Catch me if you can

[Maka]

Desire had transformed Alys' lovely face. Her ivory cheeks were flushed red, her blue eyes shone wild and brilliant with desire and her firm, supple breasts heaved within the confines of her dress. Stephen had never known it was possible to want someone so much. Her hand moved across his taut chest, each delicate, tender touch of a fingertip sending waves of desire crashing through him.

Then she stepped back. She had been on the verge of giving herself to him, Stephen knew, but mustering all of her strength, she stepped back. His face regained its usual expressionless, enigmatic quality, the ice in his eyes reforming. He nodded.

"Of course. I'm not one to despoil a maiden's virtue."

His tone was cool again, formal. It was not childish pique, drawing about himself the cloak of a wounded amour-propre. Rather, it was necessary for both of them. He needed to bring himself back under control, needed to raise the barriers of stiff, brittle courtesy, because all he wanted to do was to take her there and then -and he knew that she would not resist. That was the frightening power of the temptation.

It was almost comic. A sudden, genuine meeting of hearts between them, a passionate embrace -then a return to sterile courtesy. And he almost let her go on that note, except as she stepped away. He called after her, stepping forward across the battlements. Warmth shone in his eyes again.

"I did not know that you would stir my heart thus either."

A smile touched the hard angles of his face -an oddly poignant reminder of the carefree, handsome young man he could have been in a different time and place.

"No matter what your parents may have told you, you do have the right to refuse me. But I pray God you will not do so."


***

"Raven...", Arnaud said out loud, almost tasting the name. He shook his head.

"I... God, Rowan... Raven, I don't know."

He looked at her again.

"Yes, I would have tried to bed you," he had the honesty to admit. "But I've never known a girl like you before. You can shoot as well as any man in the company, Ro... Raven! And you're better that most at fucking whores."

The thought brought another thought to mind.

"Elwynn trusted you. You know what that might mean, if you're exposed? The church would burn her alive for what you two did. For... for what?"

Arnaud was trying to understand. That a woman could want to live the archer's life, that he could understand. Archers ate well, were respected and, under a good leader like Lord Stephen, they were looked after. But to risk the worst punishments imaginable for books? For conversations about dead languages and dead scholars? It made little enough sense to him.

He shook his head.

"I don't understand you, Raven. I thought I did but I don't. But you don't seem a spy to me and Elwynn trusted you and she knows better than anyone what the risks are."

Arnaud laid a hand on Raven's slender shoulder, fixed her with a piercing, hard stare -very different from his usual twinkle of amusement.

"You've got your day. One day to tell Lord Stephen the truth. If you haven't by tomorrow evening, I'll go to him myself."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

His sudden transformation back into the inscrutable man she had first met brought her back to her senses. His kiss still burning on her lips, she fell back into her role as the demure noblewoman, a role that her present disarrayed state slightly spoiled. Her eyes downcast, she curtsied. “My lord.” Her heart was hammering against herb chest as she tried desperately to regain her countenance. The ice in his eyes frightened her. Had she offended him?

But her thoughts were already with Robert. She had to see him, had to talk to him! The idea that someone might have told him about the goings-on on the battlements, about her shared intimacy with the Norman lord grew to a terrifying, all-consuming size in her mind. Suddenly she was not only afraid that she might lose Robert, but that his jealousy might tempt him to some foolish, even deadly, act. The fear guided her hasty steps, but she was briefly withheld by Lord Stephen’s remark.

Alys turned to face him, blushing deeply at his words, suddenly feeling the whole weight of her lie. “You are very kind”, she replied, helplessly, aware of the hollowness of this phrase. Why did her skin suddenly feel like hot, liquid metal? The memory of shared passion had lit up his face again, and his eyes shone in promise. Her throat was very dry, and she was unable to say anything else. The power of her own desire for this man that she had wanted to hate, to despise, terrified her. How was it possible to love one man, and yet long for another’s embrace that strongly? For the length of one heartbeat, she considered to run back into Lord Stephen’s arms.

No. She needed, she had to leave. “Good night, my lord”, she finally whispered through a curtain of dancing snowflakes. “But rest assured that I will not delay my decision much longer.”

With that, she flew back down the steps, oblivious to the danger of slipping and falling.

Back in the great hall, only a few drunkards were still left draining the last drops of mead and wine. The music had stopped. In a corner, half asleep, she found her handmaiden Brae. At the approach of her mistress, the girl got up and ran towards Lady Alys. “My lady”, she beamed. “You must be frozen, let me take you to your chambers to warm you up.” Alys could only nod faintly. “Where are the musicians, where are the minstrels, Brae? I have not thanked them properly yet.” Her voice was shaking with anxiety. The brown-haired girl did not notice Lady Alys’ distress. “Oh, don’t you worry, y lady. They have all been properly rewarded with coin and mead.” Her eyes twinkled. “In fact, I believe that they are all still reaping the rewards of your father’s hospitality in the servant’s quarters.”

Alys stopped dead in her tracks. “What do you mean?” Brae, still oblivious to her mistress’ anguish, laughed. “No woman can resist a skilled minstrel, my lady, and no matter how virtuous she might be, my lady.” The young noblewoman felt as if a cold hand was squeezing her insides. For a short moment, she doubled over in pain. “My lady! Are you not well? Have I offended?” Alys shook her head, quietly, unable to speak. Would he do that to her? Come to her house, to her home, taunt her with his presence, with his sweet voice, the memories of past caresses only to bed a serving wench? The grip on her chest tightened. But had she not paid him with equal coin? Had she not, only moments earlier, wished for nothing else than the Norman lord’s hands on her naked body? And yet!

Brae put her arm around Lady Alys’ slender shoulders. “Let me get you to bed, my lady. Tonight has been quite eventful, and you must be tired.” She slowly walked her mistress out of the hall. Her voice tender with affection, she added: “The whole castle spoke of nothing else than the kiss you shared with the noble Lord Stephen on the battlements. You cannot believe the joy of your parents, of everyone here. Your father will call a hunt for tomorrow morning, in honour of you and your future husband.” Alys felt a quiet tear run down her cheek. “But now you need to rest, my lady.”


***
Raven winced at the mention of Elwynn and the punishment that would await her if she was caught. How selfish had she been! And the girl had agreed to help her nevertheless. Raven also knew that Arnaud would never forgive her if anything should happen to his beloved, and would probably drag her in front of the inquisition himself. Unable to return his hard gaze, she looked at her feet again. “Thank you”, she whispered. “I promise that I will not disappoint you. Not again.”

With that she drew her cloak tighter around herself and headed out into the whirling snow. She was trembling with fear. What would Lord Stephen do? How would he react? Would he let her leave? Would he punish her, or worse, hand her over to the inquisition? The thought of having to leave his side, in one way or another, was unbearable. Why did she have to spoil it all? Nobody would have found out if she would not have given in to her childish hopes of love and romance. What utter nonsense. Tears of anger welled up in her eyes. But it was too late for regret. Raven was certain that Arnaud would make good on his promise to tell their lord the truth if she did not do so. She hoped that he would not tell anyone else in the meantime. Trying to keep thoughts of torture and execution out of her mind, she walked back to the castle.

Despite her paralysing fear, she was disappointed to find their chambers empty. Raven felt her heart tightening in her chest. What if he did not come back at all? Would Lady Alys be able to resist the temptation of bedding her future husband this very night? Who would stop them? All of Crowsdale and the North were holding their breath for this match to blossom. Surely no one would label an early consummation of their marriage a sin. Her thoughts racing, she tossed a few more wooden logs into the fire in Lord Stephen’s chamber.

On her knees in front of the fire, she stared at the flames absent-mindedly. More than ever before she wished for the counsel of Father Aldred – he at least would know what to do now. The thought of her old friend calmed her a little. If all else failed, she knew that he would be there for her, no matter what.

 

[Maka]

Stephen remained by himself for a time after Alys' hurried departure. He looked out across the snowcovered mountains, heedless of the cold and the falling statue. Still, expressionless and straightbacked, he might have been the perfectly carved and chiselled statue of a young warrior brooding on the heights.

Then, after a long time, he moved. His tread on the icy steps was sure and confident. He stalked through the sleeping castle noiselessly, his eyes distant and far away.

A half-smile crossed his face as he saw the light of the crackling fire shining out from his own chambers. Rowan was kneeling by the fireplace, absorbed by the flames. He crossed the flagstoned floor and laid a hand on the young squire's slender shoulder.

"What do you see?"

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Raven stared into the dancing flames. She thought of Elwynn. She remembered the young woman’s initial reluctance to help her, suddenly feeling terribly guilty.

As things stood now, the pretty whore would either die at the stake for witchcraft or whatever they would call what they had done together - or she would be executed for high treason. After all, she had covered up a lie that could not be redeemed. And all of it was her fault. If she could save at least Elwynn from punishment, she would gladly comply and tell Lord Stephen the truth.

Raven frowned. But if her identity was revealed, Elwynn would still be in danger. Surely Arnaud knew that, too? The only way that his beloved would be safe was for her, Raven, to never be discovered. Because even if she did tell Lord Stephen the truth as she had promised the young archer, Elwynn was not out of harm’s way. Everybody knew about Rowan’s brothel adventure.

It was unclear how Lord Stephen would react. How he could react. His affection for her – for the boy Rowan – aside, he was the lord sovereign, and he would have to act as such. Everyone would expect as much of him, and more. Arnaud had said it: so much shit was said about him already. In order to appear strong, he might just have to prove an example of such betrayal. Raven shuddered as the flames licked the dry logs. She tentatively put her hand nearer the fire only to pull it away with a hiss of pain. Would Lord Stephen hand her over to the inquisition for what she had done?

She wondered if his humanist convictions and his kind heart might yet drive him to accept her as Raven. That thought made her pause for minute. It was not impossible. Her liege lord was not a man that cherished conformity, especially when it ran counter to his own ideas and ideals. Women had carried weapons, had fought in men’s wars, had ruled kingdoms before, they had read about them together, in those many hours spent in the library. What if Lord Stephen would admire her spirit, instead of condemning it?

But the nagging voice in the back of her head did not give her peace. So what? Even if he did accept her as Raven, which was in itself not all that likely, given that she had lied to him all that time, what would the repercussions be? What would Lord Marnoch say to that? His allies? And, more importantly, what of his enemies? The scandal would be grist for their mill. And what, the unnerving voice continued, of your own dumb affection for his lordship? What of your fluttering heart, you silly peasant girl?
.
Raven shoved another log into the fire. The safest thing – for all of them – was for Rowan to simply vanish. It would be easy enough. In the morning, at first light, she could steal herself away. Pack a small bundle with her scarce possessions – nobody would be able to call her a thief, not again – and simply walk out on it all. Go back to her family. Father Aldred would help her cover up her tracks, hide her long enough from prying eyes until the archer was forgotten. It would be as if Rowan had never existed. She could marry some village lad, have his children, return to the place she had been supposed to occupy all along.

Lost in such thoughts, Raven did not hear him enter the room. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she turned around, startled, her eyes wide. “My lord, please forgive me. I did not hear you coming.” Her eyes downcast, still kneeling, she whispered hoarsely: “I can only tell you what I hope to see: a wedding celebration and peace. The flames only parrot what everyone else in Castle Crowsdale is already saying.” She looked up at him, an oddly sad smile curving her lips. “Did I not tell you that your invasion would be crowned by success?”

 

[Maka]

Rowan flinched as Stephen put a hand on his shoulder and looked up, big dark eyes wide with momentary alarm that relaxed and warmed with recognition.

There had always been something mysterious about the slender youth. Stephen had found him in the forest and in some ways he was like one of the wild, quiet and shy creatures of the woods himself. It had taken patience to earn his trust, to see his shy smile for the first time, to see passion illuminate his eyes as he talked of books and ideas. Stephen had only known Rowan a month, but he was startled to realise how completely he had come to depend on his squire as his closest friend and advisor.

He withdrew his hand and squatted down next to Rowan, staring thoughtfully into the flames.

"I was thinking about that," he told Rowan, frowning at the strange, sweet sadness of the boy's smile. He thought about Alys' kisses, about the fires she had lit inside him. He was almost reluctant, now, to ask Rowan about what he had learned.

He felt a certain inexplicable anxiety. Something had happened tonight. There was a tenseness to the way Rowan held himself, to the way he avoided Stephen's gaze. Was it related to what he'd learned about Alys? Stephen opened his mouth to ask but concern for his squire mastered him.

"Is something troubling you?"

 

[Sweet_Denna]

How worried he looked. Was it because of her? The thought of having to leave him in the morning was so painful that she had trouble drawing breath.

Lord Stephen was the only person in the world that she wanted to confide in, her only true friend here.

Yes, she wanted to whisper. Yes, something is troubling me. I have lied to you, and I wish for nothing more than for you to forgive me. I love you, and I wish for nothing more than for you to love me in return. I fear for my life and that of those who helped me, and I wish for nothing else than for you to show mercy. And if nothing else, I wish for you to understand why I did all this.

And yet he was the one person she could not share her troubles with.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “My lord, I am…tired.” Part of her wanted him to challenge that lie. “It has been a long day, full of joy and pleasant surprises.” Neither her facial expression nor her voice were very convincing.

But she could not tell him about the truth, not any of it. Again, she thought of Elwynn, and of Arnaud. It suddenly occurred to her that Father Aldred would look equally guilty. After all, he had been the man who had vouched for her, who had tended to her wounded leg after Lord Stephen found her in the woods. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably.

The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. “There might be one thing, my lord.” Raven knew that it was petty. She knew that it was less the concern for her friends than jealousy that drove her to mention it at all. But Lord Stephen deserved a level playing field. He deserved at least that. “Did you know that Lord de Lacy has a bastard son?” There was another short pause. “I am not sure if it is worth mentioning at all, but…Lord Marnoch’s squire told me tonight that Lady Alys allowed said bastard to court her. That this caused a scandal in Crowsdale.” Raven watched the shadows dance on his handsome face. Would he be angry that she bothered him with such gossip? “Forgive me, my lord. It’s probably nothing at all. It is clear to everyone how highly Lady Alys thinks of you already. I should not have mentioned it.”

 

[Maka]

Rowan did not look joyful. In fact, he looked both deeply sad and deeply troubled. Stephen respected his squire's instincts. As well as things might seem to be going, Rowan seemed to harbour some inkling of danger.

And his next words seemed to confirm it.

"A bastard son...?"

Stephen cast his mind. Yes, the dark, sharp-eyed youth who always seemed to be lounging around somewhere among the minor gentry of de Lacy's entourage. Stephen had marked him as dangerous when he first saw him. Now he noted a faint family resemblance. And he had courted the Lady Alys...

A wholly irrational jealous rage brewed in Stephen for a moment, before he saw the ridiculousness of the thought. Instead, he simply frowned.

"That is interesting. I wonder if de Lacy's son was playing his father's game... or his own?"

The beauty and charm of Lady Alys hardly required ulterior motives, after all.

"Perhaps she does still have feelings for him. There was a certain..." Stephen hesitated. He had no wish to go into the things that Lady Alys had said as he held her in his arms. "She seemed a little at odds with herself. All the more reason to press on with this marriage. I believe I will be able to obtain her consent before very long."

Despite everthing, the thought of his wedding night still set his blood on fire. The Lady Alys, his naked, willing bride... his throat seemed to dry with desire.

"I'll take her south, to London, for a season after that. I need to consult with the king anyway."

He smiled at Rowan. "You can come too. I'll show you the libraries of the great southern monasteries. Your eyes will pop out of your head! And when we return, we'll unite the north behind us. De Lacy and his kind will be rooted out -his bandits in the woods and those traitors among my own men will be hunted down and executed."

He rose. He clapped Rowan on the shoulder and then brought the slender youth for an impulsive, tight embrace.

"Good night, Rowan. We're almost finished now."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Too stunned to resist, Raven felt herself lifted into Lord Stephen’s embrace. It was clear that he, too, had undergone quite a change of mind during the course of the evening. Raven wanted to bury her head at his chest and cry. While she was relieved to see that her remark about Lord de Lacy’s bastard had not been able to sway her lord’s confidence in the union with Lady Alys, she was deeply unhappy that his affection for her was so very obvious.

She had to bite her lip violently to suppress a sob. To London! And for a whole season? In a strange way, Raven was suddenly almost relived that she would not have to accompany the newly-wed couple anywhere. Raven was sure that her heart would not have been able to bear it. Could hearts actually shatter and break, as the minstrels claimed in their songs? Was unreturned love as deadly as they said? Holding her breath, she listened to the beat of his heart, as if it might whisper an answer into her ear. But what else would Lord Stephen’s heart tell her than the name of the woman he had fallen for so quickly?

Still trapped in his arms, unwilling to let go, she muttered: “I…I am very happy for you, mylord. For all of us.”

Would he miss her at all when she was gone?

Then the words “traitor” and “execution” crept back into her mind and as delicately as she could, she freed herself from his embrace. “Is there anything you need, my lord? Anything at all before you go to bed?” She was unable to hold his gaze, but he would hopefully blame fatigue for the treacherous glint in her eyes.

***

Had she heard a sound? Had it been a trick of her imagination? Her heart beating like mad in her chest, Alys turned her head on her pillow, trying to discern anything in the darkness of her chamber.

Nothing.

She wanted to whisper her chambermaid’s name, but her lips were unable to form the words. Again she had the uncanny feeling that she was not alone.

“My dove.”

The young woman gasped and sat up in her bed. “Robert?” For she would be able to recognise the sound of his voice anywhere. “Yes, I am here.” And there he was, standing above her, his beautiful dark eyes shining. “I needed to see you my love.” He reached out for her hand and lifted it to his lips. “To touch you…” He lifted her chin up, and gently kissed her on the lips. “Taste you….”

Alys sighed and pulled him into her bed. “I have missed you so…I have missed you…” His kisses grew more passionate, more heated. She sighed against his lips as his hands grew bolder, tracing the curves of her slender body, one hand cupping a round, firm breast.

“I have missed you, too, my dove.”

A hand – how was it possible? - parted her ankles, wandered up her calves, past her knee, lightly caressing the insides of her thigh. A soft moan escaped her lips. Skilled fingers touched against the soft skin of her inner thigh, and with a blush, she felt a wave of heat rush to her core, filling her with a strange, urgent need. “Please…” she whimpered. “Please…”

“Please what?”

It had not been Robert’s voice talking, but her beautiful lover did not seem to hear or mind it. Alys gasped, tried to turn her head to see, to understand, while in fact she already knew, but Robert sealed her lips with another deep kiss.

The wandering hand abandoned her thigh and moved to pull the thin linen gown she was still wearing over her head, leaving her naked and panting, shivering with desire. When she opened her eyes again, she met the clear gaze of a pair of icy blue eyes and smiled. “My lord…”

Robert lowered his mouth down to one erect nipple, flicking it lightly with his tongue, making her squirm, while the Norman lord gently parted her legs. She let it happen. She wanted nothing more. “My lady Alys”, he whispered, his lips curled into an admiring smile. “I want to taste you…” With these words, he moved between her legs, lowered his mouth down to her stomach before kissing his way down, further down, to her most secret spot…when his tongue playfully flicked over her clit, she moaned and arched her back. “Yes…yes…please don’t stop…” And he didn’t.

Robert smiled down at her. Did he not see the other man? Did he not care? But what did it matter now? Alys sighed, unable to speak, and pulled her dark-haired lover into another embrace while the Norman lord’s skilful ministrations seemed to push her past anything, past any pleasure she had ever felt before.

“I love you”, Robert whispered against her ear. “My beautiful dove.” She buried her fingers in his hair, pulled him close, wanting to feel him, his skin, all of him, against her own naked form. His shirt was curiously wet against his skin…wet and sticky. Alys caressed the skin of his taut stomach, his back. Why did it feel so wet against her fingertips?

Alys opened her eyes and to her horror, the liquid she felt against her palms was blood. There was blood everywhere. Robert slackened against her, his beautiful eyes were closed, and he did not move. She wanted to scream, but could not. She wanted to push Lord Stephen away from her, but could not.

A figure, a mere shadow, stepped back from the bed and pulled his sword from Robert’s deadly wound. “You are mine!” The shadow hissed and raised his sword again. Alys wanted to warn Lord Stephen, but was unable to utter a single word. How could he not see it? When the sword came down on the young Norman lord, his blood splattered against her face, her chest. He died without a sound.

A spindly hand reached out for her. “You are mine. My bride.” The shadow’s eyes gleamed red in the darkness.

When Alys woke with a scream, the room was still dark. Brae, sleeping next to her, rose with a start and rubbed her eyes. “My lady?” Alarmed, she caressed the young woman’s cheek. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Panting, her heart racing in her chest, Alys nodded. “Yes, a bad dream. Nothing more.”

 

[Maka]

"No." Stephen could see that Rowan was tired. "No, that will be all."

He moved through the antechamber where his squire slept to his own sleeping chamber. He stood at the narrow window for a long time, brooding and staring out over the snowcovered mountains. Everything should be falling into place now. Why was there this nagging feeling at the back of his mind, of something overlooked, of a lurking danger?

He shrugged off the feeling and began to strip out of his clothes. His broad, tanned shoulders emerged from his doublet, the chest underneath lean and hard and exquisitely sculpted, like a marble statue criss-crossed by the scars of his wars. His aquiline face was inscrutable, even harsh -the tender feelings locked far away behind the ice blue eyes.

He lay down on the massive four-poster bed. It was too soft for his liking, like trying to sleep on an ocean of down. He briefly considered requesting a pallet like Rowan's, or even simply sleeping on the hard, cold flagstone floor, but he'd seen how tired his squire was. It would be too much to go and wake him now. Instead, he continued wrestling with the goosefeather sheets.

Gradually, he succumbed to the weariness of the day's exertions and fell into a sleep.


He was in a sunlit room, a pleasant, airy and warm place like those he had described to Alys. It was high up in a tower overlooking an endless bustling city that was London and Damascus and Jerusalem all rolled into one.

And Lady Alys, wrapped in a sheer, diaphanous white gown, leaned over the window. She looked back at him, an enigmatic, vivacious sparkle in her rich blue eyes. The thin white fabric clung to her every svelte, delectable curve, outlining her glorious body. The hem of her gown rode up on the creamy curves of her buttocks, the perfect frame for the sweet pink, glistening cunt between them. Alys saw him watching and her expression changed to a wanton smile.

She turned back to face him and brought her hands slowly up to her shoulders. When she brought them down, she was perfectly nude. Her body was shapely, toned and flawless in its ivory perfection. Her breasts were lushly rounded, full and soft, perky despite their size, and capped by rosy nipples seeming to beg to be toyed with and suckled. Beneath, a flat stomach tapered down to slender thighs and the golden, wispy curls of her hair around the juicy feminine treasure between her gorgeous, shapely legs. She had a body that had been made by God for love -a body that it would be sinful to deny its rightful pleasure.

Stephen took a step forward but it was suddenly as though he was moving through deep water. A bell tolled in the distance. Rowan was standing beside him. The youth's eyes were filled with tears, his delicate features registering pain and devastation.

"No," he mouthed.

Stephen took another step forward. The bell tolled again. He heard Lucais' voice:

"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."

And now Rowan stood by the window too. Alys clasped his face and began kissing him passionately, deeply, twining her naked body around him. She kissed his throat and the lids of his passionate, twinkling dark eyes, she kissed his forehead and again and again she returned to the pretty archer's full lips but Rowan ignored her, continuing to stare at Stephen with an haunted, troubled gaze.

Stephen felt no anger. He knew that his next step forward would hurt Rowan deeply, would come near to destroying him. But he had to take it.

The dark youth he had seen before now stood in his way, shaking his head. A sword appeared in his hand. Stephen saw, without any surprise, that a sword was in his hand as well. They had to fight for Alys' body. This was the way it had always been.

The bell sounded a third time and suddenly the tower had dissolved around them and they were all falling, falling forever into the void.

Stephen awoke with a start, his heart pounding.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Raven could not sleep. Contemplating the stone ceiling, awash with the cold light of the moon shining through the window, she tried to imagine what life would be like when she went back to her village. She would return to spending her days with the many chores a woman was supposed to busy herself with, while waiting for some village lad to ask her hand in marriage, if she would ever get married at all. Over were the hours of studying Greek and the ancient philosophers. Over were the times of scholarship and learning, and over were her days of poaching and hunting in the liege lord’s forest. If Raven was to get a second chance, Rowan would have to disappear.

Laying there in the dark, she tried to remember all the moments that she had been happy in the service of Lord Stephen. Every moment now seemed like a priceless gem that needed to be kept safe and treasured. She thought of Arnaud, of Lucais. Of Elwynn, too. Yes, she had been so very happy over that one past month, and it was just as well: Raven felt like it would need to last her a lifetime.

She sighed, her chest heavy with worry and grief. For the length of a few heartbeats she held her breath, as if trying to concentrate on the presence of Lord Stephen in the chamber next door. Stephen. She whispered his name in the dark, as if testing what it felt like, half hoping that he might hear.

Closing her eyes, she tried to recall what his arms had felt like around her. Raven would have given anything to have him embrace her again, one last time, before she had to leave his company. Her thoughts wandered to the afternoon, when she had assisted him in his bath. How soft his skin had been. How…even in the darkness of the chamber, Raven could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. She imagined what it would be like to be with him, be taken by him, deliciously crushed underneath his weight, him moving inside her…a soft moan escaped her parted lips. Elwynn had been right all along.

When her lids became heavier, and sleep threatened to overwhelm her, she willed herself to stay awake. I must not sleep and miss the right moment to slip away, she thought. I must leave before the sun rises.



The castle was cold and damp in the early hours of morning. Raven had put on every stitch of clothing that she owned, and still it felt as if the chill was clinging to her every muscle. It was easy to slip past the guards at Crowsdale. Wearing the colours of the house of de Valois, nobody paid her any heed.

When she reached the courtyard, she looked up at the window where she knew Lord Stephen was still sleeping. She had not dared to enter his chamber one last time.

“Couldn’t sleep either, Rowan?” She whirled around. Lucais stood back up from behind a horse he had just finished to saddle. “Bloody moon didn’t give me a moment’s rest! Shone right in my face all night!” He grunted in displeasure and tightened a saddle strap. “But the air feels like there’s another storm coming today.”

Raven stood and stared at him, unsure what to do. “Don’t just stand there and goggle at me, lad, come and help me with Nimbus. That damn horse knows how to hold a grudge. I am not going near him!”

“What?”

Lucais laughed. “You must have had more mead than me, boy, and it must have dimmed your wits! Yes, you need to saddle him for the hunt. The sun will start to come up soon, and Lord Stephen will expect his horse to be ready.” He leant on the back of the mare and grinned. “Lady Alys will be coming, too, to hunt together with her future husband. Let’s see how many of the men will be able to keep their eyes on the deer, eh?”

Raven smiled faintly. Unless she was going to Lucais the whole truth, she had to play along for now. Maybe she would be able to slip away after the hunting party had left?

“And go saddle you own horse, Rowan. Arnaud, you and me will show these Northern bastards what de Valois archers are made off, won’t we?”

So she was expected to come? Raven prayed that Arnaud would keep her secret for the time being. Somehow, at some point, she would have to find a way to escape. Trying to fake a grin, she nodded, and went to fetch Nimbus’ saddle and bridle. “So we will, Lucais. Count on it.”

 

[Maka]

The first faint rays of dawn were glittering on the snowy caps of the mountains. Stephen contemplated his dim reflection in the bucket of water that he had requested brought to his bedchamber. There were chunks of ice floating in the water. He upended it over his bare, bronzed and lean body, luxuriating in the shock of the ice-cold water hitting, filling his veins with life.

Rowan had already left, no doubt to prepare for the hunt. Stephen had to smile at that. The last hunt he had been on, a month, had brought him his squire. Who knew what this hunt might bring him.

He dressed himself in the simple, durable clothes of the hunter and drew his hornhandled hunting knife from its sheath. He cleaned the blade with a rag and honed its edge with a whetstone, taking a pleasure in the quiet, tranquil ritual. Then he made his way down to the castle courtyard.

Rowan was sadding Nimbus -he was the only man besides his master that the warhorse would allow near him. Arnaud was for some reason staring intently at Rowan, a frown on his features. He snapped to attention as Stephen walked by.

"My lord."

"Is there a problem, Arnaud."

"No, my lord." Arnaud stared at lowering storm clouds gathering above the mountains. "Not yet."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

It took Raven longer than usual to fix the saddle strap. Her hands were shaking violently and more than once she had to pause to regain her composure, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. Her anxiety seemed to trouble Lord Stephen’s black stallion, and he whinnied nervously, scratching the frosty ground with his hooves. “Shh…” whispered Raven, “Don’t be alarmed Nimbus. Everything is fine.”

She could feel Arnaud’s intense staring like the tip of a menacing blade. Why did he have to fix her like that? For a brief moment, her dark eyes met his over the back of the black horse, but she was too scared, too guilty to hold his gaze. She knew what his eyes were asking, and what answer could she give him?

Lord Marnoch’s own squire hurried past her without a greeting. So what? If he was still angry, what did she care? By the end of this day, the squire Rowan would have run off, like the poaching squirrel that he had always been, like the coward that Cailin thought her to be.

When she heard Lord Stephen’s voice, her heart leapt with joy. She could not help it. To see him one last time! His eyes met hers, and Raven smiled shyly, bowing her head in a silent greeting. For one short fleeting moment, she felt as if everything really was going to be fine, as if the past night had been a bad dream, a nightmare, not more. But again it was Arnaud, his brows knitted in a deep frown so unusual for him, whose gaze shattered these thoughts. His words still rang in her head: “You've got your day. One day to tell Lord Stephen the truth. If you haven't by tomorrow evening, I'll go to him myself." But it was morning now. There was time still.

A few of the knights had started to gather in the courtyard, all of them dressed in dark hunting cloaks, stomping their feet against the icy chill of the morning. Lucais walked over to Arnaud holding cups of steaming spiced wine, a bow already slung over his shoulder, and motioned for Raven to join them.

Then Lady Alys appeared in the courtyard, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak over a woollen hunting tunic, radiant and beautiful like Diana herself. The many voices in the courtyard dimmed to admiring whispers.Her hair fell down her back in a thick braid. A quiver and bow was slung over her shoulder, and judging from the stare of some of the men gathered around the courtyard, Raven understood that her garb came as a surprise to many of the guests. Wild jealousy rose in her throat. So delicate, beautiful Lady Alys knew how to shoot a bow? Raven scowled, watching the young noblewoman from behind Nimbus’ neck.

***

Alys had not slept much all night, but she did not feel tired. Every nerve, every fibre in her body seemed alert and tense. Why had Robert not come back, not even left her a message? Sick with worry, she had sent Brae to inquire after the minstrels in the morning, but her maid had only found two of them in the servant’s quarters. Had she dreamt it all? And what of her legitimate suitor, what of Lord Stephen de Valois? The memory of his kiss sent jolts of desire through her body, a desire more powerful than anything she had ever felt before. It was not love, no. But it was just as strong.

Then her gaze fell on a young man who was busy fixing the bridle of a beautiful black horse that she recognised as that of Lord Stephen. A pair of fiery black eyes met her gaze in an almost insolent stare.

Alys stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Raven as if she had seen a ghost. Was it…? Brae touched her arm lightly, following her mistress’ gaze. “My lady?” These eyes! She wanted to call out his name, but she was unable to utter a single sound. Robert?

Her handmaiden, still worried after a sleepless night, reached for Lady Alys’ fingers. “My lady, what is it? Do you know this boy?” Then the young man stepped forward from behind the horse he had been saddling, and Alys realised her mistake. “I…no, no…for a moment I thought…it is nothing.” She smiled. “My mind has played a trick on me.” Then her eyes fell on Lord Stephen, and despite herself, she felt the blood rise in her cheeks. If anything, he looked even more handsome, more desirable in his simple hunting gear than he had in the clothes of a highborn lord.

She walked over to him. “My lord, I bid you a good morning. I hope you slept well?”

 

[Maka]

Rowan gave Stephen a tentative smile, his attention fixed on Nimbus' stirrups. Stephen frowned. Rowan had been ill at ease last night as well and he had heard him cry out in his sleep. He blamed himself. Raven's promotion had been logical from Stephen's point of view -a natural reward for the kind of intelligence, competence and fierce loyalty that Stephen could not have expected from even his very best servants. But it had been abrupt and sudden. Stephen had taken little time to discuss it with him. The peasant lad had simply been sat at the table with youths who had been amongst the gentry since birth.

From this point on, their sessions together would have to cover not just scholarly subjects but politics, court etiquette, heraldry, and geneaology. It would surely be no hardship for a mind as bright as Rowan's -and Stephen found himself smiling at the thought of the additional time they would spend together. He wondered if Alys would like Rowan.

Just as he thought of her, she entered the courtyard, sending nobles and commoners alike scrambling to attention. She was dressed with elegant, effortless simplicity in huntress' garb, with her hair tied back into a single thick braid. Her body seemed to be outlined with a soft golden halo in the frosty morning light, as though her youth and health and beauty simply could not be contained within her slender body.

Stephen made his way and formally kissed her hand, a light brush of his lips across her fingers.

"I did, my lady. As I trust you did?"

His dream from the last night returned to him in fragments as Rowan brought Nimbus over to him. Nimbus snorted and whickered fiercely, trying to rear up. It took Stephen's firm hand on his head, combined with Rowan's touch on his reigns, to calm the warhorse down.

"I beg your pardon, my lady. He senses the hunt. Have you met my squire, Rowan?"

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Raven held a firm grip on Nimbus’ reigns as she walked over to greet Lord Stephen. Arnaud still watched her every step over the rim of his steaming cup, while Lucais filled quivers with broadhead arrows. Lady Alys was in company of her handmaiden, and a stable boy who had brought her saddled horse waited a few steps behind her.

Alys raised her brows in surprise when Lord Stephen raised her hand to his lips. It was a gesture unfamiliar to her, but then again the noble knights in the North did not show much talent for chivalry and courtly love. The touch of his lips against her skin, if only for the briefest of moments, was electrifying. “My lord.” She had to clear her throat, and only reluctantly lowered her hand again. “I slept well indeed, perturbed only by the anticipation of today’s hunt.” The break of dawn had chased the last slips of past nightmares from her mind, and now, standing in front of Lord Stephen, Alys did feel happy again.

Pressing her fingers against her mouth, Brae, who was watching this curious interaction, had to suppress a giggle. She admired the gallant way in which the Norman lord was courting her mistress. Despite his obvious authority, his strength, and his self-confidence, he seemed so much more refined than any of the Northern noblemen she had come to know.

When she looked back up, she met the dark gaze of Lord Stephen’s squire, Rowan, and the handmaiden blushed violently, afraid that her behaviour had offended. From under lowered lashes, she considered the boy who seemed to have eyes only for the Lady Alys, and how could it have been otherwise? Brae sighed. What a pretty lad he was - slender like a willow tree, with the face of an angel, delicate and fragile. She felt her own heart beat faster. Her musings were however interrupted by the black horse’s nervous snorts. When Nimbus tried to tear away from Raven’s firm hand, Brae let out a small scream of fear.

Alys did not move. She smiled, and put a soothing hand against Nimbus’ head. “Oh, but it’s quite alright. It looks like I am not the only one feeling impatient.” Her eyes met that of the Norman lord. “He is beautiful, so strong and spirited…” The sentence was left unfinished, but it was clear from her expression that Lady Alys was not only talking about Nimbus anymore. She blushed, and started scratching the horse’s silky neck. Nimbus whickered, more calmly now.

Upon Lord Stephen’s introduction of his squire, the young lady’s gaze shifted from the warhorse to the slender youth holding his reins. Raven bowed her head, jealousy and pain raging inside her. “My lady Alys.”

Alys felt strangely moved by the squire’s beauty, by the sorrow in his doe eyes. “Are you enjoying your stay in Crowsdale, Rowan?” Now, close-up, he looked nothing like Robert, even if they did share the same dark beauty. She wondered what family Rowan came from, if he was Norman-born like his master, but she did not want to seem too inquisitive. His accent sounded nothing like that of Lord Stephen, but the way he held himself was far more graceful than that of the squires the Northern lords surrounded themselves with.

Raven nodded, her eyes downcast. “Yes, my lady. Your hospitality is indeed humbling.” Alys laughed softly. How shy he seemed! It was hard to imagine the Norman lords as the blood-thirsty conquerors many said them to be if one judged by Lord Stephen de Valois and his gentle squire. “Well, I am glad. Will you join us for the hunt?”

“I believe so, my lady.” For Raven, the interaction with Lady Alys was torture. She was also aware that every word exchanged with Lord Stephen’s future wife would cause him greater shame and humiliation once she had abandoned her master like a coward. Alys smiled. “Good.” Her eyes twinkled. “Our forests might be full of poachers, but they are also full of deer and elk and wild boars. We should not make them wait much longer.” Raven blushed to a deep red at the young lady’s comment. Obviously somebody had told her about last night’s outing, and Raven was afraid that this somebody had not omitted her own apparent cowardice. “No, my lady.”

Alys nodded and looked at Lord Stephen again. “Then let’s see what the hunt will bring, my lord. I challenge you to see who will shoot the first deer today!” With that, she called over the boy holding the reins of her chestnut mare and with easy grace mounted into the saddle.

 

[Maka]

Stephen smiled as he noted the wide-eyed, appreciative look that Alys' pretty handmaiden was giving Rowan. Rowan's delicate, graceful good looks and poise always brought him a great share of feminine attention. Stephen had a shrewd suspicion that the girls were almost equally intrigued by his shy, gentle ways, his soft voice and way of regarding the ground instead of looking them in the eye. He wondered what the handmaiden would think if she heard of Rowan's epic achievements in the brothel. It might well just interest her all the more.

Lucais, who had an occasional tendency to forget that Stephen was his overlord and not just his sparring partner, had speculated that Rowan must have a manhood to rival that of Nimbus (he seemed oddly proud, as though Rowan's endowment reflected well on the entire corps of archers). Stephen privately thought that Rowan's obvious sensitivity and generosity, his ability to take pleasure in others' pleasure, had more to do with his success in bed than whatever he had between his legs.

That thought brought him back to Alys, running her hand against Nimbus' head, her eyes widening and her cheeks slowly flooding with red as she talked about the warhorse's qualities. There was another nature -and body, perfectly well suited to the arts of the bedchamber. All of the fire in her nature, all of the lust and passion, must have gone unstirred for years, like a winter rose covered underneath a blanket of snow.

Now, though, the lush petals were beginning to unfold. She had been beautiful when Stephen first arrived at Crowsdale, but with a melancholy, ethereal kind of beauty. She had been a lovely phantom, and it felt like making love to her would be like trying to catch a handful of wind. But now there was a vivid, happy flush to her cheeks and a certain sparkle in her sapphire blue eyes. Her hair seemed to already have gained a new summertime sheen to it. And far from it being difficult to imagine having her in bed, it was irresistible to consider it -to speculate on how wanton and loving and passionate this enchanting golden nymph would be.

He watched in silence as Alys addressed Rowan, good-naturedly teasing him. Rowan, perhaps abashed by her rank the same way he had once been by Stephen himself, spoke little. He could tell Alys liked Rowan and something inside him relaxed. It was a strange, petty concern perhaps, in a matter as momentous as this marriage, but he had not liked to think that his new wife would not get on with the man who had so quickly become his closest confidant and his best friend.

With a mischevious smile on her full lips, Alys called out a challenge to Stephen before launching herself into her saddle with a fluid, easy movement. Stephen smiled appreciatively -her apparent ease and nonchalance with her hunting gear was clearly no illusion.

"Well, if she'd said boar rather than deer, the two of us together might have stood a chance of beating her," he said with a small, secret smile at Rowan, as he himself vaulted into Nimbus' saddle. One day, he'd tell Alys the real story of his squire's origins. For the time being, it was pleasant to have a small, harmless secret just between the two of them.

The hunting party thundered down the causeway into the snowy, silent woods, the huntsmen sounding their horns. Nesting birds took off with reproachful squawks, breaking the treeline in showers of snow, while small shy forest creatures dashed further into the undergrowth away from the crashing hooves. Alys' wild energy and joy in the fresh, cold morning air seemed to take hold of the entire party. Groups of two and three and single riders broke off to chase fleeting shadows deeper into the greenwood -the hunt quickly changed from a tight knot to a long, spread-out tail.

Stephen, the nominal host for the hunt in place of Lord Marnoch, let the others do as they pleased, not hugely concerned with the results of the day's hunt. Instead, he focused on keeping Alys in sight -chasing her, a lovely faun on horseback, through the woods. They crossed a stream, broad, cold and deep with icewater runoff, and they trambled exuberantly through hidden, snowy glades in the wood, rushing past rocky clearings and leaping over dips in the frozen earth.

Stephen could have applied his spurs to Nimbus and allowed the more powerful warhorse to overtake Alys' chestnut mare but he did not do so, enjoying the pursuit all too much. He suspected, too, that Alys was deliberately keeping him just within sight rather than trying to outdistance him, shooting occasional mischevious, playful glances backwards. At first, there had been others around them but their wild chase had outstripped all the others.

Man and maid, pursuer and pursued, they rode into the ancient, frozen heart of the woods.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

The wind caressed Alys’ skin and ripped at her thick hunting cloak. The fresh air drive the blood back in her cheeks, and it was as if the sadness and the anxiety of the past weeks simply ran out of her like sickly blood. Forgotten was the nightmare, forgotten her worries and fears.

Wild excitement rose in her chest, and she urged her horse forward, ducking underneath a few low-hanging branches showering her with glittering snow. Alys threw a glance over her shoulder as if to make sure that Stephen was still following her.

Riders flitted through the trees around her, but little by little they vanished between the trees alone or in small groups, in pursuit of meat, trophies and the title of the best huntsman. The sounds of their galloping horses, of their yells and cheers faded, and soon the hunting horns fell silent as well. But Alys did not care about the hunt, or the deer.

The growth around her became thicker, the forest wilder. Now, all she could hear was the gallop of her own mare and that of Lord Stephen’s horse not far behind her, and Alys could not help but smile at his persistence. The young Norman lord clearly was not hunting deer.

They reached a rocky clearing bordered by pine trees, the blanket of snow before her untouched and beautiful. Her mare snorted, small clouds rising from her nostrils. It was clear that she enjoyed the hunt as much as her rider.

And there they were! A small herd of four or five deer, now raising their heads in alarm, staring at the intruders. Alys applied her spurs to the chestnut mare, driving her forward into the deeper snow, determined to make good on her earlier challenge. Had Stephen seen the animals yet?

Flying forward and standing up in her stir-ups, she fitted an arrow into her bow with graceful ease, while the scared deer rushed off in a cloud of snow. A confident and skilled hunter, she galloped alongside the herd taking aim, leaving her mare to choose her own path.

Suddenly a large bird rose from the undergrowth, taking off into the skies with a loud scream. Startled, the chestnut mare tripped, just when Alys released her bowstring with surprising force.

The arrow sang to its target, but the brief disruption had distracted the young noblewoman, and with a soft snap, the arrow sank into the bark of a tree. Alys muttered a soft curse, laughing and out of breath. She reigned in her horse and looked out for her pursuer. Had he been luckier than her with his first shot?

***

Raven soon fell behind the rest of the hunting party, losing both Lady Alys and her master from sight. She wondered if she was supposed to stay close at his heels, but nobody else seemed to pay her any heed. Nobody except Arnaud. Had he guessed her intentions?

She did not understand how the noble folk were able to shoot anything at all in such large, noisy packs. They reminded her of barking dogs, running down the animals they intended to shoot, rather than actually shooting them. In all her years in the forest, she had never pursued an animal the way that they did now, and the hunter in her would have much preferred to be on foot, on her own, prying on rabbits.

Her own horse fell into a trot as she watched packs of huntsmen charge past her through the thick trees. Once again, her thoughts wandered to the alleged poachers she had encountered the night before, and their promise that had sounded so much like a threat. Now, in the clear air of the morning, they seemed less dangerous, less conspicuous than they had before, but she still wondered if she should have told her master.

She glanced over her shoulder, meeting Arnaud’s piercing stare. How would she be able to get away with the young archer so hard on her heels?

 

[Maka]

Despite his distraction, some parts of Stephen de Valois' body operated on instinct. Before he had even fully registered seeing the deer, his hands had gone to the bow slung by his saddle. It was in his hands, the supple yew-wood bending to his strength, even as he stared at his target -a proud stag with a full rack of antlers. And then the bowstring sang, the arrow hummed through the frosty air and the stag reared up, the arrow lodged in its neck as its mates scattered.

Stephen was off Nimbus and across the ground swiftly, his horn-handled hunting knife in his hand. He had no desire for any creature to suffer, particularly not a proud, magnificent animal like the stag. The stag was writhing in pain, its head twitching. Stephen ducked under its frenzied thrusts, seized its antlers low down, and ran his knife quickly across its throat, ending its suffering in a spray of blood.

He looked for Alys and for the first time became aware of an observer to the scene. It was the slender, dark-eyed youth he'd noted before, the one he'd realized must be Robert, de Lacy's bastard son. He was seated on a dark gelding, dressed in black clothes that silhouetted him against the snowy background, and his large eyes were vivid with hatred.

Stephen let the knife slip from his grasp and his hand slowly went to the hunting sword by his side. Not a weapon for war -a single-edged, slashing blade, but it was all he had and if ever he'd seen a man out to kill, it was Robert de Lacy this day.

"I believe you have something that's mine," Robert said. His eyes went to Alys' lovely form.

Stephen stood stock-still, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes the cold blue of distant, twilight glacier.

"Do I, Robert de Lacy? Have I robbed your home? Have I stolen your cloak or your purse?"

He let the contempt in his voice show, fixing the man on horseback with his gaze. He paced forward, calculations speeding through his mind. He knew his own speed on the draw. If he got within striking distance, one swift stroke could cut down Robert's side and the flank of his horse -but he would leave himself open at the same time.

Robert refused to be drawn. He smiled down at Stephen, but there was no warmth in the flash of white teeth.

"I know you."

With a whisper of metal, his sword emerged from its scabbard. Robert's right hand went to the reigns of his horse while his left held his sword first. His eyes scanned Stephen's face. The Norman lord was a planner, a thinker. Everything about the set of his body, everything Robert had heard of him, betrayed it. He distrusted instinct and that would make him a fraction slower than Robert, though it might give him the edge in a longer contest.

"You're kinsman to a king. You've travelled far beyond the sea. You're undefeated in battle, you're lord of a castle. You have power, influence, wealth. I'm just a nameless northern bastard."

Stephen had drawn his own sword now. Spurred by Robert's heels, his horse was circling the Norman while Stephen extended his sword, standing sideways.

"So why did you have to try and take the only thing of value I could call my own?"

Stephen looked at him.

"She is not chattel. She may make her own choice."

Both men, swords still extended, now looked to Alys.


***

Arnaud had been watching Raven since the day began. Part of him thought it might be for the best if she did slip away -disappeared and never came back. But then who knew what use Stephen de Valois' enemies might make of her? Arnaud knew little of politics, but he knew enough to know that the slender impostor, willing or no, was a ready weapon for anyone who might want to harm his lord. Lord Stephen would know best how to handle the situation. The sooner Raven had confessed to him, the easier Arnaud's mind would be.

And so he unobtrusively heeled Raven, following her through thicket and snowdrift. She glanced back at him and Arnaud felt an unreasonable stab of guilt. How could she look at him with such reproach in those big dark eyes? He wasn't the one who'd lied and imposed on a man who'd shown him nothing but kindness.

It was time to end this farce. She'd come forward now or he'd drag to her to Lord Stephen himself. He opened his mouth to say so when a scream broke the morning's stillness, followed by the clash of metal on metal somewhere in the distance. Shouts seemed to come from all directions. The hunting party was under attack.

For a moment, Arnaud glared at Raven, somehow certain this was some trap she'd had a part in, but the confusion in her eyes was obvious. Arnaud's lord was in danger. Without giving the impostor another thought, Arnaud spurred his horse into the forest.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Alys watched attentively as Stephen put an end to the beautiful stag’s suffering. “Well done, my lord”, she said, smiling. “It looks like you have defeated me in my own challenge, but let’s see if…”

A figure had appeared between the trees, a young man mounted on a dark horse. Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but the words did not make it out of her mouth. “Robert…” She whispered his name like a caress. Was it possible? She lowered her bow. It was then that Stephen turned his head and caught sight of the young man behind him.

Her composure and new-found convictions shattered like ice.

She watched the exchange between the two men with growing anxiety. Robert drew his sword in one fluid movement. She had seen him fight before, knew of his skill with a blade. Back then he had fought in a tourney, defeating her father’s knights in good sport, but she doubted not that his grace and speed could turn deadly just as swiftly. And Stephen? The young Norman lord, the nominal ruler of the North, so far undefeated in battle? Alys drew in her breath in fear, certain that he would prove a most dangerous opponent, if it would come to a fight.

"She is not chattel. She may make her own choice." For the first time, both men seemed to acknowledge her presence.

Alys looked shocked. What kind of choice was this? Would she condemn the man she rejected to a bloody death? Would one really walk away if she openly favoured the other? Should Robert strike down the Norman lord, his life was forfeit, but should Robert die at Lord Stephen’s hand, she would not be able to live another day herself.

Oh Robert. Day and night she had prayed for his return. Why did it please the Lord to mock her wish like this?

Thoughts, frantic and dark, flashed through her mind: if she listened to her heart, she would make herself guilty of treason against her liege lord. Her family would be punished in her stead should she be lucky enough to flee with Robert, her father would lose his land, his title, and his freedom. Maybe he would even lose his life. And what of Robert? Her uncle’s dark words were still fresh in her mind: Do you remember the man on the gallows, the traitor? And Robert was already committing a terrible crime by drawing his weapon against Stephen de Valois. If he was caught alive, he would be executed for it. And what of his cruel, merciless father?

All Alys wanted to do was to fling herself into Robert’s arms, to be lifted up into his saddle, to turn her back at all this just to be with him. Only two days ago she would have done so without hesitation, without thinking of the consequences. But now? She had glimpsed the kindness in Lord Stephen’s soul, she had understood the implications of her marriage to him, the efforts to finally bring peace to these lands, to create a strong alliance between the Norman rulers and the quarrelling Northern lords. Oh, she wished that she did not carry this knowledge in her heart, but it was too late now to unthink these thoughts. And what of the passion you felt when the Norman lord held you in his arms? a nagging voice in the back of her head seemed to ask, but she could not admit to that, it hurt too much.

The fire in Robert’s large, dark eyes stood in stark contrast to the cool ice in the gaze of Stephen de Valois. “Robert…my love…” she whispered the words, barely aware of it. Don’t abandon me, she wanted to say. Take me with you, I love only you.

He had risked everything to win her back. His life, his honour, and likely his soul. Did she not owe him the courage to give in to their love? But what chance did they have?

Tears welled up in her eyes. She looked from Stephen to Robert, her love for him painfully obvious in her beautiful face. “I cannot choose you”, she said, her voice trembling, pleading, desperately wanting to add: But you can choose me.

***

For a moment, Raven did nothing. She reigned in her horse and just stood there, motionless, listening to her own heartbeat. Fear held her in such a firm grip that she could barely breathe. Shadows were flitting through the trees in the distance; there were screams, the clash of metal on metal, and other, more terrifying sounds hinting at death. She knew, instinctively, that the attackers were yesterday’s poachers, keeping their promise.

But she was finally alone, with nobody paying her any heed. Was this not the moment that she had been waiting for? If she wanted to get away unnoticed, she should seize this opportunity, just turn her horse away from the fighting, away from the attack, away from Arnaud’s fierce, angry stare, away from retribution and terrible punishment, away from Lady Alys and Crowsdale, and away, too, from Lord Stephen de Valois.

Raven closed her eyes, tightening her gloved hands around the reins, trying to will her heels into the horse’s flanks. She could feel the mare’s anxiety, her rapid breathing, waiting for her rider to make a decision. An ear-piercing, agonising scream echoed through the forest. She shivered. The poachers had been armed to the teeth, they were bandits out for blood, while none of the men in their hunting party carried weapons designed for facing a fighting opponent. Raven felt ill.

What to do? All she had to defend herself was her bow, and a long hunting knife. Her thoughts went to Lord Stephen. He had only his hunting sword. For the first time she wished that the rumours about him being a warlock were true.

It was one thing to abandon a master who was about to be married to a beautiful young noblewoman, who was about to make peace in the North, who was strong and undefeated. Raven opened her eyes. It was another thing entirely to leave a man who had saved her life, and who had been nothing but kind to her to die at the hands of treacherous outlaws.

Slowly, she drew her first arrow from the quiver, and fitted it into her bow. Her hands were shaking. The mare shifted slightly when she tightened her thighs, urging the mare forwards, towards the sounds of the fighting. “Go on then”, she whispered. “Let’s find them.” And with that, she set of after Arnaud, mouthing a silent prayer.

 

[Maka]

Alys' blue eyes sparkled with tears and her breath came shallow and unsteady. Robert smiled at her -his eyes gentle. For the first time since the night before, his heart lifted.

"I understand," he told her. And he did. She loved him. It was as clear as the frosty morning sky above the treetops, as clear as her own lucid blue eyes.

"My lord de Valois!" he called. Stephen de Valois crooked an eyebrow. If he'd understood the significance of the exchange between Robert and Alys, it did not show on his stony, aquiline face. Robert dismounted.

"From what I've heard of you," Robert told him, "You're a good man, for a Norman."

Stephen gave a curt bow of acknowledgement, his eyes trained on Robert's face. His hunting sword -single-edged and cumbersome, was held out before him. Even now, the man was straightbacked, cold-eyed, expressionless. It seemed that he ice in his veins could muster up neither rage nor fear. Robert shook his head. He was stealing Stephen's bride! The Normans were a strange race.

"I have no desire to kill you."

"I have no desire to be killed."

It was the first evidence of a sense of humour and it might have been a warning sign of sorts.

"Nevertheless. Norman or Saxon or Saracen half-breed like me, we must all make our end sooner or later, must we not? Life would lack all savour if it were not so brief, or so we must suppose."

"No doubt Methuselah found it so."

Robert laughed out loud. "My father said you were fond of reading! De Valois, de Valois. I think in another life we might have been friends."

Stephen extended his blade out to Robert's own sword. There was a faint chime as the two blades met.

"But that is not this life, de Lacy."

"No," Robert agreed regretfully, "It is not."

In the next moment, the glade rang with the sound of steel upon steel.


***

The party's attackers were the men of the previous night and the lightly armed nobles and attendants of the hunt were defenceless against them. The ambushers held back from a total slaughter, only killing those who refused to surrender, but even so, the struggle and the chaos were intense.

Raven lost track of Arnaud in the press of struggling men and horses. Her last glimpse of him was pulling the string of his bow to his cheek and letting fly at a charging spearman before her horse, panicked by the screams and clash of steel, raced off into the depths of the forest.

By the time she'd brought her steed under control she'd completely lost her bearings. The horse came to a halt in a shallow stream of water, overruning with icemelt, somewhere near the heart of the woods.

"Hold!"

The oddly familiar voice came from the far bank. Three of the ambushers were standing there over a darkhaired corpse. One of them was pulling a longbow back and aiming it at her but another motioned for him to hold back from firing it.

"I know that pretty face. It's the squire from the rock last night."

Now the voice's familiarity made sense. Raven had met this man last night. He gave her a grim smile.

"If memory served, boy, you were smarter than your friend."

He turned over the body with the toe of his boot, revealing Cailin. The young squire's face was frozen in a rictus of fear and pain.

"He tried to charge the three of us. Are you still smarter than him?"

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Alys smiled. When Robert’s gaze met hers, everything else seemed to fade away for the merciful length of one heartbeat. Would that she could remain frozen in this small moment of happiness forever! But reality caught up with her all too quickly. It was a cruel God who made her watch the gamble over the lives of these two men, one of whom she loved, and the other whom she desired, and whom these lands desperately needed to heal.

“Please…” she whispered, not sure if she had a right to pray anymore. “Please no…stop!” But she knew that this was a fight to the death. How could it be otherwise? One of these two men had to emerge the victor. Alys put a hand over her mouth, wanting to close her eyes but unable to look away.

Then: “We have been looking for you, Robert!” A voice rang out from the other side of the treeline. Still mounted on her chestnut mare, Alys looked around in alarm. A group of men made their way towards the clearing, all of them well-armed. And while none of them wore the colours of their house it was clear that they were not mere bandits.

The speaker was a broad-shouldered, menacing looking man. Edward de Ghislain, knight in the service of Lord William de Lacy, crossed his arms in front of his chest, a cold smile curling his lips. “Did you want all the fun for yourself?” He hinted a contemptuous nod towards Lord Stephen de Valois.

“One might be tempted to think that you never intended to follow your orders.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “That you meant to claim a prize that is not yours to take?” He spat out. “But maybe you were just keeping de Valois here entertained for us?” De Ghislain did not hide his hatred for his master’s illegitimate son. “There we were, laying in waiting for you to guide us to victory, but I guess this is what happens when one puts his trust in a heathen bastard.” Slowly, as if relishing the promise of blood, he drew his blade.

The other men laughed. Knights and soldiers of Norman descent, they despised Robert for everything he represented, for his skill, his wit, and his looks. His attempt at sidestepping them was a welcome reason to teach the half-breed a lesson in rank and obedience.

One of the men had approached Alys, putting one hand roughly in the reins of her chestnut mare. The young woman protested, trying to pull back her horse, but the soldier shot her a threatening glare. She looked at Robert pleadingly. De Ghislain smiled. “Fear not, my lady. No harm will come to you.” He turned towards Stephen de Valois. “Now step back, bastard, so we can bring this to an end.”

***

As soon as Raven closed in on the scene of the fight, she realised how little she had been prepared for it. Several bodies lay scattered on the ground, their blood tinting the white blanket of snow. Raven was unable to make out if she knew any of them, but it seemed that most had been part of the hunting party. Where were Lucais and Arnaud? To her relief she glimpsed the young archer for the length of a heartbeat, taking aim at an oncoming attacker. And where was Lord Stephen?

Some of the men on the ground were moaning, writhing in pain. What was the meaning of such senseless carnage? She looked around, one hand around the wood of her bow, the other loosely holding the feathered arrow. But Raven was no soldier, no killer. And who was she supposed to aim at? Who was the enemy? Her horse whinnied nervously, and she wanted to urge it forward, but she was no experienced rider: the animal, sensing her master’s weakness, reared in panic. Raven grabbed on to the horse’s mane and, letting go of the arrow, tried to hold on to the reins, before the mare took off into the woods, away from the battlefield. All she could do was to hold on tight, ducking underneath low-hanging branches.

When she finally managed to bring her horse back under her control, both rider and mare shivering with exhaustion, she realised that she was much deeper in the woods than before, and the sounds of the battle were only faint noises in the distance. Raven took a deep breath, and leant forward to pat her horse’s neck soothingly.

“Hold!”

Raven froze. When she looked up, she saw three figures outlined against the trees on the far bank of the shallow stream of water she had just been about to cross. A fourth figure, slender and dark-haired, lay lifelessly at their feet. Her heart skipped a beat. Was it…? Her lips parted. Please, no.

And then she recognised the speaker. He had been the young man speaking for the alleged poachers the previous night. And as he had promised, they had come back to pay their debts. With a wry smile, he rolled over the body for her to see. It was Cailin. Immediately Raven felt guilty for the initial sense of relief. But she did not answer the question asked of her. Was she smarter…? If anything, she was less of a fighter.

Too reminiscent of the days when she and her family had been at the mercy of looting soldiers and bloodthirsty renegades, the sight of the dead boy and his self-satisfied killers made her shiver with anger and fear.

“Why did you have to slaughter this boy? What danger was he to you?” she asked, biting back tears. Cailin might have been overzealous, or naïve, and maybe he had been guilty of the arrogance of the highborn, but none of his shortcomings provided an excuse for his murder. Her fingers tightened around the wood of her bow still in her hand, useless as it was now. The previous night, the very same man now carelessly kicking Cailin’s dead body had told him that he would not go after Lord Marnoch’s deer. Raven felt another sob rising in her throat. “Is this the gift you promised him yesterday? Is this the mercy you spoke of?” She tried not to look at the pale, still face of the squire. “Death?”

Then she fell silent, aware that it did no good to argue. Raven knew very well that she stood no chance against any of these three men, let alone all of them together. One of them still aimed his longbow at her, so she did not dare to move. Icy water washed around the hooves of her horse that was snorting nervously, doubtlessly scenting blood and death in the air. Faint sounds of fighting drifted across from the distance. Raven did not know what to do. “Why are you here?” she finally asked. “If you are not after the deer of Crowsdale forest, what do you want of us?”

 

[Maka]

The first pass of arms gave Stephen Robert's measure. He was fast, even faster than Stephen. His style was wild and brilliant, for the most part self-taught. he was like a whirling dervish with a blade, feinting and jabbing and cutting and thrusting, never still. The blades rang as Stephen met his every advance, his arm registering the shock.

The trick with Robert would be to outlast him. Even the hardiest man alive could not maintain this kind of onslaught indefinitely and when he began to falter, gaps would appear in his defences. But until then, Stephen was on the defensive and his parries would have to be perfect. To miss even a single stroke in that devilish assault would be fatal. Stephen estimated that his odds of surviving the encounter were even.

Robert lashed out at his head. Stephen caught the blade on the crossguard of his sword, his arm juddering with the force of the bastard's blow. He remembered Rowan asking him what it was to kill a man. He almost smiled at the thought of Rowan. Stephen's handsome, pure face was peaceful, absorbed, like a man concentrating on an intricate puzzle.

Edward de Ghislain's interruption was a shock, an almost unwelcome intrusion into the complexities of the duel. Stephen stood back, watching with dawning comprehension as de Lacy's men upbraided Robert. So -this had all been a ploy by Robert's father all along. And Robert had decided to take the opportunity to steal the sweet, forbidden fruit for himself. Looking at Alys, trembling, fair and impossibly beautiful in the snow, Stephen felt that he could hardly blame him. But there was no time to consider the revelations.

The new arrivals had undone the puzzle. Against Robert alone, Stephen had stood a chance. Against Robert and more than half a dozen men at arms, he was sure to die. There was no fear on his face or in his heart. He raised his head proudly, looking at his attackers with contempt in his cold blue eyes.

"Now step back, bastard, so we can bring this to an end."

Stephen raised his sword in readiness. Robert's strange, musical laugh filled the air.

"I don't think so."

He stepped around Stephen. Stephen tensed, preparing himself to parry a sudden stab to his back, but instead Robert turned to face away and raise his own sword. They stood back to back, like brothers-in-arms on the battlefield.

"Get away from Lady Alys now," Robert said softly to the man who had caught Alys' horse by the reigns. "Lord Stephen and I have our differences, but neither of us will let my disgusting father anywhere near her."

The man let go of the reigns, to join his fellows encircling the pair, moving slowly around them in a wide circle.

Stephen cast a glance over his shoulder. Robert met it with a wry shrug and a wink.

"We'll just have to kill each other later," Robert whispered. Stephen nodded slowly. Then the circle of steel around them tightened and de Lacy's men were rushing at them from all sides.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

After a brief moment of surprise, de Ghislain started laughing, throwing his head back in obvious amusement. When he looked at Robert again, his eyes glittered, and his lips curled into a cruel smile. “Thank you, bastard”, he whispered. “For this is the best gift you could have made me.” He drew two fingers over the broad side of his blade. “I have waited so long for a reason to gut you.”

Pointing his sword at Lord Stephen from his outstretched hand, he said, shaking his head: “My lord de Valois! You have chosen your ally unwisely. Did you know that the bastard’s men are slaying your hunting party, one by one, as we are having this pleasant come-together?”

Alys let out a soft scream. Edward de Ghislain raised an eyebrow in a gesture of mock surprise. “It seems that the little dove didn’t know either.” The young noblewoman suddenly felt ill. Would Robert really allow such a thing? She did not dare to look at Lord Stephen. Was this not all her fault? Was she not to blame? All Robert did and had done; he had done to win her back. With a shiver, she remembered the nightmare that had roused her from her sleep the previous night.

De Ghislain, who had watched Alys’ expression with interest, now looked around at his men. “Kill de Valois, but we need the bastard alive.” De Ghislain focussed on Robert again as he continued. “Treason. Do you know what your lord father does with traitors like you?” His half-smile never wavered. “They will hear your screams all the way over in Normandy for days.” The other knights had started to draw a closer circle around the two men, now standing back to back, swords at the ready. “But maybe I’ll just cut out your heart myself?” He raised his sword.

Alys was nauseous with fear. Robert and Lord Stephen might well be excellent swordsmen and fighters, but there were so many of them. Too many, and all of them hardened fighters. If they so chose, they could simply wear the two men down, until one showed signs of fatigue, until one dropped his guard, leaving both himself and the other without defence. Her fingers tightened around the reins of her horse as the knights charged in a coordinated, fierce attack. Alys closed her eyes. The loud crash of steel on steel echoed through the forest. If she opened her eyes now, would both Robert and Stephen still be standing?

They did.

But for how long? Robert’s speed and Stephen’s skill proved a worthy opponent, keeping the attacking soldiers in check, but de Ghislain’s men were proven swordsmen themselves, and, as it turned out, with a keen eye for weaknesses in their enemies’ defence.

Was he hurt? Holding her breath, she saw Robert deflecting a blow to his side, one hand pressed against his thigh, before another attacker, having fallen back briefly, lifted his sword over his head with both hands to let it come down on Robert’s shoulder.

Without thinking, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and fit it into her bow. It was a broadhead arrow, made for hunting and not piercing chainmail, but she had to try. Lifting the bow in the blink of an eye, she let fly, praying that she would not miss her target. A sharp groan of pain informed her of her success, gaining Robert the moments he needed to fight back a renewed onslaught of blows.

The man whirled around, his eyes blazing with rage. “Bitch!” he hissed, breaking out of the circle of attackers. His hurt left arm hung down uselessly, the arrow buried deep in his flesh, but the obvious pain did not break his stride. “I’ll break your hands for this. You treacherous whore!” In a few brisk steps, he was at her side, holding the horse’s reins, grabbing her thigh roughly to pull her down. The chestnut mare, panicking at the wild gesticulations and shouts, nervously stepped back, preparing to kick.

Normally an excellent rider, Alys was paralysed with fear. As the horse reared, knocking back the attacker, she fell. And while the deep blanket of snow softened her fall, her head hit a root, hidden and treacherous. The last thing she saw was a pair of blazing eyes above her, a face contorted with rage, before darkness engulfed her.

 

[Maka]

Robert could not turn his head to see Stephen's reaction to de Ghislain's revelation. It was true -in his jealous fury, he'd given his men orders to kill any who resisted them. He'd counted on acquiring the jewels and finery of Crowsdale's nobility, on using it to establish a new life for himself and Alys over the sea. Now, he tensed himself. If Lord Stephen wished to stab him in the back, he had the perfect opening.

But Stephen made no reply to de Ghislain and one quick glance over Robert's shoulder showed him that the Norman remained expressionless, his brow lightly furrowed in concentration. It was impossible to know what he might be thinking. Robert just had to trust that Stephen had his back for the coming fight.

The pallor on Alys' lovely face was all too easy to read, however. It was her kinsman and neighbours that his men were robbing, perhaps killing. But the orders had been given, the deed was done.

Robert smiled at de Ghislain.

"I've always found it's the coward dogs that yap the loudest, de Ghislain. Do you bite as well as you bark?"

Then the men rushed in, a storm of steel coming at Robert from every angle. He had no time to calculate or plan, merely relying on his native speed and instincts to parry, sidestop and duck before the onslaught. His blade weaved dazzling figures of eight through the air, forcing his three assailants to step back momentarily. Instinctively, Robert stepped forward and exposed his flank.

One of his father's men, sighting an advantage, cut at him. Robert, his speed peerless, whirled and took the blow on the crossguard of his sword. The force jammed his hand down to his side and, taking advantage, another attacker raised his sword two-handed over his head.

Robert knew that he was going to die. Time seemed to slow. He'd never truly known whether he believed in God and His Prophet, as his mother had raised him, or God and His Son, in which his father's people placed their trust. The blade was descending too fast for him to raise his sword in time to block it. He still had an attachment to his mother's faith, though after taking him away, his father had beaten him mercilessly every time he said the name Allah and Robert had gradually learned to say the Frankish prayers. Robert didn't think he believed in any of it, though, and he didn't know where he'd go after he died. He could only hope that Alys would find him there.

Then the man's arm collapsed, an arrow pinned through it. Robert lifted his eyes disbelievingly. Alys, looking more radiantly beautiful than ever, sat on her saddle, the bow in her hand, a golden Diana. A fierce joy roared through Robert. He cut and chopped, forcing the tightening circle around himself and Stephen to expand through sheer energy.

Then the man whom Alys had shot broke away, grabbing her horse's reigns roughly. The chestnut mare reared up and Alys toppled from her horse. Robert's heart flipped over. He forgot Stephen, he forgot everything. Bodily shoving the man in front of him out of his way, he raced over to where Alys lay. He felt a sharp pain in his side and paid it no mind.

Her attacker turned, too late to prevent Robert's fury-driven sword crashing into his face in a spray of blood and lodging in his skull. Robert pulled the blade free, resting his boot on the man's body and knelt by Alys. To his intense relief, he could see a shallow pulse in her swanlike throat, could see that her bosom was still moving up and down. She still lived, and so he had hope.

For the first time, he saw how Stephen fared. After Robert broke away, the Norman lord had been almost overwhelmed. He'd stepped back to place his back against a treetrunk, his face a mask of concentration whhere the attackers now focused on him. Two bloody bodies, mute testament to his deadly skills, lay at his feet.

Robert suddenly felt something warm and slick running down his thigh. Blood. He remembered the pain earlier. His assailant had taken advantage of Robert's body blow to stab him. Now, his rage wearing off, Robert suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded. He cursed himself. In his haste to save Alys, he might have doomed her. De Ghislain was approaching him, taking his time, leisurely. He could see the wound Robert had taken, and de Ghislain knew it was serious. Robert swayed, a red mist at the edge of his vision. So easy to just give in, to collapse.

He steeld himself with one last reserve of strength. He hated what he must do -it made him sick at heart, but it was the only possibility.

"De Valois!"

Stephen lifted his eyes, although his gaze never moved from the men circling around him. Robert charged across the clearing, cutting wildly at one of Stephen's attackers. The man went down, clutching at the spurting blood from his neck.

"I'm no more use. Save Alys."

Robert gritted it through his teeth. Stephen nodded. As ever, his ice-cold eyes said nothing. Was he moved? Indifferent? Amused, devil take him? Taking advantage of the break Robert had carved in the circle of men around him, he leapt past them and effortlessly scooped Alys up from where she lay. Before de Ghislain could intervene, he had placed her on Nimbus, mounted the warhorse himself, and taken off into the woods.

Robert steadied himself against the tree. Blood loss was catching up with him. The hilt of his sword slipped through his fingers.

"After them!" de Ghislain said. His men mounted up but he himself approached Robert.

"You're a fool, bastard."

Robert said nothing. De Ghislain shook his head.

"You've given your woman to another man -and such a woman too. Only question now is -who'll have that tender, trembling little whore first? Stephen de Valois... or your father?"

Leering at Robert, he cracked the flat of his blade against the side of the bastard's head. Robert collapsed, oblivion overtaking him at last.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Alys’ eyes fluttered open. What had happened? Where was she? She felt the movement of strong muscles against her thighs, the even gallop of hooves. A horse.

There was the smell of leather. Of metal. She felt the body of another person against her own, behind her, holding her securely in his arms – yes, she was sure it was a man. Everything seemed blurred, fading before her gaze, as if her brain was too tired to register each image before it was gone.

Trees flitted past, branches whipped sharply against the chest and flanks of the black horse, against the rider behind her, but never did even one twig brush her delicate skin. She was safe. Finally safe. Her eyes closed again. The urge to slip back into unconsciousness was overwhelming, to simply trust into the skills and strength of the man who had saved her, let herself rest. But instinctively she knew that she was a heavier burden if she did not sit up at her own strength, if he had to hold her, if he had to worry that she might slip from his grip.

Robert. Alys laid one weak hand against his wrist holding her around the waist. She whispered his name. He had finally come, just like he had promised. “Robert, my love…” Her head fell back against his chest.

There were other sounds. More horses, close behind. Yells. The raucous laughter of men who were sure of their prey. Alys’ fingers around Robert’s wrist tightened in fear. They were coming for them. She wanted to open her eyes, but her lids were so very heavy. She wanted to turn her head to see, but her muscles did not obey. The sound of an arrow whizzing past them, so close that she thought she could feel the sharp breeze of its flight on her cheek. “Robert…” she whispered again, willing her tongue to obey. “Be careful…”

Images flashed up in her mind: the hunt, the stag, the Norman lord chasing her through the forest, his cold blue eyes blazing with passion. Robert. She shivered in his grip. They had fought. And then – the cruel smile of de Lacy’s man. His threatening words. The frightening clash of metal on metal. The blood, seeping into the white snow. Alys whimpered, as if trying to chase these images from her mind. What had happened then?

There were curses, more laughter. “Give up, de Valois!” A horse whinnied.

Alys stiffened. Her eyes flew open. The horse, the black horse, yes, and the soft leather of his hunting clothes, his hands, his chest, she had felt him against her the previous night. Lord Stephen de Valois. For a brief, mad moment, Alys contemplated to tear on the reins, to make him stop, make him turn around, why did he take her away from Robert? Where was he?

Her headache increased with the pain that was now tearing at her from inside. Was he - ? No, this thought was too horrifying to contemplate. He could not be. But why was he not with her? She felt the tension of the Norman lord’s muscles, his quiet strength, his concentration. “My lord…”

Her grip on his wrist slackened. Treason. The word sank its claws into her mind, and she was unable to shake it off. Were they not all guilty of it? But with their pursuers so close behind, it was unlikely that she would have to fear the consequences of loving the wrong man.

 

[Maka]

Nimbus and Stephen were like one mind in battle and the hunt, the tireless stallion responding to the most subtle promptings and shifts of Stephen's body. Now the black horse race through the forest, performing miracles of speed and endurance, leaping over brooks and undergrowth.

Stephen kept his strong arms wrapped tight around Alys' slim waist, holding her unmoving and safe even as they crashed through wild, untamed woodland. He could feel every smooth contour of her nubile body, pressed as it was against him. She smelled of lilacs and fresh, hidden forest glades. His forearms just brushed against the lower slopes of her perfect breasts, as though they were meant to fit there and her pert rump was snugly ensconced between his legs. He willed himself to focus.

De Lacy's hunters were trying to outflank him, head him off. Stephen had hunted many wild and cunning creatures. Now he had to think like the prey. They burst out on to another babbling stream and, instead of leaping it, Stephen rode Nimbus down the water for a length, the war horse's hooves sending up dazzling sprays of ice-cold water.

Alys stirred, moaned. Stephen's heart turned over. She put her slender fingers around his wrist.

"Robert, my love…"

Stephen felt a cruel stab of jealousy. He had had little time to put the pieces together since the ambush, but one thing was clear. The rumour that Rowan had heard was all too true. There had been an affair between Lady Alys and Robert de Lacy. How far had it gone? Had Robert claimed her maidenhead? His grip tightened for a moment, and a cold rage animated his eyes.

Then it faded. There would be time for such questions later. Robert de Lacy was dead or soon would be and his last act had been a noble one.

Alys whispered Robert's name again, her sweet voice filled with love and concern. Stephen said nothing, as Nimbus carried them uphill through a dense thicket. His hunters called out to him again, taunting him, and this time Alys seemed to hear and comprehend them. Her grip on his wrist slackened.

"My lord...?"

"Aye," said Stephen. His voice was not unkind. Neither was it tender. "Your lord, but not your love."

Nimbus was strong and Lady Alys was slender and feather-light, but even so, two on horseback could not outrace the other riders forever. Nor did Stephen intend to try. As they ascended the hillside, he saw what he had been looking for -the narrow mouth of a cave among the rocks, half-hidden by a screen of briar and brush. He brought Nimbus to a standstill and dismounted, then carefully lifted Alys off the horse. A nod of the head, a slap on the haunch and Nimbus was off again, racing with even greater speed now he was riderless.

Stephen felt a pang as he watched his mount disappear up the hill, but he had trained Nimbus from a foal and knew that he would return to his master when the time came. The black stallion would gallop on, drawing the pursuers further and further away. By the time they realised the ruse, Stephen and Alys would long have slipped through the net. They just had to stay hidden for long enough.

Rowan had been right, Stephen realised as he held Alys for just a moment in his arms after lifting her down. Stephen had seen the misgivings in his squire's dark eyes. He wished now that he had taken more time to ask the slender youth what was troubling him. Perhaps Rowan had had some premonition of the trouble and bloodshed that this day would bring. He hoped, desperately, that Rowan had survived the day. He knew his squire's skill as an archer, but somehow he seemed too fragile, too ethereal a creature to survive the battlefield into which men warring over a woman had turned the forest.

Stephen gestured towards the low opening of the cave mouth. There was just room enough for both of them, though it would be a tight squeeze. "I wish I could offer you more fitting accomodation, my lady."