Baron's Right

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An Excerpt From: BARON´S RIGHT

Copyright © ERYN BLACKWELL, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One

The night was ripe with violence, heavy and thick in the air. Acelwyn knew it was coming. The entire village knew the Wolf was coming, the Saxon lord. The new baron would arrive at any moment, and the old baron-a Dane, barricaded behind his walls-would not last. Battles were a constant way of life here on this barren shore of the North Sea. If it was not the Danes fighting the Saxons, it was the raiding Vikings.

The old baron would undoubtedly die-he had after all pledged his loyalty to the new King Alfred, and then had tried to plot and overthrow the new king. His lands had been stripped from him, and upon hearing that news, he´d killed the king´s men and was now barricaded behind his walls.

Not that she cared. The old baron was a wicked, evil man, who preyed on the young village women. He´d sold his own niece to Valmor, the merchant, who in turn made a hefty price off the girl´s virginity to some Viking.

Poor woman.

Acelwyn shivered and pulled her mantle tighter around her, warding off the chill that blew in from the sea. Here in the village of Dakar, it always seemed cold, especially this time of year when the fickle goddess of weather would send sheets of ice and snow, or rain and hail, depending upon her mood.

From this position, she could see across the cove, to the land, at least a day´s ride by the cliffs, on the other side of the giant horseshoe shape. Boats were faster. The quay at the bottom of the cliffs already teemed with more activity than normal. Ships from the new baron lay anchored at the docks. Which one was his she knew not, as all appeared the same. Five in all. Men scurried about, some local, some new in unfamiliar tunics and armor. On the wind she could vaguely hear the sounds of bustle, of the horses being unloaded, of the carts being filled, of armor clanging. From here she could easily see that the army unloading was not meeting any resistance and they wouldn´t until they reached the fortress-and perhaps not even then.

There was no land bridge on this side connecting them to the mainland, not like some of the other isles the soldiers spoke of. No, here there was just the sea. She could glimpse the shores of the mainland through the moonlight. She glanced up and knew before morning there would be a fog off the coast, slowly rolling in. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, the wet scent heavy on the air, different from the briny scent of sea. The fog rolled off the mainland and always carried with it the scent of dark rich soil. She often wondered what life would be like on the mainland, but preferred life here-here with those around her, whom she cared for, and for the few friends who didn´t shy away from her.

Most didn´t.

But some did. Some still thought her strange, thought of her as a witch even as those same ones often came to her and asked for her help, for her to heal them, or cure their ailments.

What would the new Baron to Draco´s Isle think? Would he be a good leader?

She´d heard the tales of his prowess in battle, his determination and ruthlessness. These things were not uncommon in ones who achieved power. Whether or not he might have compassion or mercy, let alone justice or honor would remain to be seen.

The goddess knew the old baron had none of those attributes. No, the old baron enjoyed his ruthlessness, his debauchery too much to be concerned with higher morals.

She heard a harness jingle, the sound of a horse´s hoof as it moved along the path behind her, just at the edge of the trees.

Should she turn?

Or stay as she was?

The wind gusted and billowed her cloak around her, pulling the long strands of her hair across her face.

He thought he´d imagined her. That lone figure, long red hair flying wildly, as he´d watched the unloading of the ships from a place just below this one, hidden by a rise and several trees. As he´d turned to head down to the docks, something, some feeling, had prickled the back of his neck. He had looked at the rise of land above him and seen her, the woman on the cliffs with the long dark hair.

Lust tugged and hardened his cock so that riding was actually uncomfortable. He frowned and shifted.

Who was she and what was her purpose here? If she were with someone, had a man, did he not wonder where she was at this late hour? Did he not keep a tight rein on her?

Perhaps she was a widow. Or a lone woman...

He smiled.

Whoever she was, she was his. If she belonged to this land, she now belonged to him.

She moved, glanced back over her shoulder toward him in that moment and the moonlight glinted off her pale complexion. He had no idea the color of her eyes, or if freckles danced on her fair skin. From here, her profile, almost hidden by a hooded cloak she had pulled around her was perfect, a straight nose, a long face. She was a tall woman from what he could see.

"Do you always stare at women?" she asked, her voice soft, husky on the night breeze.

He narrowed his gaze at her and dismounted, his horse prancing to the side as if he too was not sure of who or even what she was.

He shushed his steed and patted his neck. "We´ll see if she´s of merit," he whispered.

He thought he heard her snort, but couldn´t be certain.

She still did not face him, but continued to look out over the bay where his boats were moored.

He stopped beside her, not three feet from her. He glanced over the edge, surprised to find it such a steep cliff. It had not appeared so from below.

"You shouldn´t be up here alone," he said.

She pushed her hood back and met his gaze, one pale brow raised. "Some would say you should not be here at all."

Ah. He tilted his head, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, not from defense, but habit.

Another breeze blew from the sea, briny, twirling around them so that her scent-floral and spices-enticed him. He took another deep breath, pulling the fragrance deeper into his lungs.

"What do you think?"

She continued to stare at the activity below. Finally, she answered. "I think men are men. They crave power and control and curse anyone who gets in their way. They take what they will, never worrying about destruction they may leave behind."

Such vehemence.

"Opinionated, aren´t you? Do you find broad definitions fit all situations?"

She chuckled and it was as dark, as elusive as her scent in the moonlight.