The Fire and the Sword (Men of Blood Book 2) Read online

  The Fire &

  the Sword

  Men of Blood

  Book Two

  By Rosamund Winchester

  Copyright © 2019 by Rosamund Winchester

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Books from Dragonblade Publishing

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  The Blood & the Bloom

  The Fire & the Sword

  For the fire that burns within us all…

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Books from Dragonblade Publishing

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Excerpt from The Blood & the Bloom

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  An Enchanting Waterfall

  Outside Clarendon

  Yorkshire County, England

  1410 A.D.

  The morning sun glimmered over the pools of water collecting at the banks of the river, casting up the scent of moist earth and rocks. The tall and ancient trees overhead seemed to bend down to take a drink of the cool, clear water, their branches thick, their roots deep. The breeze whispering through the leaves kissed his face, moving a lock of hair against his cheek. The caress was soft, like the touch of a lover, seducing him with the tip of a warm finger. He smiled at that thought, and his smile grew when he caught sight of his friend, his besotted friend, who was gazing down into the face of the woman h
e was vowing to love and cherish.

  Elric couldn’t help the rush of gladness he felt for the man before him. Tristin LaDeux had been more than his commander; he’d been a friend, a brother. A savior. The man grinning like a fool even now had been a stalwart and loyal leader, and a deadly warrior. He was still those things, if in a different capacity. No longer would he command the fierce and faithful Homme du Sang. Now, he would sire a passel of children and live a life of contentment and boring domesticity with the apothecary who’d stolen his heart…and his senses.

  Fighting back a chuckle, Elric stared ahead, avoiding Pierre Roman’s dark, cold, penetrating gaze, finding the shadow-clad figure of Glenn Fraser, their silent, deadly infiltrator. He’d been the one to land the killing blow on their previous mission, but not before getting wounded himself. Though looking at him, leaning against a tree, cleaning his blade, one would think the man was made of impenetrable iron. And though the three of them—he, Pierre, and Glenn—were acting as witnesses to the union of Tristin and his bride, Bell Heather, they weren’t there just to make merry. They were there to ensure Tristin wed his bride in peace, without the threat of interference from a certain pompous cardinal.

  Despite the cardinal’s assurance that he had no ill will toward what remained of his precious order, none of the men believed a word of it. Not now. Not after what he’d done to their commander. Not after he’d tried to kill an innocent woman. The man’s actions went against everything they stood for but they were still bound to him; their duty to uphold the edicts of the Church as interpreted by Cardinal Cristian Calleaux.

  With the death of one member, the traitor Gaubin More, and the loss of their commander to the horrors of holy matrimony, their small yet valiant group was down two. And Elric hated to think what Calleaux would do to replace them; who he would force upon them for his own gain.

  Biting back a curse, he refocused his attention on the ceremony before him.

  Even over the roar of the water racing over the falls, Elric could hear the voice of Father Leon Callet, the only member of the Homme du Sang, their chivalric order of knights, who’d been an ordained priest before being recruited into the order. Unfortunately, that had often made him a sour and disapproving companion, especially when the men sought respite in the small villages along their patrol routes, where the ale flowed freely and the women practiced their most becoming wiles. Fortunately, though, in times such as this, his ordination was a blessing.

  “With God’s grace and the witness of your friends and family, I bind you, one to another, in the consecration of holy matrimony,” Leon proclaimed, his face beaming. As Bell Heather and Tristin stared at one another, their expressions simmering with something Elric would rather not comprehend, Leon wound a velvet ribbon around Bell Heather and Tristin’s clasped hands.

  “Bound together for all time, until God wills otherwise.” With that, Tristin let out a whoop of pure joy, lifting his wife into his arms and twirling her around as she giggled happily. It was all rather sickening, but Elric would endure for Tristin, of course. And Bell Heather, too.

  After all those two had suffered for one another, they deserved this moment, and millions more just like it.

  The afternoon sun beat down on them and the breeze carried the scents of a dwindling summer as they continued the merriment in the village. The villagers set up long tables, piled high with bread, puddings, and roasted boar, and decorated with wreaths and sprigs of herbs and wildflowers. Their tribute to their beloved apothecary, no doubt. And Bell Heather was such a lovely, lively bride. Her sun-kissed tresses flowed over her shoulders to the small of her back, and her green eyes sparkled. She was a brilliant bride, her bliss matched only by Tristin’s. The man had gone from hardened man of blood to gentle, doting husband within the span of a week. It boggled the mind, and if he hadn’t been present for most of that time, he would have thought it impossible. But, despite what Elric had believed possible, Tristin had fallen for the beauteous commoner with dirt beneath her fingernails and a fire in her soul.

  If only one such woman existed for me…

  A twinge pricked his chest, making him grunt. He rubbed at the spot over his heart, refusing to allow his thoughts to linger over it. What sort of fool allowed such soft emotions rule him? A man like Tristin. And if Tristin could succumb, what enchantment did love cast over all men?

  Fighting a shudder, he narrowed his gaze.

  “You best take your eyes off my wife, lest I cut them from your head,” Tristin said, coming to stand beside Elric on the edge of the festivities where Elric had taken up post to better see all comings and goings. Elric, Pierre, and Glenn—wherever he’d disappeared to—were there to guard against any outside troubles, not imbibe on ale and bugger any of the comely maidens fluttering their eyelashes at them. At least that was what he was telling himself as he clutched his sword hilt with white knuckles.

  “If my intentions toward your bride were anything but honorable, I would pluck them out myself,” Elric replied, turning to find Tristin’s gaze on the woman across the clearing, bending down to smile at a little girl. If Elric didn’t know better, he’d think Tristin had been bespelled by Bell Heather, but he knew, as did all of the Homme du Sang, that Bell Heather was no witch. Only an enchantingly beautiful woman who’d captured a warrior’s heart.

  Tristin slapped Elric on the back, the latter’s armor clanking with the sound of flesh on metal.

  “I can assume you know how glad I am to have you here, Elric,” Tristin said, his voice deep but his tone light. Though he hadn’t donned his armor, Tristin was still a formidable looking man; his broad shoulders, thick legs, and towering height could intimidate any potential threat. But his eyes…their black depths were no longer haunted with the cares and fears of a man without a purpose.

  A man like you…

  Clearing the wool from his throat, he remarked, “Aye. I know it. Just as I know how vexed Glenn was to nearly miss the occasion.” Elric eyed the nearest maiden with a sudden boredom. His lack of interest shouldn’t have galled him, but it did. “He was wroth to hear Bell Heather forbade him to come. No man likes to admit they are too weak to travel.” Glenn Fraser, the rogue and assassin of the order, had been wounded during the course of Bell Heather’s rescue from the nefarious and depraved Lord Willem Mason. The magistrate, and close friend of the cardinal, had stolen Bell Heather right from under Tristin’s protection. And he’d attempted to abuse her. Thank God they’d gotten to her in time. Today would have been a mournful day otherwise.

  Tristin grinned, his gaze, once again, on his bride across the clearing.

  “Glenn has more heart than sense, but I am happy to have him here. A wound as grievous as his could have been fatal, and the infection that set in could have easily put him in the ground as well.”

  “If it had not been for fair Bell Heather, he would be a true specter and not just the phantom many of us believe him to be. Her poultice was a miracle cure, for certain,” Elric said, crossing his arms over his chest. Glenn was a man of shadows and silent menace. He could sneak into any fortification and slit your throat before anyone knew he’d been there. Elric and Tristin often joked that Glenn was born of darkness, but any man having experienced Glenn’s skill would only believe the same.

  After a long moment of silence, during which both men pretended to not know what was coming, Tristin cleared his throat and said, “I would not leave, Calleaux’s interference be damned, if I did not believe you could do it, Elric.”

  Closing his eyes and raising his face to the sun, Elric prayed the heavens would open and strike him a death blow. Anything was preferable to what Tristin had in mind.

  “You truly mean for me to take your place?” Elric asked, each of the words like a drop of sour wine in his mouth. “There is no other who could do a better job of it?” Before he finished his question, he knew the answer.

  “No.”

  Sighing, Elric opened his eyes and turned to look at his friend, a man who had fought beside him,
at his back, for more years than he thought he’d survive.

  Tristin slid an arm over Elric’s shoulders, giving them a shake. “Elric…whatever you may believe about your past and what that made you, I have only ever seen a man worthy of my trust. When I left to rescue Bell Heather from Gaubin, you were the one to lead the men. You were the one who made sure we were found. And when I was imprisoned, it was you who kept the men’s spirits up.”

  “And what of Calleaux?” The cardinal who’d sentenced both Tristin and Bell Heather to death was still the Church official governing their order. Despite the man’s disgusting show of power, and his betrayal to the order, the men were honor bound to bend to his will—to a point. With Tristin’s forced removal from his post, Elric was left to lead the men while also keeping them out of Calleaux’s traps. And he would be setting traps. After Tristin’s apparent acts against the Church—marrying an accused witch and disobeying a direct order from Calleaux—the other men in the order, including Elric, were treading a sword’s edge, waiting for the swing that would end them all. “He was storming around the keep, muttering about heathens in armor when Pierre, Glenn, Leon, and I left. It is only a matter of time before he will expect us back.”

  Sighing, Tristin dropped his arm. “You do what you must to ensure the survival of Pierre, Glenn, Ioan, Erich, Leon, and the rest. They are good men, loyal, they will follow you no matter what Calleaux commands.”

  Elric knew that, deep in the pit of his gut, but it wasn’t doubt in the men that made him tense, it was the doubt in himself. He’d been trusted to lead before.

  God, Elton…

  “I am no leader, Tristin, not like you are,” he admitted, hating the faint disappointment in his voice.

  “No, you are not like me. You are like you, and you will lead the men with strength and wit and a frustrating penchant for getting yourself out of danger without actually trying,” Tristin intoned, his expression one of bafflement.

  They would only ever disagree, but Elric refused to show Tristin how anxious he was with the prospect of taking command. Tristin deserved his new life, and Elric would rather fall on his sword than steal Tristin’s chance at happiness with Bell Heather.

  Sucking in a breath, Elric forced a lopsided grin. “What will you do now that your days of bloodshed and battle are behind you?”