Chapter 1 Part 1
"Dear Merlin," Ginny whispered as she started down at the Norman army before the castle gates. They had run out of time.
"Put down your weapons and open the gates. Surrender and all those inside will be treated with clemency. Resist and no mercy will be shown."
At the sound of the Norman's voice, everyone in the castle turned to look at Ginny for answers. Only Kayla seemed able to move and that reaction was fueled fear and panic. She ran from the courtyard, tripping on the stairs as she climbed up toward the empty battlement and her sister-in-law. Ginny knew that the Norman words- harsh, curt, and foreign- fell on Anglo-Saxon ears like unintelligible noise, sound without meaning. Only she understood the foreign tongue and wished she did not.
"What do they want?" Kayla asked as she joined Ginny at the wall.
"They say that if we surrender, they will be kind masters," Ginny said, staring at the Noman Army from the safety of the walkway.
"What will you do, sister?" Kayla's face grow pale. She looked around, as if suddenly a miracle would materialize.
Lady Ginny took in the frightened face of the women as they clutched their children to their sides before turned back around to answer Kayla. "You must lead our people throght the tunnel. Go to our brother in Scotland. He will shelter you."
Kayla blanched. "But the journey is long."
"The broader is only ten miles from the tunnel exit, " Ginny said, giving thanks that the loaded cart of wealth had left the night before. "You must do it. Follow the wheel-rut's."
Kayla began to wring her hands. "I'm frightened. Ginny, you must do it."
"Would you rather stay here and face the Normans?"
The little color left in Kayla's face drained away. "Nay. I will lead them," she said and bowed her blond head. "What about you?"
Ginny smiled wanly. "I will stay and create a diversion to give you time to get away."
The pain in her sister-in-law's eyes was hard to bear. They embraced and Ginny walked to the wall. Leaning over the edge, she stared out over the vast army of Normans. She had learned the Norman tongue from her father when she was but a child. Speaking the language through the years had been an game, shared between her sire and her, to exclude other from the conversation. She prayed her memory would not fail her. A women's voice would not be questioned if she was the interpreter.
Ginny took a deep breath and shouted from the high walkway. "Norman, the lord of this castle bade me speak his words. He says that there needs not be any bloodshed. He will send out his best warrior to face yours. The winner will determine the fate of the conquest."
One rider, a huge warrior, advanced. "What trick is this Saxon?"
"Nay, 'tis mo tricky. One of our soldiers will face one of yours at midday, when the sun is sun directly overhead, on yon field." She pointed across the landscape. "'Tis said that Normans fear nothing. Were we misinformed?"
"I accept your lord's challenge, my lady. But be warned, this is resistance."
"Aye, Norman. But if your man fails, you will surrender." The warrior laughed and led his horse back to the column of men.
Ginny nearly sagged with relief. She had feared that Norman would not accept her challenge. Now that he had, she would not allow herself to think of the outcome. It would be far better to die than meet the fate the Normans had for Saxon Women.
In the court yard, Kayla stood surrounded by the growing crowd. No one listened to her. Bethany shook her head. Kayla was such a timid creature. Shouldering her way through the milling villagers, Ginny raised her hand. "You will leave with Kayla. If you wish to live, you will keep your children quiet and make haste for the border." Ginny faced her sister-in-law and handed her the ring her father had given her. When she started to remove the girdle and dagger worn by the eldest daughter, Kayla took a step back.
"I could not, Ginny. Do not ask this of me. By our custom 'tis yours to passed to your daughter. I can only receive it," she pushed, her voice catching, "if you die with out an heir." Kayla pushed the girdle and dagger back into her sister-in-laws hands, refusing the honor of the possessions and the accompanying responsibility.
Ginny understood her sister's hesitation and did not press the point. Soon enough the matter would be out of their hands. She turned to the village women. "Go now and may Merlin be with you." Half the villagers looked at her funny but none questioned her.
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"Merlin's tooth, Draco. Why did you agree to those terms? Legally, the castle belongs to you."
With his attention on the castle, Draco answered, "Brother, after the out come of the contest the Saxon will not be able to question my right of ownership." Draco noted that the stone blocks did not need to be reworked. The castle has been well maintained.
"I should have known you were not reacting to the Saxon's taunt. Logic, not emotion, rulers you." Aden slapped his brother on the back and noticed Draco's serious expression. "Will you be using magic?"
Draco shook his head and continued to stare at the castle. "Do you not think it is strange that there is no one on the battlement?"
His younger brother, Aden, gazed up and studied the walls. "What do you make of it?"
"Take some men and look for a cave or tunnel. I don't wish to be out flanked by Saxons."
Aden nodded his head and turned his horse to do his brother's bidding. Draco faced the castle. I would be his final conquest. He needed the respite from war. Merlin, he was tired. Death and destruction drained a man's soul. He longed for the life of a quiet country lord for which he had worked and fought. Now, all that stood in the way was one soldier. He would meet the man himself. It was too much to count on another.
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Lady Ginny did not know what to do. She could not use her secret in front of the Normans. Dressed as a young page Ginny walked onto the field. She blocked out the insults and slurs, the laughter at her size. Her horse stopped at the end of the field, and she waited as one rider approached. He was massive. His chest wide, his arms as large as tree limbs. This soldier needed no padding to fill his tunic. She knew she would not last the first contact.
"Be you ready?" a deep voice behind the helm asked in the hated Norman tongue.
Her back remained straight as she refused to give any indication she understood the Norman language. His hand coved the hilt of his sword as he inclined his head in her direction. Afraid to trust her voice, she nodded. He drew his sword and waited for her to do the same.
The broad sword was difficult to unsheathe, and she struggled with it before finally managing to pull it free. The weight of the sword pulled her arm down, and she needed both hands to hold it upright.
The champion laughed at her struggles. "Do they send a boy to battle for a castle? Hold the sword steady, boy. The waving makes me dizzy."
Swinging his sword, he advanced, and Ginny knew the sudden tasted of fear. She raised her weapon in a valiant effort to repel the force of his strike and felt his blow clear to her shoulders. Perspiration dotted her upper lip as she struggled to bring her skittish horse under control.
Fear lent strength to limbs as she pulled back hard on the reins while raising her sword for another attack. Steel met steel with a loud clash, and the teeth-jarring contact dazed her. Her arms were numb, and through a dizzy haze she saw the sword swing towards her again but could not block it in time. The flat of the blade bruised her ribs, the force knocking her from the horse. She tried to rise, but the weight of the armor held her pinned to the ground.
The warrior dismounted and stood over her, his sword pressed against her throat. "Do you yield?"
"Nay," she whispered, forgetting to disguise her voice.
The sword tip withdrew and he knocked the helm from her head, spilling her hair out across the ground.
"Merlin's teeth! What is this?" His voice sounded like thunder in a quiet room.
"Have done, Norman," she spat, panting to catch her breath.
He reached down and grabbed her chain mail, lifting her clear off the ground with one hand. Suspended in midair, she found herself face to face with him and glimpsed the dark gray eyes behind the helm. A shiver went through her at the coldness that stared back. She prayed in was a trick of light that made this man's eyes seem so merciless.
"A women! They dare to send a woman to do battle?" He shook her, expressing his disbelief.
Her teeth rattling and her heart pounding, Ginny struggled in his grasp as his men advanced, being his mount. He threw her over his horse and rode toward the castle with his men in tow. Slung over the saddle like a sack of grain she bore the jolt of each stride in her ribs. Though the ride back to Renwyg was short, by the time they reached the castle, her lungs felt beaten and she had to fight for each breath.
On their arrival, the Normans found the doors barred. The mighty warlord barked an order, but no answered from within the castle. "Lying Saxons," he snarled, then to the soldier beside him. "Blaise, climb the wall and open the gates. Show no mercy to those inside."
A stout Norman soldier dismounted, yelling orders to the others to throw ropes with hooks to upper battlements. Several soldiers scaled the wall after Blaise and disappeared behind the stone edifice. In a matter of moments, the doors opened and her captor was informed that the castle was deserted.
With a growl, he rode inside the empty courtyard and dragged her from the horse. Walking into the main room, he threw her to the floor. "Where are they?" he demanded. Ginny remained silent. Brushing the rushes with her hand, she looked around the room. Through her terror she felt a small measure of satisfaction, and a wan smile touched her mouth. She had saved her people.
He advanced on her, overshadowing her with sheer physical presence that was both menacing and overwhelming. Though she felt substantially cowed, to her credit, she did not cringe. "This is your last chance to answer me. Where are the serfs?"
"Far from here," she grasped, finally catching her breath. She had beaten this mighty warlord. Inhaling deep long draws of air, she added in defiance. "Enjoy your spoils. Without the villager, you castle is worthless."
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Exiled from the familiar and imprisoned in the darkness, Ginny sat in the cold cell, terrified. The wind swirled around the tower like cry of ancestral sprits wailing in shame. Tears of misery slipped unheeded down her cheeks. She was utterly alone.
Though she had put up a brave front today, inside, her heart was breaking. Wrapping her arm around herself for warmth, she felt the rough clothes of the squire. Skimming over the short tunic and tights, unconsciously her fingers slipped to her hips, missing that girdle, the symbol of her status. The thought of the legacy gave her measure of comfort and wiping away the tears, she took a deep breath. She would not bend nor break. She had 900 years of pride to uphold.
With her family and people safe, she would resist the invaders and, if possible, escape. Her mind was racing with sudden ideas. Though the Normans were unaware of it, Renwyg Castle had not one but two escape routes. They would find the northern tunnel, because that's what they were searching for, believing southern escape route to be useless to the Saxons and easily discovered by that advancing army, marching from London. She silently blessed her ancestors for their forethought: if an army approached from either direction, an escape path existed for retreat. If only she could flee the tower and make her way to the unused passageway, she could join her family in Scotland.
The following evening, Ginny was lead into the main hall by Blaise and pushed into a chair. The Norman had neither molested nor mistreated her. Now, she wondered if that would change. Across the room, the warlord stood listening to a report from a soldier.
It was obvious that they were related; their build builds and features were too much alike. Both men were a striking sight, with silver blond hair and eyes so light that in first glance they appeared to be white but were in truth sunlight gray. Ginny thought the warlord's features were the more arresting. He was not as handsome as the younger man, yet his rough-hewn face possessed character and seemed more commanding and interesting than the other's near-perfection.
The Norman leader listened intently to the soldier, and then a slow smile crossed his lips. She stuck by the difference that expression made in his appearance and frightened by what had given him such pleasure.
"Come here, mademoiselle."
Ginny remained where she was. She would not answer the man's summons. The soldier standing beside the warlord shook his head at such insolence and started toward her. He pulled her to her feet by the scruff of her tunic and dragged her back to the warlord.
"Brother, why not just beat her?" the young man asked.
"I have already beaten her in combat, Aden," he said, then turned toward the standing by the door. "Blaise, bring them in."