The Warriors’ Prize
Stirling Castle, 1498
Visiting court for the first time since her father's death, Lady Avelina Gordon finds herself drawn to the handsome warrior, Sir Lachlan MacNair. But as a woman who has seen too many of her friends lose everything for 'love', she keeps her heart guarded.
Castle Berradane, 1502
Lady Avelina is unceremoniously told to expect her new husband within the month. The man in question: Sir Lachlan.
Lachlan arrives in Berradane carrying his own secret, and a determination to control his heart. As attraction builds between the couple, they find themselves under attack and fearful of a traitor in their midst.
Can the teamwork they've shown in adversity so far pull them through one final test, and will they find the strength to risk their hearts, as well as their lives?
Purchase Link -https://mybook.to/TheWarriorsPrize
The Warriors’ Prize – Chapter One, Avelina and Lachlan’s wedding night
Caught up in the rush, Avelina was in her chamber before she knew it. Lachlan was thrown in just moments later, his men louder than ever, full of cheer, even as he pushed the door firmly shut against them, smiling as their shouts grew gradually quieter, the draw of more wine in the hall thankfully more appealing than trying to listen at the door. Completely alone now, Avelina felt any final shreds of confidence threaten to melt away. This was a necessary evil, she thought, as she and Lachlan stood as far apart from each other as they could in the bedchamber. But also, the final act that would steal away her independence.
“I hope you found today… satisfactory?” There was a tremor to Lachlan’s voice that she couldn’t quite place.
“Of course. And you?” The attempt to engage in casual conversation was ridiculous; there was only one thing which needed to be achieved this night, and the quicker it was done, the better. She cursed her own impatience. Lachlan was a handsome man; he had demonstrated flashes of charm this last couple of days, and of course, she knew he was agile and light on his feet. All the evidence suggested that in another lifetime, this night should have been one she anticipated with joy. But instead she was wishing it away, angry and ashamed that her wedding night was nothing more than an essential piece of business – the final signature on a deal she had had no part in the bargaining of. Avelina realised Lachlan wasn’t answering her. “What is it?”
“You don’t want this, do you?”
If he was going to ask blunt questions, she would give him blunt answers. “No. I do not.”
Sighing, her new husband sank down in the chair by the window. Her chair. The one she sat in when the weather wasn’t good enough for her to head up to the rooftop, and she needed to escape from her duties for an hour or two. It was the smallest thing, but it was too much. As he leaned forward and untied his boots, Avelina felt something inside her snap.
“No!” The anger in her voice surprised her as much as it did Lachlan, if his slight flinch was to be believed. “This is too much. My home, my people, my land, my bedchamber, and now, my chair!”
“Avelina…” Lachlan started, glancing nervously at the door.
“No,” she repeated. “I did not consent to this. None of it. I am not simply a trophy to be given away like the spoils of battle. What will you take next, I wonder? Cut off my head to mount on the wall – my wall – to show off to King James and the others? I am nothing but a stepping-stone to this castle. To your own ambitions. I know it would suit your purposes if I was to simply wander out into the wilderness and be found dead in a ditch somewhere!” There was nothing Avelina could do to stop her thoughts progressing so wildly, even if she had wanted to. “I know your type. I know that you and the courtly cronies care about nothing more than status. So go on – take it all; you have anyway. Take the chair. Burn it, for all my opinion will count any more. No matter at all that I have built this place up from almost the edge of nothing since I inherited it, that I have the trust of the tenants and my household, that I have turned everything around. Just take it. Take my glory, take everything.”
“Avelina,” Lachlan repeated, clearly fighting to keep his voice calm. “Please, I’m not trying to take anything.”
“Of course you’re not, because you don’t have to ‘try’ at all. It simply all ‘is’ yours, thanks to a ceremony which didn’t even last an hour. That’s it. Less than an hour to undo years of my work, and hand it all over to a man who barely even knows me, who has hardly said a word to me beyond seeking shelter for him and his men. Was I even the only one? Did you just visit as many heiresses as you could, to see which you might ask James for? Did your forays extend to widows? Or even wives? How far would you have gone to get the one you wanted? Arrange an unfortunate accident for some unsuspecting husband, if he had happened to own the land you saw as most suitable?” She was horrified at what she was accusing him of, but she couldn’t stop now.
Lachlan was gaping at her.
“That’s what you think of me? Fine, I understand you might be against the marriage, against me in general, but do you think I could stoop so low as to kill for land, for a castle?” He had been retying his boots as she shouted at him, pulling the laces so hard Avelina had thought they would snap. “I…” He stopped.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing worth the telling, if that’s what you think of me. Why should I even try? I had hoped we could at least get through tonight with civility?”
“There is no ‘tonight’. Not for me. You can tell your men what you like, tell them I was insatiable, that we didn’t sleep all night, I don’t care. There’d be no chance of annulment, not with this being the King’s wish, so what does it matter what truly happens here tonight?” Without another word, Avelina pulled the extra pillows and cushions that Fiona had lined her bed with into a double-width bolster down the middle of the space, and, pausing only to remove her jewels and shoes, climbed onto her side of it, her back resolutely turned to Lachlan, refusing to flinch even when she heard the door open and then slam behind him.
Jennifer has been stalking dead monarchs since she was a child. It started with Mary, Queen of Scots, then moved onto Richard III. At least now it results in a story!
She won North Tyneside Libraries' Story Tyne short story competition in 2014 (no dead monarchs, but still not a cheerful read), and has been filling notebooks and hard-drives ever since. Her Kindred Spirits series, following the 'lives' of some very interesting ghostly communities, is published by Darkstroke, and her historical romances by Ocelot Press.
Jennifer is currently exploring some new ideas for historical romance, and hoping to visit Kindred Spirit friends old and new, north of the border...
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jennifercwilsonwriter/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/inkjunkie1984
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