In any case, Alexander’s mission just became a whole lot easier.
Alexander surveyed his surroundings. The chilly evening air blew around him. The smell of peat fires burning reached inside of his chilled nostrils. The archers would see them coming once they marched onto the field. It would be best for him to take only a few men, and demand they open the gates.
Another gust of wind blew. Armor definitely wasn’t warm attire when the chilly air hit it, cooling it to the touch. He shifted on Hero, and thanked God there had not been any snow yet.
Alexander and his men traveled for nigh on two weeks to get to South Hearth. Once they’d crossed the pond from France, they’d ridden slowly and stealthily through the nights and slept most of the days, so they wouldn’t be seen. They didn’t want to take a chance the people of South Hearth would be warned of their impending arrival.
He intended to overtake the village, the keep, the people, and to marry the daughter of Baron Fergusson without a fight. From the looks of the place, there may be only fifty knights inside. However, from what the king said, the baron was a tricky man. Perhaps he would be smart enough to keep his knights well hidden. Alexander didn’t let the idea of men just as stealthy as his own, surrounding him right then and there, flit too long in his mind.
He kept a keen ear for any noise, and signaled to his best lookouts to search the area for any sign of another army. When the lookouts returned they informed Alexander they were alone. A satisfied smile crossed his lips.
The Dragon was back.
Alexander signaled to a few of his men to follow him out onto the field. They carried the Dragon’s crest on one flag as well as a white flag signaling to the archers, friends approached. Shouting could be heard from atop the battlements, but Alexander and his men continued to move forward.
“Guard, open the gate,” Alexander shouted.
“State your name and purpose.”
“It is I, Lord Alexander of Hardwyck. I have come to have words with your master on behalf of his majesty, Henry V, King of England.”
“My master knows no such name or of your arrival.”
The king’s fears of Fergusson turning against the treaty were indeed true. “Surely he knows the name of the King of England, for he occupies an English castle. Go and tell him.”
The guard looked confused. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.
Another guard came to speak to Alexander. “We have orders from our lord not to let you enter.”
“I suggest you open your gates immediately or risk that I shall take both your heads.”
The guards laughed, making Alexander’s blood boil.
“Open the gates at once for your new master,” he bellowed.
The guards stopped their laughter and looked down at Alexander.
“Our new master? What say you I put an arrow through your heart?” the new guard said.
“I say then you will have to deal with my army, and yet another new master who will not be as forgiving. Should you happen to live, which is doubtful, you will be tried for treason against the king, tortured and then die a horrendous death—your body scattered across the north, south, east and west.”
They chewed on his words a minute and then disappeared.
“Edward, signal the rest of the men to join us. These buffoons do not realize the seriousness of the situation. Perhaps our numbers can force them to open the gates.”
As Alexander sat upon his horse on the grounds in front of the great wall, he assessed the impressive castle. Despite the land having fallen into his father’s hands, he had yet to venture this far north. The castle rose high into the sky beyond the walls. Tall turrets were placed on either end. The long structure in the middle was lit up by torches and candles. It was teaming with life.
Movement caught his attention and Alexander looked up. As he stared at what would soon be his, a covering slid back from an upper window. Out stared what could only be described as a glorious vision.
Dark long hair flowed around her. She was missing the traditional crispine and reticulated head-dress that many of the women at the English court wore. He’d seen some Scotswomen in passing and they’d worn a covering too, but not this maiden. Her hair cascaded in waves around her. A chill passed through him, and he had to suppress a shudder. She was a daring woman. What else did she dare to do?
Her creamy white skin glowed in the night. The moonlight from without, and candlelight from within her room, cascaded around her, creating a halo. She looked every bit the delicious angel. Could it be a sin to feel such need to stroke the skin of an angel?
Alexander’s armor suddenly felt too constrictive as his body hardened. His skin began to sizzle as lust coursed through his veins. Perhaps it was from the knowledge this woman could be his forever.
Was it possible the raving beauty staring down at him was Lady Chloe Fergusson? It was probably too good to be true, but if it were she, at least one good thing would come out of this. He would have a pretty little wench by his side. And from the looks of her, she was a feisty, sensual woman.
He lifted his face plate to get a better look at the vision before him. His body now on fire, was oblivious to the cool wind which swept into the front of his helmet and down his neck.
He lifted his sword and pointed at the beauty. He wanted to let her know she would be his. He felt possessive now. She would be his and his alone.
“You are mine!” Alexander roared over the walls of the castle.
He could not tell whether she heard his words or not. But he knew she’d seen him, was looking at him, watching him as he watched her. Blood pumped through his veins.
Then she was gone, leaving his body burning with a fever of possession and lust. Alexander felt powerful sitting there, knowing that although the castle was vast and filled with many, he would overthrow it. He would obtain it. He would have the people bow down to him.
He would have her.
Fear consumed her.
Hand flattened to her chest, Chloe pressed her back to the cold stone wall. She let the curtain fall from her grasp, and it billowed in the late fall wind. Crisp air blew softly over her skin. And yes, her flesh was raised, but not from the chill—from fright.
She dared look again through the slit.
Warriors, clad in shining metal armor filled the space beyond the castle walls. Trebuchets at the ready. Just as she’d suspected, they’d come back for what was theirs. One knight, mightier than the others took her breath away. She felt possessed by him, and yet all he’d done was point—the light from the moon glinting off the end of his sword and the dragon carved on his shield. The skin on her chest tingled as if the very tip of that blade had touched her, even pierced her, just the tiniest of nicks. She patted frantically at her chest for blood, even knowing that she wouldn’t find any.
What had her father done?
She may have been a woman of tender age, but even at eighteen she knew right from wrong and a lie from the truth.
Judging from the onslaught of military might hailing at them from beyond the castle walls, South Hearth did not belong free and clear to the Fergusson clan as announced by her father.
The English were claiming it back.
Her chest heaved with labored breaths. Her heart raced a staccato inside her chest. Between the two she was sure her ribs would burst at any moment. South Hearth had been her childhood home. She could almost here her father as he’d ranted at supper that evening, “One day, when I am gone, you and your husband will rule the Fergusson clan, and South Hearth shall remain in Scots hands, not bloody English scum!” Her father had the best of intentions for the clan, she was sure. He was more of a man of action rather than thought. And on more than one occasion she was clear he cared more for himself and his reputation than her future. Trying to claim back South Hearth would only create a lifetime of struggle for her as a leader. But then again, he wanted her to marry his second in command, so perhaps he didn’t fear that she’d have to deal with it, but
her husband. But she’d made a decision that afternoon by the pond. For as long as she could, she would refuse his wishes. Not even if they dragged her bound and gagged to the altar would she marry Angus.
“My lady!” shrieked Nicola. The woman rushed into the room, tripping on her own gown before lifting it with trembling hands. “Come, we must go.”
“Wh-what?” Leave? She couldn’t run away. Not from her parents, her people, her duties. She may not want to marry whom her parents chose for her, but that didn’t mean she would desert the clan altogether.
“Your parents have instructed me to hide you away. Come now, they said they’d be along. We must hurry.” Nicola’s French accent grew heavier with her own fear.
She started to thrust changes of clothes into a satchel, then stopped.
“Nicola, what are you talking about?”
Shouting, clanging, and general hysteria whistled in from the open window.
“Oh, mon dieu, they are upon us! Their leader intends to take back the castle and marry you! Away, we must be away!” She turned about the room, and paced, like a hen looking for her chicks, but not actually seeing what surrounded her.
“Nicola!” She didn’t mean to shout, but she needed the woman to regain some sense.
The maid stopped her mindless circling and grasped Chloe on the wrist. “This way, ma cherie.”
She pulled back the tapestry on the wall of Chloe’s fantasy knight, opened the secret panel and pushed Chloe inside. The corridor was dark and musty. The air so thick with age it choked her. She coughed and put her hand on the wall to steady herself. Something small and hairy crawled across her fingertips. She shrieked.
“My lady, non! You must be silent, else they hear you.” Nicola shut the panel door, grasped Chloe’s hand and pulled her through the darkness.
What seemed like hours passed, until finally, they reached the end. They squeezed through a tight rocky opening, pushed back foliage, and emerged into the woods beyond South Hearth’s castle walls. From what she knew, the enemy lay in wait all around her. She bit her lip to keep from whimpering.
Nicola motioned her forward, and together they walked stealthily south for several hours, not stopping for a break, fear of being attacked their motivation to keep going. Two old nags tied to a tree in the middle of the forest came into view. Nicola indicated for her to mount one, while she mounted the other. They continued their journey south in silence, well into the night. Why were they headed South? They were for sure well into England now. When it was nearly dawn they pulled to a stop outside a small abandoned croft.
“Your parents told us to stay here. They will rendezvous with us by morning.” Nicola opened the door and hustled her inside.
“But we are in England,” Chloe said, stating the obvious.
“Oui, my lady. Your mamanthought it safest.”
Chloe shivered. “Can we light a fire, I’m chilled.”
“Non, my lady. ‘Twill only bring attention. Here you must change into this.” Nicola handed her a pile of clothes and a cloak. “Peasant clothes, no one will recognize you.”
Her maid set out a meager meal of bread, cheese and watered wine. “Eat when you are ready, ma cherie. Rest. Lord and Lady Fergusson will fetch us very soon.”
Very soon turned into weeks. Chloe was scared, nervous. An emotional disaster. Not knowing what had become of anything left her hands a wringing mess. Had the English army massacred her parents? Her clan? Was anyone left?
Their supplies depleted and with nothing to eat, Nicola and Chloe decided it was best to hunt for whatever berries, nuts, roots and other vegetation they could find.
They tried to find berries, but it was now December, and there was no hope of foraging. Chloe had only a dagger, and no bow and arrows with which to hunt. Their bellies rolled with hunger.
“My lady, do you hear that?” Nicola asked.
Chloe listened, and in the distance could hear the sounds of horse’s hooves, men thrashing through the brush. “Maman! Papa!”
They rushed back to the croft, but stopped short, Nicola running into Chloe’s back. Sitting atop horses in front of the hut, was a frightening sight. These men were not her parents, nor were they from her clan. They were English. Knights, and what looked like a lord, with a wrinkled face of nearly sixty summers, who sat front and center, a thick ermine cloak covering his rakish figure.
Fear snaked its way around her throat, and she stood motionless, unable to speak, even breath.
“Ho, there.” The leader raised his hand. “I was not aware this croft was occupied.”
Chloe’s mind raced for an answer. “We’ve only just arrived.”
“You are French.” His eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance.
Dressed in peasants clothing, the lord would not have been able to recognize that Chloe was indeed of noble birth, and lucky for her, her French accent hid her Scottish heritage.
“Yes.”
“Are we not at war with the French?” A few of his men snickered. Some licked their lips with anticipation, like they were going to eat her alive.
She nodded. “But you see, my father was English, and I feel the blood of England flows through my veins much richer then that of the French.”
The old lord laughed. The sound was brittle and made him cough. He had wisps of gray hair the fluttered with the wind. His cheek bones were prominent, jutting out of his face. “Then I should not kill you?”
“No!” she lamented.
Nicola whimpered behind her.
“Very well. Perhaps I can take you to my village where you will be much safer and more comfortable. Hmm?” His offer was enticing, but there was something inherently foreboding about the man. A shiver raced along her spine. But then Nicola’s stomach growled, and hers did in turn. “Two women, alone should not be walking about the forest. Have you not heard the news?”
“News?” Chloe echoed, still trying to formulate in her mind if they should run or go with this man.
“Aye. A band of Scottish heathens is running about these parts. They tried, only the Lord knows why, to take back the English stronghold of South Hearth. Simpletons, brigands, savages, they are.”
Chloe gulped. The English had won the battle. Were her parents dead? Still searching for her?
“What say you?” the lord asked. His men leaned forward, eager to hear her answer.
Despite her instincts yelling for her to say no, she acquiesced. She could hear Nicola’s sigh of relief behind her.
They gathered their sad mounts and what little belongings they had, and set out with the knights. They rode their horses for hours, and still the lord and his knights had not offered them a morsel to eat. The sun faded beneath the sky when they made camp.
The men set about making fires, handing out provisions and setting up crude tents. When yet again no one offered them food, drink or sleeping space, Chloe grew wary. Why had the lord offered to take them along if he was only going to ignore them?
“Ladies, please.” The lord’s brittle voice rang out in the night as he indicated for them to come and sit beside him near the fire.
Hands clasped together, Nicola and Chloe approached, then sat on the cold ground. One knight passed them a jug of wine, another some oatcakes, and another dried meat.
Chloe tried with all her might not to tear into the food, but she couldn’t help it, she was ravenous. The men spoke softly, their lecherous eyes roving over the women as they spoke, telling stories of their time overseas fighting the French and then back home fighting the Scots. They told of how they’d tortured, burned, raped and pillaged. Chloe tried desperately to listen, learn some news about her family, but she couldn’t distinguish one tale from the other. And the vile things they said had her mind reeling.
Her nerves were so frazzled, and her bladder full. If they had to run into the night to escape these would be rapists, they would. It was becoming more and more obvious that the men had not taken them along to help them, but for much worse. “Nicola, let us fresh
en up in the woods,” she whispered to her maid.
“Oui.”
“If you’ll excuse us, my lord.”
“With pleasure.” But the smile on his face was not pleasant, it was sinister in fact.
When they broke through the trees at the edge of the clearing, Chloe grasped Nicola’s hand in hers and they started to run. But the men were fast and on their heels. One grasped Nicola’s mantel ripping it from her.
Chloe tripped and fell to the ground, kicking out at her assailants.
“S’enfuir! S’enfuir pour sauver sa peau!” Nicola screamed.
And run for her life, she did. Chloe scrambled to her feet and took off, the screams of her maid, grunts and laughter of the men echoing in her ears. One brittle, laugh rang out most of all, followed by hacking coughs.
Something nibbled on her fingers. No pecked.
Chloe opened her eyes and shooed away the black crow that pecked at the blood on her fingertips from where she’d grasped and grabbed at the ground—rocks and sticks tearing the flesh from her. Then she stilled and listened.
Nothing but the sounds of nature greeted her.
She shivered, her eyes swollen and achy from the tears she’d cried. She had no more tears to cry. Somehow in the night she’d built a thick stone wall around her heart, her mind. Poor, poor Nicola. She choked, bile rising in her throat, then turned her head quickly, coming to all fours as she retched.
Her companion was dead.
And she knew who to blame. If only she had a name to go with his face.
One day, I swear to the Lord in Heaven, I will have my revenge.
Chloe stood on shaky legs and picked her way through the forest. Unknowingly, she’d gone in a wide circle, and only realized it when she broke through the trees and saw the remnants of the camp. The only thing left, besides rubbish, was her horse. She took a moment to make sure she was alone, and then rushed the animal, burying her face in its side, breathing in its musky, sweaty scent.
Daring Damsels Page 3
