Hugh looked up from his cup. “Probably nothing. The Englishmen are just tired of sharing a meal with their conquerors, no?”
Alex drained the rest of his beer and kept his eyes on the entrance of the hall.
In moments, Jerome returned to the high table. “They’re opening the gates!”
Alex jumped to his feet. He had given orders he be informed of all comings and goings, but had not expected much activity, given the snow that had begun shortly before they arrived at the Dumont castle.
Jerome led Alex out of the hall. Hugh and the rest of his men followed. The sentries stationed along the palisade walls shouted back and forth in guttural English. What had raised such a commotion? Perhaps the Dumonts had returned. Alex looked at the bewildered faces of Hugh and the rest of his men, before turning to the opening gates.
“It’s a wonder the English can even see in all this.”
Alex ignored Hugh’s grumble and peered past the gates. Through the falling snow he could just make out a horse heading toward them at a gallop. Pulling up sharply, a disheveled woman slid out of the saddle and shrieked out orders in English. Members of the Dumont household scurried about in response. Leaning heavily against the horse, she called out again. He didn’t understand the words but recognized the urgency behind them.
Underneath her cloak, the girl wore a padded leather tunic over a woolen dress. She had a sword and a small knife strapped to her waist, and an empty quiver rested on her back. Another sword was fastened to the saddle. What would a mere girl be doing with such an arsenal?
Her eyelids fluttered when she found the blood that saturated her clothing and seeped onto her hand from her injured shoulder. She swayed, and Alex hastened his steps toward her. When she finally looked up at him, surprise and disappointment stained her features.
She shook her head as his arms closed around her. “No...” Her voice had lost all its frantic energy from before.
The sentries cried out again as more riders, leading a handful of empty mounts, streamed into the bailey. The girl pushed him away, but her feeble efforts drained whatever strength she had left and she collapsed against him. He disentangled her from the horse’s reins and took extra care to ensure he did not aggravate the broken arrow lodged in her shoulder as he picked her up.
He stared at the men standing around him. “Who is this girl, and why have you admitted her?” he said, voice raised above their murmurs.
No one moved.
3
The air was thick with blood, sweat and horse. Alex clenched his teeth and tried to think of another way to communicate with Dumont’s men.
Matilde ran out of the castle. The gray-haired knight from the walls kept pace by her side. The Englishman seemed to be very skilled at making opportune appearances. That warranted further investigation, but it would have to wait, as Matilde came over to him, her gaze locked on the injured girl in his arms.
“Know you who she is?”
Before she could speak, Hugh and Jerome tensed beside him in a way as familiar to him as breathing—the quiet moment before a fight. Both men had seized the hilt of their swords, intent on something behind him.
A cold blade came to rest none too gently against his neck. Tightening his grip on the girl in his arms, he kept still as a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. From behind, an Englishman barked into his ear, but the meaning was lost on Alex.
Hugh and Jerome unsheathed their swords and took a cautious step toward him.
“Wait!” Matilde cried.
The fierce fingers digging into Alex’s shoulder told him he would do well to call off his men even though his hands burned to take up his sword and fight.
The bastard pressed the steel more firmly against his neck. His skin stung at the contact. Alex cursed to himself. It was no use. He gave his men a warning look, and they came no closer.
The gray-haired knight spoke harshly to the man holding the sword to Alex’s throat and pointed at Alex and the girl in his arms. He did not know what the old man was saying, but he prayed the Englishman would listen to reason.
He held his breath and fixed his stare on Matilde. She seemed frozen in place, her face a mask of horror, as the sword dug into his neck. He barely noted the fact the Englishmen had stopped conversing over the roar in his ears.
Heartbeats later, his attacker finally pulled away with a growl.
The spell on his men broke, and they rushed forward to seize the Englishman. Alex squared his shoulders, the tension that had gathered in his frame slow to dissipate.
He knew his reaction to the attack would be crucial to his relations with the Dumont household. If he were too harsh, he risked angering Lord Dumont for disciplining one of his men in his stead. If he were too lenient, the English household might not respect his authority. And respect was already hard enough to come by.
First, though, he needed to see the man who dared to draw his sword against a Norman knight. He well remembered how fiercely the axe-wielding housecarls had defended Harold at Hastings. He expected some bearded giant, not the lad barely on the cusp of manhood who struggled in Hugh and Jerome’s grasp.
The boy’s blond hair was streaked with blood and grime, but the matted locks did not hide his glare as he locked eyes with Alex. That this young whelp had caught Alex and his men by surprise rankled. He debated the best way to punish the boy, when the young Englishman’s gaze fell to the girl in his arms, his face filled with something stronger than concern. Interesting.
The boy held still as Hugh stripped him of his weapons. He spoke to the older knight again, gesturing to the girl and then the prone man on one of the mounts in the courtyard.
“What are they saying?” Alex asked Matilde.
The woman’s wrinkled face slowly regained its color. “One of the men in the scouting party was badly injured,” she said in halting French.
“Why did you not tell me half the household was away?”
“Your pardon, sir. I did not know when they would be returning. I thought—”
He could not stomach her excuses right now. He just thanked God the confrontation had not brought more carnage. He tipped his head toward the young Englishman. “Who is that?”
Matilde frowned. “Kendrick, one of Lord Dumont’s men-at-arms. Your presence here… surprised him. You can be assured he will cause no more trouble. He understands the situation now.”
Alex doubted that very much, seeing the hatred still simmering in the young man’s eyes. “And her?” he asked, adjusting the girl in his arms.
“My daughter,” Matilde said, hesitating for only a moment. “Let me take her.”
Desperation haunted her careworn features, but he was three times a fool if he believed he held her daughter in his arms. Before he could reply, the gray-haired knight tried to lead Kendrick away, but Hugh and Jerome stood in their way. The man looked at Matilde and pointed to the injured rider, still unattended, and spoke urgently.
“They are only going to see to the wounded man’s injuries,” Matilde said.
“Then they will welcome my men’s assistance.” Turning away from her beseeching expression, Alex gave his men a nod. Hugh and Jerome would escort the two Englishmen to ensure they only intended to go to their comrade’s aid.
“By your leave, I will take her to my room,” Matilde said.
Alex gave her a curt nod. “Show me.”
The old woman ushered Alex into a room off the kitchens. Female servants scattered as she motioned him over to a small pallet along the far wall. Alex laid the girl down gently. Heat radiated off her body. “We will need bandages and