The Hunter's Affection (Bloodwite Book 3) Read online

  Falling for the Knight: A Time Travel Romance

  Bloodwite

  The Healer’s Curse: Bloodwite Origin Story

  The Vampire’s Temptation: Bloodwite Book 1

  The Immortal’s Salvation: Bloodwite Book 2

  The Hunter’s Affection: Bloodwite Book 3

  About the Author

  Cecelia Mecca can usually be found, chai in hand, thinking up ways to tame both paranormal and medieval bad boys. Although the former English teacher’s actual home is in Northeast Pennsylvania where she lives with her husband and two children, just an hour from Jim Thorpe, the inspiration town for Stone Haven, her online home can be found at CeceliaMecca.com. She’d love to hear from you.

  Stay in touch:

  [email protected]

  The Guardian’s Favor

  * * *

  Meet Lawerence Derrickson before he becomes a vampire in The Guardian’s Favor. Although this historical romance is the ninth book in the Border Series, it can be read as a standalone novel.

  * * *

  Theffield Castle, England, 1274

  Aidan shifted on his mount, adjusting the leather sheath of the dirk that never left his side. Graeme would have enjoyed this challenge. Frowning at the sight before him, he averted his gaze from the looming castle and concentrated instead on the steady pounding of hoofbeats behind him.

  As they rode closer, Aidan held up a fist. The men fell into line around him as Theffield Castle came fully into view. Once a motte and bailey castle, it had seen so many additions and renovations that the stronghold was now fully positioned to house an English earl. Unlike the man, Theffield was an impressive holding.

  “I’d hoped to never see this place again,” Aidan said to no one in particular.

  “And I can understand why,” Lawrence said beside him.

  Lawrence was one of Aidan’s closest friends. The son of a chief, he and his clan were more than simply neighbors to Clan Scott. His family, and clan, had been at war with Theffield’s neighbors for many years. Lawrence took any opportunity to travel south in hopes of meeting his enemies. In all other dealings, Clan Karyn sought peace, not war. But the Morley family was one glaring exception.

  He and Aidan looked remarkably similar, and had been mistaken for brothers before—a misconception it amused them to indulge. Both had brown hair, though Aidan’s was a touch darker, hazel eyes and a hulking build. But the resemblance they bore to each other was nothing compared to that between Aidan and Graeme. He and his brother could pass for twins.

  Lawrence looked up into the cloudless sky as a flock of rooks passed overhead. “It seems so long ago when you first met her—”

  “I would prefer not to discuss her.” He’d known the topic would arise eventually, and had little patience for it at the moment. “Thankfully, she will not be in residence,” he added, prodding his horse forward.

  Unbidden, a memory of Lady Clarissa assaulted him as they rode toward the outer gatehouse of the fortress in front of them. Unlike the young girl he’d described to Gillian, this memory was of a woman, one with the same oval-shaped face and long, straight brown hair. But rather than peeking out from behind her father, this Clarissa leaned over the high wooden stands surrounding the tourney field to offer him a favor. He could still see the creamy skin of the top of her breasts as she strained to tie the simple white ribbon around the tip of his lance.

  Another vision assaulted him, the same woman, the same dress. This time, she stood before a glistening Lake Litmere. When he thought of her, he always remembered the beauty of that lake, only outdone by the beauty of the woman. She looked at it, at everything, with such wonder in her eyes.

  It was as if she had never seen anything as glorious as that lake before.

  Because she hadn’t.

  With the exception of the infrequent visits she and her father had made to Sutworth Manor, Clarissa had been all but imprisoned within the walls of Theffield Castle. Even so, it had almost defied his belief that she’d never seen a lake before. How was such a thing possible for a woman born and bred in the borderlands? But there was no denying the sheer pleasure of her expression as she dipped her fingers into the frigid water.

  “Damn Douglas,” he murmured to himself.

  “For forcing you to meet with the father or for giving you a reason to remember the daughter?”

  They’d slowed their pace as they approached the castle, and apparently Lawrence had heard him.

  “Both.”

  He called up to the guard, then he and his men waited for the drawbridge to be lowered. Theffield’s moat had dried out long ago, but that did not prevent use of the ancient drawbridge. It came creaking down, and continued to creak as they made their way across it to the inner bailey.

  “You should have sent Graeme,” Lawrence said, not for the first time that day.

  Though Gillian’s babe was not nearly ready to make its entrance into the world, he would never have allowed his brother to travel without him. The chief was needed at home.

  “Alec would allow your father to ride alone?” he asked Lawrence.

  Lawrence’s older brother Alec was their father’s second, just as Aidan was Graeme’s second, and he would never consider such a thing. They both knew it.

  “Alec was never forced to treat with the man responsible for ruining his life.”

  As guards approached them, Aidan gave his friend a look he hoped would make him stop talking.

  “Alec has not spent two years brooding.”

  “I have not—”

  “Greetings, my lords.”

  Thankful for the interruption, Aidan allowed the reins to be taken from him by a stablehand. Setting aside his irritation, he prepared for the meeting, which promised to be unpleasant at best, deadly at worst.

  Theffield was their last hope to bring back the Day of Truce, and with it, peace. If he could not convince the earl to help them, and he doubted very much the man was inclined to do so, the recent skirmishes along the border might escalate to full-scale battles. A discomforting thought indeed.

  “My lord is expecting you,” another servant said as he led them through the courtyard. “Your men are welcome in the main keep.”

  He and Lawrence exchanged a glance. It was an odd statement to make, one that implied there had been some discussion about what to do with his men. And obviously a consideration to not allow them in. Though it was the kind of reception he’d expect from the earl, it did not bode well for their meeting.

  Theffield was no ordinary keep. Its door, nearly three times the size of most and constructed of old, heavy wood, took two men to open. One pulled the iron handle, and the other pushed from the inside. An elderly man, straining with his efforts, appeared as the door slowly swung open. Like each of the servants that greeted them, his face was dour. Theffield was much as he remembered it . . . without joy. Without light and certainly without love.

  Aidan hated it. Hated being here and hated the man who was now walking toward them. His only consolation was knowing the earl had no knowledge of his rendezvous with Clarissa at the Tournament of the North two years earlier. If she had told her father, Aidan would certainly have known about it long ago.

  “De Sowlis,” the man said, hardly concealing a sneer. “Derrickson.”

  Though the earl was accustomed to deference, they were no English lords and would not bow as it was not their custom. For a more deserving man, however, he and Lawrence would have done so out of respect. Instead, Aidan extended a hand, which Theffield, not surprisingly, refused to shake.

  “Take them to the hall,” he ordered of Aidan’s men. His rough, dismissive tone was exactly as Aidan remembered it. “You may follow me.”

  It was unclear whether the invitation had been offered solely to him or also to Lawrence. It did not matter. They would both be going.

  “I would bring you to the solar but do not expect this to take long.”

  Theffield spoke like a man who was accustomed to being in command. And to
having those commands followed, no matter how ruthless or ill-advised.

  The kind of man who would marry his only daughter to an old man simply to gain a tract of land. But Theffield was not alone in his approach. Men killed, and died, for patches of soil every day. Gillian and Allie could attest to such a fact. Their father had attempted to marry them off well in order to collect the funds to save their home.

  Escorting them to the solar, a room much smaller than Aidan would have expected in a castle this size, Theffield seated himself behind the large, flat-topped wooden desk. Its surface was empty but for a single candle in a plain iron holder, its tripod not quite even.

  The desk was like the room. Dark and foreboding. Unlike most solar chambers, which allowed for natural light, this one was bathed in shadow barely repelled by the four additional torches on each side of the walls.

  “You are here concerning Caxton.” It was not a question.

  Without being invited to do so, Aidan and Lawrence sat on the high-backed wooden chairs across from Theffield.

  “We are,” Aidan began. “You have been a neighbor . . .” His tongue stuck on the word friend. “. . . to our clan for many years.”

  Even in the dim light Aidan could see the earl’s eyes narrow. “Sutworth. That crumbling pile of stone,” he muttered.

  In fact, Sutworth was anything but. Its people were rather resilient in remaining self-sufficient and avoiding conflict, especially considering they had an absentee lord.

  “And surely cannot be pleased with the recent turn of events.”

  A lie, and they both knew it.

  If Theffield had wanted to intervene, he would have done so already. Allowing the terms of the treaty to crumble around him, the earl was as responsible as anyone for their current troubles. One word, and he could have Caxton removed from power. Only his English king could make the same claim.

  “If you refer to your clans’ boycott of the Day of Truce—”

  He said the word clans as if it were an epithet.

  “Because they know the proceedings are no longer fair or just,” Lawrence said.

  “Know? Or do they merely believe it so?”

  Theffield did not betray his emotions, and Aidan did his best to emulate the wily earl. Lawrence was not so composed. “Murderers being set free simply because they are well-positioned?” he said. “’Tis not justice.”

  Theffield looked at Lawrence, his brows rising. Aidan willed his friend to remain calm, for he knew what was coming.

  “It seems you are conveniently forgetting Clan Karyn’s bowyer.”

  Clan Karyn’s skilled bowyer, the same man who made every crossbow for Clan Scott, had been accused of murder at an inn just across the border. He’d fled back to Scotland, and since the clans had stopped attending the monthly Day of Truce, he had faced no consequences as of yet.

  “My father offered to try the man—”

  “In Scotland. On his terms.” Theffield’s dry, cold laugh sent chills up Aidan’s spine. “You truly believe the accused’s family would agree to such an arrangement?”

  “Enough,” Aidan said, risking Theffield’s ire.

  His friend believed the bowyer had been wrongly accused, but they had not come here to argue the man’s guilt or innocence. He could not allow the incident to become a distraction.

  “We are here to discuss Caxton.”

  Theffield slammed his hands on the table before him and leaned forward. “Give me one reason I should oust my own man, against the wishes of our king, to help you,” he spat.

  “Not to help me, or Clan Karyn. But to take our only remaining chance at peace. With Lord Caxton in power, the chiefs will not allow their clans to be subjected to one-sided justice. Without the Day of Truce, the reivers will once again be allowed free rein, and the hard-won peace of the last thirty years will have been for naught. Is that truly what you desire, my lord?”

  Aidan also sat forward, meeting the earl’s defiant position with his own.

  “Tell me, Theffield. Is that what you want?”

  He could not understand the man. He had as much at stake in this matter as any border lord, more with lands on both sides of the border, and yet he distanced himself from it.

  “Are you not Lord Caxton’s overlord?” he pressed.

  The insult was intended. But surprisingly, Theffield did not appear insulted. Instead, he sat back and crossed his arms.

  “What are Douglas’s terms?”

  The only question that mattered.

  “Force Caxton to step down. In return, Douglas will agree to move the Truce Day here.”

  Theffield, known for his cool, detached demeanor, failed to contain his surprise. The Day of Truce had been held across the border, in Scotland, since its inception. It had been part of the original bargain, and such a contested term that it had nearly torn apart the treaty before it was signed. In truth, only some of the clan chiefs had agreed to these new terms, but Theffield did not need to know as much.

  “Here? At Theffield?”

  Aidan forced himself not to show any surprise. The bastard was actually going to agree.

  A movement just outside the door caught the man’s attention before anything further was said. By the time Aidan turned to look, there was nothing there. Whatever, or whomever, it was, Theffield didn’t like it. He stood and waved Aidan and Lawrence from the room.

  “We are done here. I will send word of my decision.”

  It was the best they could have hoped for, and better than being tossed out before they could share their terms.

  “You will understand,” Theffield said as he led them from the chamber, “why I will not ask you to remain at the castle.”

  Aidan was sure he could not manage to eat in the presence of this man, so he would have it no other way.

  “We did not expect otherwise,” he said, the barb hitting its mark.

  With a scowl at them both, Theffield turned them over to the same man who’d escorted them into the hall.

  “Good day,” he said, clearly not meaning the words.

  “And to you, my lord,” Lawrence said, catching Aidan by surprise. His friend was rarely this gracious to someone so lacking in manners. Then again, it appeared they were on the cusp of an agreement. The smart thing to do would be to pacify Theffield.

  Saying his own farewell, Aidan was about to step back through the ridiculously large door leading outside when he saw a flash of bright yellow, unmistakable for its contrast to the darkness that otherwise consumed the hall. The person who’d distracted the earl in his solar.

  Ignoring the movement, and Theffield’s reaction to it, Aidan stepped outside and back into the sunlight. But he couldn’t help but wonder who lurked in the shadows of the hall? And why did the hair on his arms suddenly stand up straight, as if . . .

  Nay. It could not be.

  * * *

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  THE HUNTER’S AFFECTION Copyright © 2019 by Cecelia Mecca

  Cover Design by Kim Killion @ The Killion Group, Inc.

  Edited by Angela Polidoro

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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