Besieged and Betrothed

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘Under normal circumstances I’d agree, but you were ordered to secure the castle by the fastest means possible.’

  ‘She can’t hold out much longer.’

  ‘That’s still too long for the Empress. Where are your trenches?’

  ‘My...what?’

  ‘Tunnels. Have you tried to dig under their walls?’

  ‘The moat’s too wide!’

  ‘You’ve had four months. You could have dug a tunnel all the way under the river by now.’

  ‘How dare you?’ the Baron spluttered angrily. ‘I’ve done everything that could possibly be expected of me. The Empress knows me and my abilities. Who are you? Nothing but an ill-bred, peasant upstart!’

  Lothar’s expression didn’t waver. He knew well enough what Matilda’s high-born supporters called him behind his back, though he rarely met one foolish enough to say the same to his face. When the time came, he’d have more than one score to settle with Sir Guian de Ravenell. He was starting to look forward to it.

  ‘I’m the peasant upstart sent to finish your job,’ he countered smoothly, ‘but you’re right, the Empress knows all about your abilities. That’s why I’m here.’

  The Baron puffed his cheeks out and then seemed to deflate suddenly. ‘Well, I don’t see what can be done about it now.’

  ‘Then let me tell you.’ Lothar gestured towards a range of oaks on a nearby hillside. ‘First, you’re going to order your men to cut down those trees. Second, you’re going to have them build a bridge and battering ram. Third, you’re going to attack.’

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘Dawn tomorrow.’

  ‘But we can’t! Even if we manage to cross the moat, the walls are too steep. We can’t possibly scale them.’

  ‘Then you’ll need to build ladders as well.’ Lothar gave a cynical half-smile. ‘Don’t worry, Sir Guian, you’ll still get your chance to impress the Empress. You’ll be the one leading the assault.’

  He turned on his heel abruptly, calling out orders to his soldiers as de Ravenell gawped after him. In truth, he had absolutely no intention of letting the man lead anything, but the look of horror on his face was a small form of revenge, the very least he could do for Lady Juliana.

  Had she noticed? He stole another glance up at the battlements, but she was staring past him, out into the distance as if she were searching for something. Help most likely, though if she were waiting for Stephen then she’d be waiting a long time. He narrowed his eyes as he caught a flicker of movement in the shadows behind her. The glint of an arrow, the distinctive curve of a bow... His lips curled upwards appreciatively. It seemed that Lady Juliana wasn’t quite the easy target he’d taken her for. Her archer must have been there all along, guarding her back the whole time de Ravenell had been urging him to shoot. Not bad for a girl. She might make a worthy opponent after all.

  He came to a halt finally, taking up a position opposite the gatehouse. This was the newest part of the castle, twenty feet high, with a heavy oak drawbridge and sloped walls at the base to deter an assault. It would be madness to launch an attack from here, but a battering ram would keep the castle garrison diverted whilst he led an assault from the river, the side that they wouldn’t expect.

  If it came to it, though he’d try a different approach first, one his own code of honour demanded. Would she listen to him? For her own sake, and for reasons he didn’t even understand himself, he hoped so.

  ‘Lady Juliana?’ he called up to the battlements, his deep voice reverberating loudly off the thick, stone walls. ‘Empress Matilda sends greetings.’

  Chapter Two

  Lady Juliana Danville leant over the parapet wall and let loose a volley of unladylike sentiments. If she’d learnt anything during her brief tenure as chatelaine, it was a far more colourful vocabulary than that of a typical Earl’s daughter, even for one who’d grown up with only a father and soldiers for company. She didn’t use the words very often, but looking down at the raven-haired stranger below, she couldn’t think of anything more fitting to say.

  ‘My lady?’ The archer behind her sounded shocked.

  ‘Oh... Sorry, Edgar. Nothing.’

  She bit her tongue, her whole attention absorbed in the scene of activity below. Since the stranger’s arrival an hour before, the whole atmosphere of the enemy camp seemed to have changed, become seized with a new sense of energy and purpose, so that the air itself now seemed to crackle and hum with tension.

  Why? She narrowed her gaze as if his appearance alone might somehow reveal the answer. Who was he?

  He was talking to de Ravenell, apparently about the castle, though his face displayed no more emotion than if they were simply discussing the weather. He looked forbidding and yet, she had to admit, ruggedly handsome, too, with strong, chiselled features marred only by a pale scar running like a streak of white lightning down one side of his face. Dressed entirely in black, with his hair cropped shorter than most noblemen’s, he dominated the older man with an air of effortless, imposing authority. Whatever they were talking about, one thing was obvious. The Baron was no longer in charge.

  She gave an involuntary shudder. A thin morning mist still hung in the air and it was starting to rain, a lowering drizzle that made her wish she’d stopped to pick up a cloak in her haste to reach the battlements. She’d been asleep in a chair, dozing fitfully after yet another restless night when a guard had brought word of the developments outside. She hadn’t even stopped to tie up her hair or put on a headdress, and now her linen tunic offered scant protection against the elements. She’d acted impulsively, as usual, and the last thing she needed was to fall ill. If anything happened to her, what would happen to Castle Haword and all its inhabitants then?

  On the other hand, she doubted she’d have time to get sick. Whoever the new arrival was, he didn’t look like a man who waited for things to happen. He looked like someone who made them. She’d been confident of holding the castle against a coward like de Ravenell, but this stranger was a whole different prospect. Even with a moat and stone wall between them, there was something unnerving about him, a kind of disconcerting restraint in his manner, as if he were holding some part of himself back, some intangible, inscrutable darkness. Something dangerous.

  She clenched her fingers over the parapet wall so tightly that her knuckles turned white, channelling the full force of her fear and defiance into one savage glare. What now, she wanted to scream at the assembled forces below, what did they want this time? Hadn’t Haword suffered enough? It was hard to remember a time when they hadn’t been beset by one enemy or another. Two sieges in one year was more than enough for one castle to cope with! Never mind everything else! All she, all anyone in their right mind, wanted was for the war to be over and for there to be peace again, but the power struggle between Stephen and Matilda seemed no closer to finding a resolution. After twelve long years of fighting, more than half of her lifetime, she hardly cared who wore the crown any more. Bad enough that her home was caught in the middle, but now the Empress sent this fresh foe against them!

  The stranger met her gaze suddenly and she saw a fleeting look of surprise sweep over his features and then vanish, like the faintest ripple of air across a still pond. It was so quick that she almost thought she must have imagined it. A split second later and he was completely expressionless again, more like a statue than a man of flesh and blood, hard as stone and just as unyielding. She felt an ice-cold frisson of fear, sharp and piercing like the tip of a blade, slide inexorably down the length of her spine. The siege was over. Somehow she’d known that the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. This man wasn’t simply going to wait for the castle to fall. He was going to take it. Unless she stopped him.

  He dropped his gaze and she felt a brief flicker of triumph, quickly extinguished as he started around the edge of the moat, his long, purposeful strides curving ev
er closer towards the gatehouse. What was he doing? She held her breath nervously. Was he coming to talk or to threaten her? Either way, she’d only come up to the battlements to see what was happening. She wasn’t ready to confront him, not now, not yet! She wasn’t properly attired, wasn’t even wearing a headdress—and she had the very definite impression that neither excuse was likely to sway him.

  Desperately she scoured the horizon for reinforcements she already knew weren’t coming, at least not in time. She’d sent word to Stephen months ago at the very start of the siege, but had received no response until just a week before, a brief message smuggled in from the river at night saying that he was heading west, that he intended to reach Haword in another fortnight; reminding her of the debt she owed him, telling her to hold the bridge.

  If it were only that easy! She fought against a rising tide of panic. She’d held it so far, had made sure the castle was prepared for a long siege, with food and water enough to last another month if they were careful. But if it came to a fight...

  She glanced over her shoulder, into the bailey at the fifty or so men who were depending upon her to lead them. She didn’t doubt their loyalty, no matter what they might privately think of her change of allegiance from Matilda to Stephen, but they were hungry, exhausted and outnumbered, hardly in any fit state for combat. How could she expect them to fight? How could she expect them to win? Loathe as she was to admit it, if the castle walls were breached then they were doomed. If the stranger’s fearsome appearance were anything to go by, he’d forgotten more about warfare than she’d ever known. He had the look of a man who knew little else.

  Damn it! She swore under her breath as he came to a halt directly beneath her. Why now? Why had he arrived now? After four long months of waiting for Stephen to rescue them, all she needed was one more week!

  ‘Lady Juliana?’ The stranger hailed her in an accent she didn’t recognise. ‘Empress Matilda sends greetings. Will you discuss terms?’

  For a stunned moment she thought she’d misheard him. A besieging army usually offered terms only once, were under no obligation to do so again. After that, if the castle fell, its inhabitants and their possessions became fair game. She’d already been to negotiate terms with de Ravenell at the start of the siege, venturing out under a flag of truce that had failed to provide any protection whatsoever. She’d told him exactly what he could do with his terms, though her mind shied away from the memory of that encounter. She certainly wasn’t going to trust one of the Empress’s men so easily again.

  And yet...unbelievable as it seemed, this stranger was actually offering her a second chance, probably a last chance to save her men if the castle fell. No matter what her debt to Stephen, how could she refuse such an offer? Besides which, he’d definitely said terms, not surrender. The word gave her hope. If the Empress was prepared to open negotiations again then surely it meant she had some new offer, something besides outright surrender, something that might buy them some time?

  ‘Lady Juliana?’

  The stranger repeated her name and she gave a start, realising that she still hadn’t answered.

  ‘I’m Lady Juliana.’

  ‘Are you willing to discuss terms or not, my lady?’

  His voice sounded devoid of emotion and for a moment she was tempted to throw the offer back in his face just to see a response. He even looked like a statue, she thought resentfully, as if he hardly cared how she answered. Probably he didn’t. Whether she agreed to negotiate or not likely meant nothing to him, but if she refused then she’d be risking more than just the bridge. She’d be risking the lives of everyone inside the castle and she couldn’t do that. She was the one who’d got them into this position and she was the one who had to find a way out—had to hear what the Empress was offering at least.

  ‘Stay there!’

  She whirled away from the parapet, hauling her tunic up to her knees as she raced down the tower steps, moving quickly so she wouldn’t have time to reconsider. If she were going to discuss terms—if—she needed to speak with him face-to-face, needed to look into his eyes to see if she could trust him first.

  ‘Prepare to lower the drawbridge!’ she called out to the door warden from the stairwell.

  ‘Lady Juliana!’ Her Constable, Ulf, seemed to appear out of nowhere, scowling from beneath a thatch of unruly white hair. ‘You can’t go outside.’

  ‘Only on to the drawbridge.’

  ‘I have to protest.’ He followed after her as she dodged around him. ‘It’s too risky.’

  ‘I won’t go far.’

  ‘He looks dangerous.’

  She made a non-committal sound. She could hardly disagree with that, but she wasn’t about to admit it either. She’d no intention of being intimidated by any man, either the stranger or her Constable.

  ‘He won’t hurt me while he’s wearing the Empress’s crest.’ She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. ‘You can aim as many weapons at him as you like, just don’t shoot unless you have to.’

  ‘I still have to protest...’

  ‘It’s not your decision, it’s mine! I’m the chatelaine, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes, my lady...’

  ‘Then it’s my choice, isn’t it?’

  The Constable sighed. ‘As you wish, my lady, if you’re certain.’

  ‘I am.’ She made a swift gesture to the door warden, steeling her nerve as the heavy oak drawbridge creaked reluctantly and then started to descend.

  ‘I’ll be watching, my lady.’

  ‘I know you will, Ulf.’ She took up a position under the archway and threw a conciliatory look over her shoulder. ‘I do appreciate your concern, but this won’t take long. I’m only going to find out what he wants, that’s all.’

  She turned around again, ardently hoping that she was telling the truth.

  Chapter Three

  Juliana took a second look at the stranger and decided that she’d changed her mind. He was standing exactly where she’d last seen him on the far side of the moat, immense and foreboding, the very intensity of his gaze seeming to bore a hole through the mist between them.

  A mistake. She caught her breath unsteadily. This had definitely been a mistake. Outside the protection of the castle walls she felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable, like a roe deer being stalked by a wolf. If this man were truly as dangerous as he looked, then she wouldn’t stand a chance. Ulf was right. It was too risky... That thought alone gave her courage. If she turned and fled now, then she might as well admit that she wasn’t strong enough to be chatelaine in her own right, without a father or husband or any other man to guide or protect her. And there was no chance in hell that she was going to do that.

  She took a tentative step forward and the stranger did the same, mirroring each of her movements until they met, barely an arm’s length apart, in the centre.

  ‘Lady Juliana.’

  He inclined his head and she dug her heels into the wooden planks beneath her feet, resisting the urge to back down, heart thumping so loudly she was sure his whole army must be able to hear it. She was reasonably tall for a woman, but he towered a full head above her, even bigger and broader than he’d seemed from the battlements, his shoulders so wide they seemed to obscure her view of the enemy camp behind. His stern expression was more forbidding, too, though he was also younger than she’d expected, probably no more than thirty, closer to her own age than de Ravenell’s. That fact made her even more nervous. They were as good as alone, out of earshot of her men, so close that she could smell the musky scent of leather and sweat on his skin, could feel the heat radiating from his broad chest, could see it rising and falling just inches from hers...

  Her legs trembled unsteadily and she dropped into a token curtsy, glad of the opportunity to lower her gaze, if only for a moment. Everything about him felt overpowering, and the last thing she w
anted was for him to guess how strongly he was affecting her.

  ‘You have me at a disadvantage, sir.’ She straightened up again, lifting her chin in the air defiantly. ‘You know who I am, but who are you?’

  ‘My name is Lothar, my lady.’

  ‘Just Lothar?’

  ‘Some call me the Frank.’

  ‘You’re from Francia?’

  She tilted her head to one side, but the expression on his face didn’t encourage further questions. If anything, he looked even more severe. Well, at least that explained his accent... She cleared her throat hastily.

  ‘You said you’ve brought terms, Sir Lothar?’

  ‘Just Lothar. I’m not a knight.’

  ‘You’re not?’ She blinked in surprise. From his authoritative manner, she’d assumed that he was a baron at least, but now he mentioned it, she noticed that he wasn’t dressed any differently from the rest of his soldiers in a dark leather surcoat, black tunic, black hose and knee-length riding boots. But if he wasn’t a knight... She stiffened indignantly.

  ‘Is this a joke?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Is the Empress trying to insult me by sending a soldier to negotiate?’

  ‘A sergeant,’ he corrected her, ‘and no insult, at least none that I’m aware of. The Empress simply thought that Sir Guian was in need of a rest. Unless you prefer to deal with him?’

  ‘No!’

  She bit her lip, inwardly rebuking herself for answering too quickly. De Ravenell was the last person in the world she wanted to deal with, but she’d no intention of telling this man anything about why.

  ‘My lady?’ His grey gaze seemed to flicker briefly.

  ‘I mean, you’re here now. We might as well continue.’ She tossed her head. ‘Do you have the authority to discuss terms?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then tell me, Sergeant, what exactly is the Empress offering?’