Beginnings - Undeniable Heart (Legend of the King's Guard book 4)

Undeniable Heart

Our stories continue in the finale of the series … UNDENIABLE HEART

Brodin Grant is sent to serve the imminent King Robert after he’s embroiled in a downtrodden affair, one he wishes he’d never favored. Now mistrusting of women, he’s must aid the bonny lass who searches for the King’s Guard.

Dallis Buchanan never envisaged her sojourn to England would bring her and her deaf grandmother such turmoil. In the hands of one of England’s most daunting warlords, she is sent to bring the renowned King’s Guard to their knees or to his dungeon. For her compliance, she’ll gain the freedom of her grandmother and safe passage back to her clan. But there’s one wee problem with this mission, and that is the undeniable feelings she has for the blue-eyed Highland guardsman.

As Scotland’s wars intensify to win their freedom, Brodin loses his heart to the winsome beauty. Battles ensue, bringing about Brodin’s alliance with the Buchanans. Unfortunately, it also brings him the misfortune of having to accept Dallis as his own. Their undeniable hearts cannot withstand the love that has joined them forevermore. Will they resist the inevitable?

Prologue excerpt Undeniable Heart (Legend of the King's Guard series book 4) copyright @ 2019 Kara Griffin

Village of Drumnadrochit, Scotland

August 1303

In one fell swoop, Brodin Grant released the tartan around his waist. Once disrobed, he dove into the pristine waters of the loch. He swam out a good distance and dunked his head. Beneath the tranquil water, he floated, allowing himself to revel in the quiet and serenity of the abyss. The water soothed his aching muscles and gave a respite to his restless soul.

At the behest of his uncle, Brodin took command of their clan’s soldiers. Though he was younger than most he trained, he gained the respect of his men-at-arms, older brothers, and uncles. They were still trying to gain the freedom of their chieftain, Randall, his father, who was taken prisoner in the lord’s year 1296, along with many other clans’ leaders. Scotland’s loyalty changed after the battle at Dunbar, given King Edward’s wrath at their rejection of supporting his armies in France. The division caused upheaval between clans and nobles alike.

With the ongoing turmoil between Scotland and England, Brodin suspected fighting would become intense and prolonged. Not only was he talented with the skill of his sword, but he also had the benefit of being the son of the laird. Their followers deemed him more valuable than his two elder brothers who were more political than at their skill of taking to arms. Most Highlanders preferred to fight with their sword arms instead of wasting time in political discussion.

Brodin came up and drew a breath before sinking again in refreshing waters. Thoughts of Alexia came and he grinned, sputtering the water as he surfaced. Being the third son, his father was least concerned with the woman he took for wife. His eye no longer wandered and he reasoned Alexia would make him a good wife. She was as fair to behold and as dark as he. For her hair flowed with black lustrous strands as black as the devils. He wondered if his children would have his light blue eyes or their mother’s dark brown. Regardless, their children would be strikingly handsome and resilient.

It was time to settle down and bear heirs, especially if he were to go to war. If his life ended, his legacy would live on in his children. With his new position within the clan, he needed to put the reveries of youth behind him and focus on his future.

Brodin dove again, exercising his arms and legs as he progressed through the water. He stood and walked farther out, the water reaching above his chest. The murky bottom soft beneath his feet squishy, and he scooped handfuls of water to wet his neck and hair. The day grew hot with summer breezes at their warmest. He’d called an early end to the day’s sparring and decided to cool off before he sought his love’s father. Gaining her father’s permission didn’t concern him for he had enough wealth to secure the bride price. When the night was over, he’d win the heart of his beloved and his future settled with her acceptance of his proposal.

An arrow flew past his head, whizzing with speed until it hit the water. Brodin hastily sunk to his shoulders, providing his head as the only target. Another arrow came and another. He realized there was only one archer as the arrows came too slow to be more than one person taking aim. At least his foe had terrible aim for he missed him three times.

The next arrow came, but he couldn’t move fast enough to avert it and the sleek tip pierced the flesh of his shoulder. Brodin sunk deeper in the water and grimaced and pulled it free. His blood seeped and tainted the water.

It hurt like a son-of-a … but thankfully the point only grazed his shoulder. Someone was trying to kill him. Unfortunately, the foliage prevented him from spotting the assailant.

The safety of the bank and trees weren’t too far away. With a deep breath, he filled himself with air and swam along the shoreline until he was enough distance away from his foe. He hoped his attacker deemed he’d been struck true and no more arrows would come.

When he came up, he reached the low-lying branches of a tree, the only one close enough to give him cover. After taking a few deep breaths, he jumped out of the water and skulked toward where the arrows originated. He’d assessed the area and knew where the knave sat. Brodin made good ground and neared the spot where he’d suspected his adversary lay in wait. Standing inland, he surveyed the trees and land around him. His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the woods and he roved his view through the mass of tree branches above until he glimpsed a light colored tunic.

Nearer to his enemy, Brodin picked up a good-sized rock wishing it were his sword. But he’d left his garments and weapons upon the bank. He held the heavy stone firmly in hand, advancing closer to his foe.

The man held an arrow positioned in his bow, aimed at the water, waiting for him to resurface. He stood upon a branch, high in a tree a short distance from the bank. With his gaze fixed, he didn’t hear Brodin approach.

Brodin took aim, swung and released the rock. It swished the air and the force knocked the man off the branch. His foe fell and landed on his back with his eyes closed.

He hastened to where he’d left his garments and quickly donned them. Once he’d collected his possessions, Brodin sheathed his sword and pulled a six-inch blade from its holder. His dagger gripped tight, he returned to the man and moved him with his foot. The man groaned.

“Come now, I didn’t cause ye a grave injury. Roust and defend yourself.” Brodin moved him again with his foot, but the man moaned and raised his hands to his head. He opened his eyes and drew a startled breath.

“Who are you? And why were you trying to kill me?” Brodin kept his dagger at the ready, but before he’d do in his foe, he wanted answers. He didn’t recognize the man and couldn’t fathom why he’d want him dead.

“I didn’t … I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“The hell ye weren’t.” Brodin grabbed the man’s tunic and yanked him to his feet. He held his blade true, aimed at the man’s chest. “I’ll only be asking ye one more time … Why were you trying to kill me?”

The man stuttered in answer, “I, I, w-was waged to do so.”

“Who wants me dead?” Brodin gripped him, causing him to sway on his feet. “Who paid you to kill me? I want a name. Speak it now or I’ll end you.”

The foe’s eyes widened when he shoved him back and the man sprawled on the ground. Brodin quickly stashed his dagger in the loop of his belt and yanked his sword free. He aimed the thick blade at the coxcomb’s heart, pushing it against his tunic. With his sword doing the asking, he was certain to get answers.

“I will find out regardless of your cooperation. Best bespeak your patron’s name.” He pressed the sword further, pinching the fabric of his tunic at his chest.

The man’s panic came in gasps. “Ye promise not to kill me?”

In times like these, it was best to speak falsely. “Aye, you’ll live.” … for a breath or two after I learn my enemy’s name.

“Your mistress, Mistress Sweeten, Alexia Sweeten. She offered me six coins and a night of pleasure … I’m to collect both when I return to her, once I’ve dispatched … Please … I—”

Before the man could draw another breath, Brodin thrust his sword. His enemy would not be able to go forth and tell what happened this day nor could he complete his task and gain the coin or pleasure he sought.

Brodin wiped the blood from his sword on the man’s garments and sheathed it in its scabbard. His life was worth a wee bit more than six coins or her damned pleasure. Alexia. She would pay a man to kill him? He could think of no reason she would want him dead. They’d been lovers for many months and she’d never given indication she was displeased with their arrangement. How had he ever considered her worthy enough to marry or to bear his children? Was he blinded by her beauty? She wasn’t who he thought her to be.

The walk to the village took little time with his hastened steps. He’d find her and she would answer for her betrayal. Outside her cottage, he heard her derisive laughter. The vixen thought he was dead. Was she jovial at that or was there another reason she was filled with merriment? His blood boiled with rage.

Brodin kicked the door open and stood in the center of the threshold. There was the woman he’d thought to love–in the arms of another. Words weren’t needed, for he wouldn’t bring himself to humility or to ask why she abhorred him enough to have him killed. His dejection and humiliation needed to be cast aside for now. He removed his sword and held it, knowing his heart had turned to stone. Any love he’d had for her died like the wilting heather when cold swathed the land.

His mistress gasped at his sudden appearance. “Brodin, what …”

He ran at her, and she and her lover vacated the bed. The man ran screaming from the cottage, retreating to safety. Alexia fled across the chamber. Brodin’s ire rose and anger provoked him, so much so his nose drew in a harsh breath.

He advanced, walking with slow deliberate steps toward her.

“Will ye not give me a moment to explain?” her voice a breathy whisper.

“There is no need for explanations, love. Is there not? You wanted me dead, och I’m more resilient than ye deemed.”

Across the chamber, as far from him as she could be, she cowered as he drew closer.

“You wanted me gone? Now I shall rid myself of you.” He whacked the wooden bedframe, splintering pieces of the wood.

She cried out. “Please, I shouldn’t have sent—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuse or apology, lass. I want you to breathe your last.”

“Can you not forgive me? Let me explain?” She wrapped the bed cover around her and ran farther into the cottage. “I had to … send Thomas, for my father found out about us and he swore to have ye arrested. He was to question you and threatened to send me away … to a cloister.”

“It matters not. I would’ve handled your father, lass. There was no cause to send an assassin after me. You wanted me dead and for that—” Brodin kept his advance slow. He reasoned all the ways he should kill her. The closer he got though, the more the reasons thwarted him. He’d lived his life with honor and would never kill a woman regardless of her transgression. As he contemplated whether he should go through with the act, she slunk next to the wall and wept.

Voices came but Brodin wouldn’t move. He’d been wronged. His heart and head taunted him to take retribution. Yet he stilled his hand and held back.

Someone grabbed him from behind and held his arms. His sword dropped and clanked the stone of the floor. Ten men entered the small cottage, taking up the space of the floor betwixt him and his former love.

Alexia’s father stood behind him. “What say ye, Brodin, what goes here?”

“Thank God ye came. He tried to kill me, Da. I know not why. He’s maddened.” Alexia ran to her father and wept. Her false tears would fill a bucket. “He is ireful that I wouldn’t do unspeakable acts with him. I’m gladdened you came when you did, Da.”

Her father comforted her and glared at him. “You would harm my daughter?”

Brodin never knew Alexia to be sensational, but she’d enabled tears to flow. Her sobs reaped looks of despair amongst the men inside the cottage. He wanted to applaud her performance, for the woman was talented at her deceit.

“I tried to kill her?” He was astounded and aghast at her accusation.

Sheriff Norval Sweeten glared his affront at his daughter. “I should’ve sent ye to the cloister, aye the nunnery is the only place I can keep you from your sinful deeds. You shall leave at the soonest.” He handed Alexia off to his comrade. “See to my lass. I will deal with the Grant.”

“You will pay for this Brodin. I swear I will find a way to repay you. Aye, you’ll look over your shoulder for the rest of your days. Please, Da, listen … I don’t wish to go to the nunnery. I won’t cause further strife—”

“We will discuss the matter later. I cannot look upon you for you have sinned your last.” The sheriff turned his back to her and scowled at him.

Alexia was taken away shrieking her objections, and Brodin gave her a look of disdain as she was forced from the cottage. The woman was intent to kill him. It wasn’t his fault her father thought her sinful. The lass had consorted with him and who knows who else. Brodin scoffed at his foolishness. He stood before the sheriff unable to voice the words to protest his innocence.

The stout man fingered his graying beard. “As the sheriff of this village, I must make sentence for your crime, lad.”

“I committed no crime. She sent someone to kill me. You heard her threaten me. I returned to question her and we were discussing the whys.” He pulled free from the man who held him.

“Be that as ye say, you cannot go around intimidating young lassies with your sword. I shall send ye off to attend the Bruce. Aye, you shall go and not return for at least five years. During that time ye shall forget Alexia and the happenings of this day. I cannot have ye spreading vile remarks of my daughter and have my position imperiled. Nay, you must go.”

Brodin scowled, for it would take longer than five years for him to forget or forgive the treachery of her doings.

“I shall let your clan ken of your sentence. It is because of your father’s good standing that I don’t give ye a harsher punishment. My men will escort ye to the Bruce’s holding this day.” Sheriff Sweeten nodded to his men. “Aye, for we cannot have ye making threats on young lasses, especially when you compromised them in the first place. I ken about your liaison with my daughter, with others’. You shall not soil our daughters again.”

“I soiled no one. I was going to ask for her hand …”

“Await me outside,” he said to his men. He approached Brodin and spoke low, “We both grasp my daughter is a dishonorable woman. I ken you’re not at fault here, but I cannot have the villagers thinking me merciful. I must uphold my authority at all costs, even at the price of your freedom for only a short few years. I aid ye more than you know and sending you away will ensure none will speak of this matter …” He shoved him toward the doorway.

When Brodin retreated outside, two guards took him into custody and dragged from the cottage. He wanted to dispute the claims, but the sheriff waved him off and strolled away. Brodin swore upon all that was holy, Alexia Sweeten would regret this day and her decision to end his life.

Don't miss Undeniable Heart (Legend of the King's Guard series book 4)
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MP9PPLS

Undeniable Heart is the fourth book in Legend of the king's Guard. A good historical set in the time of Robert the Bruce.Kara Griffin's writing draws you in like you are right there with the characters. I enjoyed it so much that I have gone on to read the first three in the series as well. A must for anyone who likes Scottish historical.

Beginnings - Fearless Heart (Legend of the King's Guard book 3)

Fearless Heart

Our story continues in FEARLESS HEART …

Heath Fraser is sent in service to the passionate imminent king, Robert the Bruce. His past transgression against his clan cannot be undone, but he aims to prove his fealty. Not only does he hope his clan forgives his lack of valor, but he doesn’t take death lightly. In order to keep account of those he’s killed, he keeps a tally ensuring his entrance into Heaven when his days end.

Lillia Hunter has been infatuated with Heath since she was wee. When he was sent away, she despaired she’d never see him again. Now she’s in dire trouble because her father arranged a betrothal to a man who lives afar from her home. That wouldn’t bother Lillia except the reasoning behind it. She’s to be used as a pawn to unseat the king.

Old feelings return when Lillia runs into Heath. She cannot help but be ensnared by his handsomeness or chivalry. Only Heath and the legendary King’s Guard can keep her from the hands of her enemy. She must maintain a FEARLESS HEART, one that will hopefully lead to a love she always dreamed of.

Prologue copyright Fearless Heart (Legend of the King's Guard book 3) copyright @ 2019 Kara Griffin

Neidpath Castle

Fortification of Clan Fraser

July, 1303

He would not give his life. Judgment would be passed, but Heath Fraser wouldn’t balk at his punishment for he’d committed a transgression so great his father would probably never forgive him. His father, Simon, the laird of their clan, swore fealty to King Edward. For his oath he had promised to give aid to the ruthless English king in his pursuits in Aquitaine.

Heath was not of like mind and did everything he could to sway his father from journeying to a war that bore little to their existence. Yet they went to retake the lands the English king lost. During the fray, Heath was captured along with his comrades and subjected to torture. After his escape, he tried to seek a way to aid his seized clansmen, but his recapture most definite and all he could do was flee with his life.

His cowardice was now called into question, and he reasoned what he’d done wasn’t due to fearfulness. He would’ve gone into the stronghold with his sword raised high if there was any possibility of saving his brethren. Standing before his father and the clan elders, Heath explained his situation, but it didn’t seem to be accepted.

“You say you tried to rescue your clansmen and your own brother. If you did where are they? I see them not.”

He took a breath before reiterating his position, “I searched for someone to help me, but the Flemish well patrolled the area and there were too many to thwart. I was unable to get close to the fortification to rescue them. I didn’t want to leave them behind. Think you I wanted to leave without Roderick, my brother? I escaped with my life.” Heath despaired leaving his brother to his fate. The thought of his elder brother being imprisoned in the French dungeons sickened him. God only knew what perils his brother experienced.

His father raised his bushy eyebrows, aghast at his words. “Your life? You’re standing before us whole and sound. You should have fought to the death to save our clansmen. Do you realize what you did, lad?”

He nodded, but wouldn’t speak the treasonous words.

“Did you even kill one man during the battle?”

Unfortunately he had, and Heath disheartened at that because he detested killing a man for purposes which affected none. “I did what I had to do.”

“Aye? And so do I, and so does your clan. You cannot go unpunished for leaving your comrades to their imprisonment, Heath, and I’m sorry to say—”

His Uncle Andrew approached and his face bore an unending scowl. The similarities between a boar and his uncle were uncanny for his face wrinkled akin to a boar’s snout. “Mayhap he planned to have his own brother captured. Aye, so he might rule the clan after you’re gone, Simon. You should banish him. Aye, send the coward away. We shouldn’t have to look upon the treasonous swine.” He spat upon the ground, adding insolence to his view.

Heath lowered his head. He never expected such a harsh punishment. If that’s what they wanted, then he would have no choice but to abscond and never to set foot upon his ancestral land again. Being the second son should’ve put him in a position to follow his heart. His position was strictly a religious pursuit. Now that his elder brother was lost to them, he wasn’t certain what his role would be. He didn’t want to become laird, never aspired to such rule. The likelihood he’d be sent away disheartened him further.

When his father remained quiet, Heath discerned the rushed murmurs of his clansmen taking sides. If half the clan sided with him, his penalty might not be so detrimental. All was not lost. He waited for the sentence and would abide by whatever punishment they decided upon if even he disagreed. Heath wasn’t a coward and if there was a way to prove it, let it be with his acceptance of the chastisement.

His father held up his hand and quieted the clan. “Heath, you are my son. I shan’t banish you, but must make you understand that you cannot leave our men behind in battle especially when you are only intent on saving your own arse. I bid your brother to take charge of our soldiers during the jaunt. Even so, you were expected to set an example and lead with him, not cower and flee. I will send you to do service with the Bruce. Aye, for Robert is looking for men to attend him whilst he vies for recognition of the sovereignty. With him, you shall learn what it means to protect and defend. I bid you to discover what loyalty means, lad.”

Heath bowed his head in acceptance. “I will attend mass before I leave.”

His father shook his head. “If you wish to attend mass, you will do so on your journey, for you won’t spend another minute on this land. I will call you home when your service is over, but I doubt that will be for many a year. Och you’re young and will grow to be a strong willful Fraser. I shall keep communication with the Bruce and when he gives you leave, we will accept your return.”

His uncle stood beside his father, arms set across his chest, asserting his view. “Be it for five years at least, Simon. I deem that’ll be a good amount of time for the lad to learn his way.”

Heath tensed. Much could happen in such a vast amount of time, and what with the scuffles with the English by the borders and Scotland’s turmoil now with the English king, there was little he could do to aid his clan. With the unending riffs with their enemy the MacKintoshs, their clan had many conflicts to face.

He lowered his head and walked away, for there was nothing left to say. Heath strolled to the great keep and collected his belongings. Absolution for his sins during the battles would not be granted this day, but he hoped to gain such during his travel to the Bruce.

There was a way for him to account for his sins. Killing a man went against everything he believed in, and yet he’d had no choice. War did that to a man, forced him to go against his beliefs and enact heinous debaucheries. As he walked along to the garrison, he thought about how many men’s lives he’d taken. Since he’d taken to arms he had killed but a score of men, the rest he’d inflicted with non-life-threatening injuries.

He reached his bunk and grabbed the sack he kept his belongings in. With haste, he tossed in his garments and smaller weapons. He noticed a rolled ball of wool that unraveled from his tartan and used his dagger to make twenty strings from it. As he left the garrison, Lillia, a lass within his clan strolled toward him.

Heath knelt and fumbled with the tassel of strings. He gazed at Lillia as she took it from him and tied it to his boot. The strings would stay tied to him to remind him of his desired restitution.

“My thanks, Lillia.”

The winsome lass set a hand on his shoulder. “You’re leaving? I shall never see you again?”

“Probably not, lass, but I―”

She kissed him. Her lips pressed his in a soft, but desirous way. Heath hadn’t expected her kiss or reasoned she held desirous feelings for him. He pressed a hand on her face and enjoyed the passion before he pulled away. As long as he’d known her, he hadn’t been aware she desired him. They’d known each other since their swaddle-years and he’d always teased her. Now she teased him with her tempting lips and bonny body. He wished he’d known of her interest before, and with his departure, he couldn’t do a thing about it.

“Don’t forget me, Heath.” She’d clasped his hand and released him as she walked away.

Heath sighed at the regrets that settled within him at leaving his clan. With a tug to the tassel, he made certain they were fastened tightly to his boot. The strings would be a constant reminder of his need to make penance for his sins. He wouldn’t remove a string unless he saved someone from certain death. If it was the last thing he’d do, Heath would keep track of these transgressions and make them right before he met his own end. In service to the Bruce, his end would probably come sooner than anticipated.

Don't miss Fearless Heart (Legend of the King's Guard series book 3)
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075QYB8QF

This book is a edge of your eat book. I recommend to everyone. Heath and Lillia are perfect together. Friar Hemm is amazing. The Guardsmen intoned together. Its a sad, tearful, astounding, amazing book.

Beginnings - Conquered Heart (Legend of the King's Guard book 1)

Conquered Heart

The Legend of the King’s Guard begins with CONQUERED HEART

In protecting the King of Scotland, Graeme Cameron will do whatever it takes to ensure Robert the Bruce’s safety. He and his comrades become the victim of circumstance and are now exiled. As they hide, they realize others are worse off than they and hire themselves out as mercenaries.

Kerrigan Campbell is desperate to find her laird and protector’s son. Then she hears of the legendary king’s guard and seeks them out. She runs across their leader in the midst of a battle, but he’s not what she expects. When she and Graeme find an abandoned bairn, he bids her to help him locate its mother and in return he’ll recapture her laird’s son.

Graeme has many a challenge before him–how to keep himself and his friends from being executed for doing their duty, aiding the sweet lass in recovering her charge, finding the bairn’s mother, helping their king defeat England’s army, and gaining a pardon for their involvement in the king’s misdoings. There’s one challenge that thwarts him though, and that’s Kerrigan. She’s conquered his heart and more…

Prologue excerpt Conquered Heart copyright @ 2019 Kara Griffin

Clan Cameron encampment

Lochaber, Scotland

February 1304

Killing a man and watching him die wasn’t always easy. But this man deserved to meet his end by the thrust of his sword. Graeme, son of the local chieftain and successor to the clan, knew he had to avenge his wife. Nothing deterred him from the sacred duty. Not his father’s aversion of Sorcha or the clan’s acceptance of Ranall MacGilley.

Ranall lay on the ground and looked up at him, his expression bereft of guilt or remorse. Only the blood trickled from his mouth proved he’d struck him through his torso. He didn’t show a reaction to being put through. The grievous wound would end the miscreant’s life. It was just as well since he’d be going to a dark place where the devil would consume the rest of his soul.

Harsh whispers arose behind him, but he ignored his clan’s affront. Time ceased, and no one moved. Whatever happened, even if he was put to death for what they considered an atrocity, he would face it with honor.

Waiting for a man to die was even more difficult because Graeme wanted to yank his sword free and thrust it again and mayhap again. Ranall betrayed him and took his wife in a dastardly way. No man should touch a woman with anger or vengeance. His foe often taunted him with threats to Sorcha, but Graeme never thought he’d act on those vows. Theirs was a long drawn-out battle of wills and his enemy more boastful than not.

Ranall hated the fact he was in line to succeed their father. There was only one thing wrong with his credence. Ranall was a bastard and even though the clan valued him, they never would have accepted his succession. Albeit he’d gained the clan’s acceptance, his father wasn’t swayed by MacGilley’s influence. He neither coveted him as a son, nor belittled him as a bastard. Graeme was uncertain how his father felt about the man. His da wasn’t an easy man to figure out, for he wasn’t one to let his emotions or family ties motivate his responsibilities as laird.

The elders concerned Graeme more since they were the last word when it came to clan matters. He detested his laird wouldn’t stand up to the council or make decisions based on his instincts. He allowed others to rule their clan. Even so, he held no hatred for him. Regardless of how his father ruled, he was still his elder, and laird.

Graeme wanted Ranall MacGilley to realize his anger when he drew his last breath. His adversary would do well to know his wrath. A vision of his lovely wife standing before Ranall with a dagger pressed to her throat tensed his resolve. He shouldn’t allow the man a peaceful passing before death. Graeme closed his eyes against the image of the blade slicing Sorcha’s neck and blood flowing from the gullet of her delicate skin, turning her garments crimson.

“Come away, Graeme,” his cousin, Anselan said, taking his arm and pulled him.

He shook his head, but kept his eyes on the rabble at his feet. “Nay, I want to witness his last breath…to know he’s dead.”

“Your father stands yonder awaiting you. You should go to him and explain.”

“He will take MacGilley’s side. It matters not. I’ve done what’s right.”

“Aye, mayhap you should’ve gained your father’s permission before you sought retribution. The council is not pleased. The wergild will be high, aye mayhap even banishment.”

Regardless of the wergild, he would’ve done it. The price for killing a man was well worth the retribution. Graeme wanted to shout his denial at such irreverence. Heedless of their displeasure, he wouldn’t wait for justice and sought his own. It was his wife MacGilley attacked, his wife the man murdered before all the clan. Did they expect him to stand aside and allow such barbarism? A man was nothing if he allowed his honor to be squelched. Honor demanded he take vengeance for his wife no matter what she’d done or was said to have done.

He reached down to grab his sword, certain one more thrust would do MacGilley in, but the rattle in his breath ceased. His body stilled. It was an almost joyful moment. Their clan’s war cry came to mind. He wanted with all his heart to shout the words so every person heard and knew how much he loathed the man. But feeding one’s flesh to the hounds wouldn’t be proper at such a moment.

Laird Cameron motioned to a man who hurried forth and covered his foe’s body with a cloak. Graeme was disappointed, for he wanted his clan to view the body of the man who killed innocents and thought he was free from the rules and laws of the clan.

“The elders are angry you took matters in your own hands.”

He firmed his mouth, knowing he would say something to offend him. For they should be damned if they thought he would allow the miscreant to breathe another breath after this day. It was best he not respond.

“My son, Graeme, come away. We will discuss this in my tent where we can be alone.”

“There is nothing to speak. You saw what he did. How he cut down a young woman before all. What could she have done to cause his ire?”

No one responded to his question. Graeme cast his gaze through the onlookers and saw his mother standing aside, her hand covered her mouth in obvious shock. There was nothing to say to appease what he’d done.

“What say you, Da, where was Sorcha’s justice? You’d allow MacGilley to go unpunished? That I bow my head to him, the filthy swine? I took justice, aye, for my wife, for myself, for our clan.”

“You have no right to decide what that justice be. Are you laird?” His father spoke low, soft enough so only he caught the words.

He stood defiantly rigid. “Nay, not yet.”

Graeme wanted to shout that once he was laird, such injustices wouldn’t be tolerated. He wanted them to know he wouldn’t be a pushover like his laird.

“Aye and you might never be with that attitude. Come away, son, let’s discuss this. Your wife cuckolded you. What Ranall did was wrong, aye, but she caused her own anguish. You risk your neck for a mere woman? Are you not shamed?”

Graeme caught the blather being spread amongst the clan, but he didn’t believe the lies spoken of Sorcha. Was he a fool? Should he have avenged her? It mattered not.

“She was my wife and regardless of what she did, she didn’t deserve to be killed by him, murdered before all. If she needed punishment, it should’ve been my responsibility. I was her husband.” He spat on the ground and made certain all saw. His insolence implied and duly noted by the council.

“She was sinful and unfaithful, son. You didn’t deserve such a woman, one who took up with another. You should be glad Ranall rid ye of her.”

“I should’ve embraced him? Shook his hand and gave gratitude? He deserved my blade and nothing more. Ranall forced her to accept him and would’ve stopped at nothing to have her and he did it to inflict my ire.” Graeme’s stomach churned at the thought his enemy deceived his clan into believing him trustworthy. MacGilley was far from that.

He couldn’t accept his father’s words. At one time he’d loved his wife and intended to make a good marriage. Where that went wrong, he wasn’t sure. Mayhap he’d gone off to war too often, or sought entertainment with his comrades more often than he should have. Most wives accepted such traits of their husbands, and Sorcha was no different. She’d voiced no complaint.

“The elders will want to hold you accountable for slaying one of our clan. You will not go unpunished for this, Graeme.”

“Let them do their will then for I’ve no regrets.”

His father motioned to two of his comrades who stepped forward and took his arms. Graeme pulled free.

“I will not balk. Lead the way.” Acceptance of his fate would hopefully sway the elder’s decision, and even if it didn’t, he’d walk with pride to his death.

He followed the men to the pit where they kept captured enemies. Without hesitation, he jumped into the pit and peered upward at his friends. Their faces long at his situation.

Graeme stood in the center of the pit awaiting word of what was to become of him. The elders would debate for hours, probably days. Eventually their decision would be his execution. They undoubtedly argued whether to behead or hang him. Neither death appealed.

Through the long night and the two days that followed, he heard little from his clan. Someone tossed a piece of bread at him towards morning on the second day. No one stopped by to see if he was well or to give their opinion of the matter or to relate the happenings.

As dawn lighted the hole on the third day, voices drew closer to the pit. A rope tossed down, and he took hold. When he reached the top, he saw the entire clan gathered.

Fergus, the eldest of the elders, stepped forward. “Graeme, we respect you. We respect your father, the laird. But when a man takes in his hands his own justice without the approval of the council, he must also pay the charge.”

He kept his gaze firm on Fergus as he continued his nonsensical reiteration of their rules. His end would come from the man’s lips eventually. Old Fergus dragged on with words. Many of his clansmen said the man was passionate. Graeme considered him daft and perhaps too prideful of his role within the elder council. He definitely wielded his power over the other elders and his father.

The elders’ role within the clan often caused contention between him and his da. Old ways were still revered by most of his clan, but what with the turmoil in the south, they needed to change their ways if they succeeded at supporting the new king.

“Many of us,” he said, and motioned to the rest of the elders, “wanted you to hang or banish you. Och your father suggested an amiable punishment. You are his only son and we cannot allow you to die—”

Laird Cameron stepped forward and cut off the elder clansman. “We follow Moray and Wallace in our fight against the English. We will send you to Robert Bruce, for he has our support in taking the crown of Scotland. You’ll stay with him for five years and do service to protect him.”

Graeme rubbed the whiskers on his chin, and disbelieved the sentence. Before he might retort, his father pulled his arm.

“Come away before they change their minds. You will leave this day and shan’t be permitted on our land until your service is ended. I will send the writ to the Bruce letting him know, and you will honor our clan. When your service is finished, you’ll return and one day become laird.”

Anselan handed him a sack with his meager belongings.

Graeme flapped his hand. “I’ll have my sword.”

Anselan grinned. “Aye? Are you sure you want to take it with you? I always wanted it.”

“Hand it over.” Graeme would never leave the weapon behind. He needed it for his protection, and he cherished the sword. It belonged to his grandda who took it to the crusades. Its history long and triumphant if given what his grandda told him was true. No finer sword could be had, and he was honored when given it. His grandda had but one request that he use it on foes whose blood deserved the blade. MacGilley’s blood was worthy, so he worried not about the sword’s misuse.

He followed the men toward awaiting horses. Anselan and his brother, Ewan, mounted their steeds and waited for him.

Graeme looked into his da’s eyes. “Five years is a long time.”

His father pressed a coin into his palm. “To keep you safe.” The coin had been in their family for years and many tales told of its history.

He held fast to it. His father gave his unspoken approval and that meant much to Graeme. There were words he wanted to say, but he held silent.

“You beheld your grandda in better regard than me. He was a great laird, as you will be. Just don’t get yourself killed, son. I want your vow, and I want to see you back here.”

“That I cannot promise, Da. You know how we Camerons like to fight.”

“Aye, aye. Be well, my son. Until we meet here or in heaven.” His father turned and walked away. He’d never witnessed such sentiment from his da.

Graeme took to his saddle and sat taller than he ever had. A sense of pride came for what he’d done. Avenging his wife and ridding his clan of the swine who plagued them. He rode next to his cousins and didn’t look back. His only thought to do his service and do it well. One day he’d return to his beloved clan.

Don't miss Conquered Heart (Legend of the King's Guard series book 1)
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01JUXNSKQ

WOW! What a great start to a series, this book is fast paced action, but then what did I expect, Kara Griffin writes strong minded and compassionate characters and embroiled them into adventure and romance.

Beginnings - In Love With A Warrior (Gunn Guardsman book 4)

In Love With A Warrior

Besotted by the Princess

James Gunn knew his heart would forever be hers when she bested him in combat. Never had he met a formidable foe such as Emlyn. Maybe it was the way her body felt above his when she pinned him and he had no choice to submit to her.

A love coveted but forbidden

Princess Emlyn would allow no man to conquer her on the field, especially the arrogant, handsome Highlander. She wouldn’t fall at his feet and worship him. He was Godlike in his appearance, strong, gallant, and a protector―all the things in a man she thought she despised. It was the sensual nights spent in his arms that swayed her desire.

All it took was one kiss

Neither could deny their attraction. When Emlyn is betrothed to her clan’s enemy to save her people from being besieged, she demands James’ aid. The only way to escape her ill-fated destiny and have the man of her dreams is to wage war and triumph. Not so easy a feat for a warrior such as Emlyn.

Chapter One excerpt In Love With A Warrior copyright @ 2019 Kara Griffin

It didn’t take long for James to get back to his routine on his return home from the border region. He awoke earlier than usual and set off to find embers before he’d take to the fields. When he finished dressing, he tucked the bound parchment pages into a protective pouch and put it inside his tunic for safekeeping. He headed to the keep’s kitchen to collect items he needed for his task. Outside, James heard the boisterous voice of the keep’s cook shout orders. Gell was an onerous man and only spoke softly to their laird’s lady, Bree. That didn’t stop James from entering the kitchens because the man’s bellows were mostly bluster.

“Young James, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you this early in the morn.” Gell stood beside a massive pot and held a large spoon in his burly hand. His whitened hair stuck out in various places and gave him a comical look.

James stood by the main worktable. “Gell, good day. Do you have the—?”

“It’s been a long time since you came in here, but aye, I’ve saved the sticks for you. Over there, in the cup on the shelf.” Gell returned his attention to his pot and dismissed him.

James reached for the cup and found five burnt sticks. They would do well for his purpose. He’d discovered burnt cinders and sticks could be used to draw on parchment. He liked to make images of wounds he tended. Only a handful of people knew his skill at medicinals and his secret ability. The more people who sought him, the busier he’d be.

“My thanks, Gell. These will do well.” He added the sticks to the pouch and grabbed a large apple and a hunk of cheese before he headed to the training fields.

He hastened his steps and reached the sloping hillside. Below, on the vast field, Gunn soldiers assembled for the day’s exercise. For the next two hours, he used his sword and tested his arm against the younger soldiers. His comrade, Duff, shouted at the unseasoned soldiers. Duff was the most formidable of their clan and oversaw the training. His impatience grew to ire, and he all but stomped from the field and called a rest.

James chuckled under his breath, for his laird should find someone else to train the younger lads. They would do better under the tutelage of someone who had patience. During their rest period, James sat beneath the large oak at the top of the training field. He pulled out his parchment and a stick and attempted to finish the sketch he’d begun the day before.

Gordy, who was recently promoted to commander-in-arms, and in charge of the gate watch sat nearby. James was proud of the young soldier for he’d matured and reached an age where he’d be of use to their clan. The lad demonstrated himself repeatedly and rewarded with a prosperous position.

“What are you drawing, James?” He leaned close and got a glimpse before James hid it. “Let me see it. Och, that’s gruesome.”

James looked at his sketch and nodded. “Aye, but it’s accurate.” The image was of a battle wound a soldier incurred the day before during training. His leg was split by the sharp edge of a claymore. The inside of his skin and muscle was visible. Such things interested him and he’d made sketches of them since he was a lad. Sometimes the images aided him when he was called upon to mend one of his comrades. He used the burnt stick to shade the sketch and finished it.

Duff returned and called their rest to an end. James was about to take to the field when his friend stopped him. “Grey wants to see you at the keep.”

“What does he want?” He sheathed his sword and swiped back his hair, for the day grew warm.

Duff scowled and muttered a blasphemy. “Cosh, what do I look like, your personal messenger? He didn’t say.”

James shoved him and hastened off before he retaliated. Along the path to the keep, James wondered what his laird wanted. They had yet to discuss when they would leave on the mission for the king. They’d received Alexander’s missive on Saint Swithin’s day, a few weeks before. He’d directed them to go to Wales of all places. James reached the keep within minutes and entered. He noticed the mien on his laird’s face when he got closer. Grey only wore the expression when something bothered him. It was an aspect none of the guardsmen wanted to see.

“Laird, Duff said you wanted to see me?”

“Aye, I did. We have a visitor.”

James stopped at the buttery and dunked a cup in the ale barrel before he approached and stood next to his longtime friend and laird. He waited for him to elaborate, but Grey didn’t seem to want to impart who the visitor was.

“Is it the king?” He appreciated his friend’s dislike for the king because their relationship was tedious. In the last years, Alexander caused discord.

“Nay, it’s your father. He wants you to come home.”

James could’ve been knocked on his arse. Joseph Gunn was a treasonous banshee. He wouldn’t forgive such a transgression. James suppressed his rage, but couldn’t refrain from sounding outraged. “He wants me to what?”

“He wants you to return home.” Grey leaned against the chair in the great hall and appeared as cross at the news as James was.

James couldn’t believe his father had the gall to show himself. The man tried to kill his own brother to overtake the clan. The clansmen carried the severity and remembrance of it in their hearts. Fortunately, James wasn’t held accountable for his father’s action. He’d been too young to remember the sordid details. Still, having one’s father be vindictive caused bitterness inside him.

The man’s nerve surpassed his transgression, for James would never agree to return to his land. Even if he hadn’t betrayed his clan, James wouldn’t consider abiding by his request.

“I expected this,” Grey said, “My father told me his brother vowed to come for you one day. We foresaw word from him. He waits outside.”

James smirked, for he never expected it. Throughout the years, he’d read the hastily worded missives demanding his return. But James never thought Joseph would come. Most of the elder Gunn clansmen hated his father. Joseph risked his life to step foot on Gunn land.

“He dares to come here after what he did? Laird, I refuse to see him. Send him away.”

“I cannot. If you don’t see him, he’ll never leave. Your father is an obstinate man. He’ll damn well camp on my doorstep until we face him. He’s here,” Grey said and set his hand on his shoulder. “Speak with him now and get the reunion over with. Do you want me to stay?”

He nodded but wasn’t appeased. James waited at the end of the table and hastily glanced at him when he entered the room. Joseph walked with unreserved steps toward him as if his welcome would be joyous. It was far from that, and James kept his expression staid.

“Well, look at you, son. You’ve done a fine job at getting him ready, Laird Gunn. He looks to be strong enough to handle the tasks to farm my land.” His father’s words seemed prideful, and yet, James didn’t appreciate his boast.

He remained silent. Farming. Hell, not as he lived and breathed. James hadn’t trained for nearly twenty years at warfare and protection to tend livestock and fields. He envisioned standing amid a hill full of fat sheep and stepping in horse cosh… What a boring, dreadful existence.

James took in the view of the man he hadn’t seen since he was the age of six. Not once had his father inquired of his health or welfare. Joseph gave him to his uncle to train and raise, but he’d been given no choice. Their laird, Mikal, Grey’s father, demanded his word he’d never try to overtake the clan again. Along with his vow, he had to forfeit his son for his treachery.

As far as James was concerned, that was the end of his relations with his parents. His father stood tall as Laird Mikal had. He bore the same traits, light hair, lanky body-build, and blue eyes—from their Viking ancestors. His age showed in his drawn face and gray-streaked hair. James looked nothing like him with his dark hair and eyes. He stood taller than his father, which gave James a wee bit of mettle.

“James is not pleased with your request, Joseph.” Grey motioned for him to be seated, but the man remained standing.

“You’re not, James? You knew I would come, and your destiny was to take over the farmstead and toil the land. My brother became laird and I became a farmer. So goes the fate of a second son. I bid your return as my first-born son so you may take over. It is our custom.”

The way the man spoke, commanded his acceptance, but James wasn’t in a mood to placate him. He was his only son, then again, perhaps his parents had other children. But he wouldn’t know such as he hadn’t stepped foot on his land.

“Customs be damned. You gave up your rights as my father the day you left me. I’m a Gunn guardsman and will remain so until the day I die. I took an oath to my laird and I won’t break it. Not for you, not for anyone.” James kept his voice insistent so he wouldn’t mistake his repute.

“What say you? You were brought here to toughen you up and to make you strong. You had no right to make an oath. The time since passed and your return is needed.” His father ran his hands through his thick mane of graying hair. “You’ll disobey your father?”

“The only persons I need to obey are my laird and my king. You speak false. You’re aware of why I was sent here and what purpose you were bid to bring me. I was given as barter to save your arse from the noose.”

His father stood a foot from him, his face reddened. He wasn’t sure if it was because due to embarrassment or ire. James readied for his strike, as angry as Joseph appeared. His nose flared and his eyebrows furrowed. James kept his hands at his side, knowing he wouldn’t retaliate should the man attack. If there was one thing James held above all else, it was honor. To raise a hand against one’s parent was a grievous sin. Regardless of the man’s actions, he was still his father. No matter how much he wanted to take retribution against his misdeeds, he resisted.

“I’m needed more by my laird. Our clan is called to war by our king, and I’ll not let my clansmen face the fracas without me. You’ve survived all these years without me. I won’t return to your farmstead.” James was about to dismiss him, but Grey blocked his withdrawal.

“Joseph, give James time to consider this. In time, he may be willing to give it a try. When we return from our mission, he can come for a stay, and you both can see how it goes.” Grey played devil’s advocate, and James raised a brow. For hell would meet heaven before he’d return to his father’s land and rule.

Joseph kicked the chair closest to him. “Your father, Grey, my own brother and laird, promised my son would be returned when I was ready. I’ve long since sent missives directing his return. Now you say nay?”

“My father never told me he gave permission for James to return. If you speak the truth—” Grey frowned fiercely when Joseph cut him off.

“I do. Why would I risk my own life if it was a falsehood? All the Gunns hate me. I probably had arrows pointed at my back on the way in here. I’ve accepted my kin abandoned me. But I will have the return of my son.” Joseph’s voice rose as his fury intensified.

Grey was about to retort when James held up his hand.

“I can speak for myself, Grey,” James said and took a step toward Joseph. “You dare speak of abandonment? You come here after years of negating me, sent me off when I was a lad to people I didn’t know… I didn’t trust you cared. And now, you demand I return? I made a life here, Joseph, one I’m pleased with. I won’t do as you bid. I’m certain you can find others to work your land.”

“You’re a stubborn man, James, and have obstinate Gunn blood running through you, as I have. I give you six months to return. If you don’t by then, you’ll never step foot on my land. You will forfeit your inheritance, for my lands are vast and my income great. There are others who would happily reap the benefit.”

“Your land is cursed with your foul deeds. They are welcome to it. Farewell, Joseph.” James trod from the hall and directly to the barracks. He grabbed his bow and would work-out to rid himself of the hostility of his father’s visit. He’d take to the quintains and use his arrows to calm. Focusing on targets would allow him to put the man’s audacious request from his mind.

He was about to exit the barracks when Grey and Duff entered. His laird blocked the doorway, as well as Duff’s large body. Their scowls lent to their rigid stance. Duff was the most intimidating of Grey’s guardsmen and one of James’ closest friends since they were lads. Though he respected them both, he wouldn’t have a qualm about taking his fist to them should they intervene in his quest to get to the fields. They gave no account for their demeanor, which bore as hostile as his.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” he said and hoped they’d move aside. But neither did.

“Aye, there is. I understand you don’t wish to be a farmer, James, but you should at least go and see your father, on his own land. Allow him to make amends.”

“I disagree,” Duff said. “He left James to his own and committed a heinous act against his clan. Why should James allow him to make amends and aid him now? After all these years.”

James nodded at Duff. “Exactly my thought, Duff. And can you honestly see me as a farmer? I wouldn’t last a day.”

Grey and Duff chuckled at his jest.

“Don’t let your duty to me ruin this opportunity, James. I vow you’re the most devoted of my guardsmen, but I wouldn’t want that to stop you from going after your own pursuits.”

“My pursuit is to get to the quintains and take target practice.”

Grey scowled. “That’s not what I mean.”

 James sighed. “I can’t forgive my father for what he did. There’s no honor in him.” He leaned against the wall and hoped the conversation would end. His hand tightened on his sword, and considered hacking at a few opponents on the training field might alleviate his aggression.

His laird grew solemn. “What your father did… My father and I spoke at length about it. They were both angry and encouraged by their father to best each other. Neither were at fault for what happened. My grandfather was a harsh man and pitted them against each other. He did it on purpose. Those were troubled times. My father died before he made amends with his brother.”

Duff folded his arms over his chest. “Every man has a say in his own actions, Laird. Your father was more than generous by gifting him those lands, lands the Gunns never reaped the benefit of. Joseph chose his path. Why should James be punished for it?”

James took a deep breath, for rehashing the past affected him. “Your father, Grey, spoke of it with me before he passed, too. I know what happened. Laird Mikal saved me from the stigma of being born from a traitor, and I’m grateful. It doesn’t matter now. My father did what he did, and my involvement ended with him the day he dropped me off on your father’s doorstep. Now let’s forget this nonsense. It bothers me not.”

“Nay? Seems to me it does bother you. But if you wish, I won’t bring it up again.”

“There’s a war to ready for. How long before we leave?” James wasn’t thrilled with news they received from their king, directing them to aid the Iorwerth clan. He didn’t trust the Welshmen, for they were as passionate about battle as the Scots. They were as battle-weary as well. Warring with the English was a beguiling task, for they were often wily in their war practices, and the Scots liked nothing better than going against their enemy. At least they had that in common with Wales.

“We will leave in a few days for Sean’s land. I’ll meet with the king and find out exactly what his message entails.” Grey moved aside, and Duff led the way from the barracks.

James recently returned from his comrade’s keep near the border of England and Scotland. He’d gone with Sean to the Hume clan, where his comrade was given a substantial inheritance of lairdship. James stayed on after troubles arose and Sean needed him to protect his family.

All settled, he returned to his daily routine and life. Only the normalcy was intruded upon by his father’s visit. Family matters were inconsequential to what they were about to face. James wanted to put it as far from his mind as he could, if only it was possible.

Don't miss In Love With A Warrior
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PUR1QLU

If you love loyal and honorable Scottish men, this one is for you! Great reading and was enthralled the whole time.