Blood is not
always thicker than water…
At times a
common bloodline is something of a curse—or so Robert FitzStephan discovers
when he realises his half-brother, Eustace de Lamont, wants to kill him.
A murderous and
greedy brother isn’t Robert’s only challenge.
He and his wife, Noor, also have to handle their infected relationship
with a mightily displeased Queen Eleanor—all because of their mysterious little
foundling whom they refuse to abandon or allow the queen to lock away.
Eustace is
persistent. When Robert’s life hangs in the balance, it falls to Noor to do
whatever it takes to rip them free from the toothy jaws of fate. Noor may be a
woman, but weak she is not, and in her chest beats a heart as brave and
ferocious as that of a lioness. But will her courage be enough to see them
safe?
Trigger
Warnings:
There is some sexual (consensual) content. Also some violence
Follow the tour HERE
Buy Links: Available on Kindle Unlimited
Universal Link
¸.•*´¨)✯ ¸.•*¨) ✮ ( ¸.•´✶
In which a most ungodly Friar plays a central role.
Robert kept his distance from the others for the following
days, and especially from the friar, whose bright-eyed enthusiasm at the idea
of pulverising yet another castle—and thereby maiming or killing many
people—had his innards twisting.
“How can he be a man of God?” he muttered to John, mounting
Mars. In front of them, Friar Robert was yelling at the drovers, alternating
between pointing at the yoked oxen and the heavy contraptions they were to
pull.
“Oh, I am sure he prays and fasts regularly,” John replied.
“Mayhap he should spend more time pondering the Holy
Script,” Robert said. Not that he knew anything about it; writing was a chore,
and reading was a challenge he had yet to fully master. And as to Latin, well,
he spoke better Arabic, which was not saying much.
“Ready?” Mortimer held in his horse beside them.
“Aye.” Robert and his men were to form the vanguard. Mortimer
and the rest of the men were to ride on each side of the gigantic, lumbering
train, with only Geoffrey de Bohun and four men-at-arms holding the rear.
Robert studied one of the huge contraptions as it rolled by, the wheels easily
the size of him.
“If that gets stuck in a rut, we’ll never get it free,” John
commented.
“Best pray it doesn’t happen,” Mortimer said. He flashed
them a quick grin. “I fear our dear friar would likely have a fit should one of
his precious engines be damaged.”
It took one day to Llanteulyddog, the inhabitants in the
small town thronging on the city walls to gawk at the siege engines. They spent
most of the night on guard, taking turns to eat and sleep. Robert stamped his
feet, glad of the breeches he was wearing on top of his hose and of the thick
cloak he’d wrapped himself in. Above, the stars twinkled like shards of ice,
his breath pluming before him.
“Cold enough to freeze the devil’s arse off,” Geoffrey
commented, his voice muffled by the length of woollen cloth he'd wound round
his neck and face.
“As long as it doesn’t start to snow,” Robert said.
It did, of course. Come morning, it began to snow,
alleviating the cold somewhat but making progress along the Teifi
excruciatingly slow, even with the extra oxen Mortimer had commandeered in
Llanteulyddog.
After hours at a crawling pace, they finally saw the castle
of Newydd Emlyn rise out of the snow. At some distance from the village, it sat
on a narrow headland with the River Teifi running on two sides. The outer
curtain walls ran straight across, a stout gate leading into the outer wards.
Just in front of the walls huddled a group of houses.
Friar Robert studied the castle in silence. “Hmm,” he said,
walking back and forth. “Breaching this will be easy.”
“Aye,” Mortimer said, “but the gatehouse to the inner wards
is quite the beast.”
Friar Robert scoffed. “Nothing withstands my precious engines.
Nothing.” He gestured at the buildings by the main gate. “Set them on fire.”
“I hoped to have celebrated Christmastide at home,” Robert
groused a day or so later. More than six weeks away, and he felt constantly
cold and damp.
“Well, at least we have the good friar to lead us in
rejoicing at the birth of Christ our Saviour,” Mortimer replied. “Though it
seems to me he prefers bonfires to mass.”
The buildings round the main gate had been reduced to ashes
their first morning here. Under the protection of Robert’s men, the friar had
sent forth his own men to wreak destruction. Robert had insisted on making sure
the houses were empty—much to the friar’s irritation. “If there’s someone
there, they’ll come running once the flames start licking their toes!” he’d
snapped.
“Assuming they can
get out,” Robert had snapped back. “Surely, you do not want innocents to die?”
“Innocents? Pah! I’d wager every one of those people living
in those houses have supported that rat Rhys in some way or other. Mark my words,
every single one of them!”
Once the houses were gone, the friar had used one of his
engines to blast a giant hole through the massive wooden gates—and level one of
the turrets. Mortimer’s men had poured in, the few defenders on the wall
fleeing for their lives towards the distant gatehouse. It was quite the
impressive construction, that gatehouse. Relatively recent, it rose stout and
menacing towards the skies, the entry guarded not only by gates but by a heavy
portcullis that had caused the entire ground to shake when it had been lowered.
Friar Robert had frowned upon seeing the inner construction.
“What?” Mortimer demanded.
“You didn’t tell me there was so little land on either side
of it. How am I to get my siege engines in position without risking they shoot
my men—or manage to set one of them on fire, eh?”
“So we concentrate on the gatehouse,” Mortimer said.
Friar Robert crossed his arms—and impressive arms they were
as well, the chain mail he’d donned bulging. “That,” he said with emphasis, “will
take time.” He waved his hand at the structure. “Whoever built that knew what
they were doing!” He frowned. “I have to think,” he muttered, flouncing off
while yelling for his two sergeants.
Anna
Belfrage
Had Anna
been allowed to choose, she’d have become a time-traveller. As this was
impossible, she became a financial professional with two absorbing interests:
history and writing. Anna has authored the acclaimed time travelling series The
Graham Saga, set in 17th century Scotland and Maryland, as well as the
equally acclaimed medieval series The King’s Greatest Enemy which
is set in 14th century England.
Anna has
also published The Wanderer, a fast-paced contemporary romantic suspense
trilogy with paranormal and time-slip ingredients.
Her
Castilian Heart is the third in her “Castilian” series, a stand-alone sequel to her
September 2020 release, His Castilian Hawk. Set against the
complications of Edward I’s invasion of Wales, His Castilian Hawk is a
story of loyalty, integrity—and love. In the second instalment, The
Castilian Pomegranate, we travel with the protagonists to the complex
political world of medieval Spain. This latest release finds our protagonists
back in England—not necessarily any safer than the wilds of Spain!
Anna has also authored The Whirlpools of Time in which she
returns to the world of time travel. Join Duncan and the somewhat reluctant
time-traveller Erin on their adventures through the Scottish Highlands just as
the first Jacobite rebellion is about to explode!
All of
Anna’s books have been awarded the IndieBRAG Medallion, she has several
Historical Novel Society Editor’s Choices, and one of her books won the HNS
Indie Award in 2015. She is also the proud recipient of various Reader’s
Favorite medals as well as having won various Gold, Silver and Bronze Coffee
Pot Book Club awards.
Find out
more about Anna, her books and enjoy her eclectic historical blog on her
website, www.annabelfrage.com
Social Media Links:
Website Twitter Facebook Instagram Book Bub Amazon Author Page Goodreads
