Looking Back - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 12) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Seeing a Ghost - Chapter 1

  Medieval Dialogue

  About Medieval Life

  Glossary

  Parts of a Sword

  Medieval Clothing

  Women’s Clothing

  Dedication

  About the Author

  23 Free Ebooks

  Namaste Aloha Servus

  Looking Back

  A Medieval Romance

  The Sword of Glastonbury Series

  Book 12

  Lisa Shea

  Copyright © 2012 by Lisa Shea / Minerva Webworks LLC

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Lisa Shea

  Book design by Lisa Shea

  Visit my website at LisaShea.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Printing: March 2012

  - 9 -

  ISBN 978-0-9798377-7-7

  Kindle ASIN: B007L8G2YW

  Appreciate the good moments of your youth

  Praise your blessings of today

  Strive toward a better tomorrow

  Looking Back

  Contents

  Preface

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Seeing a Ghost - Chapter 1

  Medieval Dialogue

  About Medieval Life

  Glossary

  Parts of a Sword

  Medieval Clothing

  Women’s Clothing

  Dedication

  About the Author

  23 Free Ebooks

  Namaste Aloha Servus

  Preface

  Welcome to my Sword of Glastonbury series. I’m thrilled you’ve joined me in this adventure! These full-length novels share my adoration for all things medieval. I’ve belonged to the Society for Creative Anachronisms for many years and delved fully into my medieval personae. I’ve researched the language, clothing, education, and outlook of medieval women. I’ve practiced swordfighting for years, too. I’m joyful to be able to share the fruits of this research with you!

  Each of the novels in this series is fully standalone. While there is a sword passed from heroine to heroine to flow the stories together, each book can be read on its own and involves its own set of characters.

  If you’ve read the series in order you’ve probably read this preface before : ). If you’re just joining us, then hello!

  Did you know that many words like “wow” that we think of as modern are actually quite old? And that words like “hug” that we consider timeless are actually fairly recent? You can learn more about medieval language, clothing, and other related topics in my appendices in the back. Medieval people loved slang words, traded in goods from the far reaches of the Earth, and had some fairly “modern” views about what women could or could not do.

  Especially during these Crusades years, when countless men were off at war, large numbers of public offices were held by women. Many keeps were ruled by women. Women fought with blades to defend their homes and keeps; some even went on the road to fight in the Crusades. Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine was a powerhouse of strength and a model for all women of these years. During this time it was wholly expected that women should be respected in positions of power and were quite capable of actively defending their lands.

  It’s only later, when peace moved in, the Church solidified power, and courtly love traditions developed, that women were demoted to restrictively passive roles.

  It’s good to shake off some of the misconceptions created by everyone from Errol Flynn to Game of Thrones and examine what our real-life history has to offer.

  Looking Back is a clean romance entwined with harsh challenges and second chances, where the road to love is not smooth, similar to Edge of Tomorrow. Its heroine is recovering from a traumatic capture by pirates; the story tells of her healing process. There is no explicit intimacy. The few swears are period-appropriate such as “God’s Teeth” or “God’s Blood.” There is swordfighting but no explicit violence. As such, it is suitable for teens and up.

  If you ever have any questions or comments for me, I would love to chat! You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Google+, Pinterest, Wattpad, and most other social networks. Just check the ‘about the Author’ section or do a search for Lisa Shea in your system of choice.

  So sit back, relax, and enjoy a virtual vacation in the entrancing world of medieval England!

  All proceeds from this series benefit battered women’s shelters. Be the change you wish to see in the world.

  Prologue

  England, 1208

  “Learning is not child’s play –

  We cannot learn without pain.”

  — Aristotle

  Lucia gazed out at the faire’s dense throng, the thunderous applause rolling over her in waves, a hot flush coursing through her as she took in the admiring gazes of a weathered fisherman with muscular shoulders, a sun-browned farmer winking a twinkling eye, a slender potter flexing delicate fingers, a swarthy butcher flashing a sharp smile, even a bright-eyed tinker with a blush. They were all staring at her, all coming up to the edge of the wooden platform to cheer their praise for her singing. Each man wanted to be the one to offer a hand, to help her down the short step onto the lush grass of the town green. The spring sun glowed warmly across the swarm of people; a gentle breeze tickled the ribbons on the maypole into a fluttering, swirling spiral.

  A strong grasp latched securely on her arm, and she was pulled roughly from the maelstrom of adoring fans, dragged over to the shelter of the ancient oak on the eastern edge of the fairgrounds. A pair of stormy eyes looked down at her with jealous heat, and his voice ground out low and tense.

  “You should have waited
for me before you descended into that mob,” Roger growled, his dark brown eyes sweeping possessively down her delicate face to the long, spiraling curls of blonde hair which trailed down the back of her buttercup-yellow dress. “You could have easily been hurt.”

  Lucia’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “Always giving orders, never discussing.” The corner of her mouth quirked up as she soaked in the heat in his gaze. She leant back against the gnarled trunk, pulling Roger in against her, her eyes sultry. “Besides, I like being pressed in,” she murmured, bringing her hands up against his back.

  Roger let out a sharp breath, and then he was up against her, kissing her hard, and she brought her hands into his thick, dark hair, breathless with the power of his strong muscles, his sturdy build sandwiching her against the strength of the oak. The kiss enveloped her for long minutes before he reluctantly drew away, his eyes smoky with passion.

  “Maybe I should not let you sing again, if it causes such a sensation,” he muttered hoarsely, looking down into her green eyes with barely restrained desire.

  “You are not my husband yet,” she smiled up to him with a teasing lilt. “I have every right to do as I will. If I want to sing, if I want to go walking with another man -”

  His eyes flashed with sharp anger. “Do not push me,” he bit out. “If I were ever to find you in the arms of another man -”

  “You had best keep me content, then,” she whispered mischievously into his ear, withdrawing herself from his arms, turning to look out over the throngs of the faire, at the assortment of booths and minstrels and livestock. Her eyes lit up with delight as a trio of young blond boys came racing up to clamor at her side. She grinned with pleasure, drawing them in against her. Each child received a fond hug before she tousled the hair of the eldest, prodding him with a gentle shove.

  “The fun is over; my song is done. Back to the stall with you all,” she ordered with mock severity. “I am sure father needs you to lay out fish or help with packing for customers. We may have our best day yet, at this rate!” The three turned in a tumble, scampering off with exuberance in the direction of her family’s booth.

  She turned back to face Roger. “So, speaking of dueling for my hand,” she mused with a sparkle in her eye, “I will be turning sixteen in another month, you know. If you delay over long in making us official, I may just have to run off with a tinker.” She winked at him, the corner of her mouth turning up in a grin.

  Roger’s eyes narrowed. “Do not even joke about that,” he retorted with a snap. “You know we barely hear from my older sister, and she has been gone several months now.”

  Lucia spun in a circle, her arms out at full stretch, soaking in the bright sunshine of the spring day. She took Roger’s hand in hers, pulling him along as she moved toward a stall flowering with ribbons and bows. “You are so serious, and you are barely twenty,” she grumbled cheerfully. “Your sister followed her heart! She is off on a grand adventure with the man she loves! What could be better than that?” As they reached the vendor’s booth she ran her fingers along a pink piece of fabric, admiring its texture. “Genevieve’s life certainly sounds more entertaining than mine. I am stuck in this gossipy small town gutting fish all day.” She wrinkled her nose, then began sorting through the ribbons, separating them out between her fingers to get a better look.

  “You want a better life, and that is why we must wait,” insisted Roger, his voice tense. “I have explained this to you many times. My father is just a woodcutter; we do not have money saved. Once I join the soldiers, things will be better.”

  “Better?” Lucia’s voice was skeptical. “If you became a soldier, you would change. You would learn how to hurt people, how to kill. Best we stay far away from those types.”

  “You know soldiers are not all like that,” he quickly contested. “I promise – I would not be hardened by it. I simply do not have many options for earning the money we need. If I just save up for a year or two -”

  Lucia stamped her foot, turning to stare up at him, shaking her head. “Another year?” she moaned in frustration. “I want to be married now! I want to be an adult, to do what I want to do, to get on with my life!”

  Roger took in a deep breath, gazing down at her wide eyes, and let it out in a long sigh. He laid a hand tenderly against her soft cheek, his eyes gentling. “We have our whole lives in front of us,” he soothed her, his voice becoming a caress. “There is no rush. What is another year or two, so that we build a strong foundation for our life?”

  Several of the ribbons blew free, and he knelt in an instant, catching them in his fingers. Lucia looked down, running a hand fondly through the hair at the back of his head. “I need to re-trim that cowlick of yours,” she commented with a smile. “It always stands up after a day or two.” She peeled a yellow ribbon from his fingers, then turned to the store keep, handing him a small coin. The item paid for, she wove the ribbon through her long blonde curls.

  When she was done, she took him by the hand. “Why do you want to be a soldier, anyway?” she asked, meandering along to another booth. “All those swords, and think of the danger. If you feel we need money, why not work with leather, or build furniture?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, glancing down at the heavy muscles of his arms. “Soldiering seems to be what I am best suited for,” he commented, “and besides, it appeals to me to help protect the innocent.

  “I am innocent,” she offered in a low voice, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “Who will protect me?”

  He groaned beneath his breath, pulling her close, bringing his lips down to kiss her. The kiss coursed through her body, sending her toes tingling, her heart racing. She was breathing deeply by the time he released her.

  “You are a vixen,” he growled tenderly, gazing down into her eyes.

  “Then maybe you should not desert me for a year or two,” she teased him with a twinkle. “Who knows if I would wait even another day.”

  “Lucia, please …” he sighed, his voice low. “It is best for us.”

  She grinned, then glanced up at the sky, drawn by the incandescent orange streaks which were streaming across the royal blue. “Dusk is coming – I need to head home to prepare for tomorrow. It looks like we will need all of our spare stock to get through the faire’s final day. You will be here?”

  “Since you will be here, I would not choose to be anywhere else,” he agreed with a smile, drawing her hands into his own.

  “Unless you run off to become a soldier in the meantime,” she pointed out, her face widening into a grin.

  “Unless that,” he chuckled.

  “Or unless I run off with that tinker from Birkenhead because I tire of waiting for you,” She teased, winking at him.

  He pursed his lips, but did not respond, only bringing her hands up, lowering his head to tenderly kiss them.

  She gave his hands a final squeeze, then pulled her own free. Lucia turned and headed out, her feet lightly skipping over the grass as she moved from booth to booth along the way, examining a ring, then running her hands along a bolt of fabric.

  Roger watched her go, as always captivated by her beauty and innocent grace. She reached the end of the fairgrounds, then looked back to give him a wave. He raised his hand in farewell. She smiled, then turned her head and vanished into the forest beyond.

  Chapter 1

  Six years later

  Kath strode with fury down the shadowy, cramped alley, holding her breath against the fetid stench, straining her eyes to watch for the tell-tale steam of horse dung - or worse. She nearly stumbled over a slumbering drunk lying against a stoop, and as she regained her footing, there was a creaking noise from above. She dove to the opposite wall, barely missing the toss of a chamber-pot’s contents from a second story window.

  These truly were the depths of Hell.

  She nearly lost her balance again as the maid above her, pausing in the window, began singing a tune of her childhood. It was a song Kath had not heard in six long years, not since that last,
fateful day in her home village.

  “My Love said to me, my mother won’t mind …”

  Kath half stumbled, half ran deeper into the alley, away from the window, putting the melody far into her past. She knew it was a mistake to come back from Ireland, to return to a town so close to her home. No good could come of this. It was all behind her. Lucia was behind her now. She had a new name, a new life, a new reason for living. If she could just track down this rat, she could get back to her quiet routine. Back to the life she had chosen, and to oblivion.

  The song faded and the noise around her returned to the mumbling chaos which was Liverpool after dark. The crisp cry of soldiers shouting orders, the rough din of sailors resolving differences, the alluring calls of street women selling their wares.

  There – her heart rose as she finally spotted the sign she had been hunting for. The grimy wooden square on the alleyway’s wall was barely distinguishable in the gloom and filth, but as she approached it unmistakably displayed a long-handled pan.

  Kath took in a deep, steeling breath, sparing one last glance around the dismal dead end which now surrounded her, then pushed open the oaken door to the Greasy Skillet.