The Vexing (Age Of Faith #6)
Author: Tamara Leigh
CHAPTER ONE
Normandy, France
Early December, 1161
Women were more trouble than they were worth. Or so Sir Durand Marshal told himself each time one dragged him into a mess like this one promised to do.
Black hair and mantle shaking themselves out in the chill air stirred by her flight, the woman rode ahead of three riders who protectively fanned out behind her though they stood little chance of outrunning their pursuers-a dozen armed men who wore the colors of one who risked much in trespassing on King Henry's lands. And therein lay the mess, one that could see the crisp layer of snow splashed with crimson of sufficient heat to melt it through.
"Lord, protect us," he rasped and drew his chain mail hood over his head and gave the signal.
The men under his command did not hesitate when the thrust of his arm further delayed the promise of a warm hearth and hot meal denied them these past days of hard riding. They did as bid, following him from the cover of trees that reached wintry fingers toward a sky thick with clouds that resembled the billowing smoke of a great fire.
"King Henry!" he bellowed and drew his sword as he spurred his destrier forward.
His men repeated the battle cry, their voices across the frosted land causing those bringing up the rear of the pursuers to whip their heads around and shout warnings. But the one leading the pursuit, a broadly built knight whose beard jutted on either side of his face, did not surrender his prey. He and his companions stayed the course.
So be it. Durand had given King Louis's vassals a chance to withdraw peaceably from the French lands held by the King of England. If blood was the price paid for their trespass, it was on their heads. Unfortunately for their wives and children, the woman who evaded capture could not be worth their deaths.
No sooner did he think it than the one protecting her left flank was overtaken by the bearded pursuer. The latter swung his sword and landed a blow to the knight's chest, knocking him out of the saddle.
The other pursuers veered away from the unhorsed knight. Providing his chain mail deflected the blade's edge, he stood a good chance of survival.
It had, Durand saw as he passed near, the snow defiled not by the spray of blood but dirt flung by hooves and the knight's tumble across it.
Urging his destrier between two pursuers, Durand left them to his men the sooner to overtake the one who sought to unseat another of the woman's protectors. In the seconds required for the bearded knight to achieve that end, Durand was granted the time needed to draw level with him.
The woman's mare no match for their warhorses, they came alongside her, Durand on the right, the bearded knight opposite.
Gripping the saddle with his thighs, Durand released his left-handed grip on the reins and reached for the woman. It was his arm that hooked her, his opponent having failed to sooner transfer his sword to the opposite hand.
She screamed when Durand dragged her from the saddle, and hardly did he register she sounded more enraged than fearful than her pursuer caught her skirts and yanked her toward him.
The force of the pull causing Durand's mount to slam into the mare, he ground his teeth as ache shot up his leg.
Despite the woman's precarious state-suspended above her mare between two destriers-she flailed, clawed, kicked, and bucked so wildly Durand feared his mount would stumble and take them both to ground.
"Cease, woman!" he shouted and tossed aside his sword to take up the reins needed to better control his destrier. "I but give aid-"
One of her booted kicks caught the other knight in the face, and from his nose flowed crimson that ran into his teeth and beard. Spewing blood-colored curses, he once more wrenched at her skirt.
The sound of tearing fabric was met by her shriek. Still, the miscreant retained his hold-until she landed another kick that thrust him sideways. Then Durand had all of her.
Turning his destrier aside, he thrust the woman onto the fore of his saddle. Though no longer a bone tugged between two dogs, her disposition did not improve. As she continued to struggle, her long black hair whipping across his face, he hauled her back against his chest and glanced over his shoulder.
His men were routing the French king's vassals, including their bearded leader.
Still the woman fought, raking at the hand gripping her waist, jabbing her elbows into his mail-clothed ribs, reaching behind to scrape nails across his jaw and down his throat.
Feeling the great animal quiver and jerk beneath them, Durand shouted, "Behave, Lady! I am King Henry's man!"