The Forsaken (The Brotherhood of the Sword #1)

Prologue

“He is the devil!”

Draven de Montague, earl of Ravenswood, laughed aloud at the conviction in Hugh’s voice as they stood before the throne of King Henry II while Draven’s brother and one of Hugh’s men stood a few feet behind them. ‘Twas an epitaph he’d heard more times than he could count.

With a snide glare, he quickly agreed with the old earl. “Spawned of hell and suckled on the teat of a demon. I make no claims to anything else.” It was, after all, his reputation they spoke of. And in this land of chaos, Draven was the undisputed champion.

Two guards, who stood as still as statues, flanked the throne where the king sat.

Henry looked less than pleased as he darted his gaze between his two noblemen.

Even though Draven had shed his own blood, and spilled even more to secure Henry’s crown, he knew the limits of his monarch’s tolerance, and at this point, the king had been pushed too far.

Hugh took a careless step toward Henry’s throne. “I want him to leave my lands alone, Majesty. Surely, he has enough land to pacify himself with that he can leave off Warwick.”

Henry Plantagenet was not a man one approached recklessly. He was a man made by his own determination and raw courage, a man who had much in common with Draven, and better still, he was a man indebted to Draven.

The look on Henry’s face was one of hell wrath and brimstone.

Finding a moment of sanity, the earl stepped back and cast his gaze to the cobbled floor.

Henry looked to Draven and sighed. “We do not understand how this conflict started. Draven, you say he attacked you, and Hugh, you say he attacked you. Neither of you claims to have instigated the matter. This reminds us of two ill-bred children fighting over a toy while they both scream injustice. We particularly expect better from you, Lord Draven.”

Draven did his best not to show the anger coiling through him. He had served Henry faithfully for more than half his life. Even so, he was no man’s fool or pawn. Draven lived life on his own terms, and no one would ever dominate or take advantage of him.

No one.

Draven dared to meet the king’s gaze as an equal. “As you know, my liege, I do not cower, nor will I bow down before this man as he attacks my peasants and raids my fields. If Hugh wants a war, then by God, I am definitely the one to deliver it to him.”

Henry looked upward as if seeking the holy saints to aid him.

“We grow weary of our lords battling amongst themselves.

We acknowledge the years under Stephen were lax, but those days are gone.

‘Tis I, Henry, who rules this land and we shall have peace in it.” He looked straight at Draven. “Do you understand?”

“Aye, my liege.”

His look then turned to Hugh, whose gaze still examined the floor at Henry’s feet. “And you?”

“Aye, Sire.”

Henry’s stern features relaxed a degree. “‘Tis good then. But since we know better than to trust two mice left afield while the cat is occupied elsewhere, we must set this deal in a more permanent fashion.”

A sick feeling of dread settled in Draven’s gullet. He knew his king well enough to know this would not be to his liking.

“Since neither of you seems to know how this started, we have a way to settle this here and now. If you both have possession of something the other cherishes, then mayhap you’ll think twice before committing any further hostilities.”

“Majesty?” Hugh asked, his voice carrying the weight of his own trepidation.

Henry stroked his beard. “You have a daughter, do you not Lord Hugh?”

“Aye, Sire, I have three still living.”

Henry nodded, then looked to Draven who met his gaze with impertinent directness.

“And what of you, Draven?”

“I have a wastrel brother I have longed to be rid of for years.”

Said brother sputtered in indignation from ten paces behind him, but wisely kept his silence before his king.

His face perplexed, Henry thought the matter over. “Tell us, Simon,” he directed to Draven’s younger brother, “what does Draven hold dearest on this earth?”

Draven turned slightly to see his brother squirming beneath the attention of his king. With his head sedately bowed, Simon glanced up from under his brows as he addressed King Henry. “In truth, Your Majesty, ‘tis his honor only that he treasures. He would die to protect it.”

Henry rubbed at his chin as he considered those words. When he spoke, his words went through Draven like a hot lance. “Very well. We demand Draven swear on his honor that he will not raid or harass Hugh, and Lord Hugh is to hand one of his daughters over as pledge for his good conduct.”

“What!” Hugh bellowed so loudly that Draven half expected the rafters to fall down around them. “You cannot be serious.”

Henry shot to his feet and directed a heated glare at Hugh. “Sir, you forget yourself. ‘Tis your king you address and treasonous ground you tread upon.”

Hugh’s face was redder than the crimson surcoat Draven wore over his armor.

“Your Majesty, I beg you, do not ask this of me. My daughters are gentle creatures, unused to hardship or the company of men. My eldest is to marry one month hence, and her sister is sworn to St. Anne’s.

Surely you cannot demand that they relinquish their oaths to be held hostage for an indefinite term? ”

“You spoke of a third daughter?”

Complete and utter horror was etched on Hugh’s face. “Sire, Emily is the gentlest of all my daughters. She quivers at the slightest scare. An hour with Ravenswood and she would die from her fear. I beg you, please do not demand this.”

“We wish the two of you had left us with a choice.

But alas, we grow weary of the constant complaints and accusations of our lords.

Hugh, you are the one who beseeched the crown to intervene lest you lose your lands to Draven.

‘Twould seem to us a daughter would be naught compared to your lands.” Henry retook his seat.

“Nay, Lady Emily is to be handed over to Draven for safe keeping.”

A lady in his home…

Draven could feel his lip starting to curl at the thought. It was on his tongue to tell Henry to forget the whole matter, but one look, and he knew better than to question the king’s dictates.

Then the most incredible thing happened.

Hugh went down on his knees before Henry’s throne.

He bowed down and touched his forehead on the cold, stone floor.

“Please, Majesty,” he begged, his voice quivering.

“You cannot take my daughter and then ask only for Ravenswood’s oath.

I beg you. Emily is.... she is my life. You may have my lands, but please leave my daughter be. ”

For an instant Draven almost felt sorry for the man, until he recalled the village that had been burned in the dead of night. The women who had been raped and butchered in their beds.

As much as he dreaded having this lady in his home, he knew it would guarantee Hugh’s benevolent behavior. And that would keep his people safe.

He held no doubt he could end this feud. with one battle, but Draven had long grown weary of fighting. He wanted peace and solitude. And if this would end the matter....

As always, he would do as his king commanded.

Henry stroked his beard in thought as he listened to Hugh continue to implore his mercy. “On your feet, Hugh.”

Hugh stood, his eyes shining bright from unshed tears.

“We hear your plea, and we can assure you Draven takes his oaths most seriously. We have seen him execute his duty to us with acts of unquestionable loyalty. However, since you have been known to recant your oath, we must ensure that this time peace is kept.”

The king referred to the fact that Hugh had once promised to support Henry’s claim to the throne, only to turn around two months later and join King Stephen’s forces to fight against Henry.

Hugh was not one to be trusted. Ever.

“If Your Majesty so doubts my loyalty, then why do I still have my lands?” Hugh asked.

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Rather than ask our motives, you should be grateful for our continued mercy and should act with appropriate gratitude.”

Draven met Henry’s gaze and knew without being told the king’s reason.

An enemy known was much better than one unknown.

So long as Hugh held lands from Henry, he owed a debt of gratitude to the king, but should Henry remove the earl, then Hugh would hell-bound to retaliate, and would soon find himself as a conspirator against the crown.

The maintenance of Warwick was such that Hugh had little time for conspiracy, and it kept him away from London and the political machinations of Henry’s enemies.

Henry looked back to Hugh. “Lord Draven shall hold her for one year. That should be long enough for your tempers to cool.” Henry motioned for his scribe to write down his decree. “Should you attack Lord Draven or any of his people or lands, your daughter will be his do with as he pleases.”

Hugh slid his gaze to Draven. “And if he should harm her for no cause, Sire?”

Henry’s face hardened. “As the right hand of the crown, Draven knows firsthand what we do to traitors. We have trusted our life to Lord Draven and we will accept his pledge on the bones of St. Peter that he will not harm her.” Then to Draven he said, “Lady Emily will be considered our ward. Any harm done her will be done to us. We trust you will guard her accordingly?”

“Aye, Your Majesty. I shall guard her with my life.”

“‘Tis good then. Now go and make preparations. Draven seek out our priest and make your oath.”

Draven gave a slight bow to Henry who was now looking at Hugh. “Draven will ride home with you to secure your daughter. Should our royal messengers return from Ravenswood with news she is not there, we shall not be pleased.”

Simultaneously, they bowed, along with Draven’s brother, and walked backwards from the throne room.

Once the heavy wooden doors were closed behind them, Hugh whirled on Draven. “One way or another, I shall see you dead over this,” he hissed.

“Is that a threat?” Draven asked with a hint of laughter in his voice. The last thing under heaven Draven feared was death, indeed it would come as a welcomed relief.

Simon grabbed Draven and pulled him back from Hugh. “The king lies within hearing,” he said. “Does either of you wish for another conference with him?”

Hugh’s eyes flared and then he spun on his heel and stalked off.

“Fear not, Hugh. I shall make your daughter most welcome in my home.”

A curse echoed in the hallway, but Hugh never looked around, and it was only after the earl was out of his sight that Draven allowed his face to show just how ill he felt inside.

No lady had been inside Ravenswood in almost a score of years. Closing his eyes to blot the memory he wished to God he’d never seen, Draven wished he could also block out the screams of terror and pleas for mercy that echoed through his head.

And now another lady was coming.

“It’s only for one year,” Simon whispered.

Draven shook his head. “Need I remind you, brother, of the curse.”

“You are not your father.”

He arched a brow. “You think not? Am I not his equal in speed and battle? Does not everyone remark that I am truly his image?”

“You are not your father,” Simon repeated.

But Draven didn’t hear it that time either. For he knew the truth. He was his father’s son and unlike Simon, the curse of that man’s fetid blood beat through his veins.

To bring a well-born woman to Ravenswood was to sign the order for her execution, and Draven was about to swear his holy honor on a lady’s welfare.

Fate was indeed a cruel bitch, and she was laughing mightily at him this day.