Prologue
Septentrion Castle, Northumberland
The month of August
Swoosh!
Something flew over his head. He thought it was a club, but he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that there were several men in the smelly, dingy stable and he was cornered, backed up by his black stallion who, sensing a fight, was beginning to kick.
They’d caught him off guard.
Now, cornered in the stall of the low-ceilinged stable at his ancestral home of Septentrion Castle, he was without his sword or any other manner of weapon, but he managed to grab an iron hoof pick.
He’d just been using it on his horse. He wasn’t sure what was going on, or why he’d been struck heavily on the back with something that knocked the wind out of him, but he could guess.
They may get him in the end, but he could do a lot of damage with that pick before it was over.
He braced himself.
It was dark in the corner of the stable, but he could see men moving around.
He could hear their weapons clanging, the dull sound of metal reverberating as they were unsheathed.
There were swords drawing close and he lifted the pick, slashing it at the first man who came near.
He made contact with the man’s neck, driving the hoof pick through it.
The man gurgled and groaned, falling aside, as he yanked out his pick and swung it again, this time into the shoulder of another man, catching him in the collarbone.
The man cried out in pain and he yanked on him, pulling the man against him.
“Stow your weapons,” he commanded. “Stow them or, by God, I shall use this fool as a shield and you can stick your swords into him and not me. If you do not care, then go forth, but know I will take as many of you as I can with me.”
That seemed to bring some pause as the man in his grip moaned in agony.
When everyone seemed to be indecisive, he yanked out the pick and drove it into the man again, this time into his other shoulder.
As the man cried out with pain, someone stepped forward in the darkness, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender.
But it was no surrender.
This was the moment that demands would be made.
“Gage, stop.” It was a soft male voice. “There is no need for bloodshed. We can calmly reason through this situation.”
Sir Gage de Reyne recognized the voice. He didn’t even have to see his brother’s face in the darkness.
Even before he spoke, he knew that his elder, and only, brother was the driving force behind the ambush.
He glanced down at the man in his grip, the one he’d stabbed twice, and noticed that it was a soldier he’d known for years.
He’d considered the man a friend, or at least he had until this moment.
When their eyes met, the soldier smiled wanly.
“I’ve come to help ye, Gage,” he said. “Ye didn’t let me speak.”
Gage looked at the man in horror. His pick was still in him and he yanked it free, pushing the soldier back towards the group that was converging on him.
He wielded the pick threateningly.
“I was hoping you would speak to me, brother to brother, before you went through with your usual hasty and reckless decisions, but I see that I was wrong,” he said, seeking his brother out in the dim light.
“You do not need a mob of soldiers who we have both known most of our lives. All you had to do was speak to me, Boothe.”
Sir Boothe de Reyne, Lord Stagshaw, stepped forward, his dusky eyes fixed on his younger, smarter, more handsome, and far more talented brother.
Gage was all of those things. Gage was the knight all knights aspired to be, a man with morals and ethics, strength and skill. He was everything Boothe wasn’t.
And Boothe wanted him gone.
“I am speaking to you,” he said evenly. “It is time that we speak but you cannot blame me for wanting to protect myself from what will be your undoubted rage on the subject. There have been times in the past when you have been, shall we say… violent.”
Gage knew that, indicated by the hoof pick in his hand.
In this case, it was self-defense even though Boothe had a talent for pushing him beyond his endurance.
In times past, their father had always been there to break up the fights and it was always Gage with the upper hand because Boothe would rather feast, drink, carouse, and scheme than actually put in the time necessary to become a decently skilled knight.
Therefore, Gage could fight and Boothe really couldn’t.
Their father had known this and Gage, by virtue of his character, had always been his favorite.
Boothe knew this, which was why their father’s unexpected passing two weeks earlier had thrown Boothe into survival mode.
What he couldn’t control, he would erase, one way or another.
That meant his brother and Gage was well aware.
“I will not lower the pick,” Gage said after a moment. “You have armed men all around me. I am allowed to defend myself from whatever it is you have ordered them to do.”
Boothe looked at the bleeding soldier, the others who were armed, all of them looking uncertain and, in truth, unhappy. He knew it was because Gage was well-liked and they took orders from him much more readily than they did from Boothe. But that was until their father had died.
Now, they had no choice but to obey the new Lord Stagshaw.
“Gage,” Boothe said seriously, focused on his brother. “You’ve seen dogs in a pack, how they all respond to one dominant male.”
Gage’s dark blue eyes glittered. “What is your point?”
“That there can only be one dominant male,” Boothe said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“I realize that Septentrion is your home and that you were born here, but now it is time for you to leave. Septentrion is my property now, and the Stagshaw barony belongs to me, and there is no place for you. You must find your own way in life.”
Gage had known this moment was coming. Ever since their father had breathed his last, he knew this was coming.
Boothe had remained purposely aloof from him, shutting him out of any decisions for their ancestral home, sending missives off to local allies and not telling his brother about the contents.
He had a suspicion as to why because Boothe was just that crafty.
And just that insecure.
Now, all of that secrecy was finally being revealed.
“I see,” Gage said coolly. “And I shall find my own way. You needn’t concern yourself. There are plenty of local allies that…”
Boothe cut him off. “You will not serve in Northumberland.”
Gage’s brow furrowed. “Not in Northumberland?” he repeated. “Why not?”
Boothe shrugged. “Northumberland is where my property is and I do not wish for you to serve anywhere near me.”
Gage stared at him in shock before an idea occurred to him.
“I understand completely,” he said. “Is it because I might tell your allies the truth about you? How you cheat, lie, beg, or steal to get what you want? I have a revelation for you, Brother – they already know. Father told them long ago. He told them to be wary of you, so whatever you’ve been doing since father’s death has gone largely ignored, I am sure.
Septentrion is not to be trusted now and everyone knows it. You’ve done that.”
The smug expression drained from Boothe’s face.
“If I have bridges to repair, then I shall do it without you,” he hissed.
“A kingdom can only have one king and that is me. Get out and find your own way in the world, Gage. I do not want you here and if you do not leave peacefully, I shall make sure you are thrown from Septentrion by force. A hoof pick is not going to prevent my men from carrying out their orders.”
Even though Gage knew everything had been leading up to this moment, it was still painful.
This was his home and he had been born here.
His family had been at Septentrion Castle for several generations, occupying that old castle with the Roman tile floors in the solar and the ancient wall of the Romans that ran alongside the property.
This far north, there were remains of the Romans everywhere and no more obvious than at Septentrion.
In fact, the very name was from the ancient Roman name of the fort upon which the castle was built, Porta Septentrionalis – The North Gate.
And now, he was to be turned out by a suspicious, greedy brother.
He wouldn’t admit that he had nowhere to go. Sure, he had friends throughout England and even in Wales, but he was basically being cast out of his home and that was a humiliating thing for any man. Moreover, he was a de Reyne and de Reynes always stuck together. Their family bonds were legendary.
But not for the sons of Hart de Reyne.
Perhaps that was the most difficult thing of all.
“You do realize that I was born here, just like you,” he said through clenched teeth, trying desperately to sound like he wasn’t begging. “You do realize that this is my home as much as it is yours. A generous and good lord would utilize my strengths, not find himself threatened by them.”
“I am not threatened. I simply do not want you here.”
“Because I am the voice of reason and you are a pitiful wretch?”
“A pitiful wretch who is the rightful lord of Septentrion.”
That was as far as Gage intended to go with his pleading but, inside, he was in turmoil.
He could charge his brother and kill him, but that would make him just as bad as Boothe was.
He would be doing what his brother feared – destroying him to assume command of Septentrion.
That would make him the villain and he was quite certain the army would never look at him the same way.
Or, perhaps they would understand and be on his side.
Still, he couldn’t take that chance. He had to do what honor dictated.
He had to go.