Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Right now, they needed all the hope they could get.

  Ghislaine wasn’t entirely sure this was a good idea any longer.

  Having made it back to the battlefield before dawn, it was swarming with Normans and she had approached a soldier demanding to speak with a knight named Gaetan de Wolfe. Luckily, she spoke their language but her heavy accent gave her away and the soldier grabbed her by the arm and began to drag her over to some of his cohorts, shouting that he had a Saxon captive.

  It wasn’t what Ghislaine had expected. She had expected the de Wolfe name to open doors for her, in peace and respect. Therefore, her shock in the Norman soldier’s reaction turned into full-blown fear when several Norman warriors headed in her direction, all of them drawn in by the shouts of the man who had her by the arm. He was hurting her. But she knew she would be hurt much worse if she let these Norman hounds paw at her. Therefore, she started shouting louder than the man holding her.

  “Kristoph de Lohr!” she screamed. “I have come on behalf of Kristoph de Lohr! I must speak to de Wolfe!”

  She had to say it two or three times before it registered to one of the older soldiers what, exactly, she was saying. Her accent was so heavy that they hadn’t understood her, but an older man with missing teeth and a nose that had been broken repeatedly understood her. He pulled her from the man who had a death-grip on her.

  “What do you know of de Lohr?” he snarled at her, his face in hers and his foul breath filling her nostrils. “Where is he?”

  Ghislaine had to admit that she was fairly terrified at this point. The Normans smelled terrible and looked like animals to her; grizzled, dirty, wild-eyed. But she’d come this far and there was no turning back.

  Ghislaine had waited until the Anglo-Saxon army was asleep before slipping from the encampment in the woods. Trying to avoid being followed, it had taken her more than an hour to reach the battlefield where the Normans were celebrating their victory. By the time she reached the area, which was already starting to stink of dead men, the sun was barely hinting over the eastern horizon and the heavy clouds above were turning shades of gray. Now, she found herself face to face with men she had been trying to kill the day before.

  She was more afraid than she thought she would be.

  “I will only speak with de Wolfe,” she said. “Take me to de Wolfe and I will tell him.”

  The old soldier’s eyes narrowed at her and, after a few moments, it was clear that he didn’t believe her. He shook his head. “A Saxon trick,” he hissed.

  “It is not a trick!”

  He would not be swayed. He tossed her towards the soldiers who were gathering. “A gift, lads. Enjoy yourselves!”

  The men grabbed at her and Ghislaine screamed, trying to bolt away from them. One man managed to grab the long tunic she wore and he yanked, causing her to fall. As she crumpled to the ground, men were swarming on top of her and she screamed and kicked, fighting them off.

  But the men ignored her terror, laughing and grabbing at her, trying to settle her down and tell her not to fear so that they could earn her trust and then destroy it. They seemed to think it was all quite humorous while she screamed and kicked. One of the soldiers had just made a grab for her neck when a booming voice overhead stopped them.

  “What goes on here?” It was Lance de Reyne, riding up on his frothing war horse in the company of two more knights. “What are you doing? Who is this woman?”

  All of the grabbing and laughter came to a halt as the Normans suddenly had better manners in front of one of their commanders. The older soldier who had tossed Ghislaine towards his men stepped forward.

  “A Saxon prisoner, my lord,” he said, clearing his throat nervously. “We were….”

  “I must see Gaetan de Wolfe,” Ghislaine said breathlessly, struggling to her feet and crashing into de Reyne’s leg when she lost her balance. “I come with information on Kristoph de Lohr! Please do not let these men have me!”

  De Reyne’s dark eyes widened. Reaching down, he grabbed her by the front of her tunic and lifted her off her feet.

  “What do you know of him?” he demanded. “Tell me now!”

  Ghislaine was so frightened that she was feeling faint. “I will only tell de Wolfe,” she gasped, holding on to the man’s wrist as he held her off of the ground. “I must speak with him immediately!”

  “Tell me what you know this instant or I will cut your throat.”

  “If you cut my throat, de Lohr will die. This I swear.”

  De Reyne didn’t hesitate after that. He yanked her onto his saddle, throwing her over his thighs as easily as one would toss around a sack of flour. Digging his spurs into the side of his horse, they tore off towards the heart of the encampment.

  She was face-down over the knight’s armored legs. It was a terribly uncomfortable position to be in and Ghislaine struggled to keep her balance, to breathe, and to not panic. She could see the ground passing swiftly beneath the horse’s hooves and then they came to an abrupt halt. She grunted as the knight lifted her off of the saddle and lowered her, probably to set her on her feet but she ended up falling. He dismounted behind her, hauling her to her feet as he began to head towards a cluster of white and crimson tents.

  Terrified, Ghislaine allowed herself to be dragged along because she could only assume the knight was taking her to the commander de Lohr had mentioned. De Wolfe. At least, she hoped so. She hoped that shouting the name of de Wolfe and de Lohr would get her to the man she needed to see because she was coming to very much regret her attempts at heroics to save the Norman knight’s life. Her sense of vengeance against Alary had forced her into making a stupid decision. All of these thoughts were whirling in her head as the big knight took her into one of the larger tents.

  Thrust into the cool, dark innards of the structure, she was immediately hit by the smell of death. There was something dead in the tent but she couldn’t really see much because there was only the faint glow from the brazier to light the area. She blinked, struggling to become accustomed to the dimness of the tent when the Norman knight released her. As she stood there, frightened and dazed, he headed over to a corner of the tent where there was a cot and a supine body upon it.

  The person on the cot was evidently dead asleep because it took the big knight a couple of tries to wake him. Ghislaine’s heart was pounding in her ears, full of apprehension and fear, as the body on the cot stirred. The big knight muttered something to the man on the cot and, suddenly, he was sitting bolt-upright and rubbing his eyes. When he stood up, unsteadily, all she could see was this impossibly tall figure in the darkness, bigger than any man she had ever seen. Then he came towards her, his features coming into the weak light.

  Her heart stopped.

  He was dark, swarthy-skinned, with black hair and eyes the color of bronze. His features were surprisingly even, his jaw square and his nose straight. In fact, he was quite handsome; male beauty like nothing she had ever seen before. But her inspection of him was interrupted when he barked at her, savagely.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you know of Kristoph?”

  His voice… that voice that came rolling out at her like molten rock, flowing hot and fast and deep. Had she heard it before? She couldn’t be sure. Ghislaine swallowed hard, never so intimidated by anyone than she was at this very moment by him. It was a struggle to find her tongue.

  “I… I am Ghislaine of Mercia,” she said, trembling. “I have come on behalf of Kristoph de Lohr. He told me that Gaetan de Wolfe is his commander. Are you de Wolfe?”

  His jaw was ticking furiously. “I am,” he said. “Where is Kristoph?”

  He asked the question through his teeth. Ghislaine struggled against her fear, but in the same breath she was offended by his reaction. Considering she came with news of his knight, she thought he might have been happier to see her. No such luck.

  God, what had ever possessed her to come?

  Still, she was here and, unless she wanted the Normans to walk all o
ver her, she had better start showing some of the courage she was born with. If Ghislaine had one great quality, it was her boldness in the face of most any given situation. She was a strong woman from strong stock. It was time to show the Normans that.

  She was finished playing the fearful little lamb.

  “As I said, my name is Ghislaine of Mercia,” she said, her voice a little stronger now as de Wolfe and the other knight, the one who had brought her, glared at her quite seriously. “My brother is Edwin of Mercia. I have another brother, Morcar of Northumbria. Do you recognize these names, my lord?”

  She had a very heavy accent but she seemed fluent in their language. De Wolfe nodded. “I do,” he said, displeased. “I recognize the names very well and I can only assume de Lohr has been abducted by your brothers.” Knowing these powerful men were her brothers, he had a suspicion as to her true identity. He would think on that later. For now, he had to know about Kristoph. Have you come to deliver terms of his ransom? Whatever it is, I will pay it.”

  Ghislaine could see the man thought that his knight had been abducted only to be ransomed. That was a fairly normal practice in warfare, where men were taken and then returned, unharmed, for a price. She shook her head.

  “It is far more complex than that, my lord,” she said. “I am not here to deliver a ransom demand. I am here to tell you that your man is in terrible danger.”

  De Wolfe’s brow furrowed. “Danger?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

  Ghislaine sought to explain. “Another brother, known as Alary of Mercia, has taken your knight as a prisoner,” she said. “It is his intention to interrogate your man for information about the Norman army. At least, that is his intention at the moment. I do not know what his intention will be tomorrow or the next day. Already, he has beaten your knight. He is wounded and, if you do not rescue him quickly, I fear he will not survive.”

  De Wolfe simply stared at her at moment. But at least his expression wasn’t as hostile as it had been. In fact, he seemed to ponder what he’d been told quite seriously and, in truth, with some disbelief. In warfare, where men were captured and ransomed, to mistreat a prisoner was almost unheard of. Knights, and especially men of wealth, were almost treated as guests in some cases until the ransom was paid. Therefore, de Wolfe was naturally perplexed.

  “No ransom?” he clarified.

  “No ransom.”

  “But he is alive?”

  “Alive but wounded. Did you not understand? He is in danger.”

  De Wolfe nodded. “I understand,” he said. “So your brother will not demand ransom. What does he want, then?”

  “I am not sure if there is anything he wants.”

  De Wolfe was growing increasingly confused. “Then why have you come?”

  That was a question with a complicated answer, something she didn’t want to divulge at the moment. She thought it might make her appear weak. But the truth was that she had a difficult time coming up with a reasonable explanation.

  “It does not matter why I have come, only that I have,” she said. “Do you want your man back or not?”

  De Wolfe nodded, slowly, eyeing her most critically, as if he couldn’t quite figure all of this out. “I want him back and I shall have him,” he said. “But if you are the sister of the man who has captured him, as you claim to be, then you will tell me why you are here on behalf of your brother? Why have you even come if he does not wish to ransom my knight?”

  Ghislaine averted her gaze, realizing she was going to have to tell the man something of the truth. She suspected he wouldn’t rest until he received some kind of reasonable answer from her, something to satisfy his curiosity. Therefore, she tried not to sound too embarrassed as she spoke.

  “I am here because… because I hate my brother,” she muttered. “He is a vile and terrible man. He is so despicable that Edwin exiled him from Mercia for reasons I shall not go in to. But Alary joined with King Harold’s army to fight for the king against the Duke of Normandy and find royal favor, but when that did not happen… now I believe that he views your man as everything he hates.”

  De Wolfe wasn’t moved by her speech, but a good deal was becoming clear to him. “Then you come to betray him.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact, and a true one. Frustrated that he was pushing her into a more personal confession, her eyes snapped up to him. “I do,” she said angrily. “Your knight was originally my prisoner. I fought with the Saxon army yesterday and I was there when your knight was knocked off his horse. The fall rendered him unconscious so my men and I dragged him away from the field of battle, tied him to a horse, and sent the horse running. But when the horse finally stopped running and many men from Harold’s army were trying to beat your knight to death, I stopped them. I stopped them because… because a knight captured me during the battle. But instead of harming me, he let me go and told me to remember Norman mercy. And I did – I spared his Norman compatriot because of it. Mercy was shown to me, so I showed mercy to the Norman knight. But Alary took your knight away from me for his own devious purposes. Now he has him and I can no longer protect him.”

  De Wolfe was simply staring at her but it was apparent that something was going on in his mind. After a moment, he bent over as if to look at her more closely.

  “Then I understand why you have come,” he said simply. “But in listening to you speak, something else has occurred to me. I recognize your voice. I believe it threatened me once.”

  Ghislaine wasn’t sure what he meant. “We have not met before.”

  De Wolfe continued to stare at her until, suddenly, his eyebrows lifted. “The little mouse,” he said as if an idea had occurred to him. “When we broke through the eastern shield wall, I captured you. You called me rubbish.”

  Ghislaine’s eyes widened. She well remembered the knight she called poubelle and her mouth popped open. She hadn’t seen his face but now she recognized that voice. Of course she’d heard it before – when he demanded to know where her king was.

  It was her merciful knight, in the flesh.

  “You!” she gasped. “The Norman knight!”

  De Wolfe simply looked at her. “Aye, it is me, the Knight of Rubbish,” he said with some disdain in his voice. “And look at the little mouse; you are punier than I had imagined. Take off that cap and show yourself. You look like a man dressed as you are. Let me see what you really look like.”

  Ghislaine looked down at herself. She was, indeed, dressed in a tunic and leather, a belt around her slender waist and hose on her legs. Her hair was still caught up in a heavy leather cap. But that was intentional. It was easier to fight with men if they thought she was one. It was also easier to move among them. As she hesitated to remove her cap, de Wolfe reached out and pulled it from her head.

  And that’s when things changed.

  Gaetan was quite surprised, really. Off came the cap and out flowed the most beautiful hair he had ever seen. It was mussed and a little dirty. But he could still see the shine even in the dim light as nearly-black hair tumbled over her shoulders, glinting with red. Moreover, once he got a good look at her face, he could see that she was quite beautiful – she had a round little face with rosebud lips and wide blue eyes. When she blinked, her lashes fanned against her pale cheeks. Aye, she was quite beautiful if one could look beyond the muss and dirt. Exquisite, even.

  A seed of interest sprouted.

  “Why do you fight?” he asked after a moment. “Are the Saxons so desperate for men that they permit their women to fight?”

  Ghislaine eyed him, a faint blush of embarrassment coming to her cheeks. “I fight because I have been trained to fight,” she said, lifting her chin at him. “I fight because I am good at it. My mother was a warrior, as was my grandmother. I do what I want to do.”

  “And no one says otherwise?”

  “No one dares.”

  Gaetan scratched his head. “I would believe that,” he said. Then, he looked to Lance, who was still standing n
ext to him. “Gather the men and bring them to my tent. We have word of Kristoph that they will want to hear.”

  With a lingering glance at the disheveled Saxon woman, Lance quit the tent, heading out to find the rest of the Anges de Guerre. When he was gone, Gaetan turned to Ghislaine.

  He was far calmer than he had been when she’d entered the tent, with less rage and more curiosity. He wasn’t panicking at all, no matter how much she tried to stress that Kristoph was in danger. Perhaps, he didn’t really grasp what she was saying. Perhaps, she wasn’t communicating it properly in his native tongue. Whatever the case, Ghislaine eyed him with some trepidation now that they were alone.

  “Now,” he said steadily. “Let us return to the subject of my knight and away from a woman warrior who has no business being on a battlefield. You said that you showed mercy to Kristoph so I suppose I should thank you. You also said he was knocked from his horse – did you do it?”

  Ghislaine shook her head even though she wasn’t quite over his comment about warrior women having no place in battle. She hadn’t had a man speak to her in such a way since she had been very young. No one dared dispute Ghislaine and her right to battle.

  “It was not me,” she said, miffed. “I saw him after he was on the ground.”

  “But it was you who tied him to a horse and took him away?”

  “My men did it.” She watched him for a moment before confessing the rest. “I knew he would be a valuable prisoner and I thought as you thought, that mayhap we could ransom him. But Alary had different ideas on that.”

  Gaetan’s gaze drifted over her as she spoke. He could see that he’d offended her. Her answers were very clipped. He didn’t much care, however, and he rather liked her husky little voice with the heavy accent. There was something about the woman that was inherently intriguing, unlike the fine and pampered women he knew. She was strong and she had spirit. Those were admirable qualities.

  She was also clever; he could sense that. He didn’t want her to think that she was more clever, or smarter, than he was. Therefore, he switched to her language simply to prove to her that he wasn’t an idiot who did not know the language of the Saxons. Perhaps, she would understand that he was more than a warrior, capable of only fighting.