Dressed in one of the cotes that Gaetan had given her and wearing a cloak that one of the men had loaned her, a heavy thing that wasn’t very clean but it was very warm, she rode a shaggy stout mare and was relegated to riding just behind the knights at the front of the column. There were soldiers behind her, mounted cavalry, foot soldiers behind them, and the provisions wagons bringing up the rear with a small contingent of soldiers to protect them from behind.
There was crisp organization to the movement and the structure of the army, something Ghislaine found quite fascinating. She’d been a warrior most of her life but the Normans had a different type of philosophy when it came to their troops than her people did. She would admit that her people weren’t nearly as organized in some aspects, nor as well-armed. The Normans seemed to bring everything with them – smithies, leatherworkers, quartermasters, cooks – everything to possibly keep an army of this size going.
Then, there were the knights themselves. That was where Ghislaine’s attention was most of the time, on the elite knights who served de Wolfe. Gaetan. That was where it all started; she’d spent two days watching the man from the rear, his proud posture as he rode his charcoal-colored beast and the way he commanded his men with such ease. There was something hugely impressive about it and she was coming accustomed to her fluttering heart when it came to Gaetan de Wolfe. The man did nothing but make her heart flutter.
She was finished being angry at herself for it. Now, she was actually coming to enjoy the sensation. It wasn’t as if Gaetan had given her any encouragement or even anything suggestive; far from it. Maybe that was the most attractive thing of all about him. He was a challenge in every sense of the word. And in her world, he was forbidden. Perhaps that was the most appealing thing of all.
An enemy knight who made her heart lurch.
But there were other knights around him, men who were clearly powerful and seasoned in their own right, men she’d been exposed to from the beginning of her association with Normans, but now she knew their names even though they didn’t have much to do with her. These were all friends of Kristoph, the man she’d come to know briefly, the man who had started her entire association with de Wolfe, and she knew their drive to rescue Kristoph was as strong as Gaetan’s was. She could see it in their eyes.
Casually, her gaze drifted over to her right. A knight named de Reyne was there, a big man with shaggy dark hair and eyes that were a murky shade of blue. He was somewhat quiet but when he did speak, it was loud and booming. Nothing he did was soft of volume. To her left was a knight named Aramis de Russe, a seriously frightening specimen of a knight. He simply had a look about him that suggested great pain and destruction to his enemies, so Ghislaine tried to stay clear of him. Even now, she was afraid to look at him.
Riding slightly behind her, back with the cavalry, were two more knights, Marc de Moray and Denis de Winter. De Moray was terrifying like de Russe was, with black eyes and an angular face, while de Winter had that same handsome look about him that Gaetan did and seemed a bit more friendly. At least he would dip his head politely at her when their eyes met.
The rest of the knights were somewhere back behind her with the rest of the army, men she’d only become acquainted with as far as their names were concerned – Luc de Lara, a titled knight as Count of Boucau. Kye St. Hèver was blonde and pale but perhaps one of the most muscular men she had ever seen. Then there was the Welsh mercenary, Wellesbourne, who was quite possibly as frightening as de Russe and, finally, Téo du Reims, the only knight other than Gaetan who had actually spoken to her. He was polite but distant, a handsome man with copper curls and dark eyes.
And there was Gaetan….
He’d hardly said anything more to her since that day in his tent where they’d battled to the death. Well, not exactly the death, but certainly to her submission. He kept himself at the head of the pack, away from his men for the most part, riding alone except for his big gray hound because that was the way he preferred it. His squires, and other squires, also rode near their masters and, every so often, Ghislaine would see a squire rushing up to de Wolfe, who would speak briefly to the lad before sending him back to his men or back to the rear of the convoy. Strict protocols were observed at all times.
Unfortunately, it made for a boring journey because there was very little conversation between the knights that she could overhear to amuse herself. The priest, Jathan, rode directly behind her but he did not strike up any conversations with her although he had smiled at her once or twice during the course of their journey, smiling at the woman who had put her food on his head and shoved a knife into his back.
Ghislaine would have liked to have spoken to him, at least, just to pass the time, but there were no such opportunities, so she spent the time gazing up at the sky, watching the birds, or the clouds, or the scenery in general. They were still south of London by several miles but they passed near a cluster of several small villages grouped together off to the east. Smoke from the villages hung in the sky in a brown layer, haze from a thousand cooking fires.
As they moved further north, the road narrowed and the foliage around them began to thicken and become more wild. Ghislaine knew this road since it went between Edwin’s holdings and London, and she knew the area slightly only because there was a great lord’s house not far ahead where Edwin had often stopped to rest during his travels. It was later in the day at this point and the clouds, which had stayed away since they began their journey two days ago, were threatening to return and dump their watery load on them. Ghislaine could see the clouds off to the east.
“My lady.” One of the squires was suddenly beside her, his young face flushed with urgency. “Sir Gaetan wishes to speak with you.”
A little surprised, and more than a little concerned, Ghislaine spurred her horse forward, pushing between de Russe and de Reyne as she went. Her animal had a rather bumpy gait as she bounced around on the fat horse until she reached Gaetan. Reining the beast to a walk, she looked at up Gaetan expectantly.
“You wished to speak with me?” she asked politely.
He was wearing a great helm with a band of metal that went down the length of his nose. He had on a mail hood so most of his face was covered with mail, but the eyes were exposed. He turned to look at her and, once again, she could feel her heart lurch. She was coming to expect that reaction to the man as of late.
“When we are in the presence of my men, you will address me as ‘my lord’,” he told her. “You seem to be rather relaxed on the respect you show those above you.”
Ghislaine blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected a tongue lashing, nor did she like it. “If that is the case, then you will address me formally as well, my lord,” she said, unwilling to submit to the man’s pride. “I am the sister of two earls and the sister-in-law to a king. I do not believe I am beneath you in rank.”