The Rose and the Shield (Medieval 2)

Gunnar stood up.

“Give up!” he shouted. “We have double your number and more. Give up. What are you fighting for? Lord Radulf will come soon and take Somerford back and then he will kill you all. Give up now and your lives will be spared.”

He was expecting some argument, a show of bravado at least, perhaps even a half-hearted fight. Instead the men looked about them at the strange merefolk and then back at Gunnar Olafson, confused, wavering.

“Gunnar!”

The voice came across the Levels, echoing against the rise of the island. It was a voice Gunnar knew well. Startled, he straightened and peered over the reeds. There was a man standing unsteadily in a boat, his head bare to the sunlight, a grin splitting his face.

Gunnar would have known that wild black hair anywhere.

“Ivo,” he murmured. Then, with a shout, “Ivo!”

Ivo laughed, a low chuckle. “What are you doing to Radulf’s men, Gunnar? I don’t think you should kill them—Radulf might not like it.”

Chapter 19

The gate was wide open.

Rose urged her horse forward, damping down the fear inside her, needing to see what was inside and yet frightened of what she would see. She hardly noticed the men riding with her. Ivo was close behind her and Gunnar was in front of her. The rest were strangers—Lord Radulf’s men.

Ivo had told her the story. Radulf had set out for Somerford as soon as Alfred had arrived at Crevitch with Harold the miller and Millisent and Will.

Lily, told the bare bones of the facts, had given her husband a long, cool look and told him to mend his mess. Radulf had glowered back at her, but set off for Somerford immediately.

He had taken back the keep that same day. The easy victory had been a combination of the small army Radulf had taken with him, and the fact that Arno and Miles had not counted on Rose’s people inside the keep working against them. Miles in particular had thought to conquer the English with fear and threats, but old Edward and his cohorts had used stealth, waiting until Radulf was close and then opening the gate to him.

After a brief and bloody battle, Somerford was won.

“Thank God for it,” Radulf had allegedly said, when it was over. “I could not have faced my lady wife if I had lost.”

Rose had smiled when Ivo told her that. “You are alive,” she had added, looking him up and down. “I saw you die.”

Ivo had laughed, his smile transforming his fierce features. “Aye, ’twas a trick. Didn’t Gunnar tell you? We have used it before. I have returned to life more than once, lady.”

Gunnar had told her, and she had said she believed him. Now, with the evidence before her eyes, she realized that she hadn’t really believed him, not truly. Not until now.

She felt shamed by her mistrust, even remembering all the untruths he had told her. And then, as they approached the Somerford ramparts, she tried very hard not to feel anything at all.

“How many of my people have died?” she asked quietly of no one in particular.

Gunnar glanced at her over his shoulder. She wondered what it was he saw, for his usual tranquil expression wavered at the edges, and for a moment she saw tenderness in his eyes. It nearly undid her.

“Rose…”

“Lady Rose,” she corrected him savagely, afraid he would make her cry. She could not cry, not when her people needed her strong.

His face stilled. Too late she wondered if her words might have stung his pride, made him feel the lesser man. And then he had turned away, and she was gazing at his broad back and the fall of his copper hair.

So it was they passed through the gate into the bailey.

It was quiet. Everywhere Rose looked there were armed men. But when her eyes had grown used to armor and helmets and grim expressions, she noticed that her own people were also there. They appeared a little shaken and unsure, but they had lived through other battles and they would heal.

They even managed a ragged cheer at the sight of her.

Rose felt tears sting her eyes and lifted a hand in salute. Turning her head, she searched for loved faces, praying that none was missing. There was old Edward, standing tall and proud, his wrinkled face grimy, a cut on his cheek, but still grinning.

“Lady Rose!” he shouted. “God bless our lady!”