The Seventh Son Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PRAISE FOR ASHLEY YORK

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  The Bruised Thistle

  More by Ashley York

  PRAISE FOR ASHLEY YORK

  ~

  “If you love medieval, don’t miss Ashley York.”

  USA Today Best Selling Author Kathryn Le Veque

  Praise for The Irish Warrior

  “Ms. York’s knowledge of the land’s history lends to the excellently-crafted storyline interwoven with familial deceit, warring clansmen, conquered lands, and of course, the heated passion of the well-developed characters. The sharp banter and well-honed dialogue between Sean and “Tommy” are an added bonus to this enjoyable read...”

  InD’Tale Magazine

  “Writer Ashley York is the best thing to hit Medieval historical romance in a long time!... A witty, strong hero paired with a spunky heroine prove a formidable force against Ms. York’s trademark depraved villains. I can think of no better way to enjoy my time than hunkered down with a Ashley York tale and The Irish Warrior did not disappoint!”

  Jenerated Reviews

  “A true treasure! Ms. York is a consummate storyteller who writes fast paced takes of the Norman Conquest, the struggles, challenges, and finding a HEA, amidst turmoil, danger, betrayal and a country torn apart. Compelling and powerful.

  My Book Addiction and More Reviews

  Praise for The Saxon Bride

  “This historical romance set in eleventh-century England, is an intriguing read that grabs one’s attention from the beginning and doesn’t let go until the very end. Action filled with danger, betrayal, lust, murder, political machinations, and love, this entertaining story is hard to put down! The characters are likeable and engaging, and the plot moves at a good pace with many twists and turns...”

  InD’Tale Magazine

  “A beautiful first novel to lead off the Norman Conquest Series. I’m a big fan of Medieval political intrigue, and this novel had plenty. Well done!”

  USA Today Best Selling Author Kathryn Le Veque

  “A touching and at times heart-wrenching story comes to life with a hero and heroine who are fallible and multi dimensional, one cannot help but empathize with and like them. This author exemplifies how a book can combine history and romance effortlessly and hold its audience until the last page.”

  Jenerated Reviews

  “Adventurous, dangerous and passionate. A very intriguing read! I read this fast paced, action packed tale in one setting. The characters jump off the page. The storyline is realistic, you could almost feel the tension between the Saxons and the Normans.”

  My Book Addiction and More Reviews

  Praise for The Gentle Knight

  “One will delight in the rich, colorful, and descriptive writings in this second standalone period novel. Some readers may initially become distracted with the convoluted list of characters, however as the storyline progresses in pace, one quickly discovers the much needed necessity and added layer of depth that these individual personalities contribute...”

  InD’Tale Magazine

  “Superbly written with well-developed characters I could not put this book down. A wonderful hero, lovely heroine and wretchedly awful villains kept me on the edge of my seat till the very end. Looking forward to what this very talented author has in store next for her readers!”

  Jenerated Reviews

  “You gotta love this gentle Knight with a fiercely protective heart and the lady who broke through his curse, to capture his heart...”

  My Book Addiction and More Reviews

  Praise for The Bruised Thistle

  “How dangerous it was then for a woman is disturbingly perfect. The villain is more typical to history than readers may be comfortable with, but life was more brutal than we like to believe... the writing is clear and tight, the characters believable, and the accents are written well, which succeeds in making the overall story quite a good read.”

  InD’Tale Magazine

  “Writer Ashley York brings it all to the table in her work The Bruised Thistle with a swoon worthy hero, a gutsy heroine and hands down the best villains currently lurking in historical romance. This wonderfully written tale set in Medieval Scotland takes its audience on a reading experience filled with subterfuge, moral dilemmas and breathtaking desire.”

  Jenerated Reviews

  “Powerful, and brilliantly written with engaging, and charismatic characters. The storyline is compelling, complex, and intriguing to say the least. A must read and a keeper.”

  My Book Addiction and More Reviews

  The Seventh Son

  By

  Ashley York

  Copyright © 2016 Ashley York

  Excerpt from The Bruised Thistle copyright © 2013 by Ashley York

  All rights reserved.

  Publisher’s Note: The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and or are used fictitiously and solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Rae Monet, Inc. Design

  raemonetinc.com/bookcovers.html

  Author photo: Julia Gerace Photography

  juliagerace.com

  Editing: Scott Moreland

  Ebook Formatting: By LK Ebook Formatting Service

  http://design.lkcampbell.com

  No part or the whole of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or utilized (other than for reading by the intended reader) in ANY form (now known or hereafter invented) without prior written permission by the author. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal, and punishable by law.

  DEDICATION

  ~

  THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED to “Unkie” Uncle Forrest, my grandfather’s brother, a gentle man I remember from my visits to New Hampshire when I was very young. He never married but was a good son to my great-grandparents who lived well into their nineties. When I got married, Unkie sent me a letter of best wishes and the advice “to always be kind to each other.” His words of wisdom have carried me through thirty-five years and counting.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ~

  Drogheda, Ireland 1075

  “Is Brighit safe, Cormac?” Tadhg MacNaughton called to the lad stabling the horse.

  All must go according to pl
an in delivering his sister to the Priory in England. He braced himself for any news to the contrary. So many things could harm her. Fear sat like a coiled snake in his gut.

  Cormac had arrived nigh fifteen minutes earlier with the carriage. Tadhg clenched his teeth. He had to allow the boy to see to his duties before attacking him with questions no matter how desperate he was for answers.

  “Ronan sent me off as soon as the curragh arrived to carry them across. The man was most anxious that I get ye the news that they’d arrived.” The redhead approached, averting his eyes. “I dinna see them get on the boat.”

  Tadhg closed his eyes and offered up yet another prayer for his sister’s safe travel. He should have taken her himself but his father had insisted she leave immediately. Even at death’s door, the old man had a tight grip on the reins of power. Tadhg needed to remain by his side. A good son. He would not gainsay the great Padraig MacNaughton, not when the man still lived. Padraig had arranged for their Uncle Ronan to escort Brighit.

  “Go see to yerself. There’s food a plenty for now.”

  The mention of food brightened the lad’s face. He started off toward the house then halted and turned back. His eyes rounded. “And the MacNaughton?”

  Tadhg took a deep breath, his head slowly shaking. “He’s gone. God rest his soul.”

  His gut tightened. Though intended to be respectful, it sounded cold to Tadhg’s ears.

  “God rest his soul,” Cormac repeated, making the sign of the cross at the same time.

  Tadhg glanced toward the chapel where he’d said his last goodbyes to his father just that morning.

  “Ye’re chieftain now?”

  “I am.”

  Cormac perused him as if looking for some visible sign of the responsibility now passed on to him. A small smile on his lips. An uncertain smile. “Ye’ll be a fine leader, Tadhg. We all believe that.”

  He headed off toward the little cluster of thatched houses. Tadhg watched him go.

  Sean O’Cisoghe came out from the direction of the largest building that sat at the highest point on the hill. He spotted Tadhg and quickly closed the distance.

  “Is she safe?” Sean spoke as soon as he was close enough to be heard. His face compressed with worry lines, his warrior’s body rigid with concern. “How did she fare?”

  A show of Sean’s fierce temper was not what Tadhg needed right now. He quickened his step toward the chapel and away from the other man. “Cormac saw her to the sea but dinna see her board the curragh.”

  The man kept pace with him but said nothing. The silence was telling.

  “Dunna fash yerself. I’ve offered several prayers.” Tadhg stopped and pierced the other man with his look. “Can ye say the same?”

  The scruffy beard Sean wore, darker than the blond of his hair, gave him a hardened look. “Tadhg, ye’re no saint. And dunna question me on my prayers. I wanted—”

  “I ken what ye wanted, man. Ye wanted to be bedding my little sister.”

  He’d always had a yearning for Brighit, ever since they were very small. But she would have none of it.

  “And why not?” Sean’s blue eyes widened into a what’s-wrong-with-that expression. “There’s no better man here for her.”

  Tadhg tightened his jaw and continued toward the chapel. “Enough of yer damn pride. She’s for the Priory now.”

  “Ye’ve got to call her back.” Sean yanked at his arm to stop him. “I beg ye, Tadhg.”

  Standing at the wooden door to the church, Tadhg gave his closest friend a look of warning. Any other man would have gotten a hard punch to his jaw for such behavior.

  “Let it go, Sean. Even if I were to work things out with O’Brien and bring her home, I’m not thinking she’ll wed ye even then.”

  The man released Tadhg’s arm and turned around in his frustration. His long hair, pulled back at the crown, swayed with the motion. Tadhg recognized the signs of his friend’s temper threatening to erupt and that he fought to keep control.

  “Bring her home.” Sean’s lips flattened into a tight line. “Give me a chance to win her over. I’ll kick the arse of any O’Brien that comes near her. Ye ken I will.”

  “Ye’d be here for her?”

  “Aye.”

  “Like ye were here when she was leaving? She asked for ye.” Tadhg was sure her mentioning Sean’s absence had been a ruse to drag out the goodbyes rather than any desire to see him. “Enough. I’ve things on my mind. Clan business.”

  “Aye.” Sean quirked his mouth. “Ye’re chieftain now.”

  “I am.”

  “Ye have the final say. In all things.”

  Tadhg dipped his head.

  “Ye can decide to call her back from the Priory.”

  “Damn it, man. I need to get us enough food for the winter. That’s my priority now.”

  Sean crossed his arms, a speculative look on his face. “Are ye going to abide by yer father’s break with the O’Brien? Even when it could mean deep suffering for us? Like the lack of food in our bellies? I had greater faith in ye.”

  “I will honor my father as I see fit.”

  “Even when it makes no sense? The falsehoods he told about the O’Brien coveting our land? Why would they when they have the better land for growing? He seemed to have an increasing hatred of Roland O’Brien ever since last winter. Ever since the death of yer ma.”

  Tadhg could not argue that. The treaty joining the O’Briens and MacNaughtons went back to before the battle at Clontarf.

  “I dunna ken for certain why he chose to break it off with them but I need to think long and hard before I just cast it aside.”

  “Our clans worked side by side to prepare the soil. The soil that grows the food and fodder we’ve no claim to now. And look at all we’ve lost.” Sean jabbed at Tadhg’s chest. “All ye’ve lost.”

  “I am well aware of what a great loss this is.”

  “But Tisa, Tadhg?” His tone dropped. “Surely ye dunna want to let the lass go? Without even a fight?”

  “Who would I fight? My ailing father? Nae. He gave the decree. I had no choice.”

  “The sickness that racked through his body? Maybe that was why he suddenly saw them as a threat.”

  Tadhg shouldn’t make a quick decision. His heart could easily sway his mind. He’d grasp at anything to set aside his father’s abandoning of their closest friends. Anything that would give him sweet Tisa again.

  Tisa’s lovely face as she’d looked the last time he had seen her flashed through his mind. They’d been betrothed since they were wee ones. The last time he’d seen her she’d been twelve. They’d kissed. Their first kiss. He’d towered over her but even then she felt right in his arms. Her soft lips against his. Despite the awkwardness, something had sprung to life inside him. The promise of the beauty she would become enraptured his senses.

  Her father’s rage when he caught them alone surprised them both. Roland O’Brien had jerked Tadhg away, throwing him to the ground.

  “None of that. Not until ye’re wed.”

  The throbbing in his loins had been unbearable. Many nights Tadhg awoke to dampened bedding and dreams of Tisa fully grown. And the wish for time to move more quickly.

  Five years. She’d be ten and seven. And Tadhg had become very...restless. How long could a man wait? Many couples would have satiated their needs by now since the betrothal was as good as wed even for the church. No doubt that was what her father had been concerned about.

  “I have much to think on.” Tadhg gave him a sideways glance. “I could be using some wisdom.”

  Sean looked skyward before facing his friend. “Yea, Tadhg I will pray that ye receive wisdom.” He took a few steps away, heading back to the house, and added in a loud voice without looking back. “And a set of balls.”

  Tadhg smiled. The man was the fiercest warrior in the clan. He had always been sorely infatuated with Brighit. Sean needed to get over her.

  The relentless call of the birds became muffled by the thick walls w
hen Tadhg entered the chapel. Through the dim light, he moved toward the table in the middle of the small room, a chest to one side, a bench on the other. His feet made a grating sound as he disturbed the dirt and dust settled on the stone floor. The book of the clan sat open. With the flint beside it, he lit the single candle on the altar and ran his hand over the stiffened sheet. The entire clan history was recorded on these vellum pages. Births. Deaths. Marriages. It was all here.

  With the tip of his finger he followed down the list of memorable dates. The marriage of his parents. The birth of their first son. Then the second. Looking closer, he could see the smallest speck of ink along the list as if they had counted down from one to seven. The seventh son. Their greatest hope.

  The legend over all of Eire was that the seventh son of the seventh son of the seventh son received a special blessing. He would be a man like none other. A powerful and wise leader. One who had great favor with God Almighty.

  Padraig MacNaughton was the seventh son of the seventh son. A blessing went with this honor as well. Following the last drop of ink, Tadhg slid his finger along the line to the written words.

  Brighit.

  A daughter. And no more.

  He traced along her name. Mother Moira the Wise. He jumped below for his mother’s name.

  Moira the Wise. Born at Tara. Wed to Padraig MacNaughton. Died 1075.

  He touched the long, dry letters. His father’s hand was always thick. Barely legible. The wind picked up outside. A storm would be there by nightfall. Reaching into the sack at his side, he withdrew the tiny flask of ink and quill. He searched out his father’s name.

  Padraig MacNaughton. Born at Clontarf. Wed to Moira the Wise 1050.

  Tadhg held his breath for a steady hand and carefully completed the line.

  Died 1075.

  Unlike his father’s hand, Tadhg’s was thinner. More like his mother’s. He glanced over the list of his brothers.

  Cian. Mother Moira the Wise. Father Padraig MacNaughton.

  Aedan. Mother Moira the Wise. Father Padraig MacNaughton.

  Padraig’s hand was near impossible to read. He noticed a lighter hand beside Brighit’s name.

  Brighit. Mother Moira the Wise. Father Roland O’Brien.