crawling forward she felt each and every twig snapping beneath her sweat-slickened palms, felt tiny stones bruising her kneecaps. Panting from the exertion, she stopped, straining to listen. Finally, she heard what she waited for.

Footsteps. “Castle guard … south corner

… right on schedule. Bless you,  Stephan.”  His information was accurate. Watching from her hiding place, four knights met and passed one another, continuing two-by-two on their midnight sweep of the southern perimeter. Once they’d gone, she stood up, brushed her skirts, and searched the night sky.

“Not a cloud.” She would be out in the open now. Fear sprinted through her. With ice-cold hands she gripped the amber pendant hanging between her breasts. Fingering the flat side, she sought the etched Celtic cross. Finding it, she offered up a quick prayer to God. Slowing her breath, she inhaled deeply and instinctively sought the Runic inscription on the slightly rounded face of the pendant. Saying another prayer to the ancients, she felt the familiar warmth begin to surge through her hand where she held the amber, flowing up her arm to her heart.

Her fear dissolved. With one last fortifying breath,  she  ran  across  the  bailey, shadow   to shadow. Up ahead a faint flicker of light beckoned her closer.

A feeling of dread snaked up her spine, chilling her to the very marrow of her bones. She stiffened to control it, reaffirming her resolve to secure her future. There was no one else to do it for her.

“Do not fear him, he’s just a man … well, warrior,” she qualified. “I can do this!” ‘Twill be like talking to Winslow MacInness—vassal to her guardian.

Heading toward the beacon of light, she heard the deep rumbling of a male voice and answering whinny. Was the warrior she sought in the stable? Uneasy in the dark, uncertain of her welcome, she changed direction, following the comforting sounds of man and beast.

Three steps from the open doorway to the stable, someone grabbed her from behind, spinning her around. Before she could draw a breath to scream, she was roughly hauled up against the rock-hard wall of a man’s chest.  His hand tipped her head back before tangling deeply in her waist-length hair.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The depth of his voice resonated through her. Fear robbed her of her voice.

“What do you want?” he asked,  shaking her. The voice and hands belonged to a very powerful man, one she imagined could crush the breath from her lungs and the life from her body. Her gasp of fright had him loosening his hold. His hand found its way free of her hair  to gently toy with the curl brushing against her temple. His tender touch warred with his rough demanding actions, confusing her.

She strained to see in the dark, but could not quite make out more than the outline of a very large man. He could be the one she sought.

He let go of her hair, but the grip on her arms tightened. She sucked in a breath, hoping he wouldn’t guess how badly he frightened her, saying, “I need to speak to Lord Garrick.”

In the silence that followed, her fear compounded and grew to epic proportions until she started to tremble and could barely draw in a deep breath.

“Why?”

She struggled with her fear and overcame it, “I have news of his brother, Roderick.”

His grip was punishing. As he dragged her closer to the lighted torch he’d left in the stable, she would later swear she felt each one of his fingers biting into the flesh of her arms through the coarse wool of her cloak. She cried out in pain, and his grip immediately loosened.

“I’ll take him a message,” the man offered.

Jillian shook her head, “What I must say    is private.” Fear snaked through the pit of her stomach at the low, almost feral sound he made in reply.

“Garrick?” A low-pitched male voice called out. Someone was looking for the lord of the keep.

Her captor tensed and she knew then, he was the man she sought. Her temper spiked. “Dare you play games with your brother’s life?”

Not waiting for his answer, she brought her left foot down on his instep. He hissed, drawing in a sharp breath, but straightened his arms as she had hoped. Just enough room. She kicked out with her other foot, connecting solidly with the bone of his shin.

The arms holding her loosened. Struggling, she sprang free only to be grabbed again and brought back against the warrior’s chest.

“Hold, wench.” He cursed, bending to rub his shin.

Her anger gave her courage, “’Tis Lady Jillian to you.”

“Ahhh,” he relaxed his hold on her. “Did you not get my message?”

She stiffened. He knew who she was? “Aye, but Owen has plans for you. If you would but agree to my plan—”

“To marry you in exchange for my brother’s life?”

Somehow when this powerful warrior gave voice to her plan, it sounded impossible. And yet, she couldn’t give up now, “But Owen’s guards—”

“Are not worth the time it takes to train them,” he finished for her.

“He’ll hang your brother.” How could he refuse her offer of help? “I can free him.” Surely he would not let his brother hang!

“Your price is too steep.”

“His life is not worth marrying me?” A wave of dizziness swamped her as she realized he would refuse.

“’Tis not that. I have other plans for marriage.

Besides, I need no help freeing my brother.”

For one heart-breaking moment Jillian imagined how pitifully insignificant she must seem to a warrior of his skill and renown. But her future lay in this man’s hands; she had placed it there.

She had to try to sway him, “Lord Garrick, please … I can offer Loughmae Keep—”

“You are propertied?” He interrupted.

“Aye. Well, that is to say … ” she fumbled over the words, and the truth.

“Aye or nay?” The harsh tone of his voice demanded the truth of her; she would be a fool not to give it to him.

“With a strong husband at my side, I could persuade King William to restore it to me.” She hated pleading.

When he remained silent, she decided to prod him a bit. “My mother trained me well, I can manage a keep this size—”

“What do you gain from this bargain?”

Face flushed, eyes bright, she looked him dead in the eye, wishing it were brighter so she could see his expression, “My freedom.”

“Freedom from what?” He sounded surprised.

“’Twill not be your concern unless you agree to my bargain.”

She felt his gaze on her and wondered if it softened for a brief moment before the steely resolve she sensed would be there returned. His silence gave her pause. Is he thinking about it? Hope blossomed in her breast.

“I cannot agree to your bargain.” “But Roderick—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He walked away, melting into the darkness from whence he came. The breath she drew in caught and held as she watched her last hope disappearing into the night.

Her limbs felt leaden. It was an effort placing one foot in front of the other, retracing her steps. With all hope lost, her spirit weakened. Past indignities and humiliations swamped her, crushing the tiny spark of hope inside of her until it flickered and went out.

She was truly alone. Other than young Stephan, no one cared what became of  her. Her soul felt hollowed out, like a well-chewed nutshell, with nothing left inside.

Blinded by the force of her despair, she stumbled back through the opening in the curtain wall. When she reached the gnarled oak where she’d left her horse tied, she fumbled with knotted reins. But her fingers were numb with shock, making it impossible to untie the leather. Finally, the tree branch snapped, releasing the reins to the sway-backed mare.

As she slowly followed the path that would take her back to her prison, she no longer  cared what would become of her. Her reasons for surviving under intolerable conditions no longer existed.

With each mile, she could feel the walls closing in on her, suffocating her. She neither saw nor heard her young protector guide his pony into step behind her horse.

By the time she reached the overgrown gate in the wall surrounding Sedgeworth Keep, she had resigned herself to her fate. Her family holding was lost to the Norman King, and she would be servant to the mistress of Sedgeworth until the day she died.