Page 2 of Bold Angel
He smiled to think of it, then swore an oath at her foolishness in wandering the fields alone. She was hardly the beauty her sister was, yet in time she might come into her own. Both of the women were tiny and fair, the auburn-haired maid far thinner, still at the gawky stage before womanhood. He wondered what she would look like when she was a woman grown.
He glanced their way one last time. ’Twas needless to worry. He had seen the younger girl tremble at the roughness in his voice. Even she would not be foolish enough to disobey his command. He looked down at the flowers in his hand and their fragrance stirred a memory of clear blue eyes and incredible sweetness. Reluctantly, he tossed the flowers away and rode back toward his men.
***
“Ral! ’Tis good you’ve returned. I had begun to wonder at your absence.” This from Odo, his most trustedknight and longtime friend, who rode up beside him, lance in hand.
“What news?” Ral asked. “Have our scouts returned?”
The red-haired knight merely nodded. “They bring tales of a rebel force fleeing toward de Montreale’s men. T’would serve us well should we reach them first.” The rivalry between Ral and Stephen de Montreale, Lord of Malvern Castle, was legend, an enmity carried down even through the ranks of the men in their command.
“Which way do they ride?”
Odo pointed in the direction Ral had just come. He thought of the two little maids and an uneasy shiver slid down his spine. “Gather the men. Warn them to be on guard and let us be off.”
Two hours later the small rebel force had been discovered, met, and routed. Twenty Saxon men had been taken, another twenty lay dead or dying on the field of battle. Still, the rebellion was far from ended. Soon word would come from the king revealing the treachery of other Saxon thegns. It would be Ral’s task to end that treachery. William wanted peace once more in his war-torn land.
And Ral wanted land of his own.
“The men have done a good day’s work,” he said, surveying his defeated foe and his battle-weary soldiers. “There’s a meadow not far from here. ’Twill be a good place for us to make camp.”
Bone-tired, he rode beside Odo through a thick grove of alder toward the place where he had seen the two young girls. They were nowhere in sight and for a moment he felt relieved. Then a noise drew his attention and he paused. Off to his right, he heard the trickle of running water mingled with boisterous men’s voices, speaking Norman French.
“Hold!” he shouted to the line of armored troopsmounted or marching behind him. “Odo, you and Geoffrey, Hugh, and Lambert come with me.”Stephen’s men—it had to be.They were not his concern, yet he would know what they were about.
They rode silently through the trees, listening to the men’s coarse laughter, then Ral heard a woman’s high-pitched scream. He spurred the big black and the animal leapt forward. In minutes, he reached the clearing where the sound had come from and saw to his horror what some sixth sense had been warning him about all day. Swinging down from his horse, he drew his broadsword from the scabbard at his waist.
“You men—hold up there!”
Their laughter died at the hard note in his voice. A group of Stephen’s men, bloodstained and weary from battle, swiveled their heads to face him.
“Malvern may say naught against rapine and murder, but I will not abide it. If you wish to live, you will leave the women and back away.”
A thickset knight stepped forward. “The wenches are ours by right of war! What right have you to gainsay us?”
“This right.” Ral hefted his sword, the broad blade glinting in the fading sun’s rays. His kite-shaped shield hung over one shoulder, the fierce black dragon glaring at them with warning.
“’Tis him,” one of the five men whispered. “Have a care, Bernart, ’tis the Dark Knight you confront. Surely you have heard of him.” He swallowed so hard Ral saw the knot in his throat move up and down.
“There are five of them and five of us—I say we take them!”
“Let him have the wenches,” cried another. “Why be greedy—we have already had our fill.”
The other men laughed at that, though a thread of nervousness tinged the sound. Drawing back from thewomen they surrounded, they straightened their tunics and retied the drawstrings holding up their chausses.
Ral looked at the two girls lying on the ground. Both of them were naked. The black-haired maid sprawled in the grass, staring sightlessly up at the heavens. Her thighs were bloody, her heavy dark hair a tangled mass around her pale shoulders. Beside her a few feet away, the auburn-haired girl lifted her head, struggling in and out of consciousness. She was battered and bruised, one eye puffed nearly closed, her lip cut and swollen. Blood trickled from a corner of her mouth.
His fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword. “I warn you again, back off from the women!”
A thickset knight with dirty brown hair was the first to move away. “Consider the skinny one a gift from Lord Stephen,” he sneered. “Her maidenhead remains intact. You may do with her as you wish.”
“The lush little wench was the plum,” said another. “We took her—one after another. God’s truth, the wench loved it more than the lustiest scullery maid!”
Ral’s quick movement caught him unawares. With a gauntleted hand, he gripped the man’s throat, cutting off his air supply and lifting him clear off the ground. Kicking and squirming, the man lashed out, gasping for breath, but Ral’s hold only grew tighter. When the knight wheezed one last time and went limp, Ral grumbled a low-muttered curse and tossed him aside like a piece of rotten offal.
“Take him and be gone!” Ral commanded.
Muttering among themselves, dragging the unconscious man away, his comrades gathered their horses and arms and began to slip quietly into the forest.
