Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(23)
It wasn’t what Ghislaine had expected. She had expected the de Wolfe name to open doors for her, in peace and respect. Therefore, her shock in the Norman soldier’s reaction turned into full-blown fear when several Norman warriors headed in her direction, all of them drawn in by the shouts of the man who had her by the arm. He was hurting her. But she knew she would be hurt much worse if she let these Norman hounds paw at her. Therefore, she started shouting louder than the man holding her.
“Kristoph de Lohr!” she screamed. “I have come on behalf of Kristoph de Lohr! I must speak to de Wolfe!”
She had to say it two or three times before it registered to one of the older soldiers what, exactly, she was saying. Her accent was so heavy that they hadn’t understood her, but an older man with missing teeth and a nose that had been broken repeatedly understood her. He pulled her from the man who had a death-grip on her.
“What do you know of de Lohr?” he snarled at her, his face in hers and his foul breath filling her nostrils. “Where is he?”
Ghislaine had to admit that she was fairly terrified at this point. The Normans smelled terrible and looked like animals to her; grizzled, dirty, wild-eyed. But she’d come this far and there was no turning back.
Ghislaine had waited until the Anglo-Saxon army was asleep before slipping from the encampment in the woods. Trying to avoid being followed, it had taken her more than an hour to reach the battlefield where the Normans were celebrating their victory. By the time she reached the area, which was already starting to stink of dead men, the sun was barely hinting over the eastern horizon and the heavy clouds above were turning shades of gray. Now, she found herself face to face with men she had been trying to kill the day before.
She was more afraid than she thought she would be.
“I will only speak with de Wolfe,” she said. “Take me to de Wolfe and I will tell him.”
The old soldier’s eyes narrowed at her and, after a few moments, it was clear that he didn’t believe her. He shook his head. “A Saxon trick,” he hissed.
“It is not a trick!”
He would not be swayed. He tossed her towards the soldiers who were gathering. “A gift, lads. Enjoy yourselves!”
The men grabbed at her and Ghislaine screamed, trying to bolt away from them. One man managed to grab the long tunic she wore and he yanked, causing her to fall. As she crumpled to the ground, men were swarming on top of her and she screamed and kicked, fighting them off.
But the men ignored her terror, laughing and grabbing at her, trying to settle her down and tell her not to fear so that they could earn her trust and then destroy it. They seemed to think it was all quite humorous while she screamed and kicked. One of the soldiers had just made a grab for her neck when a booming voice overhead stopped them.
“What goes on here?” It was Lance de Reyne, riding up on his frothing war horse in the company of two more knights. “What are you doing? Who is this woman?”
All of the grabbing and laughter came to a halt as the Normans suddenly had better manners in front of one of their commanders. The older soldier who had tossed Ghislaine towards his men stepped forward.
“A Saxon prisoner, my lord,” he said, clearing his throat nervously. “We were….”
“I must see Gaetan de Wolfe,” Ghislaine said breathlessly, struggling to her feet and crashing into de Reyne’s leg when she lost her balance. “I come with information on Kristoph de Lohr! Please do not let these men have me!”
De Reyne’s dark eyes widened. Reaching down, he grabbed her by the front of her tunic and lifted her off her feet.
“What do you know of him?” he demanded. “Tell me now!”
Ghislaine was so frightened that she was feeling faint. “I will only tell de Wolfe,” she gasped, holding on to the man’s wrist as he held her off of the ground. “I must speak with him immediately!”
“Tell me what you know this instant or I will cut your throat.”
“If you cut my throat, de Lohr will die. This I swear.”
De Reyne didn’t hesitate after that. He yanked her onto his saddle, throwing her over his thighs as easily as one would toss around a sack of flour. Digging his spurs into the side of his horse, they tore off towards the heart of the encampment.
She was face-down over the knight’s armored legs. It was a terribly uncomfortable position to be in and Ghislaine struggled to keep her balance, to breathe, and to not panic. She could see the ground passing swiftly beneath the horse’s hooves and then they came to an abrupt halt. She grunted as the knight lifted her off of the saddle and lowered her, probably to set her on her feet but she ended up falling. He dismounted behind her, hauling her to her feet as he began to head towards a cluster of white and crimson tents.
Terrified, Ghislaine allowed herself to be dragged along because she could only assume the knight was taking her to the commander de Lohr had mentioned. De Wolfe. At least, she hoped so. She hoped that shouting the name of de Wolfe and de Lohr would get her to the man she needed to see because she was coming to very much regret her attempts at heroics to save the Norman knight’s life. Her sense of vengeance against Alary had forced her into making a stupid decision. All of these thoughts were whirling in her head as the big knight took her into one of the larger tents.
Thrust into the cool, dark innards of the structure, she was immediately hit by the smell of death. There was something dead in the tent but she couldn’t really see much because there was only the faint glow from the brazier to light the area. She blinked, struggling to become accustomed to the dimness of the tent when the Norman knight released her. As she stood there, frightened and dazed, he headed over to a corner of the tent where there was a cot and a supine body upon it.