Duty: a novel of Rhynan
Brielle Solarius struggles to keep her village from starvation. The men rode off to war and never returned. The remaining women and children face a dire winter if they do not find a solution soon.
Tomas Dyrease, the newly made Earl of Irvaine and the village of Wisenvale, owes his good fortune to his king. When that same king demands Tomas marry the impoverished daughter of the late Lord Wisten, he obeys. However, no one warned him that she wasn’t a typical noblewoman.
Can they learn to trust each other before circumstances pull them apart?
Tomas Dyrease, the newly made Earl of Irvaine and the village of Wisenvale, owes his good fortune to his king. When that same king demands Tomas marry the impoverished daughter of the late Lord Wisten, he obeys. However, no one warned him that she wasn’t a typical noblewoman.
Can they learn to trust each other before circumstances pull them apart?
Available in e-book
(Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and Smashwords)
and print (paperback, large-print paperback, and hard cover).
(Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and Smashwords)
and print (paperback, large-print paperback, and hard cover).
Chapter One
"The red one is mine," he said.
I didn’t raise my head although instinct urged me to. Father had called me Red. He said I was born screaming, skin deep red like the beets in the garden and hair fiery like the setting sun. The man who spoke was not my father.
I glanced at him from beneath my cloak’s hood. Arrogant in his size and superior mass, his eyes picked me out of the writhing mass of captives. Early morning sunlight glinted off plain armor and an unadorned helm, yet the unwashed barbarians treated him with the respect due a commander.
The crowd of women around me parted for the soldier fulfilling his order. Mothers moved back with babes in their arms, toddlers clinging to their skirts. Their fingers clutched older children’s hands or shoulders. A living mass, their voices silenced by the army surrounding them. Their faces spoke eloquently of their fear.
The soldier, smelling of sweat and sour wine, grabbed my left arm and dragged me out from among them. I didn’t want to bring harm to the women around me. The soldier would injure many before subduing me. I allowed him to pull me toward the commander with only minimal resistance.
Once free of the captives, however, I yanked from the man’s grip in an attempt to run. Three pairs of rough hands caught hold of my arms before I managed more than a few steps. The stench of their unclean bodies turned my stomach. I gagged as I fought them. They dragged me through the dust and dumped me at his feet.
I struggled up only to be brought down again. Pressure behind my knees forced me to kneel.
I lifted my face to glare at the commander.
“Remove her hood.”
Someone pulled my cloak half off my shoulders in his enthusiasm. Red curls fell free in a wild mass about my shoulders.
Silently I cursed the color. If only I had been blessed with plain brown or even blond tresses, I could have hidden in plain sight.
“My Lady Brielle Solarius, I presume.”
He had the audacity to meet my glare. His eyes were only glimmers beneath the beaten metal and leather of his helmet. He made no bow or any show of the honor due me. I was a noblewoman. I didn’t claim the right of deference often, but still the fact remained.
“Might I know your name, barbarian?”
His reaction did not change his posture. I could not read his emotions.
“Lord Irvaine is no barbarian.”
The soldier at my left, a young man barely my senior, shoved me between the shoulders. I resisted, pressing back against his hand despite the burning in my thighs from the effort. Finally I shrugged him off.
Anger filled me, blinding my reason. Caution, a weak flicker of light in the night of anger, wavered and almost went out. The darkness like a living thing, growing ever stronger, pressed me more closely every second I lingered, waiting to hear my fate. I could not lose control. My people were counting on me. Their families were under my watch.
“By what right am I treated like this? I am a noble of Rhynan, born of an ancient house and loyal to King Trentham.”
“Trentham is dead.” Lord Irvaine lifted a gauntleted hand and pointed off to the south. “He fell in battle a fortnight past. Mendal of Ranterland is now king.”
Panic clutched my chest. Old stories of the unrest that followed a coup flooded my mind. Allegiances sifting with the wind and the death toll rising despite the end of hostilities as the unloyal were killed off and the loyal rewarded.
“My cousin, Orwin?”
“Sworn allegiance to my liege, but his sincerity is suspect. You are King Mendal’s guarantee from Orwin that he will remain faithful.”
I laughed, a bitter sound despite my efforts to quell it.
“I am a worthless pawn for that purpose. Orwin cares not for my safety. My peril will not hinder his plans a hair’s breadth.”
“Your peril is not my goal. I seek your submission.”
Before I could seek clarification, another helmeted soldier approached. This one moved like a man with a purpose. The sudden silence and tension of the men around me clearly marked his importance.
“All are accounted for, my lord, thirty-five women of marriageable age, twenty-five dwellings with potential to last the winter.”
“The lord’s hall?”
“Usable also, given time for cleaning and repair.”
Lord Irvaine nodded. “Take the quartermaster and assign wives. See to it that the men show respect and offer the women the option to purchase refusal. Give care to look up the fate of their previous mates before presenting them to the officiate for vow recording. Warn the men that I will suffer no abuse. If such is discovered, the offender shall lose his share of spoils and suffer further punishment based on the crime.”
The soldier bowed and retreated.
“By what right do you do this?” I demanded. “We are citizens of Rhynan, not cattle to be divided and claimed. These are free women not slaves.”
Lord Irvaine’s displeasure at my words was evident in his stiffened stance. I savored my small victory.
“They, you, and this land are tribute to King Mendal from your cousin, part of his measures to convince the king of his shift in allegiance.”
“You take pleasure in raping women and possessing land not your own? You are no better than the robber barons over the border. They take what they wish without compensating us. You defile the title of noble, my lord!” I spat the title into the torn earth at his feet.
Answering anger tensed his left arm as his fingers curled into a fist. I lifted my chin and awaited the blow that would reveal his true nature. Instead, he pulled his helmet from his head. Dark, sweat-matted hair plastered his head and dirt streaked down his hollowed cheeks from dark circles around his eyes. He dropped his helm to the ground at my knees. It rolled to rest against my thigh. He stepped forward and leaned down so close I smelled his sweat. I noted the lack of sour wine on his breath.
“Look in my face, Lady Solarius, and see the truth. I take no joy from this task. But I am a loyal soldier. I do as my master bids.”
His dark, haunted eyes bore into mine. Something deep inside my chest stirred. However, anger still possessed my tongue.
“I see only a monster intent on unleashing his pleasure-seeking men on a village of unarmed women and children.”
He flinched, a barely perceptible movement in his features.
“Enough.” Rising to his feet with more grace than I expected, he strode away. “Antano!” A burly man, helmetless and carrying more visible weapons than the other men in the group, answered the call.
“My lord?”
“See that she observes the operation, but doesn’t interfere. Then escort her to my quarters by nightfall.”
“Aye, my lord.” Antano approached respectfully. “This way, my lady.”
I watched Lord Irvaine stride away among his men. As I rose from the dust, I picked up the helmet. It was heavy, but well made. The leather felt worn and supple. What kind of man hid behind its surface?
I offered it to my escort.
“Nay, bring it with you, lady.” Antano loomed over me. “You can return it to him tonight. For now, we must go. He wishes for you to see how your women are treated.”
He crossed the now empty village center toward the lord’s hall, due east. I followed him, dreading the hours to come. Despite the fleeting inclination to leave it behind, I carried Lord Irvaine’s helmet with me.
"The red one is mine," he said.
I didn’t raise my head although instinct urged me to. Father had called me Red. He said I was born screaming, skin deep red like the beets in the garden and hair fiery like the setting sun. The man who spoke was not my father.
I glanced at him from beneath my cloak’s hood. Arrogant in his size and superior mass, his eyes picked me out of the writhing mass of captives. Early morning sunlight glinted off plain armor and an unadorned helm, yet the unwashed barbarians treated him with the respect due a commander.
The crowd of women around me parted for the soldier fulfilling his order. Mothers moved back with babes in their arms, toddlers clinging to their skirts. Their fingers clutched older children’s hands or shoulders. A living mass, their voices silenced by the army surrounding them. Their faces spoke eloquently of their fear.
The soldier, smelling of sweat and sour wine, grabbed my left arm and dragged me out from among them. I didn’t want to bring harm to the women around me. The soldier would injure many before subduing me. I allowed him to pull me toward the commander with only minimal resistance.
Once free of the captives, however, I yanked from the man’s grip in an attempt to run. Three pairs of rough hands caught hold of my arms before I managed more than a few steps. The stench of their unclean bodies turned my stomach. I gagged as I fought them. They dragged me through the dust and dumped me at his feet.
I struggled up only to be brought down again. Pressure behind my knees forced me to kneel.
I lifted my face to glare at the commander.
“Remove her hood.”
Someone pulled my cloak half off my shoulders in his enthusiasm. Red curls fell free in a wild mass about my shoulders.
Silently I cursed the color. If only I had been blessed with plain brown or even blond tresses, I could have hidden in plain sight.
“My Lady Brielle Solarius, I presume.”
He had the audacity to meet my glare. His eyes were only glimmers beneath the beaten metal and leather of his helmet. He made no bow or any show of the honor due me. I was a noblewoman. I didn’t claim the right of deference often, but still the fact remained.
“Might I know your name, barbarian?”
His reaction did not change his posture. I could not read his emotions.
“Lord Irvaine is no barbarian.”
The soldier at my left, a young man barely my senior, shoved me between the shoulders. I resisted, pressing back against his hand despite the burning in my thighs from the effort. Finally I shrugged him off.
Anger filled me, blinding my reason. Caution, a weak flicker of light in the night of anger, wavered and almost went out. The darkness like a living thing, growing ever stronger, pressed me more closely every second I lingered, waiting to hear my fate. I could not lose control. My people were counting on me. Their families were under my watch.
“By what right am I treated like this? I am a noble of Rhynan, born of an ancient house and loyal to King Trentham.”
“Trentham is dead.” Lord Irvaine lifted a gauntleted hand and pointed off to the south. “He fell in battle a fortnight past. Mendal of Ranterland is now king.”
Panic clutched my chest. Old stories of the unrest that followed a coup flooded my mind. Allegiances sifting with the wind and the death toll rising despite the end of hostilities as the unloyal were killed off and the loyal rewarded.
“My cousin, Orwin?”
“Sworn allegiance to my liege, but his sincerity is suspect. You are King Mendal’s guarantee from Orwin that he will remain faithful.”
I laughed, a bitter sound despite my efforts to quell it.
“I am a worthless pawn for that purpose. Orwin cares not for my safety. My peril will not hinder his plans a hair’s breadth.”
“Your peril is not my goal. I seek your submission.”
Before I could seek clarification, another helmeted soldier approached. This one moved like a man with a purpose. The sudden silence and tension of the men around me clearly marked his importance.
“All are accounted for, my lord, thirty-five women of marriageable age, twenty-five dwellings with potential to last the winter.”
“The lord’s hall?”
“Usable also, given time for cleaning and repair.”
Lord Irvaine nodded. “Take the quartermaster and assign wives. See to it that the men show respect and offer the women the option to purchase refusal. Give care to look up the fate of their previous mates before presenting them to the officiate for vow recording. Warn the men that I will suffer no abuse. If such is discovered, the offender shall lose his share of spoils and suffer further punishment based on the crime.”
The soldier bowed and retreated.
“By what right do you do this?” I demanded. “We are citizens of Rhynan, not cattle to be divided and claimed. These are free women not slaves.”
Lord Irvaine’s displeasure at my words was evident in his stiffened stance. I savored my small victory.
“They, you, and this land are tribute to King Mendal from your cousin, part of his measures to convince the king of his shift in allegiance.”
“You take pleasure in raping women and possessing land not your own? You are no better than the robber barons over the border. They take what they wish without compensating us. You defile the title of noble, my lord!” I spat the title into the torn earth at his feet.
Answering anger tensed his left arm as his fingers curled into a fist. I lifted my chin and awaited the blow that would reveal his true nature. Instead, he pulled his helmet from his head. Dark, sweat-matted hair plastered his head and dirt streaked down his hollowed cheeks from dark circles around his eyes. He dropped his helm to the ground at my knees. It rolled to rest against my thigh. He stepped forward and leaned down so close I smelled his sweat. I noted the lack of sour wine on his breath.
“Look in my face, Lady Solarius, and see the truth. I take no joy from this task. But I am a loyal soldier. I do as my master bids.”
His dark, haunted eyes bore into mine. Something deep inside my chest stirred. However, anger still possessed my tongue.
“I see only a monster intent on unleashing his pleasure-seeking men on a village of unarmed women and children.”
He flinched, a barely perceptible movement in his features.
“Enough.” Rising to his feet with more grace than I expected, he strode away. “Antano!” A burly man, helmetless and carrying more visible weapons than the other men in the group, answered the call.
“My lord?”
“See that she observes the operation, but doesn’t interfere. Then escort her to my quarters by nightfall.”
“Aye, my lord.” Antano approached respectfully. “This way, my lady.”
I watched Lord Irvaine stride away among his men. As I rose from the dust, I picked up the helmet. It was heavy, but well made. The leather felt worn and supple. What kind of man hid behind its surface?
I offered it to my escort.
“Nay, bring it with you, lady.” Antano loomed over me. “You can return it to him tonight. For now, we must go. He wishes for you to see how your women are treated.”
He crossed the now empty village center toward the lord’s hall, due east. I followed him, dreading the hours to come. Despite the fleeting inclination to leave it behind, I carried Lord Irvaine’s helmet with me.
Available in e-book
(Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and Smashwords)
and print (paperback, large-print paperback, and hard cover).
(Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and Smashwords)
and print (paperback, large-print paperback, and hard cover).