​Chapter 1 
August 28, 1428, Janville, France
 
Earl Thomas Kirkham gazed over the walls of Janville, not far from Paris, the heart of France. His mind was on what was to come in the morning. Tomorrow, they would take the town. Thomas felt restless. Though a knight for the seven-year-old King Henry, the sixth king of England to be thus named, Thomas was not a fighter at heart. He did what he had to, whether for the regency council while Henry was in his minority or for a grown king. When those who could take his properties away with a snap of their fingers told him to go to war, Thomas always went to war, but it was always with fear and loathing for what was to come and who he would have to be.
A breeze blew across him. It was gentle, only strong to lift Thomas’s shoulder-length dirty blonde hair to tangle in the beard he wanted badly to shave. But for the last week, there had been no time for that. Too much was at stake, too much on his mind with his army of two hundred and forty-two men depending on him. The weather was different here than his childhood home deep in the isolated border with Scotland. It had been a long time since he had been there. It was a long time since his father died, and he moved from Ravenshill to take on his second barony in Stokesley that needed his attention more than Ravenshill. It lay more than a day’s ride from Ravenshill. One day, his son would hold the Ravenshill barony and inherit Stokesley when Thomas died. But as of yet, he had no son, though his wife waited for him in Stokesley. Only bedded once after a rushed ceremony after his father’s funeral and Thomas’s return to France the following day.
He was among the few lucky men of his station who married for love. He ached for his sweet Anne. He would give anything to see her smile, hear her laugh, and feel her arms and legs wrapped around him as they had been that night. He would have taken her time and again, but he was a young man exhausted from war and death both in France and at home. He was a man who passed out almost immediately after he and Anne consummated their marriage to both their pleasure. He was not awakened until just before dawn the following day with men waiting for him to lead them back to war. That had been five years ago.
A lull in battles and sieges eased the army’s burdens for a while. But Thomas Montagu, Earl of Salisbury, returned to France as England’s lieutenant general for the field. Under Montagu’s command, the army’s movement increased. Battles and sieges were exhausting he and his men, and the hope the war was coming to an end shattered for Thomas.
Thomas respected Montagu a great deal. He was a strong commander and capable leader. The commander returned to England for an extended period to petition the now-deceased King Henry and then his son’s council for reinforcements and the money to do so. Parliament granted his request and gave Montagu and others who advanced money for the war compensation so they would continue to send men to France.
Those others did not include Thomas or his best friend, Viscount Hagan de Ros. Both men funded their armies on behalf of England. The war drained the coffers of Thomas’s two properties and Hagan’s Helmsley for years. Hagan was in a better position than Thomas because Thomas’s father spent a great deal of his life funding his own troops in France before he died. His father’s need for violence and superiority won him the barony of Stokesley. Still, it was his vices of drink and whores that nearly ruined them.
It was Thomas who begged Montagu to petition Parliament for the money Thomas had thus far given to the crown for the damned war that would never end. It would not be much longer, and there would be nothing left for him to feed his wife or his people. But when Montagu made the request, he did not know the extent of the dislike for Thomas’s father. He was a man ready to turn for the flip of a coin. As a result, relief did not come to Thomas or his second-in-command, Hagan. Guilt by association, Thomas supposed, for him and Hagan both.
Since returning to France only a month before, Montagu led them to take control of Rambouillet, Nogent-le-Roi,  Le Puiset, and the area around Chartres. Thomas’s request was not forgotten by Montagu, so when the army took Janville on the morrow, Thomas would be left in charge of the garrison. Once Janville was theirs, the wealthy lord and his family would be ransomed, and Thomas would receive the money. After that, Thomas could walk away from the war.
A war that was thick in his blood. At eighteen, Thomas spent much of his life in France at his father’s side. Thomas knew war intimately before he ever took up arms in it. He was hardened and honed as a good war blade would be, though he never got a taste for blood. He was tired of fighting, France, and the army, but most of all, he missed his wife and home.
Years of waiting and wanting having stacked upon him here in this place. Only to have his hopes dashed again and again. Wealth was supposed to be in abundance in France for the taking. Thomas’s father had been a strong advocate of pillaging and plundering. He had also been a strong advocate for whores, drinking and gambling. The riches he stole were never sent to his properties but went toward his father’s debauchery. Thomas was unsure, but it seemed the English army had been in France long enough that nothing was left to pillage. Thomas wanted an end to the fighting and a chance to return home with enough money to feed his family until he could set Ravenshill and Stokesley to rights again. If Thomas could read, he knew things might not have become so dire for the Kirkhams if he understood the numbers sent to him from his steward. Anne discovered the man had been stealing from the Kirkhams for years. But a boy raised in an army did not waste time learning to read. He spent his time learning to fight.
Come morning, when the walls of Janville fell, and the lord here was within his clutches, it would soon be over, and he could return home.
“It will not be as easy as the others,” Lincoln spoke beside him.
Thomas looked down at the man, whittling a block of wood. It was a favorite pastime of Lincoln Victors. At the age of seventeen, perhaps Lincoln knew war the most. Thomas had to wonder if the mercenary that had come to them would remain in France when Thomas took his army home.
“What are you making now?” Thomas asked, ignoring the comment. Thomas did not think it would be as easy as the last towns they had taken. There was no way it would. The odds were stacked against such a thing. He settled onto the ground next to his friend.
“A bowl.”
“What for?” Thomas asked. Lincoln was skilled at wood carving. He could make anything requested of him, adding much detail.
“Why not?” Lincoln asked in return. “What else do I have to do? Sleep?” Lincoln asked with a bit of sarcasm mixed in.
Thomas had no answer to that. He suspected the carving helped keep Lincoln calm. Of all the soldiers Thomas knew, Lincoln was one of the best, with a quiet decisiveness that would launch him into higher ranks as the war continued.
The men sat in silence for a time. Thomas’s focus was on the walls and what the morning might bring. The constant scrape of Lincoln’s knife told him he did not stare at the walls thinking of tomorrow. But he was focused on the wood and creating something the night before they destroyed Janville.
“I’m going to try to find rest,” Thomas said after more than an hour passed between them in silence. Thomas stood on stiff legs, using Lincoln’s broad shoulder to support him.
“Do you think you will be successful?”
“No more than usual,” Thomas said with a heavy heart. His sleep, on any given night, was not good. Not a night went by that he did not have a nightmare. Some of those were figments of his imagination, others were reliving the traumas of his past. Before tomorrow’s battle, with his nerves spiked, he did not think he would find a moment of sleep, but he was wrong as he lay down on the warm ground.
 
“Now boys,” Thomas’s father, Jasper, said with his famed level of cockiness. “Now comes the spoils of war. We’ll begin with her.” Jasper’s hand raised and pointed to a girl struggling to pull one of her fellow villagers from a burning building.
Thomas and his best friend Hagan followed eagerly. They already knew the wealth that could come from the defeated after a battle. The spoils of war. It was what Thomas’s father and many other men had lived on during the more than a generation-old war with France. This was the first time the young boys participated in the heart of the battle. Thus far, and most of their short lives, they spent from the sidelines, watching the battle, sometimes from afar, sometimes close enough to hear an individual blade strike. After battle, it was the boys’ duty to scavenge the battlefield. Their priority was the weapons first. Armies were always in need of extra weapons. The boys also stripped the armor from the dead and killed those still breathing. In the beginning, Thomas was foolish and tried to keep count of those men, but it became too frightening, too fast, so he stopped. But Hagan could say how many he killed with pride because he was a boy born with a passion for war.
Thomas tried to ascertain what kind of treasure a peasant would possess. Indeed, her simple and worn dress did not boast of any worth. Both boys came to a sudden halt, with gasps a few paces behind. Jasper reached the girl, grabbed the back of her dress, and slammed her head into the side of the building. She fell heavily onto the ground.
Hagan’s arm came out to stop Thomas from moving forward. Thomas didn’t want his father to hurt her if he did not need to. She was of an age close to Thomas and Hagan. Surely, his father did not have to scare the girl to get what he wanted. Thomas looked down at Hagan’s arm, then to his face, which had an expression on his face Thomas had never seen before. It was brutal as usual, but a sadness lurked in the other boy’s eyes.
The girl’s screaming pulled Thomas’s eyes back to his father. He was over top of her now. The girl was thrashing beneath him, crying, biting, and scratching to free herself. But his father was far stronger than the girl. Jasper’s big hand struck the girl on the cheek. Thomas drew in a quick breath, nearly as stunned by his father’s fist as was the girl. This was no soldier or son. She was a child.
His father didn’t give her time to recover. He wrenched up her skirt, yanked her legs roughly apart, and slid between them. The girl tried to squirm again, but his hand closed over her throat and squeezed her to gasps far quieter than the blood-curdling screams. His other hand slipped between them, and suddenly the girl was crying. By the time Thomas realized in his naïve mind what his father was doing, the damage was done.
Hagan’s arm was pushing Thomas backward, and Thomas allowed it. A few steps away, they turned and saw the battlefield before them. What lay out there was less horrific than what was happening behind them. Men joined in war, whether forced or voluntary, but they had some chance of survival. But the girl was innocent, at least before his father touched her.

Chapter 2 
August 28, 1428, Janville, France
 
The blade struck Hagan hard on the blackened steel plate protecting his shoulder. Nonetheless, the strength behind the blow nearly dropped him to a knee. As Hagan staggered, his opponent moved fast, drawing his sword back again and placing two hands on it. The force with which the tip of the blade was coming at him would drive the sword to the hilt if it found an opening in his armor. But the blade never struck. Sword and man hit the ground, blood spraying from the hole in his neck Thomas’s sword had made.
Hagan’s heart thumped wildly. He had been at this game long enough to know when Death reached for him, and he had just a moment ago. Hagan read Thomas’s face immediately and allowed his breath to catch up from the steady breaths he was trained to take while facing off with an opponent. Remembering to breathe was nearly as important as remembering not to die. A man gripped in the urgency of battle could, for a time, be so focused he would not breathe until his body reminded him. By then, that man would be panting, weaker, and less focused.
The battle was over. Small pockets of resistance remained scattered about, but Janville was now under English control for all intents and purposes. There would be no innocent lives taken here. Only those who resisted from this point would be killed. No woman or child would be raped if the offender did not want his testicles removed in front of the entire army by Hagan. Thomas’s order against such atrocities usually only went as far as his own men. But Montagu had given the order as well as respecting Thomas and the position Montagu was giving him at Janville.
 “Find the family,” Thomas said. Hagan turned, passing the order as he moved toward the small castle.
Hagan knew Thomas would be disappointed when he discovered the lord and lady were the only people here that would gain any ransom. They did not have children; the only family members were very minor cousins whose families wouldn’t turn a dime on them. Hagan had watched while these useless people were marched into the courtyard as he waited for all to be gathered.
Hagan watched the progress of four of his men down the corridor toward him. Their pace was slow, and it took a moment for the child to be seen at their center. He had sent orders to find the lord and lady of the house. Hagan felt relief standing in the castle of Janville. He and Thomas were very close to pulling themselves from the poverty they both faced. They now only needed the lord and lady to send the request to their family for the money to release them.
Hagan was unsure why they were bringing him a child. The children might get a little ransom, but nothing like the lord himself would.
“Leave the child and find the lord and lady,” Hagan snapped at them as they made it halfway to him.
“Thomas has Earl Remon Toussaint, and we have Countess Angeline of Le Mans,” Lincoln told him.
Hagan took a second look at the child and realized the guards were moving her so slowly because the girl who could not have seen her fifteenth year was very pregnant. She walked holding the mountain that was her stomach, looking as if the babe’s weight would throw her small frame off balance.
“You are just a child,” Hagan declared as they all stopped before him.
Angeline’s eyes had not risen from the floor at his feet until he spoke. His words made her head of full dark brown hair snap up, and her green eyes blazed with contempt. Hagan felt his own contempt for the girl’s husband. Child marriages were not abnormal, but most husbands waited for their wives to mature enough that their bodies could handle the pregnancy. Looking at this girl, he felt he already knew the pain and suffering she would have before dying on her birthing bed.
“I am Countess of Janville,” she spat between clenched teeth. “I stopped being a child the night I married.”
Hagan stared down at her tiny figure. “And how old were you?”
“I was twelve.”
“And now you are...?” Hagan asked.
“I am thirteen.”
“Holy Christ,” Hagan muttered under his breath.
Angeline looked up at him, and her eyes changed the slightest. The anger ebbed a little at his sympathy.
Hagan gave a deep bow to her. He felt guilty for being a man. He felt guilty because he had seen children raped. He was once given a girl about Angeline’s age for the sole purpose of raping her. He had not, he could not. That girl had left his tent still intact as a virgin. He did not understand why Earl Remon had touched such a young wife. Looking at her now, he didn’t see that her breasts had developed enough to nourish a child. She was thin, her hips narrow, her arms like toothpicks beneath her sleeves. Did Remon not care that by lying with his wife, he ultimately agonizingly killed her.
“This is Lincoln,” Hagan said. “He will remain at your side. Any requests he will see to as well as your safety.”
“I was perfectly safe before you English arrived,” she spat with malice.
Hagan’s eyes strayed to her stomach and remained there. “It does not look as if you were.”
When his eyes raised back to her green ones, she was staring at him with a look that said clearly she was not used to sympathy and just might appreciate his or hate him for it.
Hagan cleared his throat. “Countess,” he said, bowing again. He felt he should show this girl, a woman he corrected in his head, deference for what she had suffered and was yet to. Then Hagan turned to Lincoln, “Keep her at your side and do not let her husband anywhere near her.”
As Hagan turned away, Angeline drew him back around. “You do not have the power to keep him away,” Angeline said.
“I assure you, I do.” He turned from her again, and his boots echoed down the stairway as he descended to find Thomas and his prisoner, Angeline’s husband, the man Hagan wanted so badly to beat to death.

 
Chapter 3 
August 29, 1428, Janville, France
 
It had been five hours since Hagan gave him the order to be Angeline’s shadow, and in all that time she hadn’t stopped. Despite her round belly, she played her part as the lady of the keep, ensuring the injured were cared for and ensuring the household knew there was no choice but to obey the Englishmen who now occupied her small castle. Her eyes were taking on dark circles around them, seeming to grow starker by the minute as her face grew paler and paler.
She was kneeling next to one of the guards who had been injured, valiantly trying to protect the gates. Lincoln had seen enough war wounds to know the older man would not survive. He wanted to ask Angeline if he should end the man’s suffering. He had given enough medical aid to know the signs that the man’s bowls were leaking into his body, filling him and killing him. But he could tell this man meant something to her.
“I think it is time for you to rest,” Lincoln tried to encourage her off her feet.
But Angeline said nothing, as she had done for the past five hours. Hagan had told him to stay at her side, not to prevent her from doing as she wished. He had to admit the household needed a lady to guide them, but Angeline was just a child. Though she had the moxy to reign as a queen, her small body appeared to be giving out.
After a few moments, she began to rock to her feet. Lincoln reached for her, taking one thin arm in his hand, placing his palm beneath her elbow, and helping her to her feet. As Lincoln began to draw away, she sagged. Lincoln grabbed for her, but she recovered as his hands fell on her again. With irritation, she jerked from him.
“You should rest,” Lincoln tried again.
Sunken eyes glared out at him with a banked fury. For a moment, Lincoln felt as if he should cross himself and say a prayer. For that brief moment, he was convinced she could burn him to ashes with their fiery embers.
She said nothing and turned away from him, moving deeper into the hall. Helpless, Lincoln followed her until she stopped next to another. The woman’s leg was broken, and Lincoln had helped set the bones back into place earlier. Holding her rounded stomach, she fell heavily onto her knees. She had to rest, Lincoln told himself. But he did not know if that was something he could insist upon.
Lincoln had only joined Hagan’s forces in the last year. Lincoln was raised by his uncle, the leader of a powerful mercenary army. The man had become wealthy by bidding out his sword. Since it was the way Lincoln saw growing up, he saw no problem with loyalties going to the highest bidder. At sixteen, Lincoln was done after what seemed a lifetime of carnage, with never a moment when his uncle was not fighting or looking for a fight. He wanted to join the Church and learn what it was to be a man of faith. But he should have known his uncle’s name, and his reputation for fighting would haunt him. Lincoln wanted to know there was something more than what he had thus far witnessed in life. He knew there was a gentler side to human nature. But not even the Church could give him peace.
Lincoln was guided to the Teutonic Knights. The order, housed in Marienburg, Prussia, helped travelers safely from the Holy Land. Their purpose was to aid and provide care for those in need on their way to Jerusalem. But that piece of his life had ended nearly as quickly as it began. So he found himself at seventeen, a knight despite his tender years. With little more than a year as a knight of the Church, he became a mercenary again. He went to the English army and offered his services to the lords and their commanders. But he had no army behind him, only himself. No one gave him consideration until Hagan gave him the opportunity to display his skills. Lincoln immediately became Hagan’s man, and despite knowing Lincoln’s past and questionable loyalty, Lincoln became his confidant. Next to Thomas, Lincoln was Hagan’s closest friend.
But with a past that had no connection to court, Lincoln was unsure if a knight could order a Countess about. One thing he was sure of, the pregnant girl would fight him if he tried to force her. He had seen that in her eyes. Any fight might very well kill her.
Lincoln motioned one of the pages to his side. “Find Lord Hagan and tell him the countess will not rest, and I think she should. Ask him what I am to do.”
The boy gave a slight bow, but by his expression, Lincoln had to wonder if the solution was so simple even the boy knew. Lincoln hurried to Angeline’s side as she tried to stagger to her feet. He lifted her and sat her on them. He followed her around the room, helping her to kneel and rise. He ordered anyone near to bring everything she requested so she did not have to do so herself. He barked his orders, becoming more agitated that this woman would collapse.
Finally, he heard the heavy footsteps of Hagan as Angeline knelt by the guard again. “You need to come with me,” Hagan said without preamble.
“I must see to Sir Reginald.”
Hagan bent to pull Angeline to her feet, then paused and looked at the knight. “He will not live.”
“You cannot say…” Angeline began with anger clouding her judgment.
“I do say.”
“It is the truth,” Lincoln replied.
Angeline looked from Lincoln to Hagan, then to the man who was now too weak to cry over the pain tearing through him. Hagan dropped to his knees next to Angeline.
“He is suffering, and his end will be the same.” Hagan reached for the knife sheathed at his belt. When he pulled it free, Angeline’s pale hand fell on Hagan’s big, tanned one. Hagan stopped. Lincoln did not know what power the girl had, but she made Hagan pause. He turned his head and looked at her. Long seconds passed as they knelt beside each other thus.
“I would not take your man’s life if there was hope. But this pain could last days.” Lincoln had never heard Hagan’s voice come so gently from his lips.
With reluctance, Angeline slipped her hand from Hagan’s. Quickly, Hagan leaned forward and slid the knife’s point into the side of the man’s neck. The battle was finally over for him. Then Hagan resheathed his knife and stood. He reached for Angeline, who was crying silent tears and scooped her into his arms.
Lincoln felt a warning explode within his breast. He looked around for the danger, but the hall was the same. His eyes returned to Hagan, who was turning with Angeline to carry her away. Angeline allowed Hagan’s arms around her without protest. Her eyes did not blaze but closed as she leaned her head against his chest. He recalled Hagan’s gentle voice. Then he knew they were the ones who would be the threat.

 
Chapter 4 
September 1, 1428. Janville
 
Thomas swung his sword in an arc, back and forth and it flowed like a river, sure and steady.
“I have a much better sword than that rusty piece of iron,” Remond commented as he watched Thomas in his daily exercise. Thomas depended on the training to strengthen his arms and back so the weight and pull of the sword was a natural extension of his arm. Thomas may have never wanted to use his sword on anyone as much as he wanted to drive it into the pompous ass of Lord Remond.
Thomas ignored him.
“Set with jewels it is. Cost me a fortune. What’s yours worth?” the man scoffed at his own question. “You are weak Englishman. The fact you have not stolen a Frenchman’s sword tells me you are not a very good soldier.”
Thomas’s swings ceased. He fought the urge to turn to Remond, raise the sword and plunge it deep. Instead, he ignored the man and left the yard. Thomas thought he was prepared for the responsibility of keeping Janville secure. That was easy enough, but in securing, a burden was laid at his feet he wanted nothing to do with.
He was tasked with protecting a fortune in gold. The gold, raised and stolen by King Henry’s brother, Humphrey of Lancaster, Duke of Gloucester, was hidden in the baggage wagons. How long this gold was hidden, Thomas did not know. Nor did he care. But Humphrey revealed the gold when it was unloaded and stored at Janville. Montagu knew nothing of the gold hidden in some of the trunks in the baggage wagons traveling with his army. Thomas did not want to keep this information from his commander, but Humphrey was much more dangerous than Montagu. So Thomas told no one at Humphrey’s order. As far as Thomas knew, only he and Humphrey knew of the fortune. Thomas knew one more witness was one more weak link he was sure Humphrey would want to rid himself of. That alone had him on edge, fearing once Humphrey returned for the gold, he would rid himself of his only witness.
As Thomas’s agitated strides carried him quickly toward the manor house, he heard Hagan fall into step. “We received word from Louvre” he said.
Thomas stopped abruptly and turned to him. “From Louvre. What of Laurent?”
“It seems as if Remond’s father is not in residence there and will not return for months.”
Thomas felt himself deflating. That was far too long. He had put all his eggs in Janville’s basket. The army had moved on, taking riches, powerful men and women to ransom, gold and silver, jewels and coins. Money flowed outside the gates of Janville, but hope was dying with the news inside.
“Where is he now?”
“I am not sure,” Hagan replied with reluctance. “He is not in France. We do know that.”
Thomas exploded with a curse and then asked, “Is there another relative?” He tried to calm his racing heart so his brain could slow enough to think. It could take months to broker a deal with Remond’s father, once he was found.
“I do not know,” Hagan said.
“What of Lady Angeline?”
Hagan shook his head, which annoyed Thomas all the more. They all knew it was Remond whose family had the wealth. The ransom of Lady Angeline would only be a fraction of what her husband would bring. Hagan should have been spending his time finding out more about the location of Remond’s father. Not wasting time on the child.
It was all Thomas could do to rein back his anger before he unleashed it on his second in command. “Find out more about Remond’s relatives and quickly,” Thomas managed with only a small level of bite in his tone.
Hagan turned to leave him but stopped mid-step, freezing as his eyes found Angeline crossing the bailey slowly. “Hagan, watch yourself,” Thomas declared. “Keep focused, and we’ll be out of here sooner than later.”
Hagan did not hesitate to nod and move forward with his duty. Find a new loved one who might pay a high price to see Remond back with them. Thomas feared no one, but the man’s father would care if he was returned.
Thomas’s eyes fell on Angeline. He could see what Hagan saw in her, a girl needing protection. He did not think Hagan’s interest went beyond that. It was a fair enough assessment of a man who was as tired as he of all the fighting. He saw why Hagan would want to protect instead of kill. They were both hoping their place in the war was winding down. But at the moment, they were stuck idle here. Idle enough for Hagan to fancy his interest in Angeline was more than what it was.
Angeline had already turned and was shuffling her way back toward the house. She was definitely the epitome of a child in need of protection. Thomas hoped they would be able to leave this place soon.

Chapter 5 
September 7, 1428, Janville
 
The screams echoed through the castle walls. It seemed Hagan could do nothing to escape those terrified and pain-filled screams. He had to go to the animal enclosures to silence the horror of what Angeline was going through. But even out of earshot, her labor still rang in his head, pounding relentlessly.
The labor began two days before. Angeline had been walking with a couple of servants across the upper bailey, where Hagan stood with several of his men. Halfway across the expanse, a scream suddenly ripped from Angeline’s mouth, and she dropped to her knees. Hagan was instantly at her side, saw the blood, scooped her into his arms, and carried her to the chamber where he was directed. He had not seen her since. But occasionally, when her screams ended, Hagan found himself outside her chamber door, waiting for the news she finally died. But always, he arrived at her door to hear the screams that had silenced to sobs growing more desperate with each hour that passed.
“Where have you been?” Thomas asked from behind him.
Hagan started, just realizing he had been facing the structure and the window that was Angeline’s. All Hagan could do was shrug. He couldn’t say where he had been. At least not to Thomas because Hagan had just been wandering the corridors and grounds when he wasn’t outside her door holding his breath. He soon discovered he was the only one. As one would expect of a man who would rape a child, Remon had no concern for his wife. He did not wait anxiously for his child to arrive, nor did he seem to care if the woman who labored with it might die.
“You have to pull back, Hagan,” Thomas said in a voice that was positive in the command. “You know you cannot have her. You can never have her.”
“Remon is an asshole,” Hagan mumbled under his breath.
“I would say Remon is more than an asshole,” Thomas replied, stepping forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Hagan. “But he is her husband.”
“I am well aware of that fact,” Hagan said with bitterness strong enough to be foul in his mouth.
“Then why do you walk these walls as if it was your wife and child who lay dying?”
“I cannot say,” Hagan nearly whispered.
“It’s because she is the girl’s age,” Thomas said gently.
“She is. Remon has killed her just as your father killed the girl.”
“But Remon has a right to his wife. My father was a foul, amoral man,” Thomas said with great bitterness.
Hagan felt bitterness, but it all centered on Remon for placing Angeline in such pain. Hagan knew what she faced when he first saw her. He did not doubt Remon knew precisely what he was doing when he stuck his dick in his young wife. But he cared no more then than he did now.
 “I know my father is burning in eternal hell for the man he was. Rest assured, Remon will do the same,” Thomas attempted to reassure him.
“It’s not soon enough to save her,” Hagan replied.
“You know by the sounds she stands next to Death now. He is going to take her.”
“And if he does not, she will face this again. She told me the best part of her marriage was when she became pregnant. Remon stopped coming to her bed every night. He will return to it if she survives this.”
“As is his right. You have no right to her, friend.”
“I would think we are more than friends,” Hagan said, his eyes traveling over Thomas before returning to the window. “I know,” Hagan said. “I know I have no claim to her. I keep telling myself this. But I cannot stop myself from hoping more for her.”
“Perhaps this,” Thomas said, gesturing toward the walls behind which Death was taking Angeline into his arms. “Is God’s mercy so she does not have to live a lifetime with Remon.”
“Perhaps,” Hagan mumbled, but he did not believe God was concerned with showing Angeline mercy at that moment. Indeed, if that was his goal, she would have long since died. What was happening behind those walls was torture.
“I think you should rejoin Montagu‘s army. I can hold Janville with my men. You know you can trust me to split the ransom.”
“I do not doubt either of those things,” Hagan replied. “But there is no point, she will die soon.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas nod. “But be patient with me until then?”
Thomas slapped Hagan affectionately on the back. “Take the time you need, brother. Wait for her to die and then mourn her death. There is nothing more to do.”
Thomas walked away from Hagan, who stood staring at the window, waiting.

Chapter 6 
September 9, 1428, Janville
 
The hall lay silent as Lincoln entered with Hagan. Upon the dais Thomas sat with Remon. Remon was the only voice that rose in the hall. It echoed in the silence and immediately grated on Lincoln’s nerves.
They were halfway to the table when they both heard his words. “I can only hope she will have better sense than to carry on as she did when you first came. That is why she lost my child. She should have left the injured to die. Not kill my child.”
“I will tie her to her bed when next she becomes pregnant. Perhaps when I mount her even,” Remon said as if contemplating the idea. “She does like to bite and claw.”
Lincoln could feel the heat of Hagan’s rage burn him. “He is a cold-hearted devil. You will not be able to change that.”
“But I can beat his snarky face to a pulp and cut his dick off, so he never puts it in his wife again.”
Lincoln stopped and grabbed Hagan’s arm. For a moment Hagan did not bend to Lincoln’s will. The muscles in the big man’s arms were tense, ready to jerk free, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned and looked at Lincoln. “You have to get over this,” Lincoln warned.
Hagan’s face reddened, his eyes widened at Lincoln’s words, then he shook his head slowly. “Angeline almost died.”
“The Countess,” Lincoln said stressing the title, “Is not yours.”
“I know this. I know she never will be. But how can you turn your back on what is happening here?”
Lincoln shrugged. “It is sometimes the way of things. She is his property and that is all she is to him. It does not matter if you think she is more to you.” To drive his words home he offered, “Just because you are fonder of my horse than yours does not mean you can take him.” Lincoln studied Hagan for a moment before concluding, “It is no different. Property is property, whether land, animal or wife.”
“I am not so hungry now,” Hagan said. He turned and stalked from the room.

Chapter 7 
September 10, 1428, Janville
 
Thomas stood in the doorway. The portal had opened silently, so Hagan and Angeline were unaware they were discovered. Hagan held the girl in his loose embrace. His head was bent over Angeline, and he was kissing her. Thomas was shocked to silence for a moment. This was what Hagan had been raging about since first meeting Angeline, she was too young for intimacy. When Hagan’s eyes rose from her and met Thomas’s, he straightened quickly, dropping his hand that was cradling Angeline’s face.
“Is this how you keep your distance?” Thomas snapped at him.
Hagan looked from Thomas to Angeline and then back. “It is my fault,” Angeline said, stepping forward. She placed a hand on Thomas’s arm to still him, but it made him bristle more. “I only wanted to know what it was like to be kissed.”
Thomas continued to silently stare at the hand that rested on him. It was small and pale, and he wondered how any man could do horrific things to her. He wondered how Hagan could do such things to her.
For all her bravado, Angeline drew her hand back from beneath his stare.
At that point, Hagan stepped around Angeline and quickly guided Thomas from the room.
“It is not what you think,” Hagan began after looking behind him to see that Angeline did not follow.
“What do I think?” Thomas asked.
“I was only sharing a kiss with her.”
“She is a child,” Thomas hissed.
“She is a woman who nearly died in childbirth. You cannot be a child after that.”
“So now it is okay to turn her into a whore?”
Hagan stopped in his tracks. Thomas halted his steps, hesitated then turned to him. “It was only a kiss,” Hagan insisted.
Thomas took the two steps back to him. “Only a kiss? You are aware she has a husband?”
“She has never been kissed before,” Hagan said. It was his only defense, one that made no sense to Thomas.
“When she was laboring, she was horrified she was dying in childbirth but had never been kissed.”
“So she came to you?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Why?” Thomas asked, staring at his friend, who he was beginning to fear would take their entire plan down if he did not step carefully.
“Because I am kind to her.”
“Why are you even near her? Did we not decide being around her was not a good idea for you?”
“I cannot help it. It is as you talk of Anne, how you miss her when you are not with her.”
“That is different. I have known Anne for a lifetime but have only been with her once after our wedding because of this cursed war. I do miss her. It drives me mad. What you have is guilt because we did not stop my father.”
“It was too late for that girl, and none of that has anything to do with Angeline.”
“Then why are you dallying with her?”
Hagan shook his head, “I do not know. I am drawn to her.”
“You will bring more pain to her and to yourself.”
“But I can give her what her husband will never give her while I am here.”
“What are you talking about, Hagan? Are you talking about love?” Thomas felt anger flaring. This was not what they were here for. “She is married,” Thomas said, enunciating every word as if Hagan was daft. His friend had to be if he was not seeing the danger.
“I am talking about just a moment in a lifetime. What we share here will only be a blink in my life when I die.”
Thomas could not help but laugh. “You are what seventeen? You are still too young to worry about such things.”
“And how many women have you been with?” Hagan asked.
“Only my wife.”
“So, what do you know of such things?” Hagan’s voice filled with malice. “You still believe you will return home and impregnate your wife and live forever happily. Life does not work so easily. How long have we been here, away from Anne?”
“Nearly five years,” Thomas said with a pang of guilt and loneliness.
“When I see you speak of Anne, I am envious because of the way you smile. Your face lights up. You are fortunate you could choose your wife. I do not know what kind of woman has been arranged for me. She is only six. Nine years, I must wait. She will be fifteen, and I will be an old man.”
“You will hardly be an old man.”
“I may not be because I may not survive. I may not be alive long enough to have a wife, to father children, and hopefully one day love my wife as you love yours.”
“Soon, we will go home, wealthy men,” Thomas declared.
“Soon, we will go home and leave Angeline here with Remond–. I know, I know,” Hagan began before Thomas could remind him again he was her husband.
“She is still a child, even if you convince yourself otherwise. Allow me to find you a woman.”
“I have had enough women to know I am not drawn to them as I am, Angeline.”
Thomas grabbed Hagan by the arm, squeezing tightly so he had no choice but to pay attention to Thomas. “You stop this. It cannot and will not end well, you know this. Find someone else to put your dick into, but leave that girl alone. We ransom her and that ass of a husband of hers. Without them, we will never get home. Remember that and forget her,” Thomas said, releasing him and walking away.
Thomas’s feet thundered with each angry step down the corridor. His heart pounded, and his pulse drummed in his ears. If Hagan was any other man, he would send him away or at least have him punished to the point he would never look at Angeline again. But Hagan was his brother, if not by blood, then by war. Perhaps it created a bond stronger than blood. A part of Thomas wished Angeline had died with her child. That part of Thomas made him hate himself because Angeline deserved none of this. Truthfully, Angeline deserved a man like Hagan, but it was far too late.
Thomas was crossing the hall when he decided he would punish Hagan severely if he defied his order and was seen with Angeline again. But the decision weighed heavily on Thomas. Punishments under Thomas were dealt harshly. The worst transgressions were corrected with a whip. Thomas had seen men ripped to shreds under the leather straps. Whatever the transgression or punishment, Thomas’s men learned to toe the line for the good of the army. He did not want to do that to Hagan, a man who had his back and followed his every command. All except this one.
Time was running out. Soon, Humphrey would return for the gold. Thomas hoped to leave the garrison under someone else’s control before then. Just as soon as he received the ransom. He could go without telling anyone of the gold, as it was hidden far behind barrels of food supplies in the back of the cellar. It could be months before anyone bothered to look in them. But Thomas knew it did not matter if he was in France or Stokesley. Humphrey would still kill him if he wanted to. It all depended on whether King Henry knew of the gold or if it would culminate into brother betraying brother. Thomas did not want the answer to that.

Chapter 8 
September 12, 1428, Janville
 
Remon’s dark eyes met Hagan’s and narrowed at the corners. This was not the first time Remon had noticed Hagan’s interest in his wife. It was a surprise since the man took no notice of her himself. Now, he took sick pleasure in demonstrating Angeline was his wife and always would be. But he did not display his wife as Hagan would, with pride and reverence. Instead, Remon constantly had a hand on her. Whether it was her shoulder, arm, waist, or thigh beneath the table during the meal. His touch made her shudder and brought a light of amusement to Remon’s eyes for his wife’s discomfort and Hagan’s jealousy.
Remon and Angeline drew closer to the table where Hagan sat. They reached Hagan, he glared openly at Remon. Remon turned to his wife and said, “I will be to your bed in a moment.”
Her green eyes flicked to Hagan before her head dropped, and she moved obediently away. When Hagan could drag his eyes from her, he saw Remon smirking.
“I reclaim my husbandly rights tonight.”
Hagan felt himself seethe. “It has not been a week.”
“That does not matter. What matters is that you know she is mine, and I will show you both that when she is carrying my next child.”
Hagan grabbed Remon’s arm. “I told you I would kill you if you hurt her.”
It was a cool, calculated gaze that met Hagan’s. “I don’t think Thomas would appreciate that. If I die, all talks of getting a ransom will die with me. Angeline has no family, and mine would rather see her impoverished than carrying the Toussaint name. With that in mind, you and I both know you can do nothing to stop me.”
Hagan could not let his fingers release Remon’s arm.
“I grow impatient with my delay. I would hate to take it out on my wife.” Remon stressed the words “my wife” as Hagan’s fingers recoiled, releasing him. Remon smirked at him before he turned and followed in Angeline’s wake.
Hagan stared after him, so intense he did not realize Thomas was at his shoulder until he spoke. “What were those glares about?” Thomas asked, handing Hagan a glass of wine.
Hagan looked down into it as he responded, “he is joining with her tonight.”
“I thought he would give her a little more time to recover.”
“I would think,” Hagan began drily, “he would have waited so as not to get a child pregnant. Yet, he is doing it again. It will kill her next time.”
“With God’s good grace, we will be long gone from this place when that happens.” Thomas left him with the words weighing him down as if the Earth sat on his shoulders.
Hagan’s steps carried him up the staircase, and he found his feet planted on the floor outside Angeline’s door. He pressed his ear to the wooden barrier. He could hear Remond with her, grunting his pleasure before he released his seed. It sickened Hagan, and he forced his fists to unclench. He could rush in and yank Remond off her, but what then? He couldn’t kill the man. He was far too vital to Thomas. To both of them.
Hagan pressed a palm against the door. He was willing his strength to enter the chamber and inhabit Angeline for what was happening and what would happen again.

Chapter 9 
September 20, 1428, Janville
 
Hagan stared at the ground. His mind was a million miles away.
“Hagan,” Lincoln said again, louder.
Whatever thought Hagan was absorbed in, he snapped away from. “Do you want to take up the sword with me?” Lincoln asked.
Hagan stood patiently as he looked over Lincoln and the two blunted practice swords in his hands. Even with his mind distracted, the corner of his lip quirked up. He held his hand out, and Lincoln passed him the sword. They stepped out onto the field, ringing with the crash of steel swords, the thump of striking staffs, and the grunt of men.
Hagan took a defensive stance, and Lincoln lunged toward him. The battle was fierce at first, but Lincoln knew it did not take long for Hagan’s mind to begin to wonder again. From beginning to end, the battles between the two men were intense. But now Hagan’s efforts were diminishing. Lincoln eased his strikes, and then, in the middle of the mock battle, Hagan dropped his sword.
“I am seeking help from the Duke of Burgundy for his support to take Angeline away from here.”
“Why would he care?”
“He does not care whether he is for the English or the French. It is what he can do for himself and his lands. He would like a chance to purchase the loyalty of a man like me.”
“What of Thomas?” Lincoln asked, stepping closer. He did not want any ears catching their words.
Hagan shrugged. “He will not like it. But he will deal with it. He can still ransom Remond. He can still get his money and return it to his wife. What of Angeline? What chance does she have? Perhaps she will be better suited for carrying a child in a year. Girls bloom at her age, but she will not get that chance because Remond will kill her first.
“It is not right.”
Again, Hagan shrugged. “Many things are not right. Many of those things we ourselves have done. I do not know why this would be different.”
“Because it affects us all. I don’t think Thomas will forgive you if you take her.”
“He will,” Hagan replied with foolish confidence. “He knows what it is like to love a woman. He will understand one day.” Hagan studied Lincoln briefly before saying, “I have to go.” He handed the sword to Lincoln and left the field.
Lincoln watched him retreating, knowing Hagan would send a messenger to Burgundy before the day ended. Lincoln wondered if he should catch that messenger. But he knew it would not matter. If he did catch this one, there would be another. Or worse, Hagan and Angeline would flee on their own. If he was going to get away with another man’s wife without being hanged, he needed help. Few people were powerful enough to sweep such a thing under the rug. But Philip of Burgundy could, and Lincoln decided not to stop the messenger. He would let the cards fall where they may and ride out the consequences.
But his gut clenched and churned, warning him it would not be that simple. It was never that simple.

Chapter 10 
October 2, 1428, Janville
 
“Remon!” Thomas called as he opened the door into the lord’s chamber. “Hagan was supposed to bring you…” His words died in his throat.
Remon and Thomas’s hope for a fortune lay upon the stone floor. Blood was pooled around Remon, still spreading on the cold stonework from the man’s body on the floor’s ashlar faces. Thomas watched the blood seep between the stones, melding with the mortar.
Thomas rushed forward, squatting next to Remon. He stared at his back. It did not rise and fall. He rolled the man’s still-warm body onto his back. The chest wound was deep, placed there by a sword, Thomas had no doubt. For a brief instant in time, before Thomas’s brain could bring the pieces together, he wondered what kept Hagan from coming to Remon. Thomas stood, his legs shook now. What penetrated the most was the poverty Thomas would be returning to Stokesley in. Not only had he been away from his beloved wife for five years, he had nothing to show for it. Whoever did this set forth a chain reaction that would be far-reaching all the way to England and the land Thomas could no longer afford. This was what he got for being patient, doing his duty, and being an honest man. He had been passed over time and again for those unscrupulous and greedy.
Thomas would go to Stokesley and remain if he could scrape together the expected taxes. The King would not take notice of his failings as an earl. But Anne would know. Their future children would know. All the villages that depended on him and his army for protection would know because he would not be able to keep the troops he usually paid in order to protect what belonged to him.
Thomas ran a hand through his hair and then froze. His mind flitted to Angeline and then to Hagan. It pieced together in his head in a collision of disbelief and rage. Hagan had come here, and he killed Remon. Thomas knew this instinctively and without a doubt. Thomas turned and fled the room, heading toward Hagan’s. Thomas was not surprised to see the chamber empty, even empty of the bags that contained Hagan’s possessions. Thomas turned and raced toward Lincoln’s chamber. When he flung the door open, Lincoln’s head snapped up. He stood at his bed, bag in hand, as he stuffed his items into it.
“Where’s Hagan?”
“He has left.”
“Left?” Thomas thundered. Had he not known? “Where?” then a more urgent question invaded. “When?”
Lincoln only shook his head slightly. Thomas turned, fleeing toward the stable as a curse echoed into the corridor behind him. As Thomas reached the outer courtyard and turned to take the steps leading to the stables, he nearly tumbled down them in his haste.
He would kill Hagan. Thomas knew even in his rage that it would change nothing. But Hagan had betrayed him. His friend, his brother, the man Thomas had put all his trust into, had thrown it away when he drove his sword into Remon. He reached the stable and slung the door open.

Chapter 11 
October 2, 1428, Janville
 
“What are you doing, Hagan?” Thomas’s sharp voice heralded his entrance into the stable.
Hagan turned his head only a moment before returning his attention to the task of packing the horse. Hagan scowled. He had hoped Remon’s body wouldn’t be found before he was clear of Janville‘s gates. His worst-case scenario was that a servant would find Remon and begin to raise the alarm. That would take time before anyone came to the stable, and he thought he would be long gone by then.
“Hagan, you can’t do this,” Thomas said, coming closer.
At his shoulder, Hagan sensed Angeline holding her breath. “It is done, Thomas,” Hagan replied with no regret.
“It is not done. Not by far. Someone has to answer for Remon‘s death.”
“I will, but not until I arrive safely on English soil with Angeline.”
“What am I to do Hagan? Do you not know the significance of your actions?”
“I know, Thomas,” Hagan replied. His voice came out with a bitter note. Hagan knew what he had done. He knew the consequences to himself and to Thomas. But he knew what would become of Angeline if he had not taken action. He and Thomas would find a way to survive, but he was Angeline’s only hope for an opportunity to do the same.
“Thomas,” Lincoln said, plunging breathlessly into the stable. He drew up short, startled that Hagan was still there.
“Do you know what you have done?” Thomas screamed at Hagan. His face was twisted in a shroud of rage Hagan did not think possible on the man’s face. Thomas had every right, but Hagan hoped one day Thomas would forgive him and come to understand.
Finished with the bags and tightening the girth, he turned to Thomas. “What would you do if you went home and found a man in control of  Anne? A man who had been abusing her and threatening her life with his actions? What would you do, Thomas?”
“But she is another man’s wife,” Thomas declared between his clenched teeth.
“And I love her as you love Anne.”
“My love is why I’m here and not by my warm hearth with my beautiful wife in my arms. That is why I have slept in the dirt, rain, and heat. That’s why I have lived smelling like myself, my horse, and every foul thing we had to suffer through.” Thomas’s voice rose to a scream by the time he finished.
Hagan scowled as he turned his horse and attempted to lead him from the stable. Thomas stood in his path, stopping Hagan, but on some level, Thomas knew he could not stop the larger man.
“I will not let you leave with her,” Thomas said. “You will not leave me standing alone with this mess. I told you this is what would happen. For the love of God, I cannot explain this,” he heard the desperation in his friend’s voice.
Hagan knew Thomas would be unable to explain how he allowed Hagan to get to the point where he killed Remon and ran with Angeline. Hagan was under Thomas’s command, making Thomas responsible for Hagan’s actions. Not only did Thomas face the continuation of diminishing estates, but he also faced punishment from Montagu, if not the King himself. Hagan knew Thomas would not escape his actions unscathed, but he would never be able to leave Angeline behind. Perhaps, with Bedford’s help, Hagan would not see complete ruin, even taking responsibility for Remon‘s death. He could never leave Angeline to face the defense of her body with her own death as punishment. It would not matter that she was a tiny, desperate creature making a last effort at defense. If anyone knew it had been she who killed her husband, she would be executed.
“Get out of my path,” Hagan growled.
“I should kill you for this.”
Hagan’s eyes roved over Thomas. Thomas had not come here to kill him, or he would have his sword strapped to his hip. Then Hagan’s eyes flicked to Lincoln, still standing behind Thomas.
Thomas swung toward Lincoln. “You will guard him in his cowardly exit?” Thomas demanded.
Slowly, Lincoln’s hand moved to the sword on his belt, resting on the pommel. “You plan to kill me?” Thomas asked incredulously.
“We will not kill you, Thomas. No matter what you think of me now, I still hold you in the highest regard and respect. But I will not let you stop me.” Hagan took two steps forward before Thomas rushed at him with a growl of rage.
The man was considerably smaller than Hagan, but he was like a stone wall slamming into him, nearly knocking him off balance as he drove Hagan backward. Hagan made a decision in that instant. He would not lay a hand on his friend. He recognized he had done enough without leaving physical marks, too. Thomas had a forearm against Hagan’s throat, pushing him back so his body slammed against a stall, making the horse inside expel a note of alarm. The hand that had been planted on Hagan’s chest rose into the air, and his fist landed on the side of Hagan’s face with the power of a sledgehammer.
Hagan was aware Lincoln already stood behind Thomas before the blow came. That Lincoln didn’t stop Thomas before he could land his punch spoke volumes on how Lincoln felt about Hagan’s decision. But Lincoln had an inexplicable, unwavering loyalty and would never speak his mind if it went against Hagan’s. Before Thomas could get another blow in, Lincoln wrapped his arms around Thomas, pinning his arms firmly while using his bull strength to pull him back.
Hagan pushed away from the stall and took hold of his horse’s reins. He took a step, then turned and looked at Lincoln, still holding firmly to Thomas, whose face was nearly crimson in its outrage.
“Damn you, Hagan. Don’t do this!” Thomas warned, trying to lunge from Lincoln’s grip. Thomas was a formidable opponent, but his strength was little against men like Hagan and Lincoln. Hagan was thankful Thomas had not put on his sword, or things would have ended differently between them.
“I hope one day you will understand,” Hagan said softly.
Thomas’s eyes changed then. The rage fled, giving way to the desperation of all his fears. “Please, don’t do this.”
Hagan paused. He could say nothing that would make his decision any easier for Thomas. “I’m sorry, truly.” Then Hagan turned, bidding Angeline to follow.

Chapter 12 
October 2, 1428, Janville
 
Thomas writhed and roared as Hagan disappeared out the door. Thomas was a wiry man, but he was not without his strength, and what he could not win with strength, he could not persevere with bullheadedness not knowing when to give up. He fought until Lincoln’s arms ached from the effort of holding him. By then, Hagan was somewhere outside the castle gates. Soon, he would be too far ahead for Thomas to catch him.
Lincoln loosened his grip and thrust Thomas out of arm’s reach. Thomas panted and paused a moment. But it was only a moment before he moved toward the tack room.
“You can saddle any horse here, and I will cut it down before you make it from this barn,” Lincoln warned.
Thomas froze, his back rigid. Slowly, he turned around to face Lincoln. The Earl’s face was set in stone, but something different lurked in his blue eyes.
“Why are you letting him go?” Thomas asked.
“Why wouldn’t I. He is right. Angeline deserves better than that bastard. Anyone deserves better than that.”
“One woman,” Thomas’s voice rose in a fury as he held up a finger. “That is all it has taken for my two most trusted men to turn on me.”
What Lincoln saw in those eyes, now full of fury, was the knowledge that Hagan and Lincoln were betraying him.
“A child,” Lincoln mumbled. For him, that made the difference in all this.
“A child is no better regarding brothers and that sword in my back. You know this will fell me.”
“I cannot change that now,” Lincoln said. He hoped his calm voice might help calm Thomas. But the Earl had no reason to settle. For his part in the betrayal, Thomas should take Lincoln’s head. But Lincoln knew his friend would not.
“What about before? Could you have stopped it before Hagan walked into this barn? Did you not know soon enough to warn me?”
Thomas’s body straightened in indignation when Lincoln did not answer. His eyes darkened and hate so intense resided there it made Lincoln shudder. Thomas stared at Lincoln for a minute, and then he moved forward. His angry stride carried him to Lincoln. His hands came up and slammed into the other man’s chest, shoving him. The blow took his breath and staggered the larger man backward. Thomas walked out of the barn, and Lincoln let him go.
Lincoln returned to his chamber. His bags still lay unpacked, and he paused in the doorway, staring at them. He felt a loss that made his chest ache more than Thomas’s fist. This was the first home he had ever known, not at Janville, but with Hagan and Thomas. They were brothers. They had laughed together, fought together, celebrated together, and mourned together. Guilt for ending that for Thomas washed over him. There was betrayal, but this betrayal cut deep for them all.
Hagan would not have stopped in his attempt to free Angeline from Remond. He could not have done such a thing because Hagan was a better person than he or even Thomas. Loyalty drove Hagan to keep his banner beneath Thomas’s. He needed neither the glory nor the treasures to be gained from this war. He was brought to France with an obligation to the King and friendship for Thomas. What Thomas, Hagan, and Lincoln had was far beyond friendship. And that was gone.
Lincoln thought for a moment about leaving Thomas. But Thomas had to answer for Hagan, and he did not envy the man for that. He felt his betrayal ran as deep as Hagan’s where Thomas was concerned. Thomas was a commander whose men drove themselves beyond capacity out of loyalty and not cruelty. All his men fought beneath the Ravenshill banner, knowing they may not survive. But they had, with cries for victory and faith in the Lord and their commander. How could Lincoln do any differently? He would give Thomas time to cool before he asked for his forgiveness. For what he had done, Lincoln would even beg for it, and he had never begged a man before.

Chapter 13 
October 2, 1428, Janville
 
Thomas sat at the trestle table, unmindful of the people in the castle, his men casting anxious glances his way. He swirled the wine in his goblet, staring into the dark liquid. He raised it to his lips, pausing to see everyone watching. He swallowed it in one great gulp. He banged it back onto the table, and the servant girl refilled it with the heady liquid. His plate sat untouched at his elbow. He turned the cup to his lips and drank it dry before lowering it again.
Lincoln stood not far from the table, staring up at him on the dais. Thomas grabbed it from the table and stood. He kicked his chair away and balanced his hands on the table, his head swimming.
“I have come to ask your forgiveness for my part in what transpired this day.” Lincoln knelt before him to emphasize his words. Thomas rounded the table. He advanced aggressively, his intent evident to all those who watched. Some gasped while others were springing to their feet. But Lincoln knelt, head bowed, but Thomas could see Lincoln’s lowered eyes following his advance.
As Thomas reached him, Lincoln raised his head, making Thomas pause for a heartbeat. “Forgive me,” Lincoln said again.
Lincoln’s voice sparked his rage anew, and Thomas raised his cup and brought it crashing against Lincoln’s head. The copper vessel swung it sideways, dousing him in the wine.
Thomas stepped back, slinging the cup with fury across the hall.
“How dare you come before me and ask my forgiveness,” Thomas spat. “I should kill you where you kneel.” Thomas felt his heart pounding, and his hands shook as the rage ran through him with its frenzy.
“You will not do that. You would not even kill Hagan now.”
Lincoln’s words slammed into him like a fist. It infuriated him. Lincoln was right. He wanted to draw blood, but if he ended either of their lives in the process, he would regret it for the rest of his days.
“I may not kill you, but I sure as hell am going to beat the shit out of you.”
Thomas moved fast. He had spent his life fighting men much larger and stronger than himself. He compensated with speed and accuracy. Lincoln moved, but Thomas anticipated it and slammed into him, knocking him off balance as he tried to gain his feet. Lincoln went down and rolled, Thomas following. He greeted Lincoln’s rise from the floor with a fist landing the blow to Lincoln’s head. It caught him on the cheek and rocked him sideways. Lincoln reached for him, and Thomas landed a quick punch to the ribs, then retreating from Lincoln’s reach before the larger man could grab him.
Once the bigger men lay hands on him, the fight was over for Thomas. Both men knew this. Lincoln charged him, but Thomas sprang away, narrowly missing his grasp. It infuriated him further that Lincoln gave little effort to fight Thomas off. Thomas brought a fist up Lincoln blocked it but was unprepared for the other fist that caught him in the ribs, nor was he ready for the knee that drove into his gut. Lincoln’s grip loosened, and Thomas spun, landing a blow with his elbow to Lincoln’s face as he jumped away.
Blood flowed from Lincoln’s nose and smeared across his face.
“Fight me, you fucking coward,” Thomas roared at him.
“Thomas.” Lincoln began.
Thomas charged him again with a scream of rage. He went into Lincoln’s arms, and the fury of his weight staggered Lincoln. Immediately, Thomas thrust a fist into Lincoln’s chin, knocking him further off balance. The big man tumbled, and Thomas let himself fall with him. He landed on Lincoln and, straddling him, began to rain blow after blow down on his head. Lincoln tried to fight from beneath him, but Thomas struck so fast he could not free himself.
Thomas felt the yield in Lincoln’s body, and he paused. Lincoln’s head was a pulp, a bloody mess from the blood of his nose and the cuts Thomas’s fist had opened. The big man was barely conscious, with his eyes rolling back and forth in his head. Thomas leaned over him. “You will leave here now. Wherever you go, know that I will kill you if I see you again. That promise I will keep regardless of what you once were to me.”
Thomas staggered up from Lincoln and stood unsteady, staring down at the man who was once his brother.
“Bring me wine,” Thomas snapped at the serving girl clutching her pitcher. He turned toward his chamber, leaving Lincoln groaning on the floor.

Chapter 14 
October 13, 1428, Chenou, France
 
Hagan slipped into the small room behind Angeline. Their clothes dripped from the rain clinging to them, weighing them down. Angeline moved to the center of the room and the small brazier that heated it. She held her hands over it, shivering and dripping. Hagan latched the door behind them. It took some doing in a little place like this, but a tub would soon be brought, and warmed water poured into it so Angeline could bathe.
Hagan waited. The cold had seeped into him, too, and he fought against the shivers. He had felt it necessary throughout the journey to remain strong for Angeline. He did not mirror her fear on his face, but he felt it to his core. Tomorrow, they would arrive in Burgundy. He might be taking Angeline to his execution, but at least she was free of Remon.
He heard her teeth chattering, and he went to her. Her cloak did nothing to warm her, trapping the chill of the rain against her skin. He turned her and unfastened the loops that held it in place across her chest. He peeled it from her and let it drop to the floor with a splat. Beneath the cloak, she wore a blue gown, and he began to work that from her body as well. When he freed her of her final clothing, leaving only her shift, he stepped away. She protested none of it, only looking up at him with big blue eyes that drove their way into his soul. They made him nervous. They made him fear he was not worthy of the trust he saw there.
Then, his fear fled as she slipped the shift off. Hagan thought she would be a child beneath her layers of clothing. Even when he lifted her into his arms and held her, he had not felt her budding curves. The child was gone, replaced by a woman with developing breasts. Her waist was as trim as he would imagine it but flared out to hips that fit a small woman like her. Between her thighs were the dark ringlets hiding her sex.
His eyes shot back to her face, watching him. She was not ashamed to have his eyes on her naked form. She had bared it for him and left him time to study it. He turned away and grabbed a blanket from the bed. He approached her, and his heart stopped beating. He wondered if this woman would be his or if she was only here until he could get her to safety. But her eyes did not look at him as if she was prepared to toss him to the side. They watched him with a tranquil expression of peace and a mixture of anticipation.
He brought the blanket across her shoulders and pulled it together at the nape of her neck. Her hands were there, resting on top of his. Her fingers caressed his skin, her lips and eyes smiled at him. His heart jumped back to life with a force he thought would surely make it explode.
A knock sounded, heralding the servants dragging the oak tub with them. The tub was filled with steaming water in a short time, and two steaming buckets were left behind. Angeline dropped the blanket and stepped into the tub when the door closed behind the servants. Latching the door, Hagan froze his hand on the lock, staring at the wood of it, fearing to turn when he heard the splash of water.
He heard her sigh and wondered if he should quietly exit to give her peace. He found he was unsure of himself.
“Come, Hagan,” Angeline said.
Hagan swallowed a throat suddenly dry as a dessert before he spun and saw Angeline watching him. Her arms draped over the tub’s sides unabashed by her nakedness. She appeared bold, and a part of him wanted to smile at it.
“I don’t think…” Hagan’s words trailed away because he could not think.
“But I have been,” she assured him. “Come wash my back and hair, and I will tell you what I have been thinking.”
His legs were leaden as he moved to do her bidding, as she knew he would. His hands were in her hair, lathering it, massaging her scalp. He froze when a soft moan escaped her. “Don’t stop,” she told him, so he returned to massaging her scalp. After a moment, he moved to her back, feeling himself harden despite his will. He trailed the cloth up her back, ready to drop it to her over her shoulder and put distance between them. But her hand seized his.
“You are the kindest and gentlest man ever to grace my life,” she said, nuzzling her cheek against his hand. She was so small compared to him. How could he be anything but gentle with her? “I know you could probably marry better than me, someone less tainted.” She paused a moment, and the silence of their breathing stretched between them. “My marriage with Remon was my uncle’s doing. I do not wish another to make this decision for me. I wish to marry you and have your children.”
Hagan sat back on his heels. He would have agreed without a second thought if she had not mentioned the children. “I may not be able to father children.” Hagan stared at the back of her dark hair, slicked to her scalp.
“Why do you believe this?” Her voice was soft as she turned to him.
“I was injured, and when I was healing, I had to wonder if I would ever sire a child. I am ashamed of the number of women I have taken to my bed since then. No child has come. Some of the women have had children since. But none are mine.” Hagan recalled the carnage that had been his genitals when a broken lance struck him in the groin. The splintered and ragged edges pierced him in several places. He never knew the terror such a thing would be. But it ate at him the entire time he healed. He had yet to be with a woman, yet to marry and have children. He still had to prove himself, but he feared his manhood was lost to him. He found he could still perform as a man, but his seed was not strong.
“That does not matter,” Angeline said. “It will all work itself out in due course. Now, what do you think of my proposal?”
“Well,” he began. “I think it is not often the bride negotiates her own marriage.”
“Quite unseemly, I wager.” Angeline twisted to rest her arms on the side of the tub as she looked at him.
Angeline grinned at him in a wicked way that made his groin tighten. He smiled back as he rolled to his feet. The way she rolled her eyes up to look at him made him jerk in response. It was a deliberately coy look. He laughed at her and backed away. “You are a vixen, Lady Angeline.”
“What is your answer?”
“Angeline.” Hagan’s voice held a level of frustration. Not long ago, Hagan saw her as a child victimized by the man who was supposed to protect her. Though he was quickly growing to see her otherwise, he might very well be the only man who had ever been kind to her. “How do you know it is me you want? There are other men who are better men than I.”
Angeline chuckled at him. “You know very little for an earl.” She turned, giving him her back as she settled back into the warm water. “Turmoil creates wisdom, and I am very wise. I can see hate in someone’s eyes. I can see the second a storm is about to brew. I have seen enough disgust directed at me. I can feel it as well as I can see it. I can see evil because I was forced to look at it closely. I see none of that in your eyes. I see how you care for me, how you hated betraying your friends for me. I don’t want you just because you are my hero. I think I loved you the moment I looked at you down that corridor. From that moment, something has pulled me to you. I want to be with you, not because I fear what is out there. I want to be with you for no other reason. If our days are filled with sitting before a warm hearth together or fleeing one catastrophe after another, I will be happy.”
Hagan couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t breathe. When finally, he drew in a ragged breath, it shook. “I could never dream of an honor greater than having you as a wife.”
Her head bobbed. It was the only affirmation he received. That, too, made him smile. “I will see if we can get some food.” Her fled the room, aware he had a ridiculous smile on his face he could not seem to wipe off.

Chapter 15 
October 7, 1428, L'Aigle, France
 
Lincoln lay stretched on the bed, propped against the pillows, his hands behind his head. He watched the whore put her clothes on. She was a pleasant enough woman to look at. Her breasts had been more than one hand could hold. Her hips were round, and she knew how to ride a man like he was a crazed bull. Between her legs was as good as any other whore. Any woman, for that matter. That was what made his debauchery so appealing.
He wanted to take her again, but that would cost him more money. There was no reason to spend it all on one woman. He had far to travel, no matter which path he chose, there would be plenty of whores along the way. Lincoln was not above luring women who were not whores to act as his with the right amount of money. He knew he crossed many of God’s edicts when he found pleasure in buying women who never had intentions of being purchased. He especially liked buying other men’s wives. He found himself well-equipped to please a woman, and nothing made him harder than showing a woman the pleasure her husband did not give her. He bought a virgin once, but he did not enjoy it as many men did. She had been too scared and too inexperienced to do anything but lay there and let him have his way.
The whore walked to the dresser and moved to take the coin she had just earned with Lincoln. “One more thing before you go,” Lincoln said.
He flipped the blanket back to reveal his nakedness. He slid to the edge of the bed and sat up. He reached into his coin pouch and drew out another coin. He laid it on the bed and slid it with a finger toward her. She smiled, and he spread his legs, positioning himself so she could sink to her knees in front of him.
As she pleasured him again, he thought of his destination. He had once contemplated his destiny. But destinies changed in ways Lincoln had not known they could. He did not know if it was Satan or God that made things turn topsy-turvy or if it was the constant battle between one’s evil and the other’s good.
Lincoln’s fingers sank into the woman’s hair. The question he had to answer was if he would strike out on his own again. He was sure he could find an army or a band of mercenaries to take him on. He was not done with battle yet. Battle made him strong, it made him virile, and it made this sin of the flesh nothing in comparison. Hagan would take him in, but Lincoln had never been to Helmsley. He had been to England rarely, but he was raised among the English and knew the language better than his native Polish.
Hagan’s home was there, and Lincoln would be assured a home as well. He would have a bed and a roof over his head. Perhaps it would be good to stop fighting for a while.
The tempo of the woman’s bobbing head increased, and he pressed her head down firmly as his hips rose and fell. He would not have the chance to find whores along a path no longer traveled. Would he be satisfied with just one woman? He did not see how he could be. But a man need not content himself with just one mistress. But a man had to have money to keep one mistress and a fortune to have more than one.
Helmsley was not small from what Hagan had said. It had a large population, which meant there would be many women that could be bought. What else would he have to spend his coin on? Many women would be grateful to lay with him in exchange for a better chance at feeding their children. Some women, however, could not be bought. Lincoln supposed he was a man who wanted what he could not have. And those women who did not accept his money drove him insane with the need-to-know what treasure they possessed more valuable than the coin that bought others. Those were rare. Hagan was aware the hardships of life for peasants gave the women little choice in the matter. But it was a choice all the same.
Lincoln felt himself climax. He thrust deep, forcing her head down as he spent himself. When his hand relieved the pressure, she jerked her head from him and drew in a long breath. Her face was red. “You should give me more coin for that,” she declared when she could speak again.
“You should learn to breathe through your nose, and I would not suffocate you.”
 Lincoln challenged her to say more as she dragged her arm across her mouth. If she demanded it, he would give her more. Instead, she turned and huffed from the room.
Lincoln leaned back on his elbows, thinking what a fantastic way to start another day. His mood was light. Not only from the whore but because he had decided he would go after Hagan and see what a home was like. At least for a while.

Chapter 16 
October 7, 1428, Janville
 
Thomas closed the door quietly behind himself. He walked to the vanity and raised his shaking hands, studying them in the dim light coming through his chamber window as the day broke outside. The mud covered them, caked beneath his nails. It soiled the cuffs of his shirt, marred his trousers where he had knelt on the ground, and down the front of his doublet.
He sunk his hands down into the water of the basin, then raised his eyes to look at himself in the mirror. Enough light struck his face so he could see the terror in his eyes. His face was streaked with dirt, his hair matted to his head. The boy he had once seen in the mirror was no longer there. In his place was a terrified man. There was no way he would not hang if he were discovered. He did not know how he wouldn’t be discovered. But he would face that then. Now, he had to do what he felt best. And the best thing he could think to do before everything crashed down around him was secure the gold for himself.
There would be no money from a ransom. There would only be retribution coming his way. So, he spent the night carrying the gold from within the walls of Janville and burying it. He would come back for it. He did not know how or when, but it was well hidden beneath earth and rock. Humphrey might kill him for it because who else but he knew of the gold’s location. But if that came to pass, at least the gold would not be for Humphrey to wage war against the King if that was his intent. If the gold was discovered, Humphrey would claim it was meant for Henry and his crown.
Thomas scrubbed his hands with the water, then used the cloth he wetted to dry his hands and clean the dirt from his face. He still shook, and the longer he stared at himself in the mirror, the closer he felt to panic. He could see his own guilt in his eyes. How could anyone who would sweep through the gates any day now not see his guilt and fear?
He not only had Humphrey to face but all of England and France for the death of a man as wealthy and powerful as Earl Remon Toussaint. There would be outrage for Angeline’s abduction, but that would just be an afterthought because no one would want to seem uncaring if the girl was not mentioned. Thomas had not wielded any weapon against Hagan. Not even the words he had wanted to lash him with. He had struggled to keep the peace at Janville while they waited. But no one would believe that.
Thomas changed from his clothes and would have the women wash them today. Not that he could hide the evidence. The evidence was that there was no gold. He went to the bed and lay upon it. He wanted it to envelope him, bring forth the wonder he had missed out on for years sleeping on a cold hard ground. But peace would not come to him. He rose and crossed back to the mirror. His hands ceased shaking, and not so much terror shone through.
He reassured himself he could do this. He would deny everything. There were no witnesses that Thomas stood before Hagan and did not kill him for Remond’s murder. Most importantly, he would claim there was no gold. Depending on Humphrey’s intent, he might not want the matter investigated. The disappearance of the gold ensured Thomas would not be killed, at least. Humphrey would not kill him. But it would not stop Humphrey from trying to get Thomas to disclose the location of the gold.
Thomas hoped Montagu, or anyone else but Humphrey, would come for him. Humphrey would have little concern for Remond and Thomas’s guilt or innocence. He would want the gold and would torture Thomas to get it back.
Thomas wanted to run. He wanted to grab his meager belongings, spring upon his horse, and ride home. But running from this like a coward would only take his pursuers to Stokesley and Anne. Whatever he was to face, he would face it soon. To avoid it would bring more suffering.

Chapter 17 
October 13, 1428, Dijon, France
 
Hagan and Angeline stood in the center of the receiving chamber in the palatial residence of Philip III, Duke of Burgundy. Before them stood the Duke of Burgundy, cousin to the King holding the French crown, Charles VI. The crown the English had been fighting to seize control of for generations. Angeline stood at his side. Burgundy’s face was twisted in what Hagan guessed correctly was anger.
“You made quick travel here. But the messenger from Humphrey was faster. I should have your head for this.”
“I regret I had to kill Remond—”
“Out,” Burgundy barked, cutting off Hagan’s words. The man waited until the room had cleared before his attention fell back to Hagan.
“I don’t give a shit about that asshole,” Burgundy said. “If you knew what you have done, you would not question why you are responsible for your own beheading.”
Hagan swallowed, feeling it stick in his throat. Hagan felt like gagging, “What have I done?”
Burgundy hesitated before beginning to pace. His face twisted in deep thought.
“So, this was all Kirkham,” Burgundy said, stepping back.
Hagan felt danger surrounding him. He wanted to shove Angeline behind his back to better protect her, but from what? She wouldn’t understand, and here, among men who would be his enemy at the snap of Burgundy’s finger, he could not defend her if he had to.
“I don’t understand.” Hagan was nervous. Something had happened after he ran with Angeline, and he was still trying to grasp what it was.
Burgundy closed the distance between them again. His eyes fell on Angeline with a scowl and then back to Hagan.
“Humphrey was doing me a favor, and Lord Kirkham is supposed to protect it. I do not think he was doing his duty if he allowed you to kill that lord and leave without gutting you. Now, not only Montagu but also the regency council is involved in this. They have the power of the King.” At the age of six, King Henry VI had not reached his majority and could not rule. The Regency Council was formed to speak and rule for the young King. Humphrey played a vital role in this council and was not well-liked for his recklessness. Hagan trusted neither Burgundy nor Humphrey to stay steady on their paths and loyalties.
Hagan swallowed again, barely breathing. He would not ask Burgundy what that favor was. He did not want to know and sink deeper into this quagmire he found them in.
“Now everyone is asking questions, and someone has to answer for them before a horde descends on Janville. For that to happen, we need a sacrifice. You or Kirkham?”
Hagan paled. “I only want Angeline safe,” Hagan said. His voice sounded as desperate as a child, throwing Hagan further from his resolve. “Allow me to marry her and get her safely to Helmsley under my family’s protection. Then I will lay my head upon your chopping block and answer for my crime.”
Burgundy shook his head. “I cannot wait,” the duke replied with great indignation. Hagan swallowed and felt fear slide up his spine. “Do not worry, Hagan,” Burgundy said with a light laugh. “You do not have to face the block. You can see Lady Angeline safely home where you can live happily ever after with her. But you must cooperate first.”
Hagan did not want any part of what had happened and what would happen. But he had killed Remon and taken Angeline. He could cooperate, or he could lose his head. Honor fought a battle with wisdom.
“What do you want of me?” Hagan asked. Despite himself, his voice did not rise above a wary whisper.
“It’s simple. I will claim you and your lady were here when Remon was killed. You will testify of an animosity between Thomas Kirkham and Remon, and it was that animosity that led to Thomas killing Remon.”
“I can’t do that,” Hagan said.
Burgundy scowled. “Then it must be your head that his murder is placed upon. Is that the choice you want?”
Hagan’s eyes slid to Angeline. He wished with all his being she did not stand at his shoulder. She was about to see that the man she trusted with her life was nothing but a coward.
“It is as you say,” Hagan whispered, looking back at Burgundy. “We were here.” Angeline clutched his arm but remained silent.
Burgundy beamed. “Very well. We will get this resolved soon enough.”
The duke turned and strolled a few paces away before looking back at Hagan. “You still have plenty to answer for,” Burgundy informed him. “But that will be discussed after I cover this bloody trail you left behind.”

Chapter 18 
October 13, 1428, Le Mans, France
 
Lincoln smirked at the man standing before him.
“What do you think you can do, little man?” Lincoln asked. The liquor made him feel a little unsteady on his feet.
The man confronting him was no soldier. He was an old man, weak, with frail arms and a hint of fear behind his drooping eyelids. “You have to pay my whore.”
“I paid her,” Lincoln said, shoving past the man.
“Not what you owed her,” the man protested.
“I paid her what she was worth,” Lincoln replied, strolling from the tavern.
In Lincoln’s opinion, a whore that lay beneath a man like a dead fish was not worth the price of a quality whore. But it was a quality whore she tried to charge him for. It wasn’t likely to matter. He would never come this way again.
He was a free man, going wherever the wind took him. But it was a battering wind. Always driving him forward, forcing him out of comfort, and thrusting him into the unknown. Each time he was hurled away, the mystery became more foreboding. Where would he go now? He could easily join any other regiment in the king’s army. Any king, for that matter. Lincoln did not care who wore the crown. Even now, Orléans was under siege, and he could settle in with the rest of the army. But that was not the life he wanted. He had not wanted it each time it was thrust upon him. He missed Thomas and Hagan, the comfort he found among those brothers.
Lincoln found himself in a tavern, paying for drink after drink until he felt he could not get up from his table. He staggered to the livery where he left his horse. He sank to the ground outside the structure and quickly slipped into the relief of unconsciousness.
He awoke stiff as dawn cast its light across the sky. His head pounded, and his stomach twirled like some craven troubadour. He hurled the contents of his stomach onto the ground beside where he sat. When the wave of nausea passed, he staggered to his feet. He held to the wall, steading the world that still undulated beneath his feet for a moment.
Drawing a long breath, he turned and leaned against the stable. The shadows of the night fled, and the light pierced his skull. He dry heaved once, then rested his head against the wood. He had to develop a plan, figure out some direction, some destination. He could not keep wondering. Without a purpose, his soul strayed far from the path he had forged to God. He did not want that again. Drinking, whoring, and fighting no longer gave him the satisfaction it once had. He had walked a strict path. Minus his time as a soldier, he sat out as a Teutonic Knight. He even took his vow of celibacy with great seriousness. But that had all changed, but Hagan and Thomas kept him from total darkness. But now that they were gone from his life, he tumbled freely down a tall mountain. At the bottom, he knew he would fall into a darkness he could never find his way out of.
He drew in a long breath. He could not go to Thomas. The man had made that clear. He would go to Helmsley and offer his sword to Hagan’s garrison. It could be a home he never had before. Just being welcomed with a smile would be worth the journey. With his plan in mind, he stumbled to the water trough and dunked his head. He held his breath until his chest ached and the cool water cleared his head.
He rose and flung the water off his head with a shake. It dripped down his face and neck, soaking his collar as he went to saddle his horse.
Chapter 19 
October 13, 1428, Janville
 
In his chair, in the long hall, Thomas sat alone. He positioned it so he faced down the open aisle that led to the giant oak doors at the opposite end of the hall. Thomas did not hide behind that table. At least he had the wherewithal to determine the table between him, and Humphrey would peg him as a coward. It would also do no good. It was better to meet him head up, with the confidence he did not feel.
He fairly quaked at the vengeance Humphrey could heap on him. Revenge that would make the rest of his days torture, whether it be few or many. Humphrey was a prince and unquestionable in his actions against one impoverished earl. Clear the hall and not show fear. That was all his sharp military brain could decide upon.
The door opened, and Humphrey stood in its arch. He paused, surveying Thomas, and even at the distance of the long hall, Thomas could see his position gave the man hesitation. Then Humphrey was moving forward, and five massive knights flanked him. Thomas felt he should rise in respect for the prince, but he knew that respect would be spat upon. He was confident his fate would be the same whether he sat or stood. So, he remained seated. Outwardly, he appeared calm, unconcerned with Humphrey’s power. While inside, he fought to not piss himself with the fear that flowed through him like a torrential river. By the time Humphrey stopped in front of him, it was apparent that Thomas’ disrespect infuriated the prince. But Thomas took no pleasure, knowing he would pay the price later.
“I demand you surrender to me.”
Thomas managed a smirk and did not rise. “Do I surrender to you or to Montagu?”
“To me.”
“I see,” Thomas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, only tight enough not to shake.
“But he is supreme commander, respected by your father. An issue of this magnitude demands an audience with Montagu.”
“No, Stokesley, that is not how this will work.”
Thomas leaned back again in the chair, crossing his legs. He pressed the ankle down on the knee, forcing his foot to remain still on the ground. He had the nervous energy that called for his leg to bounce, for him to fidget. Thomas realized he was on a path he did not know how to escape. He assumed Humphrey would show up, Thomas would show some level of defiance, what man of the sword wouldn’t, Humphrey would bluster, and Thomas would be seized. He expected to be beaten, but at the same time, he hoped to lay eyes upon Montagu afterward.
“How do you think this will work?” Thomas asked. He noticed a level of hesitancy occurring in the men behind Humphrey, thrown off by Thomas’s boldness in the face of a king’s son.
“I know,” Humphrey began, stressing the words. “You will surrender to me, or my men will beat you unconscious and put you in chains. Then you will give me the answer to a question not asked, but you know damn well what it is.”
Thomas allowed his eyes to roll across each man before calmly returning his attention to Humphrey. “I feel that is a bit extreme for this happenstance that found Remon dead and Hagan on the run.” Humphrey spoke of his gold, but for all intents and purposes, his punishment would come because of Remon’s death.”
“How is murder happenstance?” Humphrey asked.
“I daresay my part in this is only that I did not make Hagan listen when I warned him to stay away from Angeline. I, too, am put out by Remon’s death.”
Humphrey smirked at him. “Hagan told Burgundy it was you.”
Thomas could not help the surprise that flitted across his face. Humphrey saw, and his thin, flat lips rose in a smile.
“It’s amazing the friendships that can be lost because of money.” Humphrey stepped closer and dropped his voice. “And I will pay much more to see you drawn and quartered. Take him.” Humphrey whirled away as the men converged. Still stunned and closer to wetting himself than ever, Thomas did not think of rising to meet the knights. He was yanked from his seat and slammed onto the floor. Giant feet and fists slammed into him until he knew nothing.
 
He awoke to water, lots of water, and it filled his nose. His body lay upon the hard stones. He could feel them digging into the bruises left by the men. He tried to roll, but a groan escaped him. His hands were lashed tight, painfully behind his back. He gained enough presence to realize he lay in the courtyard in a torrential downpour. He cracked a swollen eye open, lifting his head that shook under the strain.
He heard the feet approach behind him, and he wanted to roll and see who looked down on him when those steps stopped at his back. An interminable amount of time passed before the toe of a boot drove into his back. Thomas arched, and a small yelping groan flew from his lips. Then Humphrey was before him, the rain sliding off his oiled cloak.
“Where is it?”
Thomas wanted to insult the man or bravely avoid the question, but he found he could not speak with the ache in his jaw and the aftermath of being choked. He did not remember that. He shivered, but it did not come from the rain. It did not matter what abuse came his way; Thomas could not tell him where he hid all the gold. As soon as he did that, he would be dead.
That gold, hidden away, was his only chance for himself and for Anne. He would have to remember that in the days to follow because Humphrey would do his best to find it.
Humphrey squatted down in front of him. He reached for Thomas’s face, taking him by the chin and yanking his head around so he was forced to look up at him. The rain poured down on his face, but when he tried to close his eyes against it, Humphrey’s fingers tightened with excruciating pain.
“Prepare yourself, Thomas,” Humphrey warned. “Your day of reckoning is coming.”
Thomas was prepared. He had no choice. If Humphrey knew where he hid the gold, he would kill him. In the back of his mind, he knew it was always his fate. Humphrey would not want a witness to the gold when he moved it from Janville to its next secure location. Eventually, it would be used against King Henry and his council. Since Montagu was not here, Humphrey’s deceit was clear. The gold was to be used to free the throne for himself or another. Thomas did not know, nor did he care.

Chapter 20 
October 13, 1428, Dijon
 
Hagan did not realize he shook until Angeline placed her hand over his. They had made it to the privacy of his chamber and sank onto the bench by the window together. He put his other hand on top of hers.
“You will be okay, darling,” he assured her, but his voice quaked. He feared he would die soon. Until he met Angeline, he thought it would likely be on a battlefield.
“I’m not concerned for myself. You could hang.”
Hagan nodded. Of course, he knew he could hang or be beheaded by an executioner. He wondered which way would be best. If the cut was clean, it was the most merciful death. But Lincoln saw many executioners with a lousy aim or dull blade. Some took more than two strikes before the killing was done. It could be horrific. He shuddered at the thought.
“I think we need to prepare for the possibility I will face the executioner.”
Her hand gripped his tightly. They sat in silence, fear eating at them for what tomorrow faced when he went before Burgundy again.
Later, Hagan stood on stiff legs and moved across the room. He began to remove his doublet.
“Will we not eat in the hall?” Angeline asked.
Hagan turned away from her and slipped his billowy shirt from his shoulders. “I am not hungry. You go, and I will rest.”
“I have not known you long, but I know you will not rest. I also know my place is at your side–always.”
Hagan turned back to her, drinking her up with his eyes. He didn’t know how much longer he would have such pleasure. “There is no doubt why I love you, my darling.”
Angeline went to his open arms and snuggled her head against his bare chest. He gripped her waist firmly and prayed he would have more time with her. Would Burgundy at least grant his request to marry her? He placed one on her head, tucking her against his chest.
She looked up at him when he slipped his fingers from her silky hair, and he lost himself in her blue eyes. They pulled him down to her lips, and he drank her like a sweet wine. She was a gentle creature in his arms. No one cast a spell over him like Angeline. She asked him to take her, then declared herself a grown woman when he balked. He could deny her nothing and hoped this would not be their only time together.

 
Chapter 21 
October 15, 1428, France
 
The long, dusty road had stretched for days that seemed like weeks. Lincoln had seen few people. Of all the dangers in the world, it was not the brigands and murderers but the Black Death sweeping across the land. It took lives swiftly, spread quickly, and left the world terrified. Some refused to leave their homes. Some killed anyone who tried to come near them. Such was the terror this death brought. He avoided people when he could, but some were still mobile, even unwilling or unable to stay isolated.
From his position upon the knoll, he saw a group approaching. It was small. The carriage and matching livery of the retinue spoke volumes of wealth. Wealth that would role pass and expect him to move to the side for the better of society to claim the road like everything else they wished.
But chaos suddenly broke from the forest along the path. Men swarmed the group, and the carriage broke loose from its handler as the shouts and on slot spooked them. The carriage came on as the battle raged behind it. Lincoln moved his horse aside, it snorted, smelling the fear of the oncoming team. As it flew past, he saw the terrified face of a woman behind the flapping curtains. The horses took the curve at full speed, but the carriage could not stay on its wheels. It rocked and flipped. The shaft broke, and it rolled twice before coming to rest.
Lincoln waited. It would be best for him to ride away. But what treasure lay within that carriage. There was sure to be some coin on the passengers’ persons. He kicked his horse to move toward it when the woman he had glimpsed through the curtain rose from the wreckage. He clattered near and saw a small hand steady itself on the overturned vehicle.
Lincoln dropped to the ground in front of her, and she started. Fear filled her green eyes. He could smell it on her. It was intoxicating. He licked his lips and looked behind him. Both groups seemed evenly matched, with little skill judging that bodies had not yet littered the ground.
“Are you alright, miss?” Lincoln asked, coming closer.
The woman reached a hand to her forehead and touched the trickling blood that seeped from a cut. She looked at her fingers. “I seem to be,” she said.  “What do you want?”
Lincoln moved closer to her, his nostrils flaring. This woman was beautiful and petite enough he could quickly subdue her. He had been a boy who thought he was a man the last time he forced a woman’s legs apart. He had not minded her screams or her nails that bit into him in defense. He was told it was his right as the victor. It was the most enjoyable prize at the end of a well-won battle. But none of those women could compare to one of this woman’s qualities. All the others had been peasants, some older, some younger than himself. He begun enjoying the spoils of war even before he grew hair on his balls.
What more could a boy want but the power of an army behind him to do whatever he wanted? He chased men down with a cry on his lips and drove his axe into their backs with exhilaration. He took their women and daughters with the same fight in his veins, the same thrill that he was God. At least to those he conquered.
The woman stared at him now in terror as his mind worked out the turmoil of what he did want. He wanted her. He wanted to force her back against her carriage and rip her clothes from her. He wanted to feel the rake of her nails down his chest, across his face. He could grow hard hearing her curse at him. He imagined she would have a foul mouth and a fighting soul. He reached a hand toward her face, and she drew back. He seized the back of it, forcing her to retreat and a chance of escape to an end. His fingers itched to tighten in her hair to force her head back with his brute strength. The harder she fought, the more brutal he could become. He would win. There was never any doubt.
A small gasp escaped her. Lincoln nearly shook with his craving. With strength he did not possess, his other hand gently touched the corner of her cut. “It is only a scratch.”
“What do you want?” the woman asked again.
Lincoln shook his head and quirked her a smile, “Nothing, only to see to your safety. I was sitting there when you were set upon.”
“I thought I saw a figure on the side of the road when the horses were running.”
Their attention went to the dwindling battle. One of the woman’s knights broke from the frey and raced toward them. “It is Garren. He is the commander of my guard.”
The knight was not so large as Lincoln noted as the other man slipped to the ground. Lincoln instinctively took a step toward him. He still had a chance. Lincoln could make minced meat out of him with a quick pull of his sword. Without their commander, the confidence of the others would be brake. He could have the woman here or ride off with her. Once he finished, he would not care. She could find her way home or be taken by the wolves.
But Lincoln knew he was not God. God allowed horrific things to happen, even to the innocent like this woman. Sadly, God had no more control over the world than Lincoln. But He resided in his heart, and it was a good and strong heart. If all men held that power within, war would no longer be needed. But war and violence drove the weak, and brutality revealed corruption. Even now, Lincoln felt that weakness trying to overtake him. The familiar pleasure of that weakness fought him for a choice that would see him with no treasure found and no woman to force onto the ground.
“Your brigands are fleeing,” the man identified as Garren said. He held his sword in his hand. Lincoln pegged this man immediately as one who found his confidence and knightly prowess on a jousting field instead of a battlefield. Lincoln could have him on his knees in seconds.
“I have only stopped to offer assistance if it is needed.”
“We are most appreciative,” the woman said.
At his lady’s acceptance, Garren nodded. “We do have many injured and one dead. We could use the extra sword to see us through.”
And so Lincoln made his choice, one he felt fuller in. Releasing his bloody exhilaration never left him full. But the help he gave the group to safety filled him with pride and accomplishment. His heart remained firm, his God guiding his soul to something better down the road.

Chapter 22 
October 15, 1428, Orléans, France
 
Thomas stood before Montagu. He prayed he appeared brave outwardly. Inwardly, he shook to his core. Thomas could thank one of his men for riding to Montagu’s camp and alerting him to one of his commander’s fates. Montagu requested Humphrey turn Thomas over to him. Despite being commander of the army, he was still not high enough to demand anything of Humphrey. But Humphrey relented regardless. The duke’s threat to slice Anne from throat to navel if he spoke of the gold rang persistently in his mind.
He felt the sweat forming on his upper lip, felt it threatening to start a path down his spine. His eyes skittered over faces, faces he probably knew but could not see before landing on the post. His steps almost faltered. He could run, but he was not a coward. He would not show himself to be a coward even in the final moments of his death. Obviously, Montagu had already decided on a punishment for him.
Thomas peeled his eyes from the post to land on the man beside it. He did not hold an axe in his hand but a whip. The executioner’s hand gripped the wooden handle, and one leather strap extended from it. At the end of that strap was a metal ring. Another strap of leather extended from that ring to yet another ring with several short straps of leather attached to that final ring. That almost made his steps cease. He would not die by the axe but by the whip. He had seen it used. Some survived, and some only survived a few strokes. It depended on the wielder and where his strikes landed. Then Thomas was coming to a stop with the men guiding him.
“This war is a gentleman’s war,” Montagu began. Thomas wanted to argue there was nothing gentle about war, any war. It did not matter that Henry’s men did not storm castles to slay every man, woman, and child but instead demanded money for their release. It was still war, and it was the innocent, the weak, who suffered in the face of the games those with power played. But that was something that kings could not understand. They could run to other places to other people. They did not have to stay in devastated towns and villages, trying to pick up the pieces and survive from harvests laid to waste and homes destroyed.
“The death of Earl Remon is inexcusable.” Duke Humphrey was one of those faces he had not seen in the first scan of his surroundings. When he spoke, Thomas felt like a steal trap was closing around him. Humphrey wanted him silenced, and Hagan left the door open for it. “I think undermining my nephew’s crown is borderline if not outright tyranny.” Thomas schooled his features. He wanted to lay his side upon the table. He wanted to tell of Humphrey’s vengeance against Thomas because Thomas knew Humphrey had stolen the gold. Thomas guessed it was enough gold to buy a crown with the death of his young nephew.
Thomas was a fighting man. He knew nothing about the politics between a king and his nobles, especially when that king was an infant. It did not matter to Thomas who held the power. His only concern was that the power was utilized wisely. But Humphrey would use his control to destroy Thomas. Thomas could say nothing because he knew the people he faced would never believe him over Humphrey. Who was Earl Thomas of Stokesley, Baron of Ravenshill, to survive a standoff with a prince?
The wisdom of his reasoning was brought home to him in Humphrey’s following words. “When I was at Janville, I witnessed your dislike of Remon. Hagan expressed his concern to me then. Perhaps I should also receive a punishment since I failed to intervene.”
None of what Humphrey said was true. Humphrey had no contact with Remon while at Janville, so he could not have witnessed Thomas’s dislike for the man. Nor would Hagan discuss his concerns behind Thomas’s back. Humphrey wanted his gold. That was all. If Humphrey wanted Stokesley, he would give him the more profitable property without hesitation if it would excuse Thomas from this ordeal. But he couldn’t have Ravenshill. Generation after generation of Kirkhams were buried in the ground around Ravenshill. The Kirkham blood grew the harvests and resided on that piece of land long before Henry, Richard, or any Norman king stepped foot upon English soil. He could not let Ravenshill go. But Thomas knew Humphrey wanted neither property. He wanted his gold, then he wanted Thomas’s head.
“But I am not guilty of cold-blooded murder.”
Humphrey held a satisfied smirk painted on his lips. “Murder is what you did to Remon.”
“I did not touch Remon. Hagan killed him so he could run with his wife.”
Humphrey shook his head slowly, planting a sardonic look on his face and in his eyes before a bark of derision passed through his lips. “Hagan presented his case, and he and Countess Angeline were under my care before you murdered the woman’s husband.”
“No,” Thomas began but clamped his lips closed. It was another lie. Another lie to go with every other lie that would get Humphrey what he wanted. Ultimately, that desire was to control the Crown of England. Humphrey played the supportive role as best any man could that plotted behind a king’s back. Anything Thomas would say would be undermined by Humphrey, forcing Thomas further down into the hole he knew he could not crawl out of with the truth. Any words could only make this ordeal so much worse when he did not know yet how bad it was going to get.
Humphrey paused then. His eyes seared Thomas’s flesh and chilled his soul as he waited for the words he dreaded. “On behalf of the Regency Council and Lord Montagu, you are, at this moment, stripped of your title of Earl of Stokesley, and that property rescinded to the King.” Bitterness edged his voice that he was not getting what he ultimately wanted, Thomas’s death. “You will be banished to Ravenshill, where you will remain, Baron.” A gleam entered Humphrey’s eyes, making Thomas feel even more uneasy than he thought possible. “Men are evacuating your wife from the Stokesley property at this moment.”
Bile leapt to Thomas’s throat. What were they doing to Anne? What had they already done to her? How would she get to Ravenshill?”
“On behalf of this army and the men who have followed you foolishly, Henry will retain those men who serve him here in France, and you will return to England with only the clothes upon your back. There is also a punishment of physical pain required.”
Thomas stared at Humphrey. Everything happening to him on behalf of the army was happening to him because of Humphrey. No one inside the ranks of Henry’s Remon and his wife. To strip him of his horse, all his fighting supplies, and his men he had scraped coin together time and again on behalf of the King was Humphrey’s vengeance for what Thomas refused to give him. There was little satisfaction as Thomas looked at the post that Humphrey was still not getting what he wanted. Humphrey could send him home a popper with scars upon his back, but the gold would remain out of his reach.
Thomas felt himself pushed forward. His head swiveled back and forth as the faces of those gathered flowed one into another with no defining features. Then, he was standing before the post. A hand touched him on his arm, prepared to lift his arms. Thomas jerked away from him, glaring at the man. He placed his hands on the post, and his mind begged him to fight when his hands were tied. His reason fled from that to Anne and the vision of an army invading Stokesley, abusing her, hurting her. He swallowed when he heard the jangle of the two rings together as the wielder whipped it back. He could still fight for his innocence, but Stokesley was already gone, and he needed to find Anne. Combating this now could lead to days and weeks. That was days and weeks of not knowing if his wife was safe or injured and frightened. Was she even now left to starve to death? He had to get to her.
Thomas closed his eyes and sent a prayer for his wife. Thomas had never felt bones crushed. He broke his wrist once, but it had healed to full use. But he knew those rings could destroy bones, spines, and organs. He felt himself shaking and was thankful for the mercy of his bound wrists keeping him on his feet.
Humphrey whispered to Thomas when the men tying his hands finished and stepped back. “This is not just about the gold. It’s about so much more than that. It is Ravenshill. I do not know why that fool still trusts you to hold that borderland. I had hoped you would be put to the sword, but there was no such luck. But I will come for you soon, and I will have Ravenshill.”
Borderland? Then it all began to make sense. Humphrey sent the gold through Thomas’s hands deliberately by leaving it at Janville. He was not just gathering gold to win the hearts of the people. He was going to use the gold to raise an army. An army that would march into England from Scotland across land held by Ravenshill. It was the perfect place for an army to pass and take respite from the attempt to overthrow King Henry. Guarding the gold made Thomas a part of Humphrey’s treason, and he would use that against him to gain control of Ravenshill. But Thomas had gotten in his way by taking the gold. For now, Humphrey would allow him to remain Baron of Ravenshill, but once he got the gold he would have his army, and no doubt, Ravenshill. No matter what Humphrey tried to do to him to get him to tell his secret, he could not let it pass through his lips. No matter what horrors he would bear, for the sake of Ravenshill and the sitting king, he could not let it pass through his lips.
His fear echoed so violently in his head that he did not hear the first strike coming through the air for him. He felt the bite of the hanging straps of leather first. He did not feel the pain the rings left until it was snapped away. He felt the straps sliced his skin while the two rings bruised it. The pain was intense, and he wondered if already he was to die from that one blow.
He heard it coming the next time, and as it filleted and marked his back, he arched his body, trying to retreat from the pain as it was pulled from his body again. Thomas was not told how many lashes he was to receive, and Thomas did not know how many blows rained down on him before Montagu stepped forward to stop it. By this time, Thomas could not draw a breath. He knew he bled but could not feel such a small thing against the pain of the rings.
Thomas felt someone fumbling for the rope around his hands. Thomas sobbed when his hands were released, and he fell to his knees. He remained there, his forehead resting against the post, his arms still falling around the wooden base as he sat on his haunches and fought to keep from passing out.
“I will ruin you if you do not give back what is mine,” Humphrey whispered.
Thomas wanted to kill this man who hovered over his shoulder and hissed in his ear. This was his doing. It was because of him that Thomas knew of the gold. If Humphrey had just carried his treasure quietly past Janville, he would not be here now. But he could not raise his head off the wood. He could not breathe, at least not in a way that led him to believe his lungs weren’t damaged. He had to have had at least two ribs broken, if not shattered. His back ached, and he could thank God one of the rings had not cracked his spine. Only because Humphrey still needed him alive.
After a time, awareness returned to him, and he was alone. He used his forehead, leveraging against the post to get himself moving. He struggled with groans and a quiet sob as he pulled himself to his feet. Pain shot through his body. He held the post tightly, his body wanting nothing more than to be back in the dirt. It needed to be still to heal from the damage or to die from it.
He blinked his eyes, willing the haze away that clouded with the pain. Thomas did not doubt Humphrey had already taken everything of Thomas’s out of his reach. But that was little. Here, his most valuable possession was his horse. His plate armor was mismatched and needed the expertise of an armorer. Thomas had planned to buy a new suit of armor when they received the ransom. There was no reason Humphrey would want Thomas’s armor other than spite.
But none of that mattered now. He just had to make it to Anne.

Chapter 23 
October 15, 1428, Dijon
 
“I have decided to give you a chance to prove your loyalty to me and my cause. Without assurance, you will remain loyal, you will not leave this place. To betray one’s lord for gold is one thing. To do it for a whore is inexcusable.”
Hagan had the urge to fly at Burgundy and show him what he thought of him calling Angeline a whore. But the ground he stood on was treacherous, not just for him but for Angeline.
“What is it you ask of me?” Hagan asked. His voice was deep and unafraid, but Hagan was unsure what held his legs beneath him.
“I want you to give me your whore or your hand.”
“What?” Hagan asked.
“You heard correctly, Lord Hagan. I want a taste of the woman that made a man such as you betray his friends. Or I want your fighting hand so I can trust you will not raise a sword against me.”
“And then I can be on my way, and you will make Remond’s death inconsequential to me?”
Burgundy nodded.
Hagan’s eyes remained riveted to the floor. The thought of letting Burgundy take Angeline and do whatever he pleased with her enraged him. He did not think he would give her up once he touched Angeline the first time. But a woman like Angeline was not meant for a man like Burgundy. She was not meant for men like him. Therefore, he would share her with no one. “My hand,” Hagan declared.
A look of disappointment flitted in Burgundy’s eyes. “What do you think the woman would say to this?”   the duke asked. He motioned behind Hagan, and he knew they had Angeline waiting outside the door, and soon she was standing next to him.
“I have given your man a choice,” Burgundy proclaimed. “I will take you to my bed, or he can lose a hand.”
“It is not her decision,” Hagan ground out. He knew the choice Angeline would make. It was a choice most any woman would make for the man she loved.
Angeline looked from Burgundy to Hagan. “Angeline,” Hagan roared at her. “If this man touches you, I will kill him. I will not only lose my hand but my life.”
Tears were instantly in her eyes. “You must not,” she insisted. “It is just a small thing, Hagan.” Her voice was so small it only persuaded him more not to send Angeline to Burgundy‘s bed.
Hagan wrapped his hands around Angeline’s shoulders and gripped them tightly. “It might not matter to anyone else. But I have risked my life to keep you from the hands of another man. I will risk it again if that is what it will take.”
“Hagan,” she begged him.
His face darkened and turned to granite. “Let us do it,” Hagan said. If it was to be done, it needed to be done now before he thought of all the implications. He looked down at Angeline and offered her a smile, albeit a weak one. “Do not interfere, my love,” Hagan said, drawing her forward to kiss her on the forehead. “Once it is done, I will take you home. You can nurse me on the way,” he said with a wink.
His bravado did not fool her, as he swept from her, ready to take his punishment.
It was not as he thought. He had a little hope until he saw the hammer next to the block, not a man with a sword. The hammer was a weighty thing for driving spikes. But he clung to the sudden hope he would retain use of his hand even if it were crushed. If it was severed, there would be no hope at all. What could a knight do if he had no sword hand?
Once the hammer fell, he knew he would never use his right hand again. He would survive the blow, but the infection of the crushed bones and busted vessels could kill him in the end. If that was to be his destiny, he prayed God would look over Helmsley, forget him, and be with Angeline.
Hagan knelt next to the block, and a man moved forward to place his hand on the block. Two men pinned him to suppress the fight they expected when the hammer began to fall.
From the corner of his eye, Hagan saw the hammer dropping. It seemed to hang suspended for a moment before it came crashing down. Hagan did not know what registered in his head first — the sound of the hammer striking, his bones snapping and crushing, or the pain. It seemed they came in a disjointed order, making no sense.
He pushed against the men, but the pain weakened him. His hand remained on the block, and the hammer fell again before he was released. Despite himself, he screamed against the pain and fell to the ground.
He clenched his right forearm with his left hand. He tried to brace it, hoping the stillness would ease the pain that left him breathless. He gripped his arm tightly, hoping to stop the blood flow and, eventually, the pain. But that pain rolled on and on before Hagan’s stomach contents exploded from him. He was on his knees, cradling his arm, folded over at the waist. He had begun to cry. Then Angeline’s hands were on his quaking shoulders. He knew he had made the right decision. His hand was only a minor thing when he looked at her.

Chapter 24 
October 20, 1428, Port of Bordeaux
 
If Angeline had not called to him, he would not have recognized the knight hunched over, looking bedraggled and pale. Lincoln had not expected to meet Hagan and Angeline at the port of Bordeaux. He knew Hagan was traveling to Dijon and then to Helmsley. He assumed they had had ample time to make it to his castle.
Lincoln hurried forward. His eyes went from Angeline to Hagan. Lincoln knew pain, and Hagan’s face was filled with a fever that sunk his eyes and dulled them.
“What has happened,” Lincoln asked Angeline. When Hagan moved, he stumbled slightly. Lincoln reached out a hand and steadied him.
“It has been terrible, Lincoln,” she said. “But it is his hand. Burgundy crushed it to punish him, and now I think the infection will kill him.”
Lincoln took hold of Hagan’s right forearm. He could feel the heat through his shirt radiating from beneath the bandage wrapped around his hand. He unwrapped the hand, and despite his knowledge, the sight made him nearly vomit. The hand was no longer a hand. Bones protruded through his skin out the back of his hand. Fingers mutilated, bent up, sideways, or hanging as if by the flesh alone.
“Come,” Lincoln said with urgency. “Let us board, and I will take his hand.”
“No,” Hagan said. His voice held none of the bold strength it once had.
“If it needs to be removed, I will remove it,” Lincoln declared.
“Only if you must,” Hagan ordered.
Lincoln quieted momentarily with his urgent pull and looked at his friend. “Only if I must. But that hand will never be of use to you.”
“But it is a hand where a hand is supposed to be.”
Lincoln could not argue with that simple logic. Angeline already had their passage on the ship, ready to sail across the channel. Lincoln helped Hagan onto the ship and up to the quarterdeck. Lincoln looked at Hagan’s hand again. “There will be far less pain if I remove the hand,” Lincoln said.
“I do not care about the pain or my hand’s use. But I do not want a stump unless that is the only way I can live. The pain will go away. I will not grow my hand back.”
Lincoln left the pair to search for the items he would need. The most important thing he hoped to purchase was opium to dull the pain, but he did not have time to leave the ports to search for some. As the ship’s anchor rose to the surface, Lincoln set to work to save Hagan’s hand.
To keep Hagan from thrashing, Lincoln placed his body on Hagan’s, nearly laying prone on him. He lifted Hagan’s mangled hand, pinning his forearm beneath Lincoln’s pressing elbow. As Lincoln pulled the first bone protruding from the back of his hand, the big man screamed and thrashed, nearly dislodging Lincoln.
Lincoln fought against Hagan’s strength each time he pulled a bone out or pushed a bone back into place. Lincoln wanted to let Hagan know this was not something Lincoln wanted to do. He would much rather take his sword and sever the hand cleanly and quickly. They would wrap the stump, and life would continue. But this was excruciating for not only Hagan but Lincoln as well. He could not imagine the pain Hagan suffered as he did his best to place bones back together and remove those shards that would be of no use.
By the time he finished, Hagan lay limp beneath him. In the end, the bones in the hand connected to the pinky, and the finger itself was removed. The tattered skin had been cut away and sewn together. Stitches lay in a misshapen pattern across the back of his hand. This was where he did his best to place the bones back with their own pieces and not a fragment from another finger. The only bones not broken were those of his index finger and thumb. But the index finger had to be broken to place it back inline. The thumb, though not shattered as the rest, would likely never be of use without the skeletal structure of the hand. But there is a slight chance he might one day be able to hold something in that hand.
Lincoln bandaged the hand securely and stood as Angeline cleared away the mess of tools, cloth, blood, and bone. Lincoln crossed to the rail and looked across the dark water. He marveled at the fact his hands no longer shook from the piecing back together of men. It was sometimes a horrendous thing. But it was a thing he was once interested in. But it was hard to want to save lives when taking lives. He was not God to say who lived and who died because of what colors they wore upon their coats. He did not lend his learned skills to the army; they were never offered. Few knew he was capable of some surgical procedures. Stitching and sitting bones were ones he was well skilled at.
But Hagan had drained him. It was not the strength both men used against one another. It was the fact he cared greatly for Hagan. He had brought great pain to his brother and tortured him with the task Hagan had ordered. Hagan was too weak to have fought anything Lincoln wanted to do. But Lincoln reasoned there would still be time to take the hand if the infection did not subside now that the hand had been set and cleaned.
“What happened?” Lincoln asked as Angeline joined him at the rail.
Angeline shook her head. “Burgundy did it to punish him for his betrayal.”
“Burgundy gave him a choice of his punishment.”
“What could be worse than that?” Lincoln asked with a nod in Haan’s direction.
“For him, it was letting Burgundy have me.”
Lincoln’s eyes trailed over the girl. Burgundy probably thought, despite her marriage, she was an innocent soul. He would not know of the fire Angeline possessed by looking at her. he saw that spark now that she was away from Remon.
Lincoln turned back to the water. “It is okay. The hand will be saved, or it will be cut away. Either way, he made the right decision.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because he loves you. Allowing that to happen would change him because he would know you could never look at him the same. He made a decision to protect you by killing Remond. He knew the price could be far worse than his hand. I am sure he is relieved in the end that is all he has lost.”
“I know,” Angeline said. He heard the gratitude for the man’s sacrifice in her soft voice. She turned and went back to Hagan’s side. Lincoln turned and watched her position Hagan’s head, trying to make him more comfortable on the deck.
Lincoln pushed himself from the rail and moved toward the group of people laughing and dancing in the moonlight at the other end of the ship. When he approached them, he knew the woman he would proposition. She did not hesitate, and he wondered if she would have been as willing even without the offer of his coin.

Chapter 25 
 November 1, 1428, off the coast of Portugal
 
Thomas felt the rock of the ship beneath him. It was a sudden, disconcerting realization, startling with its confusion. It came back to him in flashes of memory. Disjointed moments of time, including the searing pain when someone treated the slices on his back. Now, he heard the groan of the ship like a shrill scream hammering in his head. The explosion of agony inside his skull rolled relentlessly. He willed his eyes to peel open. The lids were weighed by giant anchors capable of holding the ship. First, one eye successfully opened, then the second, as he stared at the rope bed hanging just above his face, one like he knew he lay in, he realized. He tried to swallow his parched throat and nearly choked on the dryness of it.
Thomas lifted a hand, feeling first his chest, then moving upward to assess himself. When he felt the length of his beard, he paused. He wasn’t unconscious for only a couple of days, as he initially thought. He did not know how many days or even weeks it would take to grow his beard to that length.
Was the ship still on the water, Thomas wondered. It should have made it across the channel and been docked in the time it took him to grow his beard. He rolled out of the ropes, and his legs folded beneath his weight. He grabbed for the ropes above his head, steadying himself before he hit the floor. His legs shook for a moment as the blood began to flow to legs long unused.
He started shuffling forward with the light of day filtering through the portholes and from the hole where the ladder disappeared onto the deck. He thought he might not have the strength to make the ascent as he stared up at the ladder, long smoothed by the hands and feet that climbed and descended. Trepidation filled Thomas, forcing his arms to pull while his legs pushed him upward. He gained the deck full of panic and did not take a moment to celebrate or even catch his breath and steady his body that now quaked.
The intensity of the sun was blinding and sent knife blades sinking deep into his eyes and into his skull. His head swiveled to the left and right, his heart sinking. They were not docked or anchored near a shore, for no land could be seen on either horizon. There was no land, not even a far outline. Thomas looked up at the sky so intensely blue to be disorienting. No cloud marred its perfection. The sails beneath the blue sky lay flat against the white pine masts. He ran now, his legs instantly exhausted as he gained the forecastle, but there was nothing to see but an empty ocean. He turned, nearly stumbling, reaching out to steady himself on the rail before his legs propelled him toward the back of the ship.
His flight ended on the quarterdeck. He stared in disbelief at another empty horizon of a sea that lay as still as the sky it met. An atmosphere that provided no wind and a sea that gave no current to move the vessel. Thomas turned to one of the men standing to the side, staring at Thomas as if he had lost his mind. Panick Thomas was not used to driving him forward. He grabbed the man by his filthy shirt and yanked him forward.
“Where are we?”
The man was stunned for a moment, taken aback by the suddenness of the attack.
“Where?” Thomas demanded, making a pathetic attempt to shake him in his urgency.
“We sail to Africa.”
Thomas’s fingers unclamped from the man, and he staggered backward, coming up against the rail.
“What is going on?” another man asked. He was older, tall, and thin. He had an air of authority about him. His dark brown eyes fell on Thomas. “I am the captain. Why do you disturb my ship?”
“Why am I here?” Thomas demanded.
“Because you owe a debt to me for your life. I need every man to sail. You will be returned to England when this ship returns.”
“No,” Thomas said, shaking his head and stepping forward.
“It seems as if you have no choice,” the captain replied dryly.
“I will leave at the next port.”
The man smirked at Thomas. “No, I don’t think you will. Antoni!” he barked, and another man materialized beside the captain. “Show this man how to swab this deck and clean the hold below.”
“I will not do your work while you hold me prisoner.”
The captain, who had dismissed him, slowly turned back around. “You think yourself a prisoner,” the captain replied, a note of sympathy in his voice. “You’re not a prisoner. I could have let you die, but instead, I had my men save your life and care for you. In return, you will pay off your debt, which will be fully atoned by the time we reach England again.”
“How long?” Thomas asked before the captain could dismiss him again.
The tall man shrugged. “It’s hard to say. A great deal of it depends on when the wind returns. We average four to six months.”
Thomas let the man turn away then. He could be out here for half a year. Already, he should have been at Anne’s side. He looked across the ocean and screamed his frustration for new and old gods to hear. He screamed because he wanted Anne to know he would come for her, that he wanted to be with her, protecting her. But this was where he was and where he would be for an interminable amount of time.

Chapter 26 
November 1, 1428, English Channel
 
Hagan jerked awake with a gasp. He rolled off his mangled hand and onto Angeline. It was not the first time he had woken them up since they had laid down on the quarter deck to try to get sleep while they sailed across the channel.
“Shhh,” Angeline soothed. She wiggled her way from beneath his back, allowing him to stretch out. She slipped her head onto his chest, and he delicately laid his bandaged hand on her back. The pain began to settle, leaving behind the throbbing that had not stopped since his bones had been placed back together and his skin stitched over them as best Lincoln could.
The rocking of the ship beneath them soothed him. The night sky above hosted gentle clouds that warned of rain. But it filled the sails and slipped them through the water for home. Hagan was concerned the situation he created would not go away as easily as Burgundy claimed. But Angeline was at his side, and Remon was dead. If nothing else, he hoped his sacrifice was enough to keep Angeline safe.
“Hagan.”
Hagan grunted in response.
“I have been thinking about our first night together.”
Hagan stared at the sky and tried to remember what happened that night that would bring such melancholy to Angeline now.
“I never thought it anything but a blessing that I lost Remon’s child. I thought I never wanted to go through such an ordeal again. But now, with you, I want to have a child. I have always wanted to be a mother, at least before I married Remon. He changed my mind even before I knew I was with child.”
Hagan remained quiet but felt as if he did not draw breath or his heartbeat. This was what he feared. He was not good enough for Angeline because he could never give her what she wanted. He swallowed, and he felt a tear escape the corner of his eye. He looked into the infinite darkness beyond the hanging clouds and the stars and moon peeping behind them. He felt among them but was jerked back to the ship when her hand joined her head on his chest. Even now, how could she make him feel so strong when he could not do the one thing that would make him a man?
“I love you, Hagan de Ros, and I want to carry your child. Look into the eyes of a newborn boy and see your strength. Or into a girl’s eyes and see your gentleness.”
Hagan felt another tear slip from the corner of his eye.
“I am so sorry that cannot happen. I am confident I can carry another child, and I have grown. My mother was a small woman, giving birth to many children. I know I will be successful with my next. That is what saddens me. Whatever child I carry and labor with will not be yours. I am sorry I cannot give that to you in your blood. But I can still give you a son or daughter in your name. No one had to know it is not truly yours.”
Hagan’s good arm jerked and pulled her against his side. She looked up at his face, still facing toward the sky. He felt her stare at him momentarily before settling her head back on his chest.
“But even if you disagree, that will not matter. I will be at your side. You can get me a dog or something.”
Hagan envisioned Angeline with a dog she treated as a child. He knew a dog would not be an ample replacement for a child. But he envisioned her with another man. One who could fulfill her great desire. Hagan felt his hand throb. It was a small price considering what he had suffered for her. She had suffered so much more trying to deliver a child she never wanted and was willing to repeat that horror. Told him she would be a great mother. Even if it wasn’t his child, he could make it so.
“How long…” Hagan stopped and cleared his throat. “Would it just have to be one time with another man?”
Angeline gave it some consideration. “I do not know. It did not take long to become pregnant after I married Remon. If I can find someone more knowledgeable than I, I will know when it is most likely in my monthly cycle.”
“Okay,” Hagan said. His voice sounded strangled, and the tears fell silently. Some were shed with relief that Angeline was not leaving him. But some were shed because he knew he would have to share Angeline with another man one day.

Chapter 27 
 
November 12, 1428, Helmsley
 
Lincoln stood outside Helmsley. He wondered if he was making the right decision. He could not keep from mulling it repeatedly in his mind. What had Thomas ever done to them to warrant his and Hagan’s betrayal? Even now, Lincoln could ride away. He felt the leather reins in his hand as he stood before his horse, perhaps waiting for some divine sign he was not making the worst mistake he ever could. But he was only a mercenary. He followed, he did not command, and nothing could be laid on him.
Lincoln’s feet carried him forward. He had chosen his side when he learned of Hagan’s plan and did not take it to Thomas. The damage had been done. He could not abandon Hagan, too. His feet faltered again. He had been willing to give his life in the service of one being. God, who was far mightier than Earl Hagan. Never had he committed himself to a man. He passed from battle to battle, seeking nothing else. But things had changed. Not only did Hagan lose the use of his hand, but Montagu was injured from a cannon blast as his English forces lay siege to Orléans. A few days later, the great commander died as he had lived, to the explosion of war. Eventually, the was the end to men of war.
He would admit to a growing desire to be more than a man who could kill proficiently. Lincoln was landless. Though his fighting skills were well compensated, he had little to show for it. What else did he have to spend money on, always on the move but drinking, gambling, and whoring? Hagan’s stride began to return to its confident path. He had torn from Helmsley this morning with indecision fueling him, and now, hours later, he had returned.
If Hagan survived this and Burgundy was true to his word, Lincoln would have a home. They had already been through some of the most challenging times two men could experience together. Perhaps it was time to find a place to rest his feet. Maybe it was time to find a way back to the God that had once been his guide in everything.
It could not happen if he was among men who laughed in Satan’s face and survived. Despite what they thought, they were never unscathed.
Hagan’s days of fighting were over. He would have men to send, but Hagan would not be there to lead them. If Lincoln wanted to, he knew Hagan would let him lead his army wherever Lincoln wanted to take them. But that was not what Lincoln wanted. As he looked at the tall walls, he wanted to be able to call this place home.
Lincoln walked beneath the portcullis, and the expanse of the castle spread out before him. This place was far more than he ever thought belonged to Hagan. The man had never been boastful of the wealth of his inheritance. He did not speak of his homes with its two baileys, two motes, and plentiful buildings and people. It was a well-cared-for and well-run estate. One could see that at first glance.
“What do you think of your new home?” Hagan asked in greeting. He was pale and weak, but he stood on his own feet and fought the infection that added to the agony of his shattered hand.
“It is a grand castle and beautiful property,” Lincoln replied.
“Do you think you will be happy here?” Hagan asked.
“What does that matter?” Lincoln asked. He looked around himself, studying everything except Hagan.
“It matters because I thought you would be staying here. I want you to stay here. We can leave everything out there behind and build something here. I would like you at my side.”
Lincoln nodded before looking at Hagan. “I would be very proud to call Helmsley home and you, my lord.”
Hagan shook his head. “I am not your lord, but your brother, nothing less.”
Lincoln nodded, and together they walked deeper into the castle.

Chapter 28 
March 3, 1430, Bombay, India
 
Thomas ran with a speed that surprised him after all his time on the ship. He was seen sneaking off the ship. Thomas heard the command to stop, but Thomas would not heed it. He was no man’s slave. Then, from nowhere, a body slammed into him, taking him off his feet. Three men subdued him with feet and fists before dragging him back to his feet.
Without words, they forced him back to the ship to stand before the captain. It was not the first port the ship had stopped at, but each one pulled him farther from Anne. He had to do something, and this was the first port where he gathered his strength and courage.
Thomas was well beyond the kid who stood trembling before Humphrey and the post he was lashed on. Too much pain, suffering, and life had catapulted him to the courage of a man refusing to show he was weak and full of fear. But to say he did not fear was a lie.
“Kirkham,” the captain spat at him. “You will not leave this ship until I say you can do so. You owe me a debt, and there is not a port you will be able to escape me at. Be thankful those men returned you. They likely would have gutted you if they knew you were trying to run from a debt owed.”
“Just let me go.” Thomas was aware his voice did not sound like a man’s but held the pleading quality of a child.
“No,” the man said. “I need you. When I return to England, I will replace you with another, and you can be on your way.”
Thomas saw the captain’s eyes shift over his shoulder, and before Thomas could turn, his arms were secured, and he was driven forward until his body slammed into the main mast. His breath was knocked from him, and he struggled against the men holding him. He screamed his outrage and bucked against the men, but soon, he was lashed to the pole.
“There are far harsher punishments than the flogging for a man who deserts. But I will do this so you can still hoist my sails.”
Thomas held back a sob. His fingers and thumbs dug into the mast. His nails bit into the wood, threatening to snap. Despite his Herculean grip, it was not enough to stop the scream of pain as the rope sailed at him. The knot at the end bit deep into his flesh and banged against his bones. It was as if a hammer landed on his body again and again. The rope processed the same brutal strength of the whip that had nearly killed him and left him trapped here.
Thomas panted and sweated as the sympathetic faces of the rest of the crew blurred and joined together until they were a wall. It had been a fortifying mass in the beginning. Then, the faces became indiscernible. Though none of them could be called friends because they did not have the time to make such connections on the ship, they still offered a certain level of comfort. They could all face the torture he was enduring.
Thomas’s fear intensified the pain, and his bravado fled, leaving a whimpering child in its wake. The captain preceded each strike across his back and torso with a count. It was a count he lost track of. A count that had neared twenty before the first sob was drawn from him. He did not know how many had fallen since, dozens? The captain’s voice was not loud enough to carry through the agony of pain. Mercifully, the rope with the wicked knot stopped falling on him. Only after the Captain turned away did hands come out to take his weight from the mast.
As he was half carried to his hammock, he found it difficult to draw breath through the pain radiating in his ribs. As he collapsed onto the ropes, his last waking thought was of Anne and how his mistakes had made the time it would take to reach home even more substantial.

Chapter 29 
March 3, 1430, Helmsley
 
Hagan missed the home he had left so many years ago. It was a home he never appreciated until now. It was a large, sprawling castle that symbolized all the de Ros family’s wealth. He was proud when Angeline stared in surprise at her new home. It was larger and more prosperous than the life Remon had given her. But the most prosperous thing would be their love and their family. By the time they arrived, Hagan was at ease with his decision. He looked forward to holding Angeline’s child in his arms. He still grew angry when he thought of what Angeline would have to do to make it happen.
The castle was made of gray stone. Its walls were high, with two great towers and four smaller towers on each corner of the curtain wall. The castle and its walls were accessed by crossing two motes and passing through two gates in the two walls. It was a secure castle. One Hagan was very proud to bring Angeline to.
Two days after arriving home, the messenger came from Burgundy. The man was fed and sent on his way with the seal of the Duke of Burgundy intact. No response was necessary, the messenger said. Hagan dreaded what news the missive held. Surely, if it contained the acceptance from the King for Hagan to marry Angeline, he would have wanted a response. A chance for Hagan to kiss his ass once again.
Angeline walked with Hagan and Lincoln to their solar after the day’s last meal. Together, they stared at the envelope on the table against one of the stone walls.
“Do you wish me to open it?” Angeline asked after some time.
Hagan picked up the letter and turned it over and over in his hand. He passed it quickly to Angeline as his hands threatened to shake.
Carefully, Angeline broke the seal with a small knife. The wait was agonizing. He had the urge to snatch it from her hand and rip it open. Angeline unfolded the paper, and her eyes scanned it.
“Oh, Hagan,” Angeline whispered with her hand going to her face, her fingertips pressed to her lips for a moment. Hagan wanted to sweep her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay. Before he even knew what was not.
Lincoln’s eyes darted from one to another. He could not read and depended on the two of them to tell him.
“Thomas was stripped of Stokesley, and the King granted Stokesley to you.”
Hagan felt himself grow pale. If Thomas had not hated Hagan before, losing his property to him would undoubtedly sever any friendly ties. There was a force at foot, far more significant than Hagan or Thomas. Something far more foreboding than their plan had been to ransom Remon.
“Is there more?”
Angeline nodded, and he watched her swallow. “He was sent from France in humiliation after he was whipped, and he was stripped of all his possessions.”
Hagan felt sorrow for his friend washing over him. His eyes remained on Angeline. She was the reminder he had no other choice. Even if it destroyed Thomas, Angeline was not destroyed. Lincoln stood stiffly. His face was a hard mask. Though he looked cold as stone, Hagan could see he was beginning to boil inside. Hagan was prepared for an attack from Lincoln because he knew Hagan was the cause of Thomas’s demise.
“Anna Kirkham was immediately forced to vacate Stokesley so you can take command at your leisure.”
Lincoln’s feet were moving. His long stride made the trek across the large chamber floor fast.
“Where are you going?” Hagan asked.
“To Lady Anne and by God’s blessing Thomas.”
“Wait,” Hagan called as he was halfway out the door.
Lincoln’s back froze, and he turned to Hagan. It was apparent that if Hagan delayed him too long, Lincoln would explode with all the turmoil he felt. 
“Will you send word?”
Lincoln’s eyes roved over Hagan, measuring his sincerity in concern. Then he nodded and was gone.
Hagan turned his attention back to Angeline. “The council has granted their approval of our union.” That news should have sent both into great happiness, but the thought of Thomas lingered. The price Thomas paid was a harsh one for an innocent man.
“I spoke to your physician, and I will know when I will be most fertile.”
Hagan watched her search his face, hoping the subject would distract from the rest of the letter and Lincoln’s departure. He would grant this woman her every desire if it was within his reach.
“I have chosen the man.”
Angeline’s news jolted Hagan, perhaps more than the news of Thomas’s punishment. Hagan continued to stare at her.
“It is Lincoln,” she said. Her voice sounded small and afraid.
“Why?” Hagan asked. Had she already done something with Lincoln? Was this talk of a child entirely to cover for a pregnancy already? But he knew it was not true as soon as the thought lodged itself. Lincoln would never do such a thing. No matter what, Lincoln would not betray him in such a base way.
“He is kind and will not hurt me.”
Hagan gave one nod of his head. In his selfishness, he had not considered a man might hurt her or abuse her. She was taking all the risk, and he was merely feeling sorry for himself.
“He is also good blood for our child. He or she will be strong, loyal, and fierce like the child’s true father. You.”
She took a step closer, bringing her to his side, and she rested a hand on his chest. He took it in his good one and pressed it there.
“I will not if you do not wish it. Not with him or anyone if that will be best for you.”
“You are willing to risk so much to have this child. How can I tell you who or who you must not lay with? Lincoln is all those things you said. I trust no other man with you as I trust him.” Hagan kissed the top of Angeline’s dark head. “When we get news from him, we will plan.”
“I love you, Hagan.”
“I love you, and soon you will be my wife and grow round with our child.”
she slipped her arms around him, and he pressed her head against his chest.

Chapter 30 
April 8, 1430, Helmsley
 
Lincoln returned to Helmsley with the news that Thomas had never made it to Ravenshill. In all the time that passed since he received his lashing and was sent on his way. Anne had made her way to Ravenshill, where Lincoln found her. She was safe at the small keep and Hagan had returned to Helmsley. Hagan and Angeline were married in a small ceremony a day after Lincoln returned.
When Hagan first asked him to lie with his wife two days after the ceremony, Lincoln was angry after all the declarations that had made that she was a child. After a few hours, he approached Lincoln again, and told him of his certainty he would never father children. He offered Lincoln anything within his power to grant him. He guessed that made Lincoln the whore in such a situation. He offered a delay until Angeline reached a riper age. But when asked, Lincoln could not provide a number for that riper age. More than a year had passed, and she was nearly sixteen. In the eyes of most, she was of the age to marry and bear children.
A week after the wedding, the time had come, the decision had been made, and Lincoln had agreed. It seemed as if Hagan struggled the most after Lincoln made his decision. His face was set in a sad frown as he went about his day. Everyone noticed his melancholy, but his face always brightened when he looked at Angeline, and the sadness fled.
Lincoln watched Hagan’s back as he rode through Helmsley’s gates. A week. That was how long he would have to try to impregnate a woman he had argued not too long ago was only a child. But she had blossomed since then. It was apparent she would always be slight. Her hips would never grow full or her breasts large. But she was of an age now that women successfully bred and delivered. At least at an average rate compared to those younger.
Lincoln had never denied any woman who offered herself. Not since his position with the Order became clearly not one of a godly bent as he searched for. He had to admit he preferred debauchery to celibacy as he had taken an oath to. But he took other oaths that meant nothing if the Teutonic Order so ordained. Why would the fact his dick remained dry matter to God when he broke a vow Lincoln would think was far more sacred? The sins stacked one onto the other, perhaps no more than when he tried to walk the path to God. But it was not God’s doing. It was further sins perpetrated by men with the Lord’s name on their lips.
Angeline was at his side, and her tiny hand slipped into his. Lincoln could not look down on her. Hagan had to truly be gone before he could do that. He would chase the man down and tell him he could not do it in the end. The man had to get out of reach before Lincoln could look at the girl beside him.
Was she still a girl? Hardly, his brain told him. She had wed and lost a child after a labor Lincoln admired her for surviving. Now, she wanted another chance at motherhood.
“If we had not asked you, we would ask another,” Angeline said next to him as if she read his thoughts. “I would keep asking until I found whatever man was willing. I love Hagan, and I wish to stay with him for a lifetime. But I also want to be a mother. You are the man I trust will not hurt me.”
Lincoln’s eyes snapped to her. She was right. He would never hurt her.
“This will be okay, Lincoln. I admit to an attraction to you, so this will not be the ordeal I see you fear. It is delightful with Hagan. I am confident you will make it enjoyable for me as well?” 
Her statement jolted Lincoln, and he fought the smile that wanted to broaden his face. He feared it might be a lecherous one. “I will do my best, my lady.”
The first time they were together, Angeline led the way. Lincoln did not make a move without her encouraging him. In the days and nights after, Lincon felt guilty for spending so much time with Angeline. They became close in that short time in both friendship and intimacy. As he rode beneath the portcullis, Lincoln had to admit he was sad to go.
Lincoln saw Hagan sitting some distance away, watching for Lincoln to leave. Lincoln wondered how long his friend waited. He knew how Hagan felt about Angeline, and he would not be surprised if he had stood vigil there from the time, he rode from Helmsley’s walls a week ago. Lincoln was not surprised his friend did not come to send him off. Despite the favor Lincoln had done, it no longer seemed to be a favor but a betrayal because he left Helmsley with another sin upon his back, coveting another man’s wife.

 
 
Chapter 31 
May 2, 1430, Off the coast of Kilwa, Africa
 
Thomas sat on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck. He spent his life training to become a knight. He had fought in many battles, weighed down in full armor. The heat inside such a suit of metal was draining in a run across an open field. But never had Thomas been as exhausted as he was now.
There was no escaping the sun. The constant exposure blistered his skin. That was exhausting enough, but the continuous work was far worse. Not a moment was spared on leisure. He was always in a constant flurry of labor.
“Man, the sails! Starboard! Starboard!” the captain yelled
The call came from behind him. The captain’s voice rang across the ship, carrying to every crew member whose ears were always tuned to his calls. He jumped to his feet as men scrambled. Thomas looked over the rail and saw the black clouds in the distance. It seemed as if they rolled quickly toward them with a terrifying madness the seconds Thomas stared.
Thomas rushed to the mizzen. The sail at the stern of the ship had been catching little wind but was now strained with the main sail and the foresails against the rising gusts. Hands took hold of the rope with Thomas, steading the boom as first the foresail was repositioned, catching the wind, and turning the ship toward the right. The giant main sail was wrestled, and the boom slammed into position as Thomas and the other men brought the final sail around to catch the wind.
The wind struck the ship’s port side, and the sails caught, straining against the booms and ropes the men worked. Thomas looked up to the captain, but his attention was not on his men’s progress but the storm’s. Thomas turned in that direction and suddenly felt an evil presence upon the ocean with them. What boiled across the horizon was unlike anything Thomas had ever witnessed. It was alive, and Thomas heard it growling over the groan of the ship, the flap of the sails, and the call of the men. It swallowed the sky and turned the world evil as it churned toward them.
“Trim the sails!” the captain called. Heads turned up, and ropes were heaved as the crewmen caught the wind on the leading edge of the sails. Thomas felt the movement of the ship pick up. Thomas did not know how long they raced the storm, fighting the sails to keep them positioned in the wind. Any error would luff the sails, and the canvas would slacken and slow the ship. Each time Thomas glanced at the captain, gauging the progress of the storm. His attention on the beast was only split with watching the fluttering strips of the telltales attached to the sails. The crew fought to keep them flowing evenly behind the sails. When one of the three on each sail shifted to one side or began to flop, the ropes were hauled to keep the ship at an even keel.
A giant gust of wind struck Thomas in the face. He felt the force of it move the ship, threatening to push it in a different direction. His hands tightened, and the ropes dug into them. At any other time, the pain would be excruciating, but now, it did not register through the fear climbing in his chest. Thomas immediately tightened the sail against the onslot, willing the rising wind to carry them out of the storm before it struck them. Thomas had already heard all the other crewmembers’ tales of weathering storms. This would be Thomas’s first storm at sea. It was terrifying with its approach, closing off the light of hope as it circled them.
For a moment, it seemed as if all on ship paused and held a collective breath. Even the vessel waited, hoping the escape was not lost. A menacing darkness crept across the deck. Thomas looked up to see the sun swallowed by the churning hell from above. The rope was yanked hard in his hand, and he and the other men on the rope held tight.
“Port! Port!” the captain called.
Another flurry ensued as the sails were turned again. This time, the crew aimed the ship into the wind.
“Furl the sails! Furl! Now, now!” The captain’s voice, though not panicked, sounded urgent. The warning was clear, if the crew did not immediately follow his orders and lower the sails, they might all very well die.
By the time the ship was angled into the wind so the sails could be lowered without fighting them, the sea beneath them churned with every demon from bibles and fairytales. Thomas panted, clambering to take down the rear sail. The captain barked orders to the men on the foresail.
The ship rose and fell, picking up as it rocked and groaned. Once two of the sails were down, the foresail was turned, allowing it to catch the wind and turn the ship back to a forty-five-degree angle with the storm.
“Drop the ropes!” the captain called.
No longer holding the foresail or tying down the lowered sails, the men rushed toward the giant ropes. They were as round as Thomas’s arm and so much heavier. He had seen them, tripped over them numerous times, and set them to the side of the deck. But he was only told he would see each time he enquired of their use. And now he did, following the other men as they wrestled them to the ship’s edge and dropped them over the side. Attached to the stern, the ship dragged the ropes in an effort to slow it down. If the ship was allowed too much speed rising and falling in the waves, it could plunge down and never resurface.
As if on cue, as the ropes hit the water with splashes, the waves began rising, lifting, and dropping the vessel beneath Thomas’s feet. He planted his feet on the wooden planks and braced his legs so they followed the rise and fall.
The storm surrounded them, blocking the sun darkening the menacing water churning and spilling over the deck. A hawk called from above. Thomas lifted his head and felt the bird caught in the storm was a bad omen. It was not unheard of for birds of prey to get caught in a storm as they attempt to find the trailing edge to fly out of. Thomas honestly did not know how far from shore they were, but until now, it had been too far to see a bird in the sky.
And then before him rose a giant beast. The ship’s bow began climbing, and Thomas’s stomach flipped in conjunction with the fear of what lay on the other side of the wave that rose higher and higher. The dark water rising over the ship. Thomas could feel the water beneath the ship sucking from beneath it, feeding the wave that growled in fury. As the ship’s bow reached the top, the tide began to break, pushing the ship backward so it suspended at the top for a fraction of a second.
Thomas’s grip tightened on the rail. He wanted to move away. He did not want to see in which direction the ship would plunge. He knew they could not stay suspended upon the wave long. Then the bow tipped down, and it was as if a giant sigh was expelled from the crew. Then, the ship plunged. Down it traveled, racing at a speed Thomas thought surely would drop them to the ocean floor. The bow dipped beneath the surface, and the next rising wave broke across the deck. Men screamed, and two washed overboard. He clung terrified to the rail, wondering fleetingly how some of these men still raced back and forth. These were the men who were full of ocean tales. These were the men who laughed when they began tearing down the wave. They whooped as if it was a great tournament triumph when the waves broke across the decks, and the ship remained upright.
Thomas learned every man had battles to fight. Here on the water, it was the ocean itself, a friend and an enemy all the same. For the crew, it was a constant battle. The ship had to remain close, hauled to the wind at its forty-five-degree angle. More would send the ship running too fast, and any less might keep them trapped within the storm until they or it died. By the time the storm ceased, Thomas was shaking from exhaustion and the extreme pressure of his frayed nerves. One thing was for sure as he heard the murmurings of the rest of the crew, they had been thrown off course. The journey to Anne was now even longer.

Chapter 32 
May 7, 1430, Helmsley
 
Hagan kept casting glances at Angeline. Two weeks had passed since Lincoln rode from Helmsley. In all that time, Hagan only asked her if Lincoln had hurt her. Each time she assured him had not. And Hagan found that was his only concern. He hoped his friend’s seed had taken hold in his wife. He hoped they would soon hold a baby and raise it to be a de Ros and carry the de Ros name into the next generation.
Her eyes raised to him, and she smiled.
“Do you think you are pregnant?”
Angeline laughed. “It is too soon. But we can pray it is so.”
Hagan nodded. He wanted to take her to their bed, but it was only noon, and they stood in the village watching the workers in the field. He sighed, a contented sound, and placed an arm around Angeline’s waist. He was sure he had never felt so content in his life. He prayed daily this was the promise Burgundy had given him.

Chapter 33 
May 7, 1430, Helmsley
 
The road stretched out before him. He wanted to turn his horse and ride back through time to just a few months before. He would make sure Hagan never got a chance to be near Angeline. But time never turned back. It trudged forward through triumph, disgrace, joy, and misery. Lincoln paused on the thought of joy. He mulled it over in his mind. When had the three of them known joy? They found satisfaction when they rampaged across a battlefield. However, that satisfaction faded in the aftermath to be replaced with the relief that they survived. They laughed and had fun together in camp, but where did the joy come in?
Joy was a great pleasure and happiness. He could say he felt none of these things with greatness. But Hagan had. He had found it in that little girl. Come what may, for the both, Hagan would protect her and be joyful that he could do so.
Lincoln brought his horse to a stop. He sat in the roadway thinking of joy and found himself envious of Hagan. He was willing to fight for his happiness. But Hagan was not the only one. Thomas had remained in France, away from his joy, Anne, so he could secure them a future. Lincoln had ripped it from one friend to give to the other.
He had to pay his penance, make amends. He had to ensure Thomas’s joy awaited him. Then he had to help extract Thomas from the mess Lincoln and Hagan left him in. He would make amends, whatever it took, no matter the threat of pain and sacrifices.
Lincoln felt a level of peace when he came from the copse of trees within sight of the river. Thomas may have moved his household to Stokesley, necessary to govern that populated and prosperous land, but Ravenshill was his home. He spoke of it often. How it was a beacon on those rare occasions as a child that he and his father returned to.
Here the hills rolled and peaked, climbing ever higher as England reached for Scotland. The land here still lay wild, wooded, with only tiny villages scattered over miles. Around those small, populated areas were small fields, and Lincon guessed the rest of England saw little come this northern district. The big pull of the place would lie in its game. He saw their trails, leading deep into the forests that stretched far into the north.
The village of Kildare was positioned on either side of the road. He saw the signs of a declining population at a glance. Structures stood abandoned, rotting, others stripped to be used elsewhere. Few people went about their work, and it was obvious the village was hanging by a thread. Fields that had once been cleared were now returning to the wilds of the forest. Thomas had said nothing of the town, but Lincoln doubted he knew anything about it since he spent little time here.
Just past the sparse homes of the village, the road continued north through fields lacking hands to work them. Then he was at another fork. One led further north, its tracks disappearing into the Scottish mountains. If Lincoln were to run, he would run that way. It would be easy to hide from anyone pursuing him. He turned his horse to the right and the bridge. He paused here. The bridge stretched across the river that lay docile, but Thomas told a tale about how the river raged like a beast when it rose and ripped through the valley. When the storms rolled from the north, the river had time to gather and rise quickly ahead of torrential rains. In those times, the bridges threatened to be washed away, and the fields flooded. In the past, parts of the village had been swept away. But Thomas had not been there to witness it.
The river flowed around a bend, the keep of Ravenshill sat atop that. The gloom of the day washed the stones in the shadowing clouds. A speck of a bird flew from its perch atop the three-story tower. Even from a distance, Lincoln could see the beauty of the stone and the colors embedded in them.
Stones that turned red with the rising and setting sun. But now those stones looked nearly black with the clouds threatening a storm. The stones were a contradiction, the welcoming and the menacing. With the dark stones and the black sky, and perhaps its age, it appeared as if terrifying things had happened around those walls. Two more birds flew from the crenulated walls and circled briefly before settling again.
Lincoln kicked the horse beneath him, urging it onto the bridge. Its hoofs clomped steadily across the thick boards. The worn and narrow road became little more than a path. It was only wide enough for single wagons to traverse. The road climbed steadily until it neared the top of the knoll. The trees were not allowed to grow so close to the keep, and the scene that stretched to either side was breathtaking. Below, the hills undulated, slowly tracking to the north, climbing higher and higher until the mountains of Scotland took over.
Looking at the keep, he knew from the tower and its walls that the view would stretch for miles. This keep would have no surprise attacks. The only accessible entrance was the road he entered on. The other three sides of the knoll cut down sharply, and no army could climb those steep walls without falling from the arrows above.
With the scope of its view. Travelers would be seen long before reaching the bridge. As he neared, he saw the gates were closed. He stopped several paces away so he could look up at the walls. The alarm was what might save this place from an attack. Though walls surrounded the one tower, they were shorter by the day’s standards. The climb to the top could be accomplished with shorter ladders, making it easier for a rush of men to gain the walls against an artillery attack from above. If an army the size of Montagu’s came here as enemies, they would breach the walls with little effort. This keep could never withstand despite its survival through the centuries. Its walls already crumbled in places. Little money and attention went into the property for over a generation as a war was fought far away.
It was old, Lincoln thought as he looked up, seeing two ravens staring down at him. They cocked their heads from side to side as if he were an oddity. This place was of Norman design. The walls had once been made of wood, and some generations since, it had been replaced with the magnificent stone. The tower likely had also stood of wood once upon a time. But the outer walls had been stoned around those ancient wooden walls.
The birds took to the sky, and a face appeared. The man on the wall called to another, and the heavy wooden gates opened.
The bailey floor was bare, and the dirt would turn to mud in the rain. His eyes skipped across the wall surrounding him, up the tower, searching for the guards. Next to the tower was a woman, and next to her was a large man who dwarfed her. The man was a mountain whose bearing was not that of an ordinary man but a beast. Sir Shane was a quiet man whose eyes constantly moved, whether from mistrust or curiosity. His indifferent face hid it all.
Anne’s hair flamed red with tight curls she tried to tame in a tight braid. But they escaped, framing her face, tickling her neck. When he came the first time, he knew her on site because she looked as Thomas described, like a fairy. She had a spark about her, a light in her green eyes that spread through her and from her. Lincoln had liked her immediately.
The pair stood at the edge of a narrow bridge. A ditch dug deep surrounded the tower, and the narrow wooden bridge that crossed it could be drawn up. It was the last defense Ravenshill could offer. But it would barely slow down an attack. Despite the murder holes, the tower could not withstand a large army. Lincoln knew the knight was prepared to stand and die in front of that bridge to save the woman at his side.
Lincoln swung a leg over his horse’s neck and slid from the saddle.
“Do you bring news of Thomas?” Her voice was hopeful as her green eyes looked up at him. They slanted at the corners. Her nose was small and pert set in her heart-shaped face. Her lips were full and twisted up slightly at the corners, appearing as if she had a perpetual smile. Lincoln shook his head, “No, my lady. I am afraid I do not. But I have returned to be of service to you.”
Sadness suffocated the hope in her eyes.
“I would be happy to give you shelter and accept your gracious offer of service.”
“I have traveled far and could use some food and drink if I might impose upon you further.”
Anna laughed, a light sound. “Everyone must travel far to come here.”
Lincoln returned her warm smile.
“Someone will see to your horse while we have some ale.” It could have been a question or command. Both he and Shane were powerless to argue against the woman.

Chapter 34 
July 10, 1430, Stokesley
 
Thomas felt as if he pulled himself along by prayer alone. Thomas had never known God before Lincoln came into his life and taught him of a force greater than an army. Of course, Thomas had heard commanders declare God was on their side. They were not always victorious, so Thomas never understood why it was supposed to matter.
The journey home to his beloved Anne fortified Lincoln’s teachings. God existed in a place not tainted by a battlefield. Why would God possibly concern himself with the slaughter of humans against one another? Lincoln was sure God had already given up the soul of every man who fought in battle. Perhaps they would be forgiven once they walked away. But he didn’t think they would ever feel forgiven.
But God was with him throughout his journey. He was not hung by Humphrey in France. The ship did not sink to the depths of the ocean. And Thomas had made it once again to English soil. He could never describe to anyone the level of relief to finally not have an ocean between him and Anne. A feeling so overwhelming, he cried. Then, his journey continued. Miles and miles, he trekked north. He tried to get a horse but had no coin, was in rags, and looked like a beggar. He almost stole one but thought the repercussions could delay or even end his journey home.
Thomas went to Stokesley, where he left his wife. He hoped Humphrey had been unable or, in the end, unwilling to ruin Thomas. At least it was a prayer he prayed many times. Whether there was true hope, he could not say. Because he knew Humphrey it may have just been foolishness. His father had not officially received the title Earl of Stokesley until the end of his life. Wouldn’t the man be furious if he knew Thomas lost it faster than he had gained it?
When Thomas dragged himself what felt like the last step he could take into Stokesley, it was to find that Anne had been cast out, as Humphrey declared. He had killed the man and woman who tried to leave with her. Despite exhaustion, rage filled him. This man was Haan’s, who now sat in Thomas’s chair and ate at his table. Thomas wanted to march into the gates of his own castle and gut Hagan’s man as he would a sow. But he did not have time.
Stokesley belonged to Hagan, the man informed him. A reward for bearing witness against Thomas, who he knew was innocent. While Hagan basked in further riches, Thomas had to find the strength to continue his journey.
Thomas had little to sustain him from the southern tip of England all the way to Stokesley. But, after learning of his wife’s predicament, he did not take the time to hunt for food or steal it. His feet kept him shuffling forward, stumbling but determined to find her.
When he reached the bridge, he gripped the rail and nearly fell to the wooden boards. Across the river and upon the hill sat Ravenshill. Its lone stone tower soared to the sky. The setting sun’s light washed the tower’s stones and surrounding curtain wall in a red glow. He was home. Despite his pride in Stokesley and the small castle built by the earl before his father, Ravenshill still resided in his heart as home. He would have been more devastated to learn he had lost Ravenshill than the more profitable property at Stokesley. Had it not been for the concern over Anne’s safety, the punishment of losing Stokesley but keeping Ravenshill would have been a small blow.
He got his feet moving. Crossing the bridge, his eyes never strayed from the old Norman tower. Generation after generation, the keep had protected his family. He saw a man upon the wall as he stepped foot on solid ground. He heard him shout an alert.
On tired legs, Thomas climbed the well-worn path to the gates of Ravenshill. He paused as he reached the summit and bowed his head to pray quickly to God. He begged him to allow him to find Anne behind the flaming walls, and he would ask nothing more of him.
“Who goes there?” one man called down.
Thomas hoped the closed gate was a good sign they protected his wife. Would they be closed this far north in the day if nothing was precious inside to protect?
“Earl….” Thomas’s voice trailed before he picked it back up. “Baron Thomas Kirkham,” he shouted up. Relief flooded him when the gates opened. He was still lord here.
When the gates came to rest, he stepped forward. His steps were spongy as he crossed the bailey ground, turning to mud beneath his worn boots. He proceeded slowly. The bailey was quiet as he crossed it. When he reached the center in the rain, with no one coming to greet him, he stopped. His eyes traveled upward to the top floor of the tower. Three stories up, it held the only plate glass window on the property. Behind its glass, he saw a figure staring down at him. The setting sun obscured the person before they disappeared. A woman barreled from the tower within a moment and ran across the small drawbridge. Fear leaped in him for the woman. That bridge was dangerously slick sometimes when it rained. But she did not falter.
“Thomas!”
Six years it took him to make it back to his wife. She was no child now, and neither was he. But he could never mistake her wild red hair and soft green eyes as she flew at him. She was in his arms so quickly the force of it nearly stumbled him backward. He caught her, then caught himself, wrapping his arms around her. They clung to each other, shedding tears of relief that their paths had finally led them back together.  
Thomas did not know how long he held his wife, but a throat cleared behind her, and Thomas’s eyes rose.
“Hello, Thomas,” Lincoln said.
For now, Thomas did not care how or why Lincoln had come to Ravenshill. What he held in his arms was the only thing that mattered and would ever matter. 

Chapter 35 
July 18, 1430, Helmsley
 
“Hagan.” His wife’s voice was hesitant as she approached him. He turned from the horsemen, some mounted, some not, all young and craving the victory in the rings. Nothing made a squire prouder than winning with a lance and rings. As it always did when he looked at Angeline, his breath hitched a little, and he felt the warmth of joy run through his veins.
“Yes, darling?” he asked, wanting to touch her shoulder, hair, and hand. It did not matter.
“I think it has happened.”
Hagan stared at the woman he loved for seconds, wondering what she spoke of. When the spark of knowledge grew into a flame, he was momentarily lost. A trace of sadness threatened because Angeline carried Lincoln’s child, not his. But that was quickly replaced with growing joy. He would have a son or daughter. Only three people in the world would ever know the truth. A piece of his mind niggled at him, and he wondered if Angeline would be content with only one child. Would he be pleased with a daughter and not a son?
“Truly?” Hagan asked.
When she nodded, he became awash with pleasure. Forgotten was Lincoln and his seed. Hagan was to be a father, and it was a miracle.

Chapter 36 
April 24, 1431, Ravenshill
 
Anne’s labor was not as intense as Angeline’s had been three years before, within a few hours of her contractions beginning the birth of the first Kirkham child to be born within the walls of Ravenshill to start a new generation.
“Lincoln,” Thomas’s voice turned him, and he saw Thomas with his daughter held bundled against his chest. “I wanted you to meet someone,” he said, moving forward.
Lincoln felt himself tense, and for a moment, he thought he might be more frightened than he ever was facing an enemy. He had never held a baby. He had never been around a child who was not a page or a squire.
Thomas held the baby toward him, and Lincoln instinctively reached for her. He held her stiffly, holding her in his outstretched hands, but he knew not what to do with her. “She won’t break.”
Thomas stepped to Lincoln’s shoulder and folded his arms for him to bring the baby closer. He shifted her in his arms so Lincoln cradled her. The baron pulled the blanket away from the baby’s face.
“Meet Lady Elisabeth Kirkham,” Hagan said softly.
Soft blue eyes looked up at Lincoln. They were wide and assessing as they studied Lincoln’s face. She burbled and cooed, speaking to Lincoln for the first time. Then Elisabeth smiled, and Lincoln lost his heart. Tears filled his eyes at the overwhelming feeling of all Lincoln had never had but for which he sought with a madness that finally brought him here to Ravenshill and home.