Captured by the Warrior Read Online Free Page B

uneasy threads of half-snatched dreams, dreams fringed with the anxious memories of the day before. She had tossed and turned in the stuffy curtained interior of the four-poster bed, thumping the goose-down-filled pillow with an impatient regularity. Everything had become irritating: the crackle of straw in the mattress beneath her, the bunched lumpy feathers beneath her loosened hair, the shouts of the soldiers piercing her consciousness at some ungodly hour…
    Soldiers…? Alice bounced upright, the rippling cascade of her hair spilling on to the bedcovers, sparkling in tangled glory. Flinging back the furs, the linen sheet, she sprang from the bed, fighting her way through the heavy curtains. Her full-length nightgown billowed out over her bare toes as she flew over the wide elm boards to the window casement, pressing her nose up against the thick, uneven panes of hand-blown glass. Nothing. Her sleep-numbed fingers fiddled with the iron latch, pushing the window open so she could lean out. The chill morning air stung her heated face and neck. Eyes watering, she dashed the wetness away and looked down. Soldiers filled the inner bailey, their red surcoats vivid in the luminous pre-dawn light, their armour glinting dully. Grooms ran hither and thither, fetching fearsome-looking weapons, adjusting buckles on saddles and stirrups and attaching saddle bags with practised efficiency. Cold fear slid through her veins: these men were preparing for battle.
    Throwing a simple gown over her voluminousnightgown, Alice yanked her unruly hair into a braid, binding the curling end quickly with a leather lace. Pulling open the door, she raced down the corridor to her parents’ chamber. With her mother’s elevated status as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting came all the associated privileges of such a position: warm, well-appointed rooms, as well as clothing and food.
    ‘Father!’ Alice burst into her parents’ room without knocking. Fabien Matravers, busy at a table by the window, lifted his weary eyes to acknowledge his daughter with a smile. He raised a finger to his lips, nodding in the direction of the bed, where her mother slumbered. Clamping her lips together to prevent her next question, Alice closed the door quickly and tiptoed over. The table held a collection of medical equipment: bandages and salves, sewing needles fashioned from animal bone, and fine thread made from sinew. These items were disappearing one by one as her father packed up a sturdy leather satchel.
    ‘What’s happening?’ Alice whispered, her periwinkle blue eyes wide, curious.
    ‘’Tis what Queen Margaret feared, ’tis what we all feared.’ Fabien’s face clouded. ‘The Duke of York has challenged the King’s leadership, now that we have lost France. He has mounted an army, and awaits the King’s men on a high plateau not far from here.’
    Alice nibbled at a fingernail. ‘Will King Henry fight?’
    Fabien’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Nay, not he, lass. You know he’s…he’s not well at the moment. But the Queen is fully aware of the situation; she intends to send two or three of the King’s more loyal dukes.’ He tucked the last roll of bandage into a corner of thesatchel and sighed. ‘I only hope that this will be enough. The Duke of York’s men are notorious for being savage fighters.’
    Alice’s heart lit with excitement. ‘Let me come too, Father. Please.’
    But Fabien was already shaking his head, his hands stilling momentarily as he looked at his daughter. In the light beginning to filter in at the window, the grey streaks in his hair seemed more prominent, the lines on his face more pronounced. ‘Nay, Alice,’ he said finally. ‘The battlefield is no place for a young lass. Especially one that is betrothed.’
    Alice gasped, colour flushing into her cheeks. ‘You know!’
    Fabien nodded. ‘Edmund came to me last night, to tell me.’ He smiled, his mouth creasing up at the corners. ‘And I gave him my