Page 1 of My Warrior
PROLOGUE
MARCH 1333
Holden de Ware stretched his long legs out toward the dying fire, stared up at the clear night sky salted with brilliant stars, and shook his head sadly. “We’ve lost him then?”
His half brother Garth nodded from his makeshift seat on a pine stump, gazing silently into his foamy cup of ale.
“Poor Duncan,” Holden continued. “It’s a wretched thing when a man falls to such a foe, to be cut down in his youth before he’s—“
“Oh, for the love of…” Sir Guy grumbled, spitting onto the coals so they crackled and hissed. “Your brother’s not dead. He’s only taken himself a wife, for God’s sake.” He continued muttering into his black beard and irritably took himself off to bed in one of the several pavilions of the encampment, leaving the two brothers alone.
“It’s easy for him to make little of it,” Holden confided to Garth. “He’s not a de Ware.” He picked up a long stick and poked distractedly at the embers. “A de Ware lives for the feel of a fine blade in his hand, a trusty steed between his legs, and the wind of adventure blowing through his hair.”
Garth had his own opinions about that, but said nothing, only sipping from his cup of ale.
“But a wife,” Holden said on a heavy sigh.
The brothers sat in silence while an owl hooted from the wood and one of Holden’s retinue coughed in his sleep.
“Youknow what I mean, don’t you?” Holden said, turning toward his younger brother with new respect. “The holy orders have it right. You’ve managed to avoid entanglements of the heart altogether, what with your priestly pursuits. You’ve stayed chaste and true, and look what you’ve achieved.”
Garth paused with his cup halfway to his lips and looked over at Holden as if questioning that himself.
Holden cuffed him companionably on the shoulder. “Come now, brother. You are indisputably the most learned lad in our father’s household. Do you honestly think you could have attained half as much if your heart were enslaved to a woman?”
Garth lowered his cup and dropped his gaze, staring into the glow of the fire, his eyes uncharacteristically moody tonight, much like their father’s. “Then why am I not content?”
Holden leaned forward in surprise. Garth was a man of few words. When he spoke, it was usually significant. “You’re not content?”
Garth frowned, gathering his thoughts. “Not as content as I think I should be.”
Holden stroked his chin, rough now with a day’s growth of beard. “How so?”
Garth set his cup on the ground and rested his elbows on his spread knees. “At Duncan’s wedding feast…” He clasped his hands before him as if to pray, a gesture that was habit with him now. “When his bride sat beside him, there was something in his eyes. A light. Warmth? Calmness? Joy? I’m not certain. But it transformed him. And I knew in that moment that no matter how many rousing sermons I delivered, no matter how many psalms I copied or how many souls I shrived, I would never feel that.”
Holden whistled out a weighty breath. He’d had no idea. Garth had always been so solemn, so busy with his studies, so reluctant to join his older brothers in their battle sport. It was almost as if none of the de Ware blood flowed through his veins, as if he were cut of different cloth than Duncan and him, who would sooner strut about without their breeches than without their swords. But now, what he was hearing…
Holden ran his fingers through his mussed hair and glanced at Garth from the corner of his eye, entertaining a daring possibility. He’d lost Duncan. But perhaps it wasn’t too late for his little half brother. Perhaps he could rescue Garth from his saintly doom and introduce him to the heady pleasures of life and freedom and an open road.
“Garth!” he said, clapping the lad on the knee and nearly startling him from his perch. “Travel with me.”
“What?”
“Join my retinue. Edward can use another sword arm, if yours hasn’t gone to rust.” He rubbed his hands together. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. “Travel on campaign with me. Taste life. See the countryside.” He laughed. “Tame wenches and slay dragons.”
“But my studies…”
“Pah! Do you think they’ll add a new book to the Bible while you’re away?”
Garth’s brow looked troubled, but there was a spark in his eyes now, a spark that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
“It’s your last chance, lad,” Holden coaxed.
Garth chewed his lip in indecision.
“If I don’t have your blood coursing and fire in your eye after this campaign,” Holden promised, “you can go back home to your books.” He stood and extended his right arm toward Garth. “What do you say, Garth? Aye or nay?”
After long consideration, Garth came to his feet and solemnly offered his hand. “Aye.”
