Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3)
Read Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3) Online
Authors: Regan Walker
Tags: #Romance, #Medieval, #Fiction, #Historical
Regan Walker
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
REBEL WARRIOR
Copyright © 2016 Regan Walker
All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.
Ebook ISBN: 978-0996849548
Kindle Edition
Praise for Regan Walker’s work:
“Ms. Walker has the rare ability to make you forget you are reading a book. The characters become real, the modern world fades away, and all that is left is the intrigue, drama, and romance.”
—
Straight from the Library
“Here,” he said reaching toward her, “take my hand and allow me to help you out.”
There was fire in her eyes but she took his hand while holding on to her shoes, soaked with water.
He pulled her from the stream, sodden and shivering. It was the first time they had touched and even dripping wet, the feel of her skin caused a surge of desire to course through him. The wet gown clung to her body, revealing her nipples hardened to small buds and her curves in vivid detail. Wet, she was even more alluring than before. He wanted to pull her close, to feel her softness, but instead, he merely steadied her with his hands. “Did you not see the moss that grows on the log? ’Tis quite apparent.”
Her brow furrowed. “You might have warned me.”
“You fell before I could.”
Wiping water from her face, she looked up at him. Her eyes were the green of the forest around them. Light filtering through the trees added a soft glow to her pale, damp skin. His gaze dropped to her lips, the color of wild roses. He ached to kiss them.
Bending his head, he moved his lips closer to hers.
Water suddenly dripped from her hair onto her nose, causing her to sniff and step back.
Still holding her shoes in one hand, she shivered. “I… I must look a mess.”
“Indeed not, but you are pale.” Recognizing her predicament, he said, “I wear no cloak to offer you, but I can give you the heat of my body.” Taking the shoes she carried and dropping them to the ground, he pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest, ignoring the water soaking into his tunic. Her breasts pressed into his chest, warming him as his body responded to the nearness of the woman he could not dismiss from his thoughts.
Author’s Bio and Books by Regan Walker
Steinar of Talisand, the brother of the heroine in
The Red Wolf’s Prize
, belonged to that generation of young Englishmen who were not yet twenty at the time of the Norman Conquest. They were old enough to understand what was happening and to feel keenly the loss of family and lands, yet powerless to do anything about it. Young Anglo-Saxon nobles forever exiled from their country. Where should they go but to Scotland?
In the eleventh century, Scotland was a wild country where warlords vied for the throne, and the cultures of the Gaels (the Irish who became the Scots), Norse and eventually Saxons and Normans melded together. In 1057, Malcolm Canmore, the son of a king, murdered his way to the throne to become King of Scots, but he did not reign over all of Scotland. The Norse and the Irish Gaels still controlled parts of the north and west.
A decade later, William the Conqueror’s harsh actions in England sent Saxons in Wessex and Anglo-Scandinavians in Yorkshire fleeing to Scotland. King Malcolm welcomed them and, in so doing, received a boon. For when he cast his eyes upon the beautiful Saxon Princess Margaret, whose family sought refuge at his court, he was smitten. By 1072, when my story begins, they were married and she had already given him the first of six sons and two daughters.
Queen Margaret was a woman of faith who saw her marriage as a calling from God to help shape Scotland’s future and to move the Scottish church closer to Rome. For her efforts she was ultimately made Scotland’s only royal saint. While not all Scots welcomed the changes she brought, none could criticize the character of their new queen, for she was kind and charitable to all. That her rough, warrior husband deferred to her, at least in matters of their family, can be seen in the names given their sons: Edward, Edmund, Ethelred, Edgar, Alexander and David, the first four from the English royal dynasty. Perhaps, in agreeing to such names, Malcolm saw the potential for his sons to one day claim the throne of England, for as long as Margaret’s younger brother, Edgar Ætheling, the Saxon heir to the throne, remained unmarried and childless, his rights would be transmitted through Margaret to her children. Certainly William the Conqueror did not fail to note this.
At the time of my story, the borders between Scotland and England were not well defined. Malcolm often raided into Northumbria. That he had claims to the region cannot be doubted, but I believe he was also making a point to the Conqueror. It was a bit like poking a stick at a wild boar, for William would ultimately seek to rein in the powerful King of Scots and his support for the rebels in England.
In all this, what did Steinar, a rebel warrior and the exiled son of a dead English thegn, have to offer a woman? What chance was there for him to find love in a foreign land when he had lost everything? Ah, but this is the Scotland of long ago where a bold warrior king won the heart of a pious Saxon princess.
There is every chance in the world.
(BOTH REAL AND FICTIONAL)
Steinar of Talisand
Catrìona of the Vale of Leven
Angus, Catrìona’s guard
Niall, Catrìona’s younger brother
Domnall mac Murchada, Irish nobleman, Catrìona’s intended
Matad of Dunkeld, Mormaer of Atholl, Catrìona’s uncle
Fia of Atholl, Catrìona’s cousin and daughter of Matad
Rhodri ap Bleddyn of Gwynedd, Welsh bard, master of the bow and friend of Steinar
Malcolm Canmore, King of Scots
Margaret of Wessex, Queen of Scots
Edgar Ætheling, brother to Margaret and Saxon heir to the throne of England
Machar, King Malcolm’s falconer
Maerleswein, English thegn of noble Danish blood and former Sheriff of Lincolnshire
Giric, orphan boy
Audra of Fife, daughter of Duff, Mormaer of Fife, and one of Queen Margaret’s ladies
Isobel of Ross, one of Queen Margaret’s ladies
Elspeth of Loch Tay, one of Queen Margaret’s ladies
Davina of Lothian, one of Queen Margaret’s ladies
Isla of Blackwell, one of Queen Margaret’s ladies
Cristina of Wessex, Queen Margaret’s younger sister
Colbán of Moray, captain of the king’s guard
Nechtan, the king’s steward in Dunfermline
Gormal, the king’s steward at Ballingry and Nechtan’s brother
Bishop Fothad, Bishop of St. Andrews, a Culdee
Caerell, Culdee monk in St. Andrews
Paul and Erlend Thorfinnsson, Jarls of Orkney and Malcolm’s stepsons
Ivar Kalison, a Northman from Norway
Duncan, Malcolm’s young son by his first wife, Ingebiorg
Deidre, handmaiden to Catrìona
Cillyn ap Cynfyn, Rhodri’s uncle
Wretched and sorrowful, bereft of my homeland,
Far from my home, far from my noble kinsmen,
I long ago hid my lord in the darkness of the earth,
And, laden with cares and weary, crossed the waves,
Sought a giver of treasure, far or near
Where I might find one in the mead hall who knew my people,
Who would foster a friendless warrior, and treat me to joys.
He who has tried it knows how cruel a companion is sorrow
For one who has few beloved friends;
The path of exile holds him, not wrought gold,
A freezing heart, not the bounty of the earth.
He remembers warriors, the hall, the giving of treasure,
How, as a youth, his lord honored him at feasts,
All joy has perished!
From the Anglo-Saxon poem
The Wanderer
The Vale of Leven, Strathclyde, Scotland 1071
Catrìona stepped to the edge of the crag perched high above the vale. Wind whipped her auburn hair and umber cloak behind her as she raised her gauntlet and let the falcon fly free.
Spreading his long wings, Kessog soared into the air over the blue waters of Loch Lomond.
Her heart soared with him.
This land of tall peaks and deep lochs was her home. Gray clouds might hover over the tops of the mountains, but bright yellow wildflowers graced the steep slopes and the foothills were clothed in the green velvet of spring.
In the distance, the falcon shrieked as he arrowed toward the loch’s crystalline waters, then flew in tight circles over a flock of teals, seeking his prey. The clouds parted and a golden shaft of sunlight reflected off the ducks’ wings and shimmered in the waters of the loch.
Thoughts of her future filled her mind and her excitement rose in anticipation of the arrival of her intended, Domnall mac Murchada. This very day he would come by ship from his family’s lands in Leinster to meet with her father and seal their betrothal. Domnall’s home in Ireland was a place she had heard much about, but had never seen.
In her mind Domnall appeared a most handsome man, except for his nose, which was thin with a high ridge. His wavy light brown hair was always neatly combed and his darker beard invariably neatly trimmed. His eyes were pale blue. But it was not his appearance that had made her father choose Domnall. It was his noble Irish lineage and the trade between Leinster and the Vale of Leven.
During Domnall’s visits, she had been keenly aware of his pale blue gaze following her. In his eyes, she had glimpsed desire, flattered he wanted her and not just the trade with her father. Her cheeks flushed to think that one day she would bear his children.