Catch me if you can

[Maka]

The archers raised their voices in a ragged drinking song as they swaggered out through the castle courtyard. The song died away as they passed by a knot of men at arms dressed in mulberry and brown, lounging near the entrance to the great hall. There was a moment of tense silence.

"De Lacy's men", Arnaud whispered in Raven's ear.

"Cowards all," growled Lucais Le Breton, making no effort to prevent the de Lacy men from hearing him.

One of the de Lacy men sneered at him.

"We're no cowards."

"Saw neither hide nor hair of you nor your master when we were taking this place."

"What was Edmund de Courtney or the warlock Stephen de Valois to us? Our master fights for himself and protects his own. By all accounts, your master can't even do that."

Lucais' hand flashed to his belt-knife but Arnaud's hand was there before him. He gently but firmly pulled the older man's hand away from the hilt. The de Lacy men, who had tensed, relaxed.

"They're hardly worth your steel, Lucais. Let's go sink our other daggers in something more worthwhile," Arnaud whispered to the heavy-set, grizzled archer.

"Maybe you have a dagger, Arnaud," guffawed Jehan. "I have a longsword!"

The banter and the progress of the group resumed, leaving the de Lacy men behind. Raven only just caught, out of the corner of her eye, a familiar face among them. Long James was standing among them, talking to their leader. He had sunk back into the shadows at their approach, like a man who had no wish to be noticed.


The dark, slender youth standing behind de Lacy's chair was regarding Stephen with a level, penetrating gaze. Stephen made a momentary note to find out who he was -he had seen him among de Lacy's entourage before. But his attention soon returned to Marnoch and de Lacy's departure. Marnoch's loyalty to Stephen was hardly assured by their brief conversation tonight. The two might be intriguing against him.

He sighed. The battlefield, the hunt, the library -these were the places he felt at ease. This courtly life, these poisonous smiles, these constant intrigues... for a moment, he longed to leave it all behind. Ride for London and from there take ship to somewhere warm, peaceful and far away. Perhaps some city in the Saracen kingdoms he had visited on crusade -warm, sunwashed narrow alleyways and librarys humming with knowledge and scholarship, purple mountains and forests of cedar on the horizon. Far away from these rainy, cruel marches, these snarling thugs and cringing cowards who dared to call themselves knights.

It was the thought of Rowan that drew his mind back. A land that produced a youth like Rowan could not have been wholly forsaken by God. He thought of the story Rowan had told him about his family. If he left, who would seek justice for them? Certainly not de Lacy and his kind.

One of the more servile knights, Sir Hugh Blunt, leaned in solicitously.

"My lord looks tired. Do you wish to retire?"

Stephen regarded him dispassionately.

"No."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Raven did not know who Lord de Lacy was, but it was plain that Stephen de Valois’ archers had no love for either him or his men. She made a mental note to ask Lord Stephen about it.

Then she saw him.

“Arnaud...wasn’t that...?”

She turned around, now fully alert, her question about de Lacy already half-forgotten. The young man followed her gaze over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“That man...!”

“Don’t worry about them. Even these dim-witted toads are smarter than to pick a fight on our patch.” Raven nodded, not really listening, straining her neck trying to catch another glimpse at the red-haired man she could have sworn she saw.

“From the hunting party...” she added distractedly, but her companion, his arm around her shoulder again, did not pay her any heed.

“You’ll have other things to goggle at soon”, Arnaud said cheerfully, taking a sip of apple brandy from a flask that he then offered to her. Frustrated, Raven took it from him. Her head felt light and it became harder to hold on to a clear thought with every swig, but she did not dare to turn the drink down. Wiping her lips, she handed the flask back to Arnaud.

“This de Lacy must be a harsh master.”

“What makes you say that?”

“None of his men were drinking.” The young archer gave her long, sideways glance. “You’re a rather observant little lad, aren’t you, Rowan?” Was it her imagination or did his voice sound a tad harsher? But as Raven looked at him again, he smiled. “No drink, no song, no women – no wonder that they are such sour bastards, eh? Thank your lucky stars that it was Lord Stephen who found you in his forest, and not William de Lacy.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the music and laughter emerging from a tavern that came into view by the road. Jehan cheered loudly as two young women generously displaying their charms leant out of a window. “Ah,messieurs - the promised land!” Danyel shouted and waved at them.

Raven stiffened. What now? “You look like you have seen a ghost!” Symon mocked her. “Never seen a woman up close, rabbit slayer?” Laughing, the other archers entered the brothel. “Attends, Rowan”, Arnaud said to her. “We have a gift for you.” He put two fingers between his lips and whistled. Almost immediately, a young woman with flaming red curls, probably not much older than Raven herself, appeared in another window. As far as Raven could tell, she was exceptionally pretty. “Arnaud, my love”, she shouted, laughing. “I have missed you so!” The young Norman blew her a kiss.

“A gift for me?” Raven’s voice was trembling, very aware that the girl scrutinized her with great interest. Arnaud smiled mischievously. “Yes, to welcome you. Her name is Elwynn. Trust me when I tell you that her talent outweighs even her beauty.” The young woman disappeared from the window. “Arnaud, I...I...” He laughed softly. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite. And if she does - her bites don’t hurt...much. Believe me, there is no better girl to make you a man.”

***

William de Lacy returned to the great hall alone, his face like thunder. Taking a sip of wine, Robert had to force himself not to laugh. “Father?”

“Tell Geoffroy to take a few of his men to make another outing. I want Valois to be embarrassed in front of his vassals.” His voice was low, controlled, and only the ice in his eyes betrayed Lord de Lacy’s fury.

“What?” Robert lowered his cup in astonishment, every trace of laughter gone from his features. “An...outing? Now?” Over his father’s shoulder, he looked in the direction of Stephen de Valois. “Do you think it wise to...”

William de Lacy raised an eyebrow. “I have no need of your council. Do as I command.” The contempt in his father’s voice was unmistakable.

“Mylord.” Robert placed his cup on a table, suppressing his anger. “But allow me to ask what Lord Marnoch told you.”

“He informed me that Alys will be wed to Lord Stephen, and soon.”

“De Valois?” Robert looked taken aback. So soon? As far as he knew the Norman lord had not even yet laid eyes on Marnoch’s daughter. “This is...unexpected. What roused the liege lord’s interest in Lady Alys?”

“Marnoch, that spit-licking weasel, betrayed me. He offered de Valois his darling daughter’s hand tonight, and our young lord accepted. After I have groomed Marnoch for months! At the first chance he gets, he throws himself at this...irritating fledgling.” His left hand was wrapped around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white with strain. “I will make him pay for his slight.”

The musicians started to play another song, a cheerful tune. Someone laughed loudly.

“But all in due time.” He put his free hand on his son’s shoulder. “For now we have to increase our efforts to make Marnoch see reason. Without Crowsdale and their allies we will never be able to rid ourselves of Valois and his misguided ideals. Many here agree that Castle de Courtney – and the North – should have been mine.” The grip on Robert’s shoulder hardened. “Tell Geoffroy to be generous with his skills. Creative. I hear that the peasants think Valois a devil-worshipper. Why not strengthen this amusing assumption?”

Robert nodded, but did not reply. The joy that men like his father, or Geoffroy, or that ginger-haired traitor found in torture and cruelty to further their ambitions sickened him. And to what end? To sit in the chair that de Valois now occupied and defend it against schemers like themselves? Robert appreciated a challenge, but this was not a fair fight.

“And then tell my men to join me at our dear liege lord’s feet to renew the oath of fealty.” William de Lacy’s lips curled in disgust. “I need to spit the words in his face before they poison my insides.”

“Yes, mylord.” Robert bowed and went to find Geoffroy, swearing to himself that he would not let Alys bear the brunt of feuding lords, that he would not let them tear her to pieces like quarrelling dogs. But if Marnoch had already promised her to Stephen de Valois, he also needed to hurry.

 

[Maka]

"Ha, ha! If ever a boy needed to be made into a man, it's our little Rowan," shouted Jehan. "Look at him."

A rough, calloused finger traced across Rowan's chin and supple lips. "Not a trace of hair! How old are you, boy? Do you shave yourself? God's wounds, lad, don't you know women like a man with a bit of a beard?"

"Do we now, Jehan?" asked one of the whores, a somewhat older, plumper girl with long blonde hair. "And are you a learned scholar of women all of a sudden?"

"I know women," Jehan boasted, thrusting out his crotch, "Care to test me, Lenore?"

"Do women prefer cleanshaven men?" asked young Arval. He himself had only a wispy blond moustache.

"Oh, aye," Lenore replied readily, "A beard between your legs is a scratchy business."

There was uproarious laughter at this, and Arval blushed crimson. Lenore meanwhile had sidled up to Rowan and was inspecting the young archer with shining eyes. She licked her lips almost unconsciously.

"A pretty archer. Now I've seen everything under the sun."

She slid an arm around Rowan's slender shoulders.

"What's your name, sweetling?"

Arnaud rapped her knuckles.

"Keep your hands off, Lenore. This is his first trip here... and I want nothing but the best for my boy. He gets Elwynn."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Made into a man! Raven almost laughed out loud. Too bad that none of them knew that she had already done a reasonably good job at trying to become one, at least until now.

And she wished that Arnaud would have kept his voice down as they entered the tavern, as Jehan immediately jumped onto the opportunity to point out the shortcomings of her disguise - but looking around the rather dubious establishment Raven decided that the lack of a beard was the least of her worries.

“Where I come from men do not need to hide behind thickets to catch a woman”, she countered, slapping the laughing archers’ hand away.

The brothel was arranged much like an inn, with a downstairs ale house, where patrons – all men –gathered the courage to enjoy the real commodity: women. Raven realised with a shock of panic that a house full of carousing, drunk males was likely the worst place to be unmasked. With Arnaud so firmly set on ridding his new companion of his assumed innocence, it would be hard, impossible even, to slip away unnoticed. What now?

Raven scanned the room before her, looking for dark corners that would swallow her until the interest in her had subsided, until the rest of the archers were fully distracted by more immediate needs than that to mock her. Stairs led up to a gallery that was dimly lit by several lanterns, and further up there seemed to be more separate rooms. Maybe she could hide there?

However, it looked like the whore Lenore was not willing to let Raven slip between her fingers either. Terrified that she might slip a hand under her tunic, the young woman stood as still as she could while the blonde whore eyed her with the appetite of a hungry predator. Luckily, Arnaud came to her defence.

“Elwynn, Elwynn”, sneered Lenore, obviously annoyed. “How do you know that she is the best there is, if you haven’t even tasted these?” With that she unlaced her top and lowered her thin blouse to reveal large round breasts, crowned by rosy, erect nipples. “Sweeter than honey, they say, softer than silk, and fit for kings. See if your Elwynn has tits as beautiful as mine!”

“Don’t you mind him, chérie”, said Danyel, cupping one of her ample breasts with his hand. “He is but a philistine peasant who has never learned to tell jewels from pebbles.” With that, he lowered his mouth to flicker his tongue over one of her nipples. Lenore laughed and sighed, obviously delighted with this new offer.

Relieved, Raven watched as both of them made their way up the stairs, Danyel’s hand already under her skirts. But she was long from safe – following Arnaud’s gaze, she saw that the red-haired girl from the window was now making her way towards them.

Now, up close, Raven could see that she was not just pretty, but stunningly beautiful.

Her delicate face, her alabaster skin, her green eyes like fiery stars – Raven could understand why Arnaud seemed to favour her above the others. She moved with fairy-like grace, her thick curls glowed like polished copper in the light of the lanterns. How had a girl like her ended up here? A linen dress clung to her slender body, and her bodice, already half undone, gave a glimpse of firm breasts that strained against the fabric.

“I heard you require my help”, she said. Looking inquisitively at Raven, she frowned. “He is pretty. Angelic.” Tilting her head to one side, she put a finger to her lips in mock scruple. “But after I am done with him, even the devil will blush at the things he has learned.”

With a pouty smile, she slid a hand under Arnaud’s shirt, resting her palm against his taut stomach. “I prefer the force and the skill of a real man” she said, her lips close to his ear and loud enough for Raven to hear. Scratching his skin ever so lightly, she withdrew her fingers. “And I have missed you. But there are not many things I would refuse you, Arnaud.”

Then she turned to Raven, her bright green eyes sparkling. “You have never been with a woman before?” Raven wanted to retort with something witty, but her throat was suddenly so dry that all she could do was shake her head. Someone laughed, and said something in French that she did not understand. What now? Elwynn’s smile widened. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you what to do.” And without another warning, she leant in to kiss her, silencing any response from the young woman opposite her.

Raven felt her breasts against her, felt the other woman’s slender body against her own. Her parted lips were soft like rose petals, and tasted of honeyed wine and cinnamon. She could hear someone cheer, but at this point in time really did not care. Without thinking, she put one arm around Elwynn and pulled her closer into the kiss. Was it really the brandy that made her head spin like this?

Finally breaking the kiss, leaving Raven breathless and confused, Elwynn looked at Arnaud, her gaze full of playful mischief. “My love, would you like to watch?”

 

[Maka]

The lean young archer gave a swashbuckling grin, reviewing Elwynn's enchanting features and lovely body.

"Name of God, Elwynn," slipping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to him, "You'd give Saint Antony a hard-on. I want to watch watch you put this boy through his paces. Wouldn't miss a sight like that for all the gold of the Ind."

His hand slipped down, through the laces of Elwynn's half-open bodice, and there seized and tweaked a ruddy, stiff nipple.

"Maybe afterwards, I'll put you through some paces of my own."

He looked at Raven.

"I like you, Rowan. Elwynn is mine, you understand, just as I am hers... but a lone woman has to live in this world, just as a man and she can't earn her bread fighting for Lord Stephen like you and I can. Let's go upstairs, mon amis. Elwynn will show you things you won't believe."

He insistently tugged both Raven and Elwynn to their feet and slung an arm around either in a companionable fashion.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Elwynn laughed at Arnaud’s enthusiasm and trapped his hand fondling her breast under hers. “There is nothing like a good incentive to get a girl to comply”, she purred. Unsure what else to do, Raven followed her companion’s lead and ascended up the stairs, Arnaud’s arm firmly around her narrow waist. “Bon chance, mon petit!” one of the other archers yelled behind them, guffawing loudly.

Raven tried to think of something – anything – that would allow for a graceful retreat that would not rouse suspicion, but failed to come up with a single clear thought. What, short of admitting her deceit, could she possibly say?

She was surprised to see the affection that the young Norman archer so obviously felt for the red-haired whore, surprised that he announced to be “hers”. If he accepted that his beloved had to pursue such a common profession to survive, that she was an outcast and of ill repute, maybe he would accept Raven’s choice, too? But something told her it was one thing to make money by being everyone’s woman, and possibly quite another to venture into domains that men alone felt entitled to.

So yes – what now?

Raven felt the panic rise in her throat, and imagined what would happen when they found out that she had fooled all of them, especially Lord Stephen. The talk she had had with him on top of the tower felt like it had been years ago. With a bitter smile she wondered if the brothel would have her after she would be thrown out of the archers’ fellowship. At least they cannot cut off my hair as they do with fallen women, Raven thought grimly. At least I beat them to that.

“Oh dear, the boy looks positively terrified”, Elwynn laughed as they reached a small room that seemed to be hers. It was pleasant and tidy; the window gave view onto the forest. A bed and a chest were the only furniture in the room. A candle burnt on the window sill next to a large bouquet of fragrant summer flowers, and Raven wondered if Arnaud had given it to her. The moon shone brightly through the open window, bathing everything and everyone in it in blue soft light. The sounds of the tavern and of patrons stumbling past on the street drifted in, somewhere in the distance a dog barked madly. To Raven’s embarrassment, muffled yet unmistakable sounds of intense pleasure could be heard from a room next door.

Withdrawing from Arnaud’s arm, Elwynn stood in front of Raven, tracing the delicate lines of her face with one finger. “No man ever walked from this room unsatisfied, Rowan”, she whispered. “And neither will you. Don’t be afraid.”

With that, Elwynn took Raven by the wrists. “How small your hands are. How gentle. Women all over the Kingdom will be grateful for the things I will teach you to do with them.” She laughed her cheerful, bell-like laugh again. “Here, undress me.” Despite her fear and her shaking hands, Raven started to undo the remaining laces of the bodice – it was something that she had done so many times in her life that she did not need to concentrate to succeed. She was uncomfortably aware of Arnaud’s gaze behind her, and barely dared to breathe.

The young whore slipped the thin undertunic off her shoulder, and the delicate material slid down, revealing a beautifully firm, perfectly round breast. “Give me your hand, Rowan”, she whispered, and Raven complied, her throat suddenly very dry again. “How does this feel?” Raven felt the silky soft skin under her fingers, the sensitive nipple taut against her palm. “Good”, Raven replied hoarsely, and was not lying. The honey-coloured complexion of her hand made for a lovely contrast against the alabaster-white skin of the whore’s body and almost against her own will, Raven slid the tunic off Elwynn’s other shoulder with her free hand to reveal more of her. She was now naked from the waist up – a nymph, breath-taking and lovely.

Next door a woman screamed in ecstasy.

Pulling Raven close by the back of neck, Elwynn whispered in her ear: “I want you to make me scream like that, little archer.” The words sent shivers down the young woman’s spine. What was happening? None of the village boys who had clumsily groped her behind trees and sheds had been able to make her feel this way. Shyly caressing the soft skin between her neck and her shoulders, then sliding her fingertips further down, down one breast and circling the navel, Raven was transfixed. “You are beautiful, Elwynn”, she whispered, blushing.

Raven was slightly taller than Elwynn, and with her hand gently caressing her skin, cupping one breast, she kissed first her cheek, then the side of her neck, down to her upper chest. She did not dare to go further, but Elwynn’s fingers were in her hair now, encouraging her. How soft, how delicate the girl was! The red-haired whore smiled devilishly, and then looked over Raven’s shoulder directly at Arnaud before letting her head fall back with a soft moan. “Like that, yes…like that.”

Raven sighed in pleasure. But this was not right! What was she doing? How was it possible that she gained pleasure from this? Surely there was no hot enough hell for the sins she had committed over the past three days, and not for those she was about to commit. At the same time, the heady feeling of making such a beautiful creature moan, the carnality of it all, the brandy clouding her brain all urged her on.

She wanted to kiss Elwynn again. After all, it was what was expected of her, the boy Rowan, and even Father Aldred had urged her to blend in with the rest of Lord Stephen’s men, had he not? Stephen de Valois had done the same. Wasn’t it so?

With that, she pulled the young whore towards her and kissed her parted lips, deeply, dominantly, like a man would. Elwynn moaned into the kiss, surprised by the sudden sweet force, now eager herself to feel the young archer’s naked skin under her fingers. Hastily she pulled at his tunic, undoing the laces, pulling it up to reveal Raven’s flat stomach.

Raven felt lost. Would she feel the difference of a young woman’s narrow hips, her soft skin? Would Arnaud see it? Desperately, she clung to Elwynn’s lips as if the kiss might save her, while the young whore caressed her lower back, her stomach. Still clad in her tunic and undershirt, Elwynn’s nimble fingers had not yet reached the linen bands hiding her breasts, but they would soon, she would…

But it was that what she did not find that made her realise her mistake. One hand still in Raven’s hair, Elwynn’s fingers had wandered to her breeches, to her belt holding her knife, and finally, hastily, to her crotch where her fingers rested for a moment, obviously not finding what they were looking for.

Her initial shock thankfully muffled by Raven’s lips, Elwynn broke off the kiss, and stared at the other woman in furious disbelief. Not knowing what else to do, Raven caught hold of her wrist and pulled her close again, but the spell was broken. She could feel Elwynn tense up, even resist, if only ever so slightly. Had Arnaud noticed? Dear Mother Mary, please no. Her lips formed one, silent plead, her dark eyes were glued to Elwynn’s accusing stare, begging her not to give her secret away, however useless this delay might be.

After what felt like a much too long silence, Elwynn disengaged from Raven’s grip, and turned to Arnaud. The young woman did not dare to move, to look up at either of them, even to breathe. Oh dear God, please no.

“My love, please go and fetch us a pitcher of honeyed wine.” Elwynn’s voice was soft, pleasant, inconspicuous. “This boy is all too frightened, and I am afraid he might faint before I even undo his breeches.”

 

[Maka]

Arnaud had noticed Elwynn's hands reaching down into Rowan's breeches, and something of her subsequent look of shock, but drew an erroneous conclusion. He got his feet, a wicked but understanding smile playing about his lips.

"Plenty of men get nervous at first, Rowan. It is no shame, it makes you no less of a man, and I won't tell the others. Elwynn should have you stiff as a spearhead."

He moved over to Elwynn and took her fragile, alabaster face between his hard yet gentle hands, looking deep into those enchanted green eyes.

"For you..." he drew her to him and kissed her with mounting passion, one hand slipping downwards to manipulate and fondle her firm, bare breasts, pressing them together, pushing down on the nipples and tweaking them. He did not leave off until Elwynn was panting for breath.

"To remind you of what's waiting for you afterward, ma cherie," he concluded. He thumped Rowan open-handed on the shoulder and strode out of the room.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

As soon as Arnaud had left the room, Elwynn shut the door behind him, and whirled around to glare at Raven who stood helplessly in the middle of the small room. Raven had no idea what Arnaud had meant, but she was glad he was gone, for now.

“Thank you.” It was heartfelt.

Leaning against the door, her face flushed with both anger and arousal, Elwynn stared at the girl.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Angrily, she pulled the sleeves of her blouse over her shoulders again, even though the thin fabric did not cover much. Raven had to force herself to concentrate.

“You have until he returns to explain this.”

Raven stared at Elwynn, wide-eyed, still too stunned unable to utter a single syllable.

“Well?” Elwynn did not look like she had an appreciation for Raven’s predicament. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she raised her eyebrows impatiently. “What is your real name?”

“Raven.”

“So…Raven…how does a girl like you end up in a brothel disguised as a peasant boy, in the company of de Valois’ archers?”

Raven stumbled into a confused explanation about how Lord Stephen de Valois had saved her from a wild boar while she was poaching his forests, that she had been scared of punishment, and that the offer of working in the service of the liege lord had sounded too good to miss.

“And none of them know?”

The dark-haired young woman shook her head.

“Lord Stephen?”

“He doesn’t either.”

“And they all believe you are an archer?”

Raven looked up, her voice a tad firmer. “I am.”

Elwynn could not help but smile. “By the devil’s cock, Raven, that’s insane. Did you really think you would get away with this?”

“I have so far.” Elwynn did not reply, so Raven continued. “I beg you, don’t give away my secret.”

“And lie to Arnaud? Lie to all of them? Why would I risk that for someone I don’t even know?”

Raven raised her hands imploringly. “I will tell them, I swear. I will reveal myself eventually. But I have not shot a single arrow; I have not proved myself to any of them. Do you really think they will listen to me after they find out I am only a girl?” Eyeing the door nervously, she continued: “Elwynn, I think someone wants to cause Lord Stephen great harm. I believe there might be traitors amongst his men, I…”

Elwynn interrupted her. “I see. You are not only a thief and an archer, but a noble knight who has come to save the realm!” She shook her curls, laughing now. “But I like your courage. And after all, very few people approve of my choices.”

“So you will not tell on me?”

Without an answer, Elwynn bolted the door and turned back around to Raven. Her green eyes sparkled mischievously.

“In order for Arnaud to believe us, we will need to finish what we started, sweet Raven. If he cannot believe with his eyes, he will need to believe with his ears.”

“What do you mean?” Her mouth had gone dry as Elwynn slowly walked towards her, reminding her of a predatory feline.

“You will need to make me scream, Raven.”

Raven laughed nervously, one eye on the young whore, the other on the door. Arnaud had to be back any moment now, and she would be damned if he would be content himself with being left standing outside. Surely Elwynn was playing with her.

“There have been women who dressed up as men to come here, did you know that? Women who want to enjoy a woman like a man would.”

“Now you are the liar.”

The young whore laughed. “It’s true.”

Elwynn stood close before her now, lifting a hand to Raven’s face, tracing her lips with her thumb. “You are beautiful, little archer. Kiss me again.”

Raven could not help but pull the delicate red-haired girl close and comply. It was the only thing she could do. Somewhere in her mind she was aware that this was utterly crazy, that she was on the brink of being discovered, and that the punishment she – they both – would receive would be severe. But then there was Elwynn, her skin like silk under her fingertips, her soft lips locked to hers, her scent of wildflowers.

It felt incredible. Elwynn kissed her deeply, exploring her mouth with her tongue, drawing a soft moan from Raven as her hands slipped under the dark-haired girl’s tunic again. The thin blouse had slipped from the whore’s shoulders, exposing her to Raven’s touch.

Raven caressed her naked arm, her shoulder, before her hand slipped down towards one breast. She squeezed it lightly, like she had seen Arnaud do it earlier, tweaked one of the sensitive nipples. Elwynn reacted in her embrace, arched her back to urge her on, while fumbling with the laces of Raven's tunic to pull it off.

Breathless, her head spinning and her skin tingling, Raven finally broke the kiss, almost gasping for air. “Now tell me Elwynn…how do I make you scream?”

 

[Maka]

"Arnaud."

Symon had been drinking. He reeked of the fiery, cheap red wine that the brothel stocked and his darkly bearded face was hotly flushed. He staggered up from the stool where he had been sitting and weaved his way towards the younger archer, scowling.

"Arnaud, Arnaud."

"That's the name my mother gave me, friend Symon," Arnaud said lightly. He already saw where this was going, as did everyone in the room. "But if it takes your fancy, you're more than welcome to it."

Symon came to a standstill, a grimace twisting his face.

"Even so? It's pity that you're not always so generous. Or not to your friends."

Arnaud tightened his grip on the jug he was holding, his expression turning grim.

"Perhaps you should explain yourself, Symon."

Symon glared at him.

"You're greedy, Arnaud. Elwynn is the greatest snatch in this shithole. You can tell by looking at her she's one of the ones who you can fuck all night, who just wants more and more. But nobody gets to find out because whenever we come here, she's your whore and nobody else gets to wet his dick."

"She's just a whore," Lucais said, trying to ease the tension. Symon bared his teeth.

"Just a whore? She's hotter than the devil's prick. Fucking her would be like fucking a real noblewoman but none of us ever get to find out what that's like... but when some pretty-boy poacher who should be hanging from a tree right now comes along, suddenly, suddenly you're in the mood for sharing. What did he promise you, Arnaud? Is he going to suck your cock afterwards, while she watches? He looks like a right little cock-sucker and all."

There was a hush in the room. Symon was not well-liked but Elwynn's angelic beauty and luscious, taut body had clearly made their influence felt.

"Or maybe it's because he's such good friends with our lord, that it? Think you can get noticed by the great folk if you make the right friends? Well, maybe our lord isn't the only lord out there who's generous to his..."

Arnaud's eyes narrowed. Symon seemed to recognise, even in his drunken state, that he might have made a mistake, and his mouth clamped shut.

"What was that, Symon?"

Others were looking at him quizzically. Symon tried to reclaim momentum.

"To the devil with what I said. Here's what I think. I kill you, well, Elwynn -she's my whore, then, isn't she?" He looked around the room. "And I would be much more generous with her." He looked back at Arnaud. "What do you think about that, Arnaud?"

 

[Sweet_Denna]

There was something utterly erotic about Elwynn’s opened lips, red and swollen from their kiss, her veiled gaze from under long lashes, her obvious desire for her.

“Why waste words when I can show you how?” The young whore’s hands were already at Raven’s knife belt, and, after she had loosened it, she tossed it with a thud into a corner. She pulled off the tunic and Raven’s undershirt without hindrance, exposing the wide linen straps that Raven had wrapped tightly around her chest to conceal treacherous curves.

“No need to hide them from me”, Elwynn whispered and fumbled at the fabric, and finally managed to undo the knot that kept it in place. She slowly undid the linen straps until she revealed a pair of small firm breasts cupped by dusky nipples. “Lovely….” Elwynn gently cupped one of Raven’s breasts, feeling the warm silk and the other woman’s flat, almost scared, intakes of breath against the palm of her hand. Elwynn rolled one of Raven’s nipples between her fingers, squeezing it, enjoying the soft, involuntary moans her caresses drew from the dark-haired woman’s lips.

“If he comes back now…” Raven tried to focus on the sound of approaching footsteps.

“He cannot come in. I bolted the door.”

“If he were to discover…”

Elwynn, slowly dragging her nails over Raven’s breasts, over her erect, now so sensitive nipples, interrupted Raven with a whisper: “Do you want me to stop?”

There was a short pause as Elwynn’s hand slid down into Raven’s breeches, their eyes locked, and Raven’s answer became an incoherent stammer and she faintly shook her head, as if forced by an invisible power to do so.

The young whore smiled. “I take this as a no?” Her fingers slipped between Raven thighs, her thumb brushed against Raven’s most sensitive spot, and the dark-haired woman drew in her breath. None of the boys who had groped her through her skirts and undergarments had ever dared to touch her there. But Elwynn knew what she was doing.

When she withdrew her fingers they glistened with the evidence of Raven’s arousal. “I have my answer right here.” With a wicked smile, Elwynn put her fingers between her lips, licking off the juices, savouring them, her small pink tongue flicking against her fingertips.

“I want to see all of you, Raven.”

Raven, now eager to comply, kicked off her soft leather shoes, and after wriggling out of her breeches and undergarments she stood naked in the middle of the room, the moonlight and the flickering candle throwing patches of light and shadow over her slender body. Elwynn’s eyes lit up in appreciation of her fawn-like beauty, marred only by the bandage around her upper thigh.

“What happened there?”

“That is the souvenir the boar left me with.” Raven looked down and brushed over the place where the animal had wounded her.

“Does it still hurt?”

Raven smiled. “Not so much anymore.”

“You look like I always imagined the forest nymphets my brothers told me about.” She lifted one of Raven’s wrists to her lips and kissed the soft skin underneath. “Is that what you really are? Did Lord Stephen catch himself a fairy in the woods?” With her other hand she traced the curve of Raven’s gracile waist, the lines of her thighs. “I am sure he doesn’t mind to share you.”

The mention of Lord Stephen made the blood rise in her cheeks. If he could see her now…if he knew! Unbidden, the image of the Norman lord appeared before her mind’s eye, kissing the inside of her hand like Elwynn was now, pulling her closer like she did…she shook the thought off. What was happening to her?

The red-haired whore pushed Raven towards the bed gently while her lips were locked to hers, kissing her deeply, and she kissed her back, one arms wrapped around Elwynn’s delicate waist while the other hand cupped one bare breast, breaking the embrace only when they reached the edge of the bed.

Raven sat down, Elwynn standing between her open thighs, looking down at her with a dreamy expression. “Where is Arnaud?” Raven whispered in a meek last attempt at breaking the spell she seemed to be under. The young whore kissed her forehead. “He must have been held up, I suppose.” Then she kissed her way down Raven’s face, her nose, her lips, her chin, down her throat, gently, playfully, licking the soft skin between her breasts until she knelt in front of the darker woman.

“Now I want to show you how to make a woman scream.”

Pushing Raven back onto the bed so she was now lying, her thighs open, her sex revealed to Elwynn’s gaze, her touch, her caresses. The skilled whore took her time, savouring every moment. She lifted Raven’s healthy leg, kissed the inside of her soft thigh, biting the soft skin. “Oh…!” It was a sigh, a moan of surprise. Raven held her breath as each of Elwynn’s kisses came closer to the folds of her sex, torturously, inevitably. “Please…” She arched her back, her hands buried in the whore’s copper curls.

Elwynn laughed softly. “Please what?”

Raven, lost for words, lost in the need for a release she had never known, was only able to repeat her plead.

The young whore spread Raven’s thighs wider, lightly brushing over her sensitive clit as she did, before she gently started licking, suckling, kissing the very same spot, her fingers teasing the entrance of Raven’s virgin cunt. The dark-haired girl was at a loss what to do. Never had she imagined that such violent, such helpless arousal was possible.

“Oh dear Mother Mary…” She had to put her hand against her mouth, had to bite down on it to muffle a loud moan that was rising in her throat as Elwynn continued to plunder her sex with her tongue, alternating between fucking the depths of her cunt with her tongue and suckling on her clit, setting all of her nerve ends on fire. The muffled moan became a scream.

“Cum for me, little archer”, Elwynn whispered before Raven buckled under her, pushed her away because she simply could not take any more, screaming now, all fear of discovery forgotten. Her very first orgasm rolled over her so violently that she trembled, her fingers digging into the covers, panting, her eyes closed while Elwynn watched, mesmerized by the beauty of Raven’s release. Her lips and chin glistened with Raven’s juices, her cheeks were flushed as she emerged between her thighs, smiling wickedly.

As Raven slowly recovered, her eyelids heavy as she leant up on her elbows to look at her lover. “What was that?” she whispered, still utterly out of breath.

“Something a Norman taught me”, Elwynn said lightly, placing another kiss on the inside of Raven’s thigh, her green eyes glinting. “And now it’s my turn.”

 

[Maka]

The rippling, ecstatic scream seemed to contain something elemental in it -in its sheer quality of feminine desire and satiation. It went beyond words into a long, golden and sweet sound like the highest point of a choir recital.

Danyel and Lenore had been dozing together on her bed in the next room, Danyel's slick, satisfied cock resting against the blonde whore's thighs, but they jerked awake at the erotic noises coming from behind the wall.

"Fucking hell," Danyel observed. "Never heard you scream like that."

A succession of moans and pants succeeded the scream.

"Never heard Elwynn scream like that," Lenore responded, propping herself on one elbow and giving Danyel a pleasant view of her large, round breasts. "Who's in that with her? Arnaud?"

Danyel tweaked one of her nipples, noting their stiffness. Lenore was clearly aroused by the sounds Elwynn was producing -so, for that matter, was he.

"Might be Arnaud, might be that young lad. Arnaud wanted to give him a taste -you remember."

Lenore could have chosen to be aggrieved at the memory of the snub, but she was too fascinated by the sounds from next door.

"He must have a ten-foot cock, whoever he is. And know what to do with it."

Danyel chuckled, flipping Lenore over and putting her on all fours on the bed.

"Aye, ma cherie. That he must. We all figured he wouldn't know what to do with a woman -pretty little thing that he is, and always mooning after Lord Stephen. Maybe that's what Arnaud was thinking too."

A heated, desolate moan brought an end to the unseen woman's ravishing orgasm.

"Bet he's fucking kicking himself now."


The tension downstairs had momentarily lifted with the sounds coming downstairs.

"Rowan? That's that little pretty boy upstairs with Elwynn now?" asked Jehan. "Well, fuck me."

"He'll probably be tired after all that", advised Clarin. "Better let him get some rest first."

Jehan flushed violently amid the resulting laughter. The attention of the company of archers, as volatile and rapidly shifting as ever, moved from the dispute between Symon and Arnaud to teasing Jehan. But Symon's glittering eyes had not left Arnaud's face.

"Still happy with your boy?" he asked. "Listen to how pleased she sounds, Arnaud. You ever make her sound that way?"

"Elwynn is still mine," said Arnaud, trying to project a confidence he suddenly didn't feel. He never had heard Elwynn scream like that before. "Rowan understands."

"Really? Because if he's like you, he may just decide that Elwynn's his whore now. Wouldn't that be droll, mon amis? You'd be just like us then."

"Rowan wouldn't..."

"Really? We first met him poaching. Other men's deer, why not other men's women?"

"Even if he did try to take Elwynn, I'd take her back."

"And when he went to Lord Stephen? You know he's taken an interest in the boy. You think he's going to deny his favorite little archer something like that?"

Arnaud gave over the argument and simply stared into the fire, the colour rising in his face. Symon clapped him on the shoulder, handed him a cup of red wine.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Arnaud. Take it from me. You might have more friends than you think, if you want them."

"Friends who'd threaten to kill me?" asked Arnaud, his eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about, Symon?"

Symon shook his head.

"Not tonight. We'll talk about it later. Besides," he jerked his thumb upstairs with a smirk, "You have plenty to listen to."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Elwynn crawled up on the bed, kissed her way up, freeing herself of her skirt with a skilled wiggle of her hips. Raven was not surprised that she did not wear any undergarments.

She took Raven hand and placed it between her thighs. “Please Raven”, she whispered. At first, the young woman was unsure how to comply with Elwynn’s request. Shyly, she touched the whore’s slick lips, amazed at the feeling of softness and heat. But soon Elwynn squirmed under Raven’s increasingly bold caresses. “That’s it, Raven…touch me here.” He guided Raven’s fingers to her clit. “Yes!”

It was a heady experience to put this beautiful creature in such a state, panting and begging for more. But Raven knew how to retaliate more adequately. Slowly, she kissed her way down Elwynn’s body, past her belly button, her hips. Grabbing one of the whore’s slender thighs, she mirrored the caresses that Elwynn had so expertly applied to herself only moments earlier.

When she first kissed the whore’s smooth sex, Elwynn rewarded her courage with a loud groan of pleasure. Raven licked the length of her sex, savouring the aroma. Elwynn’s moans were her guide, and with each lick, each kiss, these moans intensified.

“F…fingers”, she stammered. “Use your fingers.” Another pleading moan. “Go on…”

Raven tentatively pressed one finger against the entrance of Elwynn’s slick cunt, and the whore groaned in delight. “Yes, fuck me with your fingers, Raven.” In order to illustrate her request, Elwynn grabbed Raven’s wrist and guided her two fingers into her tight cunt. “Yes…!”

The dark-haired girl was a fast learner. Doubling her efforts on Elwynn’s clit, wrapping her lips tightly around the hard little bud, sucking and licking while, still guided by Elwynn’s hand, she slowly withdrew her fingers from the whore’s hot cunt, only to plunge them back in again. Her efforts were met by ever louder moans and harder bucks of Elwynn’s hips, breathless pleads to fuck her harder. Raven responded, now eager to grant the young whore as intense a release as she had experienced earlier.

It did not take much more to send Elwynn over the edge: with a moan that culminated into an ecstatic scream, she panted: “Yes, Rowan, please, yes!”

Raven had to admire the young whore’s self-discipline.

Elwynn’s legs tightened around Raven’s head, her toes curled and she arched her back, holding on to the young girl with her fingers still inside her cunt as the orgasm crashed through her. Soon, her bucks and moans became smaller quivers and heavy breathing. Raven withdrew her fingers, now coated with Elwynn’s juices, and covered the young whore’s sex with soft kisses, before crawling up to rest next to her.

“It’s too bad Arnaud has to miss out on this”, Elwynn mused with a lazy stretch, finding her breath again. “He would sell his soul to the devil to be in this room now, with us.” She turned her head to look at Raven. “Most men would.”

Raven propped herself up on her elbow, her free hand resting on Elwynn’s breasts. “You promised me you would not tell him.”

“I won’t.” She leant in to kiss Raven lightly on the lips. “But only if you promise me that you’ll come and visit. A lot.”

The dark-haired girl laughed softly and playfully tweaked a stiff nipple. “I am sure Arnaud would not approve of that. He made it very clear that you are his.”

“He might just have to learn how to share. I am a whore after all.”

“I would not want to be on his bad side.”

Elwynn caressed her cheek. “No, you wouldn’t, sweetling. He is a damn good shot.”

Raven put her head onto Elwynn’s chest, trailing the curves of her body with one finger. “I am scared, you know. I am scared what might happen if they find out my secret. Symon hates me already…”

“Symon is a brute drunkard. Don’t take him too seriously.” Elwynn placed a kiss on Raven’s soft hair. “Arnaud will help you, he is a good man, and you are a smart lass. You will be fine.” Another kiss. “You’ll better be!”

Raven put one arm around the young whore. “What I said earlier…about traitors…I think it’s true.”

Elwynn did not react. After a short moment of silence, she said: “If you want my advice, don’t meddle in the affairs of the noble folk. Think about your own skin, Raven. Lord Stephen can take care of himself, but you have nobody who will protect you if you get caught up in the snares of other men’s ambitions.”

Raven listened to Elwynn’s heartbeat, and said nothing. Elwynn was right, of course. But had she not made a promise? She sighed.

“Does Lord Stephen ever come here?”

Now Elwynn laughed. “Lord Stephen has no need to visit a common whorehouse! I am sure that there is no lack of highborn damsels who gladly share his bed free of charge.” She closed her eyes. “It’s a pity, really. I would not mind getting a taste of him myself!” Raven could feel the heat rise in her face again. The young whore, peeking up at her from under lowered lashes, thumped her shoulder. “Oh by the devil’s cock, so would you!” With a mischievous grin, she climbed atop the slender girl, holding her arms down. “I propose a wager: I bet you won’t last even a month before you reveal your identity to him, begging for him to fuck you…” “Elwynn!” Raven blushed a deep red.

The red-haired girl laughed, her head thrown back, her lovely firm breasts only inches from Raven’s lips. It was enough to send delicious shivers down her spine.

“Don’t you pretend to be a right proper virgin, I have glimpsed the fire underneath these adorable blushed cheeks.” She lowered her head to take one of Raven’s stiff nipples between her lips, sucking, flicking her tongue over it until the young woman moaned helplessly. Grinding her sex against Raven’s crotch, she whispered in her ear: “Don’t tell me that you aren’t the least bit curious to find out what it is like to feel a man inside you.”

Raven, writhing underneath her, freed her hands from Elwynn’s grasp and pulled her into a deep kiss. “Why lust for a man when I have you?” Elwynn chuckled. “I still stand by my wager. Not even a month!” Then she sat up, looking down at the beautiful dark girl beneath her. “I could do this all night, sweet Raven. But alas, you are not the only archer I need to tend to this evening. Get dressed.” She kissed her again before getting up from the bed, and hastily put on her skirt and her thin linen blouse. Raven watched her, regretful that her short moment of freedom had already come to an end.

“Hurry”, Elwynn urged. “I will go and look for Arnaud.”

 

[Maka]

The dawn came grey, overcast and cold. Ice glittered in the puddles throughout the courtyard, and the mud had taken on a hard, slippery crust. The servants' breath came in clouds of fog. It was a northern dawn -bleak and cold and hard and yet oddly beautiful. Stephen wondered when he had begun to love this country.

He was in the practise yards, stripped to the waist despite the biting cold. It was a winter morning of the kind that could chill to the bone through three layers of fur and wool, and yet he seemed untouched by it -lordly, remote. His body was as an anvil that the suns of the Middle East and the blades of Saracen and Christian foes had beaten on and only made harder. One old white sword-scar criss-crossed the flat chest, another was slashed between the perfectly defined pectorals and between the broad, powerful shoulders there was a knotted scar where a spearhead had landed. A blunted practise sword was in his hands, and he confronted three of his best fighters simultaneously.

It was the night after the feast and most of his guests were still abed, save for Lord de Lacy, who had pleaded urgent business to ride off before daylight with all of his entourage. The other guests had overindulged with wine and food the night before, and now slept it off. But Stephen liked to greet the new day with swordplay. Like hunting, it was an elemental, primal challenge, appealing for its purity. Like hunting, it was also training for war.

Lucais Le Breton was the first to step forward. An excellent swordsman, although a little too easy to provoke. It was unusual to find commoners with much aptitude for swordplay -they were not raised with a sword in their hands, as nobles were. Lucais seemed a little off-form today -perhaps he had also had a rough night. The other two -the twin squires Gerard and Edwin, flanked him. Gerard and Edwin were a dangerous combination. They instinctively worked as a team, having lived together and fought together all of their lives. Along with Sir Giles, they were among the scant few lieutenants that Stephen felt he could trust in these northern climes. And, like Lucais, they knew that he did not want the flattery of a thrown match and an easy victory. They fought in these practise bouts to win.

Lucais lifted his sword and lunged. He was a fraction too slow and Stephen parried, then drove him back with a hail of blows. The archer's hands were shaking. He was doing all he could to keep his arm from buckling under the weight of the lord's attack. With a sudden low thrust, Stephen whacked the flat of his blade to Lucais' belly. With a grunt, the archer stepped back, clutching at his chest. He dropped his sword, acknowledgement that he had been 'killed'.

Gerard had already taken the opportunity to launch a murderous blow at Stephen's head. Stephen ducked and found Edwin's blunted blade sweeping in from the side. He was forced to twist to avoid the attack, almost slipping on the muck. With the usual uncanny precision of their teamwork, Gerard seemed to have been ready for Edwin's attack and now launched a second blow, both hands on the hilt and cutting downwards at Stephen. Stephen managed to catch the blow on the hilt of his blade -the force ringing through his body like a bell.

Gerard was equally jarred by the impact of steel on steel and Stephen took advantage to pull his sword back and then tap Gerard's neck. Gerard dropped his sword, expressionless (the twins never cursed or shouted in combat like most men Stephen knew. Gerard especially rarely spoke at all.). Edwin was now stabbing at Stephen's back but Stephen had been anticipating this move, even counting on it. His arm was a blur as it had slashed downwards, catching the other twin on the exposed right shoulder. Edwin's sword followed his brother's into the mud.

"Swiftly done, my lord," said Lucais. It had initially taken him some time to overcome his shyness at being among nobles, but now he was inclined to banter with them as though they were fellow archers.

"It has to be done swiftly with these two if at all," Stephen commented. "I don't think any man can last long alone against them."

Edwin gave him a brief grin, a mere flash of white teeth, while Gerard simply stared down at the mud. It was a good feeling, being among men one could trust. Stephen's body was plastered in sweat -the intense exertion had totally overcome the morning's cold.

"He was swift. You were slow," said Edwin, clapping Lucais on the shoulder. "Overexert yourself last night?"

"Ha!" said Lucais. "I wasn't the one overexerting myself. You know the new archer?"

Stephen had been contemplating the mud, rethinking the fight as was his habit, but this got his attention. He did not look up. Lucais was used to the squires at this point but the undivided attention of the lord of the castle still tended to unnerve him, as it had greater men than him. Rowan?

"The pretty one?" asked Edwin.

"Aye, the pretty one. Looks like a right proper little lad, don't he? Well, proper he ain't, in fact he's the randiest little bastard you'd ever see. What did he do but march the prettiest whore upstairs and fuck her til she was screaming fit to wake the dead. We'd never heard anything like it before. He must have a cock like a stallion, from the way Elwynn was shrieking."

This was a surprise. With Rowan's mild manners, delicate features and soft voice Stephen had half-wondered if he was of Red Rolf's persuasion. Something seemed wrong with the picture of him casually mounting whores as Lucais described. However, the important thing was that it seemed to have earned him the respect of the archers.

He had, he realised, been looking forward to his meeting with Rowan all morning. It was this, not the beauty of the dawn or the thrill of swordplay or the rough camaraderie of Lucais and the twins, that had put Stephen into such a good mood. It was strange, that having known the youth for such a short time that he had such an effect on Stephen.

Rowan had a report to make, on the village that had been raided. Perhaps that was it -perhaps it was the possibility he held out of at last taking action against the men who taunted Stephen and harmed the people he had sworn to protect. Or perhaps it was Rowan's bright, fiery mind -a diamond glittering in the black northern mud, and the possibility of polishing that gem and bringing it to the brilliant sheen it deserved. Or...

He mused, as he took his leave of his sparring partners and made his way up the stairwell to the library where he and Rowan were to meet. He gathered a cloth and wiped the sweat off his bare shoulders and chest as he walked, the rough sackcloth rasping against the hard, muscle-toned skin. The books he had selected were laid out on the lectern and he stood by them, waiting for his new recruit to arrive.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Wrapped in her cloak, the hood drawn over her head, Raven listened to the forest wake from its slumber. It was her favourite hour: just before the break of dawn, when the first birds started to shake off sleep, and the trees seemed to lazily stretch for a new day.

She had hardly slept. After leaving, or rather, fleeing the brothel, she had returned to the castle, and to her small chamber. Raven figured that she would have to leave it soon, and took advantage of the last chance of privacy for a cold wash to clear her head. But after a couple of hours of restless sleep, she had decided to wander around the forest again, alone, before having to face her companions, and Lord Stephen.

Raven was now wearing the dress of an archer in Lord de Valois’ service, a warm tunic and breeches, and was perched in a tree. Her still damp hair clung to her head, and she drew the hood a bit tighter. Being used to it from her earliest age Raven did not mind the cold and the thick woollen cloak was warmer and better than anything she had ever possessed as were the soft leather boots on her feet. She wiggled her toes. Lord Stephen de Valois did take good care of his men – and of those who pretended to be.

How many times had she sat in a tree just like she did now, her bow at the ready, praying for a good catch! But this time her thoughts were not on rabbits, but on the events of the previous night. Thinking of Elwynn, she smiled. Beautiful, brave, devious Elwynn. Raven knew that she owed her much, and that the young whore had risked much to protect Raven’s secret. But that was not all. Raven closed her eyes, imagined her scent, the softness of her thighs, the silk of her breasts and the feeling of bursting, exploding, expanding under her skilled caresses. It was only here, in the loneliness of the dark forest, that she dared to dream of this again. Sweet Elwynn.

None of the archers she had found downstairs had seemed to suspect foul play. Quite on the contrary, there had been a fair share of rowdy, even admiring comments, except from Arnaud whose mood had only lightened again as Elwynn threw herself into his arms. Raven sincerely hoped that she had not offended the young Norman archer, and not lost his friendship. But had it not been him who…?

Then, suddenly, the sound of a horse interrupted her thoughts. Intrigued, Raven peeked through the thick branches, trying to see who was approaching.

The rider stopped right underneath the tree she was hiding in. Raven held her breath. He carried a sword, but the rest of his body was hidden underneath a cloak, and his hood prevented her from seeing his face. No colours, no coats of armour, nothing to reveal his allegiance, and yet judging by his weapons and his horse, he looked like a nobleman. Was he waiting for someone? And at this hour? She was scared to even breathe.

A few moments later another rider arrived, wrapped in a rough, woollen coat, the hood drawn deeply over his face. Raven strained to hear. Were they even speaking? The second rider bowed his head. “Is it done?” It was the nobleman who had asked. The other man nodded curtly. “Yes, my lord. It is done.” Raven saw that the first rider handed the other man a small leather pouch that looked like a coin purse. Then, without another word, he turned his horse and rode off. The other waited a moment longer, apparently savouring the weight of his reward. But before taking out one of the coins, he absent-mindedly wiped a hand on his sleeve, and to her horror, Raven realised that they must have been stained with blood.

She pressed a hand over her mouth. Don’t be silly, girl! He might be a hunter, even a poacher like she herself had been. What else? But as he turned his horse, as she caught a glimpse of his face in the dim light of dawn, Raven thought to recognize the rider. Him again? Or was her tired mind playing a trick on her? The rider vanished between the trees, bound in the direction of Castle de Courtney.

***
By the time she arrived in Castle de Courtney herself, dawn had long been replaced by daylight. The cold morning clung to the grey stones with icy, clam fingers and Raven shivered. It was time to find Lord Stephen. Maybe he was able to make sense from what she had seen.

As she climbed the stairs to the east tower, Raven tried to decide if she should even tell Lord Stephen about the strange scene she had witnessed in the forest, because, if she thought of it, she had not really seen anything. And while she did not doubt that Lord Stephen sincerely wanted her to be honest, she could not go and accuse his own men without proof.

Her thoughts trailed off as she reached the library, where the Norman lord was waiting for her, and to Raven’s great surprise, he was bare-chested. The young girl drew in her breath, unsure where to look. For a moment, she stared at him, momentarily forgetting all etiquette. “S..Sire.” Unbidden, Elwynn’s wager came to her mind, and she could not help but blush.

Hoping that he had not noticed her momentary confusion, she sank to one knee and bowed her head, waiting for him to address her.

 

[Maka]

"Please... rise."

Stephen laid a hand on Rowan's shoulder and lifted the youth up. Even while he was standing, Stephen still towered over the slightly-built archer. He felt a sudden rush of protective warmth. A lord should protect his people. He remembered Rowan's story about his brother.

Was Rowan blushing? Once again, Stephen found himself doubting Lucais' account of the boy's exploits in the brothel. It was just so hard to picture. Well, village wisdom did have it that it was always the quiet ones and Rowan certainly did have the looks and lithe, flexible body to satisfy even the most hotblooded of women.

"Sit down. Your leg seems better but there's no need to hurt it again standing on my account."

He guided Rowan to a chair, one facing the distant view of the forest, and indicated a cup of steaming, hot spiced wine on a stand by his side. Stephen himself took a shirt that had been laid out for him and began lacing it over his broad, muscular chest while continuing to talk.

"Well, from all I hear you've certainly been complying with my first command and persuading the men to accept you. Your... adventures last night have impressed them."

His fingers deftly doing up the last remaining knot, Stephen shot Rowan a rare, wry half-smile.

"But what of the village you were to visit?"

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Again, Raven was moved and amazed by the lord’s kindness, and his gentle demeanour. How did she deserve such treatment? She also realised how happy it made her to see him, to finally talk to him again, to be here, in his library, with him alone.

Raven almost regretted that his hand left her shoulder when she sat down, and the place where he had touched her still seemed to tingle after he had crossed the room to pick up his shirt. From under lowered lashes, Raven watched him, the play of his leanly muscled body, his smooth skin, his scars, and she could feel her throat go dry. Inwardly, she cursed Elwynn for having put such thoughts in her head. Distractedly, she reached for the cup and forced her gaze away from him, and towards the view of the forest.

"Well, from all I hear you've certainly been complying with my first command and persuading the men to accept you. Your... adventures last night have impressed them."

Mounting the stairs towards the library Raven had already prepared herself for a comment on her exploits of the previous night, of which her fellow archers, being men, had likely informed the liege lord. Before she had left the whorehouse, Elwynn had warned her not to be too coy about what had happened: “I have yet to meet a man who would not endlessly brag about the many ways his cock gave pleasure to a woman he fucked.” She had insisted that Raven would not be bashful about the compliments she would surely receive, and not blush – at least not too much – at the raunchy comments she was going to hear. “The most striking difference between us and most men”, she had said, “is confidence. Women lack it when they speak, while men often think their most mindless babble to be gems of utter importance. Remember that, sweetling.”

Raven knew that there was probably no better teacher on the subject than Elwynn, and had promised her to improve her disguise.

And yet she was happy to be able to hide her face in the cup of steaming spiced wine before she answered. “I guess it was a night full of surprises, Sire.” She held the cup between her hands, glad for the warmth. Without meeting his eyes, she added: “But I sincerely hope to impress my fellow companions by other means than the screams of a woman.” Raven tried a smile, and finally found the courage to meet his gaze. It helped that he was now wearing a shirt.

“As for the village…” Raven put the cup back on the stand. “My lord, I do not bring back good news.” Her voice soft but steady, she told him about the old man and his daughter, not omitting a single detail, not the fact that one of the assailants had claimed to rape the girl Faye in the name of Lord Stephen and not the painfully obvious distrust against their liege lord. She told Lord Stephen about the murder of the boy, and the fact that the outlaws had not stolen anything from the village at all.

“These villagers reminded me so much of my own family, Sire. It is as if Lord de Courtney has never left. The girl, Faye…she still had rage in her but her father was already dead inside. Fear and suffering have eaten his heart.” Without being aware of it, her voice had become harder, and her black eyes clearly mirrored her anger. “Someone with very ill intentions, someone evil, wants to sow hate and despair in your lands, my lord.”

She paused. Her next words had to be chosen carefully. “I followed the trace of the riders into the forest. Most of them had turned west from the village, but a couple of the outlaws really did return to your castle, Sire.” Another pause. “It looked like they entered via the northern gate.” It was all she said. The northern gate was a small gate that visitors foreign to the castle – like the lords who had come to renew their oaths of fealty – would not have used.

Raven did not tell him about the two men in the forest, and mentioned nothing about seeing the face of Long James amongst Lord de Lacy’s men, she decided that it was too early for that, and that she herself did not know if these events were connected to the outlaws who tried to blacken Lord Stephen’s name.

“I wish I could bring news of who these men were, Sire, and more than anything I wish that they will receive the punishment they deserve.” She carefully watched Lord Stephen’s expression, wondering if he was disappointed in her. “And I swear that I will do anything to help you catch them, if I can.”

 

[Maka]

Stephen, oddly, found himself appreciating Rowan's reticence about the night before. He had no illusions about the men under his command. They were hard, they fought, they drank, they blasphemed, and not a few of them would likely turn outlaw if they had the misfortune to live in more peaceful times, without the outlet for their energies that war provided. Stephen was a soldier himself, with his own carefully-controlled gift for violence. Nevertheless, he was still glad that Rowan did not feel the need to boast of achievements in the bedroom as most youths his age would do. It was the behaviour of a true man, not a boy.

Rowan was staring down at his steaming wine, as though studying it for signs of the future like a witchwife. Stephen wondered if he had simply been too intimidated by his liege's presence to boast. Although Rowan had been respectful but not intimidated in their previous conversations. Then he looked up, a brilliant but hesitant smile flickering across his finely-made features as he spoke.

"You needn't worry," Stephen replied. "I've seen you shoot. Your comrades will be as impressed with you at the butts as they were in the brothel."

Stephen listened, his hands folded below his chin, to Rowan's report. He was used to such reports in battle, used to making quick decisions in the heat of the carnage that might win or lose the day. His pose and expressionless, hard face gave very little away but inside he was seething with rage. No sooner had scum like de Courtney been wiped away than more were vying to replace them.

"The girl that you spoke of... her name was Faye?" he said softly, at the end of her account. He did not even touch, for the time being, on the most startling aspect of her story. "Somebody had misused my name to abuse her. This I will not forgive. But for her and her father... I'll send compensation."

Not gold. Gold was worth nothing in these parts, not to the peasants. Livestock and goods. It wouldn't pay them back for what it had been taken from them, but what could? And in some quarters, perhaps even by Faye and her father, Stephen's gesture would be taken as an admission of guilt. But Stephen was beyond caring. He was filled with a cold fury, his rage all the more unnerving for its barely visible manifestation.

"As for your suspicions... I have my own. Keep an eye on your fellows. In particular, Long James. He is a cruel man."

He met Rowan's gaze. "You have done very well. Thank you."

A brief smile crossed his face. "Now perhaps something more pleasant. I have here Homer's Iliad and the Gospel of Matthew. By the end of the hour, you will be able to read the first sentence of both..."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Raven wondered what kind of compensation Lord Stephen was able to offer Faye and her father after they had lost so much, but she kept that thought to herself, knowing that it did not require any mention. She remembered the hot rage in Faye’s eyes. The only thing that would make her happy would be to see the culprits caught and punished, in a way that would involve pain. Seeing the men suffer who abused her and murdered her brother would give her some peace of mind – Raven herself had long fantasized about the many bloody deaths she wanted her brother John’s killers to die, and she knew what it felt like to be utterly powerless to bring punishment about.

Nevertheless she was very grateful that Lord Stephen even considered bothering at all. Many nobles in his situation would probably not care about a couple of destitute villagers, and with the brother and son killed, Raven knew very well that hunger would be Faye’s and her father’s permanent guest this winter. Even when their hearts were empty, their stomachs would not be.

“Thank you, my lord”, she whispered into her cup that was again in her hands, too low for Lord Stephen to actually hear. His rage, simmering underneath the surface of his even features made Raven nervous. If he would ever get his hands on these outlaws, they would regret the day they were born – there was no doubt that he would not show mercy for what they did, and were still doing.

His mention of Long James yanked her from her thoughts. So he did suspect him! But why, Raven wondered, why did he not question him, arrest him, or rid himself of such unreliable, maybe even dangerous, company? What was Long James good for? Or was Lord Stephen unable to risk an accusation? It occurred to her that Lord Stephen did not stand on as solid footing as she had previously thought. The thought of spying on her fellow archers scared her. Symon hated her already and Long James had not hidden his contempt the moment he had laid eyes on her. She would have to be very, very careful.

Still Raven decided not to make mention of what she had seen in the woods, not before she was absolutely sure that the man had indeed been Long James, and that he had been up to no good. What would he gain by discrediting his own liege lord? That was probably the question that needed answering if she wanted to find out more.

Another faint blush coloured her cheeks as he thanked her. She had done so little and yet he was grateful – it felt good to have the trust of a man like Lord Stephen – why would anyone want to forfeit it?

At his next words Raven looked up, surprised. “My first lesson?” Her face lit up in child-like excitement. “In Greek?” She put the cup back on the stand and smiled, unable to hide her joy. “My lord…you are too kind to me. This is more than just pleasant.” Raven got up and crossed the room to the lectern, Faye and Long James wiped from her mind.

She touched the parchment delicately with the tips of her fingers, engrossed in the beauty of the knowledge hidden within. “Homer…” In one hour, he had said! One hour gone, she would be able to decipher the ornate Greek letters. Father Aldred had told her much about Homer and the Iliad, but Raven had never really understood why men would risk war and the death of so many people for one woman, no matter how beautiful. Maybe the text would be able to explain.

She looked up at Lord Stephen, her eyes glowing. “Sire…I cannot express how thankful I am for this.”

 

[Maka]

Rowan's delight and excitement were evident. The promise of learning had lit a fire in his rich, deep brown eyes. Why had Father Aldred never proposed this one for the church? It seemed only logical for a boy as apt to learn as this slender youth. No doubt Rowan's family had needed him too much. And no doubt, Stephen thought wryly, there would have been plenty of local village girls to bewail one as pretty and, apparently, gifted in bed swearing himself to celibacy.

Rowan soon demonstrated an exceptionally quick and capacious mind, committing to memory the letters of the Greek alphabet and the sounds they maake, whispering them in the soft, strangely thrilling voice in which the youth always spoke, his eyes shining. Stephen spoke of the Iliad and the web of myths and heroic cycles that it was tangled up in -pagan stories, but still true in their own way. He talked of the stories that followed it -the Odyssey and Virgil's Aeneid, which both paid homage to and revised its great successors. He changed to Matthew's Gospel, in many ways a more dangerous work. The church did not like any but its own to read the Bible. He talked of the unknown Christ of the Gospels -the Christ who did not talk of kings and lords and bishops but of the poor and the sinners, the whores and the lepers. There was a quiet rage, still, to Lord Stephen, as he talked of what the Bible did and did not say.

It had been so long since he had talked to someone on his level -not another noble (he had been surrounded by those last night), but somebody who understood, somebody with a mind of their own that wasn't just a mixture of animal appetites and half-understood slogans or Latch tags. Again and again, Stephen found himself stealing sidelong glances at Rowan, looking at the slender youth's flushed cheeks, seeing the same fire for learning and justice take over him.

It was strange. Stephen had always been a perpetual loner, on the outskirts of any group. He'd had a noisy brood of brothers, all of whom shared his love for hunting and none of whom shared or understood his passion for books. He had learned a great deal from various masters -priests and a few lay scholars, but they had all been dry, bookish men who had found his physical presence, his air of a man of battle and the outdoors, unsettling. He had been an idol to men he'd led in war -but an idol could hardly be a friend. But he felt close to Rowan, as he never had to anyone else before.

He ran a finger slowly and delicately down the page of the Iliad.

"I told you before that the Saracens have so much that we lack. Who knows what they keep in the great libraries of Baghdad? They have a respect for learning. The church says that they're heathens who worship the sun and the moon, but I've talked to some scholars who say that's a lie..."

As for respect for learning... at the sack of Sidon, Stephen had seen Christian knights ransacking a library, lighting a bonfire with the books. Aristotle? Plato? Who knew what had fed the flames that day?

He shook his head. His feelings for Rowan were strangely strong, for a brief acquaintance, but he did feel he could trust him, and such men were in short supply here. He would confide in him.

"I need to tell you something. I may be able to make the first step towards fixing this shire and winning the people's trust. Do you know of a nobleman called Lord Marnoch?"

He paused.

"I plan to visit him in Crowsdale in a month's time. It is my wish that you accompany me. If all goes well, I plan to marry his daughter Alys at the end of the visit."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Lord Stephen was a patient, engaging teacher. Once or twice he smiled encouragingly, obviously content with her progress.

Suddenly the ornate Greek letters started to be words, to hold meaning. With the same awe that had filled her when Father Aldred taught her how to read and write the Latin alphabet, Raven learnt how to make sense of the two texts in front of her. It was amazing. She read the words and sentences in a low whisper, her cheeks flushed, her dark eyes shining.

But he taught her more than stringing letters together; he also explained the works he had chosen, told her the stories of their origin and their reception, and furthermore was eager to hear her own opinion on what she had learnt, treating her like an equal. Soon her shyness was forgotten, and she found herself in an animated discussion with the young Norman lord, disputing the virtue of poverty.

She wondered if others ever saw him like this, his stern features bright and relaxed, his usually controlled movements animated, at ease.

Raven could not remember having been as happy for a very, very long time.

Father Aldred had always been generous with his knowledge, teaching her everything he had once learnt himself, but despite his courage, his spirit and wisdom, he had always displayed the caution of the village priest, shielding Raven from theories to dangerous to share. Lord Stephen had no such qualms, and freely discussed things that would have had Father Aldred break out in sweat.

She remembered how one of de Lacy’s men had called Sir Stephen a “warlock” on the evening of the feast. It occurred to her that he might have meant what he had said. How many of his enemies, of his own men even, feared him for what he knew and the subjects he raised? How many nobles and men of the church hated him for undermining the doctrines that gave them the excuse to oppress, to tyrannize and to persecute?

She longed to hear about his travels to the Holy Land, about the Saracen libraries and palaces, and eagerly took in every one of his words. Father Aldred had once told her after a few too many cups of mead that the Saracens mastered the sciences of the stars, the human body, and of the earth itself, while the church only mastered to raise superstitious idiots. Groaning under a headache the next morning he had made her swear on her life never to mention it again, but Raven assumed that this promise did not make his imprudent statement less true.

“I have never understood how the church could justify the slaughter of innocent people as an act of faith. Would it not be of more benefit to all if the wisdom of men would be discussed amongst all, instead of destroyed, no matter if those who have first uttered it are Christians or not?” She paused. “I guess it simply makes no sense to me to kill as heathens anyone on God’s green earth, since it was God himself who has created everything in it.”

Raven fell silent again, wondering if she had gone too far. After all, Lord Stephen himself had joined the crusaders. Father Aldred had always warned her against voicing such thoughts to anyone, lest she might be labelled a heretic and an apostate. But he did not say anything, and his eyes seemed to glint in amusement.

Her thoughts of her nightly encounter, her fears and worries, even Elwynn were almost forgotten. She wished for this lesson, for this moment in the library with Lord Stephen never to end. It was strange how close she felt to this man, a noble lord who commanded armies and who had seen so much of the world, and who was confronted with nothing but hardship here in the North.

When his fingers briefly brushed against hers on the parchment, her whole body responded with a slight shiver.

Maybe it was because of this that his next words caught her completely off-guard.

Marry! For the briefest of moments, Raven found herself staring at Lord Stephen, her dark eyes clouded by shock, disappointment even, but she quickly caught herself, cursing her imprudent display of emotions.

“I have heard of Lord Marnoch of Crowsdale, Sire, and I have never heard anyone speak of him in ill ways.” She paused. “The Northern lords hold no love for the Norman invad…” She caught herself, smiling apologetically. “…for the new rulers. That Lord Marnoch has offered to marry his daughter to you, is a sign of great trust and confidence in your abilities to bring lasting peace to the North.”

Raven was no diplomat, but it did not take much to understand the implications of the offer that had been made. No father gave his daughter to a man lightly, be it peasant or nobleman. In addition to that, Lord Marnoch of Crowsdale would be aware that Lord Stephen had many powerful enemies, and that by joining their families through marriage he would inherit his new son-in-law’s foes. Despite the tinge of sadness treacherously blurring her thoughts, she realised the importance of such a union: it might well mean Lord Stephen’s success or demise as the new liege lord.

Doubtlessly Lord Stephen was happy about the prospect of winning such a strong ally. Nevertheless Raven wondered if he regretted not being able to choose a bride out of love, a freedom that even her own brother had enjoyed, but she did not dare to ask him. Maybe he did love another once, a Norman girl maybe, somewhere in the South?

She smiled at him. “Here we say that the women of the high mountains up North are hard like the rocks that surround them, and that it takes the heat of a thousand fires to melt their cold hearts.” She turned back to the parchment on the lectern, pretending to concentrate on the text before her. “Lady Alys will soon find her defences breached. And she will gladly welcome the invader.” This time she stressed the word, smiling faintly.

“I will be looking forward to the journey, Sire.” She looked up again. “A marriage with a noblewoman from the high north will show the people here that you are sincere, and that you do not think yourself above them. And a marriage will be most welcome after years of death and war.”

The cheerfulness of her words did not reach her heart, however. Angrily, Raven remembered Elwynn’s bold wager, and her own determination doubled. As Rowan the archer she had Lord Stephen’s trust, and could be of some service. The girl Raven would be of no use to him.

Nevertheless she caught herself hoping that Lady Alys of Crowsdale would be a brainless, vapid, and frightfully ugly girl.

 

[Maka]

"Tempus adest gratiæ
Hoc quod optabamus,
Carmina lætitiæ
Devote reddamus."

The sonorous chant of the choir was lifted up against the swirling, iron sky. Flakes of snow were descending to carpet the hard ground of the courtyard. It was the first snow of the year, on Christmas Eve. It was midnight mass and in the cold light of the moon the castle and the forests around looked like an etching burnt into silver -an unreal vision.

The hooded monks of St Martin's led the way singing, bearing tapers that flickered and bent under the snow but still kept their flame. The abbot, a tall and gaunt man, was in their centre bearing the monastery's most precious possession -a gold and silver monstrance and a finely wrought chalice, made long ago in Ireland. Stephen followed, with all of his household.

"Deus homo factus est
Natura mirante,
Mundus renovatus est
A Christo regnante."

Most who could afford such things had donned furs or at least heavy woolens, but Stephen declined any warmth on Christmas Eve that was denied even the lowest scullion in his kitchens. He wore only a simple white tunic and breeches, with a dark cloak tied back with a plain silver brooch. The cold hardly seemed to affect him in any case -his movements were as deliberate, economical and graceful as ever. The flakes of snow that became entangled in his dark hair matched the deep blue of his eyes and seemed to give him a sparkling crown of ice. He walked like an emperor across the frozen ground -strong and leanly muscular, all excess fat long ago burned away from his body by eastern suns and northern winters.

Stephen had often used the night of Christ's birth as a time of reflection on the year that it had passed. But it was the past month he found himself reviewing. Tomorrow, at dawn, he and his honour guard would set off to Crowsdale, where he would be married. A strange thought in itself. There had been women before, perhaps even love, but Stephen had long resigned himself to the idea of marrying for the good of his people and his nation. Love was for the troubadours' romances, and for the common people -one small recompense for the myriad troubles of their place in life.

Sir Giles had returned in a week empty-handed, as they had both predicted. He had nothing to report -the old man and his daughter, who had spoken so readily to Rowan, had been tightlipped to the lord's official men-at-arms. As he had promised, Stephen had seen that they recieved recompense -they and the other villagers.

"Ezechielis porta
Clausa pertransitur,
Unde lux est orta
Salus invenitur."

The monks formed ranks outside the chapel, letting Stephen and his entourage move down the centre. At his back were Sir Giles, Gerard, Edwin, and Rowan -his most trusted guards and companions. The abbot, Father Aloysius, stopped him as Stephen made to pass.

"'Whence the light is born, salvation is found.' My lord, the work you requested is done."

Stephen nodded. "That was neatly timed, father. My thanks."

He took a bound package from the abbot and made his way into the chapel.

The lords had made their separate ways home. De Lacy had sent him a carefully polite yet barbed letter suggesting that Stephen visit him in his own home at some point. Stephen intended to take him up on the offer, perhaps sooner than de Lacy thought, but not before the business of his marriage had been concluded. The business of his marriage. Such a prosaic way of regarding it, yet hardly inappropriate. Did he play chess, de Lacy continued? Forestalling any reply and taking white for himself, de Lacy had declared the first move in a game.

Stephen had replied and riposted. He had the board set up in his library. De Lacy was an interesting player, aggressive and tricky, but Stephen thought he had his measure.

And the work continued. Some of the peasants were slowly begin to develop a grudging respect for him, although they did not yet trust him. They could see the efforts he was making to help them -felling trees for pasture, bridging rivers, building walls around towns -even building a mill in the east. It was exchausting, backbreaking work -worse in some ways than soldiering, the profession that Stephen had been born to do. And it was all the harder for knowing that all the progress could be undone by the still-elusive outlaws in the woods. Stupid, shortsighted men. Building was so much harder than destroying. They knew that. So did Stephen. At times, when he thought of the stories Rowan told him, his hands itched for a sword-hilt. When he found the men responsible...

The chapel was bright with candles -candles on every surface, so that even the big stone space was warm and vibrant with light. Stephen made his way to the altar, where he knelt, the others behind him. The chanting still audible outside.

"Ergo nostra contio
Psallat iam in lustro;
Benedicat Domino:
Salus Regi nostro."

At Stephen's suggestion, the abbot would preach on Galatians 3:28. "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female; for ye are all one in Christ Jesus." Rowan had a particular interest in that passage and he had discussed it often with him -particularly the possibility, no doubt troubling to many, that St. Paul viewed neither rank, race nor even gender as significant in faith.

And it was Rowan that Stephen's thoughts dwelt on the most. In a hard, unforgiving and thankless weeks, their lessons together had become the bright points. He progressed by leaps and bounds, his insight often surprising even Stephen, and their discussions often ranged widely over history, philosophy, poetry and theology. It was a joy to simply watch the lad's rich brown eyes sparkle and his delicate cheeks flush with the joy of the new horizons set before him.

Stephen had quickly realised that Rowan's value to him as an advisor lay beyond simply his knowledge of the northern land and people. He soon began to consult him on a range of questions concerning his dominion, among them the benefits and possible drawbacks of his marriage into the Marnoch house. This was the only subject that Rowan showed an occasional reluctance to discuss, sometimes ducking his head with a strange, wistful air. Noting this, Stephen refrained from bringing the subject up. After the first class, he also never again referred to Rowan's trips to the brothel -although Lucais loved to brag about his comrade's never-failing prowess there.

The others of the household had all entered and there was a pause as the abbot strode to the altar. Stephen took advantage of the quiet to turn to Rowan.

"I wanted to thank you for all your help over the past month. I have a small Christmastide gift for you..."

He handed Rowan the package the abbot had given you.

"I was hoping it would be done on time. It is the Iliad and the Odyssey. I had the monks of St Martin's scribe you copies from my own manuscript."

A slight smile touched his stony features.

"You're past the point of needing my help to read the Greek, my scholar. I thought that you could read them on your own between our sessions."

The choir came to a triumphant conclusion.

"Gaudete, gaudete! Christus est natus
Ex Maria virgine, gaudete!"

 

[Sweet_Denna]

The fire in the great hall had almost died down and the whirling snow had covered everything in a thick blanket, swallowing all sound from outside.

Sitting in front of the fire, Arnaud played the lute, and his clear voice drifted through the hall, reducing all talk to admiring whispers. “What language is this?” whispered Raven. “Occitan”, answered Lucais, who sat next to her. “The language of the troubadours?” “Indeed.” The older archer grinned. “You see, Arnaud is only half the Norman I am, but the womenfolk love him all the more for it.”

Raven’s dark eyes shone in the light of the candles as she listened to Arnaud’s song. Hugged close to her body she held the manuscripts that Lord Stephen had given her, feeling the fine parchment every so often to make sure they were still there. When he had handed her the two books, she had been too stunned, and too moved to even thank him properly. Now she caressed the soft leather wrapped around her treasures, smiling.

Lucais ruffled her hair. “Good for our Lord Stephen to have found another lad who is able to get this excited over a few pieces of dusty scrolls.” He gestured around the hall and laughed. “I am thankful that his Christmastide presents to us are of a more substantial nature.” He patted his belly with satisfaction. All of them had feasted on roast deer, rabbit stew and copious amounts of honey cakes and wine, and Raven could not remember having ever been this full.

She had packed some of the cakes to be sent to her family, and for the first time, she had been able to afford a small Christmas gift of her own: a pair of rabbit fur mittens for her little sister. Raven missed her family, and longed to see Father Aldred without whom she had never spent a single Christmas Eve. Were they all well? Did they have enough to eat? Did they think of her, too?

The last month had passed in a flurry of activity. With her wound healed, she had started to train with her companions, realising only then how much she needed to catch up, despite her excellent aim with a bow. So far, Raven had only shot rabbits, birds, and the occasional squirrel, and she lacked the strength and dexterity of a soldier, but now she was able to fit an arrow onto a bowstring almost as fast as the rest of them. She had trained hard to improve, and on most nights fell into bed literally shaking with fatigue, exhausted and tired, her muscles too sore to find sleep.

She found that she got along well with most of Lord Stephen’s men, and that they seemed to have taken a liking to Rowan, too. Arnaud, probably the best archer Raven had ever seen, did not hold the night in the brothel against her, and readily helped her to improve her skills with a bow.

Her heart gave a small jolt when she thought of her lessons with Lord Stephen. She wondered if he would find sleep. Was he excited to meet his bride?

Symon treated her with cool indifference, and she had rarely even seen Long James – something she did not regret. Despite her observations during the night of the big feast, there had been no news of another attack. But this did not mean that all was well. Whispers of illicit activities abounded, but ceased when any of Lord Stephen’s men approached. In the villages, people spoke of sorcery and dark magic. It was only thanks to her Norman master’s tireless efforts to improve the life of the peasants in his lands that whispers had not become open defiance, but Raven feared that this silence hung by a very thin thread.

Most of Lord Stephen’s household had already retired for the night, and it would probably have been wise to get some rest before the journey to Crowsdale, but she did not manage to tear herself away from this moment, the beauty of the song, and this evening that she did not want to end. She did not want to admit it even to herself, but the thought of the next morning, and of all that would come with it, filled her with strange dread.

***
Lady Alys of Crowsdale was sitting by the window, absentmindedly handling a piece of stitchwork. Every now and then she looked up, staring into the distance of the mountains at dusk, her eyes brimming with tears. The snow had picked up again, and a harsh winter wind tore at the old walls angrily, drowning out all other sounds. It was Christmas Eve, but Alys had never felt less eager to celebrate.

It had been weeks since she had last received word from her beloved Robert. Be of good cheer, my love, he had written. I will come and steal you away. Wait for me. And Alys had waited. Every day, every hour, every moment she had waited, filled with dread and mad hope, wondering if she would ever see Robert again.

Was it possible that only one month ago her father, returning from Castle de Courtney, had happily announced that Lord Stephen de Valois had agreed to marry her? Her fingers started to tremble. In two days time, she would be wed to the Norman lord, whom she had never met, and for whom she hated for tearing her from the man she loved. Alys was not one to defy her parents and all convention openly. She often wished that she was brave like the heroines in the old stories, that she was strong enough to give up everything to be with the man she wanted. Rebellious and headstrong, a fighter. But these fantasies could not even fool her.

“Lady Alys?”

She looked up from her stitchwork to find her handmaiden Brae standing in the doorway, and her beautiful face lit up with anxious hope.

“Do you have news?”

Brae briefly shook her head with an urgency that signalled that she was not free to speak. Stepping away from the door, the young girl dropped into a deep curtsy and announced a tad too hastily: “Lady Magaidh is here to see you.”

Alys’ hopeful smile faded. With a nod she put away the veil she had been working on and rose to greet her mother.

For a moment Lady Magaidh of Crowsdale silently contemplated Alys, her youngest child and only daughter, and frowned. She had lost weight since the announcement of her betrothal to Sir Stephen de Valois, and her bright blue eyes seemed almost too large in her delicate face, giving her the appearance of a frightened fay. Her hair, of the same rich blonde as her father’s, looked unkempt and had lost its golden shine. Lady Magaidh pursed her lips disapprovingly, biting back a harsh comment on her daughter’s state. Her obvious distress pained her, but she expected Alys to be the obedient and dutiful daughter she had raised her to be. This wistful, melancholic girl seemed a stranger to her.

When she finally spoke, her voice was even and firm. “Your uncle sends you this necklace to wear at your wedding.”

Alys looked at the filigree silverwork in her mother’s hand and frowned.

“So my uncle approves that I am to be the Norman lord’s whore?”

The slap to her face was swift and hard, and Alys felt tears well up in her eyes again. Her helpless grief had made her intemperate, and she knew that her words were unjust. But she did not apologise.

“How dare you talk like that? You should be grateful that your father was able to negotiate this marriage. Sir Stephen de Valois might yet be the man to heal the wounds that mar these lands, and you should thank your good fortune that he will take you as his wife!”

“But I do not love him.” Alys resisted the urge to slap the beautiful necklace from her mother’s still extended left hand. “I have never even seen him!”

“You will learn to love and respect him as your lord husband, like I did your father.” Her mother’s gaze had softened, but her voice was firm, almost harsh, as she continued. “You were born with many privileges, Alys.” She pointed at Brae who dropped into a terrified curtsy. “Brae can afford to believe in love, but would you like to take her place? You owe her and all the others that can only dream of your comforts the peace that this marriage will hopefully bring about.”

A tear rolled down Alys’ cheek. She was angry that her mother was right, and angry that the claws that seemed to rip at her heart did not allow her to admit this.

“There is no guarantee for peace. Some think that my future husband is not the man my father believes him to be. There is talk of pillage and rape in his name! They say that Sir Stephen is in league with the devil, that he practises magic and drinks the blood of virgins.”

Her mother frowned. “Many jealous men will say many things. Your father believes in the Norman lord. He is tired of the endless fights, of cruel men tearing at these lands like rabid dogs and he thinks that Sir Stephen will be the man to tame them. You know as well as I do that this task requires the alliance of the Northern lords, and of Crowsdale.” Lady Magaidh smiled and put one hand softly against her daughter’s cheek. “And your father loves you and wishes for you to be happy. You have always been able to trust his judgement, have you not?”

Alys knew that she was being selfish and childish. It was true that her father had always sheltered her from any harm, even in times of war and extreme hardship. Her brothers had fought in the battles she had only heard about in the warmth and safety of the castle. She had known times of scarcity, but had never gone hungry. She looked down at her immaculate, alabaster-white hands. If it really was in her reach to help bring about peace, was it not her duty to do so?

But none of the doubts she had voiced held the real reason for her rebellion against the marriage to Sir Stephen de Valois. Alys felt the claws dig deeper. As if guessing her daughter’s thoughts, Lady Magaidh features hardened.

“If the bastard dares to show his face in Crowsdale again, I swear I will cut his throat myself.” She placed the silver necklace onto a small table by the window. “The foolish thoughts he has put into your head are the only reason for your shameful behaviour. He is not welcome here. Should he try to speak to you again, he will pay for it with his life.” She did not raise her voice as she said this, and Alys knew that this was no mere angry threat.

The young woman stared at her mother. Did she know that Robert was on his way to find her?

Speaking to Brae, Lady Magaidh continued, ignoring her daughter’s obvious shock: “Our guests will arrive on the Eve of the Feast of Saint Stephen. By then I want to see the happy, beautiful bride that everyone will expect to find in Crowsdale.” The young maid nodded and curtsied again. “Of course, my lady.”

She turned back to her daughter. “It is time for mass, Alys. Your father expects you to attend.”

Without another word, she left, leaving Alys to her tears and her silent prayers for Robert to be safe.

 

[Maka]

During winter, three great fires always burned in William de Lacy's chambers. It was not that he felt the cold particularly. It was just another of his ways of making the distinction between himself and other men clear. It was for other, lower men to labour in the frozen forests, chopping wood for the de Lacy fires. It was for other men to haul them back to Castle de Lacy and pile them on to the flames in the early hours of the morning and maintain throughout all the day and well into the night. And the contrast between the cold outside and the heat inside was uncomfortable and disorienting for Lord de Lacy's visitors, keeping them off their guard.

Robert understood his father's motives. He knew him well, perhaps better than any other. But he did not know the chambers themselves well. He'd never been permitted here as a boy. Even now, he was only suffered here to recieve orders from his father. He looked about with his usual quick-eyed, instinctive curiosity.

Lord de Lacy liked luxury. Here were rich golden and red Turkey carpets, piled one on the other to form a deep, cushion-softness underfoot. The chairs and fittings were of walnut, polished by beeswax to a deep, burnished glow. A clothes chest by the bed was inlaid with mother of pearl and delicate, intricate carvings of a battle scene. On a table by the window, a set of ivory and ebony chessmen had been laid out in a complex formation -the final stages of a game between masters. And a codex lay carelessly open next to it, its page ruffling in the wind. Robert stooped to examine its pages.

"La Chanson de Roland? I never knew you to take an interest in romances of chivalry, my lord."

He had never been permitted to address Lord de Lacy as 'Father', not that he'd ever felt so inclined. De Lacy, enthroned in a vast oak chair by the fire, scoffed.

"It's pure foolishness. War written by a man who's never been anywhere near the field of battle."

"Then why read it?"

"De Valois is a great reader of books."

This hardly answered the question, but de Lacy's cold, glittering gaze premptively closed off any further inquiries. Robert was left to speculate to himself. Did his father wish to understand his opponent better by adopting his interests and methods? Or was he competitive, wishing to not just outdo Stephen de Valois in intrigue but in learning and culture as well? Or, and this was a dangerous thought, could it be that some part of Lord de Lacy was jealous of Stephen de Valois, of his brilliant, restless mind and fierce wit? Did he want to be him as much as he wanted to destroy him?

"He arrives in Crowsdale tomorrow night."

Robert's cool, objective speculations shattered like ice. Passion swirled up in him, heating his blood. This Norman lord would not steal Alys. He'd kill him first. It was a struggle to keep his emotions from his face.

"Marnoch is still holding to his course. Well, he had his chance. If he chooses to follow this young pretender instead of the true overlord of the North, he can follow him all the way to Hell. Here is what I want you to do. Take the most reliable of our men and go to Crowsdale yourself. Marnoch will be holding some tourney or feast to mark the wedding day. Wait for the right opportunity. When it comes, strike. Kill Marnoch. Kill de Valois if you can and take Alys and bring her back here. I'll marry her and Crowsdale will be mine."

As he listened, Robert once again found it hard to control his dark, smooth features but this time it was not because he was angry. He could turn this to his advantage. Alys would be his at the end of all this -not Stephen de Valois', and certainly not his cruel father's.

"Do you understand?"

Robert nodded.

"Good. Serve me well, Robert, and you'll be rewarded. How does lordship of de Courtney Castle sound? It'll soon be vacant, after all."

Robert bowed, but said nothing. One small detail had been nagging at him ever since his first glance around the room and as he turned to go, it finally coalesced in his mind.

"Are you playing white?"

He motioned towards the chessboard.

"Yes. What of it?"

"Be careful. You're being led into a trap."

"You presume too much. The trap is all mine. See? In three more moves, I will have his queen."

"It doesn't matter," said Robert without thinking. At this point, Lord de Lacy would usually have become enraged but he was obviously also anxious that Robert might have noticed something important.

"What do you mean?" he asked curtly.

Robert gestured towards the far end of the board. "Because within those three moves, his pawn will become a queen -and she will hold you in check."

Robert had never seen his father go totally white with fury before.

"Get out," he said hoarsely. "Get out."




The horn rang out clear and sweet across the twilit valley, shaking the heaped-up snow from the branches of the trees and dislodging hundreds of tiny icicles from underneath. Crowsdale Castle was an ancient place, perched at the top of a trail that led up from the valley, bordered on one side by a gushing waterfall and the other by a wall of solid stone. According to the monastic chronicles, there had always been some kind of stronghold here -a ringfort in the day of the painted men, and a Roman fort after that. The valley below was fertile and rich in pastureland but in times of trouble, the people fled to the walls of the castle and the protection of the Marnochs.

Sir Giles took his mouth from the great hunting horn, took a breath, and then blew a second and a third time. Stephen and his honour guard were clustered the foot of the trail, among the trees. It had been a short but hard journey here, across the snowy woods. Most were no doubt thinking of the mulled ale and hot stew that would await them up inside the castle, but Stephen's thoughts were elsewhere. He frowned, his chilly blue eyes distant. Nimbus whickered, tendrils of steam rising from the warhorse's nostrils, and Stephen laid a gloved hand on his glossy black neck.

Nimbus calmed, and gave a pleased snort. Stephen did not need to turn around.

"He likes you, Rowan. You're the only man besides me of which that can be said."

He turned to face his slender young lieutenant. "Be on watch while we're up there. I'll need your eyes now more than ever. This marriage may accomplish everything we've been working towards."

A torchlit welcoming procession was making its way down to greet them in response to the horn blasts.

"If it can be brought about, we may have peace yet in the North. Justice for people like Faye and her father, and your own family. Security."

He gave Rowan a brief but warm smile.

"Maybe my marriage will bring you everything you want."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Raven reigned in her own horse next to Lord Stephen, and followed his gaze to the castle ahead. She was still unused to long journeys on horseback, and despite the gentle mare she had been given she knew that her muscles would ache all night. As long as I manage a graceful descent from the saddle, she thought with dismay. The last thing she wanted was to land on her bottom in front of Lady Alys. Yes, especially not in front of Lady Alys.

She wore a thick cloak over her woollens, her hood drawn deep over her face and warm fur mittens, but still the icy weather mercilessly gnawed on her bones, and drove all blood from her limbs. Her lips were blue from the chill, her fingers were stiff with cold, curling around the reins with difficulty. To her relief, many of the other riders looked similarly shook up. And how tired she was! They had travelled without a break, and the lack of sleep started to tug at her nerves, setting her slightly on edge. But despite these discomforts, Raven did not look forward to the warmth and safety of Crowsdale. Would that they could travel on, go elsewhere. Anywhere else but here.

Snowflakes clung to her dark lashes as she looked up at the lights emanating from the stronghold of the Marnochs as Lord Stephen addressed her, snapping her out of her reverie. She had to suppress a yawn as she answered. “Yes, Sire. I will keep my eyes open.” Realising that her mimics somewhat impeded on her ability to convince, she had to laugh. “My apologies, my lord, but it looks like my wits have succumbed to the Northern cold already.”

His words and warm smile made her heart ache. He is doing this for me. For us. For the people in his care. In fact he did not think about his feelings, his pleasure at all. Raven suddenly felt guilty for her own selfish hesitance, her prejudice against Lady Alys and this wedding. After all, it was not her who would have to give up the possibility to choose a lifelong companion at her own guise. The chance to find love. The knot in her throat did not allow her to speak, and she nodded again, trying a smile. Security for her family and peace in the North. This was all she wanted, wasn’t it?

***

Alys stood shivering in the middle of her chamber, wearing a thin linen undertunic while her handmaid Brae lifted a fine dark green dress from a chest, chatting excitedly.

“My lady, I know that this will be of little consolation for you, but many people are so very happy about your marriage. Despite what some might say, I believe that the Norman lord is a good man, and just. Like your lord father says.”

The young lady of Crowsdale simply nodded and tried a smile, too tired to protest. It was nice to see others this happy after all. Her father had visited her chamber in the morning, after mass, eager to present her with yet another gift: a delicate silver band to wear on her head for the marriage. He, too, had been happier than she had seen him in a long time.

Brae helped her into the garment. “It is rumoured that he is very handsome, and brave.” The young maid threw her mistress a furtive glance. “And a gallant knight, many times proven in battle.”

Alys smiled again and sighed, and let her thick blonde hair cascade down her back as Brae started to tie up the dress on each side. “Maybe you should marry him, Brae.” The girl blushed, and Alys felt a pang of guilt. “I am sorry. It is just…no, it is nothing.”

Brae knew, but did not need to hear it. She was her mistress’ only trusted confidante, and well aware of her pain. But what could she, the servant, say? That the de Lacy bastard Robert was an impossible choice? That he was the only truly impossible choice? No. Lady Alys had heard all that, and it was not her place to lecture her on it again. Grateful that she was not required to comment, she added: “Lord Stephen de Valois is a much better choice than any of the others that begged your lord father to let them marry you, my lady.”

Alys frowned. Who did she speak of? Robert had, naturally, never begged anyone for her hand.

“Brae, of whom do you speak?”

The girl looked confused. “My lady, surely you must know that there were other suitors? Some say that Lord Marnoch took quite a gamble in turning down Lord de Lacy in favour of your future husband.”

Stunned, Alys held on to her maid’s hands tying up her dress. “Lord…de Lacy?” A chill crept down her spine. “He asked for my hand in marriage?” There was a sharp edge to her voice.

Uncomfortable, Brae shifted her gaze, and withdrew her hands. “I…I thought you knew, my lady. I apologise. I should not have said anything.”

“No, it’s fine.” Distractedly, she lifted her arms again, to let Brae continue. “But Robert told me…” She paused. “I thought that Lord de Lacy is married. What of his own wife?”

Brae’s voice dropped to a shy whisper as she continued dressing her mistress. “It is murmured that since she failed to give him any children he would annul their marriage and take a new wife.” The young girl picked up a beautifully stitched belt from a chest on the floor before she added: “It is said that he is desperate for a legitimate child to carry his name and title.” As she slung the belt around Alys’ slim waist, she could feel her flinch at these words, but neither needed to expand on their meaning. As his bastard son, Robert would not be allowed to carry either. “Forgive me, my lady.”

Alys felt anger well up inside her. So my handmaiden is better informed about the politics of my marriage than I am, she mused bitterly. “How come you know these things and I don’t, Brae?” Avoiding her Lady Alys’ gaze, the girl busied herself with the dress. “I hear many things around the castle, my lady. Servant’s talk.”

“How come that I never hear about any of them?”

“I would not know, my lady. Maybe your lord father thought it better to keep these things from your ears?”

Alys scoffed, but knew better than to snap at poor Brae for her father’s understanding of what she was and was not able to handle. It was her own fault, really. So far, she had not given her parents much reason to believe that she was not a child anymore, and quite capable of hearing the truth behind their actions, even if she did not agree with them. In the light of this new information, Lord Stephen de Valois was without any shade of a doubt the lesser of two evils.

Another realisation hit her. William de Lacy was a cruel and ambitious man. A proud man, too. Alys had witnessed his cold anger at tourneys, when he had fought only for sport. He did not suffer defeat easily, and certainly not by the hand of his illegitimate, bastard son. The danger of Robert being caught trying to see her in Crowsdale suddenly seemed minor and risible in the face of the punishment his father would inflict on him should he ever suspect such betrayal. Maybe it was better if Robert would forget about her altogether.

“Do you hear the horn, my lady? They are here.” Brae looked up, excitement etched on her features. Stepping back from her mistress, she considered her work. “Lady Alys, you look beautiful. No man could ever wish for a more radiant bride.”

Alys smiled faintly. “Thank you.” She walked over to the window. “Do you think me a fool for wanting to be in love with my husband, Brae?”

The young girl laughed softly, and shook her head. “No, my lady, of course not.” Her gaze strayed to the line of torches moving up the trail to the castle. “But who is to say that you will not be?”

 

[Maka]

"Your journey was untroubled, my lord?"

Marnoch had led the group down the trail to meet him and now they were climbing up the steep trail towards the castle. Stephen rode alongside him -as always, quietly taking in everything about his surroundings. He nodded coolly.

"Untroubled."

Marnoch smiled. "These are dark times, but even now a company of knights and men-at-arms may travel where they will. I don't recognise your squire, by the way. He looks a boy of good blood."

"My...?" Stephen frowned.

"The darkhaired boy who rides behind us, sire. An angel in face and form, though who's to know the soul?"

"Rowan," said Stephen. He had half-turned in the saddle. Rowan's delicate face was drawn with weariness and he was barely staying in the saddle as they rode through the snowdrifts. "He's not my..."

He paused. Why not? It would give Rowan a reason to attend on and thus report to him in person and to mix with both the high and the low -threats to the peace might come from either. Rowan had told him of being barred from the great hall on the night of the banquet. Lord Marnoch was waiting for him to finish.

"He was not my squire during the war," he amended. Marnoch nodded.

"I'll have a bed prepared for him in your antechamber, my lord. The gate is up ahead. Our ladies are preparing to welcome you in the courtyard. Regarding the wedding, I... "

Stephen cut him off.

"There is no need to plan that yet."

"My lord, I thought that we had agreed... "

"I told you that if your daughter agreed to the marriage, we should be wed. That still stands."

Marnoch looked grim.

"May I speak freely, sire?"

Stephen nodded.

"Alys is a dreamy girl. She has all sorts of ideas about courtly love from the troubadours' songs and romances. She even..."

He cut himself off. Stephen did not ask, but made a mental note. Perhaps Rowan could find out the truth behind that hesitation later.

"She might say 'No' today and 'Yes' tomorrow. She thinks love is a game. I know that you are a good man and you will protect my daughter and make her happy -and I also know that this marriage might bring a lasting peace to these lands. You will win her over, my lord. Does it matter if it's after your marriage rather than before it?"

Stephen looked at him. "Force. Ravishment. What crops will grow on such soil? We will not win the victory over beasts by making ourselves as beasts, Lord Marnoch."

Marnoch's face hardened. "I am her father. I have a right to expect my daughter to obey me."

Stephen shook his head. "Talk with my squire some time. He has some opinions on that head. Lord Marnoch, believe me, I desire this marriage as much as you. But without Lady Alys' free consent, it will not take place."

His words were polite, but there was steel in his blue eyes. Marnoch nodded reluctantly.


The old stone courtyard was aglow with lights -every servant in Marnoch's household seemed to have been pressed into service to carry a torch. Stephen rode past the thronged lines, the hard, chiselled angles of his face inscrutable as he looked for the woman who might be his bride.