Chapter One
October could be cold and wet in Ireland, but
the weather held out with little or no rain as Sir William
Cantwell, Liam to his friends and family, traveled North with his
squire, Cormac. After seven years, he fulfilled his obligation to
the Knights Templar, who had relieved his family’s estates from
financial burden in exchange for his services. It was a sacrifice
he had gladly undertaken to save the family from financial ruin.
The crusades were bloody and long, and for the most part
disheartening. He went into temporary service as a boy and came
back a man haunted by the horrors he’d witnessed.
He’d written to his family of his return, but
he found he was not ready to face the duties required of him. In
truth, he had no wish to be Lord when his father passed the duties
over to him. His father thrived on being in control. He was in the
front lines when petty clan wars broke out. He could shout commands
and men jumped to follow him. Liam could be just as forceful. He
proved it time and time again during his service, but in his heart,
he knew his destiny lay elsewhere.
The lush wooded area born of legends was a
welcomed reminder of his youth and he cherished the uneventful
ride. The church, along with his Norman father, frowned upon the
old stories born of druids and the Sidhe. His mother’s family may
have taken on the Christian beliefs, but the old ways were kept
close to her heart and she shared them with her sons.
The sun sat low in the horizon, the sky
darkening and looking like a sodden wool blanket. Rain would drench
the land tonight. He glanced at Cormac, who barely held onto the
reins, his lids heavy with wanted sleep. If he did not find shelter
soon, he would be picking up his squire from the ground.
He thought they would rest beneath the trees,
but as the mist cleared the path had led them to the Village of
Dunnloch. The Tavern Inn, which stood in the center of the village,
near the town square, beckoned to his tired bones. The wind blew
cold and he was thankful for the thick fur mantle he donned over
his shoulders in replacement of the templar’s thinner garb. He was
no longer obligated to dress the part of one of Order and could
return to his native attire. “We shall stay here for the night,
Cormac.” The lad straightened in his seat and blinked up at him.
“Once you have secured the horses, come to the inn and I shall have
food and drink waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Sir Cantwell.” His squire was a
bony lad, lanky and long limbed, but he proved stronger than he
appeared and a good companion.
Liam stepped down from his trusted mount. His
hand slid across the horse’s sleek black coat with affection. “If
at all possible, I shall return with a sweet for you, Loucetios.”
His horse nuzzled against him as if understanding his words.
Liam honored the codes of the Knights Templar
and took pride in doing so, but his rebellious heart could not be
tamed completely. The men he rode with were not Irish and they did
not know the Gaelic word. A sin for certain, but he took great
pleasure in naming his mount after the god of thunder.
Upon entering the tavern all eyes turned
toward him, the room falling silent as a tomb. He was a tall man,
broad shouldered from his years of wielding a sword, but he never
thought his appearance would frighten anyone. On his travels home,
the wenches in the pubs claimed he had a comely face and they liked
his thick dark strands and moss colored eyes. Then again, what did
he know about women? He never spoke to one for the seven years of
his service. It was forbidden. His experiences with the fairer sex
were limited to his mother and a young girl he once kissed before
he left home. The women who wanted his coin could not be a reliable
source. It was why he remained polite in the pubs, but did not
follow them upstairs to a room. They thought him odd, but he waited
this long to bed a woman, he would choose one he wanted for a
wife.
His gaze caught a young
October could be cold and wet in Ireland, but
the weather held out with little or no rain as Sir William
Cantwell, Liam to his friends and family, traveled North with his
squire, Cormac. After seven years, he fulfilled his obligation to
the Knights Templar, who had relieved his family’s estates from
financial burden in exchange for his services. It was a sacrifice
he had gladly undertaken to save the family from financial ruin.
The crusades were bloody and long, and for the most part
disheartening. He went into temporary service as a boy and came
back a man haunted by the horrors he’d witnessed.
He’d written to his family of his return, but
he found he was not ready to face the duties required of him. In
truth, he had no wish to be Lord when his father passed the duties
over to him. His father thrived on being in control. He was in the
front lines when petty clan wars broke out. He could shout commands
and men jumped to follow him. Liam could be just as forceful. He
proved it time and time again during his service, but in his heart,
he knew his destiny lay elsewhere.
The lush wooded area born of legends was a
welcomed reminder of his youth and he cherished the uneventful
ride. The church, along with his Norman father, frowned upon the
old stories born of druids and the Sidhe. His mother’s family may
have taken on the Christian beliefs, but the old ways were kept
close to her heart and she shared them with her sons.
The sun sat low in the horizon, the sky
darkening and looking like a sodden wool blanket. Rain would drench
the land tonight. He glanced at Cormac, who barely held onto the
reins, his lids heavy with wanted sleep. If he did not find shelter
soon, he would be picking up his squire from the ground.
He thought they would rest beneath the trees,
but as the mist cleared the path had led them to the Village of
Dunnloch. The Tavern Inn, which stood in the center of the village,
near the town square, beckoned to his tired bones. The wind blew
cold and he was thankful for the thick fur mantle he donned over
his shoulders in replacement of the templar’s thinner garb. He was
no longer obligated to dress the part of one of Order and could
return to his native attire. “We shall stay here for the night,
Cormac.” The lad straightened in his seat and blinked up at him.
“Once you have secured the horses, come to the inn and I shall have
food and drink waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Sir Cantwell.” His squire was a
bony lad, lanky and long limbed, but he proved stronger than he
appeared and a good companion.
Liam stepped down from his trusted mount. His
hand slid across the horse’s sleek black coat with affection. “If
at all possible, I shall return with a sweet for you, Loucetios.”
His horse nuzzled against him as if understanding his words.
Liam honored the codes of the Knights Templar
and took pride in doing so, but his rebellious heart could not be
tamed completely. The men he rode with were not Irish and they did
not know the Gaelic word. A sin for certain, but he took great
pleasure in naming his mount after the god of thunder.
Upon entering the tavern all eyes turned
toward him, the room falling silent as a tomb. He was a tall man,
broad shouldered from his years of wielding a sword, but he never
thought his appearance would frighten anyone. On his travels home,
the wenches in the pubs claimed he had a comely face and they liked
his thick dark strands and moss colored eyes. Then again, what did
he know about women? He never spoke to one for the seven years of
his service. It was forbidden. His experiences with the fairer sex
were limited to his mother and a young girl he once kissed before
he left home. The women who wanted his coin could not be a reliable
source. It was why he remained polite in the pubs, but did not
follow them upstairs to a room. They thought him odd, but he waited
this long to bed a woman, he would choose one he wanted for a
wife.
His gaze caught a young
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