The Maiden And The Warrior. Jacqueline Navin

ordeal of submitting her body to her despised husband. On their wedding night he had been too drunk, and the call to arms the following morn had saved her from Edgar putting the matter to rights. “Whatever this war brings to these poor folk, it has won me my freedom.”

      Eurice was not reassured. “I do not think it will be that simple, child. War rarely benefits the defeated.”

      Alayna shook her head, releasing dark tendrils of hair from its loose knot. “We are not of the defeated. I was forced into this marriage, and now God has provided an end to it. I do not belong to Gastonbury, but once again to myself. As soon as I can get a message to Mother, she will send her men to see me home.”

      “You are impetuous, child,” Eurice scolded. “You were Edgar’s bride, and his enemy shall not overlook that.”

      “But I was not!” Alayna insisted. “I am a virgin, still, and so no widow in truth, for I was never a wife.” She narrowed her eyes as the faraway sound of hoofbeats began as a low, distant rumble. The victorious army was arriving. “And I will go home,” she vowed.

      The gates had been flung wide to admit the invading forces. Despite her brave words, Alayna clutched Eurice’s arm and squinted in the glare of the late afternoon sun, surprised to note that her heart was racing and she was holding her breath as the soldiers appeared, seeming to be a solid mass silhouetted against the light. They moved forward as one, the sound of their approach rising to a steady thunder.

      The amorphous form took on the shapes of individual men. Their leader rode on point ahead of the others, flanked by the mounted knights, then followed by footed soldiers who fanned out behind. They spilled into the courtyard, filling it and pressing the crowd back. When the last of the soldiers had come to a stop, the leader kicked his destrier forward so that he stood alone. All was silent as the people of Gastonbury and their conqueror regarded each other.

      Alayna heard someone behind her hiss, “He looks like a devil!”

      Indeed, his dark countenance and grim expression did put one to mind of a demon. He had a long mane of unruly black hair, matched by brows that hovered in a scowl over eyes of piercing black. They glowed like coals as he stared unwaveringly into the crowd. A close-cropped beard, cut so short it looked like only a few day’s growth, ran along his jawline and chin, connecting to a thin mustache. His nose was strong, his cheekbones sharply defined. Upon his left cheek, high up next to his temple, a jagged scar showed starkly against his sun-darkened skin. It did not detract from his looks, only enhanced the sinister attractiveness he wore with ease. He was large, broad shouldered and hard muscled in the manner of a man taught well in the arts of war.

      Alayna felt something curl tightly in the pit of her stomach, something within that reacted to the power of him, the unaffected handsomeness, the commanding presence and arrogant air that would make the most stouthearted tremble. Even if he had not ridden in front as was his due, she would have recognized him as the leader from the effortless mantle of authority he wore.

      “I am Lucien de Montregnier,” he announced without inflection.

      There was a reaction to that name. A few people gasped and a low murmur echoed among the throng, but it died quickly. Alayna looked about, curious.

      “Lord Edgar is dead,” he said. “His defeat gives me this castle and all holdings tied to it.” His voice held neither apology nor brag, merely stated fact. “As the victor in this challenge, I declare that I am your new lord until the justice of these events can be determined by a representative of King Henry, which is what the law commands.”

      Alayna watched his eyes scan the crowd, then settle on her. There was something there in that dark gaze that held her captive, even while she did not comprehend it. He frightened her in a different way than Edgar had. Of Edgar, she had feared his brute strength and unbridled cruelty, both of which she had sampled during their brief acquaintance. Yet, there was something far more dangerous in this man’s look. She was unable to turn away.

      “I will require an oath from each of you to be sworn to me, one by one. Those of you who will not do this will be held until the king’s justiciar arrives. If justice does find me rightful lord of this burh, you will be given another opportunity at that time to make your choice but you will be fined. If you still do not wish to serve me, your properties will be assigned to one who will.

      “However, if the king’s man should disavow my claim and declare that I have no right to these lands, I will personally recompense any man who was unjustly imprisoned.”

      A chorus of incredulous murmurs rippled through the crowd. Lucien held up his hand to quiet them. “I do this to assure you that while I will tolerate no disloyalty, I will deal fairly with you. But I will not allow dissension to reign free, so I counsel you to think carefully before making your choice.”

      This said, he swung down from his saddle and moved through the crowd with a long stride. The populace hurriedly parted a path for him. Heading straight for the keep, he bounded up the steps, flung open the tall studded door and disappeared into the hall.

      One of the other men, a handsome knight with shining blond hair, outfitted splendidly in a vest of well-kept chain mail and silver armor, called from his seat on his horse, “Your new baron awaits each of you in yonder hall.” He grinned. His good looks were incongruous with the stained weapons he bore and the gore smeared over the fine silver plate.

      From behind the knight who had just spoken, a large man loped into view. His long hair, of a shade so light it was almost white, fell past his massive shoulders. A Viking, that was plain to see by both his size and his coloring, but even that race of giants must take notice of this one.

      “Agravar!” the other man called, laughing. “Lord Lucien will be most displeased if you frighten half of his new villeins to death!”

      The Viking tossed his head in wordless response before he disappeared into the castle. The fair-haired knight cast a conspiratorial look to one of his fellows, apparently pleased with his jest.

      “Dear Lord,” Eurice breathed in Alayna’s ear. “They look evil. That fair one has the handsome face of an angel, but ’tis Lucifer I am thinking he resembles! And what in the name of all that is holy does he find so funny? He mocks us, I think.”

      “Who among you is the Lady of Gastonbury?” that same knight called.

      Faces turned toward Alayna. Stunned, she answered in a small voice, “I am.”

      The man dismounted. As he strode toward her, he smiled. “I am Sir Will, a mercenary of Lord Lucien’s. He has asked me to bring you to him.”

      “Why me?” Alayna asked, casting an anxious look about her as if someone would step forward and protect her from this dreadful duty.

      Sir Will shrugged. “You are the lady of the castle, are you not? You are to be the first to make your pledge to him.”

      Alayna wanted to refuse, feeling a strange premonition. How odd. She usually teased Eurice unmercifully for all of that one’s belief in such notions. Yet, there it was—a fear inside her. She did not wish to confront this dark warrior all by herself. Looking to Eurice, the old nurse just shook her head.

      Premonition or not, Alayna had no choice but to nod her acquiescence.

       Chapter Two

      Inside the keep, Alayna had to blink to adjust to the dimness of the hall. Other than the man pacing at the far wall, the vaulted chamber was empty. Being the social focal point of every castle, Alayna had never seen a hall without at least a dozen people about, engaged in various activities. It gave her an eerie feeling, this vast, barren place.

      Or perhaps it was the way this Lucien de Montregnier moved, with a leonine grace that reminded Alayna of a caged animal, or a prowling beast searching for prey.

      He stopped when he saw her, swinging around to arch an expectant brow. When she