New Camelot's Thief

By Brenda Gable

They live in a medieval dog-eat-dog world. Only the smartest, fastest and stealthiest survive and Carla is making sure those she loves are provided for—no matter who gets hurt. Carla’s philosophy has served her well in her career as a thief. With a huntress’s prowess and able to see in the night, no one is safe from her larcenous fingers. When she targets the heir to the throne, it’s not Prince Wolfrick who is fleeced, but this indomitable woman. In their brief exchange, she loses her heart to the virile sorcerer-wizard, but she knows in their caste dominated society, she cannot have him. When the king orders his irascible son to pick a wife, he goes against his family’s wishes and selects, not a high born noble. Oh, no. He wants the only woman who has ever struck his jaded heart and his jaw. He’ll have none other than the forbidden Carla. To have his thief as his future queen, Wolfrick will go to any extreme, even to overthrowing the throne.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brenda Gable
• Release date: Sep 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310751615

Brenda Gable

An award-winning author, Brenda Gable is a graduate of North Carolina State University and the Air Force Institute of Technology. She is published in southern magazines and anthologies. The mother of two adult children, lover of an absentminded yet brilliant husband, and caregiver to a clowder of cats, one hyper dog, and a noble horse, she's a very happy woman. Brenda enjoys sports and daydreaming up "what if" scenarios while she attacks the weeds in her flower and vegetable gardens. Her twisted mind has produced a series of New Camelot tales. She hopes you enjoy reading them as much as she enjoyed creating them.

Book preview

Tales of New Camelot

NEW CAMELOT’S THIEF

By

Brenda Gable

Book Three

Book Three Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN-13: 978-1497352391

ISBN-10: 1497352398

New Camelot Books in Publication

Rogue Prince

Crystal Sorceress

New Camelot’s Thief

Black Sorcerer

Fire Sorceress

Bernard the Bard

High Sheriff of New Camelot

New Camelot’s Lion

New Camelot’s Brewster

Rogue Dragon

New Camelot's Sally the Whore

New Camelot's Fafnir

New Camelot's Bronson

New Camelot's Tarnished Knight

New Camelot’s Dragon’s Breath

New Camelot’s Baker

New Camelot’s Merchant Prince

Kingston Books in Publication

Vindication

Redemption

Retribution

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my horse riding friends. I have borrowed generously from their tales of adventure with their noble steeds and have freely employed their wit throughout my New Camelot stories.

Chapter 1

It would be tonight. Carla, the servant of a servant, the lowest ranking member in New Camelot’s caste system, had run out of options and time. She’d felt Baron McFinn’s beady eyes on her last week as she followed the north end of a south-bound ox turning over the rich soil in the turnip field. Based on the unfortunate accidents his last two young mistresses suffered, she knew what was in store for her if she fell into McFinn’s hands.

With calloused hands and heart, Carla threw Bridgett’s boots into her rucksack alongside the dried beef and hard cheese she’d taken from the larder. She slipped on Cian’s coarse linen tunic and braes and Tristan’s wool cloak. Even though her companions would sorely miss the items, the petty thievery was done with utmost need. Tonight she was escaping a life of abject toil and impending death.

Serf Gorham’s harsh words from this morning still hung in the bleak room where her friends slept soundly on straw pallets after daylong labor. I’ve got a buyer for you. Baron McFinn saw you working in the field and has taken a fancy to you. Danu knows why he wants an old spinster. But it’s not wise to question a noble’s request. He’ll be here in the morning to pick you up.

Born into the farming class, Serf Gorham had a sideline of collecting unwanted bastards. He either worked them to death on McFinn’s farm or sold them to the highest bidder. She got her master’s fist in her face when she dared to argue that she was his best worker and not to sell her. With tentative fingers, she touched her bruised cheek. Her eye would soon swell close but she had a second one that could see perfectly well in daylight as well as night.

No one knew about her ability to roam the darkness as if the sun shined overhead. She’d gotten the gift from her parents; parents who didn’t want her and had cast her aside like the contents of last night’s chamber pot, to be passed from croft to croft with nothing to remember them by but the charm she wore around her neck. She fingered the gold medallion. Gorham had tried to take the ornament from her innumerable times. But every time he or anyone else touched it, they received a searing burn. It allowed none but her to possess it.

She paused in her packing to look at her sleeping fellow bastards. Guilt washed over her from stealing their meager possessions. The goddess knew they had precious little. In retrospect, she’d taken plenty of their beatings for them over the years and she’d shared with them the rabbits and pheasants she’d snared when rations ebbed. It was a fair enough exchange. In her heart she promised to come back and rescue them from their unending toil. But for now, she could only save herself.

Carla paused in her preparations to lift the tree shaped charm from her chest and kissed it for luck. There was no use praying to Danu. The goddess hadn’t heard or chose to ignore all her other prayers. It was a time for self-reliance. No one else would protect her.

Slipping the cloaked hood over her face, she stepped over her butchered locks and eased out the window. Dropping silently to the ground, she became one with the night and an outlaw.

Chapter 2

Prince Wolfrick Asarlaís stepped over the two sleeping young dragons with practiced care. He lifted one buttock cheek and settled on the edge of his father’s oaken desk for stability. With the desk supporting his unsteady legs, he let his inebriated mind drift off to something more pleasurable like hunting, or fishing or the fine wines this season had produced while his parents droned on their favorite topic—getting him leg shackled to a wife.

Blah, blah, blah. They took turns going over the old arguments. He was thirty-two. It was past time he presented New Camelot with an heir. All his sisters were married and doing their duty producing children. His pickled mind was jerked to sudden sobriety when his father’s words broke through his meandering thoughts.

The King of New Camelot pointed a finger at him and said, The ball will be in two weeks and you will pick one to wed.

Wolfrick tumbled off the table, nearly landing on a leather covered tail and received a warning hiss from the startled dragon. He turned a stunned face to them. "What? What did you just say?

Queen Bardou nudged her husband, King Gunnolf, with an elbow. See. I told you he would give us ears stuffed with wax.

Now see here, boy. His father’s angry roar reverberated in the small private chamber. Gunnolf waved a fist wracked with arthritis. In two weeks you will pick one of the realm’s lasses and wed her. At this juncture, I don’t care which one. But do it. I’m not getting any younger. There’s rumor of another want-to-be high king on the air and let’s not forget that episode with our scout and the attack on him. New Camelot needs a young virile leader and that leader needs a wife to support him and produce an heir.

But…but… His normally glib words failed him. He knew all the single eligible ladies in New Camelot, had even bedded quite a few of them. He wasn’t interested in any of them as a prospective wife. A saving thought entered his shocked mind. You have Darren procreating with gusto. He’s the greatest warrior we have. With Adolph’s and his magic combined, he’s invincible. None can beat him, not even Op Wellen.

Your brother is busy running Dragon Keep and expanding his territory into Troll and outlaw lands. Princess Bethany is almost ready to drop his heir. Between clearing the lands, squiring his wife to healing sessions and raising a family, Gunnolf slammed his fist on the oak table and made a brave effort to hide his wince, he doesn’t have time to run a kingdom. Your destiny is to rule over New Camelot and produce an heir to guarantee the succession.

But…but…

The suddenness of their decree had him befuddled and at a loss for words. The rulers of New Camelot stood, signaling an end to the conversation. His father took his mother’s hand and led her to the door. The mud-colored dragons rose, stretched forward, arched their smooth backs into the air, then followed after them, their tails swinging to and fro.

At the doorway Gunnolf tossed over his shoulder, Two weeks. Pick one or we will.

Impending doom washed over Wolfrick in a suffocating tide. His carefree bachelor’s life was coming to an abrupt end. He paced the floor, his mind buzzing with incoherent half-thoughts. It couldn’t be happening. Blessed be Danu, in two weeks he’d be wed to a woman he didn’t love. Panicked thoughts raced through his mind on how to change the course of his impending doom. Only one thought came to mind—escape. If he wasn’t here, he couldn’t pick one.

He bellowed to the footman outside the chamber door. My horse! Saddle my horse!

* * * * *

Carla hefted the heavy purse she’d cut from the sleeping merchant. On catlike feet, she padded across the quiet campground, past the sleeping sentries, then disappeared into the dark recesses of the forest. Two hours later she approached the hidden cottage where she and her adopted family lived. Based on the weight of the sac, tonight’s haul had been bountiful.

Cleared for comfort, the merchant’s campsite had been remarkably easy to move about without rustling a leaf. Passing the inattentive guards had been child’s play. Her sharp knife had slit the back of her victim’s tent and she had slipped in like a shadow to relieve him of his coin. No muss, no fuss. That’s the way she liked it. Opening the soft leather sack, she removed her share of the ill-gotten goods. The rest would go to Tom to feed and clothe the family of thieves she called family.

She closed the croft’s oaken door against spitting snow flurries and tossed the heavy sac onto the hand-wrought kitchen table. The gold coins made a clunking noise as they settled on the rough-hewed trestle table made by Tom’s hands.

Standing at the wood burning stove from whence savory smells arose out of a black kettle, their cook, Mistress Cowan, clucked in disapproval. Ah, Carla, you shouldn’t take such risks. Why didn’t you take some of the men with you to watch your back?

They make too much noise. She accepted the plate of stewed venison, the meat poached off of Prince Darren’s lands, and sat on a long bench to savor the delectable meal. Mistress Cowan was a quarter-Royal and had a way with local herbs that made even a castoff leather boot taste like a tender filet. Unfortunately, when her master made advances on Cowan’s voluptuous person, she cracked his skull with a frying pan. That left her only one course of action to pursue—flee or be hanged.

There you are! Broad chested and heavily muscled as a proper blacksmith should be, Tom Gallagher climbed down from the sleeping loft and marched towards her to stop and loom with a scowl on his face. Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick. He and his family had fled a master who wanted their youngest daughter, a child of only six years old, to be his bed warmer. They’d left a prosperous farm and forge behind to protect the child from their lord’s unwholesome advances.

Oh, just out for a night stroll. Carla’s green topaz eyes flashed with impish humor While I was out, I found a fat partridge to pluck. She scooped the leather bag off the table and tossed it to him. This should tide us over for a while.

Tom’s dark eyes widened to saucer size. Zounds! He must have been a merchant on his way to buy goods. Tom’s face broke into a broad grin, her transgression forgiven..

Good job, Carla. Well done. This will buy more tools and weapons for the men and a loom and spinning wheel for Sharon. We’ll become self-sufficient in no time.

Carla blushed under Tom’s praise. He’d found her freezing to death under a natural bridge of downed trees two years ago. Without hesitation he’d taken her in and made her part of his extended family. She loved him like the big brother she’d never had. Tom’s cohesive band of outlaws accepted her into their fold and she slowly began providing through thievery and hunting what fields and tired muscles did not.

Sharon, Tom’s wife, pushed aside the curtain that separated their sleeping quarters and walked up to him. She was as slender after six children as the day she wed. Her infant rested in a sling around her neck and shoulders. The next youngest toddled with her, clutching the hem of her faded kirtle for balance. Tom automatically put an arm around her waist and brought her closer to him.

Lines of worry creased her fair forehead. The same concern was reflected in blue eyes the color of columbines. Carla, you trouble us when you vanish like that. Please, let us know where you’re going. How can we rescue you if you’re caught?

Carla flashed them a mischievous grin. They haven’t caught me yet, have they?

Sharon tapped her foot. Yet. You’re pushing your luck, my dear. Promise us you’ll take one of the men with you next time.

Sharon’s words made Carla feel the chaffing of responsibility. Extra men slowed her down. She ran like an elk, climbed like a bear and had the eyes and reflexes of a cat. Her concentration was always diverted when others accompanied her, splitting it between the mission and their welfare.

She looked into Sharon and Tom’s troubled eyes. These people, labeled as outlaws because they had no way to defend themselves in the strict caste system of New Camelot, claimed her as family. Hardworking people, fate had played a nasty trick on them. Through no fault of their own, their lives had been destroyed by a corrupt noble.

Having no other recourse, Tom fled with his family to the wilderness and became an outlaw. Luck was with him. He’d found a cottage, abandoned and forgotten during the Troll Wars. With the sweat off his back and the calluses on his hands, he’d renovated it into a comfortable two-story abode. He’d taken Carla in under his wing that first brutal winter she escaped Mc Finn’s farm.

Once secure in her position as a member of Tom’s family, she remembered her promise to her sleeping companions and went back to her fellow slaves and offered them the fresh air of freedom. Not only did her new family rely upon her hunting skills to sustain them, they cared about her as a person. Tom’s collection of misfits was the family she never had.

Carla released a put upon sigh. Sharon was right. She was getting lax and cocky. She should have had backup with her. Alright. I’ll take Cantor next time I go out walking. He was half-Royal. He had the ability to slip into a shadow and disappear to the human eye. He’d been a spy for a local noble until he was caught with the noble’s daughter in a compromising location—in her room, in her bed, with her. He’d barely escaped with his life.

Papa! Papa! Tom’s middle son slammed open the front door gasping, A knight went galloping down the Troll Fort Road.

Carla’s chin went up and a predatory glint lit her eyes. Unescorted?

Uh huh.

Tom scratched his dark curly beard that matched the thick thatch on his head. There is nothing between New Camelot and the Troll Fort except us. It’s very late. Do you think he’ll stop to spend the night on the road?

Carla quickly shoved the last of her stew into her mouth with a chunk of crusty bread. Her eyes glowed with excitement as she spoke. Cantor and I can track him. We’ll follow and see if we can add to our winter supplies with his purse.

Tom nodded. Aye. He’ll have coin and jewels on him that we need more than he does.

Carla handed her empty plate to Mistress Cowan. That was delicious and I’d like more, but I have another partridge to pluck.

* * * * *

Wolfrick examined the spitted rabbit his magic balls of purple energy had felled. The dripping juices were just starting to run clear. It would be a few more minutes over the small fire before the meat was done.

He looked around the surrounding darkness of the deep woods. This area of New Camelot’s realm was reputed to be full of outlaws. Well, let them come. He’d spit them like he’d done the rabbit with the magical power that was generated in his spine to roll down his shoulders and off his palms like balls of lightning. That ability made him what he was—a Royal—a man to be feared and obeyed. In turn, he provided safety for his subordinates, saw to their welfare and defended them with his life if need be.

The panicked flight from New Camelot had left him with a pounding headache. Without thinking, he galloped towards Dragon Keep, to the only friend he ever had, to his bastard half-brother, Darren. Dragon Keep had once been a frontier fort during the Troll Wars, but had since been converted to a respectable-sized castle.

He relieved his war horse of packs, saddle, bridle and trappings. After hobbling him, he turned Valliant loose to graze then lay back on the saddle and pulled the trappings bearing the New Camelot’s green and black colors over him to keep the fall chill away. He may smell like a sweaty horse in the morning, but he knew a hot bath would be provided for him once he got to his brother’s keep.

Wolfrick took a sip of spirits from the flask he kept attached to his belt. While the horse blanket warmed his outside, the fiery liquid warmed his inside. He stared into the campfire and thought of Darren and his sorceress wife, Bethany. The pair was madly in love and expecting their first child. If he was to wed, he wanted what they shared between them. He wanted it so bad, it ate a hole in him.

He’d seen them time and again, their faces lighting up when the other partner entered a room. The way they absentmindedly touched each other, light but comforting, made him ache for similar caresses. His parents had been estranged for twenty-years over an indiscretion by his father. His mother had finally forgiven the king and they seemed happy once again. But their newfound marital bliss did nothing to erase the emotional scars on his heart. To say he was