King’s Knight (Medieval Warriors #4)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Talisand, the North West of England, 1082

Merewyn escaped into the woods, dashing between trees, her heart beating like a frightened fawn. Crushing bracken beneath her bare feet, she ran as fast as her twelve-year-old legs would take her, outrunning the boys who pursued her but not their horrible taunts.

Behind her, she could still hear their echoing shouts, like the cries of mobbing crows. “ Bastard! Whore’s daughter! ”

She knew well enough she was bastard born, but her mother had been no whore. Lady Emma, her mother’s closest friend, had told her Inga had been young and beautiful, the only child of the finest sword maker in York. Though common-born, she was noble of spirit and kind to all she knew. But the Norman knight who took her by force cared naught for her innocence. To him, she was merely one of the conquered, his rightful prey.

Pain stabbed Merewyn’s side and she paused in her running to rest against a tree, panting out breaths while looking behind her, listening for running feet. The only sounds were the leaves rustling in the breeze and a bird, disturbed by her presence, taking to flight.

Relief washed over. She was alone.

Memories of her mother were few and shrouded in mists of childhood, half-forgotten. Sweet had been her kisses but too soon they were gone. Merewyn vaguely remembered a stepfather, Sir Niel, but he was often away with the other knights and died in battle when she was only four. Days later, her mother had died trying to give birth to his son. The midwives had shooed Merewyn from her mother’s bedchamber, closing the heavy door to keep her from seeing the thrashing white body and the sheets stained scarlet, but nothing could block the sound of her mother’s screams. They had haunted Merewyn all the years since.

“Here she is!”

Panic seized her as a half-dozen leering boys, older than her by several years, emerged from the trees to surround her like ravenous dogs.

One with shaggy brown hair stepped in front of the others. “Swive with us and we’ll leave ye be.” He was too young for a beard but his thick-chested body told her he worked in the fields. Fear clawed at her belly and dread settled over her. She knew the meaning of the word he had used. The kitchen wenches had whispered about the couplings between the earl’s men and the village whores.

“Keep away from me or you will be sorry!” she cried, but her voice quavered. Their predatory looks told her they did not take her warning seriously.

The thick-chested leader stepped closer.

She pressed her back into the tree, the rough bark digging into her tunic.

He reached out to grip her chin, twisting her face back and forth, his rough fingers scraping her soft skin. “She’ll nay be so bad to look at once the mud is gone.”

She swatted his hand away.

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her into his chest. He had a foul smell of one who had not washed for a long while. She drew back her foot and kicked his shin hard.

Expelling an oath, he squeezed her wrist harder, his dark eyes narrowing. “Ye’ll pay for that.”

She sank her teeth into his hand, determined to fight with whatever she had.

“Bitch!” he spat out, thrusting her away.

The other boys closed in, like dogs after a cornered rabbit.

Merewyn screamed, a shrill cry echoing through the woods.

The leader reached for her again just as heavy footfalls crashed through the underbrush .

“Halt!” came a shout. A lad, taller than the rest, with black hair and brows drawn together in a frown, emerged from the dense growth of trees to scrutinize the half-circle of boys standing around her.

Alexander, the Red Wolf’s son .

Her heart still pounding, she looked toward her savior. He was only a year older than she, but just then Alexander looked much older, much larger than she remembered. His black hair framed gray eyes shooting silver sparks beneath his dark brows. A fierce apparition, his broad shoulders and lean muscled limbs promised strength and his presence gave her hope.

“What goes here?” he demanded.

“Just a bit of fun,” said the shaggy-haired leader. “’Tis only Merewyn, the whore’s daughter.”

Alexander backhanded the other boy, a blow that sent him reeling. “Never call her that again.”

The boy brought his hand to his injured cheek. “What is she to ye, cub of the Red Wolf?”

Merewyn knew Alexander hated the nickname, but the only sign of his anger was his clenching jaw and his intense glare aimed at the leader. “If you value your skin, you will leave now .”

The leader sneered. “There are many of us and only one of ye,” he boasted, puffing out his thick chest. His companions, however, were beginning to look doubtful.

“So be it,” said Alexander. “You will be first.”

Where he had learned to fight, she did not know, but Alexander reared back and planted his fist in the miscreant’s face, sending the other boy sprawling in the mud.

Raising his hand to ward off the next blow, the boy said, “All right, ye can have her.” Rubbing his jaw, the leader struggled to his feet and shot Merewyn an angry look before slipping into the woods. His companions slunk away after him.

Alexander turned to her. His gray eyes that had been stormy only moments before were now calm, but in their depths she glimpsed concern. “Are you all right?”

She let out a breath. “Yea, but I would not be had you not come. I am in your debt. ”

He tossed her a grin. “’Tis one of the rare times I am glad my father casts a large shadow. ’Twas not my fists they feared but the wrath of the Red Wolf.”

The hint of a smile crossed Merewyn’s face. He might be loath to claim credit but she knew well who had saved her. From that moment on, he was the hero of her heart.