Chapter One #2
“She was fighting me and we fell into the moat,” the knight replied. “You might want to have the physic take a look at her. I think she swallowed a good deal of water.”
“Who is she?”
“That is for you to find out, Papa,” the knight said. “She says this is her castle.”
Elle suddenly came alive, still dazed, but the fight was returning.
“I’ll kill you both,” she said, her eyes rolling around to the back of her head as she tried to sit up.
She balled her fists, putting them in front of her.
“Do not think that just because I am a woman, I cannot fight. I will fight you with one hand tied behind my back. I’ll fight you with my eyes closed and I’ll win. I’ll kick you to death!”
As if to emphasize her point, she tried to kick out, but ended up knocking herself onto the floor.
That brought the knight and the man he’d been speaking to right to her side.
They lifted her up and put her back on the cot, but she slapped at their hands and tried to kick one of them.
She didn’t care which one—whoever was closer.
But the knight pushed her back on the bed.
“Lie down and behave yourself, lady,” he said. “You’ve done enough fighting for one day.”
“Never,” she said. “I’ll never submit to you Saesneg hounds.”
“I do not think you have a choice.”
That wasn’t what Elle wanted to hear. She kicked and swung her fists again and ended up on the floor once more.
But this time, she crawled under the cot before they could grab her, so they didn’t try.
They simply backed off and left her alone.
Somehow, being under the cot seemed to calm her down because it was a false sense of protection.
She huddled underneath the cot as the older man with thick gray hair turned to the knight.
“Continue with your duties,” he said. “I will tend to the lady.”
“I do not need tending!” she shouted.
“Shut up,” the knight barked at her, irritated.
“I will not!”
“You will if I come over there and put a gag over your mouth.”
“Try it and I’ll bite your fingers off!”
The knight started to move in her direction, but the older man stopped him. “Go,” he told him, softly but firmly. “I will take care of the lady.”
“I do not need to be taken care of!” she declared.
The knight waved an annoyed arm at her as if to wash his hands of her for good. He was finished arguing with a fool. As he marched from the tent, the older man moved over to a table that had a pitcher and cups on it. He poured himself some wine as Elle crouched under the cot and shivered.
“Shall I tell you what is happening to your castle now?” he finally said.
He had a fatherly, deep, and gentle voice. Elle coughed again, still clearing her lungs, but she realized her teeth were chattering.
Her situation was not improving.
“Nothing is happening to it,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “My men are stopping your army from coming over the walls. You will go home empty-handed, Saesneg.”
The older man lifted the cup to his lips and drank.
“I think not,” he said after a swallow. “As we speak, my men are in your bailey. They will soon be lifting the portcullis, and after that, the castle is ours. I’m afraid your men will all be prisoners within the hour.
If, in fact, the castle really is yours. ”
Elle didn’t want to admit that his scenario was very likely going to happen. She hadn’t even let herself entertain the thought until this very moment. She couldn’t stomach swallowing the reality of defeat, not after all of the fighting and planning she’d done. Not after everything she’d sacrificed.
It can’t happen!
“It is just as likely that my men will repel your men,” she said, trying to sound brave. “We have the advantage.”
“What advantage is that?”
“We want it more than you do.”
The older man shrugged as if that was, indeed, a possibility. “Mayhap,” he said. “But before we continue, may I introduce myself? I am the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. My name is Christopher de Lohr. May I know your name, my lady?”
That brought a reaction from Elle. She knew very well who the Earl of Hereford and Worcester was.
Everyone on the marches did because he was a very important man.
In fact, knowing who he was emboldened her.
She wasn’t going to hide behind mystery, because her name, her family, had always stood for something strong and true.
She was proud of the name. She was proud of her heritage.
If this really was the moment of her defeat, perhaps being forthright with the enemy would do more good than calling him names and resisting him.
To be perfectly honest, she knew that de Lohr was perhaps the one man in England other than the king who could give her back the castle.
Perhaps if she was honest with him.
Perhaps if he understood her.
She came out from underneath the cot.
“I know you to be a man of honor, my lord,” she said. “I know you by reputation. So did my father.”
“Who is your father?”
She hesitated. “If I tell you, will you bargain with me?”
“I will listen to you.”
She wasn’t sure if that meant he was willing to negotiate with her, but she was willing to take the chance. At this point, pragmatically speaking, she had nothing to lose.
According to him, she’d already lost.
“Do I have your word?” she asked.
He nodded. “You have my word that I will listen with respect to every word you say.”
That was enough for her. Since she was dealing with the man at the top and not one of his subordinates, she would tell him what he wanted to know.
“Gwenwynwyn ap Owain,” she said.
Elle thought that made him stand a little taller.
De Lohr had been on the marches for as many years as her father, and they’d most certainly fought at one time or another.
They were not strangers to each other, and, truth be told, there was respect for a good adversary.
Elle could only pray that de Lohr felt that for her father as he’d felt it for Hereford.
“I know he had a son,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Two sons, I believe. Gruffydd and a second son that no one knows much about. The English call him the Wraith.”
“Gruffydd is my brother.”
“And your name?”
Her eyes glittered at him in the dim light of the tent. “I am Enid Avrielle ferch Gwenwynwyn.”
He cocked his head curiously. “I have lived here for many years and I’ve never heard of a daughter,” he said. “Who was your mother?”
“Margaret Corbet.”
He pondered that news. “I knew her father,” he said. “The Corbets hold Caus Castle and are, in fact, Norman. If you are being truthful with me, that makes you half English.”
Her hands found their way onto her arms as she embraced herself, trying to keep warm. “I am being truthful with you,” she said. “You have given me your word, and I shall give you mine.”
He studied her. “Then I believe you,” he said. “But there is something more I wish to know.”
“What is that?”
“Where are your brothers? Are they fighting as well?”
She shook her head. “Gruffydd is not fighting.”
“What about the second brother?” Christopher asked. “Does he lead this battle?”
“There is no second brother. Only me.”
“And you have been fighting this battle?”
“I have.”
He paused a moment, thoughtfully, before continuing. “I would assume this is not your first battle.”
“Hardly.”
“Do you always fight?”
“I have been fighting since I was a child.”
Christopher was a sharp man. He studied her for a moment, mulling over her reply and suspecting what she was telling him.
There was something in his eyes that suggested he was onto her and everything she stood for.
This lass, with her dirty blonde braids, clad in clothing that only warriors would wear.
She had taken on a man significantly larger than she was when she charged him on the wall. She had been doing the fighting.
This pale wisp of a girl.
Pale wisp…
“You are the Wraith,” he said quietly.
Elle nodded in confirmation. Truthfully, there was no use in denying it because she was hoping that her honesty would get her what she wanted in the end.
In fact, she’d easily confessed everything to him, things she kept hidden from most, but she’d done it for a reason.
Evasiveness most certainly would not win the trust of a man like de Lohr, something she evidently had earned.
She wanted to keep it. Moreover, she had been fighting a battle against the English for almost a month, and even she knew when the fighting had to stop and the negotiating could begin.
This was the moment.
“The name Enid means spirit to my people,” she said. “The tales of Gwenwynwyn’s Wraith… That is how it came about.”
There was a hint of approval in his eyes. “I see,” he said. “Then ap Owain has a daughter who fights, not another son.”
“That is correct.”
“Where is Gruffydd, Lady Enid?”
Elle shook her head. “I am not called Enid,” she said. “I have always been known by a version of my middle name—Elle. That is what I will answer to.”
Christopher dipped his head as if to apologize for addressing her incorrectly. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “And thank you for your honest answers to my questions. I will not tell anyone you are the Wraith if you do not wish for me to.”
That brought a look of surprise from Elle. “You would keep such a secret?” she said. “Your men will want to know that my father did not have two sons. Two sons can mean more trouble than a man with a daughter who learned to fight from an early age.”
Christopher went back to the wine and poured a second cup. He went over to Elle, extending it to her, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it and sucked it down greedily.
“Not necessarily,” he said. “The Welsh breed strong women warriors as well as men. But you did not answer my question.”
“What is that?”
“Where is your brother, Gruffydd?”