Prologue

Normandy, 1044

The metallic taste of blood filled Severus's mouth. One eye was nearly swollen shut adn several teeth were loose from blows received. "Alex, leave the little bastard alone until the baron arrives," said the man building a camp fire. Severus prayed the advice would be heeded as he hung like a limp shirt in Alex's fists.

"We should kill him now and have done," Alex said as he shook Severus like a dog with a bone.

"Non, Verily will do it. It is his plan."

Though he was nearly unconscious, the information burned into Severus's mind. His abduction and assassination had been planned by his own baron. Cuffs like a cur, Severus fell to the ground and welcomed the hard earth as a soft cushion. With his hands bound behind him , unable to defend himself Severus offered no resistance.

As he drew a deep breath, a haze of pain enveloped him. The assailant's boot had not bruised him ribs, but had broken them. Though his body was bludgeoned and beaten , his sprit was not. He drew short, even breaths to stem the wave of nausea and fight the unconsciousness. When his assailants made a mistake, he would be awake and take his chance to escape.

With his ear pressed to the ground, the dew-soaked grass soothing his sore face, he could feel the vibrations that announced an approaching rider. The partial vision lift in his right eye slanted to the two assailants huddled before the fire. Deep in dinner and drink, they were unaware of the rider. Severus smiled. From the men's lax behavior, he inferred that the baron was not to arrive until later.

In the dead of night, Arthur Weasley galloped though Normandy. As he bend forward in his saddle and urged the animal on, clumps of wet earth and crumbled leaves churned up behind the racing steed. Suddenly, the animal's gait changed and Arthur pulled back on the reins. Finished with the mercenary's life, he wanted to be out of this cursed land and home in Scotland, but he would not lame a horse to do so. The animal had a strained a muscle and he was still hours from Calais and his departing ship. Through the dense trees, Arthur noticed a flickering light in the distance. A campfire so close to where he must make camp could not be ignored.

The trees gave way to a clearing where an armed party of two gathered around a meager fire. As Arthur rode into the site, his sharp eyes caught the shape tied and struggling youth. Without showing a flicker of interest, he focused his gaze in the men at the fire.

"Do not be alarmed," Arthur said, noticing both men had covered the hilt of their swords. "I am the Laird Arthur Weasley and my horse has thrown a shoe."

The firelight shone on the features of the two men but only one advanced. "I am Soren and this-" he swung his hand toward his friend. "- is Alex. We are on our baron's business."

The condescension in the Norman's voice drew a thin smile from Arthur. "What business sees a boy bound and gagged?"

The Norman held his ground. "This bastard is a threat to Normandy." Soren moved forward, a sneer on his lips. "What say you now, Scot?"

Arthur returned the contempt, his gaze hard and sharp. "I have little interest in Norman politics." Then, still watching the man, he slipped from Norman language into the heavy burr of his homeland. "And even less interest in cowards and traitors. Merlin smites these Normans!"

Arthur turned his horse as if to leave but it was only a ploy to unsheathe the sword undetected. Before Soren could offer a defense, the Scot's weapon pierced flesh and sank deep into the soldier's chest. Alex ran forward with his sword drawn, but he was little match for Arthur.

Arthur quickly dismounted and untied the bruised and bloody boy. He had been sorely used by those who meant him harm. "So, lad, you are a threat to the Norman throne?" Arthur couldn't hold back a laugh.

Though the boy was outmatched and weak, he rose to face his rescuer proudly. "Weasley, if you hate the Normans so, why then did you spare my life?"

Arthur was shocked that the boy understood his language. He studied him. Though his face was misshapen with one eye swollen shut, the remaining eye was clear and held his gaze. "I dinna like the odds. Besides, I dinna hate all Normans." He gave the lad time for his words to sink in before adding, "But make no mistake, lad, when you are full grown and wish to meet me on a field of battle, I'm honor that fight. Scots make war on men, not children."

Arthur Weasley, I am in your debt. I will remember your honor. If there ever comes a time when you need my assistance, you have only to ask."

"You are a bold lad." But even as he said the words, Arthur knew the lad's promise was no idle boast. "What is your name, boy?"

"Severus, Duke of Normandy. Remember it. You will hear it." The words were spoken as calmly as the others but this time there was a passion and conviction that even the laird who had scoffed understand.

Though it was obviously caused the lad great pain to bend over, young Severus searched the dead men's bodies. "They carry a king's ransom. Mine."

Arthur let the exaggeration pass: He thought the boy a high-born aristocrat who, in the heat of excitement, colored his importance. The pouched of gold lay ay Arthur's feet. "Where will you go, Severus?"

"Back to my stronghold, from which I was abducted."

The boy asked for no help and, it appeared to Arthur, needed none. Extraordinary, in light of the circumstances and the danger. There were still powerful men who would shed fortunes to have a kid murdered. Arthur stared at the pouches of gold.

"Ride with me, lad," Arthur offered.

Young Severus nodded his head in agreement; then removed a ring and handed it to Arthur. "Remember this night. For your kindness you have earned a place in my affection. And I am true to those I trust."

Weasley smiled indulgently at the boy. There was something exceptional about this lad, but surely he was not the Duke of Normandy and monarch of this land. Yet, he could almost picture young Severus on the throne. Unbidden, the image formed in his mind of Severus as the conqueror of England. It was an uncanny and unsettling vision. Though he tried to shake off the though, it persisted. His gaze was drawn to the gold. A king's ransom, he thought, then pondered- could it be?

"Bring the gold, Arthur. Our destiny awaits," said young Severus.

And without question at the tone or the command, Laird Arthur Weasley followed.