Juliana Garnett Read Free Page B

dark sweep against the brittle blue of the sky. Luc straightened in his saddle, suddenly feeling as if he were being watched. Nothing moved along the castle walls above or below, save the beat of tall grasses against stone. A shadow flickered over the ground, but a glance upward revealed only the circling seabird. Faint now, its eerie cry spiraled toward the water, almost lost in the thunder of surf and whine of sea winds.
    The same sea winds beat against Luc’s face and spit sand into his eyes. As he brushed the sand from his lashes, he heard the cry again, mocking this time, and louder. His head tilted back so that his gaze scoured the very top of the steep stone walls.
    There with feet braced apart and sword lifted high in a gesture of defiance, a youth had stepped out onto the jagged parapet. Sunlight glinted from his steel and buckler in blinding splinters that danced across Luc’s face. Drago pranced sideways, snorting and tossing his head so that the whip of his jet mane caught Luc across the face again. He swore and held tightly to horse and control as the unmistakable sound of laughter drifted down from the walls.
    “Norman dog,” the boy challenged in the Saxon tongue, “did you come to fight or flee?”
    Silent, Luc stared up at the bold youth. Scant armor covered the boy’s chest and shoulders, and a short tunic ended at midthigh, in the style of ancient Roman attire. Laced boots rose almost to his knees, but the rest of his legs were unprotected. Luc smiled grimly. If all the warriors were clad thus, victory would be certain once he gained entry.
    Nudging Drago forward, Luc ignored the youth. Wind and surf drowned out any further challenges, but the encounter had reinforced his determination to seize Wulfridge. Perhaps Sir Simon had lost, but he would not. Nor did he intend to be defeated as the Norman forces at York had been a month before.
    Another such Norman defeat could weaken William’s hold on England. And besides, it was not only lands and a title Luc sought to gain by beating back these rebellious Saxons: it was vindication.
    He urged Drago forward. The land sloped sharply upward there, around a curve of sand and grassy hummock. The destrier clambered up the bank, froth dripping from his mouth and foaming his muscled neck despite the sharp bite of the sea wind. His huge hooves sank deep into the sand before finally gaining purchase on more solid rock, muscled flanks bunching beneath the weight of armed knight and trappings.
    When they reached the top of the hill, Luc rewarded the sweating stallion with a murmured word and pat on the neck. As he bent forward, a humming that sounded like the path of a large honeybee sped close by his neck, and he heard the solid crack of an arrowhead glancing off rock. Drago skittered to one side, and Luc had to rein him in hard as he glanced up at the castle again. Archers had appeared on the high walls where the youth had stood, and the sky was suddenly dark with flying arrows.
    Luc spurred Drago down from the rock in a scramble of hooves against limestone. With arrows hissing around him, heducked feathered barbs to move just out of range again. Frustrated, he studied the fortress. There had to be a chink in Wulfridge’s defenses. Long stretches of ancient wall formed fortified ramparts with no sign of door or window in the uneven stones. Scattered weeds, bushes, and clumps of grass laced the rock-cluttered footings. But there was no sign of weakness.
    He halted Drago at the sharp edge of chalk cliff out of arrow range, cursing softly. The sun beat down, bright for early November. The volley of arrows had ceased. He squinted against the glare, thought about removing his helmet and decided not to. His mail chinked softly as he threw an arm across his forehead to shade his face. A glitter caught his eye when he did and he paused, one arm still across his face. Somewhere in the expanse of stone, sunlight glinted from metal. Perhaps it was not unusual, in a wall