The Arrow of Ronan: The Legends of Ronan, #1

By Alicia Uecker

      Journey to the small kingdom of Ronan to experience the world of the emerald-eyed archer, Princess Abbetha. The fiery royal's carefree life is sent reeling when murder senselessly claims her beloved mother. In the five years since, her once doting father, King Diermund, has transformed into a distant stranger set on entrapping her dutiful older sister into an arranged marriage. To escape her broken heart, Abbetha finds solace on the archery fields.

       When rumors of an uprising against the king spread like fire; a knight with a mysterious past joins the Royal Guard of Ronan, and an unimaginable tragedy threatens to crumble her world, will Abbetha learn to surrender everything, including her beloved bow and arrows to God to do what is right?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alicia Uecker
• Release date: Aug 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393439998

Alicia Uecker

Alicia is still working on adulting while telling the stories that occupy her brain. She lives in Texas with her two cats, Tinley and Charlotte. When she isn't teaching, or writing, she is cooking; as a Taurus it is her birthright. 

Book preview

1

In one fluid motion Abbetha plunged her cross-hilt dagger into the assailant. She refused to look away as his once arrogant gaze flooded with agony.

Who would have expected such a move from a princess? Then again, she was no ordinary princess.

Abbetha forcibly withdrew her weapon causing the man to fall to the ground with an audible thud.

Hovering menacingly over the man who had just made an attempt on her life, she seethed, I’m afraid it is time to pay the debt you owe for killing my mother. Your life for hers.

With much difficulty, the man wheezed, You...think I'm...the worst of your...prob...problems? I die...your death is...sure to follow. They won't stop...until...the kingdom is theirs.

Who? She exclaimed, pressing the tip of her blade to his throat as if he still posed a threat, "Who are they?"

The man's steely gaze boldly met hers as his bloodstained lips curled into a sinister smile. Without another word his head fell back, eyes void of life.

As if struck by lightning, Abbetha jolted awake; the murderous scene instantly replaced by the dark serenity of her bedchamber.

A dream, she mumbled, breathless, Nay, a nightmare.

Abruptly dropping the dagger she had somehow unsheathed in her sleep, she leapt from her bed. After recovering some composure, Abbetha calmly returned to her bed. After placing her dagger back safely beneath her pillow, she seized a different kind of weapon. One far more powerful than any made by man, the two-edged sword on her bedside table. The Bible.

Pressing the leather-bound book to her chest, she shuffled over to the bench beneath her rather large window. It was her favorite spot in the castle as it allowed her a perfect view of the turbulent sea below. Abbetha had an undying admiration for the sea since childhood.

Her home, Castle Chroi, stood upon the highest cliff in the country of Ronan. Chroi, meaning heart, was aptly named when her ancestors built it eons ago. They wanted this fortress to be the heart of Ronan. It certainly was the heart of Abbetha's world. When her mother was murdered, however, the heart ceased its beating.

Abbetha's natural vivaciousness cloaked her agony; few knew the battles she faced internally. Even those who were aware did not understand the full depth of her sadness.

At times, Abbetha even fooled herself into believing nothing was amiss. Her self-deceit was successful until she had the nightmares. Suddenly, her old wounds were ripped wide open, once again leaving her bleeding and vulnerable.

In those dark moments she turned to the Light of the World to guide her.

Shifting her attention from the sky illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight, to the task at hand, she hastily turned the well-worn pages until landing on the verse she desired, Hebrews 13:5.

I will never leave you, nor forsake you, she whispered.

Abbetha had discovered this passage the night her mother died. In the five years since, her ever-faithful Heavenly Father remained steadfast to all the promises written in His Word.

Setting her Bible aside, Abbetha hugged her knees to her chest before resting her head against the pane of the window. Gazing at the dark waters below, she prayed aloud. Lord, surely you know the unrest within my heart mirrors those waves which you have set into motion. All that I ask is that you calm the storm.

With a new resolve, Abbetha hopped off the bench and made her way to her wardrobe. Retrieving her heavy, forest-green cloak, she flung it around her shoulders. To keep her identity a secret, she placed the hood over her thick hair, the color of a raven’s feather.

Holding her breath, Abbetha eased herself into the hallway then quietly closed the door.

She wandered these halls every morning while everyone else was lost in their dreams. When her father, King Diermund, had first learned of his youngest roaming the castle alone, he forbade it. However, understanding her need to find peace after the heartbreaking loss of the queen, he later relented. He did, however, call for more torches to be mounted on the walls and the occasional knight to stand guard throughout her journey.

Her pre-dawn walks quickly became the center of speculation and mystery throughout the village. Those who had seen her shadow cast upon the old, grey stone walls, believed her to be a ghost. Not just any apparition, but the spirit of an ancient Ronan queen forced into an arranged marriage to a man she loathed, leading to her ultimate decision to end her own life. Legend told of the queen's specter endlessly haunting the castle, searching for her never to be one true love.

In a sense, those tales were true. Although not the tragic queen of old, Abbetha endlessly searched for a healing peace. Any solace she found never seemed to reach her heart.

Moments into her walk, she felt a hand firmly seize her wrist, wrenching her from the hallway into a side corridor. Not having time to react, she was hastily pressed against the stone wall.

Abbetha scolded herself for not bringing any weapon of defense. As much as she was caught off guard, she knew panicking was not wise. She needed to maintain all her strength to escape.

Abbetha suspected fear was the first emotion others would feel in this situation. However, for her it was the last. She was too furious that anyone would dare to kidnap her to be frightened.

Judging by his appearance, the man was a knight. The flickering flame of the torch and the moonlight shining through the small nearby window supplied minimal light, making it nigh on impossible to gain a clear view of his face.

Though her heart thumped furiously, she remained outwardly calm, remembering she had come armed with a powerful weapon after all. Her wit.

Speaking in a hushed yet authoritative tone, the Princess of Ronan addressed her offender. I do not know what you intend to gain from your actions here, but I assure you, it is not worth losing your esteemed position over. That is the only accomplishment you will achieve. You do realize this, yes? Over the second born no less. What a waste.

Her body still trapped in the cage of the man’s arms, she heard the last response she expected, his thunderous laughter.

Flashing a smile that was brilliant enough to see in the dim lighting, the man said, I would not call this a waste, Sandpiper.

Her taut nerves flooded with relief at the sound of her childhood friend's deep voice. Derrick! She half shrieked, throwing her arms around his neck.

Abbetha peered up at Derrick's rugged features and brooding stormy-blue eyes. Even in the dark, she saw the mischievous gleam in his stare.

Were you expecting someone else?

Abbetha hit his arm playfully. "I was expecting no one, least of all you. However, I am so glad it is you!"

Derrick rewarded her with a cheeky grin as he replied, Are you now?

Abbetha became acutely aware how she still clung to his neck. His well-muscled arms firmly embraced her; she felt melded to his body. Instantly releasing him, she backed away, her face aflame with embarrassment.

Refusing to let him have the upper hand, she boldly met his mesmerizing gaze. If my only other option is a scoundrel with ill-intentions, then yes, I am glad it is you.

Without pause, Derrick countered, Who's to say I am not both?

Accepting his challenge, What you say is true. Only a scoundrel would interrupt my walk in such a barbaric manner.

His handsome face twisted in disbelief. Barbaric?

Sneaking up on me to pin me against the wall was a bit much, was it not?

As Derrick stepped toward her, Abbetha was convinced he could hear thunderous beating of her heart slamming against her ribs.

Standing dangerously close, his tempest-filled stare was so intense, she might as well have been looking directly into the seas outside the castle walls. Without warning, he placed his hand on her shoulder. She was sure his palm was made of flame for her skin burned from his touch.

Did I harm you?

No. She hoped her breathless reply was audible; she could barely hear herself.

Good, was his only response as he dropped his hand away.

An unwelcome change befell them. The uncharacteristically heavy silence confirmed it.

Desperate to ease the tension, Abbetha confronted her warrior friend once again. I do hope you have a purpose for this visit besides trying to scare me.

On the contrary, Sandpiper, scaring you was my intention, Derrick said casually.

Crossing her arms, she silently challenged him, well-aware she behaved like an infant in a fit of rage.

Abbetha eyed Derrick as he calmly strolled to the wall directly across from her. Leaning his back against it, he proceeded to fold his arms across his chest. With his left eyebrow raised and a charmingly lopsided smirk in place, she knew he was in no hurry.

Having had enough of this game, she whipped her hood onto her head and stormed toward the exit like a wild stallion.

Derrick hastily blocked her with his broad form. There is no escaping me, Sandpiper.

Thrusting a finger into his chest, A knight talking to a princess like this? Blasphemous!

Gripping his chest, as though his heart pained him, Derrick said, I would have thought our nineteen years of friendship would be enough not to use your blessed title against me.

He was right, of course, but she dared not admit it.

Abbetha unwillingly relented to hear him out as she rested against the wall opposite of him. Impatiently, Then say whatever needs to be said so I may carry on with my life.

Even though he smiled, his response was quite matter of fact. I told you. My intention was to frighten you.

Whatever for? Abbetha implored.

To prove to you that your predawn wanderings are a risk to your safety.

If someone had thrown a bucket of cold seawater on her at that very moment, she would not be as taken aback as she was at that comment.

Abbetha paced the small corridor silently, as Derrick continued in an even tone. I know you have used these walks to find solace and healing from the tragic fate your mother met, but-

With a voice riddled with ice, Abbetha interrupted, That should be reason enough to allow me to continue.

Stepping forward, Derrick placed his hands on her shoulders and said softly, Aye, it should be, but as your friend and guard, you must heed my advice.

She reluctantly made eye contact with him as he persisted. On occasion, I too find myself in search of peace. In those moments I go to the chapel.

Abbetha was certain her expression mirrored her disbelief. The chapel?

Aye.

Since when? She questioned.

The point is, he said firmly, apparently looking to end her curiosity, I understand the need to find solace. However, this time is different.

She sighed impatiently. How?

His deep voice held a strange edge to it. I have overheard whisperings of an uprising.

An uprising? Abbetha exclaimed, before she steadfastly argued, The people of Ronan love and honor my father as they should, for he has shown them nothing less in return. She wished the king would show her sister and her that same kind of affection.

Derrick’s reply sliced through her thoughts. Agreed. It was only a couple of butchers. No one with any power to be sure. However, Sandpiper, a devastating fire always begins as an unassuming spark.

What are you saying?

The morning light pierced through the small window, softly illuminating the tiny corridor. In normal circumstances, Abbetha would have returned to her room before now.

A few misguided whisperings amongst the powerless can ignite damaging thoughts in the powerful, leading to the imminent fall of your father's kingdom, Derrick said plainly.

Abbetha nodded with understanding. If there were to be an uprising, the royals would not stand by idly without a fight. What must we do to stop this?

The Captain of the Guard placed a hand on his solid chest adorned with the Crest of Ronan. This intricate seal was known more commonly as the Mark of Ronan. Anything bearing this emblem, was forever linked to this impressive nation; no other country could stake claim.

"I must discuss these matters with your father, but until then, I ask you to please stop your wanderings."

I fail to see how stopping my harmless actions can prevent a possible uprising.

"It won't, but it will ensure your safety."

"I am safe," she stubbornly replied. Guilt squeezed her heart as that lie escaped her lips. In recent days, she felt anything but safe.

Oh, yes, Derrick's tone dripped with sarcasm as he saw right through her facade. Her warrior always did. Safe enough to be whisked away and overpowered by one man?

Scoffing, she threw her arms up and paced back and forth. It was only you, and I will bring my dagger next time.

Next time, it might not be me and a dagger may not be enough.

COME NOW, SANDPIPER, think this through, Derrick thought, as he gazed into eyes so green, they resembled the very emerald signet ring she wore on her right hand. The rather elaborate piece of jewelry was to alert all her identity as Princess of Ronan, should they ever have any doubt.

Abbetha absently chewed her lower lip. Derrick knew there was a dispute between her heart and mind raging behind those gemstone eyes.  Not one to give in easily, her internal battle would soon become a war with him. 

However, he too was an expert in combat, both physical and verbal. Although he wished she would be more agreeable at times, he secretly enjoyed their quarrels.

Some might have thought this was quite peculiar indeed. However, everything about Derrick and Abbetha's friendship was unusual. In a normal world, the two would have never met.

One day, during a tremendous storm, his mother, Moira, the wife of the village baker, was restocking the bread, when a cloaked patron burst through the doors in an attempt to seek shelter from the downpour. Based on the visitor’s appearance, his mother had surmised she was an old beggar woman. No matter the stranger’s lot in life, Moira took pity on her and quickly set about preparing the woman a small meal, without expecting anything in return.

The stranger suddenly stood tall, smoothing out the hump Moira had thought existed had based on the curvature of her back. The woman then pushed the hood of her cloak off her head. In truth, she was anything but an old beggar woman. In fact, she was the recently wed and future queen, Princess Lenora. Moira's kind gesture touched the royal so greatly she wanted to show her gratitude by giving the baker's wife something in return.

Derrick's mother refused all the material gifts the princess offered. Instead, Moira requested her friendship. Lenora accepted, and the two quickly became inseparable. Even the king and Derrick's father, George, became comrades after some time.

The family became bakers to the royals and this connection later helped establish Derrick’s highly revered position.

His mother used to say that bread and babies had brought them together, as both Moira and Lenora were with child at the time of their meeting. Moira was pregnant with Derrick's older brother, Thomas, and Lenora with Abbetha's older sister, Corinthia. One year later, Derrick arrived. Two years after that, Abbetha was born, changing his world forever.

The bakers and the royals, an unlikely friendship formed quite curiously, thus proving God indeed posessed a sense of humor and worked in mysterious ways.

Expelling a weighty sigh, Abbetha faced the small window, forcing Derrick back to the present. He wanted to speak, but all he could do was wait. Arguments he knew how to handle. They were like a duel with a sword, something he was quite skilled at. This silence, however, was a new and unwanted foe.

The Cliff.

The two words were spoken so softly and so out of context he thought he imagined them.

Abbetha approached the hallway then, her countenance hardening. Before leaving, she quipped, I believe you have a job to do.

I’m already doing it.

She glanced at him sideways, Oh?

Casually strolling away in the opposite direction. Protecting you, milady.

After bowing with much exaggeration, he rounded the corner before catching Abbetha’s reaction. Derrick knew she would give him an earful at The Cliff later. It was the secret place they fled to when they had a problem in need of a resolution.

Abbetha was wise to suggest it. There were always listening ears in the castle. Any information spoken too loudly meant everyone from king to scullery maid would be privy to it within the hour. 

It was time Derrick was off anyway. Derrick trusted the other men in the castle to keep an eye out for the free-spirited princess which put his mind at ease. While he was her guard, he was also the Commander of the Royal Guard of Ronan and needed to focus on the recruits the king had arranged to arrive that day.

Derrick's methods of training were a touch unconventional, but they were effective. One such tactic would play out in a few days’ time. The result might cause him to lose a few men. Therein lied the purpose of his madness. The men willing to stay afterward were the ones he wanted.

2

Corinthia skimmed over her daily verses while finishing breakfast in her bedchamber. This had become a familiar scene as of late.

In her youth, her father, the king, made the morning meal a grand event. He had once declared it to be the best part of his day for he started it with the most precious gems in his life.

When their mother died, the happy occasion lost its joy. To his credit, their father did make a valiant effort to keep the same routine. However, the pretense proved to be too difficult for him. As the oldest, Corinthia was aware of such matters.

Gradually, breakfast for Corinthia and Abbetha transitioned into their rooms. The king said he wanted to meet with his advisors during that time to get an early start on the critical matters of the day. To all involved, this arrangement made perfect sense, but it broke Corinthia's heart, Abbetha's too, though she said nothing.

Glancing out her window, the position of the sun told Corinthia it was mid-morning and she knew Betha, a name she had called her sister since childhood, would be returning from her archery lesson soon. Not that Betha needed practice in that area.

Their father tried to inject culture into his youngest's daily routine, but other than the art of dance, she had no interest in the delicate fripperies of life, as Abbetha had once phrased it. Her sister rather excelled at archery, sword fighting, and all other matters of combat.

Shaking her head, Corinthia smiled. How two women could be such close sisters with such night and day differences, was beyond her worldly knowledge.

Thud. The noise came from the other side of the sliding door separating the princesses' bedchambers. Thud. Thump. Thwack. Either a horse had escaped the stables and made its way into Abbetha's room, or her sister was in a mood. Based on the inaudible aggravated muttering of an irate female, Corinthia settled on the latter.

Calmly, Corinthia saved her spot in the Psalms, brushed the crumbs from the front of her dress, and made her way to the sliding door. The thrashing about had ceased, though the muttering continued. If Corinthia knew Abbetha at all, she suspected the source of the mood was a ruggedly handsome knight whose name she needn't have to mention.

Pushing the wooden door aside, Corinthia found her sister standing by the window arms tightly folded across her middle. At the sound of Corinthia’s entrance, Abbetha whipped around quickly.

Upon seeing her, Oh Corin, you startled me!

With a soft chuckle, Corinthia replied, "I startled you? You’re the one thrashing about like a wild animal and muttering to yourself like a mad woman."

Abbetha blushed as she hurried to embrace her sister. Sorry! My thoughts were elsewhere.

Oh? Corinthia inquired, as she sauntered to sit with her sister who had moved back to the window.

Nothing God cannot handle. Abbetha’s response came a bit too quickly before she promptly changing the subject. How are you this morning?

Corinthia wanted to pry. Something was amiss. Abbetha, the best archer in all of Ronan, had thrown her precious bow and arrows carelessly on the floor. Not to mention her breakfast was untouched. For a healthy eater like Abbetha, that was quite odd indeed.

Deciding to hold her questions until later, Corinthia sighed. I am well. I am to meet Lord Winthrop within the hour.

Abbetha groaned, That disgusting toad!

Stifling a chuckle, Shhhh Betha, if you are not careful, someone will hear you.

"I hope they do! Perhaps someone will finally discover what I have known since he set foot in Chroi. That man is not to be trusted!"

Corinthia countered her sister’s emphatic response like she always did, calmly. We do not know that for certain, Betha. He has been nothing but respectful and loyal to Father.

"I do know that for certain, her sister countered adamantly.  What I do not know is how you can let him advise