A Knight's Protection Read online

  Table of Contents

  A Knight's Protection by Laurel O'Donnell

  Copyright

  Note from Laurel

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  About Laurel O'Donnell

  More Books by Laurel O'Donnell

  A Knight's Protection

  Laurel O'Donnell

  Copyright

  A Knight's Protection Copyright © 2018 by Laurel O'Donnell

  All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its author, Laurel O’Donnell.

  The characters and events portrayed in this historical romance novel are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  A Note from Laurel

  My Dear Reader –

  I hope you enjoy Lia and Kade’s story. They got swept up in the Templar knight treasure. No one knows for certain what happened to the fabled treasure, but I thought it would be fun if each knight was given part of the treasure to protect. This is the story of a Templar knight who died trying to protect the treasure, as I’m sure many of them did.

  After you read A Knight’s Protection, and if you feel so inclined, I would appreciate if you left a review to help other readers decide if they should read Lia and Kade’s tale.

  Don’t forget to subscribe to my newsletter for updates on my newest novels, fun contests and so much more! https://www.laurel-odonnell.com

  Without further ado, I bring you A Knight’s Protection!

  Welcome to my world!

  Chapter One

  England

  October 18, 1307

  The wind tumbled in with the storm and the small cruck creaked and groaned. For a moment, Lia thought the wattle and daub on the walls of the small house would blow in around them.

  “The hens, child. The hens,” Maeve called from her spot near the hearth.

  Lia glanced at her as she hurried toward the door of the cruck. Maeve’s old body hunched over the pot she stirred, her wrinkled hand slowly dragging the large wooden spoon round and round in the black kettle. The hearth fire snapped around the pot. Maeve swiped a strand of her gray hair from her forehead as she stepped back, lifting the ladle to her lips.

  Lia paused before the door. “Will you be all right?”

  Maeve huffed. “Better than those hens, if you don’t hurry.”

  Lia grinned and opened the door. A rush of wind jerked the door hard, blowing in fiercely and scattering Maeve’s herbs across the wooden table in the center of the room. Lia hunched her shoulders and ducked her head against the strong wind.

  “Don’t forget Firefoot!” Maeve called, hurrying to the table to hold down what remained of the herbs.

  Lia nodded and pulled the door closed behind her. She looked out over the yard. The familiar landscape was a strange shade of gray. Dark clouds churned in the sky, moving toward the cruck. She raced around to the side of the house where the hen house she had built years ago was situated. Her theory had been that the cruck would offer the hen house protection from the elements and so far that theory had proven correct. Lia hoped it would continue to do so.

  A gust of wind pushed her toward the fence around the hen house. She opened the gate and it blew out of her hand, slamming against the fence.

  Lia rushed to the hen house, bending, and peering in through the small opening. She held her hair out of her eyes as she glanced about the small house. Most of the hens were huddled on their nests. She counted them as her hair blew wildly around her shoulders. “One, two, three…” One was missing. Mrs. Duckworth. She cursed silently to herself, knowing Maeve would not be pleased if she said the curse aloud. She withdrew from the small window, scanning the small enclosure outside the hen house for Mrs. Duckworth. Lia saw the small, crazy white bird huddled and squawking distraughtly in a corner. She ran to the hen and picked it up, huddling it against her, whispering softly to it.

  A rumble of thunder rolled across the darkening sky and Mrs. Duckworth flapped her white wings in fear. Lia held the hen tightly to her chest, so it wouldn’t fly off, and hurried to the hen house. The wind suddenly strengthened. It pushed her hard and she almost slammed into the hen house. She managed to bend down, shielding Mrs. Duckworth, and shoved the hen inside the house.

  Mrs. Duckworth squawked and hopped into the protection of the house. Lia closed the small wooden door on the hen house and stood quickly. Her hair whipped madly in the wind and she pushed it aside to look for Firefoot. A large bolt of lightning speared the sky and Lia cringed as the white hot jagged strip of light slashed the sky. She hurried from the hen enclosure, closing the gate, and latching it behind her.

  A huge crack of thunder made her jump. It was dangerous to be out in this weather. She had to find Firefoot. She clicked her tongue and yelled his name. But the black mare did not appear.

  Lia held her hair back from her forehead as she looked west to the copse of trees there, then to the east and the clearing. There was no sign of Firefoot. She called the horse again, knowing she couldn’t be far. Not in weather like this. She followed the dirt road, calling her name, clucking her tongue. The rumble of the thunder and the roar of the wind made it hard to hear her own voice and she was afraid the horse wouldn’t hear her calls.

  With no sign of Firefoot, concern gnawed at Lia’s mind. The mare never wandered this far away. A large round drop of rain hit the earth beside her.

  Suddenly, she spotted a shadow in a group of trees near the side of the road. It wasn’t far from the main road, farther than Firefoot had ever wandered, but at least she had found her. With relief, Lia raced over to the horse, crashing through the bushes that hid her. With a gust of wind and rumble of thunder, the sky opened, and rain fell in large drops, but the thick branches overhead protected her from the full brunt of the rain.

  Lia reached for the shadow. “Firefoot, I thought…” Her words faded as she realized this horse was not her mare. The horse before her was large and looked at her with disdain. She stepped back, and her heel hit something. She almost fell, but caught herself and turned.

  The sky lit with lightning, and in the dappled light it cast she got a quick view of a man in a white tunic laying on the ground. She gasped and stepped away from him. She bumped into the horse and the animal neighed in an annoyed burst of sound, but it remained where it was. For a moment, she felt trapped between the man and the horse. Rain continued to fall all around them outside the protection of the trees. The wind pushed a fine mist towards them, coating her, the horse, and the prone man. As she waited, the man remained still. Suspiciously still. Was he sleeping? “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  Still, no response. She scowled. Maybe he was sleeping and had not heard her. Prickles ran across the nape of her neck. Thunder rumbled in the sky as the rain pelted the leaves of the trees and the earth around them. A few tiny droplets of rain managed to get through the overhead leaves to drip onto his face, yet he did not move.

  Lia glanced toward the road. Was he alone?

  He moaned, and she glanced back at him.

  When a spear of lightning tore through the sky, Lia saw the man’s arm wrapped tightly around his torso, his hand holding his side, clutching it. She dropped to her knees at his side. “Are you hurt?”

  The man
peeled away his arm.

  Two things struck Lia. His palm was covered in red liquid she knew was blood and his white tunic had a red cross on it. It was a symbol she had seen before. The man was a Templar knight. She looked up towards his face.

  His features were hidden in the darkness of the canopy of trees. “What happened?” She moved his arm aside and saw his side was stained with red. She moved closer to inspect his wound and her knee settled into a thick moist spot of oddly warm earth beside him. She touched her knee and lifted her fingers. More blood. This was not good.

  She couldn’t treat him here in the dark. She had to get him back to Maeve. She attempted to get him to sit up by pulling his shoulder. “Come.”

  “No,” he whispered in a choked, pained voice.

  “I can help you.”

  “No one can help me now.” He signaled his horse with a jerk of his head. “Ale.”

  Lia was shocked at his denial for aid; at his willingness to die. Was he mortally wounded with no intent of fighting for his life? She stood and moved to his horse where she found a flask tied to the horn of his saddle. She untied it and returned to his side. She helped him sit up, cushioning his head in her arm, and brought the flask to his lips.

  He drank deeply and then pushed the flask from his mouth. “Who are you?”

  Lia hesitated. She and Maeve lived on the outskirts of the village. The people of the village didn’t trust them and didn’t like them because of the potions Maeve created. Only when the peasants and commoners had trouble, and had no one else to turn to, did they seek them out for help. A tonic for pain relief. A concoction for a sick animal. A syrup for an incurable cough. Lia held no embarrassment for what Maeve did or what Maeve taught her, she simply had to be cautious. “I live up the road with Maeve.”

  “The alchemist?” he asked.

  “Healer,” Lia corrected with a small smile. Some people called them witches behind their backs and Lia was certain her red hair contributed to this label. “Maeve can help you, I’m certain.”

  He shook his head stubbornly. His body tensed whenever he breathed in. Not a good sign. Thunder rumbled around them.

  “How did this happen?” Lia wondered. “Who did this to you?”

  “There are many who want us dead,” he whispered. He reached beneath his tunic and pulled out a piece of parchment. He stared at it for a long moment, his jaw clenched. Then, he shoved it toward her.

  Lia hesitantly took the parchment. Confusion washed over her as she stared at the foreign letters. “I can’t read.”

  The knight chuckled, and blood spluttered from his lips. He sighed back into her arms. “Hide it. Protect it.” He grabbed her arm, squeezing it. “The Lord has brought you to me. You must take care of this.”

  Lia looked down at the parchment. Maeve could read it.

  “Don’t let anyone find it. Don’t show it to anyone.”

  Lia frowned. “Why? What does it say?”

  He released her arm and settled back. “Resist its temptation.” He sighed. “What is your name?”

  “Lia.”

  “I’m sorry to have to leave this burden with you, Lia. I would give anything not to. But I’m afraid my time on this earth is over. And this is important. Very important.”

  Burden? Lia glanced at his wound. “Let me treat your wound. I can help with the pain.”

  “The pain is a punishment that I willingly endure.”

  Lia ignored his words. She placed the parchment on his chest and eased his white tunic up to see the slash in his side. “It’s a sword wound.” Her mind was already working on what she needed to treat it.

  “They will come for you if they know you have it. Don’t tell anyone about it.”

  Lia scowled and looked into his face. Lines of concern etched his brow. Wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes and mouth. “Who will come? Why do they want it? What is it?”

  “It is your responsibility now. Hide it. Tell no one of it and you will be safe.” He winced and then closed his eyes. “God be with you, child.”

  “Wait, wait!” Lia cried. “I can help you!”

  His hand tightened around hers. “You already have.”

  Thunder cracked overhead, and the knight breathed his last.

  Lia stared at him. He was gone. She released him, easing his head to the ground and sat back. The horse neighed behind her. She picked up the parchment to look at it again. What was written on it? It must be very important. She tucked it into her chemise to keep it dry and stood. She looked at the horse. He stared at her as if judging.

  Maeve always said animals housed part of their owners in their hearts. The horse watched her, silently. She wasn’t sure whether she believed that or not. Either way, she couldn’t very well leave it alone out here in the dark forest. She took its reins. “Easy,” she whispered.

  The rain seemed to have let up a little. It wasn’t the downpour of a few moments ago. She stepped forward, out from the protective overhang of the branches of the trees. No, it wasn’t raining as hard and the dark sky was giving way to muted light. She glanced back at the knight. She would tell Maeve about him and then ride into town to find the bailiff after she found Firefoot.

  She pushed her wet hair from her forehead. After everyone was taken care of, she would decide what to do with the parchment.

  Chapter Two

  Lightning flashed in the windows of the Great Hall, illuminating the dark room in bursts of light. Kade de Claremont sat in a chair on the far side of the hall, watching his father pace back and forth, watching the man who haunted his nightmares for the past five years. His father was tall and brash, his fists always clenched. The hearth smoldered behind the old man, casting a dim red glow around him. Kade grimaced in hatred and stretched his feet out before him, his hand wrapped around a mug of ale.

  When his older brother Ralf, heir to de Claremont as Kade had constantly been reminded growing up, came in soaking wet from the storm, Kade couldn’t help smiling. Better Ralf in the rain following Father’s orders than him. Ralf had always been the good son, following his father’s orders. Kade lifted his mug to his lips and drank deeply.

  Ralf crossed the room, his booted feet crunching on the rushes on the floor. He stopped before his father. He had grown taller in the five years Kade was gone. His brother stood almost equal to his father’s height. Kade liked that his brother’s stature had grown; perhaps that would give him more courage to fight back against their father’s cruel treatment.

  “You found him?” his father demanded.

  Kade waited to hear the words that would either condemn or exonerate his brother.

  Ralf shook his head. “There was a fight. He killed Sir Roland.”

  A fight! Now that was something that interested Kade. He looked down into his mug of ale, feigning disinterest, but keeping his ears tuned to the conversation.

  “I don’t care who he kills. I want him, alive,” his father growled.

  “He was wounded, father,” Ralf explained. “He couldn’t have gotten far.”

  “Then what are you doing here? Find him. Bring him to me.”

  Lightning lit the night sky as Ralf hesitated. “The men were weary. They needed rest.”

  Kade cringed. Ralf was always worried about the men’s well-being. One day, he would make a good lord, but not today.

  Ralf’s answer was not at all what his father wanted to hear. Kade lifted his gaze to the two men. His father stood like stone facing Ralf, his fists clenched, glaring at his son. Ralf’s brown-haired head was bent. Ralf knew what was coming. He knew his father was displeased. His father’s rage was coming and still, he stood there, willing to take it.

  Every nerve, every fiber, tightened in Kade’s body in preparation. Get out of there, Ralf, Kade mentally commanded.

  Ralf stood stoically. Perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of pride.

  His father swung his fist, connecting with Ralf’s cheek. Ralf stumbled back. The effect wasn’t enough for his father; he landed another blow to Ral
f’s jaw. “You worthless, cowardly dog.”

  Kade rose to his feet, coming out of the darkness. “It won’t help.”

  His father whirled, and Ralf looked at him.

  “It’s already done,” Kade said. “Beating Ralf won’t undo it.”

  His father’s shock disappeared as Kade approached him like a storm cloud, crossing the expanse of the Great Hall. “The prodigal son slinks home,” he mocked.

  Kade grinned. “I came when news of mother reached me. At least she is at peace now, away from you.”

  “She was weak.”

  “She was a woman. She shouldn’t have had to stand against your fists.”

  “It took you an entire week to face me, to tell me that? Too afraid?” His father’s face filled with scorn.

  Kade met Ralf’s gaze over his father’s shoulder. This was a scene that had played out between them many times before. Too many times. It was why Kade had left in the first place. “Too contemptuous.”

  “You impudent –” His father lifted his fist.

  Kade tensed his body, but he wasn’t surprised by his father’s reaction. This was the exact welcome he had expected.

  “Father,” Ralf called, stilling the blow. “I will take a new squad of guards to look for de Rolleston.”

  His father glared at Kade for a long moment, his upper lip twitching, his fist lowering. “You do that.”

  Behind his father, Kade saw Ralf move toward the entrance, leaving him alone with his father. Some things didn’t change.

  His father glowered at Kade for a moment longer.

  Kade had expected the hatred burning in his eyes. He expected a beating, or at the very least an attempted beating. His father turned away from him, and approached the hearth. His back was arched, his steps were slow. Kade scowled. What he didn’t expect was to suddenly see his father as tired and old. It pleased him. But not enough. “Can’t even catch one knight? You must be losing your touch.”

  His father fell into a chair, his hands closing over the arms. “You think you can do better? You? A sniveling, milk-witted scut. Ha!”