The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,3

her fate rather than hide from it. If she went out there—up to the castle walls right now—maybe she would know what was coming before it happened. Maybe she could make a difference by alerting Richard to…

She knew not what exactly, but that desire to affect her future drew her feet toward the stone steps that led up to the partition over the courtyard. Quietly. Discreetly. She was adept at climbing all over the keep, quick as a cat, to spy on Alchere. Of course, she’d been more of an intrepid scout at fourteen years old, back when she’d hung from the rafters to drop a fat, furry spider into Alchere’s ale after the book burning. She had hoped the creature would be poisonous, but no such luck.

Now, she dashed up to the walls, filled with the hopefulness of her daring. The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that Alchere would bargain away his lucrative widows before he let the Danes overrun the keep. The raiders could take the women and demand their inheritance and holdings from King Alfred. Alfred would pay the way he’d always done in the past to keep peace. How many treaties had he negotiated with these knaves already?

Gwendolyn would have none of it. She did not even want a Saxon husband to rule her, but a Dane? Just the thought of it had her trembling in her slippers. If her husband’s touch had hurt her, what would it be like to share a bed with a man twice his size? Never. She would simply steal away to the stables when no one was looking. She could hire a protector to take her somewhere far away. To Rome, perhaps. Or any one of the other places her father spoke of with such fondness…

But right now, she needed to see what was really happening outside the keep to form her plan. As she climbed higher toward the ramparts, Gwendolyn’s pouch of rings swung against her leg. The scent of the sea wafted toward her along with smoke from the forgery and the metallic ting of the blacksmith’s arts. The smells of weaponry and battle.

Creeping quietly to the small tower parapet where no guard sat watch, Gwendolyn suppressed a shiver. From the coming danger presented by the Danes? Or the potential for greater dangers outside these walls? Leaving Alchere’s protection could invite pursuit by her in-laws if they ever found out. They had been furious to lose their lucrative heiress when Gerald died, but Alchere insisted they were not entitled to keep her lands and wealth when their union had not produced an heir.

Nervousness churned her stomach. One thing was certain, however. The boats pulling up to the shore beneath the outer walls were unlike anything Gwendolyn had seen before.

Low and sleek, the arriving Norse ships were simple affairs packed with oars and men. Carved wooden figureheads peered proudly from the front of each ship, the fierce angle of the heads marking them as dragons or some other fantastical creature even from this distance. Between Gwendolyn and the oncoming ships—twenty, perhaps—the courtyard below hummed with activity. Warriors hauled weaponry to the walls from storerooms in the keep. Quivers full of arrows appeared from the protective nooks where they were normally kept to keep their feathers crisp. Cauldrons had been set over a bonfire, no doubt boiling some substance to be dumped upon anyone foolish enough to climb the fortifications.

Would it be enough to keep the marauders away?

Gwendolyn sensed the fear in the air. Alchere had boasted enough about his impregnable keep, but he had not fought the scourge of the north, the Norsemen who burned abbeys after raiding the relics and ravaging the women.

The swift boats were landing even now, gliding silently onto the beach all around. Why weren’t Alchere’s men firing on them? Had she been correct to assume they would give these raiders anything they asked to keep them at bay? From up here, she could see no way out of the keep, let alone a clear path to travel if she could reach the stable and secure a horse. Crouching low on her way to the farthest corner nook, she avoided notice from Alchere’s men who congregated on the southern facade, closest to where the Danes gathered. She leaned out over the wall on a vacant section of the ramparts to see the invaders for herself.

The Norsemen were barbaric-looking. Large men, their stony visages reflected their warlike disposition. Their leather braies