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  The shame that had been instilled in her during that time still clung to this day. Everyone but her mother was ashamed of her. Now the only person who had never harshly judged her was gone and she wept painfully for the woman whose mind left her years ago. Joselyn wept for that sweet woman of memories gone by, of brothers she had once loved, and for a life that she would never know again. All of the tragic events from the past few months had overwhelmed her and she felt like she was living another life, one she did not recognize or like. It was like hell.

  Something shuffled off to her right and she looked up to see a doe and fawn, a few feet away, drinking from the river’s edge. The doe seemed to be singed from a fire but otherwise seemed well. Joselyn’s weeping faded as she watched the two of them drink. When the fawn looked in her direction, she slowly lifted her hand to it, clucking softly. The doe seemed startled but didn’t bolt; the fawn was genuinely curious. Slowly, the little creature came up to her and sniffed her fingers. She was able to tickle its nose.

  Enchanted, she forgot her tears for the moment as the little fawn nibbled on her fingers. She giggled at the baby with no teeth trying to nibble on her. The mother seemed more interested in eating the fat summer grass around the river while the fawn drew closer to Joselyn. It was enough of a distraction to cause her to forget her appalling grief. For the moment, she was thrilled with the fawn. It allowed her to scratch its neck as it came closer, interested in what she might have to eat. The little animal sniffed her surcoat and bit at the material, tugging at it and trying to eat it. Joselyn gently pulled the fabric out of the little mouth and tried to interest it in some soft, moist grass. It was a sweet, peaceful moment, one she desperately needed.

  But it was not meant to last. Suddenly, the doe hit the water with a resounding splash. Startled, Joselyn looked up to see an arrow sticking out of its neck. With a scream, she grabbed the fawn and dove for the ground, terrified that more arrows would come flying out at them. She could hear men yelling and a great deal of rustling about as bodies jumped into the heavy grass. As she cautiously sat up with the fawn in her arms, she could see a dozen or so English soldiers bearing down on the doe they had just killed.

  The fawn bleated and a few of the men looked over at her. Joselyn watched with mounting fear as two of them made their way over to her.

  “What are you doing here, woman?” one man demanded.

  She was both frightened and angered. “You killed that doe. She has a baby!”

  The man lifted a callous eyebrow at her. “The baby will be tasty as well.” He tried to take it from her but she screamed and finally kicked him. He slapped her soundly.

  “Enough,” he snarled, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her with him. “I shall eat both you and the fawn.”

  Joselyn was terrified. She fought and kicked as the fawn bleated in terror. They hadn’t made it twenty feet when the soldier’s commanding officer, having heard the commotion, came upon them.

  “You, there,” he shouted at the soldier as he strolled down from a berm overlooking the river. “What are you doing with that woman?”

  The soldier smiled lasciviously. “I found her by the river,” he announced. “After I eat the doe, I plan to have her for dessert.”

  The commanding officer looked closely at Joselyn and gradually, his features paled. Shoving the man in the chest to push him away, he grabbed Joselyn at the same time. The soldier lost his grip and stumbled back.

  “What did you do that for?” he demanded.

  The officer was focused on Joselyn. “My lady,” he sounded strained. “Does your husband know you are out here?”

  “Husband?” the soldier repeated loudly. “What husband?

  The commanding officer looked at the man as if he were an idiot. “Pembury,” he said, looking back at the lady. “May I escort you to your husband, Lady Pembury?”

  Joselyn was clutching the fawn with a death grip. She eyed the soldier and his commanding officer. “Aye,” she said hesitantly.

  The commanding officer looked rather ill as he took her elbow and helped her up the slope. “Are you well, my lady?” he asked. “You are not injured in any way, are you?”

  “Nay.”

  “Be careful of this hill. It is very slippery.”

  He couldn’t seem to do enough to help her. The soldier who had slapped her was still standing where they had left him, his face deathly pale and knowing he was a dead man if he remained at Berwick. Pembury would undoubtedly take issue with the fact that he had slapped his wife. As the luscious little lady and his commanding officer crested the hill and headed for the castle, the soldier took off in the opposite direction.

  The commanding officer kept a good grip on her as they made their way to the postern gate of Berwick. It was the same gate Joselyn had used when she had headed for the river. As soon as they entered the gate, they could see that the entire castle was in an uproar. Soldiers were mobilizing into blocks and sergeants were screaming at them. Knights on chargers were forming loose ranks and she could hear shouting from the walls. Frightened, she clutched the fawn more tightly against her.

  “What is happening?” she asked the commander.

  The man studied the activity. “I do not know, my lady,” he replied. “It would seem that there is trouble somewhere.”

  She looked up at the man. He was a seasoned man, older, with bushy blond eyebrows. He seemed to have an even manner about him and she felt comfortable with him. In any case, she was thankful he had saved her from the lewd soldier.

  “Are you a knight?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, my lady,” he replied. “I command a battalion of the Earl of Norfolk’s soldiers.”

  “How did you know that my husband is Stephen of Pembury?”

  “Because I was in the hall last night with my liege when your marriage was announced. I saw your marriage and I saw what happened afterwards. A true horror, my lady; you have my sympathies.”

  She was not sure what to say to that so she lowered her head and clutched the fawn to her breast. The commander, however, kept talking.

  “De Lara was merciful in ending your mother’s suffering,” he went on. “Later in the night when my men had watch of the northern wall, I saw Pembury personally building what looked to be a crate. I was told it was your mother’s coffin. ’Tis a good man that would take the trouble to build a coffin himself, but I am sure you already know that.”

  By the time he was finished, Joselyn was looking at him intently. “He built a coffin for my mother?”

  The commander nodded, looking strangely at her and realizing that she probably did not know, in fact, what Pembury had done by the expression on her face. And with that knowledge, he shut his mouth lest he say something else she did not know about. But Joselyn was not finished with him.

  “You said de Lara was merciful to end my mother’s suffering,” she said, coming to a halt and facing him. “What did he do?”

  The commander sighed heavily and shook his head. “I… I am sorry, my lady. I did not know that you were unaware of….”

  “What did he do?” she cut him off.

  The commander prayed that Pembury would not take his head off. He knew there was no way to avoid her. Those pale blue eyes were boring into him and he braced himself for perhaps the stupidest thing he had ever done. He told her.

  “Your mother was in flames, lady,” he lowered his voice. “There was no hope. De Lara put a broadsword through her chest and ended her suffering immediately. It was the merciful thing do to.”

  Surprisingly, she didn’t fall into fits. She simply stood there, staring at him with those piercing blue eyes as if absorbing every word individually. When she spoke, however, her lower lip trembled.

  “What else did you see?” she asked in a whisper.

  The commander’s palms were beginning to sweat. He very much wanted to get away from her at the moment. “Not much else, my lady,” he said in a quiet voice. “My liege and I left the hall shortly after that. The next I saw wa
s your husband building the coffin. He and de Lara took it to the chapel before dawn.”

  The little fawn bleated again and Joselyn stroked the animal, comforting it. She seemed stunned by the entire conversation. Slowly, the commander resumed walking towards the keep, gently urging her along with him. She followed stiffly, lost in thought.

  Just as they were approaching the keep, chargers roared around the corner from the stable block. Joselyn heard someone shouting her name and she paused, looking up to see a massive man astride a dapple gray charger heading towards her. She didn’t even recognize her husband until he bailed off the charger and rushed towards her, flipping up his visor.

  “Joselyn,” Stephen’s blue eyes were wide with surprise. “Where have you been? We were just leaving to search for you.”

  Joselyn was intimidated by all of the weapons and steel; as big a man as Stephen was, dressed to the hilt in weapons and armor made him larger than life. She clutched the fawn tightly, struggling to find the correct words, when the commander at her side spoke.

  “I found her down by the river, my lord,” he told Stephen. “She was at the water’s edge with her little friend.”

  Stephen didn’t even realize he had her by both arms. He didn’t remember grabbing her. Gazing down, he saw the tiny fawn in her arms and his confusion grew.

  “Where did you find this?” he asked her.

  Joselyn found her tongue. “I was at the water’s edge when a doe and her fawn came to drink. Some soldiers killed the mother and I took the baby. It is too young to be alone.”

  He sighed, more relieved than he cared to admit that she was well and whole. He had been terrified that she had run off in her grief. Or perhaps she had been abducted by bitter Englishmen; in truth, he hadn’t known. To see her well and safe was a surprise and a tremendous relief. With a great sigh, he put his gloved hand on her chin, forcing her to look at him.

  “Are you sure that you are alright?” he asked softly.

  She nodded. “I am fine. Just… hungry.”

  The cornflower blue eyes twinkled. Then, they abruptly darkened. Removing one of his massive mail gauntlets, he touched her left cheek with big, warm fingers.

  “What is this?” he demanded quietly.

  She had completely forgotten about the slap and tried to lower her face, but he would not allow it. He held her chin firm.

  “I… I do not know what you mean,” she replied evasively.

  “There is a perfect handprint on your face. Who struck you?”

  He immediately looked at the sergeant, who visibly blanched. Joselyn could see where Stephen’s thoughts were and she shook her head vigorously.

  “Nay, not him,” she insisted. “He has been extremely kind. It was not him.”

  “Not him?” Stephen turned back to her, his square jaw ticking. “Then you know exactly what I mean. Who did this? And no more lying.”

  “I was not lying,” she insisted hotly. “I simply do not see the need for you to punish some man who was only reacting because I kicked him.”

  Stephen was very close to losing his temper, highly unusual for the collected knight. He took his wife by the arm and pulled her into the keep, away from the men cluttering the bailey. Once inside the cool, dark entry that smelled like must, he faced her.

  “Where have you been and who struck you?” he demanded in a voice that invited no dispute. “If you do not give me the answer I seek, I will lock you in our chamber and keep you there day and night. Tell me now or my punishment will be swift.”

  She was angry, frightened, exhausted and hungry. She opened her mouth to argue with him but tears came instead. She was having a devil of a time fighting them off.

  “I went to the river because I wanted to be alone to think,” she told him, trying not to sob. “While I was there, a doe and her fawn came to drink. The mother was killed by men from the garrison and one of the soldier’s saw me on the banks. He tried to take the fawn from me so I kicked him. He slapped me in response and that is when the sergeant found me. That is all there is to it. I was not attempting to run away if that is what you were thinking. I simply wanted to go someplace to collect my thoughts and I ended up at the river’s edge.”

  Stephen stared at her a long moment before finally wiping a weary hand over his face. He had just spent the past half hour in total panic and was not quite over it yet. “Who was the soldier?”

  “I do not know his name.”

  “The sergeant will. I will ask him.”

  He was heading out the door and she grabbed him. “Where are you going?”

  “To get answers from the sergeant.

  He pushed forward but she dug her heels in and held fast. “Wait a moment, please.”

  He came to a halt. “What is it?”

  She still had a grip on him, blinking away the remnants of her tears. “I was told you built a coffin for my mother last night. Is this true?”

  She could see his expression soften at the swift change of subject. He didn’t seem entirely angered by it; if anything, he seemed to calm dramatically. “Who told you this?”

  “It does not matter. Is it true?”

  He paused for several moments before reluctantly nodding. “It is.”

  “Did you put her in it yourself?”

  “I did.”

  “And de Lara. I was told he ended her suffering at the tip of a broadsword.”

  Again, Stephen nodded slowly. Joselyn stared at him, realizing that what she had been told was true and the mercy of the two English knights struck her deeply. Men who did not even know her mother, who was in fact, an enemy, had shown her such compassion as most men would not have. It was an unexpected element from the same men who had hanged her young brother, a paradox she could hardly comprehend.

  Fighting off tears, Joselyn slowly moved towards Stephen. It seemed as if she wanted to say something more but the words would not come. She came closer and closer until she brushed against him, her sweet, warm body against his hard mail. Stephen watched her, electrified by her close proximity, wildly curious about her behavior, when she reached up and gently put a hand behind his mailed neck. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pulled gently, bending him down until his face was almost level with her head. Stephen waited for a slap or a punch, unsure of her motives, when she suddenly leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. The unforeseen gesture was enough to send his heart wildly racing.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her lips against his rough flesh. “For the kindness you showed my mother, I thank you deeply.”

  With that, she let him go and he watched, his heart in his throat, as she silently ascended the stairs to the chamber above. He could hear the fawn bleating and eventually a door closed softly. Still, he continued to stand there, feeling her kiss upon his cheek as he had never felt anything in his entire life.

  All thoughts of anger, retribution and punishment were sucked right out of his head with that one tender gesture. When he emerged from the keep, it was to disband the search party and thank Norfolk’s sergeant for his escort.

  “What is your name, sergeant?” he asked.

  “Lane de Norville, my lord,” the man replied. “I serve Norfolk.”

  Stephen nodded shortly. “Sergeant de Norville, you have my thanks for tending my wife. I will make sure Norfolk knows of your diligence.”

  The sergeant saluted smartly and was gone. Even as Stephen went about his business, thoughts of the blue eyed, dark haired lady filled his brain until he couldn’t see or think of anything else.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Scots weren’t finished yet.

  Stephen had never doubted that and was therefore not surprised when he mobilized about two hundred men from the castle to attack a section of the city that was experiencing a weak resurgence of rebellion. He and de Lara rode to the northwest section of Berwick’s walled city to quell a group of about one hundred Scots who were attempting to retake the city section by section. Although it was not a particularly brutal battl
e, it was long and frustrating and went on well into the night. By the time they were finished, they had killed about thirty Scots and lost eleven men.

  Stephen assigned extra men to protect that area of the city at night, before returning to Berwick. It was well after sunset and the castle blazed with the ghostly glow from hundreds of torches. The great hall was lit up, light from inside the room streaming out through the lancet windows. Exhausted, Stephen and Tate dismounted their chargers, turned the beasts over to the grooms, and headed for the hall.

  “I shall check that portion of the city again after dawn,” Stephen told Tate. “From what those rebels told us, there are more of them than we know still in the city.”

  De Lara nodded wearily. “I would imagine it is nothing tremendously organized. There are die hard rebels in any conquered people.”

  “Aye, but it will only take one or two strong men to organize them and then we will have to worry about the Scots retaking the city,” he shook his head. “At least we have brought the suspected leader back with us and I fully intend to bleed the man dry of any information he might have. But I am nonetheless thinking of asking the king for more reinforcements to flush the rebels from the city altogether.”

  “You already have almost one thousand men.”

  “Indeed I do, but we had over eight thousand just two days ago. Most of the English commanders have already left and headed for home.”

  “True enough,” de Lara rubbed his eyes. “I can send for another five hundred from Carlisle. Henry of Lancaster can send another five hundred. Perhaps you should ask Norfolk to leave a detachment; he is leaving on the morrow, you know.”

  “I know. I have already asked him to leave me as many as he believes he can spare.”

  They had reached the hall. Stephen opened the door and was hit in the face by the warm, fragrant air inside. It smelled like rushes and roasted meat, and he felt his hunger immediately. Stepping inside, it was a bright and busy world.