Coming Soon
Sneak Peek - The Fire and the Sword
Chapter One
An Enchanting Waterfall
Outside Clarendon
Yorkshire County, England
1410 A.D.
The morning sun glimmered over the pools of water collecting at the banks of the river, casting up the scent of moist earth and rocks. The tall and ancient trees overhead seemed to bend down to take a drink of the cool, clear water, their branches thick, their roots deep. The breeze whispering through the leaves kissed his face, moving a lock of hair against his cheek. The caress was soft, like the touch of a lover, seducing him with the tip of a warm finger. He smiled at that thought, and his smile grew when he caught sight of his friend—his besotted friend—who was gazing down into the face of the woman he was vowing to love and cherish.
Elric couldn’t help the rush of gladness he felt for the man before him. Tristin LaDeaux had been more than his commander; he’d been a friend, a brother. A savior. The man grinning like a fool even now had been a stalwart and loyal leader, and a deadly warrior. He was still those things, if in a different capacity. No longer would he command the fierce and faithful Homme du Sang, now, he would sire a passel of children and live a life of contentment and boring domesticity with the apothecary who’d stolen his heart…and his senses.
Fighting back a chuckle, Elric stared ahead, avoiding Pierre Roman’s dark, cold, penetrating gaze, finding the shadow clad figure of Glenn Fraser, their silent, deadly infiltrator. He’d been the one to land the killing blow on their previous mission, but not before getting wounded himself. Though, looking at him, leaning against a tree, cleaning his blade, one would think the man was made of impenetrable iron. And though the three of them—he, Pierre, and Glenn—were acting as witnesses to the union of Tristin and his bride, Bell Heather, they weren’t there just to make merry. They were there to ensure Tristin wed his bride in peace, without the threat of interference from a certain pompous cardinal.
Despite the cardinal’s assurance that he had no ill will toward what remained of his precious order, none of the men believed a word of it. Not now. Not after what he’d done to their commander. Not after he’d tried to kill an innocent woman. The man’s actions went against everything they stood for…but they were still bound to him; their duty to uphold the edicts of the Church as interpreted by Cardinal Cristian Calleaux.
With the death of one member—the traitor Gaubin More, and the loss of their commander to the horrors of holy matrimony, their small yet valiant group were down two—and Elric hated to think what Calleaux would do to replace them; who he would force upon them for his own gain.
Biting back a curse, he refocused his attention on the ceremony before him.
Even over the roar of the water racing over the falls, Elric could hear the voice of Father Leon Callet, the only member of the Homme du Sang, their chivalric order of knights, who’d been an ordained priest before being recruited into the order. Unfortunately, that had often made him a sour and disapproving companion, especially when the men sought respite in the small villages along their patrol routes, where the ale flowed freely and the women practiced their most becoming wiles. Fortunately, though, in times such as this, his ordination was a blessing.
“With God’s grace and the witness of your friends and family, I bind you, one to another, in the consecration of holy matrimony,” Leon proclaimed, his face beaming. As Bell Heather and Tristin stared at one another, their expressions simmering with something Elric would rather not comprehend, Leon wound a velvet ribbon around Bell Heather and Tristin’s clasped hands.
“Bound together for all time, until God wills otherwise.” With that, Tristin let out a whoop of pure joy, lifting his wife into his arms and twirling her around as she giggled happily. It was all rather sickening, but Elric would endure—for Tristin, of course. And Bell Heather, too.
After all those two had suffered for one another, they deserved this moment, and millions more just like it.
The afternoon sun beat down on them and the breeze carried the scents of a dwindling summer as they continued the merriment in the village. The villagers set up long tables, piled high with bread, puddings, and roasted boar, and decorated with wreaths and sprigs of herbs and wildflowers. Their tribute to their beloved apothecary, no doubt. And Bell Heather was such a lovely, lively bride. Her sun-kissed tresses flowed over her shoulders to the small of her back, and her green eyes sparkled. She was a brilliant bride, her bliss matched only by Tristin’s; the man had gone from hardened man of blood to gentle, doting husband within the span of a week. It boggled the mind, and if he hadn’t been present for most of that time, he would have thought it impossible. But, despite what Elric had believed possible, Tristin had fallen for the beauteous commoner with dirt beneath her fingernails and a fire in her soul.
If only one such woman existed for me…
A twinge pricked his chest, making him grunt. He rubbed at the spot over his heart, refusing to allow his thoughts to linger over it. What sort of fool allowed such soft emotions rule him? A man like Tristin. And if Tristin could succumb, what enchantment did love cast over all men?
Fighting a shudder, he narrowed his gaze.
“You best take your eyes off my wife, lest I cut them from your head,” Tristin said, coming to stand beside Elric on the edge of the festivities where Elric had taken up post to better see all comings and goings. Elric, Pierre, and Glenn—wherever he’d disappeared to—were there to guard against any outside troubles, not imbibe on ale and bugger any of the comely maidens fluttering their eyelashes at him. At least that was what he was telling himself as he clutched his sword hilt with white knuckles.
“If my intentions toward your bride were anything but honorable, I would pluck them out myself,” Elric replied, turning to find Tristin’s gaze on the woman across the clearing, bending down to smile at a little girl. If Elric didn’t know better, he’d think Tristin had been bespelled by Bell Heather, but he knew, as did all of the Homme du Sang, that Bell Heather was no witch. Only an enchantingly beautiful woman, who’d captured a warrior’s heart.
You are beginning to sound like a woman, with your flowery words and romantic thoughts… He snorted. The day he became like a woman was the day he removed his own manhood with a dull spoon.
As if hearing Elric’s thoughts, and disapproving of them, Tristin slapped Elric on the back, the latter’s armor clanking with the sound of flesh on metal.
“I can assume you know how glad I am to have you here, Elric,” Tristin said, his voice deep but his tone light. Though he hadn’t donned his armor, Tristin was still a formidable looking man; his broad shoulders, thick legs, and towering height could intimidate any potential threat. But…his eyes…their blue depths were no longer haunted with the cares and fears of a man without a purpose.
A man like you…
An Enchanting Waterfall
Outside Clarendon
Yorkshire County, England
1410 A.D.
The morning sun glimmered over the pools of water collecting at the banks of the river, casting up the scent of moist earth and rocks. The tall and ancient trees overhead seemed to bend down to take a drink of the cool, clear water, their branches thick, their roots deep. The breeze whispering through the leaves kissed his face, moving a lock of hair against his cheek. The caress was soft, like the touch of a lover, seducing him with the tip of a warm finger. He smiled at that thought, and his smile grew when he caught sight of his friend—his besotted friend—who was gazing down into the face of the woman he was vowing to love and cherish.
Elric couldn’t help the rush of gladness he felt for the man before him. Tristin LaDeaux had been more than his commander; he’d been a friend, a brother. A savior. The man grinning like a fool even now had been a stalwart and loyal leader, and a deadly warrior. He was still those things, if in a different capacity. No longer would he command the fierce and faithful Homme du Sang, now, he would sire a passel of children and live a life of contentment and boring domesticity with the apothecary who’d stolen his heart…and his senses.
Fighting back a chuckle, Elric stared ahead, avoiding Pierre Roman’s dark, cold, penetrating gaze, finding the shadow clad figure of Glenn Fraser, their silent, deadly infiltrator. He’d been the one to land the killing blow on their previous mission, but not before getting wounded himself. Though, looking at him, leaning against a tree, cleaning his blade, one would think the man was made of impenetrable iron. And though the three of them—he, Pierre, and Glenn—were acting as witnesses to the union of Tristin and his bride, Bell Heather, they weren’t there just to make merry. They were there to ensure Tristin wed his bride in peace, without the threat of interference from a certain pompous cardinal.
Despite the cardinal’s assurance that he had no ill will toward what remained of his precious order, none of the men believed a word of it. Not now. Not after what he’d done to their commander. Not after he’d tried to kill an innocent woman. The man’s actions went against everything they stood for…but they were still bound to him; their duty to uphold the edicts of the Church as interpreted by Cardinal Cristian Calleaux.
With the death of one member—the traitor Gaubin More, and the loss of their commander to the horrors of holy matrimony, their small yet valiant group were down two—and Elric hated to think what Calleaux would do to replace them; who he would force upon them for his own gain.
Biting back a curse, he refocused his attention on the ceremony before him.
Even over the roar of the water racing over the falls, Elric could hear the voice of Father Leon Callet, the only member of the Homme du Sang, their chivalric order of knights, who’d been an ordained priest before being recruited into the order. Unfortunately, that had often made him a sour and disapproving companion, especially when the men sought respite in the small villages along their patrol routes, where the ale flowed freely and the women practiced their most becoming wiles. Fortunately, though, in times such as this, his ordination was a blessing.
“With God’s grace and the witness of your friends and family, I bind you, one to another, in the consecration of holy matrimony,” Leon proclaimed, his face beaming. As Bell Heather and Tristin stared at one another, their expressions simmering with something Elric would rather not comprehend, Leon wound a velvet ribbon around Bell Heather and Tristin’s clasped hands.
“Bound together for all time, until God wills otherwise.” With that, Tristin let out a whoop of pure joy, lifting his wife into his arms and twirling her around as she giggled happily. It was all rather sickening, but Elric would endure—for Tristin, of course. And Bell Heather, too.
After all those two had suffered for one another, they deserved this moment, and millions more just like it.
The afternoon sun beat down on them and the breeze carried the scents of a dwindling summer as they continued the merriment in the village. The villagers set up long tables, piled high with bread, puddings, and roasted boar, and decorated with wreaths and sprigs of herbs and wildflowers. Their tribute to their beloved apothecary, no doubt. And Bell Heather was such a lovely, lively bride. Her sun-kissed tresses flowed over her shoulders to the small of her back, and her green eyes sparkled. She was a brilliant bride, her bliss matched only by Tristin’s; the man had gone from hardened man of blood to gentle, doting husband within the span of a week. It boggled the mind, and if he hadn’t been present for most of that time, he would have thought it impossible. But, despite what Elric had believed possible, Tristin had fallen for the beauteous commoner with dirt beneath her fingernails and a fire in her soul.
If only one such woman existed for me…
A twinge pricked his chest, making him grunt. He rubbed at the spot over his heart, refusing to allow his thoughts to linger over it. What sort of fool allowed such soft emotions rule him? A man like Tristin. And if Tristin could succumb, what enchantment did love cast over all men?
Fighting a shudder, he narrowed his gaze.
“You best take your eyes off my wife, lest I cut them from your head,” Tristin said, coming to stand beside Elric on the edge of the festivities where Elric had taken up post to better see all comings and goings. Elric, Pierre, and Glenn—wherever he’d disappeared to—were there to guard against any outside troubles, not imbibe on ale and bugger any of the comely maidens fluttering their eyelashes at him. At least that was what he was telling himself as he clutched his sword hilt with white knuckles.
“If my intentions toward your bride were anything but honorable, I would pluck them out myself,” Elric replied, turning to find Tristin’s gaze on the woman across the clearing, bending down to smile at a little girl. If Elric didn’t know better, he’d think Tristin had been bespelled by Bell Heather, but he knew, as did all of the Homme du Sang, that Bell Heather was no witch. Only an enchantingly beautiful woman, who’d captured a warrior’s heart.
You are beginning to sound like a woman, with your flowery words and romantic thoughts… He snorted. The day he became like a woman was the day he removed his own manhood with a dull spoon.
As if hearing Elric’s thoughts, and disapproving of them, Tristin slapped Elric on the back, the latter’s armor clanking with the sound of flesh on metal.
“I can assume you know how glad I am to have you here, Elric,” Tristin said, his voice deep but his tone light. Though he hadn’t donned his armor, Tristin was still a formidable looking man; his broad shoulders, thick legs, and towering height could intimidate any potential threat. But…his eyes…their blue depths were no longer haunted with the cares and fears of a man without a purpose.
A man like you…