The Sword of D'Ambry

A KINGDOM ON THE BRINK. A CHÂTEAU OF SECRETS.

France, 1627. The drums of war beat loudly, but inside the drawing-rooms of the elite, an entirely different battle is being waged.

The cynical, beautiful Lucy Du Bois has no time for the romantic advances of François D'Ambry, a handsome but low-born soldier. But when whispers of conspiracy that extend to the highest levels of the royal court reach Lucy's ears, her pampered world begins to shatter. Guided by her closest confidante, Charlotte Baker—who harbors dark family secrets of her own—Lucy is thrust into a world of treason and midnight escapes.

In a desperate sword fight against overwhelming odds during a passionate, breathless encounter in a candlelit hall, D'Ambry proves he will risk everything for honor. But when the action shifts to the rain-slicked dockside and the mysterious La Tortue Inn, a final, bloody confrontation threatens to destroy Lucy’s world forever.

A tightly wound, lightning-paced historical adventure packed with clever dialogue, aristocratic defiance, and breathless romance.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: The Sword of D’Ambry was written and designed with a specific mission in mind: to recapture the magic of mid-20th-century mass-market paperback pulp stories and dime-store novels. This exciting short novel is purposely published on old-fashioned Groundwood paper in an attempt to match the texture, styling, and dense layout of the classic swashbuckling adventures that had graced book racks decades ago.

This is a modern tribute to the golden era of when swashbucklers were more appreciated and cherished. This also recaptures the “feel” of golden era Hollywood swashbuckling classic movies, as well; capturing the zest and athletic enthusiasm that Fairbanks and Flynn had brought to the silver screen. Step back in time and experience a modern tale in a classic format! 

NOW AVAILABLE IN BOTH PRINT AND EBOOK AT AMAZON.COM

CLICK HERE FOR THE PRINT BOOK

CLICK HERE FOR THE EBOOK

READ THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS BELOW

TABLE OF CONTENTS: (click on chapter title...)

Chapter 1: The King’s Guardsman and the Traitor’s Daughter

Monsieur François D'Ambry wasn't a man to cross; his temper, along with his deadly skill with a blade, had proved this on many occasions. Several young noblemen had lost their lives attempting to prove that his fiery reputation was in serious error. However, when it came to matters of the heart, it was equally true that he was thoroughly beaten by the beautiful Mademoiselle Lucy Du Bois. For certain, he was a handsome devil, but it mattered very little to Mademoiselle Lucy; for to her, what were looks compared to high station and wealth? Yet, despite this setback, Monsieur D'Ambry—a man born to poor parents who were little more than peasants—was truly determined to make her his own.

Seventeenth-century France was a land riddled with romance, intrigue, and swashbuckling cavaliers. Time would only tell if this young Guardsman of King Louis XIII’s army would be able to sway the young lady’s mind . . . but little does he know how dangerous that mission will actually prove to be.

Unbeknownst to Lucy, her own father, Monsieur André, Le Comte Du Bois, though an aristocrat who had reached one of the highest positions at court, was really nothing more than a traitor and a spy for England—the bitter enemy of France at that time. King Charles I of England had sent warships to besiege the coastal city of La Rochelle late in the year 1627 (or, more accurately, the English Prime Minister, the Duke of Buckingham, had sent those ships in the king’s name), and Le Comte Du Bois had been sending secret correspondence back and forth with the Duke.

****

"Monsieur Henry Baker, here are the last of the correspondences to send to Buckingham," André Du Bois said, sliding the papers across his desk. "He expects them in hand by midnight."

Standing at the opposite side of the desk, in this mid-sized, though handsomely furnished office, was a lean man in his early sixties. Though Mister Baker had signs of hard life upon his features, he wore an elaborate costume of the higher classes . . . In deep contrast to Mr. Baker was Du Bois, who had remained seated at his desk. He was a rather heavy-set man in his early fifties, with a rugged, though determined look in his eyes. One could certainly tell that he displayed an air that spoke volumes to the observer that, except for royalty, all others were certainly beneath his own character. He too, as an aristocrat, was well dressed this late evening, with several pieces of jewelry upon his fingers and around his neck.

"As always, Count Du Bois; you know that I am your humble servant," Henry Baker replied, his lips curling into a sarcastic grin as he took the letters. "But I honestly did not know the Duke was in France at this time."

"Well, that's the whole point, Henry! Buckingham doesn't want anyone to know he is here. He figured he could conduct the war more easily by being closer to the action."

Henry sighed, shaking his head. "And all this killing for the love of a single woman! Tisk, tisk."

André paused, looking up with a surprised glare. "What was that you said?"

"I didn't mean to mumble," Henry replied smoothly, adjusting his coat.

“Why, Henry!” Du Bois said, leaning back in his chair and eyeing the man with an equally sarcastic gaze. “Being a native of England, I thought you'd approve of the Duke's actions. Not only so, I had you figured for a romantic."

"You're teasing me! I'm getting too old to have any use for romance—I leave that to the younger generation," Henry smiled weakly. "It's true that I am loyal to my Lord Duke, but that doesn't mean I always agree with his decisions. However, I remain his humble servant, though it pains me to see him risk a war over the favors of the French Queen; and, too, because King Louis has restricted his access to her . . . But, despite my words, my Lord Duke knows full well that I'm loyal to him—that's why he personally placed me into your service, for he knows I'll always serve England faithfully . . . Now, of course, that doesn't explain your loyalty, sir; of why you chose to betray your own king! You’ll forgive my frank observations, but I will always have England's best interests at heart before all else."

André let out a brief, sharp laugh. "Why, you have a very suspicious nature, Henry! I'm already betraying Louis; I've no intention of betraying two kings! What sort of a fool do you think I am? . . . But never mind all this,” Du Bois said, while rising from his desk chair and walking over toward Mr. Baker, but without coming too near him, “we're wasting time. The Duke is awaiting you at the Inn that you know so well."

"Ah!" Henry said, his face filling with a delighted expression. "You mean La Tortue Inn."

"The same."

"Well, I shan’t keep my Lord Duke waiting," Henry declared.

Gathering the secret correspondences, Henry turned toward the office door. The paper rustled loudly under his arm as he walked across the room and pulled the heavy door open, only to stop in sudden surprise. "Oh! Miss Lucy! You are here? At the door?"

Lucy Du Bois, a young, lean, attractive girl looked back at him, her eyes narrowing with a scrutinizing gaze, and with a frown. "Whom else did you expect at this hour? The Duke of Buckingham?"

"Oh, ho! Just like your father, you like to tease!" Henry chuckled, sidestepping past her into the corridor. "Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have business to attend."

His hurried footsteps faded away down the long hallway, leaving the two aristocrats alone.

Chapter 2: An Uninvited Visitor

Lucy watched Mr. Baker leave, then turned toward her father in the office. "Father, why do you keep him on?"

"What do you mean?" André asked, unconcerned, as he returned to his desk, sat down, and shuffled through some ledger pages.

"He's an Englishman. He may be keeping secrets from us by corresponding with the enemy!"

André laughed warmly, waving off her concerns, and looking up at her. "You are just like your late mother—always suspicious of everybody! Henry is really a loyal servant."

"Well, if you say so, father," Lucy murmured, remaining unsettled, as her eyes floated toward the direction of the exiting door, which she had recently closed.

"Is that what you came into my office to ask me?" André asked, still sitting at his desk, and returning his eyes to his paperwork.

"No, it's not," Lucy said, her tone sharpening with irritation, looking now back toward him, and as she approached the desk. "That insane soldier is calling upon me again!"

"What insane soldier? Who are you talking about?"

Lucy crossed her arms, her brow furrowing. "You don't remember Monsieur D'Ambry? Monsieur François D'Ambry?"

"I must admit that the name does not sound familiar to me," André replied. But, then, starting to knit his brows, he decided to, once again, look back up at her, ceasing his activity of the workload. "You say that he has called upon you before?"

"Yes. And he's an imbecile!"

"Why? What has he done?" André asked, growing agitated as he rose slowly from his desk once more. "Has he hurt you?"

"It's worse than that, father! He told me that he loves me!"

André let out a long breath, his posture relaxing with immense relief. "Oh! Well, being young and beautiful as you are, my dear, you're just going to have to get used to that. Is he in the château at this time?"

"Yes."

"Well, how so? How did he get past our servants and guards to get in here?"

"I asked them that myself," Lucy huffed. "It seems that Monsieur D'Ambry told them that he's a good friend of yours. And, when I looked over at him, after a servant told me this, D'Ambry burst out laughing!"

André’s face started to harden. "Oh, he did, did he? I'll take care of him!"  he said, beginning to shift his weight onto his right leg to leave.

"Hold up, father! You have to be careful," Lucy warned him quickly, stepping into his path and barring his way. "As imbecilic as he is, he's a demon behind his blade! That is, if you are thinking of challenging him."

"'Fear not, my dear. I shall handle him," André stated firmly as he walked around her.

So, with furious determination, the count marched out of his office with Lucy following closely behind. Their footsteps echoed as they passed into the adjoining hall, a space opulent with rich décor, tapestries, candles, massive rugs, and extraordinary furniture and trappings. As they advanced their destination, their footsteps grew sharper and closer as they stepped into the presence of this uninvited visitor.

"You! You, over there!" André bellowed in the massive room, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "Who are you? Why are you in my home? How dare you!"

Just a few feet away, father and daughter came to a halt in front of the young man; whose back, however, was turned away. But, then, D'Ambry turned around, looking entirely cheerful as a large, confident smile broke across his face. "Well, good evening, Monsieur Le Comte Du Bois!"

"I ask again," André shouted, perhaps even louder, as he took a menacing step forward, "who are you?"

"Why, do you not know your good friend D'Ambry?" the soldier asked, his easy grin never wavering.

"This is nonsense! I do not know you!" André hissed, his fists clenching. "You've merely come here on the pretense that you know me just to have your way with my daughter!"

D'Ambry’s smile faltered into a temporary frown. "Why, that's not nice of you to say at all!"

"Well deserved, no less!" André grunted.

"My intentions with your daughter are as innocent as they are tender," D'Ambry insisted, his cheerful demeanor quickly returning. "But, my business with you is much more complicated."

"Business with me? What business? Explain yourself!"

"Well, before we come down to it," said D'Ambry, as he sauntered casually toward a side table, "can't we first have a glass of that Burgundy wine that I see over yonder?"

André was completely taken aback, knitting his brows heavily in absolute disbelief. "Have you completely lost your senses?"

Without offering an answer, D'Ambry neared the table as his light, steady footsteps glided across the marbled floor. He picked up the crystal decanter and began pouring the rich wine into a silver cup, the liquid splashing heavily into the vessel.

"I must say! You have nerve!" André shouted from the other side of the room, glaring at the soldier’s back in utter disbelief.

D'Ambry, having turned around to face them, raised the cup, placing it directly to his lips. "To your health!" he declared, draining the entire drink in a single, confident gulp. He placed the empty cup down upon the table with a firm click, then looked full into the count’s face. "Tell me, monsieur, this servant of yours—Henry Baker, is it?—how long has he been in your service?"

A heavy, sudden silence fell over the room for a tense moment. André offered no answer.

D'Ambry let out a soft laugh, tilting his head. "What's the matter, monsieur? Has the English climate chilled your speech?"

Silence stretched over the drawing room once more, thick with unspoken tension.

"It's alright, monsieur. You don't have to say anything," D'Ambry continued smoothly, crossing his arms. "We know all about Monsieur Henry; of how he's an English spy for Buckingham. But the question remains about what you've been up to."