Baron Of Blackwood: Book Three (The Feud)

NOTE TO READER
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the third book in The Feud series. As with all series with an overarching plot, there will be some redundancy in storytelling. This is to orient the reader who read the first books months or years earlier and to ground the reader who enters the series out of sequence, allowing each story to stand alone. Of added benefit, pivotal events are experienced from a different—often more informed—point of view. Baron of Blackwood, the love story begins the day Lady Quintin Boursier first encounters Baron Griffin de Arell when she rides on his castle to demand the release of her brother. This event falls four days after the abduction of Bayard Boursier in Baron of Godsmere. Since my stories are—above all and wondrously so—romances, the first half of Baron of Blackwood focuses on the developing relationship between Quintin and Griffin. Why did she draw a dagger at him? Why did he refuse to allow her to return to Godsmere with her brother? And what about Lady Thomasin’s observation of how often they id not kiss when they clearly wished to? Now there’s quite the tale…

CHAPTER ONE
Barony of Blackwood, Northern England
Autumn’s End, 1333
“Have a care, my lady. You are within range of their arrows.” So she was. But she did not fear them. Only a man not a man would order a bolt loosed upon a defenseless woman come unto his walls. True, the Baron of Blackwood was surely torn from the same foul cloth as his sire, but no word had she ever heard spoken against his behavior toward the fairer sex and few against his valor. Indeed, though it was much exaggeration, some said he was as formidable a warrior as her brother, The Boursier. As for being a defenseless woman, that was also exaggeration. Quintin Boursier was no trembling flower. She was not trained in arms—her mother would not tolerate that—but she could wield a dagger beyond the capacity to reduce tough boar’s meat to edible bites. After all, many were the idle hours in a lady’s day.
“Pray, come away,” entreated her brother’s senior household knight where he sat his mount alongside hers. “Baron Boursier would not—”
“Nay, he would not, but he is not here, is he?” She narrowed her lids at the immense stone fortress whose walls evidenced they had been white-washed months earlier, and which were all the more stark against the bordering wood. Sliding her gaze left and right, she searched for movement among the dense trees—a difficult undertaking. Even with all the leaves fallen, it was a dark wood, and when the weather warmed and a canopy once more spread over all, it would be a black wood, for which the barony was named.
Returning her gaze to Castle Mathe, she said, “Nay, my brother is not here—at least, not on this side of the wall.” “Tell me what you wish told, my lady, and I will ride forth and deliver your words.” Beneath her fur-lined mantle, she squeezed her arms against her sides lest the shiver inside ventured out, making her appear weak beside the knight seemingly unaffected by the late morning chill. “I thank you, Sir Victor, but I shall deliver my demand to the Baron of Blackwood.” His cheeks puffed, and as he slowly blew out his breath, she guessed he was thinking of what her departed father had teasingly bemoaned—she would have fared better born a man. Quintin did not concur. She liked being a woman, though there were times the limitations of wearing skirts rather than chausses chafed. This was one of those times. She looked to Castle Mathe’s gatehouse and the battlements on either side, the openings of which were filled with archers whose arrows were trained on the score of knights and thirty men-at-arms who had reluctantly accompanied their lord’s sister to retrieve Bayard Boursier. She was certain her brother was here—that the Baron of Blackwood had captured and imprisoned his daughter’s betrothed to prevent the wedding two days hence. Thus, for defying the king’s decree that the three neighboring families unite through marriage to end their twenty-five-year feud, the lands held by the Boursiers would be declared forfeit. That Quintin would not allow. Somehow, she would bring her brother out of Castle Mathe. She moved a hand from the pommel of her saddle to the one at her waist. No meat knife this. And no ordinary dagger. She gripped its pommel, knowing that were she to gaze upon her palm, the impression in it would be that of the cross of crucifixion, pressed there by the jewels forming it. Though this dagger should not be on her person, before departing Castle Adderstone this morn she had gone looking for courage in the form of something better than a meat knife. At the bottom of her brother’s weapons chest, wrapped in layers of linen, she had found that which had belonged to their father. Having received his knighthood training from the Wulfriths at Wulfen Castle, a fortress centuries-renowned for training boys into men, Archard Boursier had been awarded a coveted Wulfrith dagger. And Quintin could not recall a day he had not worn on his belt what she now wore on her girdle. Sacrilege? Likely. But were her father living, he would forgive her this as he had forgiven her much. “Better born a man,” she whispered and tapped her heels to her horse. Sir Victor shouted over his shoulder, commanding the men of the barony of Godsmere to hold, then he followed.

Please leave this field empty

DON’T MISS OUT

Be the first to know about OUR new content, news, and updates when its Hot!

Email Address *

This field is required.

We don’t spam! Read our privacy policy for more info.

Check your inbox or spam folder to confirm your subscription.