Medieval Monday with Ashley York

by | Oct 24, 2016 | Medieval Monday, medieval romance, romance | 1 comment

Welcome! Today we continue our travel theme with an excerpt from The
Bruised Thistle by Ashley York. Our hero meets his
man in the dark of night on the road. How will be man react? What will our hero
do?
Seumas kept
a fast pace through the night, traveling as if the devil himself were after
him. His thoughts were morose, tortured by the screams of people murdered in
the dark of night, a young man threatened at sword point to reveal the location
of his hidden gold, Giles bending over the young girl. Atrocities no one should
ever have witnessed. Atrocities he could not overcome.
By day, he
rested. The memories made sleep impossible. He ate nothing and drove himself
with only one thought in mind—revenge. Iseabail’s murder would be avenged.
It was near
midnight when he finally saw her home. She was a woman of great wealth, and
Seumas understood now why her uncle would have been so relentless in trying to
acquire his brother’s estate. The castle walls were well-maintained. He would
never be able to gain access. Retreating into the darkness of the woods, he
pulled his tartan around him and slid down against a tree, keeping watch. His
memories pressed down on him, drowning him with heavy thoughts of his revenge.
The man would die slowly, in as much agony as Seumas could inflict upon him.
Time became just another element, like the wind and the rain. He had lost all
sense of it. Daylight came and went. And he waited.
The whinny
of his horse woke him instantly. With eyes already adjusted to the dark, he
scanned the road. A lone rider traveled toward him from the castle. A hiss
escaped Seumas as he saw the way the man was dressed. His opulence was
unmistakable.
What type of fool travels the roads at night
so ripe for robbery?
Without a
doubt, this pompous arse was Iseabail’s uncle.
He stayed
hidden beneath the trees as the rider approached. He had worried as he planned
out his revenge that he would not recognize their uncle. He almost laughed at
the audacity of this man. The whoreson believed he could kill his niece, steal
his brother’s lands, and go about his life as if he were a king? Tonight he
would find out he was wrong. Seumas stepped out onto the path and waited to be
seen.
“Hold.”
Seumas held up his hand, demanding compliance.
“What is the
meaning of this?” the man blustered as his horse shifted and turned at Seumas’s
sudden appearance. “How dare you travel my roads in the middle of the night?”
Seumas bowed
in mock respect. “M’lord, I beg yer pardon. Whose lands have I unknowingly
trespassed on?”
The man
tilted his head and squinted. “These are my lands. I am the MacNaughton.”
Seumas felt
the air leave his lungs, to be replaced by rage. “John MacNaughton?”
“No, I am
his brother, Henry.” Seumas slowly stepped toward the man, taking the horse’s
reins. Henry was clearly not expecting that. “What are you up to?”
“I wish to
speak to ye, sir, if ye would please dismount. I would have us speak as men.”
“What
business have I with you, sir?” Henry tried to pull the horse back, away from
Seumas, who held tightly and moved closer. “Why would you travel these roads at
this time of night?”
“I would ask
ye the same.” Seumas’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Will ye dismount?”
“I will not.
Unhand my horse this instant.”
Seumas gave
a sharp yank and the horse reared away, effectively unseating Henry, who fell
to a heap on the ground.
Seumas
stepped in closer until he towered over him, using his size to intimidate. “Ye
will.”
He merely
observed the man as he worked to right himself. The buffoon struggled with his
cloak, mumbling and grunting as he tried to unwrap his large limbs. The horse
skidded away from the bumbling oaf. The knife was a surprise. Henry pointed it
at Seumas, the blade glistening even in the dark, all pretense of ineptness
discarded.
He sneered.
“What do you want from me? Tell me quick and I may allow you to live.”
“Are ye not
the brave man?”
His sneer
slipped, revealing his confusion. “What are you talking about? Get off my
land.”
Seumas
rounded on him, his brows arched high at the absurdity of the answer. “Yer land?”
Henry tipped
his head as if assessing the true meaning of his obtuse question. Seumas sensed
his bravado crumbling.
“I heard ye
stole it from yer brother,” Seumas continued, standing with his arms akimbo.
The man blanched. “Yea, I know quite a lot about ye.”
“What do you
want with me?” Henry’s voice broke with his fear and his blade shivered in the
moonlight. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Ah, Henry…”
Seumas spoke as if to a child. “Ye were already in a bad way and now ye have
made it even worse.”
“How so?” he
said, his voice now quivering.
“Tell me.”
Seumas moved in closer. The man’s dagger still trembled in his hand. “Is that
the dagger ye used to run yer niece through?”
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1 Comment

  1. I love that end hook! Anything that has to do with tartan clad men is always a yes and this looks like an enjoyable, heart pumping read. Thanks for the introduction.

    Reply

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