Jilliand Read online

  “Lady, I would thank you for allowing me the pleasure of the company of your people this night.” He bowed. When he stood straight, his green eyes looked into hers. “I would speak to the lord of this holding if possible.” Again, Jilliand had the feeling she knew him.

  “What business do you have with the lord, sir?” Jilliand asked, smiling. She kept her manner as unconcerned as possible. She believed he must already be aware there was no lord here. She suspected he also knew exactly what little protection she housed. Her stomach began to tighten. When next he spoke, Jilliand recognized him.

  For a moment he did not answer. Instead he looked at her and at those seated with her. “My business is my own, to discuss with your lord. If this is not a good time, pray tell me when another might be better.” His eyes held hers. Jilliand knew at that instant that he was quite aware she was alone. Prince Philippe of France remembered Jilliand well. She was even more striking than he remembered from their one brief encounter at King Aethewulf’s court. The prince had been so taken by her beauty that he could not remember anything King Aethewulf had said. He only remembered the woman now sitting before him.

  Standing, Jilliand answered. Her voice was soft and cold. “You should know, Prince, it will not be as easy as you think.” The prince acknowledged her comment with a slight bow and a slow smile. With that, Jilliand turned and left the room.

  Once out of sight, she pulled Becca close. “You must tell Josh to take my horse and leave immediately. He is to tell His Majesty we are in grave danger. Without help, I fear we may fall. And Nate, send Nate to me. Quickly! I fear we have little time.”

  In her chambers, she changed into breeches. Tying her hair back, she buckled on the long blade. Slipping the short one into her belt, she grabbed her heaviest cloak, her bow, and a loaded quiver just as Nate knocked on her study door. Jilliand was already headed toward one of the staircases leading out the rear of the keep. Nate ran to catch up.

  “Nate, now, while it is still night, bring what animals you can inside the walls. I fear we may soon be under siege.” Jilliand was already at the bottom of one of the staircases leading out the rear of the keep.

  “Nate,” Jilliand’s voice carried with it a sense of urgency. “If I were the attacker, I would surround the burg, thereby cutting off any help or escape. We will need men to stand watch. Take care to keep the back gate closed. Just in case …”

  “We pulled the bridges as soon as he left, Lady.” Nate started walking away, and then stopped to study Jilliand. “Lady, who is the man? For whom does he ride?”

  “He is a son of the king of France. Why he is here, I do not know for certain. We will find out, soon enough.” As Nate turned to leave, Jilliand called to him, “Take care, Nate. This may not end well.”

  Nate’s eyes found Jilliand’s. “If it does not, I would tell you this—to have served you has been an honor, Lady Jilliand.” In the next instant he was gone.

  Word that Jilliand was in danger spread quickly through the burg and beyond. Men and boys began to rush toward the burg, forcing Jilliand to have the gate lowered. With the gate down, Jilliand’s people flooded in. The men came to help, the families came for safety. After raising the gate again, two of the soldiers remaining from Jilliand’s old guard took charge and begin preparing for a siege. Buckets were filled with water and placed within easy reach of anyone on the walls. Fires were lit throughout the area to fight plummeting temperatures. Every man able to use a bow was stationed on the walls, with every extra arrow available. Two men were placed in each tower to keep watch beyond the moat. Meanwhile, Jilliand hastily prepared for casualties. The great room was cleared. Blankets and other items to care for the wounded were stacked on the head table. At her direction, the kitchen staff had begun to cook large kettles of thick soup and bake breads. Jilliand tried to remember anything she had ever heard about battles. The lord she had believed was her father who held her captive had not fought; he had only plundered after the fighting was over. Her own experiences had been the sudden unexpected raids from the Vikings. Sadly, she had to admit that most of the men with her this night were only slightly better than farmers when it came to fighting.

  The animals herded inside the walls were penned in the back, close to the keep. From the crowd of men and women gathered, one man stepped up. “I am not a soldier, m’lady. I never fought. I can fight for you, and for my wee ones. I … we … would stay and fight with you. The men who would overtake this place are already coming. Tell us what to do.”

  Jilliand looked at the people. “I have never done this thing before either. Together, we can stand strong. The king will come soon. Until he gets to us, we must hold.”

  One of the soldiers stepped forward. “Tell me, do we have a weak place—any place someone could overrun us?”

  “The towers—what about the towers in back?” one man called out.

  “Of what do you speak? Explain!” Jilliand ordered.

  The man moved forward. “I helped, when the walls were falling. The back towers are loose and weak; the wood is old.” He turned to several men standing around him. “Remember? If they find that place, they can get in.” As he spoke, men began to crowd closer.

  “Can they find it?” the soldier asked.

  For a moment, the room was silent. Jilliand pushed them. “Can it be broken through? Can we block it?” The second soldier shook his head.

  “No matter. We will not let them find it. Oil. Do we have oil?”

  “Yes, we have many barrels of oil, Lady,” another man shouted. “It is stored below the keep. Why?”

  “Quickly, roll the barrels out!”

  Jilliand called to the tower for an update. “How close are they?”

  “Not yet through the huts beyond!” came the response.

  Jilliand ordered the oil to be dumped onto the water before the invaders were in sight of the burg. It spread quickly, forming a thick blanket that eventually covered the water in the moat. “Keep the fires going. We will need them.” Jilliand looked straightaway at Nate.

  Nodding to Jilliand, he continued his rounds, talking to the nervous men waiting for something none had seen before. Nate’s own heart beat steady. His devotion to Jilliand gave him a strange calm. We will hold. For Jilliand, we hold.

  The night brought with it a mass of heavy clouds, and the snow began to fall. With darkness upon them, the invaders had set up camp just past the huts that clung to the land beyond the moat. Their fires made eerie globes of light, a constant reminder of the danger lurking on the far side of the great berm and moat surrounding the burg walls.

  All through the night, snowflakes brittle with the dropping temperatures continued to fall. Morning broke clear and bitter cold. Groups of men and boys stood around the fires. Kitchen staff slipped among the men serving hot soup and chunks of bread. Jilliand walked around to every man, speaking with conviction, bringing the message of victory. They would hold until the king came.

  “Look! They come!” Standing in one of the towers, a man was wildly pointing. Quickly mounting the steps to stand on the rampart above the gate, Jilliand looked beyond the huts. Like a wave, the men moved steadily toward her. The front lines were on foot, armed with lances and shields. Behind them, more men rode armed with lances. Thinking on how few men and weapons she had, Jilliand’s heart dropped.

  Under her breath, Jilliand gave words to what her heart felt. “Hurry, Aethewulf, or you will come to my funeral.” To the man next to her, she nodded. “They think to overtake us with numbers? They shall see the taking is not for them!” The frightened man looked back at the advancing mass and then at Jilliand. She clasped his shoulder. “They will soon know what Englishmen can do.”

  “Are they not English, too, m’lady?” he asked, glancing back nervously at the columns pressing forward.

  Shaking her head, Jilliand replied, “We are English!” She went to every tower, encouraging the men who defended her. Anyone who could use a bow was placed in areas that offered the most protection b
ut still allowed the greatest view. She sent younger boys around to tell the men that not one arrow was to fly until she gave the word.

  When the horde outside her walls reached the berm, an invader on horseback carrying a white flag rode to the top. “Lady, our prince would offer you a chance to save your people and yourself! Yield! Open the gates; drop the bridge. Every consideration will be given to you.” The rider sat waiting for a reply, his white flag whipping about his lance in the cold wind. Sitting in the front line, Jilliand saw Prince Philippe. He wore armor. On his head, he clearly wore a crown.

  “Your prince should play another game. He will not win this one. Leave, before I separate you from your horse!” Jilliand yelled back. Standing on the rampart above the gate, Jilliand’s hair had come loosened and now fell about her shoulders. Both her hair and black cape caught the winds that were steadily growing in strength. The woman’s courage caught the prince’s fancy. The messenger below her began to laugh. He raised his lance and stood in his stirrups, as if he intended to respond to her. Before he could speak, Jilliand’s arrow pierced his throat. Stunned and gasping, he looked at Jilliand and fell from his horse.

  For a moment, every man on both sides was motionless. Then, from the invading horde, there came a cry. “The castle and all in it will be mine!” Philippe yelled. Foot soldiers began running up the mound and dove into the moat, followed by a second wave of men. Jilliand stepped behind a raised pillar, waiting. When the first wave of men was halfway across the moat and the second wave of men well into the water, Jilliand yelled, “Now!” A shower of fire arrows fell from the walls, instantly lighting the thick oil on the water in the moat. Men in the water screamed as they were suddenly ablaze. Those still on the banks stumbled against those ahead, trying to stop, and thereby pushing more men into the ring of fire. Men were turning and scrambling back down the berm, only to run into the advancing line below them.

  The horses closest to the berm were rearing in fear from the smell of fire, burning flesh, and the chaos around them. Watching the scene below her, Jilliand knew any chance she might have to live was gone if the castle did not hold. She watched for the reaction of the crowned man below her. He and his generals quickly gathered, regrouped, and changed tactics. Wave after wave of arrows sailed over the walls while the oil slowly burned off. The courtyard cleared as everyone sought shelter. When darkness fell, the assault stopped. Younger boys ran throughout the courtyard gathering arrows, hoping to find some unbroken ones that could be used again. Behind her, a great fire burned, providing warmth for the men on the wall, who took turns standing near it. Silhouetted by that fire, Jilliand stood on the rampart, watching the globes of light from the encampment beyond.

  Philippe stood leaning against a wagon, looking up at Jilliand. This conquest was not as easy as he had expected. All the women he knew were, at this moment, sitting in front of a fireplace—sewing, gossiping, whatever it was those women did. But this woman … “Majesty, what do we do now?” said one of his generals, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Even beautiful women must eat. Nothing gets in or out alive.” Turning, he walked slowly toward his tent.

  “Perhaps she is a witch,” offered a soldier, glancing at the woman standing on the rampart.

  “A witch? No, but before this is done, I will know who she truly is. We will be forced to push tomorrow. Surely, King Aethewulf is on his way. If we cannot take her tomorrow, we leave.” Prince Philippe stood staring at the fire that warmed his tent. He remembered well meeting Jilliand at Aethewulf’s court, but later that night when Philippe looked for the woman, she had vanished. Not this time, Lady. You will not walk away this time.

  Prince Philippe was up before dawn. He stood at a large table set with food, wine, and papers, surrounded by key men and studied a drawing of the moat, berm, and wooden structures that made up Jilliand’s burg. “Is this drawn correctly?” He glanced around the table. Several of the men studied the drawing more carefully. “Send someone to check it. This may be our answer.”

  All was quiet until late morning. Then, only sporadic arrows flew toward Jilliand’s men. The burg was now loosely encircled. Jilliand paced atop the wall. “I don’t understand this. What is happening?”

  “Is this a siege, m’lady?” one man asked.

  “It does not feel that way. It feels as if he is waiting for something.” Jilliand looked out over the distant camp. She could see men walking about but without purpose. What does he see that I do not? Her eye caught the prince, standing at the entrance of his tent. He stood looking at her, Jilliand was certain. But he stood as if he had won already. Could it be Aethewulf is not coming? Jilliand thought desperately, as she left the rampart. Inside her study, she looked over her burg plans again and then paced around the table, trying to think. Nate and two soldiers came into the room, not certain what they should do next.

  “Lady, I do not think we are under siege yet. When that comes, the lines surrounding us will be tighter.” The older of the soldiers watched Jilliand.

  “Just the same, we need to watch our supplies carefully,” Jilliand said and sent a page to tell Becca. “There must be something about this place I do not see—Nate, what does he know that I do not?”

  “Perhaps your brother does not come, Lady,” Nate offered softly.

  “He would not leave us. Josh got through—he must have. He left before this man even had time to return to wherever it is he came from.” Jilliand stood still. “Do we know where he came from?”

  “This we know,” Nate answered. “One of his pages stopped at the home of your blacksmith, pretending he was in need of food. He told of his prince, a man that has defeated two lords below King Aethewulf’s lands. The prince declared himself king and now moves forward.”

  “Why would he say such a thing so openly? These lands belong to Aethewulf, if we can but hold. Nate, you must try to get to the king.” Her voice dropped. Quietly, she spoke to Nate. “I begin to fear Josh may not have gotten through.” Nate immediately left the room, dashed down the back stairs from Jilland’s study and ran to the stables.

  Jilliand stood before the plans trying to think. Leaning forward, she studied the back moat. “Can this be correct?” Puzzled, Jilliand pointed to the plans of the rear berm. “It is not even half the width of the rest. The moat also looks narrow here. If they find that—” At that moment, she heard cries from the yard below. From her window, she could clearly see men crowding the courtyard, with swords drawn, fighting the farmers, who had now begun to back away. “Drop the bridge!” Jilliand commanded, as she ran from the room.

  “You open for them, Lady?” one of the soldiers, running with her, questioned.

  “Yes. I would not trap my people. They cannot fight these men. Open the gates!”

  Bursting from the entrance of the keep, Jilliand immediately took on the first man she saw. Not expecting a woman to wield such a weapon, she easily ran her shorter blade into the man’s stomach. She quickly pulled her sword out and moved on. The battle was short but bloody. Jilliand had long forgotten she was the lady of these holdings. She fought with a fury born of desperation and anger. As she moved with agility from one opponent to another, she eventually found herself backed into a corner. With no escape for the lady, everyone stood motionless. The prince walked through the circle, his eyes flashing. “You are defeated, Lady.” The words were spoken with a finality that took Jilliand’s breath.

  “Please, let my people go. They are only farmers, not soldiers. I yield to you. You have won. Let these people go. A king rules all he conquers. They are now your people. Protect them.” Jilliand let her sword fall from her bloodied hand.

  “They fought me, Lady,” the man answered, his eyes locked onto Jilliand’s.

  Jilliand’s voice softened. “At my command.”

  “All in command who oppose me will hang,” he noted, looking at the slight lady before him. He had not expected to fight a woman for these lands, but given what she had, she fought well. He stood still, looking into
her green eyes.

  “So be it,” Jilliand acknowledged. “I was in command. My lands and all on them now belong to you.” With that, Jilliand removed the smaller blade from her belt.

  “Your army?” He pushed her.

  Shaking her head, a sad smile broke out on her face splattered with blood and dirt. “There is no army, Prince. Only one lady.” Her arms dropped at her sides, yet her back was straight and her chin was up. The area was deadly quiet. While he was loath to hang a woman, certainly one who fought like this one … this beautiful one … he knew it would send a very clear message to all who opposed him. He had a decision to make.

  “If there is a dungeon in this place, lock the lady up.” As he turned to leave, he caught sight of her eyes again. Her voice may have softened, but her eyes reflected fire. She simply bowed to him.

  “Majesty,” the man following him spoke urgently, “we should move on. Surely King Aethewulf will be here soon. The lady carries his colors.”

  “King Aethewulf will not come. At least not until word reaches him.” This fighting woman did not behave like a mistress … I know he has not remarried … Now that I think on it, she looks just like Aethewulf himself. “His sister! She looks like Aethewulf. It’s his sister! I have his sister in my dungeon!” As soon as he spoke the words, he turned to the man. A broad smile filled his face. His decision regarding the fate of Jilliand was still not clear; however, the stakes rose in his favor. She could be ransomed or taken back to France. A pawn for France. “His sister, what a gift, is it not? Confine everyone within the burg walls. None are to be harmed.” Prince Philippe needed to plan carefully before Aethewulf and his men descended upon his newest acquisition.

  The first rooms Philippe visited were Jilliand’s chambers. He hoped to find greater understanding of the lady now languishing in the dungeon below. She was the sister of a king—a very wealthy king, who held control over the greatest parcels of land of any monarch. Because he was known to be a very Christian king who had no taste for fighting, the prince had reason to believe everything would end very well indeed. Aethewulf had already given one of his sons part of his kingdom rather than fight over it. His first wife reportedly had died, and the second had left the king—an action that had cost the woman’s family dearly. Time to visit the lady below. First, though, Philippe had business to take care of inside the burg.