Lord of the Blade (34 page)

“Wait,” he told her, pointing to the smoke
curling up from the floor on the opposite side of the bed. The
raven was no longer in sight, nor did it make a sound. Devon feared
for its life. But just as she’d thought it had perished, the smoke
subsided and a figure rose from the side of the bed. A contorted
shadow, it twisted and turned until Devon could make out the shape
of a man. Orrick the sorcerer pushed up from his knees into a
standing position, holding on to the bedpost to steady himself.

"Nasty cramps!" Orrick complained, rubbing
his back. "Eight and ten years in that damn small body is enough to
make me want to feast on raven this eve."

"Orrick, my good friend, it is good to have
you back." Corbett clasped the man’s arm and pulled him into an
embrace. It brought tears to Devon’s eyes to see the reunion.

“My congratulations on your wedding to this
fine girl,” Orrick said. “But I must say, I’ve had my hands full
watching over her these past few days.”

“So you were the raven,” said Devon.
“Corbett, did you know?”

“Of course I knew,” he told her. “Orrick
came to tell me in a dream. Did you think I was

addle-pated always talking to a feckless
bird?”

Devon laughed and hugged Corbett, rubbing
her hand over the baby ring he wore on a chain around his neck. She
picked it up and examined it. “It is too bad your family couldn’t
have been here for our wedding.”

“It is,” he confessed, “but they were here
in my heart. Did you notice how shiny the ring is now? Delwynn
insisted on polishing it. He can’t seem to get used to the fact I
have a squire and he is now my steward.”

“So, you’ve found the love of your life in
Devon, have you?” asked Orrick.

"Aye," he answered. "I only wish my parents
and siblings could have met Devon, for I'm sure they would have
loved her too."

"Be careful of what you wish for," warned
Orrick.

"Not this time, old man," challenged
Corbett. "You know as well as I that my parents are dead."

"I understand that part," surmised Orrick,
stroking his beard. "But what about your siblings?"

"I don't think I have to remind you, that
they are gone also."

"Are they.”

"Have you had some sort of vision?" asked
Corbett curiously.

"I've been trapped in a body of a raven,"
reminded the old sorcerer. "The only visions I've had were of
feasting on good food, sipping wine and sleeping in my own bed
instead of escaping birds of prey, and perching for the night in a
dead tree. So let's go celebrate this wedding with a good feast of
roasted swan and fruit pudding. I am a little tired of fighting off
the buzzards for a beak full of rotting carcass."

They all laughed at Orrick’s words.

"I do believe Heartha's cooking up some
special venison today," explained Corbett. "She knows it's Devon's
favorite." He pinched Devon's bottom subtly so Orrick wouldn’t
notice. "And I am sure I will enjoy it as well, as I have
specifically requested that it be served hot."

Devon blushed, and he winked. She tried to
pinch him in return but he twisted and she ended up grabbing the
sword at his side.

"You can take off the sword, husband. Or do
you intend to wear it in our wedding bed as well?" She snuggled the
puppy as she spoke.

"A man's most prized possession is his
blade," said Corbett.

She cleared her throat and scowled at him,
reminding him he was now a married man.

“Except of course for his wife,” he added
with a smile that could melt her heart.

“You’ve redeemed yourself,” she answered
with a grin, holding up the puppy which licked his face. “Now start
thinking of a name for our new puppy, lord husband, or I may start
calling you, Lord of the Blade.”

From the author:

I hope you enjoyed Lord of the Blade, Book
one in the
Legacy of the Blade
series.

I hope you continue your journey with the
siblings of Corbett, as you will next meet his long lost blind
sister, Wren, in Book Two of the series, Lady Renegade. She is the
leader of a band of renegades. And you have already met the
Scottish hero, Storm MacKeefe in Lord of the Blade.

Here is an excerpt of Lady Renegade. Enjoy
the journey!

Wren placed her owl on her shoulder, and
made her way to the door. As it squeaked open, it once again
revealed sunlight and freedom, before closing and leaving Storm
once again in darkness and despair.

Hurriedly, he worked on his escape hoping to
be out of the shackles before she returned. He had been in many a
threatening situation before, but always managed to escape. In
fact, he prided himself of being the best escape artist in all of
Scotland, mayhap England as well.

Stretching, his fingers managed to reach and
untie the leather laces that bound his boots around his legs.
Squirming his feet around inside his boots, he quickly managed to
slide one foot upward and then the other, until his bare feet were
free and rested upon the pine needles. He chuckled as he eyed his
limp boots which were still shackled together.

"Willna Morganna be surprised to see this?"
he spoke to himself as he twisted around in the chair, bringing his
toes up to help loosen the ropes that bound his body. With a few
more tricky twists, and with the help of his shackled hands and
strong teeth, he managed to free himself. The ropes dropped to the
ground and he breathed a sigh of relief. Quickly, he rose to try to
get the feeling back in his legs before attempting to walk or free
himself of the shackles still encircling his wrists.

The light of day caught his attention once
more, as Wren pushed open the door and entered the room. Storm
hurriedly sat back down pretending he was still tied up, trying to
decide what to do next.

"I brought you a candle," Wren said as she
placed it on the table in the center of the room, and placed her
owl on a wooden perch nearby that Storm hadn't even noticed. She
still hadn't looked directly at him, but he knew if she did, she
would now see his escapades, as the flickering candlelight well lit
the underground room.

"Beeswax?" he asked, realizing no stench
from fallow permeated the air

"I'll allow no other kind among my
army."

She pulled a pouch from under her arm, and
poured what smelled like whisky into a wooden goblet she retrieved
off the shelf.

"Do me eyes deceive me or is that an animal
bladder that holds yer whisky?" asked Storm.

"The animal was dead when I found it," she
explained. "A poacher shot it before I managed to scare him away."
She turned abruptly toward Storm and marched directly for him.
Holding out the goblet, she offered him the drink.

Storm sat motionless for a minute, not sure
why she hadn't even acknowledged the fact he was sitting on the
chair untied, barefoot, and working on removing his shackles.

"Me many thanks," he carefully chose his
words, letting both his hands grab the goblet while he surveyed her
face. There was something strange about the whole situation. She
never really looked straight at him, and hardly ever blinked. Of
course, it was still a bit dark in there, and he could be mistaken,
but only a blind person could not notice what he had done.

"You asked for it, now drink it," she
commanded. Without waiting, she quickly turned away and walked over
to pet the owl which had fluttered silently to the table and was
now eyeing him suspiciously.

"Ye dinna haveta tell a Scotsman to drink."
He held the goblet to his lips and gulped it down greedily.

Wren half-turned her head waiting for a
cough or a gag from the potent hell-fire she had just served her
prisoner. She had used this trick many a times on guards before she
attacked the English camps. The potency of the liquor alone had
made many a drinking man fall into an unconscious state for several
days at a time.

"Blazin' fires o' hell!" cried Storm through
a raspy voice.

Wren smiled knowingly, expecting to hear at
any moment the goblet falling to the ground as he passed out.

"I havena tasted whisky like that in a long
time."

Wren's eyebrows dipped as she turned away
from the owl and curiously headed in Storm's direction.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Losh me!
What a grand
uisque
baugh.
Aye, this whisky is truly the water of life."

"Have another sip," Wren coaxed, guessing he
hadn't yet had enough to effect him.

"I canna."

"Why?"

"Becooz me cup is empty."

"Empty?" gasped Wren. "And you're still
conscious?"

"Me grandda used to make a
mountain
magic
that tasted jest like this," he exclaimed excitedly. "I
used to drink it since I were but a bairn, barely able to walk.
When me grandda disappeared, I was sure his secret brew died with
him. Tell me, where did ye get it?"

"Never mind that." Wren quickly made her way
toward the bladder of whisky lying on the table. "Maybe you should
have some more." She walked back to his chair and held it out for
him to take. When he neither answered nor grabbed for the bladder,
her arm lowered to her side and she cocked her head like a bird of
prey listening for its victim.

Suddenly, from behind her, Storm brought his
shackled wrists over her head, clasping her arms tightly to her
sides so she couldn't move. The bladder of whisky slipped from her
hand into the pine boughs at her feet.

"No wonder ye didna need a candle," he
whispered into her ear which sent a flaming shudder up her spine,
"for ye are blind arena ye?"

Wren turned her head slightly and felt his
hot breath on her cheek. The smell of whisky permeated his words,
intoxicating her to the warmth of the man's body that now pressed
against hers.

"What does it matter?" she asked softly,
knowing that once men found out she was blind, they usually avoided
her with the same caution of meeting with a leper.

"It doesna seem to slow ye down," he
observed, pulling his arms tighter around her.

"Release me," she commanded, "or I'll scream
for my army to come to my aid."

"I dinna think ye'll do that."

"How can you be so sure?"

Storm shimmied his body around her so they
were now facing each other. She felt an inner warmth, being pressed
against this savage's strong chest. A wave of raw excitement swept
her body, being held so close by a man who had such an unspoken
power about him he made her forget she was holding
him
captive.