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CHAPTER ONE

Year of Our Lord 1204 A.D.

The Month of May

Dunster Castle, Somerset

H e was seeing ghosts.

It was true that he was weary after having spent the last seven days traveling from Kent to the shadowed edges of the Exmoor Forest. It was also true that the wilds of Somerset and Cornwall were said to breed wraiths and other netherworld creatures, and Dunster was right in the middle of dark and mysterious lands. But being a man of logic, Sir Gart Forbes wasn’t one to believe in ghosts or phantoms or fairies. Still, he wasn’t quite sure what he had seen.

He was standing in the darkened bailey of Dunster just after sunset. The castle was perched on the top of a hill, fortified and old even in Saxon times, and the battlements were lined with men standing guard, sentries with big dogs and big torches to keep away the night. Gazing up the wooden steps that led into the second floor of the enormous square keep, Gart swore he saw something at the top of the stairs that had just as quickly vanished.

All around him were sounds of the bailey as the men settled in for the night. He had brought one hundred men with him from Denstroude Castle in Kent, seat of Baron Thornden, Sir David de Lohr. Lord de Lohr was in the keep up in the third floor great hall and these wraiths, these wispy creatures, were between Gart and his liege. With a weary sigh, knowing he must have lost his mind somewhere back on the dusty road, Gart slowly mounted the steps.

The stairs were dark and old. Gart’s enormous boots tested the weight of each plank as he made his way up and could hear the wood groan. Normally, he would have been focused on the meal awaiting him, but at this moment, he had to admit he was curious to see if the wraiths would make another appearance.

He didn’t have long to wait. The moment he stepped inside the great Norman arch that embraced the entry, something small and white jumped into his path.

“Boo!”

Before Gart could open his mouth to speak, the phantom darted off and hid. It wasn’t so much a phantom now that he had a closer look– it was a child, completely white from head to toe. Gart watched the child disappear into a darkened room, a solar that was directly off the entry to the right. His brow furrowed and he shook his head, undecided as to whether he was irritated or amused. He settled for amused until two more wraiths jumped out at him with sticks.

Gart was in armor so he didn’t feel the blows, but his amusement quickly turned to irritation when one of the sticks landed a blow a little too close to his groin. He reached down to grab one of the children but his hand came away completely white. They were covered in something white and powdery.

Gart grabbed a stick that came flying at his groin again, yanking it out of the child’s hand and tossing it out the door. He locked gazes with a boy no more than seven years of age and he would never forget the look of fury on the boy’s face.

With a yell, the child charged him and tried to bite him, but all he came away with was mail to the mouth. Gart grabbed the child by the hair and the boy screamed.

“Let me go!” he howled. “I will have you arrested if you do not let me go!”

Gart’s hand was bigger than the child’s head as he gazed down at him. “Is that so?”

“It is!” The lad tried to kick him, struggling to dislodge the iron grip. “If you do not let me go, I… I will have you boiled! I will have you flogged! I will have you…!”

Gart put up a hand, cutting him off. “I understand your meaning,” he said, noticing that the two other white-covered children were beating at his armored legs. He shoved one away by the head and kneed the other one across the floor. It wasn’t a kick as much as it was a good push with his kneecap. Then he let go of the child in his grip.

“Let me pass and you can assault the next fool who walks in the door,” he told them.

The three boys were not so easily dissuaded. They rushed back at him with their fists and sticks and Gart shoved them all away again, only to have them rush him once more as he tried to mount the stairs to the third level.

Irritation growing, he managed to grab all three of them, carry them over to the dark and empty solar, and shove them inside. Slamming the door closed, he noticed there was no exterior bolt as the boys beat at the door and yelled from the other side. Gart stood there as long as he could, holding the door shut as delicious smells taunted him from the hall above. He didn’t have time for this foolishness. Daring to let go of the latch, he made a break for the stairs.

The solar door flew open and the three boys charged out, catching Gart as he was halfway up the spiral stone stairs. They grabbed at his feet and he kicked back, attempting to dislodge them. He didn’t want to outright hurt them but they were annoying and beastly, so he finally kicked out and sent one boy crashing into the other two.

The whole lot of them slid down the stairs, leaving a trail of white powder as they went. They hit hard in a group, the older ones falling on the smaller one. The little lad at the bottom of the pile began to wail loudly and rub his head where he had smacked it.

Gart smirked at the screams, thinking now they would finally leave him alone. He hadn’t taken two steps before he started to feel some remorse. They were just children, after all. He had been a child once, thirty years ago during times he could hardly remember. These children were just playing games. At least, he hoped so. Maybe they were really murderers in disguise. Taking another step, the cries prevented him from continuing.

With a heavy sigh he turned on the stairwell, peering down at the pile of boys at the bottom. The two older ones were attempting to pick the younger one up and convince him that he wasn’t injured. Gart took a couple of steps down, watching the boys who seemed much less aggressive than they had been moments earlier.

“What are you three doing?” he demanded softly.

Three pairs of big blue eyes looked up at him as if startled by the question. He could see the hostility seep back into their expressions but, so far, not one of them had made a move against him. They seemed to be posturing an awful lot.

“Brendt hurt his head,” the tallest child said angrily. “You did….”

Gart waved the boy off. “That is not what I meant,” he took another step down. “What are you three doing attacking men who enter the keep?”

The tallest boy’s brow furrowed. “Robbing them!”

Gart couldn’t help it as his features screwed up in confusion. “ Robbing them?”

“Aye,” the boy insisted. “This is our castle. Whoever comes in this door belongs to us.”

Gart stared at the lad a moment before finally shaking his head. Truth be told, he was fighting off a grin. The lad was deadly serious.

“Who are you?” he finally asked.

The boy stood tall. “Romney de Moyon,” he announced. “These are my brothers, Orin and Brendt. Our father is Julian de Moyon, Baron Buckland, and this is our castle. Who are you?”

Gart came down the rest of the stairs and stood in front of them, massive fists resting on his hips. He avoided the question. “Why do you have white powder all over you?”

Romney looked at his brothers before returning his attention to Gart. “Because we are ghosts. You cannot see ghosts and it makes it easier to rob people.”

Gart rubbed his hand over his chin and mouth so the boy would not see his grin. It was really quite dastardly and very humorous, he thought.

“I see you quite clearly,” he ran a finger across Romney’s chest, peering at the white powder. “What is this?”

“Dust from the stone,” Romney told him. “Father is building a house for the soldiers and this is the dust from the white stone.”

Gart inspected it a moment longer before wiping it on his tunic. His gaze moved to the youngest, who was no longer crying, but still rubbing his head.

“Had you not attacked me, you would not have hurt your head,” he was looking at the smallest boy but lecturing all three. “Does your father know what you are doing?”

Romney lifted his shoulders, for the first time losing some of his confidence. “He does not care,” he said. “Will you give me your money or will I have to fight you to the death?”

Gart bit his lip to keep his smile from breaking loose. “Are you sure you want to fight me to the death?”

“I am sure.”

“I do not have any money on me.”

Romney’s fair brow furrowed and he looked to his brothers with uncertainty. “Well,” he said reluctantly. “We will wait until you return for it. Come back with your money.”

“I will not,” Gart said flatly. “Why do you want my money, anyway?”

“Because,” Romney said. “We want to buy nice things for my mother and sister.”

Gart scratched his head. “Your mother and sister?” he repeated. “Surely they have enough nice things.”

Romney shrugged. “It makes them happy. When Mother is crying, it will make her stop.”

Gart scratched at his chin again, a little puzzled at the last sentence but he didn’t pursue it.

“I see,” he said. “I am afraid that I am going to disappoint you, your mother and your sister. You will have to get your ill-gotten gains somewhere else.”

Romney didn’t like that answer at all. It was clear he wasn’t used to having his wishes denied. Gart eyed the children one more time before turning for the stairs and the three were on him in an instant with their fists and sticks. Gart rolled his eyes with frustration as he grabbed Romney by the arm and twisted it behind his back. Romney screamed and the other two lads stopped their onslaught.

“Oww!” Romney howled. “You are hurting me!”

Gart lifted an eyebrow. “I am getting tired of being attacked simply because I walked into this keep,” he said in a low voice. “If you promise to cease your assault, I will let you go. Otherwise, I will bind all three of you and toss you into a closet.”

Before the boy could reply, they heard a voice from the floor above. It was a female voice, soft and sweet, and soon the swish of a voluminous surcoat could be seen and heard. Great yards of crimson fabric descended the stairs, calling for Romney and Orin. As Gart stood there with Romney’s arm twisted behind his back, a vision in red appeared.

“Romney!” the woman gasped. “What has happened? Are you injured?”

Gart stared at the woman in surprise, although his stone-like features did not give him away. He was actually stunned speechless for a moment as a vision from his past made an unexpected appearance. Although it had been years since he had last seen her, there was no mistaking the ethereal beauty. There wasn’t anything like it anywhere else in England.

“Emberley?” he asked hesitantly. “Emberley de Russe?”

The Lady Emberley de Russe de Moyon came to a halt when she heard her name, staring at the enormous knight with shock and some fear. He had her son by the arm and the child was in obvious pain, but as she gazed at the man, he began to look vaguely familiar.

From the mists of her memories emerged the face as a very young man, someone her brother had been friends with. She had known that face well, long ago. Now he had grown into a strikingly handsome man. Her deep blue eyes lit up with recognition.

“Gart?” she asked.

Her voice was soft with uncertainty. Gart’s green eyes glittered as he nodded his head, realizing he still had Romney by the arm and hastening to release the child. He tried not to feel guilty that this glorious creature had witnessed him roughing up the child.

“It is me.” He just stared at her, a rather soft expression coming over his masculine features. “I have not seen you in years.”

Emberley smiled broadly, a dimple on her chin and beautiful straight teeth. “It has been some time,” she agreed. “I believe the last time I saw you was when I had just returned home from fostering at Chepstow Castle and you and my brother were newly knighted.”

He nodded. “I recall,” he said. “That was many years ago.”

She warmed to the recognition. “Twelve years, at least,” she agreed, cocking her head thoughtfully. “I also seem to remember that on the day I returned you and my brother tore through the outer ward on your chargers, slicing up anything that did not have a heartbeat. My mother yelled at you and my brother for an hour after it was over.”

Gart was grinning, an unusual occurrence for him. The man had features of stone and cracking a smile was something that did not come easily. He was trying not to appear too embarrassed.

“We could not help ourselves,” he admitted. “Erik had a new sword that your father had given him. We wanted to make sure that it worked properly.”

Emberley laughed in remembrance. “My mother took it away for a week,” she snorted. “Erik and my father were furious.”

Gart’s smile grew as he stared at the woman. His last memory of her was a slip of a girl barely past womanhood but to see her now, he could hardly believe the change. She was positively magnificent. His eyes moved over her luscious blond hair, arranged into a beautiful style that had it pulled off her face and trailing down her back. She had spectacular dark blue eyes, like sapphires, and ruby lips that were parted in a magnificent smile. The longer he looked at her, the more enamored he became.

“I was banned from visiting Morton Castle for a while,” he said, wanting off the subject of his wild youth. “But that was long ago and now I find you at Dunster. Why are you here?”

Emberley lifted her hand as if to embrace the entire structure. “I live here,” she replied. “You and my brother were in the Holy Land with Richard when I was betrothed to Julian de Moyon. Did you not hear of it?”

He shook his head. “I will confess, I did not,” he said, somewhat regretfully. “My focus was on sand and battles until… well, until Erik was killed. Then I returned home to more battles and more intrigue.”

Her smile faded, her dark blue eyes glimmering warmly at him. “I heard that you brought my brother home for burial,” she said softly. “I never had the chance to thank you. It meant a great deal to my parents.”

“Do they live still?”

She nodded. “Still,” she said quietly. “They live at Morton Castle and have never gotten over the death of my brother. The fact that I have sons has eased their grief somewhat.”

Gart gazed into her lovely eyes, the same color and shape as her brother’s had been. He realized he missed his best friend very much, someone he’d not thought of in almost eight years. It was a sobering realization.

“Erik was a great knight,” he said somberly. “He is missed.”

Emberley smiled in agreement, in sympathy, knowing that her brother and Gabriel Forbes had been best friends since childhood. In fact, she had practically grown up knowing Forbes, a man known as Gart because he didn’t like to be called Gabriel. To see him now brought her a great deal of emotional comfort in a life that knew little.

He was an enormous man, very tall, with a muscular body and long, muscular legs. He had sculpted cheekbones and a square jaw, and murky green eyes that were mysterious and intense. His hair, a dark shade of dark blond, had been practically shaved from his scalp but it did not detract from his virile, male handsomeness. The man was powerfully and painfully handsome.

Truth be told, Emberley had always been fond of Gart. As a young girl, she would dream of marrying him. But those days were long gone, as were her dreams. As she thought on the faded days of her childhood, she glanced at her boys and realized they were covered in white powder. Her brow furrowed.

“Why are my children dusty white?” she pointed at them.

Gart tore his eyes off her to look at the boys. “These are your children?”

She nodded. “Romney is my eldest,” she smiled at the boy with pride. “He is an intelligent lad, sweet and loving. Orin is my middle son and Brendt is the youngest. Boys, why are you covered in white powder?”

She addressed her sons, who had a complete change of demeanor since her arrival and were now innocent little angels.

“We were playing, Mama,” Orin insisted. “We were ghosts.”

Emberley’s delicate eyebrows lifted. “Ghosts? Why on earth are you ghosts?”

Romney took charge of the conversation before Orin blew their cover. “Because,” he said simply, hoping that would be enough to satisfy his mother. “Mama, can we eat in the hall tonight? I want to see all of the knights!”

Emberley shook her head. “Nay,” she told him. “You must eat in your chamber. Your father has business to attend to and does not want you underfoot.” She looked at Gart. “Am I to understand that you have met my sons already?”

Gart wasn’t sure how to answer. He looked at the boys, who all gazed back at him quite innocently. He didn’t believe it for a moment. In fact, he was resisting the urge to scowl at them with disbelief.

“Aye,” he said slowly, reluctantly. “I have just arrived and the boys were… that is to say, they were….”

“Mama,” Romney latched on to his mother’s arm. “We were going to show Sir Gart to the hall. May we do that, Mama? May we, please?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Emberley smiled at her eldest. “That is quite gracious of you.”

Gart eyed the boys suspiciously as the youngest one reached out and took his big hand. “We will show you, Sir Gart,” he said politely. “Come with us.”

Gart didn’t want to pull away from the child because he didn’t want to offend Emberley. He stood there dumbly as the boy took his hand and Emberley smiled happily.

“’Tis so good to see you again, Gart,” she said sincerely, her dark blue gaze drifting over his handsome features. “It has been a very long time. Much has happened since you and I last saw one another. I would like to know what you have been doing in the twelve years since I last saw you.”

Gart could only nod. Realizing she was the baron’s wife dampened his enthusiasm at their re-acquaintance and he was coming to think that he had been very, very stupid as a young man not to have realized her potential. True, she’d always been a lovely girl, but had he known she would have grown into such an exquisite creature, he might have vied for her hand. But that thought was tempered by the fact that she had apparently raised three hooligans who had her completely fooled. The woman was raising a pack of wild animals.

Emberley smiled at him and beckoned him to follow her back up the stairs. He did so willingly, gladly, but the moment she turned her back on the boys and headed up the stairs, the youngest one yanked his hand from Gart’s fist and began smacking him on the leg.

Romney, too, waited until his mother’s back was turned before shaking a fist at Gart, making horrible and threatening faces at him. Orin still had a stick and he whacked Gart on the back with it. Gart grabbed the stick and tossed it away but when Emberley turned around at the sounds coming from behind her, the four of them froze and smiled innocently at her. Emberley grinned and continued up the stairs.

The attack against Gart resumed and continued all the way into the great hall above.