Thank you to everyone who's shown such support for this little adventure. I truly appreciate it.

TwilightMomofTwo makes this so much better! She guides and inspires!

PTB is full of awesome volunteers. Thanks to: GetDrunkonVictory and thir13enth.

You've all been so patient. I ended up having to split this chapter in two because it took on a life of its own. Yes, it's a flashback, but it's not in italics. We would have ended up with (at least) three chapters of italics, and that just seemed wrong.

I don't own this. However, I do own an overactive imagination.

BPOV

France, 1415

"What did they want?" I asked, rushing in as the king's messengers rode away. I'd been in the stable again and was disappointed that I'd missed the visitors.

Father tossed the parchment onto the scarred oak tabletop. The royal seal was visible from where I stood. With work-worn hands, he rubbed his face.

"It's my semonce des nobles. I've been called to fight that English bastard, Henry." Father had warned me this might happen, but I'd put it out of my head. The English and the French had been negotiating for almost two years over Henry's claim to the French throne.

"The invaders are marching north to Calais. I am ordered to gather as many men as possible, outfit them fully and report for service immediately." He sounded so weary.

My mind reeled with the implications. My father, Charles, was a minor Seigneur with a nearly worthless title and small holding.

"How am I to find enough money to outfit men and take them traveling? And for how long? And what am I to do with you?"

I hated that he would worry. He was right that I wouldn't be safe alone. Even at the best of times, brigands roamed the countryside, and he would take the able-bodied men with him. Kidnapping was commonplace, and the unguarded daughter of a minor Lord would be an easy target. He'd worked hard to hide the fact that we were almost destitute.

Actually, being held for ransom was probably the best I could hope for, I thought with a grimace.

"I could go … " but I trailed off because I had no ideas. I'd never been in touch with my mother's family; they knew I was alive but had shown no interest in me after she had died in childbirth. I was of marriageable age, but this summons would have gone to all the noble families, and the men would be riding off to war. Even if Father put a match together quickly, I'd end up living with unknown in-laws. That could be worse than brigands.

As I realized I was out of ideas, I sank onto the bench next to him. The lines around my father's eyes seemed deeper, and I could practically see the worry settling on his shoulders. He worked too hard and took care of so many things. He needed looking after. Who would do it when he was traveling to fight the English?

"Will there be ladies traveling as well?"

"Yes. Quite often wives travel with the higher ranks." He knew me too well and understood my intent. "But those ladies come from rich families. They can bring servants and guards. I'll be lucky to outfit myself and my men, Bella. I cannot spare anyone to guard you."

"I won't need guarding! I'll stay by your side!" The idea of being left alone with just the servants for months on end was too much to bear. They had their own tasks and could not be relied upon for company. I was often lonely when Father was gone.

"Bella, I don't see how it can be done. Being in battle will be hard enough without keeping track of you and making sure you are safe." He patted me on the shoulder before leaving the hall. I heard him send out his call-to-arms. The men would begin packing, preparing to leave in the morning.

I hated all of it: my father riding out to face the invaders with no one to take care of him, being left home alone, and not knowing when—or if—I would see him again. My safety wasn't important, and I cared more for Father than I did for the keep. I was determined to go along. Now, I just had to figure out how.

Just after the evening meal, an outrageous idea came to me. I looked back and forth as though someone could see I was contemplating something forbidden.

During my last confession, Father Thomas had called me petulant and headstrong. It was too much fuss just for taking an afternoon ride without telling anyone. I'd bowed my head, pretending to join him as he prayed for me to be more ladylike.

What I was considering was not ladylike.

I made a quick trip to the stables, rummaging in a wooden box near the door. It only took a second to find what I needed and dash back inside.

There was too much fuss in the hall for anyone to notice me running to my chamber. I dropped the dirty clothes near the door and paced. I walked as I considered my actions. The priest warned me to think about how my behavior reflected on myself, on my father and on the Lord. I knew what I wanted, and I could make sure Father was happy. That only left one more to consider.

I knelt by my tiny bed, bowing my head, hoping I was penitent enough. I prayed for a safe journey for my father and his men, and I prayed for a quick victory over the invaders. I asked the Lord to watch over my father's people in his absence. Finally, I asked the Lord to forgive me for what I planned to do. Making the sign of the cross, I crawled into bed, but I couldn't sleep.

Before the first streaks of light came across the sky, I knelt on the cold floor and held up my dagger. It was a gift from Father and my favorite possession.

I could have unwound my braid, but there was no reason to. Grabbing my tightly plaited hair in one hand and the dagger in the other, I set to work sawing through my crowning glory. It was much harder than I expected, and my heart was pounding by the time it was done. The remains of my hair fell down around my face, partially blocking my eyes.

My head is so light. I cannot go back now.

Even as the thoughts ran through my head, I couldn't manage any regret.

Binding my breasts was much more difficult than I had anticipated. I'd never done it before and deciding how to tie the fabric ends was worrisome. No matter where I put the knot, it showed through the thin, tread-bare clothing. I did the best I could and hoped no one would notice. Tying the dagger on the inside of my leggings, I wanted to make sure it was out of sight. A poor servant would never have access to such a trophy unless it was stolen.

There was still no activity in the hall when I tiptoed out into the deserted yard. As if it wasn't bad enough to don the worn, dirty stableboy's clothes, I grimaced as I rolled in the courtyard. When I was sure I was covered in dirt, I went into the stable, dropping onto the hay in an empty stall. I had only intended to wait, but my sleepless night caught up with me.

"Who do we have hiding in our hay?" the stableboy asked, kicking me awake. "Get out! We don't take in strays."

I scrambled up. It was a good sign that he hadn't recognized me. Maybe my scheme would work.

"It's just me, Daniel." I said, rubbing my filth-covered hands across my face.

"Milady, what have you done to yourself?" He made the sign of the cross and took a step back.

I hopped up, eager to have him tell me if I would make a passable boy.

"What do you think?" I asked, turning in a circle. "I intend to go with the men. Do I make an acceptable young man?"

"Oh, Milady, don't do this. You have no idea what this adventure will bring."

"It will be fine." I waved away his concerns. "I intend to go, and if you have hints on how to be a more convincing boy, I'd be pleased to hear them." This was not the first inappropriate conversation we'd had. Daniel had assisted me many times, making sure no one knew about my joy of riding alone—until I'd gotten caught.

"I'd rather stay out of this, but I know you well enough to know you won't give in." He took his time, looking me up and down as if I were a horse being inspected for purchase. "The biggest problem will be with your voice. You don't sound like a boy, and you don't speak like one. You'll need to keep your mouth shut if you intend this to work." He circled me, making clucking sounds. "Your neck is still clean, and the white streak looks odd compared to the dirt covering the rest of you. Also, I feel the need to warn you. You will be treated like any other young man. Unlike gently bred young ladies, men and boys touch each other. They wrestle, and they fight. You must do your best to stay away from it, if you can." He stepped back. "Now that I think about it, try to be as dense as possible."

"What do you mean?"

"You know the baker's son? The one who is very sweet but not very smart. Try to act like him. The more they believe you are simple, the less people will deal with you. That will help."

It seemed like a sound plan. I nodded and thanked him, just as I heard Father calling from the courtyard. Where had the time gone? I must have been sleeping soundly when they led out the rest of the horses. Daniel's eyes went wide, but he scrambled to prepare my mare. Within minutes, I was riding her out, joining my father. Daniel whispered goodbye and backed away. If there was a confrontation coming, he didn't want to be part of it.

When I rode out, all eyes were on me. My stomach was in knots, and I thought I might vomit. I gripped the reigns harder so the shaking in my hands would not show.

A hush went over the crowd, and it seemed that even the horses knew to be quiet.

"What have you done?"

I wanted to flinch at my father's cry, but I knew I could not. I sat tall, looking him in the eye. "I am going with you! You need someone to take care of you! I can be your servant!" If any of his men had opinions on our argument, they kept it to themselves. The yard was full, but we might as well have been alone.

"I don't need a servant! I need a daughter who will do as she is told!" His face had turned red. That was never a good sign. "Look at what you've done to yourself! I'm disgusted just looking at you! How did you get so filthy? And your hair? What have you done?" he repeated.

"I couldn't stand the idea of being away from you for so long. Please take me with you." My eyes filled, and I let the unshed tears show, hoping I'd be able to sway him. I was using his love for me to get what I wanted. It was another sin to add to my next confession. I'd bring Father Thomas a chair cushion, because I'd be reciting my sins for quite some time.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He did that often when he prayed for patience.

"You have my word! I'll stay by your side through the entire journey, and I'll be a perfect lady when we return. Please don't go without me. This solves the problem of leaving me here alone."

He looked me up and down the same way Daniel had. He was weakening. I could tell.

"The only reason I'm giving in is because we need to leave and cannot delay. You will remain by my side at all times, and you will not speak! Is that understood?" He turned in a circle, looking at his men. When he spoke, it was with the authoritative tone he used for announcements.

"This is my new squire, Boen. It is a shame that he is feeble-minded." Father shot me a self-satisfied smile. "The boy works hard, but he rarely speaks and cannot be trusted to go off alone."

At that, Father mounted his horse and we rode off. I should have felt some victory. I'd gotten what I'd wanted. It made no sense that I felt so ashamed.

**LL**

"Get up, moron!"

Laurent, the biggest of the younger soldiers shoved me again. I fell to my knees. He'd been taunting me from the time our group had arrived a week ago. Whenever the older men had their backs turned, he came at me. At first, it had seemed like harmless jesting, the kind of thing young men tend to do, but his taunts had become more aggressive.

As we'd arrived at Agincourt, I'd noticed the tense undercurrent. The men were on edge, knowing that battle was coming. The waiting was like an itch that couldn't be reached, and tempers were fraying.

I dusted off my leggings and stood slowly. I was shocked a stranger had dared to lay hands on me. Was this what Daniel had meant when he warned me about touching? Normally, I would give Laurent a dressing-down, but that wasn't an option. This wasn't home, and I wasn't the pampered daughter of a Lord. Here I was just another foot soldier, and my faux infirmities made me a target. I was beginning to understand how indulged I'd been. Father was speaking with one of the other Lords, and I wondered when he would realize I was missing.

Laurent stepped closer. "What are you going to do, idiot? I hear you're too stupid to speak. What kind of noises do you make?" He circled me, making animal sounds.

As he walked, I turned my head, trying to always keep him in my line of vision. He would not surprise me again.

A crowd gathered. Young men of various ages circled us, laughing at the taunts. "Come on, speak!" Laurent ordered, followed by rapid barking sounds. I was so horrified I didn't react fast enough when he shoved me again. I flew against the edge of the circle, hoping someone would take pity on me.

Instead, they pushed, sending me back toward my tormentor.

I stumbled, falling in the dirt at Laurent's feet. A rock scratched my palm, and I felt the warm ooze of blood. I was shaking, and my stomach threatened to heave.

Laurent reached down and grabbed a handful of my dirty, stringy hair, hauling me back to my feet.

"Why are you here? What good are you to the men? You cannot fight for France! Go home!" he yelled in my face, spittle landing near my eye.

"Enough!" A dark-haired young man came forward, charging through the circle. "Is this what makes you a man? Tormenting those younger, smaller, and weaker than you?"

"It's no business of yours, Jacob," Laurent sneered, "I'm merely having some fun with the boy." He pointed at me with a lazy finger.

"You're idea of fun is disgusting. I am here to defend my home, not to watch you behave like an animal. You should all be ashamed of yourselves," Jacob said, pointing at the watchers. Some of them looked down and refused to meet his eyes. "Go back to where you came from! And never forget—the feral dog who abuses someone weaker than himself will also turn on you."

Laurent scowled and strode forward, pulling back a fist. With a swift stroke, Jacob dodged the punch and drew his arm back. His fist landed against Laurent's jaw. The taller man went down into the dirt, howling in pain. The crowd scattered like birds taking flight.

Jacob leaned down. I think he intended to grasp me under the arm, but I was trying to get to my feet. His hand grazed my bound breast. His eyes widened, but he didn't pull back. Instead he grabbed my upper arm and lifted me to my feet.

I started to brush myself off, but it was a futile gesture. I was filthy, and had been from the time I'd rolled in the courtyard. On the rare occasions we'd passed a stream, I couldn't bathe with the men. It felt as though I had a shell of dirt, and I had carried it like a souvenir from home. That thought brought tears to my eyes.

Jacob looked at me. "The others call you Boen. Is that right?" He was speaking gently, and he reached forward.

For just a moment I wondered if he would stroke my cheek, but he pulled back.

I nodded, blinking rapidly, keeping the tears from falling. So few people had addressed me directly, let alone took the time to learn my name.

"Jacob, we should go." I hadn't noticed the other man. He was as fair as Jacob was dark, and he appeared to be a bit older.

"Soon, James. I need to take care of this first."

Jacob spoke to him, but he was focused on me. I couldn't help but feel that he'd figured out all my secrets.

James huffed. "I'm not waiting for you to help this idiot. I'm going to find something to eat. I'll meet you back at camp." As he strode away, I heard a welcome voice.

"Boen! Where are you?"

It was Father. Although I would have preferred he'd arrived earlier, I was thrilled to hear his voice. I started to run to him but realized that was wrong. Slowing my pace, I walked, grateful for the security he could provide. I didn't realize Jacob had followed me until my father spoke.

"Is there a problem?" He looked from me to Jacob as if measuring our proximity and finding it disturbing.

"It's taken care of. Some of the younger men were giving him a hard time. Being younger and smaller, the boy is an easy target. You might want to keep him close until security improves."

My father's eyes narrowed, and he stood taller. He would consider the words an insult, that he wasn't caring for me properly. "And you are?"

"My apologies, sir. No offense was intended. It's obvious the lad is special. I'm sure you want to protect … him."

I inhaled deeply, glancing between the two of them.

Jacob was the first to look at me closely and figure out my secret. The implication was clear. To my father's credit, his expression didn't change.

With this understanding, the two men introduced themselves formally. At first, the conversation was awkward and stilted. It was as though they circled each other, deciding if the other was worthy of trust. They discussed their homes and the hardships of the journey. When Father mentioned a distant uncle, Jacob gave a short laugh and began speaking more quickly. Within minutes, they had determined that we were distantly related. The talk concluded with the names of family members I would never be able to remember. At some point, my father clapped him on the back, and I knew then that Jacob had earned his approval.

"Sir, if it's acceptable to you, I'll be happy to watch over Boen when you cannot. I know there are meetings you must attend to discuss the upcoming offensive. I'll protect the boy when you are away."

My father turned to me. "Is that agreeable to you? It would give you someone to spend time with when I am away."'

I nodded and smiled at them both, grateful for the prospect of spending time with someone other than my father.

The next day, I sat behind Jacob, holding his sides as we rode out of camp. He had suggested we spend the day exploring while my father was busy. "Who are they?" I asked, whispering in his ear, marveling at what seemed to be acres of tents outside the main base camp.

Because Jacob knew the truth, I didn't see the point in continuing to pretend I couldn't speak. If he was surprised, he didn't show it.

"They're camp followers. A few craftsmen, healers, traders and other people who try to make money from the soldiers. The majority of them are whores, though."

I gasped and did my best to look around without staring. I'd heard there were women who sold their favors, but I'd never actually seen one.

"I'm sorry if I shocked you. I've been with men so long, I forget what it's like to be in a lady's company."

"I'm no longer sure I'm a lady," I said, suddenly uncomfortable that I was so close to him.

"You are still a lady, no matter the circumstances that brought you here. What are you called, truly?"

"Bella."

"Ah, that suits you much better. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Bella."

I giggled. It felt so good to be female again, even if only for a few moments. As simple and childish as it sounded, my torment at Laurent's hands had finally helped me realize the folly of this trip. During the first few days, I'd been surrounded by father and his men. It had been an adventure. For the first time in my life, I was free to leave the keep, gallop my horse, eat, sleep and relieve myself outdoors. Only when we'd joined with others had the true impact of my actions come to roost. I'd only thought of myself and my father. Foolishly, I had never considered that we would encounter other soldiers.

Passing the first camp, we crossed a small stream and rode into a clearing. This area was filled with different kinds of tents and brightly colored wagons. Some even had silk banners blowing in the breeze. I tried not to stare.

"You've probably never seen a gypsy camp before. Would you like to walk?" he asked.

"Could we?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound too eager.

We tied the horse to a small tree and began to wander through the camp. One colorfully painted wagon was full of bolts of lovely fabric, much too beautiful for me to touch. A few steps down, another wagon was full of tiny bottles of sweet-smelling perfumes. A dancer moved toward Jacob, dressed in a gown more revealing than anything I'd seen before. She moved seductively while a man nearby played a small stringed instrument. Jacob gave her a smile and waved her off. The woman tilted her head as though to say, I'll be here when you change your mind, and she moved on to another soldier walking behind us.

At the center of the camp, there was a gold-accented red tent. An older woman stood near the open flaps, scanning the crowd. There was a sign next to her. It was a drawing of a hand, complete with detailed lines crossing the palm. When I looked back up, her eyes were fixed on mine. I shivered. Somehow, I felt exposed and raw under her scrutiny.

A child ran past, grabbing her attention. She ran a few steps to catch him, scooping up the boy and cuddling him close. In that instant, her entire demeanor changed. She went from foreboding and mysterious to loving and gentle. The boy giggled as she covered his cheeks with kisses. She set him back on his feet, and he ran off again. She looked at me again as though she knew I was still watching. I turned away, ashamed at being caught staring. Her obvious love made me sad for things I'd never know. There had been no grandparents to wrap me up and kiss my cheeks.

I shook off the thought, not wanting to ruin our day. I had not seen much of the world outside my father's keep. For me, this camp was a grand adventure. It was like magic.

We passed a vendor selling roasted nuts out of a big pot. Jacob passed him a coin, buying us each a handful. The treat was wonderful, sweet and full of a spice I'd never tasted before.

We were looking over a display of weapons when we ran into the soldier who had been with Jacob yesterday. James was haggling with an older man over the price of a knife. When he saw us, he called out a greeting then went back to his negotiations. I didn't think it was going well. Each of the men kept getting louder and louder. They were beginning to attract attention, and I saw the fortune teller watching. She'd seen James greet us, and now she eyed Jacob and I warily.

"It's probably best to stay out of that one," Jacob said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw James throw one last insult and stalk away. With an arm around my shoulder, Jacob steered me in the opposite direction.

We passed two jugglers who stood apart and let Jacob and I walk between them. I laughed as the balls passed overhead, close enough to touch. I wanted to imprint this all on my memory. When the battle was over, I would go home with Father and probably never see anything like this again. As Jacob and I walked around the camp, the fortune teller kept drawing my eye. Each time I looked back, she was watching, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I edged closer to Jacob.

As much as I tried to enjoy the next few wagons, the magic was spoiled for me. I was pleased when Jacob decided it was time to leave.

The horse wasn't far, and he mounted first, pulling me up behind him. I saw the boy running in our direction, laughing and weaving in and out of the crowd. There were other children chasing him, calling out. The leader was small and fast. He was hard to see.

Several things happened in the next few seconds. James sprinted toward us with something tucked under his arm. He was yelling, but I couldn't make it out. Jacob tried to turn the horse to respond, but James rushed past with two men in pursuit. It was too much, and the commotion startled the horse. I couldn't blame her. This wasn't a battle-hardened steed. From all over France, we had commandeered every animal that could walk, and this was a gentle mare. She reared up in confusion. I scrambled, grabbing for Jacob but losing my hold. I tumbled off the back, landing in the dirt. I stood to brush myself off, making sure nothing was broken.

That's when I saw the boy.

He was in the dirt, just a few feet from me. I rushed forward, putting my arm up, instinctively keeping the horse away from the child. She whinnied and shook her head, sidestepping away.

When she was gone, I looked down and cried out. Dropping to my knees, I realized I was too late.

The entire right side of his chest was crushed. I could see jagged edges of ribs sticking out from where the horse's hoof must have taken him to the ground. Blood pooled around him, soaking into the earth. Logically, I understood what had happened, but it didn't make sense. I kept waiting for the still-whole part of his chest to expand with breath. The broken part might not work, but the rest of him looked untouched. His head was cocked off to the side, and his eyes were closed. Soft, downy-looking hair fell across his cheek. It would have been easy to imagine he slept.

Screaming began around me, but it sounded far away. My heart kept pounding in my years, downing out all other sounds. As I reached out to caress his cheek, the fortune teller came, shoving me aside. She gathered up the boy as though he were made of glass.

She kissed his cheeks just as she had before. The tender love on her face tore my heart. I knew she was waiting for him to wriggle and laugh. She was missing the laughter she would never hear again.

With the back of my hand, I brushed my tears away.

The two men who had been following James returned, holding him between them. He struggled, snarling. One of the men reached into his tunic and pulled out the knife James had been haggling over. It was obvious to me then. James had stolen it, and Jacob and I were guilty by association.

The crowd began to circle us. They were yelling in a language I didn't understand. The fortune teller passed the body of the boy to a sobbing young woman. She looked down at her hands, covered in his blood. She muttered something softly, but her intentions must have been clear to the crowd. Other men stepped up, grabbing Jacob and me. I struggled, but there was nothing I could do.

She took hold of me, wet hands sliding across my skin. Gripping my cheeks, she looked into my eyes. The blood seemed to sear into my skin. My heart pounded as the heat spread though my body. I wanted to look away but couldn't.

She spoke in heavily accented French. "May you live every day of eternity regretting what you have done." Icy cold followed the fire, flowing directly from her hands, etching the blood into my skin. I was freezing to death from the inside out. From somewhere far off, I heard Jacob yelling, but the fortune teller was chanting. There was a rhythm to the sounds, and the cold seemed to pulse with it. Every frozen part of me vibrated with her words until I was sure I would shatter like cracking ice.

I started screaming, high and clear, praying for relief or death. It didn't matter which.

When I woke, the pain was gone.

Jacob and James were there, but the horse was missing. Both men lay in heaps, their faces covered in bloody smudges.

As far as I could see, the meadow was empty. The only traces of the gypsy camp were the tramped earth and the smudge marks where the campfires had been lit. The sky had clouded over, so it was difficult to tell how long we'd been unconscious.

"Jacob." I shook him and give a sigh of relief when his eyes shot open. He looked all around us, and I could practically see his memories flooding back.

"Are you all right?"

"I believe so." I took a second to think about my answer. My body didn't hurt, but it didn't feel right, either. My skin tingled, and my ears felt strange. It felt like I could hear more clearly, but I knew that would sound insane. "Yes, I'm fine."

Jacob stood, and before I realized what he intended, he pulled his foot back and kicked James in the stomach.

"Get up, you filthy whoreson!"

I heard James heave, but he managed to get to his feet. He bent over, inhaling deeply, before standing and taking in the empty field. He looked at me before turning to Jacob with wide, frightened eyes. Then he took off running with an odd, uncoordinated gait.

Jacob took a few steps in pursuit, but he swayed on his feet.

"Are you well?" I asked. Perhaps he felt odd as well.

He took a moment before answering, "I'm fine."

We both watched as James disappeared into a patch of woods bordering the field.

"Miserable bastard. I'll find him, and I'll let his Lord know that he's a thief." Jacob barely looked at me as he put his hand out and helped me up. We started walking in silence.

"What happened today?" My voice sounded small, but I couldn't figure out how to ask what I couldn't understand.

"I don't know, and I can't explain it." Jacob finally turned to look at me. Making a noise low in his throat, he ripped off part of his sleeve and spit on it. When he started rubbing at my cheeks, I knew I was still covered in the boy's blood. The skin was raw where he rubbed, burned and tender-feeling.

When he was done, I took the cloth and wiped him down as well.

"Bella, we can't tell anyone about today. There are already suspicions about what goes on with the gypsies. People have been burned as witches for much less that what happened today."

"I won't tell a soul. I promise." Even if I wanted to, I'd have no way to explain what had happened. I didn't understand it myself.

As we walked, it started to drizzle, and I was grateful. Somehow, I hoped the rain would wash away the memories. I could still feel her hands on my face and the bone-numbing cold running through my veins.

We were met at the edge of camp, and Jacob made up a story about the horse throwing a shoe and needing to leave it behind. He escorted me to my father's tent. Entering, I kissed Father on the cheek and crawled into my bedroll. I hoped the exhaustion would allow me to sleep, but I tossed and turned through the night. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind was filled with the image of that small, broken boy.

You know I love hearing what you think! Real life is crazy right now, so it might take me a bit to get back to you.

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