The Good Knight Kiss Read online

  THE

  GOOD KNIGHT

  KISS

  D.K. O'Doherty

  AuthorHouse™

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403

  www.authorhouse.com

  Phone: 1 (800) 839-8640

  © 2017 D.K. O’Doherty. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Published by AuthorHouse 12/06/2017

  ISBN: 978-1-5462-1916-3 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-5462-1915-6 (e)

  Print information available on the last page.

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  Scriptures are taken from the King James Version of The Bible - Public Domain.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  The forest animals heard the din of the hoofbeats bearing down on them. Daniel pressed Macha. The huge Frisian warhorse had extraordinary speed and endurance, even for a Frisian, which were bred to carry the German knights during the most recent Crusades. Daniel’s mastiff, Balor, matched the speed and endurance of the black horse. The three had often traveled from encampment to battlefield over the years, but the horse and dog sensed that Daniel’s anxiety had to do with something other than an impending battle.

  It began to rain, and the gentle breeze felt like a gale as the pace of horse and rider quickened. The raindrops pelted Daniel’s face. Gusts of wind pushed tree branches into the path of the three companions. Numerous cuts riddled Daniel’s face and exposed skin. Daniel felt Macha’s heart thump against his legs. The thunder of hooves against the well-traveled road drowned out all the forest sounds and gave fair warning to any animals in the path to flee. Several forest smells entered Daniel’s nostrils. If not for the urgency of the situation, he would have slowed Macha to enjoy each scent. The rain tasted sweet.

  The trees became a blur as the companions raced faster. The forest consisted of a magnificent blend of tall, thick pine, oak, birch, and aspen. This forest was just as extensive as other forests throughout Ireland. Each season revealed the unique beauty of the Irish forests, but the loudest forest sounds occurred in summer. Birds, animals, and travelers all contributed. In autumn, the leaves and needles of the trees floated gently to the forest floor, providing a carpet to muffle the sounds of hoofbeats and carriage wheels. Winter caused many of the deciduous trees to slumber. Some animals joined the trees in hibernation, while most birds traveled south to warmer climates until spring called them home. That spring arrived typically late. March could never decide when to let go of winter’s embrace.

  The early rain passed, and the fog lingered on the village of Lough Inch. So the emergence of Daniel and his two companions out of the forest through the cold, gray mist caused quite a disturbance. The villagers who faced the forest edge believed they witnessed the return of one of the ancient giants. Daniel stood over six feet tall and weighed over 230 pounds. His braided brown hair and beard complemented his piercing green eyes. They showed a man of high intelligence who had witnessed the many wonders and the many horrors this world offered. He wore the standard armor of knights of the fourteenth century. Daniel carried a broadsword across his back, two daggers on his belt, a short sword sheathed on the left side of the saddle, and a mace on the right; a round shield rested comfortably on his left arm. Around his neck, an opal dangled from a leather thong.

  The Opal Knight atop the Frisian warhorse put his helm at over nine and a half feet from the ground. The sight of the knight and horse at full gallop, with the mastiff alongside, caused many villagers to stop their tasks and stare in awe, but their awe gave way to fear as they observed the three covering the distance from forest edge to village in a short time. They entered the village at full gallop.

  Lough Inch was a small village on the verge of becoming a decent-size town. It sat on the banks of a lake, on which the village relied heavily for survival. The entire culture of the village revolved around the lake. Many thatched cottages dotted Lough Inch. Except for a select few, all the cottages looked identical, and only the inhabitants knew the social status of the populace. The typical cottage consisted of a thatched roof, single door, two windows—one always faced east—and a small yard or garden. Not many other features distinguished one from another. The village also contained the usual structures that gave a village its charm.

  The village blacksmith owned the stable. The blacksmith did well for himself. Aside from shoeing horses, he made and repaired various weapons and armor for the local garrison. Daniel often sought the blacksmith’s expertise to repair a damaged sword or dented armor. The local garrison consisted of thirty to forty men, depending on the season. During the planting and harvest seasons, the garrison dropped to the minimum. A sergeant of the guard and captain rounded it out.

  The marketplace stood centrally located within the village. Soon after its establishment, the tavern developed into the centerpiece of local gossip and goings-on throughout the country. Many travelers sought the tavern for a meal and a drink and often remained overnight in one of the rooms in the back. If one wanted to find out what had happened recently or was about to happen, he visited the tavern for a few pints. A brothel, once popular, had been connected to the tavern but no longer existed in this town. The tavern owner now rented the rooms for overnights to travelers.

  A small church occupied a small parcel of land on the edge of the village opposite the lake. Although small in stature, the church wielded an incredible amount of influence throughout the country, and Lough Inch was no exception.

  Daniel and his companions entered the town in a rush of hooves and paws. His destination was a thin plume of black smoke, swirling up at the opposite end of the village from where he entered. They hastened at a pace too fast for the townspeople. Daniel weaved Macha through the throng in the marketplace. He even failed to pause after Macha and Balor knocked over several carts and tables. Many of the villagers turned to yell at the lunatic, but on recognizing the Opal Knight, they hesitated. The villagers all knew the reason for the recklessness. Balor always took the lead in tight places such as the village. His deep, guttural barking caused people to move before the great horse barreled them over, generally causing few injuries. Occasionally, Balor nipped at the calves of those who failed to heed his barking.

  As Daniel neared the source of the smoke, the odor became stronger. He smelled the burned thatch and wood. And as the wind shifted, he recognized the smell of something unpleasant—an odor that had become all too familiar during the many sieges he had participated in, both as attacker and defender. With the recognition of the odor, those long-buried memories rushed to the surface. His mind became cluttered with the recollections of the burne
d flesh of those brave soldiers who had attempted to crash through the drawbridge of a castle as the fiery pitch poured down from castle ramparts. The pitch clung to their clothing and bare skin, eventually searing through to the bone.

  The screams grew louder as he neared the devastation, except they did not come from his memories. They came from Daniel. He screamed in fear. Daniel screamed, feeling helpless. Macha felt the panic in her rider. She pulled to a stop without a command from Daniel. The Opal Knight bolted out of the saddle and charged into the smoldering remains of the cottage.

  “You killed her! You killed her!”

  Balor barked with fury and anger. Anger at whom? Himself for allowing his master to risk his life? Or at his master for not having any sense?

  Macha pawed the ground with her great hooves, throwing up huge clods of earth.

  Daniel’s eyes watered from the heat and ash. His nostrils flared from the smell of burned flesh, and his hands burned and blistered as he dug through the searing rubble, looking for her in desperation. The smoldering embers sizzled as they sought more fuel. Daniel felt something behind him, but he dismissed it. He had to find her.

  Several hands grabbed the huge knight and tried to pull him to safety. Daniel shrugged off the pulling hands and continued his desperate search. More hands grabbed the Opal Knight. It took four villagers pulling his arms and torso and two pushing from the front to subdue him. The villagers pushed him against the huge oak tree across the road from where her cottage once stood. He slumped to the ground, his back supported by the trunk of the oak. Only two days earlier, he had emerged from the same forest but not headed into Lough Inch.

  Two days prior, the Opal Knight had appeared out of the forest atop Macha and headed into Galway. Macha, not the typical warhorse deployed in Ireland, stood at least one and a half times as tall as and outweighed every standard warhorse used throughout the land by three hundred pounds. Balor, his other companion, trotted ahead, sniffing out potential danger.

  Macha belonged to the breed Frisian. The beautiful, black Frisians were renowned for their reputation for carrying the Frisian and German knights great distances during the Crusades. Macha represented her Frisian breed well. An immense and powerful horse even for her breed, Macha stood sixteen hands at the withers and weighed over seventeen hundred pounds. Her long, thick, black mane and tail were braided in much the same fashion as her rider’s braided beard and hair.

  Balor, the huge brown mastiff, stood thirty-two inches at the shoulder and weighed as much as his master. The ideal guard and protector, Balor took his role seriously. If he even minutely sensed that someone or something intended to harm his master, it never ended well for that particular threat.

  Many townspeople stared in awe at the splendor and magnificence of the Opal Knight riding the Frisian and the mastiff, trotting alongside effortlessly. The three could quickly cover long distances in a short period of time. Although the edge of the forest was at least a half mile away from the port city of Galway, within a few minutes, the three companions had arrived at the edge of the town.

  A bustling merchant town, Galway rested on the western coast of Ireland, between Donegal to the north and Kerry to the south. If one rode due east for approximately 110 miles, Dublin would be reached in about five days. With easy access to the Atlantic, the sea became a primary source of food for much of the town.

  As the knight and his companions entered the town, it became all too evident that Galway was a fishing port. Balor sneezed uncontrollably from the stench of rotting fish. In one corner of the market square, discarded parts of numerous species of fish piled high. Two townsfolk routinely shoveled the pile into a cart. They then pulled it down to the bay, tipped it up, and dumped the cart contents off the dock into the ocean, where other fish would then gobble up the chunks.

  The townspeople doddered about their daily lives, eking out a means to survive. Some worked the docks, while others sold fish, meat, vegetables, or anything else someone might buy in the market. Local constables maintained the peace. The monks from the abbey made themselves available to give the faithful their daily lesson of guilt for being alive. Over all of them ruled the local king. The king maintained order and called up citizens in times of trouble. Some kings also had at their disposal mercenaries and knights to help defend their land from the threat of invasion from Vikings and attacks from the English or even from neighboring kings.

  As a Knight of the Realm, it was Daniel’s sworn duty to defend his king’s land when summoned. Two days earlier, the church elders of Lough Inch had read aloud a decree from the king summoning the services of all men of fighting age to defend the main port of Galway from a Viking invasion. Sworn to hasten immediately to his king’s aid, Daniel readied immediately; however, upon saying farewell to the love of his life, he hesitated. Something deep down bothered him. She knew it too. She felt Daniel’s hesitance, but she also knew he was a knight, the Opal Knight. She held his hand with her left and placed her right hand gently against his left cheek. A warm tear rolled down his cheek onto her fingers. He did not want to go again. He did not want to leave her again. Cassandra looked up into those eyes she loved so much, the green eyes of the gentle giant she had grown to love. She had fallen in love with him over and over again, and those eyes always revealed to her the true Danny. Cassandra’s Danny was kind and gentle, yet powerful and strong. Danny was her protector, but she also knew that if the Vikings attacked again, they would not leave right away. The Viking presence would devastate this land, its people, the animals, and the magic. Yes, she must let Danny go. Galway did not stand a chance without him; with Danny, Galway stood an even chance of survival.

  The memory faded as Daniel gazed confused out beyond the bay. The sea remained calm and empty. Not one Viking raider appeared on the horizon. The townspeople mulled about as if it were a typical day, not as if they expected a raid soon. Where were the call-ups? Where were the other knights? Assuredly, he was not the first to arrive in response to his king’s summons. It had taken him three days to travel from his village. Certainly other knights lived closer and should have arrived sooner than he. The townspeople gave way as he entered the square, wary of Balor as he bared his teeth. This was the only warning necessary to any who might wish his master harm.

  “Excuse me, friend,” Daniel said, interrupting one of the citizens shoveling fish remnants into his cart. He could have asked any of the locals, but experience had taught him to always seek out the one everyone ignores, the one who performs the most lowly, disgusting task but without whom life for everyone else would be difficult to endure. This person usually had some of the most vital pieces of information.

  “Yes, sir, knight.”

  “What is the latest report on the Viking raiders?”

  “Viking raiders? There is no report. There has not been a Viking raid in Ireland in over 150 years.”

  “Yeah, but the village elders had valuable information from reliable sources that the Vikings had gained strength and power again. They were traveling their old invasion routes looking to begin pillaging and plundering all over again.”

  “Sir, I am sorry you have been misinformed. There has never been a Viking raid on Galway. Look out there. Do you see any raiders?”

  “I can see!” Daniel’s anger surfaced, but he had it under great control. Why would the church elders lie to me? he thought. Why would they want me away from the village for so long? What could they possibly gain from my absence? It doesn’t make any sense. I am the Opal Knight. I am the village protector. I have saved countless lives since arriving there and settling down with my true … The knight continued in his thoughts, No! It cannot be. But yes, that is the only explanation.

  Daniel turned Macha around and bolted through the market toward the forest where he had appeared just an hour earlier. Balor ran alongside. Daniel’s stress caused internal anguish. When he felt anguish this strong, his mind pushed forward the memories of how he
had met the three most important souls in his life. Both of his companions had been with Daniel for a long time, and the circumstances surrounding their meetings were quite unique.

  Macha was born very small for her breed. She did not even have a name for the first two years of her life. Her mother took care of her the best she could, but eventually there came a time for Macha to be sold. Unfortunately, Macha was first sold to a farmer. That did not work well for either. Macha became bored and refused to pull the plow. The irritated farmer beat Macha until, tired of the whip, she would begin her boring task again of pulling the rusted plow through the clods of mud and dirt in the heat of the sun. Eventually, the farmer became weary of the constant struggle with his horse. Times were bad enough without having to deal with a stubborn horse that refused to work. So, after one season, the farmer sold the Frisian to a traveling merchant pulling a huge cart of his wares. The merchant had all sorts of items and trinkets. It seemed there was something for everyone, except weapons and armor. These items remained under the control of each village garrison. One could hear the cart long before it arrived. The clanging of the metal objects and squeaking of the wheels gave away its approach long before one saw it.

  Macha had no idea that the merchant had bought her. Whether hitched to the plow or cart, the boredom never ceased. The steady sting of the reins on her back or the occasional whip against her rump became part of the routine. The merchant gave her a name—actually, three names to choose from: Beast, Horse, or Stupid. It wasn’t until the spring when Macha finally found her calling. The merchant drove her into another town and set up his cart in the marketplace. She remained, as always, hitched to the cart while the merchant bartered. This particular morning a rather tall man approached her. He was dressed in strange clothing that had a familiar smell to it. His clothes smelled wonderful. She did not recognize all the scents, but they were wonderful and triggered something deep inside her, something she had not felt since she was a young foal. She wanted freedom. She wanted to run. He smiled at her, and her ears and head perked up. His hand touched the side of her face. At the movement of the stranger’s hand, Macha jerked away in expectation of another beating, but something about this man set him apart from the others she had served. He made Macha feel calm and at peace as his right hand gently stroked the left side of her face. His words soothed her also.