Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(25)

“I am here because… because I hate my brother,” she muttered. “He is a vile and terrible man. He is so despicable that Edwin exiled him from Mercia for reasons I shall not go in to. But Alary joined with King Harold’s army to fight for the king against the Duke of Normandy and find royal favor, but when that did not happen… now I believe that he views your man as everything he hates.”

De Wolfe wasn’t moved by her speech, but a good deal was becoming clear to him. “Then you come to betray him.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact, and a true one. Frustrated that he was pushing her into a more personal confession, her eyes snapped up to him. “I do,” she said angrily. “Your knight was originally my prisoner. I fought with the Saxon army yesterday and I was there when your knight was knocked off his horse. The fall rendered him unconscious so my men and I dragged him away from the field of battle, tied him to a horse, and sent the horse running. But when the horse finally stopped running and many men from Harold’s army were trying to beat your knight to death, I stopped them. I stopped them because… because a knight captured me during the battle. But instead of harming me, he let me go and told me to remember Norman mercy. And I did – I spared his Norman compatriot because of it. Mercy was shown to me, so I showed mercy to the Norman knight. But Alary took your knight away from me for his own devious purposes. Now he has him and I can no longer protect him.”

De Wolfe was simply staring at her but it was apparent that something was going on in his mind. After a moment, he bent over as if to look at her more closely.

“Then I understand why you have come,” he said simply. “But in listening to you speak, something else has occurred to me. I recognize your voice. I believe it threatened me once.”

Ghislaine wasn’t sure what he meant. “We have not met before.”

De Wolfe continued to stare at her until, suddenly, his eyebrows lifted. “The little mouse,” he said as if an idea had occurred to him. “When we broke through the eastern shield wall, I captured you. You called me rubbish.”

Ghislaine’s eyes widened. She well remembered the knight she called poubelle and her mouth popped open. She hadn’t seen his face but now she recognized that voice. Of course she’d heard it before – when he demanded to know where her king was.

It was her merciful knight, in the flesh.

“You!” she gasped. “The Norman knight!”

De Wolfe simply looked at her. “Aye, it is me, the Knight of Rubbish,” he said with some disdain in his voice. “And look at the little mouse; you are punier than I had imagined. Take off that cap and show yourself. You look like a man dressed as you are. Let me see what you really look like.”

Ghislaine looked down at herself. She was, indeed, dressed in a tunic and leather, a belt around her slender waist and hose on her legs. Her hair was still caught up in a heavy leather cap. But that was intentional. It was easier to fight with men if they thought she was one. It was also easier to move among them. As she hesitated to remove her cap, de Wolfe reached out and pulled it from her head.

And that’s when things changed.

Gaetan was quite surprised, really. Off came the cap and out flowed the most beautiful hair he had ever seen. It was mussed and a little dirty. But he could still see the shine even in the dim light as nearly-black hair tumbled over her shoulders, glinting with red. Moreover, once he got a good look at her face, he could see that she was quite beautiful – she had a round little face with rosebud lips and wide blue eyes. When she blinked, her lashes fanned against her pale cheeks. Aye, she was quite beautiful if one could look beyond the muss and dirt. Exquisite, even.

A seed of interest sprouted.

“Why do you fight?” he asked after a moment. “Are the Saxons so desperate for men that they permit their women to fight?”

Ghislaine eyed him, a faint blush of embarrassment coming to her cheeks. “I fight because I have been trained to fight,” she said, lifting her chin at him. “I fight because I am good at it. My mother was a warrior, as was my grandmother. I do what I want to do.”

“And no one says otherwise?”

“No one dares.”

Gaetan scratched his head. “I would believe that,” he said. Then, he looked to Lance, who was still standing next to him. “Gather the men and bring them to my tent. We have word of Kristoph that they will want to hear.”

With a lingering glance at the disheveled Saxon woman, Lance quit the tent, heading out to find the rest of the Anges de Guerre. When he was gone, Gaetan turned to Ghislaine.

He was far calmer than he had been when she’d entered the tent, with less rage and more curiosity. He wasn’t panicking at all, no matter how much she tried to stress that Kristoph was in danger. Perhaps, he didn’t really grasp what she was saying. Perhaps, she wasn’t communicating it properly in his native tongue. Whatever the case, Ghislaine eyed him with some trepidation now that they were alone.

“Now,” he said steadily. “Let us return to the subject of my knight and away from a woman warrior who has no business being on a battlefield. You said that you showed mercy to Kristoph so I suppose I should thank you. You also said he was knocked from his horse – did you do it?”

Ghislaine shook her head even though she wasn’t quite over his comment about warrior women having no place in battle. She hadn’t had a man speak to her in such a way since she had been very young. No one dared dispute Ghislaine and her right to battle.