Friends to Lovers (KLN Medieval Romance Boxed Set Collections)

Prologue

Mordrington Manor

Scottish Borders

He’d come for a meal and maybe a sexual favor.

But that’s not what he was facing.

This was his damned property and all he could see where dirty, grizzled Scots in the courtyard, sitting around a giant fire they’d created right in the middle of it.

They’d dug up the cobblestones in the courtyard that had been so carefully laid down last year to keep the mud and erosion at bay and they’d built a bloody big fire right in the middle of it.

Bastards.

He was going to get rid of them once and for all.

This was his property, after all. Mordrington Manor had been left to Roget de Sauque by his wife’s father, a rich and producing manor with fat, brown sheep who multiplied in copious amounts in the springtime.

He’d moved his mistress into it when she was pregnant with their first worthless bastard and since that time, she’d given birth to a second worthless bastard.

Stupid sons because they took after her side of the family.

The only reason Roget kept her around was because she was clever in bed and she did anything he wanted, something his wife wouldn’t do.

Fenella Foulden Hume was the perfect whore.

But with her came her useless family of inbred Scots and he knew it was her brother’s men he saw sitting around the bonfire in the courtyard. The longer he looked at them, the angrier he became.

Roget had entered through the front of the manor, with its giant oak and iron door, so fortified that a hundred men couldn’t pull it down.

That led to the great hall with the courtyard in the center of the manse’s complex.

It was surrounded by living quarters, kitchens, and a chapel, among other things.

It was also protected by a wall walk on the second story, with battlements overlooking the hostile countryside.

He headed to this wall walk because he could get a full view of the Scots camping in his courtyard, eating his food and drinking his wine. He didn’t know where Fenella was and, at the moment, he didn’t care. He was enraged that she was housing her brother and his reiver brethren.

Aye, he knew exactly who they were.

What they were.

Taking the stairs to the gallery above the great hall, he emerged from a doorway on the gallery wall and out onto the wall walk.

From this perch, he could see everything perfectly.

The first thing he realized was that there must have been more of them than he suspected because the smell of human habitation was more powerful than the smoke that was filling the night sky.

It smelled like a barnyard and given the beauty of the manse, that was a tragedy.

Mordrington was a truly beautiful example of a country manse with gardens and a bucolic moat, but now it was filled with reivers.

Outlaws.

In truth, he’d always suspected that was the case, as far as a couple of years back when it seemed that Fenella’s brother, Baldwin “Win” Foulden, had come for a visit with his friends and never left.

Rumor had it that they were attacking small farms and villages in the area, and anything of value, from Berwick to Coldstream.

Massive castles like Northwood and Questing came out to do battle with them, chasing them back into Scotland.

But Win’s group of cutthroats was only a piece of a larger group who comprised a band of Scottish and English outlaws who liked to call themselves Na Bràithrean, or The Brothers.

The Brothers had been responsible for a good deal of death and destruction along that stretch of the borders and as Roget looked around his property, he could see horses and sheep that he didn’t remember buying.

There were even black cattle in the fields to the south; he’d seen them coming in.

Those didn’t belong to him. The smelly courtyard was filled with barrels and possessions shoved into corners, possessions stolen from others.

His pretty, elegant manse had become a den of thieves.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed this before on his frequent trips to visit Fenella.

He’d seen it but he’d ignored it for the most part because, usually, Win and his reivers kept their activities out of his sight.

He didn’t care about what he couldn’t see, but over the past few months, they hadn’t been so careful in hiding their ill-gotten gains.

When he told Fenella that he wanted Win and his cohorts gone, she would simply smile, untie his breeches, and put her mouth on his manhood.

The woman could suck the shine off steel.

Then he’d forget about his anger until the next time.

But there wasn’t going to be a next time.

As Roget stood on the wall walk overlooking the smoky courtyard, he could see three young women huddled in a corner, dressed in what looked like bed clothes.

They were dirty, weeping, and frightened.

Having heard about a raid against the small village of Hutton two days ago, Roget suspected who they were.

Spoils.

If the larger castles along the border heard about this, Mordrington would be destroyed. They couldn’t stand against the Earls of Teviot, Warenton, Northumbria, and Berwick, the dominate warlords in the area, who would undoubtedly come to wipe them out.

The Earl of Teviot had just inherited the title from his father, a young earl named John Adrian de Longley, who had spent most of his years in Edward I’s court.

He was a fierce warlord and nothing to be trifled with.

The Earl of Warenton was an older man who had inherited his title upon the passing of his father four years ago.

Scott de Wolfe was the new earl, but he’d been in the north his entire life and was feared as much as his father, the great William de Wolfe, ever was.

The Earl of Northumbria was also a son of William de Wolfe, having married into the de Vauden family and inheriting the title from the heiress.

He commanded one of the largest armies in the north.

Then, there was the Earl of Berwick – the third son of William de Wolfe had been granted the title before his father’s death.

He was a man known as “Nighthawk” for distinguishing himself for many years along the border.

Patrick de Wolfe held Berwick and a few other properties along the coast and, along with several of his brothers, secured a massive portion of the north of England and a section of the borders of Scotland as well.

They were enormously powerful and, fortunately, Roget was considered an ally and a vassal to Berwick, but that wouldn’t last if the Brothers de Wolfe discovered he was harboring reivers.

He had to get them out before they ruined everything.

He could no longer ignore the obvious.

“You men,” he boomed down to them. “Shut your lips and listen to me! Shut them, I say! Quiet!”

The soft drone of conversation died down as men turned to him, pale and bearded faces through the blue haze of smoke. Roget frowned at the lot of them as a few stood up, looking up at him unhappily.

“If you do not know who I am, then you should,” he bellowed.

“I am Roget de Sauque and this is my property. I do not want you here. Take your ill-gotten gains and get out. If you do not do this in the next hour, I will rouse my army and bring them here to physically remove you. Am I making myself clear?”

The Scots simply looked at him. Then, they looked at each other, shrugging.

Roget could see that there was no sense of urgency to move.

Clearly, they didn’t care what he said because he’d let it go on for so long that they didn’t take him seriously.

As he prepared to shout again, a woman suddenly appeared on the wall walk.

“My love?” she said timidly. “What is the matter? Why do ye shout?”

Roget turned to look at Fenella. She had been a beauty only a few years ago, but childbirth and age had crept upon her quickly, turning her body into soft mush and putting lines on her face. She used to be quite lush, with full lips and curly, auburn hair, but now she just looked… hard.

Hard, as if life had been unkind to her.

“Get your brother and his devils out of here,” he said. “I have tolerated his presence far too long. They have turned this manse into a pig sty. Worse still, they are raiding and killing, bringing abducted women here to abuse. Did you know that?”

He was pointing to the frightened women down below. As they watched, a big Scots walked up to one of them, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her off while she screamed for mercy. Roget turned to Fenella with dark, angry eyes.

“Murderous garbage,” he growled. “I have overlooked it because every time I have brought it up to you, you have distracted me with your whore’s tongue.

That’s all you are, Fenella. A whore. An ugly, disgusting whore.

I want you out, too. Go with your brother and live in whatever filth he provides for you, for I am finished. ”

Fenella looked at him, hurt and distressed. “Ye dunna mean it,” she said. “Ye’re simply weary. Come inside and let me…”

She reached out to grasp him, but he rudely brushed her off. “I mean every word,” he said. “Pack what you can carry and get out. And take those two worthless lads with you, too.”

She gasped in shock. “But they are yer sons!”

Roget shrugged. “They may be, and they may not be,” he said.

“Do not think I don’t know about the other men you’ve taken to your bed since you came to live here.

I know; I have heard the rumors. You bestow your sexual favors on them for a price, so there is no guarantee either boy is my son.

But because I am a man of honor, I have provided you and them with a place to live.

But you have taken advantage of that. You have let your brother do as he pleases and use my property for his nefarious activities.

He will leave and so will you. I will not tell you again.

I will bring my army here and move you out by force. ”