Keeper of the Stone

By Lynn Wood

A lovely Saxon maid. A brutal Norman knight. Can the innocent surrender of an enemy's daughter quench the fires raging in the heart of a man more familiar with blood and death than love?
Prologue:
The queen’s prediction proved accurate. The heavy door barely closed behind Matilda when Rhiann heard it creak open again. She stood in front of the hearth trying to draw ragged breaths into her suddenly tight throat. She refused to turn around; hoping a few more moments would help her gather her courage to face the terror of the night ahead.
Nathan stepped through the thick wooden door barring the entrance to his quarters and closed the door behind him, sliding the latch into place to bar any interruptions. His eyes immediately sought out his new bride where she stood in front of the stone hearth. Her back was to him but he noticed how she stiffened at his entrance, her fear evident in the way her shoulders trembled and the way her hands were clenched together in front of her. Though he couldn’t see them from where he stood by the door he suspected her small hands shook so forcibly they were causing the trembling evident in her entire slender body. He drew in a deep, cleansing breath hoping to calm his raging needs. His bride’s slight, womanly form was outlined by the light from the fire. The see-through gown did little to hide her naked body from his avid gaze. Nathan knew he needed to gather his discipline before his bride turned to face him, lest he terrify her with his lustful intent. He willed his thudding heart to slow down, not surprised when it completely ignored his mind’s order. His normally iron will and self-control was already losing this battle against his manly passions. Normally he would be irritated with himself at the evidence of his loss of control, but tonight was different. Tonight was the one night of his life it was acceptable to surrender to the urgency coursing through him, to give life to his desires and take the bountiful treasure before him. The maid was his for the taking. A gift of his king for Nathan’s long years of faithful service to accompany the lands he was awarded by his marriage to her.
Though she belonged to him, was his property by virtue of the laws of both men and God, he would not have her cowering before him in terror when he consummated their wedding vows. He needed to regain control over the lust riding him so hard now he could barely put two thoughts together in an orderly fashion. He recognized he was never going to be able to summon the patience he was certain would be needed to gain his bride’s trust if he couldn’t clear his head and slow his body’s incessant urging to take the maid and have done with it.
“Rhiann.” Nathan cringed at the harshness of his tone as his bride’s name echoed in the hushed silence of the room.
Reluctantly Rhiann turned to face the man who was now her husband. She unclenched her trembling hands and wrapped her arms around her stomach in a protective gesture, and in what she knew was a foolish attempt to cover herself as much as possible. Even in her innocence she recognized her husband’s lustful intent in the way Nathan’s glance raked over her and knew she would be defenseless against his greater strength. Just as she was unable to prevent the Norman siege on Heaven’s Crest, she would be unable to defend herself against her husband’s assault on her virgin’s body. Involuntary shivers passed through her at the thought of what was to come.
Not wanting to give the terror his bride was unable to hide from him a chance to take hold, Nathan captured her frightened glance and demanded, “Come to me, wife.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lynn Wood
• Release date: Feb 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311857668

Book preview

Keeper of the Stone

Lynn Wood

Copyright © 2014 Lynn Wood

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1311857668

Cover Design Copyright: Melissa [e-mail]

Cover Art Copyright: DepositPhotos; Ebrehnn Myptona, Alexey Gnilenkov, Dmitry Tereshchenko, Mihal Blanaru

Titles by L. M. Wood

Fiction:

Norman Brides Series:

Keeper of the Stone

Coming Soon: Finder Keepers

Awakening Series:

Awakening

Choose

The Firstborn Series:

Michael, Beloved of God, Prince of Heaven

Dancing with the Devil

Non-Fiction:

Lessons In Illumination

…A Beginner’s Guide to the Eternal Way

Yoga Behind the Veil.. A Journey of Self-Discovery

Prologue

The queen’s prediction proved accurate. The heavy door barely closed behind Matilda when Rhiann heard it creak open again. She stood in front of the hearth trying to draw ragged breaths into her suddenly tight throat. She refused to turn around; hoping a few more moments would help her gather her courage to face the terror of the night ahead.

Nathan stepped through the thick wooden door barring the entrance to his quarters and closed the door behind him, sliding the latch into place to bar any interruptions. His eyes immediately sought out his new bride where she stood in front of the stone hearth. Her back was to him but he noticed how she stiffened at his entrance, her fear evident in the way her shoulders trembled and the way her hands were clenched together in front of her. Though he couldn’t see them from where he stood by the door he suspected her small hands shook so forcibly they were causing the trembling evident in her entire slender body. He drew in a deep, cleansing breath hoping to calm his raging needs. His bride’s slight, womanly form was outlined by the light from the fire. The see-through gown did little to hide her naked body from his avid gaze. Nathan knew he needed to gather his discipline before his bride turned to face him, lest he terrify her with his lustful intent. He willed his thudding heart to slow down, not surprised when it completely ignored his mind’s order. His normally iron will and self-control was already losing this battle against his manly passions. Normally he would be irritated with himself at the evidence of his loss of control, but tonight was different. Tonight was the one night of his life it was acceptable to surrender to the urgency coursing through him, to give life to his desires and take the bountiful treasure before him. The maid was his for the taking. A gift of his king for Nathan’s long years of faithful service to accompany the lands he was awarded by his marriage to her.

Though she belonged to him, was his property by virtue of the laws of both men and God, he would not have her cowering before him in terror when he consummated their wedding vows. He needed to regain control over the lust riding him so hard now he could barely put two thoughts together in an orderly fashion. He recognized he was never going to be able to summon the patience he was certain would be needed to gain his bride’s trust if he couldn’t clear his head and slow his body’s incessant urging to take the maid and have done with it.

Rhiann. Nathan cringed at the harshness of his tone as his bride’s name echoed in the hushed silence of the room.

Reluctantly Rhiann turned to face the man who was now her husband. She unclenched her trembling hands and wrapped her arms around her stomach in a protective gesture, and in what she knew was a foolish attempt to cover herself as much as possible. Even in her innocence she recognized her husband’s lustful intent in the way Nathan’s glance raked over her and knew she would be defenseless against his greater strength. Just as she was unable to prevent the Norman siege on Heaven’s Crest, she would be unable to defend herself against her husband’s assault on her virgin’s body. Involuntary shivers passed through her at the thought of what was to come.

Not wanting to give the terror his bride was unable to hide from him a chance to take hold, Nathan captured her frightened glance and demanded, Come to me, wife. He winced at the sound of his stark command in the silence of the room. He was already struggling to contain his raging desire. He suspected his self-control would be tested tonight in a way he was never tested before. When his innocent bride took an instinctive step back towards the heat of the fire he could almost believe from the blind panic he read in her eyes she found going up in flames a more preferable option to a night spent in his bed. Hoping not to push her any further, he added softly, Do you remember your vows to the priest?

She nodded reluctantly. Do you intend to keep them? He watched the flare of annoyance at his gentle reminder flash across his gentle bride’s face a moment before she swallowed nervously and took a hesitant step forward. Nathan remained where he was by the door. It was important to both of them she come to him willingly.

Chapter one

The smell of death engulfed her. The clash of swords, the angry shouts of men engaged in a fierce battle for their lives, and the moaning of the dying assaulted her senses. The blood of the fallen pooled at her feet, turning the lush green grass of autumn a deep red to match the changing leaves in the trees of the forest providing a backdrop to the deadly scene. The duchess accepted her own blood would soon join that of the dead and dying lying unattended like so much refuse at her feet. Death stalked her, surrounded her, and beckoned to her, whispering words of their impending introduction in her ears. She no longer contested against its sly promises of release from her grief. Despair pounded relentlessly against her battered spirit until she could no longer rouse her will to do battle against its heavy weight as one loss after another was heaped upon her slender, unprepared shoulders these past dark weeks, choking off what little light remained within.

She felt guilty about the cowardly deed she was contemplating but not enough to turn aside from her sinful intent. Besides, it was too late now for regrets. The battle raged around them and would soon be upon her. She prayed to God her end would come with merciful swiftness. Was she not entitled to some small parcel of his mercy? Had she not strived enough, suffered enough, clung to this life he chose for her hard enough to satisfy him? Without her husband, who rested beside two of their sons in the family burial plot by the chapel on the ridge, the life she elected as a young girl no longer held any appeal for the woman who still lingered within in its unrelenting grip. Her husband’s faithful guards would lead her younger daughter, Rhiann, to safety. God willing she would elude the pitiless grasp of the enemy who even now surrounded Heaven’s Crest, closing off all escape routes. She prayed they had not discovered the secret passages built into the thick walls of the old keep, else her daughter and those escorting her would be trapped. She spared a few precious moments to wonder about the fate of her remaining children, her beloved twins, Michel and Melissa. Were they safe? Were they even still alive? Her mother’s heart tried to convince her grief-stricken mind her beloved twins still lived, but it was a losing struggle now, to strive against the toll of the bitter losses that had been heaped unremitting upon her dwindling hope.

The battle surged towards where she stood among the younger, more inexperienced soldiers, who were too concerned with trying to save their own lives, to question who this slight newcomer was among them. They did not speak to her. If any spared a glance in her direction at all, it was a pitiful one. Within it held the certainty the youth before them would be the first to fall beneath the enemy onslaught. She did not disabuse them of their false conclusion. She was old enough to have already lost sons older than they to this senseless war. There was only a single additional life she prayed it would claim in its quest to spread the dark claw of evil and destruction across all of Saxony. Her own.

She recognized her blasphemous prayer was about to be granted, but it would not come without cost. The icy grip of terror closed around her heart and throat, shutting off her ability to breathe and dragging her focus away from her dark thoughts. She met the light brown eyes of her executioner and for a brittle moment thought she heard death’s haunting laughter in her ears as the enemy raised his sword. Time slowed to a fraction of its usual pace. The stone around her throat weighed heavily upon her. She was unable to see the fire burning in its depths in protest of her fainthearted surrender before the enemy, but she could feel its heat against her skin and comprehended her intent to seek death at the enemy’s hands aroused its ire.

More important to her at this, the bitter end of her physical life, she recognized the stone would not interfere with her decision. She was the stone’s rightful keeper. Despite the teachings of the church to the contrary, it was her right as its steward to choose when she would depart this physical world and free her eternal soul of its constraints. She made her choice and was content with it, but even so her guilt engulfed her as her enemy lowered his arm. Instinct born of stark terror led her to raise her son’s sword in her own defense. Her puny gesture was a useless one against her huge, well-armed opponent and they both knew it. She thought she saw his lips curve upward, a hint of amusement in his light eyes as his blade met hers.

She was a slender woman. Despite his repeated urgings, it had been long years since she practiced the warrior’s skills she learned as a child under Amele’s careful tutelage. Years of the soft life her husband’s wealth purchased for her robbed her of the deadly proficiency she once possessed, but even in her youth she would have been unable to match the strength contained in her enemy’s massive chest and arms. The downward descent of his blade didn’t slow when he met her paltry defense, nor when her sword fell from her numb hand at the impact of the collision with his. No, it continued on its downward arc slicing through her cloak, the boy’s armor she wore beneath it, and cutting through flesh and bone with the ease of a sharp blade through soft butter.

Her severed arm fell uselessly to the ground. She thought she heard the echo of her stunned cry of pain mix with the devil’s laughter resonating in the air around her. Her knees gave way under her weight and she slid to the damp ground unaware it was already soaked in her own blood where it pooled around her.

Chapter two

Rhiann hurried through the long halls of the keep, screaming for her mother. She could feel the Norman siege closing in around them, was aware of the increased tension of her father’s guards who urged her to leave now before it was too late.

Mother! Mother! Tears blinded her vision as she flew up the steps to her parents’ room, thinking perhaps her mother wished to bid her father’s memory a final farewell before they fled. She pushed open the doors, but discovered the room empty. Where could she have gone? Had her mother left her too? Did she follow Melissa and leave her behind? Was she completely alone now? Was everyone she loved dead?

Despair overwhelmed her and she collapsed to her knees, wrapping her arms around her stomach in an instinctive protective gesture. She remained there long hours, until the final breach of the keep’s failing defenses came, and the humiliating details of its surrender were attended to, the enemy found her in her parents’ room still on her knees, dazed and alone.

Green eyes so filled with grief they appeared almost black in her white face were blind as she responded to the summons of the enemy knight who stood in her parent’s doorway. Mercifully she was numb by then, her spirit dead already as she met the merciless eyes of her enemy and saw her own death reflected there. She made no move to defend herself when he stepped forward and reached down to raise her to her feet with his strong grip beneath her arm. He half-led, half-carried her down the stairs leading to the hall of what was now her former home. A part of her wished she had been blessed with her sister’s fearlessness. Melissa was no doubt even now enjoying the safety of their grandmother’s tents far away from the wars of men and its deadly consequences. If Melissa was in Rhiann’s shoes she would even now be raising her blade to fight off their enemy’s grip on her arm, but Rhiann possessed no blade to lift in her own defense. Her father did not approve of his daughters’ unusual training and she was a dutiful daughter. Melissa was the headstrong one. Rhiann prayed fervently if belatedly, her maker would bless her with a little more of her sister’s courage. She thought perhaps she would have greater need of it than Melissa in the dark hours confronting her.

The bloody sight greeting her halfway down the keep’s main staircase leading to the great hall dispelled Rhiann’s foolish assumption she had already passed beyond pain’s reach. Her gasp of denial escaped between her clenched lips as she flew down the remaining steps, understanding now why she was unable to find her mother when there was still time for the two of them to escape. Kneeling beside her dying mother, Rhiann understood only one of them would escape from their enemy’s grasp. Her mother would never be forced to leave her home, at least in life.

Chapter Three

Rhiann was nauseous with hunger and exhaustion when she was led through the large wooden doors into the impressive former home of her Saxon king but that now belonged to the Norman Duke William. She was barely conscious of the noise of the loud conversations echoing throughout the great hall or how they slowly trailed off as the other occupants became aware of her presence. The long months of war and grief took their toll on her once carefree spirit as did the lonely, fearful trek to London as a prisoner of the Norman soldiers who now occupied her former home. She could neither summon the energy nor the inclination to take an interest in her surroundings. She felt empty inside, dead already, if that indeed was the fate awaiting her at the hands of the Norman duke. Her father, the powerful Saxon Duke of Weston, was dead. His estates and the only home she ever knew at Heaven’s Crest, were forfeit. All of her father’s property was now booty for the victor of this war to dispense as he willed.

She supposed that included her as well. She accepted she was likely the only member of her immediate family who still lived, but it wasn’t death itself she feared, only its prelude. Rhiann believed she might even welcome the blessed forgetfulness of everlasting sleep. Now as she stood in her enemy’s stronghold, confronting her own mortality, she deeply regretted she was not among the defenders at Heavens Crest’s last stand.

Rather than speculate on the enemy duke’s intentions for what would no doubt prove to be her short-lived future, she busied her mind with memories of the fateful day when everything went so horribly wrong and her old life died around her. Rhiann and her mother were to have been secreted to safety beyond the enemy’s reach by a loyal few of her father’s household knights. The other soldiers in charge of the defense of the duke’s home made a last desperate attempt to distract the invading Norman foes with a final offensive thrust in order to give their comrades the opportunity to spirit Rhiann and her mother to freedom in the north.

In the confusion of those final desperate hours, her memories seared with the rank smell of death and the anguished cries of the dying, Rhiann became separated from her mother. It wasn’t until later when the keep fell, its defenders overwhelmed at last, that she learned the full extent of her loss. Her mother would not accompany her along the harsh journey to London. Rhiann was forced to face the uncertain future alone without the comfort of her mother or anyone else she loved, or even knew.

She discovered too late her mother chose a different end; perhaps to avoid the very one Rhiann now faced. At the last, the mistress of Heaven’s Crest armed herself with a boy’s blade, the only one she was capable of lifting from the store of the keep’s weapons, and disguised herself beneath the armor her sons wore when they were young. They were dead too. Lost to them in the early stages of the invasion, more grief heaped upon them as the news of each loss was carried back to the duke’s expansive seat by those sworn to serve her father. Even as Rhiann took in each devastating blow with a dazed spirit, her mother remained unbroken until the final strike revealed the extent of the damage of its predecessors on the duchess’ proud but slender frame. It was her husband’s death that shattered her mother’s spirit until she existed as only a shadow of her former self; as if her soul neglected to inform her body she no longer required its services.

The thin blade the duchess carried into battle that day was no match against the expertly wielded broadsword of an experienced knight. Rhiann tortured herself these past weeks with worries over her mother’s final confrontation with the enemy. Did the man she faced laugh at the sword she raised against him, assuming it was one of the servant’s boys called upon to wield a weapon in the final defense of the duke’s home? When did he learn his mistake? Was it when the sound of her mother’s agony erupted in a woman’s voice from her lips as the arm that held her son’s blade was severed in two? Did he realize the extent of his mistake when the blade she held fell uselessly to the ground and her blood joined that of the already fallen? Did the earth of Heaven’s Crest cry out in sympathy as it received the body of its fallen mistress?

Rhiann did her best to tend to her dying mother. There was little to be done but give her the comfort of her presence as her mother bled out, her strength draining along with the blood staining the sheets of the bed she shared with her husband and where she gave birth to their five children. Even if Rhiann could have found a way to heal her mother’s grievous wounds, she knew of no secret to mend her ravaged spirit. So instead Rhiann honored her mother’s last request of her. She held her hand and whispered lovingly to her, promising she would pray for her, and did not fight death as it stalked her mother’s battered body. Together they asked God to forgive both of their sins, though silently Rhiann wondered what sins they could have possibly committed that such a deadly penance was the required offering to expiate them. The Normans at least did not violate her mother’s sick room, but stood guard outside her door lest Rhiann attempt to escape or think to join her mother in death and thus thwarting their mission.

As soon as the duchess drew her final breath, Rhiann was taken sobbing from the dim room and literally thrown on a horse to carry her to London. She was not even allowed to see to the details of her mother’s burial. Her old nurse, Addy, promised to see to the task. It was a futile promise and they both knew it but Rhiann was able to pause in her grief long enough to nod her grateful appreciation for the old woman’s fervent vow. In her mind she consoled herself with the thought of her mother being peacefully laid to rest beside her father in the family burial plot. She doubted the Norman invaders would extend her that courtesy, but if she didn’t know the truth with certainty, Rhiann saw no harm in clinging to the one fantasy left to her in her current bleak reality.

Rhiann wished her mother had confided her intent to her, even as she acknowledged that though her mother might choose the escape death offered for herself, she would not force the same choice upon her daughter. Maybe it was because her mother foolishly clung to the hope the Normans would honor Rhiann’s youth and her former status as a lady. Rhiann could no longer delude herself with such foolish fantasies. She was a prisoner of war and guessed her former high status only guaranteed her a more public execution in the sight of the new king. For what other reason would they have dragged her to London in such haste and under such heavy guard?

Rhiann was sunk too deep in her melancholy musings to pay attention to her surroundings. At the moment it was requiring every ounce of the will power she still possessed to simply remain upright. She therefore missed the imperious summons from the huge man seated at the head of the large table enjoying his mid-day meal. As a reward for her inattention she received a nudge in her back from one of the Norman knights who acted as her escort on the long trek to London. At the unexpected contact, she tripped and would have fallen but for the quick reflexes of her captor who caught her before she keeled over and ended up humiliatingly sprawled at his feet on the cold, stone floor. The bitter hate in her eyes as she raised them to his scarred face had him dropping his hand from where it gripped her arm to steady her. At the same time he nodded towards the center of the room where the new king was awaiting her attention.

Rhiann turned her focus to the Norman duke who would be a king. She battled the nausea welling up inside her as she faced the man who stole her life and the lives of those she most loved. At the same time she became reluctantly aware the large open hall where she still hovered at the entrance was crowded with knights, and not a few ladies, all of them watching her. The smell of food permeated the room. In her current state she couldn’t decide if the smell was making her more acutely aware of her hunger after her long fast, or if it was simply making her more nauseous.

Finally she raised her glance and dared meet the arrogant gaze of the man who sat impatiently waiting for her attention. She didn’t immediately drop her own as their glances met and their two wills clashed silently across the distance separating them. She remained unbowed before him, meeting the Norman duke’s intent regard with proud defiance. The new king raised his brows at her unspoken challenge then motioned her forward with an abrupt sweep of his arm. When she hesitated, the guard at her side raised his arm to give her another push in the king’s direction but the scathing look she sent him prevented him from seeing his intent through. With a silent inward sigh Rhiann accepted her escort would drag her across the scarred floor on her knees if necessary if she failed to quickly comply with the king’s unspoken demand.

Reluctantly she took a few halting steps in the new monarch’s direction, not wishing to approach any closer than was absolutely necessary. His glance darkened at her continued show of defiance and he gestured to her again, indicating she was not to stop until she stood directly before him. A hushed silence followed her halting progress across the crowded room as every conversation in the hall fell quiet and all eyes turned to watch her stilted approach towards the king. Her feet stopped only a few small steps from where he sat at the head of a large wooden table, heavily laden with full trenchers of food and pitchers of freshly brewed ale. Her stomach roiled again as the rich smell assaulted her overtaxed senses.

The silence holding sway over the room was now heavy with expectation. Rhiann wondered at the change in the mood of the room even as she struggled to calm her stomach and keep her feet. She risked a glance at the face of the man who summoned her, took immediate note of his fierce scowl and belatedly understood the new sense of anticipation from the silent observers. The witnesses to her humiliation seemed to close around them savoring apparently the prospect of the king’s punishment of her defiance, even though no one dared approach closer. Rhiann recognized she could put an end to her own dark forebodings by simply continuing to stand there. She could ensure her death or imprisonment at the very least by refusing to give the man seated before her the show of respect he could demand as his right as the new king of England.

Her pride waged a final battle with her wavering will as memories of holding her dying mother in her arms passed through her thoughts. Two of her brothers’ bodies were returned home for burial in the initial months of the war. Her father’s was returned to them towards the end of the invasion when a Norman victory was all but assured. It was that day her mother truly died… on the chilly autumn morning when she could no longer deny the truth of the rumors of her husband’s loss. The last assault on Heaven’s Crest merely added the final indignation to the insult of a war that had already stolen everyone and everything she most cared for. Her body lingered long enough to be felled in the final offensive, but long before the last bitter autumn morning, her mother’s heart was buried on the hill next to the chapel along with the bodies of her husband and sons.

Even the Normans kept silent as Rhiann flew down the stairs at the sight of her mother’s limp body being carried into the hall, discovered only after the formalities of surrender and disarmament were attended to. Her mother was barely conscious when she bid Rhiann a brief and bittersweet farewell before pressing the stone Rhiann now wore around her neck into hands trembling too violently to receive it. The stone clattered to the hard floor and landed in the pool of her mother’s blood spreading around her from the carelessly bound stump that was once her arm. Rhiann knelt dry eyed on the floor, her eyes fixed on the stone, already dark without the warmth of her mother’s skin to light the fire within. There was little to distinguish it from its bloody surroundings as the fresh blood took on the darker, almost black color of the stone.

Their enemies all but carried them both to her parents’ chambers. Her mother’s breath was shallow as Rhiann knelt beside the bed. Her eyes opened as Rhiann gripped her hand and gently pushed the matted hair back from her beautiful face. There was no desperate attempt to stop the flow of blood, to disturb their final moments together with useless, intrusive activity. Green eyes held their mirror image and what passed between mother and daughter could not be carried by an exchange of inadequate words. Her mother’s hand reached for the stone Rhiann clutched in her hand. You are its keeper now, daughter. Before I leave this world I would know I have not failed completely in the trust my own mother placed in me. Rhiann understood what was being asked of her. Still it was with great reluctance she slipped the thin chain over her head and tearfully watched the