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Of the second book in the series
La Rose Rouge
Winds of Change series
Book Two
Sometimes in the winds of change we
find our direction
By Marilyn Parkinson Evans
Copyright © 2017by Marilyn Parkinson Evans
All Rights Reserved, no part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any
form or in any means by electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording or otherwise without prior written permission from
the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses
or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental and the result of the writer’s imagination.
With sincere appreciation from the author to my friends and
Aurore my heroine, has taken me personally on an epic journey
of discovery, painting vivid pictures in my mind enabling
creativity to flourish where a wilderness of self-doubt strangled
any confidence to write out of existence. I would like to
dedicate the book firstly to my mother and father for their
unbelievable encouragement especially supportive with my
struggle with my daemon, in the form of dyslexia, their faith in
me empowered success in many achievements. I must also
express my gratitude to the amazingly talented RP writers on
twitter that have encouraged me generously giving their
support over the last three years, Remy Beaumont without his
continued inspiration and encouragement the book would still
be a dream. Edmund Lloyd & Margret Rose who gave me my
first break into RP. Finally, Helen Ibbott, Karen Thompkins,
Lesley & Amanda, for their undying support and friendships.
The novel is set in 17th century France during the reign of King
Louis XIII this is a time of uncertainty where the powers of
France and Spain are at loggerheads with the Spanish-
Habsburgs having a hegemony in Europe.
In Spain in 1630 erupted especially hard in Catalonia and its
capital Barcelona and this in turn brought famine to the rest of
the Spanish territory. The Count Duke of Olivares proposed to
raise the taxes on 1631 that was not well-received.
A rebellion broke out it was one of the biggest in Basque
history. As soon as the violence erupted in the streets the
people’s discontent was clear they were rallying against the
rule of Castile, against economical inequities, against the
Count-Duke of Olivares himself, claiming a communal
distribution of the area. The Spanish lower classes were getting
tired of supporting wars and projects that had nothing to do
with them. Since the upper classes were not about to tolerate
such nonconformities they stroke back themselves.
The Duke of Ciudad Real, a favourite of King Philip IV's,
personally commanded an armed force into Bilbao to quell the
Basque revolt. By April 1634, he had arrested and executed six
of the rebel leaders. The salt tax was removed shortly
afterwards, and everything went back to basically the way it
was before, although the rebellion will always be remembered
as one of the most important in Basque history.
Chapter One The nobles of Butrón
Chapter Two Rebellion
Chapter Three Resistance
Chapter Four My Rosa Vermelha
Chapter Five Retreat
Chapter Six One more night Meu Amor
Chapter Eight The island of Gaztelugatxe
Chapter Nine Joanes de Suhigaraychipi “le Coursic”
Chapter Ten Paris
Chapter One The nobles of Butrón
The dawn breaks and a man walks alone in quiet
contemplation unperturbed by the change of seasons oblivious
to the bitter and biting wind blowing across the parapet, the
hem of his long coat flapping against his well-worn boots.
Winter brings the first flourish of snow freezing the ground
beneath his boots with each stride the ground crunches leaving
indelible footprints in the virginal snow; his heart is heavy with
the burden of responsibility not able to evade the commands of
duty since his brother Alexander’s murder. John comes to
stand alone a solitary figure on one of castle Burton’s tower
turrets looking down surveying his men camped below, he
sighs this is where he places his trust in divine providence,
confident that one day he will take his rightful place on the
Portuguese’s throne by winning the alliance of his cousins.
John a man of conscience with a strong a sense of duty has
answered the call to arms from the house of Butrón and the
King of Castile. The lineage of the feudal and noble families of
the Crown of Castile are direct descendant of the house of
Haro, the house of Burgundy and by this family line of the
monarchs of the kingdoms of Asturias, Castilla, León, Aragón,
Navarra, Portugal, the Capetian dynasty of France, the
Hohenstaufen dynasty of Germany, the Plantagenet house of
England, the house of Normandy and the house of Uppsala.
Butrón Castle is a fortress in the Basque Country, solid and
imposing, with thick stone walls and its history can be traced
back to the 11th century when a medieval tower was built on
top of house Butrón, the castles design with cylindrical towers
stands out in a setting among lush forests located in the
province of Vizcaya during the so-called War of the Bands, the
nobles of the region chose one of the two sides: Gamboínos and
Oñacinos. The confrontations didn’t end until the 15th century,
when the Catholic Monarchs enforced peace, but some of the
legends forged during that era still live on. The Lords of Butrón
used the Castle as their powerbase and ruled the surrounding
area from this stronghold.
Spain once more marches into the region to enforce the
collection of taxes King Philip IV's commands, the Count-Duke
of Olivares, is to collect the monies from the provinces of Spain
laying Castile to waste if needs be, raising the salt taxes an
extra 40% added to fund the Kings wars. John shakes his head
so much blood already spilled in the name of this tyrant, lives
will be lost tomorrow with the raising of the Basques against
the injustice and poverty the new taxes will impose on the
impoverished working classes.
Icy winds from the north wind bite hard turning John’s fingers
blue with cold cupping his hands together he brings then up to
his lips blowing his breath into the centre his warm breath rises
billowing out misty clouds into the cold air. His thoughts turn
with trepidation as he surveys with heavy heart courage’s men
gathered under winter’s skies. The Duke of Ciudad Real, a
favourite of King Philip IV's, personally commands an armed
force camped a few miles from Bilbao sent to quell the Basque
Chapter Two Rebellion
Emerging through the breaking dawn the monolithic structure
of Burton castle, bleak clouds cast shadows over the steel grey
walls, the nobles of Burton’s bastion of defence for hundreds of
years it is now at the heart of yet another conflict. Awakened
by the irregular jarring of the carriage wheels on the frozen
stone road and the freezing conditions of the winter, Aurore is
jolted into conscience shivering. Her dream fragmented into a
myriad of broken shards shattered hopes and dreams
unfulfilled. Every night the same dream in monotonous
repartition her thoughts haunted by her sacrifices for king and
country, the love of a good man and family she so desires
stolen by time and occupation. Entwined within the protective
arms of her imaginary lover covered only by cotton sheets their
desire a shroud of sated love. Delicate pewter light washes the
wall to the chamber always blurred at the edges, night nymphs
flutter across the sea of light illuminating the entwinned lovers
their sparks tempting Aurore’s arousal, whispering unspoken
words only preserved within her thoughts. Annals of time
flashing in her mind’s eye entwined with her future, lost in a
time forgotten, buried in the depths of despair. Aurore now
fully awake stares blankly from the window of the rolling
carriage with memories of deeds so dark staining her heart
with scars that no love can repair.
The weather outside the carriage is bleak as winters bites
freezing the earth, the journey into Castalan was arduous she
gladly accepts Father Lawrence’s assistance from the now
stationary in the inner courtyard of the castle.
The hem of Aurore’s cloak is encased in mud and drags heavily
over the stone floor the journey into Castalan was arduous
Aurore follows Brother Lawrence the squeak from his unoiled
leather sandals sounding very much like the rigging on a ship.
Treading one foot in front of the other in one fluid movement,
she glides effortlessly across the floor, her silhouetted shadow
dances freely bathing in the soft light with golden hues across
the passageway walls. Lunas last rays flooding through a small
window in pewter rays anointing the contours of supple body.
Finally reaching her chambers at the end of the long
passageway, Father Lawrence stops near and turns towards
Aurore his head bowed and hands interlocked neatly in front
of his robe. Reaching for the door handle he silently he opens
the carved wooden door and bids Aurore to enter, politely and
reverently explaining in softened tones that John had arrange
for a meal to be served in his private quarters at lunch time of
the next day, a relaxed meeting where they could have a
discussion in private. Bowing his head again Brother Lawrence
withdraws closing the door behind him silently. Alone now
with her thoughts she absentmindedly glances around the
large room noticing on a small carved table in the corner of the
room a vase of red roses next to the vase a crystal bottle,
intrigue she unplugs the stopper from the bottle raising it to
her nose sniffing the scent of delicate rose and sandalwood oils,
a note nestled in the flowers;
“Aurore Rosa vermelha
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