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 over 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.