The Champion by Heather Grothaus

Author:Heather Grothaus
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Historical, Scotland, Paranormal, Romance, Historical Fiction, Highland, Love Stories
ISBN: 9780821780077
Publisher: Zebra
Published: 2007-01-01T14:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 16

Nicholas could not suppress the sense of relief that enveloped him as he and Tristan led the men over the hilly terrain toward Obny. Behind him lay Hartmoore and his beautiful—if a bit unusual—new bride; around him, as far as his eyes could see, stretched a prosperous barony. By the time he returned to his home, all would be set to rights with Handaar, Armand would be naught but a distasteful memory, and Minerva would have likely arrived. Perhaps with the old healer’s help, Simone could begin to make peace with her past as well.

Yea, this day signified a fresh start. He would show his underlords that he had ultimate control of his lands—they had naught to fear. Nick very much looked forward to reestablishing his connection with Handaar. He’d sorely missed the old warrior’s council and had to restrain the boyish excitement that tumbled in his stomach as they drew nearer to Obny. He had much news to share, and much to ask of Obny’s recent attack.

Beneath him, Majesty tossed his head and nickered softly, eliciting a chuckle from Nicholas. “Yea, boy—nearly there, now, are we not?”

Randall’s shout drew Nick’s attention from his mount. “Sire!” he cried, pointing to the rolling horizon.

The black tower of smoke boiling over the hills froze Nick’s blood. He reined Majesty to an abrupt halt, prompting his men to draw near. Together they watched in horrified silence as the smoky pillar thickened and billowed.

’Twas Tristan who broke the shocked stillness. “Perhaps they are burning fields.”

Nicholas shook his head, the movement little more than a twitch. “Nay.” He watched the dark, angry cloud, and dread descended on him as cold and heavy as wet peat. Tristan had never been to Obny—he could not know that they were but halfway to the hold. The smoke from burning fallow patches of land would have dissipated from sight at this distance.

“’Tis a building that burns,” Nicholas said, his voice jagged and catching in his throat. “A large building.”

He knew he need not further clarify his meaning. The other men were all well familiar with the border town and would know that the only dwelling of a size to produce such a large indication of disaster was the keep itself.

Obny was under attack.

Randall shifted in his saddle, his unease representative of all the men in the party. “Do we send a rider to Hartmoore for reinforcements?”

Nick heard his first man’s query but felt oddly mesmerized by the sight of the endless smoke. He was already too late to save Obny and he knew it. The burning of the keep would be the last action of any attackers.

The memory of each rumor doubting Nick’s competence as baron flashed through his mind, accusing him.

“What say you, Nick?” Tristan prompted.

Nick swallowed the hard lump in his throat. “There’s not time. We’ll need every man we have.”

He wheeled Majesty to face the men. “Circle wide and approach from the north. If any of the bastards remain, they’ll expect approach from the south or east.

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