CHAPTER TWO
‡
I Met My End Bravely
They’d beaten the Norman knight fairly severely, so much so that she ended up covering the man with her body and chasing away those who were trying to kill him. Although she never thought she would have protected a Norman knight, there was something in her that simply couldn’t stand by and watch it happen. When some of her brethren began aiming clubs at the knight’s head, she covered his bare head with her arms.
“Enough!” the woman ordered. “You will not kill him!”
She had to fight off those who refused to listen to her, but men who knew and respected her called off those unwilling to obey her command. Slowly, the violence eased and they all stood around, looking at her as she literally lay upon the injured Norman knight to protect him. But still, the men were edgy. It was the end of a most important day and they were all still riding high on the scent of battle.
It had only been a few hours earlier in the battle against the Normans when the rumor began to spread quickly through the Anglo-Saxon ranks that Harold had been killed by a Norman arrow. He’d been close to the lines at the time and when he fell, wounded, he’d been trampled by his own men. It had been a chaotic scene as some of his advisors tried to carry him away, shielding him from the soldiers because they knew that once it was known that Harold had been killed, the Anglo-Saxon army would lose faith and fracture.
Unfortunately, that was exactly what had happened even as some of Harold’s army still tried to fight back and hold off the Norman tide. But the shield wall had failed and the Normans broke through, many of them swarming right to the spot where Harold had lain. And the Norman knight on the ground….
He’d been one of those who had seen Harold’s body and had called forth more Normans to partake in the triumph of a fallen king. He’d been a well-armed, powerful knight, but as he moved about, confident in a Norman victory, he’d made a terrible mistake – he’d traveled alone and without the company of others. He seemed more intent to linger near the Anglo-Saxon lines that were breaking up. For the Anglo-Saxons fleeing the battlefield, the lone Norman knight had been a target of their vengeance.
Knocked off his horse by a nasty club strike to the back of the head, they’d tied the unconscious knight to a horse by his leg and dragged him away as they’d fled. Now, they were several miles to the west in a vast and dense forest, regrouping with some of their dispirited army. The Norman knight was on the ground, dazed, as men took their rage out on him.
But the woman had stopped them.
Even now as she lay sprawled over him, she’d taken a few blows from her own men who had refused to heed her command. An older soldier, seasoned and trying to gain control of the others, held back some of the more aggressive men.
“He is our enemy, Ghislaine,” he said in a calm, even tone. “You cannot prevent what must come about. The men must know some satisfaction on this night.”
Ghislaine pulchra ancilla Merciae, or Ghislaine, The Beautiful Maid of Mercia, and sister to Edwin, Earl of Mercia, didn’t move from her position over the wounded knight. She knew the men wouldn’t strike as long as she was there but, in all honestly, she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t joining them in their rage. She’d been at the battle from the beginning and she, too, held hatred in her heart for the Normans. But there was something about this situation that spoke to her of something beyond a captured Norman knight.
There was an opportunity here.
“His death would be momentary satisfaction only,” she said. “None of you realize that this man is of value to us. Do you not understand? You captured him to kill him but you must not do that – he knows the Norman ways. They are upon our shores and our king has been killed this night. Are you too foolish to realize that he may be of use for our very survival?”
It was very dark in the trees, the shadows from the moon barely piercing the canopy as dozens, if not hundreds, of men lingered below, beaten and bloodied from a day of battle against the Norman invaders. They were also confused and dazed. Even as Ghislaine spoke, the men surrounding her and the injured knight didn’t seem to grasp what she was suggesting.
“I would rather feel the satisfaction of his head upon my sword!” one of the men snarled as the others around him agreed.
But Ghislaine shook her head. “Nay,” she stressed. “He is of more value to us alive.”
“The only valuable Norman is a dead one!”
Men shouted in agreement but Ghislaine put up a hand to plead for understanding. “Killing him would accomplish nothing! We would only be harming ourselves in the end! Can you not see how valuable he could be?”
“He is our enemy, Ghislaine.”
The voice came from the darkness. Then, a slender man with a massive scar across his face running from his left temple, across his nose, and ending by the right side of his jaw pushed through the men standing about. When he made an appearance, everyone seemed to fall quiet; where anger and revenge had reflected in men’s expressions, now there was uncertainty. Fear. Even Ghislaine’s features changed at the sight; there was fear there but she was trying not to show it.
At that moment, the mood in the agitated circle of men seemed to plummet.
“Alary,” she said calmly. “Greetings, Brother. God has been merciful that you have survived the battle.”
Alary of Mercia, a brother to both Ghislaine and Earl Edwin, surveyed the group of men standing around before finally coming to rest on his sister, still spread out over the injured knight. His dark eyes narrowed.
“Aye, I survived,” he said. He began to pace a slow circle around his sister and the crumpled knight. “I survived when our good king did not. Why I should be spared and Harold should die, I will never know. God is, mayhap, not favoring the faithful on this night. And you, my sister? I thought you hated the Normans as we all did. Why do you protect this knight?”
Ghislaine eyed her brother until he wandered out of her sight; she didn’t like the fact that he was behind her now. Alary was unpredictable at best, an edgy sadist with a brutal streak, so much so that their brother, Edwin, had exiled him from the royal stronghold of Tamworth last year. Too much disobedience on Alary’s part and an incident that saw one of Edwin’s favorite knights killed had warranted such a reaction. If evil had a name and a face, both belonged to Alary of Mercia. Alary Obscurum, he was known.
Alary the Dark.
“I am not protecting him,” she said, feeling fearful of her brother even as she said it. “But we should think twice before using him as an object of vengeance. He looks to be a very fine knight. Mayhap, we could ransom him to Normandy or even back to his own family. Mayhap, he even knows of Normandy’s plans. Certainly, we should consider such things before the men run him through and we lose any chance we have of understanding Normandy’s intentions. He could be valuable.”
Alary had wandered into her line of sight again. He stood there, looking down at her, and it made Ghislaine very nervous. Undoubtedly, her brother was considering what she’d said but, knowing him, there was some grisly twist to it all. She’d seen what the man could do to his enemies. Therefore, she braced herself.
“That is a very astute observation,” Alary finally said. “Can the knight speak for himself? Remove yourself, Ghislaine. No one will hurt the knight. I wish to speak with him.”
Ghislaine didn’t trust her brother. He’d been known to break bonds before and had a history of telling mistruths to those around him. Still, she couldn’t lay on the knight forever so she shifted her body, cautiously climbing off the man. He was crumpled on his side, his dark blonde hair matted with dirt and blood. She remained beside him, bending down to get a look at his face in the darkness.
Truthfully, she couldn’t even tell if he was conscious. She peered closer to his face, catching a glimmer of his eyeballs in the darkness.
He was awake.
“What is your name?” she asked him in his language, something she had learned at her parents’ insistence because it was the common language of many people in England. “Do not be afraid. Tell me your name.”
In the darkness, the knight blinked. “You speak my language.”
“I do. Answer me. What is your name?”
“De Lohr.”
His voice sounded tight, as he was in pain. Ghislaine rocked back on her heels, turning to her brother. “His name is de Lohr,” she said. “What would you ask him?”
Alary moved closer, bending over to get a look at the knight. “I want to know a great many things,” he said. “Move away. I would speak with him alone.”
Ghislaine shook her head. “I will not,” she said. “I do not trust you not to kill him.”
Alary’s expression tightened and he reached down, grabbing her roughly by the shoulder. “I told you to go.”
Ghislaine balled a fist and hit his hand away, hard. “He is my prisoner,” she declared. “I brought him here. I saved him from death. If you want to speak with him, then do it, but I will not leave.”
Alary was exasperated. “Why are you so protective of him? What is he to you?”
His question brought her building rage to a halt because it was something she didn’t have a ready answer for. She had a myriad of theories, but no hard truths. Her gaze moved from her brother to the knight, who was looking at her steadily – with resignation. He knew his fate was in her hands. She was his only protection against the mob and he knew it. Why was she so protective of him?
Remember Norman mercy the next time you intend to do one of us harm.
Something that big, nasty Norman knight had said to her when he had captured her and demanded to know of her king’s fate. He could have killed her but he hadn’t and he’d reminded her of that fragile mercy. Therefore, his statement remained with her, whether or not she wanted it to.
Now, it was a matter of honor… in the same situation, would she show mercy also?
Perhaps, that was the real truth behind her protection of the injured knight.
“This man is nothing to me,” she said for all to hear, torn between defiance and embarrassment. “But one of this knight’s brethren captured me during the battle and could have easily killed me. Yet, he spared my life and he told me to remember Norman mercy. Because of him, I will protect this knight because I always pay my debts. It is a matter of honor now – my life was spared and so shall this man’s be. He is to be untouched as long as I have breath in my body.”
The men around her understood such a debt. They were warriors, all of them, and mercy was that rare and precious quality that often times was the true test of honor in battle. Ghislaine of Mercia was a warrior woman, raised with her brothers to fight and to protect their lands and people.
When Harold brought his army south, Ghislaine’s brother, Earl Edwin, had been far to the north so Ghislaine and the outcast Alary had joined Harold’s army to meet the Norman invasion. They were warriors from generations of warriors, born and bred, and that was why she was here – a strong woman who commanded respect from the men around her. And because she was a warrior, she had the capacity to understand what honor and sacrifice meant.
I always pay my debts. She was paying it upon the cause of a wounded Norman knight.
But Alary was different. He didn’t understand much beyond his own selfish wants; glory for himself, wealth for himself, and an undying jealousy of his elder brothers’ status – he had two elder brothers who were both earls: Edwin of Mercia and Morcar of Northumbria. But Alary the Dark was nothing; perhaps he had hoped that supporting Harold against the Norman invasion would somehow prove to the king that he was worthy of such titles as his brothers held. But after this day, that was not to be and the sting of disappointment was a powerful thing in Alary’s heart.
Therefore, he wasn’t pleased with his sister’s refusal to turn the Norman knight over to him. Without another word, he stomped off into the darkness, taking some of the men with him. Only a few lingered now but with the declaration of Ghislaine’s merciful intentions, there wasn’t much reason for them to hang around the Norman knight. He was too injured to escape and even if he tried, they could easily catch him. Therefore, they started to move away in a disgruntled weary group.
Ghislaine suspected what the men were thinking and she further suspected that her brother’s departure was not permanent. He knew they had a valuable asset in the Norman knight and, greedy as he was, she knew he would be back. But at least for the moment, she could breathe without his ominous presence. She leaned over the knight once more.
“How badly injured are you?” she asked. “Can you move your limbs?”
Kristoph couldn’t see much of the woman who was hovering over him, but her voice had a silky quality that was deceptively comforting. Could he move his limbs? He really had no idea. He hadn’t tried. He’d rolled himself into a ball once they’d untied him from the horse that had dragged him over miles of rocks and bramble, and that was where he remained. Fortunately, he was wearing mail and protection so he was fairly certain the damage to his skin was minimal. But he’d lost his helm somewhere along the way and his head was painful and swimming. So was the leg they’d tied the rope to. Gingerly, he extended both legs to feel for breaks or damage.
“I seem to be able to,” he said, now moving his arms slowly. He ended up flat on his back, gazing up at the dark canopy above and a glimmer of stars beyond that. “But it is difficult to breathe. I may have broken something when I fell off my horse.”
Ghislaine looked at the man. He was very big and she could see the size of his arms and thighs even through the heavy padding and clothing he wore. It wasn’t much different from what her army wore, but it was better made. The Normans had the latest in armor and protection, but that kind of thing was expensive. The man had money or he came from money, because the protection he wore was very fine.
“Then I will have a healer tend to you,” she said, “but I cannot promise it will be any time soon. We have a great deal of wounded.”
The knight didn’t say anything for a moment, staring blankly up at the sky above. “Where is my horse?”
“I do not know.”
“My sword. It was sheathed on my saddle.”
“I do not know where your horse or your sword are, but I am sure they are both the spoils of war for one of our soldiers. I would not worry over either if I were you. I would worry about myself.”
That was not unreasonable advice. Kristoph knew as much but, still, he had to ask. His head lolled in her direction.
“A pity,” he said. “I was rather fond of that horse and the sword… my father gave it to me when I was knighted many years ago. I shall miss them both.”
Ghislaine’s gaze lingered on him a moment. “Then, mayhap, you should not have come to take our country,” she said. “Had you remained on your own shores, you would not have lost either one.”
He lifted his eyebrows, slowly, as if she had just said something he more or less agreed with. His eyes left her face, moving down her body, seeing that she, too, was wearing heavy protection but on a smaller scale, built for her woman’s body. She was dressed like a warrior.
“Much as you have done, I, too, follow my king,” he said quietly, not commenting on the fact that she was dressed like a man. “If it makes you feel any better, my wife did not wish for me to come, either.”
“You are married?”
“Aye,” he said, his expression softening, even in the dim light. “A woman with skin like cream and hair the color of coal. The angel of my heart. She gives the commands and I obey. But on this occasion, I could not. I was duty-bound to follow my king. She will not be pleased that I have managed to throw myself into the arms of the enemy.”
Ghislaine thought on a Norman woman with pale skin and black hair who was now missing her husband, only she didn’t know it yet. It made Ghislaine think on her own husband, lost in a shipwreck two years ago. He had been traveling with the king to Ponthieu when the ship had run aground. Her sweet Hakon had drown in the ensuing chaos, only three months into their marriage which had been a very pleasant one.
Ghislaine well remembered the grief from that loss, now fighting off the guilt that some woman she did not know would soon be facing the same thing. She should have turned away from the conversation at this point, unwilling to come to know the Norman knight beyond his hated loyalties. But some deep-seated pity in her now had her seeing the knight not as an enemy but as a man. He had a wife, the angel of his heart.
He knew love.
“Then I will repeat that you should not have come to our country,” she said, trying to fight off any compassion she might be feeling towards him. “You should have listened to her.”
Kristoph could hear the sharpness in her tone, but it was hollow, as if she didn’t really mean it. He had been a warrior long enough to know sympathy when he heard it and he knew very well that this female warrior was the only thing that stood between him and a thousand men who wanted to kill him. He didn’t want to anger her, but he needed her loyalty. If there was any chance of him coming out of this alive, he needed her on his side.
“You are right. I should have,” he said. “I regret that I did not. Her name is Adalie, in fact. She bore my daughter last year and she was quite disappointed that it was not a son, but I was not disappointed. I was glad to have a daughter who looks just like her mother. You have never seen a more beautiful girl-child with black hair and blue eyes. She will be quite beautiful when she grows up. I… I was hoping to be there when she did.”
He was being manipulative now, hoping that the female warrior would feel great sympathy for him with a child he wanted to see grow up. It was a desperate move on his part, but the situation called for it. He couldn’t see her face in the darkness now because she had turned away from him. It was a few moments before she replied.
“If that is true, then you should not have left her,” she finally said. “You did not need to come here with your army. This country already has a king and now he is dead because of you and your men. What about his wife and children? Did you think of them before you tried to kill him?”
Kristoph could hear the strain in her voice. “Nay,” he said quietly, but with honesty. “No one ever thinks on the family of their enemies. But at this moment, my family is the most important thing in the world to me – a wife I love and a daughter I adore. I want to see them again, my lady. Will you not help me?”
Ghislaine turned to him, then. She hissed sharply, shaking her head. “I spared your life because one of your fellow knights spared mine,” she said. “Do not ask for more than that.”
Kristoph had heard that story as he’d lain upon the ground, balled up and in pain. He’d heard her speak of the knight who had shown her “Norman mercy” and he’d heard that she believed she was paying back a debt in protecting him from her angry kinsmen. But he wanted more than a sense of duty; he wanted help.
“Then what do you plan to do with me?” he asked.
She stared at him a moment before looking away. “If you want to stay alive, I suggest you be as complacent and pleasing as you can possibly be. If someone asks you for information on the Norman army, then you will answer truthfully. The moment you cease to become of value is the moment someone will slit your throat. The only way to stay alive will be by cooperating.”
In the darkness, he sighed faintly as he understood what she was telling him. “I will not betray my men,” he said softly.
“No one said anything about betraying your men. But if I were you, I would do all I could to ensure that I survived to return to Adalie and your blue-eyed daughter. Are they not worth it?”
Just as he had tried to manipulate her, now she was turning the tables on him. Kristoph was astute enough to realize that and he fought off a smile at a lady who would turn the tables on him. She was cleverer than he gave her credit for.
“They are,” he said. He continued to watch her in the darkness, thinking of another angle to take in their conversation. Maybe if he tried to establish a personal relationship with her…. “May I ask your name, my lady? We have had a rather long conversation and I fear that we have not been properly introduced.”
She wouldn’t look at him when she spoke because there was only a hair’s-width separating her from truly sympathizing with him. “Ghislaine,” she said, “but I suggest you not use it in front of my men. They will not take kindly to hearing my name from your lips.”
“Ghislaine,” he murmured. GIZ-lain. “It is a lovely name. Have you always fought with the army, Ghislaine?”
She nodded. “As long as I can recall,” she said. Then, she turned to look at him. “Before you ask me any more questions, I will tell you that one of my brothers is the Earl of Mercia and another is the Earl of Northumbria. If you were conscious when you heard me speak to a man named Alary, that is also a brother, but he is a demon who walks the earth in a man’s skin. He is wicked and devious, so you must beware of him. I have a feeling he will be back and if he truly wants you, it will be difficult to stop him.”
Kristoph had, indeed, heard her speaking to a man with a voice that was low and gritty, like rocks grating against stone. He appreciated that she had pointed out a serious danger to him but in his condition, there wasn’t much he could do about it. If Alary wanted him, it wasn’t as if he could fight back.
Groaning softly, he rolled to his side and slowly sat up, feeling every ache and every stab of pain in his battered body. His head was throbbing and he winced as he sat there a moment, trying to catch his breath.
“Ghislaine, if I may speak plainly,” he said, resisting the urge to put a hand to his aching head. “I am not part of the Duke of Normandy’s inner circle. I do not know of his plans or even of his operations. I can tell you his strengths and how many men he carries, but you could see that for yourself today. I am afraid that if your men intend to interrogate me, they will be terribly disappointed. If… if I promise to return home to my wife and stay there, will you please let me go?”
Ghislaine looked at him. He sounded sincere, but it was equally possible that he was lying to her. He was finely dressed and she knew he had money, which meant that he more than likely was more to the Norman duke than he said he was.
“Go?” she repeated. “Go where? Do you even know where you are?”
“You could tell me.”
She almost considered it. Ghislaine was having visions of a young mother being informed that her husband was never to return and the same feelings she felt at Hakon’s death began to swamp her. But she resisted them with all her might.
He is the enemy!
“I cannot let you go,” she said. “If you are captured a second time, I will not be able to protect you. The men will beat you to death.”
Kristoph knew that was probably true and he struggled not to feel some desperation in his situation. “They are going to kill me anyway when they realize I cannot tell them anything they want to know,” he said. “At least I would have a fighting chance if you let me run. For my wife and daughter’s sake, will you not do that?”
Now he was bringing the wife and child into the conversation again. She was starting to grow irritated.
“I do not care for your wife or daughter,” she snapped. “They are my enemy, as are you. Stop asking me for favors which are not mine to give. You wielded a sword against my countrymen and now you are our prisoner. Accept your fate as an honorable man would and stop trying to play upon my sympathies.”
So, she knew what he was up to. Kristoph could see that he’d offended her. Even so, it was a chance he’d had to take. He was coming to realize that, in all likelihood, he would never again see his wife or daughter and he began to feel sick inside. God help him, his life was in the hands of people whose king had just been killed by his comrades. He’d been part of the murder.
He knew that Death was coming for him, too.
“If I have offended you, then I am sorry,” he said quietly, sincerely. “And for protecting me against your soldiers… you have my deepest gratitude. I realize you have risked yourself for me and I am most appreciative.”
Somewhere off in the darkness, the could hear men’s voices. At first, the discussion was quiet for the most part but it soon began to grow in intensity. Moreover, the voices were growing closer as men with torches were now moving through the trees. It didn’t take a skilled eye to know that they were heading in their direction.
Ghislaine could see the torches moving through the darkness, growing brighter and brighter, and a sense of foreboding filled her. She knew that Alary’s departure had been temporary but what she hadn’t counted on was that he would return so soon. She was hoping he would at least stay away until morning. She turned to Kristoph.
“Remember what I told you,” she said. “Answer their questions or they will not hesitate to kill you. Do not try to be clever and do not lie; tell them what they need to know and you may yet live through this.”
Kristoph was watching the torches grow closer, too. He was certain that he was watching the beginning of his end and it was difficult to suppress his knightly instincts. These men were his sworn enemy and fighting against them was as natural as breathing. But that same thought came the realization that he was in no condition to fight off a mob. He had no weapons and, from the pain in his chest and shoulder area, he was certain he’d broken a rib or two. While there was still time, he turned to Ghislaine.
“My name is Kristoph de Lohr,” he said, his voice low. “My home is in Brittany, south of Rennes in a village called Lohréac. I serve Gaetan de Wolfe. I do not ask you to risk yourself any more than you have already. But if something happens to me, I want someone to know of my ending. You are a brave and gallant lady, and I shall never forget your kindness to me. Mayhap someday, you will send Gaetan a missive and tell him what became of me so that he can tell my wife. I hope that you will tell him that I met my end bravely, for that is what I intend to do.”
Ghislaine could see the steely resolve in his eyes, even in the darkness. He wasn’t afraid of what was coming, not in the least. In spite of her resistance to him, that resolve greatly impressed her. Not only were Normans capable of mercy, but they were capable of great courage as well.
As the mob with torches grew closer, Ghislaine began to regret that she hadn’t let de Lohr run as he’d asked. Perhaps he could have gotten away; perhaps not. Now, they would never know, for as the mob came into view through the weak moonlight, she could see Alary at the head of it.
That could only mean trouble.
Now, that brave Norman knight would never see his black-haired wife again or the daughter with the pretty blue eyes. He would soon be dead all because Ghislaine hadn’t shown enough mercy to spare his life. Now, she was starting to question every decision she’d made until this point where it pertained to de Lohr. A man’s life had been in her hands and she’d failed him.
She’d failed her sense of mercy.
“I see the prisoner is well enough to sit up,” Alary said as he came upon them, flanked by many men. “That is good. We will make use of him.”
Before Ghislaine could ask what that meant, Alary snapped his fingers to his men and they swarmed on Kristoph, throwing him back to the ground and using hemp rope to bind his arms and legs. From what Ghislaine could see, he wasn’t struggling but they were being very rough with him. When she leapt to her feet to try and protect him, Alary intervened and pulled her away, restraining her while his men trussed up de Lohr and carried him off into the darkness.
“Wait!” Ghislaine demanded. “Where are you taking him? I told you that he was more valuable alive! What are you doing?”
Alary still had hold of his fairly strong sister. “I am not going to kill him,” he assured her. “At least, not yet. You were correct when you said he will be valuable to our cause. I am going to see just how much the man knows of the Normans and their plans for our country.”
Ghislaine tried to follow the men who were carrying Kristoph away but Alary had a grip on her. “An abused man will be a burden,” she said, finally yanking herself out of her brother’s grasp. “If you hurt him, he will be of no use at all.”
Alary cocked an eyebrow at his sister. “Watch your manner of loyalty, little sister,” he said, a hint of threat in his tone. “If one did not know better, one might suspect you to have sided with the Normans. Is that why they were able to defeat us? Because they had information on our weaknesses from someone who knew of our movements?”
Ghislaine’s blood ran cold and she yanked her wrist from her brother’s grasp, bringing up the other hand to strike him squarely across the face. But Alary was fast and he was able to block her strike, but just barely. She managed to scratch his chin. Ghislaine glared at him.
“I will never hear such an insinuation come from your mouth again,” she hissed. “I no more contributed to the Norman victory than you did. But in my case, at least I tried to prevent it while you remained at the rear of the army, letting your men go forth to do the fighting in your stead.”
As he insulted her, she insulted him even deeper. Alary’s jaw hardened as he faced off against her.
“I will pretend I did not hear you say that,” he said. “Watch yourself, little sister. Your protection of the Norman knight does not please anyone here. Word may get back to Edwin.”
“As word of your lack of action may get back to him as well. Do not threaten me, Alary. You cannot best me.”
Alary cocked an eyebrow. “We shall see,” he said, stepping back from her, out of striking range. His sister was a warrior at heart and she was not afraid to attack him and, truth be told, he had a healthy respect for her because, at times, she could be just as unpredictable as he could. “After I am finished interrogating your Norman friend, I shall take him back with me to Tenebris.”
Tenebris was a hunting lodge used by the Mercian kings but since Edwin had exiled Alary, it was now the place where the dark brother lived. In the wilds west of Kidderminster and located in an area known as the Far Forest, it was a place that most men avoided now. It had a reputation of darkness and debauchery. Ghislaine knew that if her brother took the knight to Tenebris, no one would ever see the man again.
I would like to see my wife and daughter again.
If de Lohr went to Tenebris, that would not happen.
“And do what with him?” Ghislaine wanted to know, hating herself for sounding as if she cared. “He is my prisoner. I told you that. You have no right to take him with you.”
Alary grinned. “Little Ghislaine and her prize,” he mocked. “Thank you for capturing the knight. Now I shall take him from you. If you want him back, then your men will have to fight my men for him. I think my men want him more, eh?”
Ghislaine’s general attitude towards her brother was one of disdain but there were occasions when she genuinely hated him. This was one of those times. He was teasing her, trying to bait her, and it was difficult not to respond to it. He’d been doing it all their lives and the brother/sister dynamic could be more emotional than most.
“If that is your wish, then I shall order my men to retake him,” she said, trembling because she was so angry. “And when they are done defeating your men, I will have them go after you.”
Alary was smug in his stance. Before the situation grew out of hand, he went to the truth of the matter. “Let me be plain, little sister,” he said. “If you send your men to take him, I will kill him before they can do it and that will be the end of your prize. If you do not wish him harmed, then it would be better if you did not try.”
Ghislaine knew it was not a threat. This dark and hateful man would shove a dagger between the Norman knight’s ribs purely out of spite, because he would not want his sister to have him and for no other reason than that. The knight would cease to be a captive at that point and simply become a possession. Therefore, the hatred in her heart towards her brother was building.
“Why would you do this?” she demanded, frustrated. “I told you that a Norman spared my life, which is why I spared the knight’s. I told you that he was my prisoner. You have no right to take him.”
Alary was moving away from her now, heading in the direction his men had taken the Norman knight. “Yet I have taken him,” he pointed out, taunting. “Come for him if you wish. I will kill him before I surrender him to you.”
Ghislaine watched him as he went. “Edwin shall know of what you’ve done.”
It was meant to be a threat but Alary simply shrugged, turning and heading off into the darkness. Her threat had no meaning to him.
Even after he was gone, there was a stench in the air that suggested his evilness had not left at all. It was still there, all around her, his gloating victory in taking her prisoner from her. Infuriated, it was all Ghislaine could do to keep from shouting in anger. She had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over her back. Had there been any light, she would have sailed one of those deadly darts right into her brother’s back and felt no remorse at all. He’d taken what belonged to her.
The Norman knight.
Now, she was thinking of him, the big warrior from across the sea. Norman knight. Damn the man. She knew his name now and she knew he had a family; a wife and child he adored. He’d asked her to let him go and she’d refused. Now, he was in Alary’s hands and that more than likely would mean his death. Tenebris… indeed, it would mean his death.
Ghislaine could hear sounds in the direction the knight had been taken. There were a pair of fires in the darkness, cooking fires for men to warm a meal out of whatever supplies they happened to have. Not strangely, she could hear what sounded like a fight because there was a good deal of thumping and slapping going on. Men were laughing. It didn’t take much imagination to realize that they were beating the Norman knight again, probably because Alary told them to.
De Lohr, his name had been. Regardless of Alary’s threat, Ghislaine couldn’t let them beat the man to death. She was compelled to protect him again.
As she headed over in the direction of the noise, her thoughts turned to what de Lohr had told her. Mayhap someday, you will send Gaetan a missive and tell him what became of me so that he can tell my wife. I hope that you will tell him that I met my end bravely, for that is what I intend to do.
Such noble words from a man who had shown nothing but quiet resolve and bravery throughout his capture. He’d never wept, or begged, or shown weakness in any fashion. Even when he’d asked her to let him go, he hadn’t pleaded with her. He’d simply asked. Norman courage. She admired it, far more than she admired Anglo-Saxon mercy at the moment. Surely such a courageous man didn’t deserve the fate that awaited him.
Something inside of her was screaming to help him.
More than that, something inside her was screaming for vengeance against Alary. Cruel and wicked bastard that he was, he could be erased from the world tomorrow and no one would miss him. With his taunts and actions, he had pushed her beyond reason and there was a large part of her that wanted vengeance against him. Tonight, he took her prisoner; tomorrow, who knew what he would take? Moreover, he’d accused her of siding with the Normans. That was unforgiveable slander because Alary wouldn’t keep it to himself. He would tell others about this day and it was quite possible that men would start to doubt her loyalties. It would destroy all she’d worked hard for.
Something had to be done.
Gaetan de Wolfe. De Lohr had mentioned the man as his commander. He had asked her to send a message to him. Perhaps she could do more than that; she could tell de Wolfe just where her brother and de Lohr were. De Wolfe could save his man and Alary would be collateral damage. Odd how that thought brought a smile to her lips. Her greedy, wicked brother would be dead and so would his suspicious mind and uncontrollable tongue. She would be doing her people a favor, in fact, and Edwin might even thank de Wolfe for such a service.
There might be some kind of bond struck between the Normans and the Earl of Mercia because of it.
A bond over Alary’s death.
By the time Ghislaine reached the men who were pounding on de Lohr, she had a firm plan in mind. De Lohr was being beaten badly and she, once again, had to throw herself between him and the men who wanted to kill him. Alary’s men wouldn’t go out of their way to hit her but they kept trying to strike out at the knight behind her, going around her to grab de Lohr by the hair or club him in his already-damaged ribs. That went on for a while as Alary simply stood back and watched, laughing every time his sister received a blow meant for de Lohr. It was entertainment for him. But for Ghislaine, it only sealed Alary’s fate.
She was going to send the Normans right to him.
As the night went on, the beating stopped and men, exhausted from a day of battle, wandered off to sleep in the forest. Left alone with the wounded knight, Ghislaine did what she could for de Lohr, who was a swollen, bleeding mess at this point. She could only hope the men had gotten their bloodlust out and would leave him alone from this point on but she didn’t really believe that. Still, she couldn’t remain with him because she had something very important to do. It was a task that only she could undertake and, if discovered, could mean her death. If she was caught going to the Norman encampment, then everything Alary had insinuated about her would be believed. She was taking a terrible risk.
But it had to be done.
In the hour before dawn, as the eastern sky began to lighten, Ghislaine moved from her post guarding the Norman knight and knelt down next to him as he lay upon the cold ground, battered and swollen. Leaning over his head, she whispered in his ear.
“I am going for help.”
She wondered if he even heard her.