Men of Honour

By Andrew Buchan

When the King of the realm dies after a long illness, his daughter, the Princess Allanah, finds herself facing almost certain death. Her uncle Morgan covets her kingdom, and he has no compunction about taking it away from her. But before he can overthrow her, Allanah finds herself backed by her father’s friend, Baron Guile of Moonshade, and his northern tribe. Supported by the Barons, she and her cousin Eden flee the capital for the safety of northern lands – but Morgan Tempest is not to be deterred. He strikes a bargain with the evil Lord Wizard of the Bracken Isles that will see Allanah and Eden kidnapped, and used as bait in a depraved game that will test the loyalty of her supporters, and the mettle of the men of honour who have chosen to stand by her in memory of her father. This book contains adult situations, violence, and mature themes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Buchan
• Release date: May 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215964255

Andrew Buchan

My obsessive need to write continues.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The King is dead.

Of the men assembled in the room, only Baron Guile moved, a tall wraithlike man with cold eyes that disturbed all who saw them. He rose from the bench by the window and passed the grim priest who had made the declaration, grim because the priest knew well what must happen next in the kingdom. The room beyond the curtain was austere, as much of the summer castle had always been, reflecting the tastes of a man who had been as immensely practical as he had been, in his own way, kind. On a table near the window lay the corpse of the King, and a medicine man from the highlands sat on a stool beside it, his bowl of medicine on his lap, a hopeless magic now, if ever it had been hopeful. At the side of the funerary table stood the King’s brother, Morgan Tempest, a bear of a man who was as weak in character as his brother had been strong. Morgan’s daughter stood nearer the west exit, her porcelain complexion making her hair seem nearer dark brown than the red it displayed in full sunlight. Eden Tempest was a tall girl, in her mid-teens now, with a figure of an older woman and the bearing of a mouse, a fine representation of the highland axiom where the phrase came from. She seemed to shrink toward something ephemeral in the presence of her overbearing father, whose cruelty toward her was whispered oft enough that she had no peace of mind or confidence amongst even those who were not her betters. And her immediate better, her cousin, the princess ascendant, stood beside her, looking the picture of grief and yet beautiful in her tragic circumstances. Allanah Tempest was younger than her cousin, and yet her bearing was more naturally one of strength than weakness, despite her age. Her only restraint now was grief, though fear lurked. She was too intelligent not to understand the dangerous nature of her uncle.

The tableau was silent, and the atmosphere was thick with the weight of the moment.

Guile’s intense grey eyes focused on the King’s body for only an instant, and then he walked to the two young girls and placed himself behind them. His placid face betrayed nothing, but his eyes hinted at his anticipation of what was to come. The future would be decided here. He had known it for a lifetime, and he was prepared to stand behind the decision he had made long ago. The other highlanders had never spoken of him about their decisions, and this was the moment he knew would allow them their choices. He had never demanded either to hear them, or have them declare prior.

Morgan Tempest was physically much bigger than Guile, but his fattened jowls and rotund torso exposed he was ruled by his weaknesses. His gluttonous appetites were infamous in the kingdom. Guile, tall and severely thin, was an image of discipline. The two men were stark contrasts to the core. Knowing this, perhaps even fearing it, Morgan wiped a podgy hand down from his lips to the end of his beard, his pinprick pupils examining Guile’s face for some hint of where the man stood. The physical position Guile had taken should have been enough to answer that silent question, but Morgan was used to politics and was incapable of accepting the simplicity of that stance. Warily, he said, Mister Guile, the King is dead.

Yes, Guile agreed, voice a soft whisper. He had a thick northern accent, and a sharpness to his voice that fit with the naturally predatory set of his eyes. Steps announced the arrival of two more of the highland Barons. Falcon and Hampton stationed themselves by Guile, comfortable and prepared for any outcome despite drawn faces and tired eyes. They had never needed to declare their loyalties. Guile had not counted on them, but he had known all along that they would stand with him.

Morgan cleared his throat and gestured to his daughter. He said, Eden, come to father.

Guile’s hand settled onto Eden’s shoulder before she complied. She looked back at him with fearful eyes. More of the Barons were entering the funerary chamber, and none of their expressions were touched by any sign of worry. The collective confidence of these many men added a subtle change to the room’s atmosphere, a type of tension that often attended such pivotal moments in time, but was seldom remembered by those confronted with such certainty of choice. To Eden, who had lived her whole life in terror of the man they were choosing to oppose, there was no peace in the confrontation. No choice she made seemed suited to any peace at all.

Eden, Morgan growled. Come.

Guile said nothing until the daughter of the dead King turned and looked upon him. She had Eden’s colouring, with a better complexion equally pale, and stunning blue eyes that seemed strange given her hair was nearly pitch, an inheritance from her mother, God rest her soul. He spoke to her when she glanced at him, though his eyes were still focused on the King’s brother. She was no threat; Morgan Tempest was. He affirmed, in the nearest tone he had to gentle, "Milady Allanah; you are the Queen."

Morgan scowled, began to protest, but then reconsidered. The stance of the other Barons certified their support lay with Guile, and here lay the entire contingent of northerners who were in the capital. Their allegiance was not particularly surprising in the face of Morgan’s past behaviour, and he knew it was wise to be wary of a present confrontation. Here and now, he would lose. Still, it rankled his sense of entitlement to realise these hard, brutal men were standing by his niece’s claim to the throne. Without them she would have lasted nary a blink; with them…his ambitions were undone for the moment.

Allanah looked at her cousin, and then at her uncle. Though her voice trembled, she said with conviction, I would like you to leave my home, uncle.

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. He bowed with sarcastic flair and commanded, Let us leave your cousin to her mourning, daughter.

Eden will stay with me, Allanah declared, her voice hitching slightly, but with admirable resolve nonetheless.

Morgan’s frown grew into a quivering slash. Yet, still, the quiet presence of the Barons prevented a fit. Coldly, he reminded unnecessarily, "Eden is my daughter, niece. I am her father, and she must obey her father."

Allanah looked to Guile for help. His focus was still fixed unflinchingly on Morgan. Softly, he said, "You are the Queen, lady. We are all your subjects."

Allanah drew a courageous breath and returned her attention to Morgan, a man she feared, and knew as a devil in the flesh. She said firmly, As the Queen, I am requesting Eden act as my handmaiden.

That would be a command, Baron Falcon said gently.

Yes, Allanah whispered. I command her as my handmaiden.

Morgan winced, but left without further argument. He bumped the shoulder of Baron Cross on his way by since Falcon was inaccessible, and to Morgan one highlander was as useless as the next, and Cross ignored the impact as if it had never happened. Instead, Cross approached the dead King, carefully drawing a sheet over the old man’s grey face. Guile silently, by a few gestures of one hand, had directed two men to escort Morgan, who had stopped just beyond the door and turned. He glared at Guile for a moment, then turned and walked away slowly, as if that self-determined pace was sufficient present revenge against the monstrous betrayal he felt, though even he knew any claim he had to the throne was as unjust as it was immoral.

Falcon released a pent breath. He observed wearily, Morgan will not bear this well.

Guile glanced at Falcon with piercing eyes. He reminded with an even tone, Your glib manner is not one to be shown in the presence of our Queen.

Falcon nodded promptly, with a faint smile forming that he quashed, and apologised, Forgive me, milady.

Allanah nodded dumbly and looked once more to Guile. For years she had been almost as frightened of him and his highland fellowship as she had been of her uncle, but her father had always told her that she had misplaced that fear. Now they were her only sure allies. Guile, a man she and Eden both referred to as the ghost, had become her hope in the face of her uncle’s ambition. She knew certainly that her life would last for mere days, if not hours, but for these northern Barons. Still, they held some terror for her, being notoriously brutal people.

Guile looked down at the little girl who was his Queen, for she was much shorter than him. He then dropped to his knee and bowed his face. Without shifting from his formal tone, he asked, Milady, may I speak freely…with respect?

Yes.

Guile looked up into her face and wondered for a moment at his loyalties. He was placing the future of the kingdom in the hands of a girl barely in her teens. Her uncle was not a man to trust, and Morgan Tempest would not go quietly into history, so installing her as the rightful heir to the throne did nothing but ensure a war. Yet he was bound to her by his pledges to her family, and by a stronger fealty he did not completely comprehend. He knew its cause, but never had he understood his compulsion. He said in a near whisper, This castle is not safe for you, lady. Your uncle believes he is the successor to your father. I fear we cannot defend this castle from the allies he can gather in the south, if we are also to defend our homes. The highlands are secure, and until we are certain of your safety, I bid you welcome in the north.

And Eden, too? she asked.

With a fractional glance toward the other girl, he said without a hint of feeling, All those you trust are now my family, my Queen.

CHAPTER TWO

The main hall of Guile Manor was a forbidding place, like much of the bleak castle and the perhaps even bleaker lands around the place. Moonshade did have a stark beauty, but the short growing season and severity of its populace made it seem a harsh, unpleasant place to anyone whose life had consisted of living in regal environs. More than anything the world inhabited by the highlanders seemed perpetually cold, kept that way by mutual silent consent, as if by allowing any warmth into their hard lives they would somehow cripple whatever instincts had allowed them to survive thus far. It was this predominant coldness that, when she entered the main hall from the stairs behind the main table, made Allanah Tempest shiver reflexively. The stone beneath her bare feet was ice, and the layered nightdress she wore was hardly enough to protect her from the cold that seeped upward. She crossed to the arch that led past the two reception rooms and went directly down the corridor, moving with the rapidity that she had once thought peculiar in the highlanders she had met, though now it was second nature to her. The walls of the corridor were lined by portraits of the past rulers of Guile Manor, all as ghostly as the present master was, though a few were much harder men by appearance, a fact that caused Allanah an odd distress, the idea that Guile was softer than some of his ancestors. For two months Allanah had been a prisoner within Guile’s Landhold, never leaving the manor house without the protection of trusted guards, or the man himself, and he had no warmth she could detect. Every night she had watched the ghostly figure of Baron Guile pass her bedchamber, going somewhere she had until recently lacked the courage to determine. Finally, she was brave enough to follow, though the bravery was lost on her, it being a courage that had come upon her with the natural stealth that seemed to infuse her protectors.

The door to the cathedral at the end of the portrait hall was open. She crept in and crouched behind the pew immediately beside the door. At the far end of the room knelt the master of the house. His mostly leather garb looked like peasant attire to her, but the set of his shoulders, and his sword, were unmistakable. His stance was that of a man of violent action, and she thought him barely a man at all, more spirit of vengeance than soul.

Allanah drew a deep breath and sneaked from pew to pew until she could hear clearly what Guile was saying.

…to me. I have by your will and word lived, and I lay my life before you to beg you guide my hands. I have walked the path you arranged, and I now await your wisdom. Please, may you allow your wisdom to come to me once more so I might serve your purpose.

Allanah dropped and hugged her arms around herself when footsteps sounded in the hall of portraits. A stout old man, Samuel Tuft, rushed into the cathedral. Guile stood and turned instantly, sweeping his half-cape up with one pale hand, evidently recognising Tuft’s steps. Samuel gasped the dour news he bore without pause for breath, proclaiming, She is missing from her room!

Guile’s steady steps echoed as he marched from the altar toward old Samuel. The cold tone he always used with his servants was crisper for the murmuring echoes from the vaulted ceiling. He reminded, Your orders were explicit. No one enters and no one leaves her chambers when the day guard is down. You have betrayed my explicit orders, Samuel. Call the guard and search the manor. All entrances are sealed until we find her. Morgan’s assassins will take any advantage we offer. You know it; to lose her would be a fool’s error.

Allanah crossed herself and stood, stepping from between the pews into the aisle. Guile’s back was to her, and in her bare feet she made no sound to warn him she was there. Samuel’s mouth opened and then the old man merely pointed, being chastised by Guile’s icy tone; Guile turned abruptly on one heel. His blazing eyes caused Allanah to shrink somewhat. But he said nothing wicked, he simply wafted to her and draped his cape over her, his tone when next he spoke becoming the deeply respectful one he always used with her.

Milady, you must be careful or you will catch a chill.

She blushed when he picked her up and carried her from the cathedral. Arguing she was capable of walking would have been pointless. Guile would carry her until they reached her decorated prison above, where animal hides shielded her from the icy stone floors of the manor, and from dangers real or imagined. He went up the same stairs she had come down, directly to her room, nary a word spoken.

When Guile carried Allanah in, Eden looked up from a plush chair by the fire and then bowed her eyes. Shame was Eden’s most constant companion. It had been for so long it seemed to define her by degrees. She had been instrumental in urging the latest disobedience from her cousin, and while Allanah would never betray the fact she expressed her complicity by raw expression of guilt.

Guile set Allanah by the fireplace and nodded briefly to Eden, with no indication he was irritated with her, though he was distinctly aware the most complicated aspects of protecting his Queen extended from Eden Tempest’s meddling. His tone still infuriatingly respectful, he scolded, You must be mindful. If you wish to wander, Samuel will attend you. It is not safe for you to be alone, even in these lodgings.

Allanah drummed her courage and said, "You said below that my uncle has hired assassins. Is it true then? No one tells me what I need to know."

Guile was apprehensive. He cast a disdainful look at Samuel, and the old man grimaced an apology. Guile returned himself to the question with the admission, It is true. The day you toured the Moonshade villages we averted an assassination. Do you remember the man with the purple band about his head?

The cripple?

So he wished us to believe. His name was Ferguson. His clan is from McClaugherel, and they are now beholden to your uncle.

Why was I not told?

Because the threat was eliminated.

What else have you not told your Queen, Baron Guile?

Allanah had perfected the tone and form of address that worked best against Guile. He was nearly impossible to manipulate beyond gleaning information, but he was responsive whenever she found the courage to make demands as his liege. The same precocious attitude had guaranteed her trip through the Moonshade region, prompted by Eden’s nattering, and now she hoped it would gain her an understanding of what her uncle Morgan was doing.

Guile wrestled with his first desire, which was to slap her face and order her to bed. But he could not betray the fidelity he had sworn to her family, so he swallowed his pride and answered her question honestly. Your uncle may have secured the support of Djinn, Lord Wizard of the Isles Bracken. McClaugherel is the only proper port across from Bract Harbour, and your uncle is gathering warships there from the regions of Hadrian, Kestrel, Avalon, Gomorra and Ilión. My highlanders have arranged a defence along the eastern fringes of Moor Dale, and in a line along the Fárallon Hills, from Hitch Castle to Ibsen Mordant Keep. We are not at war, but the land forces mustering in Avalon are equal to what we have in the past been able to raise. There have been three messages from Morgan’s friend, Bishop Thorn.

What were they?

We have been asked to surrender the kingdom to your uncle Morgan Tempest.

And your reply?

It is not mine to surrender, milady. Regardless of that, many of the southern baronies have joined your uncle. The only portion of the kingdom you maintain assured control of is the northern highlands, excepting the Landhold of Baron Paten, around the port of McClaugherel.

Allanah sat on the arm of the chair Eden occupied. She decided, I will speak to my uncle.

Your uncle has no desire to speak to you; he has only the desire to kill you. You are the last remnant of your father’s kingdom. Your brother is dead, your mother and father are dead, but you are not. When you are dead, then we are his to rule.

But you would never obey him.

Guile said softly, I would not be given the choice of disobedience. I am a marked man outside the highlands. My successor would recognise Morgan as the rightful King in your stead, because he would be installed from the south. We would be under martial rule.

You have no rightful heir who would protest that?

That, milady, is fact. I have no children, and no wife. But regardless of that, by highlander tradition, when my life is forfeit, so is my land. We have no embedded rights of succession like the southern holds.

Then, Baron, what will you do? Will you surrender me to my uncle and save yourself?

Allanah regretted the question, because the answer was so obvious. Guile had faithfully guarded her interests since her father’s death. She had just questioned the fealty of the most loyal of her father’s Barons because she felt anxious, and even as young as she was she knew it was an unnecessarily mean question.

Guile replied with the cold expression of a man impervious to accusations of weakness. Her impertinent behaviour irritated him, but his loyalty overpowered his personal feelings about infantile grousing to a degree where he outwardly betrayed none of the annoyance he felt. On several occasions she had driven them to the brink of disaster with her petty, childish demands, but every time he had patiently reminded himself of her age and her station. His duty was to her, and his burden was to answer her whims. He said evenly, There will be no deal with the devil. Your uncle and his mystical friend will have to murder every highlander to take your kingdom. While a highlander soul walks this earth, you will remain the Queen in your father’s wake. I swore my word to him, and in turn to you, and before they spill your blood I will be flayed alive. If they kill you and I live, I will find the murderer and take him to Hell, milady.

And what are you doing about the fleet you spoke about?

Nothing. It is a pirate trick. We have no seaports except McClaugherel. Your uncle will raid our outlying fishing towns with his ships, but he will find it takes more than a sad crew of failed soldiers to overthrow our people. I need do nothing more than what I have already done. The villagers are warned, and they will resist his hounds.

And his army?

His army may do as it likes. Hampton, Cross and Grey will defend the line until it can be defended no more, then they will retreat to the second defence and, in turn, the third. We will burn everything in the path of his advancing army if need arises, and by winter his army will leave us. The southern tribes are weaklings in the cold. We are used to it, and to the hardships it entails.

Allanah’s posturing failed her. She reverted to the little girl she was. Fearful of the answer, she asked, Will this fighting ever end?

In time. There are presently no southern Barons to marry you, but eventually they will tire of fighting and offer that. Morgan’s only chance for success is your quick death, and even then he is not guaranteed success. He must first undermine my people, because he knows if even one of our highland Barons lives, the clans will rally and pound the south to ruin.

If I was to…to marry a highlander, would the fighting stop?

A war would be demanded. Queens do not marry highlanders. We are warriors of the north, unfit to do more than serve. Now, milady, we have spoken enough politics. I bid you a restful night, and wish the same to your cousin. Samuel will attend your door, and you will please us all by staying here where you are safe. Sleep well.

Guile left without another word, and the doors were closed. They could hear his crisp voice through the oak door, but couldn’t make out his words. It was clear he was scolding the old man who was supposed to guard them.

Eden waited till Guile’s footsteps receded, before whispering, Where does he go? To the maids?

Allanah occupied the other plush chair and gazed into the fire. She shook her head to the question.

To the pages? Eden inquired, her brows rising almost hopefully.

To the chapel. He prays…for guidance.

To the chapel, sighed Eden, disappointed. She lit upon on idea and suggested, Perhaps he’s keen to rape you and prays for the Lord to protect him from his lust.

Guile is not a rapist, said Allanah, presently disturbed by many things, not the least being Eden’s preoccupation with sex. Eden was several years Allanah’s senior and had lived hard in Morgan Tempest’s shadow. Everything Eden saw was either the cause, or effect, of sex. Yet despite that flaw, Allanah loved her cousin dearly, sensing in her an untapped strength not unlike the strength that seemed to infuse the highland people she had met. She was also distinctly aware that she had doomed her cousin to a life harder than any deserved.

Guile is a highlander, and all highlanders are bastards. All of them rape.

Eden, the only reason you and I are alive is because of highlanders like Baron Guile. Have we been raped?

Eden pouted and claimed, I have.

Allanah sighed. What would come next was inevitable. It was Eden’s reminder to all that her life had been less than ideal, a shame she had once hidden and now seemed to relish, perhaps because it had never been well hidden. And her life had been terrible, of course, but Allanah was tired of it being an excuse for paralysis.

I was raped when I was five years, Eden said blankly.

And your father is not a highlander, Allanah said sharply. She regretted her angry tone, and appended, I am sorry, but your talk about Baron Guile does him an injustice. He is a loyal man.

But he is a man; and as a man, he cannot be trusted. I’ve seen how he looks at you. Why do you think he keeps you here to himself? Is it loyalty, or lust? Haven’t you ever looked up at the table and caught his eyes on you? Haven’t you ever woke in your bed and seen him in your room, looking at you?

That was a dream, Allanah insisted.

Perhaps not. You told me yourself it seemed real.

I said it did, but in the dream Baron Guile had blue eyes…and he does not have blue eyes.

In the right light—

"They are never blue, Allanah averred. Eden, I sometimes imagine you would rather I had left you to your father. You appreciate nothing the Baron has done for us."

Eden was silenced by the implied threat. She whispered, I was just having a jest.

Then jest in your sleep, Allanah directed. I can’t conceive a jest having heard what we have tonight. Your father is coming to kill us, and all we have to shield us are Guile’s Barons.

"Your Barons. Guile is not the King."

And he doesn’t want to be.

Eden stood and leaned on the fireplace mantle. She was troubled, which was not unusual, but it was more evident than on most nights. She looked back to her cousin and whispered, "Perhaps I’m mad, Lannah, but I wonder if maybe he does. He would be wise to guard you, make his people love you, then take you for his wife. It would mean a war, but we both know the northern clans are men of war. Even the women fight like demons when they need to. You can tell me to be silent, because you are the Queen, but I think my idea is worth your thinking on it. What if Guile’s plan is to age you a year, then make himself your husband and claim the nation? Would you like to be married to the ghost?"

Allanah bowed her face and whispered, If he wishes to do that, then he will. I think he won’t, because he hasn’t. I think whatever he and his people may be, they are honourable. He refused the Bishop’s demands, yet he adheres to God; he refused your father’s demands, yet he is loyal to the Tempest family. Nothing he has done has injured the trust I have had to place with him.

But what if it were true? Imagine it were, for just a moment, and tell me if you would marry him.

Allanah looked at Eden with confused eyes. She asked with deepening sorrow, "If it was true, Eden, what would you advise me to do?"

Eden had been waiting for the question. She swallowed and looked at the window as it rattled in its casing. The draft ruffled her nightdress, like a ghost passing. It reminded her of Guile’s pale face and wraithlike presence. A chill came when she imagined for a moment he was hovering just outside the window, or listening outside the door. She turned her attention back to Allanah with her advice. It was, "If he comes to you, for marriage or satisfaction, then you must let him