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  Always There

  Megan Derr

  Tales of knights bound by duty, honor, and each other...

  Always There—When the princess they are sworn to protect is kidnapped, two knights are separated in their efforts to save her, and in being part realize what they always had together...

  Tournament—a young man accepts an offer to attend Tournament in the hopes that by winning it, he will finally gain the affections of the man he has loved his entire life.

  Vow Unto Me—two men, divided by tragedy and grief, are ordered to a remote monastery to unravel a mystery, and finally overcome the problems keeping them apart.

  Book Details

  Always There

  By Megan Derr

  Published by Less Than Three Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Caitlin Penny

  Cover designed by Lainey Durand

  This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  Second Edition August 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Megan Derr

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-1-936202-36-2

  Table of Contents

  Always There

  Book Details

  Always There

  Tournament

  Vow Unto Me

  About the Author

  Always There

  You can tell Chastaine that we are slaughtering two cattle for tonight, not three, and if he thinks that insufficient, then he and the hunters should learn how to aim." A familiar laugh came from behind him and Lyon whipped around to direct his scowl upon the proper target.

  "Lyon."

  "Chastaine." To judge by his appearance, the hunt had gone well. Chastaine always came back looking relatively clean when it went poorly, but right now his pale blond hair was matted with sweat, spattered with dirt, and tangled with a stray leaf. Although it was only mid-morning, he looked tired—but satisfied; yes, that was definitely satisfaction filling Chastaine's dark blue eyes. "Did you fail so miserably in your hunt that you are still demanding that we slaughter three cattle?"

  "Nay," Chastaine replied lightly. "I did quite well, as you will see. It is only that I think you are underestimating the number of people we shall have this year."

  Lyon shook his head and began to rapidly list off the numbers he had calculated and gone over a hundred times or more, until Chastaine at last held up his hands in defeat. "Satisfied?"

  "Certainly I have given up arguing the matter. Very well, Lyon, slaughter your two. I have set half my men to assisting in the kitchens and go now with the other half to bring up the ale and wine. If you ask me nicely, I might see to it that a cask of brandy is fetched as well."

  Rolling his eyes, Lyon turned away to resume supervising the cleaning and setting up on the grounds just outside the castle wall. Only last year they had finished laying the stones which had turned the space into a proper pavilion, even managing the pattern of three interlocked circles at the very center. It was a thing of which to be proud and only one reason this year's autumn festival would be especially joyous.

  "I will ask nicely the very day you do the same."

  Chuckling, Chastaine turned away to stride back over the drawbridge, across the courtyard, and then vanished into the keep.

  "Ho, there," Lyon bellowed as he turned back around, startling the men into ceasing their laughing. He cast his glare at the two offenders. "This is not the hour of revelry. Finish setting that table proper, then fetch out the dunking barrels. If I catch further laziness, you will be celebrating on night shift at the far pastures."

  "Yes, Sir Lyon," the two men quickly replied, then bent to their tasks with renewed diligence.

  The work continued apace, steady and sure, and in due course the pits were readied for the main fires, posts set up for the torches when darkness fell. Lyon kept up his glaring, ensuring that the proper pace was kept.

  He was interrupted reprimanding another pair by laughter. It was soft and rippling, full of amusement rather than designed to acerbate. "La, Lyon. I hope you intend to put that scowl away when the festivities begin."

  "As my lady commands," Lyon replied. "What do you beyond the walls of the keep? You should be safely within, Lady Winifred."

  Winifred grimaced. "I needed a breath of fresh air. You are here, so I am safe enough for the moment. Do not shove me back inside quite yet, else I shall command you to dance with every maiden in attendance this night."

  With an effort, Lyon repressed a shudder. "I beg of thee, my lady, to spare me that grim fate."

  Laughing again, Lady Winifred motioned to the work that was very nearly completed. "As every year these past six, all is perfect. Did you and Chastaine settle the matter of how many beasts to slaughter?"

  "I said two, therefore we shall slaughter two. Now if my lady will pardon me, I must go ensure the kitchen workers are not eating the food they are preparing."

  "Go, then. I will shout at this lot in your place, if you like."

  Lyon frowned. "I do not like." He grasped her wrist before she could dart away and dragged her back across the drawbridge and into the castle bailey. He did not let her go until she sighed in exasperation, the closest she ever came to conceding defeat. "You will remain within the walls, where my lady is safe."

  "I will go where I please," Lady Winifred retorted, delicate brows furrowing in annoyance and pale pink lips turned down in a deep frown. Although short of stature and as full-figured as it was preferred genteel ladies be, there was very little genteel about Winifred. She was tough, far tougher than most anticipated—unfortunately it meant that she was all too willing to do as she pleased, rather than listening to and obeying her protectors.

  "You will do as you are told," Chastaine said as he came up behind her.

  Lady Winifred glowered at them. "I realize the danger to my life, dear knights, but after—"

  "But after so long the threat has not waned, which means that it only grows stronger," Chastaine cut in. "Had your sire his way, my lady, you would be locked away in a convent tower with him holding the only key. Do not think that after so many years the danger has abated. Such recklessness means that tragedy is guaranteed to befall us, and should your father's enemies not take our lives, your father will have our heads for failing to protect you."

  "Aye," Lyon agreed.

  Reluctantly, Lady Winifred nodded. "I understand your words, my knights … I apologize. I fear I grow restless and discontent with the changing of the seasons. Thank you, at least, for indulging me in the festival."

  "It is our honor and privilege, my lady," Lyon said, Chastaine nodding beside him. She knew very well that they would never turn away the festival—it was the highlight of their year as much as hers.

  "Tell me, knights, how go the preparations? Chastaine, fare you well on the hunt?"

  Chastaine nodded. "Aye, my lady, most well indeed. There should be boar and venison aplenty to make up for the beasts Lyon refuses to slaughter, as well as several sheep. It will be a fine feast."

  Lyon refused to rise to the bait. "Did you bring up the spirits?"

  "They are being brought up this very moment," Chastaine replied, and even as he spoke, men came spilling from the side of the keep, laboriously pushing massive barrels of ale, smaller ones filled with wine, and carrying several casks of brandy and whiskey. Chastaine spoke just as Lyon did, telling the men to set it all to the left as Lyon ordered them to the right. They broke off to glare at one another.

  Lady Winifred laughed. "I say put it to the south end, that any
would-be attackers shall be forced to destroy good food and drink ere they can cause us harm. That should make them think."

  The two knights rolled their eyes. "Put the ale to the right," Lyon commanded to the men who stood exchanging amused glances as the joint Seneschals of Castle Triad clashed yet again. "See you line them up proper. Put the rest to the left, that it is readily available upon my lady's fancy."

  "You just want me drunk so I will do as I am told."

  Lyon did not reply.

  Chastaine snorted softly and followed the men from the courtyard, out to the pavilion, closely supervising as the spirits were set out according to Lyon's orders.

  "What is left to do, then?" Lady Winifred asked.

  "Only the food, my lady."

  Lady Winifred nodded, staring through the gate at the pavilion as the women trickled out to begin decorating all that the men had set out, a pensive frown on her face. It was coming on late morning now, the late autumn air warm yet brisk enough for Lyon's heavy tunic, but not so sharp that he required his cloak. He likely would need it later, but for now was pleased to leave it in his wardrobe.

  "Do you think that my father will ever recall me to his presence?"

  Lyon frowned, brushing back a strand of his thick black hair as he delayed his reply. He hated the answer he must give, but he hated lying even more. "Aye, my lady. You are of marriageable age and I have no doubt that there is someone in need of a bride who your father would like to please. 'Tis the way of things, although that way is not pleasing."

  "Naught but a tool of negotiation, aye," Lady Winifred said sadly. "I much prefer being a lady to a princess."

  Lyon did not reply. Eight years he and Chastaine had served as guardians to Her Royal Highness, Princess Winifred Bethany de Chiel, only daughter of His Majesty, King Gwenfrew of the Kingdom of Chieldor. Six of those years had been spent here at a neglected castle, the name of which no one had been able to recall. Even the exact location had been in doubt. Upon arrival, they had learned that the natives simply called it the Abandoned Keep. That first year had been hard, none of the three pleased with the results of their victorious battle to keep Winifred—and her guardians—from a prolonged stay in a convent at the ends of the world.

  They had not let it defeat them, however, instead making it a worthy castle, while miles upon miles away the king continued to wage his bitter, bloody wars against enemies whose languages did not seem to contain the word defeat. Lyon should resent it, being banished to a forgotten corner of the country to play Seneschal for a castle and lands that had done well enough without their presence. Chastaine should resent it more. His family, most believed, was older than even the king's, and although he was the youngest son of several, Chastaine could—should—have been doing far more than guarding the king's third child (albeit only daughter) and sharing the responsibility for a keep that would fit inside his family's chapel.

  They were all of them younger children; it was perhaps what had bound them together those earliest days. Each had felt the sting of being not quite as worthy of their parents' affections, unfit for the splendor and attention lavished upon their elder siblings. It was only because of their guardian status that he and Chastaine had been knighted at all.

  In the course of six years, the derelict keep had become Castle Triad, their home. None of them wanted Winifred summoned home and finally forced to marry. "None may say what the future holds," Lyon said heavily, heart not really in it. "The greatest of misfortunes oft prove to be the grandest of blessings."

  Lady Winifred smiled fondly. "Stop being nice, Sir Lyon, and resume scowling before our people mistakenly think that the revelries have begun."

  "Aye, my lady," Lyon replied with a brief smile. "Go select what robe you shall wear this eve—after you finish reviewing the accounting I placed upon your desk."

  "Yes, my lord," Winifred said with another roll of her eyes. Laughing, she spun away to return to the keep, dark violet robes and waist-length chestnut hair flowing out behind her as the wind snatched at them.

  Lyon waited until she was safely inside, then turned and strode to join Chastaine on the pavilion. They bent to the task of the final preparations, working seamlessly together as they called out orders and encouragements, supervising the food as it was set out, as well as the readying of the torches, the fire pits, and roasting spits. Even their occasional argument fit into the rhythm of it all.

  *~*~*

  "For you, my noble knights, my Seneschals of Castle Triad: gifts to show esteem, gratitude, and my eternal affection."

  Lyon accepted the small box held out to him, sweeping Lady Winifred a deep bow and murmuring words of gratitude. He shared a quiet look with Chastaine, seeing the same concern in his dark blue eyes. How had Winifred obtained gifts without their knowing? Mercy of the heavens, Lyon hoped that she had not snuck into the village on her own. Someone would have told them, surely …

  Well, they would puzzle it out and yell at her for it on the morrow. Chastaine gave him an imperceptible nod, silently agreeing.

  The box was intended for jewelry, made from dark walnut and polished to a fine gleam. In the growing dark, under the light of the torches slowly being lit, it almost looked black. Opening it, Lyon was immediately torn between genuine pleasure and furious rage—that Winifred had commissioned these meant that she was doing things behind their back, which meant that she was putting herself in danger by keeping them out of the circle. He could tell from Chastaine's stiff movements that he realized the same. Oh, yes, come morning, she would be locked in her bedchambers.

  Inside the box, nestled on black velvet, was a cloak pin. It was designed after the symbol that Winifred had created for her castle—their castle—roughly a year after their arrival. The crest was simple, nothing like the ornate, extravagant things back home. 'Twas naught more than three interlocking circles in a triangular formation, each circle a different color. In this case, they were made from different precious stones: one of amber to represent Lyon, sapphire to signify Chastaine, and emerald for Winifred. She had taken the colors from their eyes—subtle, simple, and effective. They had protested her including them in her personal crest, but it had been one of the few occasions where she had proven that right down to her stubbornness and temper, she was every inch the product of her sire.

  Lyon reached in to lift out the pin, and only then noticed the two tiny, square-cut amber studs set just above it: earrings, status symbols back home. Princess Winifred was quietly telling them that no matter what happened, she considered them the equal of anyone, as fine as their elder brothers who held real titles, lands, and wealth. The gesture, the thought, was bittersweet: she had given them simple yet visible displays of their worth to her, a royal gift that could not be taken away, as well as memories of the home they had created … but in doing so, she was also saying that she feared their time here was ending. Letting a servant hold the box, Lyon removed the silver pin which currently held his cloak closed, and then replaced it with the new one. The earrings he tucked safely away until his ears could be properly pierced.

  "Enough solemnity," Chastaine cried after fastening his own cloak pin in place. "At that, enough sobriety. Tap that ale, my merry men, and let us see if we still brew the best in the valley!"

  The people all cheered, falling quickly into full revelry. Soon the weather would turn bitterly cold, wet, and snowy, driving them indoors for all but the most necessary chores. For now, autumn still held fast and they would take advantage of it.

  The music began as the ale and wine were poured. Lyon hastily retreated from the section of pavilion set aside for dancing, stopping at one of the laden tables and selecting a chunk of lamb pie, before moving to the main banquet table and taking his seat at Lady Winifred's right side.

  "You are in trouble," he said idly, nodding absent thanks to the lad who brought him a tankard of ale. There was a sharp bitterness to it that only enhanced the natural sweetness, a trick Chastaine and his fellow brewers refused to share. He bit into h
is lamb pie as Lady Winifred grinned.

  She sipped her wine, its color as deep a red as the fabric of her garment and the flowers tucked into her plaited hair. Against all of the deep red, her emerald eyes were bright and shining, to be defeated only by the dark swiftly encroaching. "So will you at least dance with this maiden later, my noble knight?"

  Lyon grinned and took another swallow of ale, along with another bite of food. Someone had been a trifle too enthusiastic with the spices in the lamb, but 'twas overall quite fine. "I do as my lady commands, always."

  "Then you shall dance with me," Lady Winifred commanded loftily, taking another swallow of wine.

  Rolling his eyes, Lyon set aside his pie and reached for a platter of cheese and puffy pastries stuffed with sweetbreads. He looked out over the crowded pavilion, making note of everything, and saw Chastaine doing the same.

  All seemed well and he was happy for it.

  "Truly I thank you for the gifts," Lyon said when Lady Winifred was left in peace for a moment. "They are beautiful."

  "I am glad you like them," Winifred said softly. "I told Chastaine earlier … my father sent word not too long ago … He believes the tides well-turned and that with my assistance, an alliance could perhaps be forged. He will be sending a messenger when he can say with more certainty what he intends. I do not expect the messenger before the spring thaw, but one never knows."

  Lyon set down the pastry he had selected, appetite abruptly vanished. Instead, he leaned forward to reach for his goblet and frowned at a sudden wash of dizziness. A resounding crash broke into his thoughts before he could form them, causing his head to jerk up—more dizziness—and see that someone had collapsed before one of the banquet tables.

  "Pardon me," he murmured, ignoring the continued dizziness as he moved around the main table and toward the collapsed figure. Kneeling, he immediately took in the man's clammy skin, the pallor of it. The sour scent of vomit filled the space around them as the man lost his dinner. "Ho, fellow, have you overindulged yourself so quickly, then? Up with you."