PROLOGUE
The year was 1709, the monarchy was under threat, and the queen’s advisers worried. Danger came from many different quarters, and something had to be done. A council was formed by Anne, Queen of Great Britain, and she gathered ten of her most powerful nobles. Men she trusted to pledge their allegiance to her and none other. Each was given a ring, the gold band forged from goblets said to be used by William the Conqueror in 1066 when he won the Battle of Hastings and took the throne. The men would protect the ruling monarch, and the council would be known as Alexius.The Defenders.
Over the years their numbers would grow as members would be enlisted for courageous acts undertaken or loyalty to the throne. Others inherited the position. Brothers, cousins, all united in their quest.
Veritas scutumtibi erit would be their pledge.The truth will be your shield.
CHAPTERONE
The hackney smelled of a combination of odors; none of them were pleasant. Forrest Howarth tried not to think about where they had originated. He was on his way back to his family’s townhouse. He’d left the musicale early, insisting his cousins stay, as Ella, his daughter, was sick. He wanted to check she was well, even though he had left her in the capable hands of her nanny.
Life had taken an unexpected turn for Forrest when he came to London—for the better. Society wasn’t something he enjoyed overly, but as he owed his family a great deal, he went to balls, musicales, and other events to thank them for their support of him when he’d believed he was raising his daughter alone.
The hackney stopped suddenly. He had no time to brace himself and went flying. Staggering upright, he wrenched open the door and stepped down.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“A woman, sir, and a cripple. They got in me bleedin’ way!” The driver was standing, waving his fist.
Walking to the front of the hackney, Forrest saw a woman crouched on the street. He moved to her side and dropped to his haunches.
“Are you all right, madam?”
She didn’t reply, instead focusing on the boy lying on the road before her.
“Open your eyes for me now, brother.” Her voice was gruff with emotion.
“Did the hackney strike him?”
“Yes. We were crossing the road, and my brother cannot move with speed. Your hackney did not slow and knocked him to the ground.”
Forrest looked around and saw two crutches a few feet away. He found two large bags also, and what appeared to be a hatbox. There was no one else with the woman and her brother.
“’Ere, you need to move it along!”
Forrest rose and faced the driver.
“I will pay you to shut your mouth and wait. Have you no kindness or decency in your soul? Your vehicle struck this poor boy.” The words came out in a deep growl, and the driver must have heard the warning in Forrest’s tone, as he sat back down and folded his arms.
Grabbing the crutches, Forrest returned to the boy. He crouched opposite the woman now.
“He is waking,” she whispered.
Her cloak was black, hood raised. The bonnet beneath was also black. He had yet to see her face. Small, he thought—slender, he amended, looking at the gloved hand that touched the boy.
“Wh-What happened?” The boy’s eyes flew open.
“You were struck by my hackney, sir.”
The eyes went from the woman to him.
“I apologize. May I assist you to where you need to go?”
“Are you badly hurt, brother?” The woman ignored Forrest and addressed the boy.
“Help me rise.”
“You were knocked unconscious.” Forrest pressed a hand to his shoulder.
