The Lost Lady

  The Lost Lady

  Amelia M. Brown

  Copyright © 2019 by Amelia Marie Brown

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 9781722725020

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review, critical article or scholarly journal.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as reality. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Printing: January 2019

  Ordering Information:

  Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, educators, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the above listed address.

  U.S. trade bookstores and wholesalers: Please our representative at Tel: (209) 663-3044 or email ambrown984@gmail.com.

  DEDICATION

  This is dedicated to my Sister and Grandmother. For always pushing me forward, for being there when I fall, and for the hands you hold out to help me back up. With my everlasting love and gratitude.

  Other Titles By

  Amelia M. Brown

  Ties of Fate

  The Chronicles of Odde:

  The Beast of the Ruin

  Coming Soon:

  The Chronicles of Odde:

  The Lost Prince

  CONTENT

  Part One: Lander’s Keep

  Part Two: Anora

  “Learn to win a lady’s faith

  Nobly, as the thing is high;

  Bravely as for life and death –

  With a loyal gravity.”

  ~Elizabeth Barret Browning

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to the people at National Novel Writing Months. Your programs and enthusiasm help motivate me and so many others to turn our dreams into reality. Thanks to Dianne G. and Kriston for reading the manuscript at the last minute and being so into it that you made me blush. You are the reason Part Two was completed in record time. Thank You Meredith for the feedback and for letting me rope you in despite your words to the contrary.

  Part One

  Lander’s

  Keep

  Chapter 1

  The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday

  Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play.

  ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  The wind moved through the branches overhead. Sunlight fell in golden patches on the forest floor. Life here was verdant and peaceful, Luveday sat calmly on her gnarled root and let the minutes tick by. Her more practical wool jacket cushioned her seat, momentarily forgotten. Her mind refused to take in her situation, deciding to examine her surroundings instead. It was beautiful here, a mix of amber light and deep shadows, cool breezes and warm earth. Luveday pushed a strand of tawny hair behind her ear as she reclined against a massive oak to watch the sunlight dance through its leaves. She felt a slight breeze, but the feeling couldn’t penetrate the numbness shielding her mind.

  Glancing down, she still wore the flowing cobalt skirt with matching blouse she had put on that morning. A single digit idly traced the gold swirling pattern over the deeper blue of the embroidered vest. It contrasted so well with the brown and green of her surroundings that she was dazzled by it. She remembered she had saved this look for a special occasion, packing it on a whim. She’d only worn it today because she’d run out of clothes on this business trip. Thanks to a client’s clumsy personal assistant, she’d lost her two best shirts to the dry-cleaners the first day. It seemed a shame to waste the outfit on her day off, but she’d had nothing else to wear but the sweats she’d brought for the cold New England nights. She’d not be caught leaving the hotel looking like a college student who just rolled out of bed, so the wispy skirt it was.

  Her ever-present backpack purse sat at her feet. The extra-large tote resting beside it was full of gifts and the odds and ends she’d purchased during her walk through the quaint east coast town. She had fit in rather well with the patrons of the Celtic fair, not that she’d planned it. That morning Luveday set off for her staid version of an adventure; window shopping. After all, she was on the other side of the country. The shops lining the narrow streets had put forth an effort to draw in customers, and she’d excitedly perused them.

  Luveday was an administrative assistant, ranked number two of three. The number one, the enigmatic Sarah, had become ill and left an opening on Mr. Lawrence’s business trip. Being the only one without any prior engagements or social life to speak of, Luveday had gotten the go-ahead by default. It was not that she couldn’t do the job; no, she was excellent at it. It was more that the boss, handsome middle-aged man that he was, usually went for Sarah, to impress the male clients, or Matt if he needed a macho presence. Luveday was short and curvy, not that her looks really impacted her job, but she was usually relegated to organization, scheduling, and research, which all entailed a good amount of time behind a desk. That life seemed far away from here, wherever here was.

  Cogs began to turn in the back of her mind. Luveday recalled the events earlier that morning. In her mind’s eye, she was back in the little New England shops. She saw the people mulling up and down the streets, laughing and dressed in bright costumes typical for any Celtic fair. Her mind felt an echo of the longing that had pinged in her heart at their laughter. Being alone was no fun, but she didn’t belong back with her boss either; mingling was not her forte. Mr. Lawrence was a suave businessman, and she was a quiet bookworm.

  Luveday stuffed a recent purchase in her tote as she stepped off the curb, stumbling over a pebble on the cobbled street, and barely caught herself before she hit the pavement face first. She flung out an arm for balance and met a sturdy tree. Eyes closed in mortification; she exhaled a sigh of relief, taking a moment just to breathe. No one called out to her, asking if she was alright, which she hoped meant no one had seen the near incident. Ready to move on, she opened her eyes, only to meet the hues of a wood, not the busy brick and stone streets. Noticing how quiet it had suddenly become, it took her mind a moment to realize what she was seeing, a forest, a deep wood and not anything resembling civilization. Confused, disoriented and more than a little scared, Luveday moved away from the tree, not realizing she was still using it for support. Spinning in a circle proved fruitless; retracing her steps did not make the mirage disappear. By all rights, she should have been standing in the middle of the street, not lost in the woods. Luveday retraced her steps, waving her arms like a mad woman while looking for any sign of something familiar.

  Fighting down panic, she sat down under a large oak tree whose roots looked like a good spot off the forest floor. And there she had sat for the last fifteen minutes or so, debating what had happened to her. Was she hallucinating, in a coma, or maybe… dead? Was it the sample that street vendor had given her? What exactly had she eaten? She’d tasted unusual spices, and it had gone down a little rough, but she’d not felt any after effects, and it had been at least a half hour ago. She checked her watch, make that forty-five minutes. Were full-on hallucinations this real? Or had she stumbled into on-coming traffic and somehow missed her own demise? She remembered everything up to finding herself here so clearly; there hadn’t been a blackout or a dizzy feeling, no light show or sci-fi sequence, just her usual clumsy self, tripping over her own feet. There was nothing at all to point her toward any answers to the questions swirling in her head.

  The bark under her fingertips was rough and all too solid. The leaves under her feet crunched as she stretched out her legs; all
signs that her surroundings were, indeed, real. Perhaps she was in a coma somewhere. Luveday kept reminding herself that she’d always had a vivid and overactive imagination. She was a daydreamer, and some of her flights of fancy had been realistic, though never to this extent. There were two other possibilities, she mused. One, she was dead, and this was a piece of heaven, though that seemed unlikely, but who was she to say what heaven looked like. The second option was that she was exactly where she thought she was; that while improbable, she had been transported somewhere else in the blink of an eye. Her laughter rang through the wood. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels.” She chastised herself, trying to shake these thoughts from her head. Yep, and now she was talking to herself.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh, scream or cry. “This is ridiculous!” She looked around and knocked on the root under her. Yep, it was solid, and the sting in her hand told her the bark had just removed a bit of skin from her knuckle. Sighing she asked, “What now?” But no one was there to answer. So, she sat and waited a moment more, but all she heard was the life of the forest continuing as if she weren’t even there.

  A rhythmic sound came from afar. Luveday rose to her feet, her current situation forgotten as hope and fear blossomed inside her. She knew that sound, but how? It was a slow sort of jingle; metallic with a steady tempo. A moment later, a whistled melody joined the beat as her frantic mind put the dots together. Someone was there; it was someone on a horse. Should she call out or run and hide? She couldn’t decide, so she stayed where she was and watched the rider meander through the trees, coming towards her. At the first sight of him, she sat down again, her legs giving out.

  It was a knight in armor who looked as if he had seen a long, hard journey. He wore dark brown leather armor on his chest with chainmail on his arms and thick gloves. He was dark, rugged and from what Luveday could tell, rather large. He looked to be straight out of one of the BBC period pieces; that is to say, 100% authentic.

  Luveday didn’t move, didn’t speak, and just watched in wary awe as he came steadily closer. For a split second, she thought she should have hidden behind the tree, but she realized that he had yet to spot her. Like a deer scenting danger, she froze where she was. He startled her as he broke out into song. The deep timbre of his voice was pleasing. He passed not twenty feet away, and when he came into her direct line of sight, he stopped, finally spotting her. They looked at each other in shocked silence, until he dismounted and offered aid.

  “My Lady? What are you doing out in this wood?” Leading his horse closer, Luveday was all too aware of how large a man he was; well-over six feet, she guessed. She sprang to her feet sparing a glance at her backpack and the pepper spray that was somewhere in its depths. What should she do? Her mind raced for answers. He had called her Lady, which was a title she was not sure any of her ancestors had ever possessed. She could correct him, but here she doubted that that would go in her favor. Luveday did not realize that her baring and dress did more for her status than anything she could have said. Her back was as straight as a rod, as she tried to act with the poise and courtesy she was used to employing as an executive assistant of a large firm. It was hard as she fought her turning emotions, past the constriction in her throat. His accent was British, though she heard something else under the cultured demeanor. Had she come so far? How? Why? When? Forcing down her panic, she couldn’t speak and looked at him with pleading eyes.

  She could see soft brown eyes, looking at her with great concern and felt a weight leave the pit of her stomach. “I am afraid I am lost, sir.” She looked away from him, not sure what more to say. How much should she reveal? A part of her knew that this was real and that speaking about it to the wrong people could cost her dearly and, yet she hesitated to lie. She had never been any good at it.

  Seeing her distress, he offered his name. “I am Sir Gregori of Brooke Abbey, on my way to Lander’s Keep, Home of the King’s Champion. I am happy to assist you there; perhaps we can find your people.” He offered, looking at her garments, and the few possessions at her feet. “It is the nearest castle or village of any size.” His eyes were kind and curious.

  “Lander’s Keep?” She asked, hesitant to reveal her ignorance.

  “Yes, not much farther through the wood.” He offered her his hand. “If you don’t mind sharing a mount, we can make good time.” It seemed that chivalry wasn’t dead. She had a knight to prove it.

  She didn’t argue, just nodded her head. “Thank you.”

  He began talking to her in a quiet and smooth voice as if he were afraid she’d bolt like a skittish animal. He gathered her belongings and tied them onto the back of his saddle. “I have just returned from King’s Point, where My Lord De Lane, the Wolf of Lander’s Keep has been campaigning. I will be happy to see a proper night’s rest.” Once finished, he turned to her. “If I may, My Lady?” He held out his hand again, and Luveday realized she was clutching her jacket to her as if it might protect her from harm. She loosened her grip and handed it over. He threw it over the horse’s neck and picked her up as if she was no heavier than a sack of flour. She was positioned sideways on the front of the saddle, and with a fluid motion, the knight mounted the horse again, settling behind her. “If you will excuse me, Lady…”

  “Luveday.” She answered in a clear voice.

  “I’ll need to hold you a little closer if we are both to stay on the horse.” He rearranged her gently, and a moment later they were on their way, with Luveday wrapped securely in the arms of a wandering knight. He smelled strongly of sweat, horse and, of all things, rosemary. Somehow, she found the last comforting.

  Crumbling stone, a strange odor on the breeze, and piles of trash littered the corners around the muddy courtyard. Suffice it to say that the castle of Lander’s Keep was not what Luveday expected. Gregori handed her down off the horse, and she stood a moment in awe while he handed over her meager belongings. She was full of wonder, but not at the sight of an authentic medieval castle. No, she was shocked by the ruin that was visibly beginning to take hold of the once beautiful buildings.

  The village they had passed through was little more than a collection of peasant cottages and sheds; though made of stone they hadn’t fared much better than the castle. They had passed a lively inn as they met the road but did not stop with their destination so near, and Luveday was grateful. There was little to recommend the Boar’s Head to her. The castle loomed off in the distance, growing larger as they approached. From afar it had been a truly massive structure, but on closer inspection seemed to be badly neglected, and rather forlorn. Where were all the people, she wondered. Weren’t castles like mini cities? Where was all the activity? But it looked like the keep hadn’t been full for a long time, and Luveday suddenly doubted the good luck of being so quickly rescued.

  Luveday took in every detail. It was a well-fortified castle, with a thick outer wall of sandy colored stone. It had a gatehouse, battlements and all the trappings one might expect, but underneath all that, there were some rather beautiful designs, like the coat of arms carved over the main gate and the vines over the keep’s main doors. And that’s what made the neglect so sad. Someone had put a lot of thought and love into this castle only for it to start to crumble toward ruin.

  “This way, Lady Luveday.” Having to get her attention, Gregori was polite as he ushered her into the main hall. The massive wooden doors were banded in sturdy iron. Though rather plain, they looked like they could hold back a siege. She guessed that was comforting to some.

  Inside looked much better, but only because there wasn’t much to see in the dim light. It took a moment for Luveday’s eyes to adjust. Two long tables sat side by side, taking up the main space to her right. A dais sat at the opposite end of the room, a single step up, where the smaller head table lay perpendicular to the rest. Before her, a large space on the back wall was open to a massive hearth, with a small sitting area before it on another dais. The dining hall was dark, though the fire roared with life. The m
assive chandelier overhead might as well have been unlit for all the light the few candles gave off. There was no ornamentation, no decor other than two sturdy looking chairs before the fire. The walls were bare but for the unlit torches.

  People seemed to be going about their tasks though there wasn’t the bustle she had expected. A few men stopped to give her a strange look. They looked clean for the most part, though rough around the edges. Even the women looked a little harried, though they were even fewer in number than the men.

  Like Gregori, the men had full beards and wore leather armor prepared for battle at a moment’s notice. But that made sense from what her rescuer had said on the way there, the lord’s men were more accustomed to the hardships of battle than living in a comfortable keep. Men at arms manned the walls, but the majority of Lord Iain’s men were with him on campaign. Tournaments, Luveday thought and wondered what that might be like, images of the Celtic fair flashed through her mind.

  The dreariness of her surroundings deflated Luveday’s growing sense of hope. She was at heart an optimist, though a practical turn kept the trait from being too obnoxious; there was only so much it could take in a single day.

  Gregori called out, as a young woman appeared through a far door with a large wooden tray in hand. Behind her was another lady, elegant in a silvery gray gown and well past middle age with silvery hair to match. “Ah, little Elli. Lady Emmalyn.” The knight bowed to the women.

  “You have brought home a lady, Sir Gregori.” At the older woman’s curious tone, the young woman’s face lost its happy demeanor.