The Earl in Winter

  The Earl in Winter

  By Kathryn Le Veque

  Part One of The Brothers de Lohr

  © Copyright 2020 by Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  Kindle Edition

  Text by Kathryn Le Veque

  Cover by Kim Killion

  Edited by Scott Moreland

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Foreword

  About The Earl in Winter

  Author’s Note

  Part One

  Part Two

  Part Three

  Part Four

  Part Five

  Part Six

  Part Seven

  Kathryn Le Veque Novels

  About Kathryn Le Veque

  FOREWORD

  If you’ve read Outlander, then you know something of the Jacobite uprising, but if not, suffice it to say that it’s a turbulent time in England/Scotland history. The Battle of Culloden Moor was the last civil war battle fought upon UK soil.

  The battle itself was a horrific rout. About 6,000 Jacobites comprised of Highlanders, French, and even English troops faced about 6,000 British troops on a cold spring morning upon the Culloden moor on April 16, 1746. In a nutshell, the Jacobites started first with sporadic cannon fire, which provoked a nasty response from the British. They fired off what were known as canister shot, which were essentially canisters filled with musket balls, turning the cannons into a massive shotgun. Canister shot mowed down entire groups of Jacobites, but it was the Highlanders who got the worst of it. They were fearless as few men are, but they were no match for the superior British forces.

  There were piles of dead on the fields of Culloden, Highlanders who were buried where they fell, with the local church doing what they could for the rest of the wounded, English included. The Highlander casualties were somewhere around 1,500 to 2,000, while the British casualties were significantly less – only 50 reported dead. In the days following the battle, the British spared no expense in hunting down Jacobite rebels because, at that point, the wars were over and the Jacobite cause was dead.

  Now, imagine the first holiday season after Culloden, that horrible battle that took so many lives. Imagine those in a small village on the road leading to the battlefield, trying to find the holiday spirit in such a year. In fact, a law was passed in 1640 making Yuletide illegal, so surely that only made the season more difficult.

  In this collection, we’ll peek into the world of the only tavern in the village of Calvine, a place called Balthazar’s Inn. The inhabitants are still reeling, as are the visitors, in more ways than one can imagine. There are secrets here, some left untold, some better off exposed, but the spirit of holidays is still there amongst the turmoil. No battle, and no laws, can suppress the goodness, peace, and joy that is the very essence of the holiday season.

  It is a time of change in the Highlands of Scotland.

  Welcome to A Very Highland Holiday.

  The Earl in Winter

  When James de Lohr heads into the wilds of Scotland to discover what happened to his brother at the Battle of Culloden, his stay at Balthazar’s Tavern has an unexpected twist. On a night when angels walk the earth, James comes face to face with his very own guardian angel.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The Earl in Winter is about a descendant of my big Medieval family, the House of de Lohr (de Lohr Dynasty). It’s one of my oldest houses, and most popular, and I love the fact that I was able to bring this family forward a few hundred years. They’re alpha-male, sword-toting, fun-loving, battle-driven knights (at least, in Medieval times, they are), and it’s been really cool to see that the tradition of military service with the family hasn’t wavered.

  What’s even cooler is the fact that the fabulous Kerrigan Byrne has written the companion story to this tale in this very collection – The Earl of Christmas Past. While my tale is about the younger brother, James, Kerrigan’s tale is about the older brother, Johnathan. Two brothers, two tales, two earls, and worlds apart (literally).

  I hope you enjoy this poignant, tender, and sometimes tearful tale of love – of brotherly love, and also the love between a hero and his heroine.

  Happy Reading!

  Part One

  BALTHAZAR’S INN

  December 17, 1746

  Calvine, Scotland

  All he’d done was open the entry door.

  That was apparently enough of an invitation for someone to throw a stool at his head.

  James de Lohr ducked swiftly, stumbling back out of the door and narrowly avoiding being hit by a man who came hurtling through the opening after him.

  But it wasn’t an attack – it was because the man had been struck in what was surely a tavern fight to end all tavern fights. He was simply flying with the momentum. James jumped out of the way as another man came flying through the door right after him.

  And somewhere in the middle of the chaos, James heard a scream.

  There was a woman inside Balthazar’s Inn, trapped in the midst of a nasty fight. It was just past sunset on what should have been a peaceful snowy winter’s eve and the fists were flying in the low-ceilinged, stuffy common room. All James could see were figures moving about, punching and kicking and grunting. As he stood at the open door, part of a table came flying at him and he deftly knocked it down.

  Hell of a party, he thought wryly.

  Another scream caught his attention.

  This time, the noise was off to his left and, instinctively, he moved towards the sound of distress. He was a military man, an officer, and a very good one. If there was trouble, he was sworn to assist.

  Even in the middle of a bar fight.

  And then, he saw it.

  A woman with frizzy red hair hiding behind a small table as a man grabbed at her. She was using the table like a shield, shoving it at him, forcing him to keep his distance. James grabbed the man by the hair, yanking him away from the woman. As the man stumbled back, James could see that there was a second woman cowering behind the table also.

  “C-Come with me,” he said over the noise.

  The woman balked. “Away with ye or I’ll knock the senses from ye!”

  James avoided a flying piece of wood. “L-Lady, I assure you, it is only to take you to safety. O-Or do you want to stay in this midst of this tempest?”

  The woman paused for an indecisive
moment until a candlestick hurled through the air, hitting the wall behind her. That seemed to make her decision for her. With a reluctant nod, she came out from behind the table, pulling her companion with her.

  Using his big body as a human shield, James herded the women out of the tavern. It was freezing outside, however, as the snow began to fall more heavily than before. More furniture met its demise as it slammed against the door frame and the women shrieked as wood splintered.

  “I-I fear if we remain, we will be subject to more violence,” James said. “W-We must find a place of safety.”

  The woman with the red hair grabbed the woman next to her, beckoning to him. “This way!”

  James followed.

  Through the slush and snow, they went around to the rear of the tavern. At one point, James slipped in the abundant mud, steadying himself against the stone structure. The tavern itself was unremarkable, squat and thick-walled, with a steeply pitched roof. With snowflakes falling in his eyes, he managed to follow the women through the rear entrance.

  They ended up in the kitchen. The heat was like a slap in the face, in sharp contrast to the cold outside. James cleared his eyes, noting the big chamber and roaring hearth. It smelled like roasting meat. As he noted that the door leading into the common room had been shut and bolted, undoubtedly to keep out the insurrecting patrons, the woman with the red hair waved an arm at him.

  “Come,” she said. “This way.”

  Again, he followed. In hindsight, it wasn’t the brightest thing to do, but he was cold and had come a very long way, and the last thing he wanted to do was stand out in the snow while the common room of the only tavern in town was torn apart.

  Therefore, he followed the women into a sculler, and then into a connecting chamber. That chamber had a table, a couple of chairs, and a hearth that was burning low, but it was giving off enough heat to stave off the chill.

  James stood in the doorway, looking around.

  “W-What is this place?” he asked.

  The redhead dropped to her knees in front of the fire and began to stoke it. “This is where my da and I eat,” she said. “Sometimes the servants, too. It’s not much, but it’s warm and dry and away from the madness.”

  She was referring to the common room. James had two heavy saddlebags slung over his shoulder and he put them on the table.

  “W-What happened out there?” he asked. “What started the battle?”

  The redhead looked at him, her gaze lingering on him as if to get a good look at him. Tall, blond, and well-built, he was a vastly handsome specimen. “Ye’re not from here,” she finally said.

  “N-Nay.”

  “Where are ye from, English?”

  “Herefordshire.”

  “Ye’re a long way from home.”

  “I-I am.”

  Without being invited to, he removed his heavy cloak, revealing another woolen coat beneath that. His gloves came off, as did his tricorne hat. He pulled off the woolen coat, too, hanging it on a peg along with the cloak to dry out. Left in a linen shirt and undershirt, breeches and boots, he sat down near the fire because he was chilled to the bone.

  All the while, the redhead was watching him with the expression of a hunter sighting prey. They didn’t often see such fine looking men this far north, so the young lord’s appearance was a treat for the eyes. She was inherently curious.

  Perhaps even a little interested.

  “What’s yer name, m’laird?” she asked.

  He ran a hand through his damp hair. “D-De Lohr,” he said. “J-James de Lohr.”

  “I’m Carrie,” she said. “My da owns this place. He’s the Balthazar on the sign. Are ye traveling through?”

  He shook his head. “N-Nay,” he said. “I-I’ve reached my destination. What was that fight about in the common room?”

  He was shifting the subject, unwilling to speak further about himself. Carrie returned to the fire, but she would look for another opportunity to probe him.

  “Who knows?” she said. “Someone says a wrong word and the fists fly. Only yesterday, the common room was torn up by a terrible tempest. It even tore up some of the other chambers, too.”

  James caught movement out of the corners of his eyes, turning to see the second woman in the room as she moved towards the hearth to help Carrie. She had been sitting in the shadows, perhaps stunned from their flight from the common room, and had only now regained her breath. Whatever the case, she was now on her feet.

  He took a second look at this lass.

  With brown hair, brown eyes, and lush lips, she was worth the second look. She wore a faded skirt that might have been a shade of green at one time, a leather girdle, and a linen blouse. She was also wearing a tattered woolen shawl, something with armholes in it so she could keep it on as she worked and not have it fall away. She was clearly poor in dress, but clean and most decidedly pretty.

  Something about her had his attention.

  “H-How long have you lived here, Carrie?” he asked, his gaze still on the other woman.

  Carrie waved the other woman away as she tried to help, sending her for food and drink. As she left the chamber, Carrie replied.

  “All my life,” she said. “This tavern has been in my family since the days of my grandfather.”

  “T-Then you were here when the battle happened.”

  Her movements slowed. “What battle?”

  “Culloden.”

  “I was here.”

  “Y-You must have seen the armies coming through town,” he said. “B-British as well as the rebels. This road leads directly to the battlefield.”

  She turned to look at him. “Y-Ye’re a long way from home, m’laird,” she said. “In this village, we dunna refer tae our men as rebels. Ye’d do well tae remember that.”

  He nodded. “P-Point taken,” he said. “I-I ask for a reason, however. I will gladly pay you for information.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “I-I’m looking for my brother.”

  Carrie stood up from the fire, brushing off her hands. “Who was yer brother?”

  “H-He fought at Culloden,” he said, running his hand through his hair again as he sat forward, arms resting on his knees. “H-He was killed in battle and I’ve come to bring him home. As I said, I’ll gladly pay for any information you can provide.”

  Carrie’s gaze lingered on him for a moment. “I see,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for ye, then. ’Twas a terrible day, it was. So many were lost.”

  “W-What can you tell me?” he asked, ignoring the sympathy in her tone because he didn’t want a reminder about the grief he carried around like an anchor. “A-About the English dead, I mean. Do you know what happened to them?”

  Her features took on a distant look but she was saved from replying when the woman with the brown eyes entered the chamber, a tray laden with food and drink in her hands. Carrie rushed to help her unburden the tray, setting everything down on the table in front of James. There was bread, butter, boiled pork, stewed turnips, and hard boiled eggs. The drink was a generous amount of ale that had a bitter taste to it.

  James hardly cared. He was famished. He, too, forgot about his question as he downed half the ale before plowing into the pork. He was vaguely aware when Carrie and the other lass left him because, at the moment, it was all about stuffing his face and resting his spirit.

  He’d finally made it to this horrible place.

  He was going to need his strength for what was to come.

  Part Two

  JAMES

  Three big tankards of the cheap ale later, and James was having trouble sitting upright.

  He wasn’t a big ale drinker, but he’d been forced by necessity to become one when he traveled deep into the Scottish Highlands. That was their favored drink of choice and he’d sampled a wide variety.

  He sat in the little chamber in the tavern, watching the fire pop and thinking that he needed to ask for a bed but he was afraid to get up, afraid he would fal
l right over on his face. As he sat there, he thought he might simply lay his head on the table. It seemed as good an opportunity as any to get some much-needed rest. As he was contemplating that very thing, the chamber door opened.

  Instead of Carrie or the other woman who had been serving him, a tall man in an unbleached woolen cloak entered. James didn’t pay much attention to him other than to watch him for weapons. Considering the fight he’d just seen in the common room, he wasn’t taking any chances. The man had a scarf around his head, which he unwound to reveal a smiling, oddly smooth face.

  “May I join you?” he asked.

  It was a British accent, so James figured he couldn’t be too much of a threat. He nodded, motioning to the other chair. The man pulled off his cloak, his scarf, and hung both upon a peg near the hearth. Pale and slender, he sat in the chair James had indicated.

  “’Tis a difficult night for man and beast,” he said, holding out his hands to the fire to warm them. “I saw the common room. You are wise to be in this small chamber, away from that chaos.”

  James tried to nod, but it threw him off balance. “I-I walked into the chaos when I arrived.”

  The stranger grinned. “It looks as if the entire room has been upended.”

  “T-The ruffians were on the loose.”

  The stranger noted the remains of the meal before looking to James. “My name is Rafe,” he said. “And you are far from home, my lord.”

  James glanced at him. “H-How would you know that?”

  Rafe’s smile broadened. “You don’t speak like a Scotsman,” he said. “Where are you from?”

  James sighed heavily. “A-A million miles away.”

  “English?”

  “Aye.”

  “You are very far from home,” Rafe said. “Are you simply traveling to see the glories of Scotland in winter?”