The Warrior and Lady Rebel Read online

  THE WARRIOR

  AND

  LADY REBEL

  A Novel

  Warrior Bride Series, Book 1

  Teresa Smyser

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  The Warrior and Lady Rebel (Warrior Brides)

  Dedicated to:

  Acknowledgments:

  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

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS | ELIZABETH

  NICOLAS

  About the Author

  Sign up for Teresa Smyser's Mailing List

  About the Publisher

  Mt Zion Ridge Press LLC

  295 Gum Springs Rd, NW

  Georgetown, TN 37366

  https://www.mtzionridgepress.com

  ISBN 13: 978-1-949564-96-9

  Published in the United States of America

  Publication Date: June 1, 2021

  Editor-In-Chief: Michelle Levigne

  Executive Editor: Tamera Lynn Kraft

  Cover art design by Tamera Lynn Kraft

  Cover Art Copyright by Mt Zion Ridge Press LLC © 2021

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher.

  Ebooks, audiobooks, and print books are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this book, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws.

  Pirating of books is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Dedicated to:

  Keith, my Warrior husband,

  Who battles daily for our Lord and King!

  I am blessed to be your Warrior Bride.

  Acknowledgments:

  Heartfelt appreciation to my family

  And friends for all their

  Encouragement and support!

  To my editors, Tamera Lynn Kraft

  And Joan Orman.

  To God, my Friend and

  Creator of my imagination.

  To Him be the glory!

  Books by

  TERESA SMYSER

  Heaven Help Us!

  The Warrior and Lady Rebel

  Chapter One

  August 5, 1611

  Elizabeth’s eyes popped open to total darkness. What startled her awake? With heart pounding and blood rushing through her ears, she didn’t move.

  There ... angry voices. Poppa argued with another man! Bam ... bam. She bolted upright at the sound. Frantically trying to untangle herself from the bedlinens, she heard a scream. Was someone hurting her grandparents?

  In haste, she grabbed the sword she kept under the bed and stumbled toward the door. She rushed down the hallway toward the back stairway. She tiptoed halfway down and paused, listening. Hearing a door slam, she hurried on toward the kitchen.

  Hoping to catch the predator unaware and knock him in the head with the hilt, she snuck up to the doorway and peeked around the edge. The kitchen stood empty. With the sword held at ready, she moved farther into the room. Her gaze darted around. The kitchen stool overturned. Blood dripped from the table and pooled on the floor. Fear choked her.

  With heart pounding, she followed blood drops toward the kitchen door. Emerging into the yard, the raging storm slapped her in the face. Rain came down in torrents. Lightning struck. Where were Nana and Poppa?

  She screamed, “Nana! Poppa!”

  In a matter of seconds her drenched hair blocked her view. She raked her left hand through the matted mess and saw the barn engulfed in flames!

  Oh no, Cinnamon! She dashed toward the barn to save her horse. She came to an abrupt halt when Sir Arthur emerged from the door holding a loaded crossbow. He yanked on the horse’s halter.

  He’s trying to escape on Cinnamon!

  Arthur looked up when the horse twisted in a circle. His eyes connected with hers, her body an easy target standing in the middle of the yard. With the cottage too far for Elizabeth to run back, she sprinted toward the trees before Arthur could get off a shot. She had to get away from him.

  His evil laughter floated on the wind. “You cannot escape!”

  She barely heard him over the fierce storm. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed, but Elizabeth kept running. If she could make it to her old tree house, she would be safe. Arthur didn’t know about her hideaway that Poppa had built for her. With a fleeting look backward, she saw two men running toward her. Thankfully, Cinnamon escaped.

  The rain-saturated gown weighed her down. She held it up with one hand while running for her life. Rocks and sticks cut into the soft flesh of her feet, but nothing stopped her. The wet foliage caused her to slip. The sword flew from her hand, hidden from sight in the tall undergrowth. Her knee was sliced open as she collided with a jagged stone. She gulped for air as she pushed herself up. Her fear of Arthur and his ally was stronger than her pain.

  As she raced through the underbrush, briars tore at her gown, grabbing her as fingers from the dark, scratching like fingernails. Her flesh tore as she tugged to get free from their grasp. No stopping. Her place of safety close at hand. Her white gown a beacon in the night. Can they still see me? She dared not pause to look behind. Only a little farther.

  Rain pelted her like knife pricks. The storm surrounded her as she sprinted toward her goal. The thunderstorm a double-edged sword. It drowned out her pounding footsteps, but it kept her from hearing Arthur’s pursuit. There! Her rope ladder swayed in the wind. She frantically grabbed for it, but it slipped through her wet hands. One more attempt and she had a firm hold on it. Her bloody feet slid on the rungs as she struggled to reach the first tree limb. She concentrated on placing one foot after the other until she reached the last rung.

  Her fingernails dug into the tree as she managed to get her stomach over the limb. Her feet struggled to be free of the gown so she could throw her leg over and straddle the limb. Once there, she secured the rope ladder high out of sight. The hidden platform waited farther up.

  Elizabeth climbed to the next limb and grasped it. She couldn’t give up. Her life depended on her reaching the safety of the tree house. Thankfully, the tree was in full bloom with the leaves shielding her from Arthur’s sight. At last, she reached the wooden lodge high above the ground and crawled to the center of its floor. Tucking her knees under her chin with arms wrapped around her legs, she panted for breath.

  God, hide my place of safety. Hide me from Arthur and his accomplice. Please don’t let Nana and Poppa die. I’ll get help as soon as I can escape. Help me, please, help me!

  Elizabeth kept repeating her prayer like a chant. The longer she sat still, the more even her breathing became. As her racing heart slowed, she felt God’s peace cover her shivering body. She could hear Arthur’s voice off in the distance, heading away from her. Soon all she heard was the rain and the wind slashing through the night. God had protected her.

  Her mind raced with possible solutions to outsmart the scoundrel and his partner, each one discarded as soon as it entered her mind. A circle of blood grew as her injured knee pressed against the white gown.

  God would provide a way, she was sure of it. She eased down on her side and tucked her feet into the gown, forming a human ball. Before she could figure out her strategy, she fell into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Lord Nicolas Fairwick yearned for home. His men and horses needed to recover from their last encounter. Why the king had sent them on such a useless campaign, he couldn’t fathom. They gained nothing but lost much. It was good fortune Nicolas returned with all of his men, except one.

  Poor Arnold. Trampled by his own horse when he became u
nseated during a skirmish. A wasted death.

  Nicolas shook his head. At least he had been more fortunate than Lord Sherwood and Lord Mathias of neighboring estates, who had lost numerous gallant knights.

  “M’lord, what is up ahead?” Thomas asked.

  Nicolas jerked back to the present at the sound of his brother’s voice. Something white lay on the roadside. He couldn’t quite make it out from the distance. His jaw clinched. “Thomas, take three men and approach with caution. It could well be a trap.”

  With one simple hand gesture, the rest of his men came to a halt. Each one kept a watchful eye on the nearby landscape, ready to do battle if, in fact, it was an ambush. Thomas and the men approached with great care.

  Thomas dismounted as the other three men stood guard. Leaving his horse, he crept closer, his sword at ready. He knelt beside the body and turned it over. His head jerked back as he motioned to his brother.

  Nicolas rode up to Thomas and halted. Ten of his men fanned out in a semi-circle around the body, facing outward to guard against attack. His nostrils flared. A woman! The bare feet slashed and bloodied. The dark hair matted with blood. He removed his helmet and rested it on his thigh. Someone had badly used her and left her at his doorstep. Now she was his problem.

  A deep frown covered his face. “Does she live?”

  “She breathes, m’lord,” Thomas answered.

  Nicolas raked his hand across his dripping wet face as he blew out a snort. “Bring her.” He replaced his helmet, nudged his horse, and proceeded down the path toward home. With all in his realm knowing the history behind his family, the woman was a bad sign.

  Not sure what he would do with the woman, he hoped someone claimed her soon, therefore relieving him of a decision. He didn’t need another woman in his castle. His unwed sister was enough to deal with each day.

  He was tired, dirty, and disgusted with life. As it began to drizzle, he added "miserable" to his list of grievances. For all that was holy, God must be punishing him for his sins.

  The one hundred men who accompanied Lord Fairwick rode in silence. The woman’s condition filtered down the line through whispers. Since Lord Fairwick forbade unwed women in his castle, only time would determine her fate.

  Nicolas rode in front. Erect in his saddle, he set a prideful example for his men. They would enter the gates unashamedly. The knights and fighting men under his command were the best in the region. They had fought gallantly. Even though none could see any good coming from their campaign, no one had complained. Each time they rode out, it was at great risk to his men and his castle. However, the latest event, finding a woman, could bring a worse kind of disaster, if not to the castle life, to him.

  After thirty minutes of travel, Thomas nudged his horse to catch up to his brother. Nicolas cut his eyes over as Thomas approached but made no move to recognize him. Mayhap, if he ignored his brother, he would stay silent.

  “Nick, a word with you?”

  Silence.

  “Nick?” Silence. “You can’t ignore me forever.”

  “What say you?” Nicolas’s gruff voice rumbled.

  “This woman I rescued is heavy. She didn’t look big on the ground, but she’s dead weight. Since I’ve a wounded arm, might someone else see to her care?”

  “Who would you suggest, Thomas?” His frown deepened. “Who of the men is not weak from hunger and exhausted from our journey? Or injured? Who Thomas?”

  His brother kept pace with him “You are correct, Lord Brother. When I think of the strongest warrior in our midst, I think of only one. Just one stands out as mighty ... and strong... and vigorous... and...”

  “Cease,” Nicolas belted out with frustration. “Hand her over. I will remember your whining ways. The next time we’re called into battle, you will be left home watching children.”

  Thomas made the transfer to Nicolas without requiring either of them to dismount. Nicolas communicated his annoyance when he plopped her in his saddle. Yet, he wrapped the body in his cloak to give her a chance for survival.

  His brother just laughed at his gruffness. He had learned long ago that Thomas ignored his sharp tongue. No doubt, Thomas knew women brought out his dark side, but he never planned to reveal why. No need to taint his outlook.

  Thomas dropped back into formation, leaving him to his gloomy thoughts. Darkness descending upon them added to his low spirit. One positive observation—in a few more miles, the castle would be in view.

  Nicolas glanced down into the woman’s face. With dimming light, it appeared scratched and bloody. Her knotted hair stuck to one side of her face. He didn’t know why Thomas whined about her weight. Her lightness resembled a child. Another peek confirmed his original thought. She wouldn’t last the night.

  With a hand signal, Braden, his battle commander, appeared at his side.

  “Take Hastings and Elwood to fetch Agnes.”

  Braden hastened at the sharp command.

  The three men broke rank and rode off toward the village.

  Nicolas summoned Agnes when the injuries appeared critical. Many of the men feared her. Whispers circulated through the village that she might even be a witch. Of course, he trusted her, so they questioned him not.

  He never tired of seeing his castle shining bright in the night. The gatekeeper heralded their arrival. Torches burned all across the parapet to welcome the weary travelers. He crossed the wooden drawbridge first and rode to the steps of the keep. There he turned to wait while his men trotted past the gatehouse. All others ogled him and his bundle. A few gasps fell silent with one stern look from him. No one would outwardly question his decision to bring a strange woman into the castle, but speculation would abound.

  “Phillip, have Abigail see that Collette prepares our mother’s room for our guest.” Nicolas tossed Phillip a key he extracted from the pouch attached to his belt. His older brother hesitated but a moment before turning to do Nicolas’s bidding. Nicolas’s heart ached as Phillip hobbled away, his war injury evident. The exaggerated limp twisted his gut at the memory of that fateful battle.

  Shaking off his melancholy, he watched his men ride through the gates, filling him with great satisfaction. The processional took time, but it reminded him that he had returned with all of his men except one—Arnold. He crossed himself at the remembrance. Once the last man crossed inside the gates, he climbed down from his destrier, the woman still in his arms.

  With long, confident strides, he passed Gilbert and Jarvis who waited on the top step of the keep to welcome him home. Too old for battle, Nicolas kept them busy with other duties. He hoped they wouldn’t question him, but he was not so fortunate.

  “What have ye in thy arms, m’lord?” Jarvis asked.

  “Naught of import, Jarvis.”

  “But, m’lord, it looks like a woman.” Gilbert tried to peek at her, but Nicolas turned his shoulder and quickened his pace. In no mood to listen to those two or anyone else about his guest, he marched past the great hall and made for the rooms above.

  He bellowed over his shoulder. “Jarvis, be prepared to make ready all Agnes will need.” He waited for no reply as he took to the stairs.

  Phillip stood at the top of the stairs in silence until Nicolas passed. “What think you, brother?”

  “Trouble.”

  AS ABIGAIL, PHILLIP’S wife, turned the key, the door opened on squeaky hinges. Nicolas had ordered the room locked after his father’s death, and nary a one had been in the room for years. Abigail stood watch as Collette scurried to prepare the room adjoined to Nicolas’s room. She knocked down multiple cobwebs before adding clean linens to the rope bed.

  One could access the room only by passing through Lord Fairwick’s room. The two rooms had once belonged to his parents years ago. Abigail shuddered and crossed herself. Their father had kept their mother, Lady Isolde, a prisoner in her own home. Many times locked in her room for inane reasons. Some of the peasants believed the room haunted by Lady Isolde, trying to right the wrongs done to her.

  “Hurry, Collette,” Abigail snapped.

  Collette rushed through her tasks to ready the room for the mysterious visitor. After she finished, she ran to fetch clean water, leaving Abigail alone in the room.

  “Is all at ready?” Nicolas asked.