Chapter Two

H awk eyed the inhabitants of the small village with suspicion from atop his bulky destrier. Welsh rebels were proving pestilent, attacking Marcher holdings from one end of the border to the other, and here the villagers were as many Welsh as English. He studied the wary faces staring openly at the small army of English knights clopping along the narrow street. He harbored no doubt word had traveled this far of Daffydd ap Gruffydd's conquests in the north of Wales. The English king would not lie down while the brother of the Prince of Wales continued his path of death and destruction through the Marcher lands.

"Does the hawk come home to nest?"

Hawk lowered his brows as he flashed a curious glance at his burly companion. "What say you?"

The man tipped his head to the side and flashed his teeth in a wide grin. "And could it be his mate awaits, tugging on her jesses in anticipation?"

Hawk grunted. "Quit your attempts at wit, Red, and say what you mean."

Red shrugged a huge, fur-covered shoulder and turned his jovial gaze to meet Hawk's. "Just that the king himself dubbed you ‘Hawk' because of a lucky feat on your part upon the battlefield, and now he sends you to protect a castle aptly named Hawkspur. I cannot help but think it is a sign from the gods."

Hawk scowled in feigned offense at his friend's remarks. "Lucky?" he growled, "I will have you know, had I not moved as swiftly and accurately as I did, the king would now wear the blade of a Welshman as permanent ornament through his spine."

"That you did, Sir Grogan, revered knight of the realm," Red responded, goading Hawk with mock formality not tolerated from any of his other men. "At the end of the day, naught was lost and you gained the favor of the most powerful man in the land. Thus, my question: Has the hawk come home to nest? Hawkspur is a worthy prize, and more than a coincidence in my mind. Perhaps the king believes it is time for you to have a home."

Hawk did not dare ponder such possibilities. The king spoke often of rewarding him well for his loyal service to the crown, but to aspire to be lord of his own castle was the unobtainable. He was a bastard, and though all knew his father was landed and titled, his father never acknowledged any obligation to his by-blows. And the king had never granted a man such as he with a prize meant for a man of noble birth.

"You forget Hawkspur already has a lord." Hawk continued to keep a watchful eye on the people lining the road as they approached the gated wall of Hawkspur Castle. "We will fulfill the king's command to remind the young lord of his duty. When he has proven himself trustworthy in our opinion, we will leave."

Red shrugged. "And if our host does not comply with your king's command?"

"If Lord Cynwulf does not honor his oath of loyalty, then the king will bring down the full weight of his wrath." Hawk narrowed his eyes at the man who had proved loyal to him without ever needing to mutter an oath. "Edward would not be pleased to hear you refer to him as my king and not your own. You have served him well enough and long enough to look upon him as your liege in spite of your Viking birth."

Red turned his eyes to his commander and met his stare without wavering. "'Tis you I serve and 'tis you I give my loyalty. If you choose to reward the king with your own loyalty–" he shrugged as he spoke– "then he holds my loyalty through you."

The trust and steadfast allegiance this man gave so willingly humbled Hawk, as did the unwavering commitment from the band of men riding behind him. He often felt like an impostor, unworthy of such loyalty, but he would lay down his life for every one of his men.

Men deemed by others as unworthy due to their status as by-blows Hawk deemed as the men most suited for his small army of elite soldiers. These men were entitled to nothing and knew what it meant to fight for everything they had. Like him, each one was bastard-born and forced to fight for wealth and respect, more so than most men. It was the plight of having noblemen for fathers and serving women for mothers. They were nothing more than a band of bastards. A lethal band, but still bastards, nonetheless.

They grew to manhood just out of reach of the opportunities, riches, and respect—often unearned and undeserved—given so easily to the legitimate offspring of the same men who denied any responsibility for the existence of their illegitimate offspring. Though some bastard children were raised in the same households as the legitimate children of their fathers—always with the understanding they were never as good as their legitimate siblings—more were shunned and forced to grow up hungry and afraid. These were the men that Hawk recruited because he knew their worth as the best possible brothers of the shield. Respect and loyalty mattered to these men, and once given they were more steadfast than the steel in his sword.

As the small army passed through the gate of the thick castle wall and the massive keep came into view, the Viking let out a low whistle of approval. "'Tis a certainty the king will not reward you with such a prize? To my eyes, Hawkspur looks to be a castle worth fighting for."

Hawk rolled his eyes at his friend, though he could not help but admire the towering structure. He studied with approval the heavy portcullis hanging overhead, ready to drop down to barricade the entry at a moment's notice, as he rode through the gatehouse and into the open bailey. Scores of men walked the walls of the fortress, and Hawk expected more stood at the ready in each of the four towers anchoring the corners.

Highborn men were given fortresses such as Hawkspur to lord over, not bastard warriors, no matter how skilled they may be.

Hawk shifted his gaze to the Viking riding at his side. "Focus on the mission, Red. King Edward sent us here to ensure the lord does not attempt anything foolish, and to quell the Welsh rebels once and for all." Turning his gaze back to the fortress, Hawk forced himself to ignore the familiar twist in his gut when he coveted something out of his reach. "Let us make our introductions to the lord of this castle."

Without looking back, Hawk knew his soldiers rode in a perfect column behind him, the mounted knights in two straight lines, each man riding even with the horse and rider next to him. He had honed his small band of soldiers into warriors of unflappable discipline and precision, and he understood well the fear instilled by just the sight of them in formation. The Viking reined in his mount just inside the gate to stand as sentry until the entire procession of knights passed unhindered through the gatehouse to enter the inner bailey.

As the entourage moved closer to the main keep, Hawk eyed the young man who awaited them, feet apart, arms crossed and face stern in greeting. The man was taller and broader than most, but Hawk was not intimidated in the least. Next to him stood another man looking just as young, but not as tall nor as stern. Both men looked to Hawk like they were hardly beyond boyhood. Could it possibly be that these two men were the lord and first commander of Hawkspur? One looked like a snarling dog, blustering but harmless, and the other looked like a damn pup.

He turned again to the taller man with the wary look in his eyes, deciding this must be the young lord by the way he studied the small army as though they were a pack of unwanted rats invading his storerooms. Hawk was adept at intimidation and had every intention to put the arrogant youth in his place, but a flutter of movement from behind the men caught his attention.

A surprisingly tall woman scurried across the bailey in their direction, her hands holding up the hem of her gown while loose strands of auburn hair, as rich and bright as autumn leaves, blew across her face as she made her way toward the men. Even in her haste to get to them, her head kept turning from side to side, nodding in acknowledgment of the people she passed, a polite smile on her face as she spoke a few words to each one, but she never slowed her pace. The king had warned him the lord of Hawkspur had a sister who was never very far from her brother, and Hawk had no doubt this was her.

He intended to find out everything there was to know about the woman and how much she knew about her brother, but that would have to wait. The brother required his attention first.

*

Alyce lifted the hem of her gown just enough to allow her to trot to Cynwulf's side where he stood with Aelwin in the center of the yard, warily watching a small army that entered under the heavy portcullis. She murmured greetings and acknowledgments as she scooted past everyone in the bailey, not wanting to cause concern despite her rush to get to her brother. A deep foreboding settled over her as she studied the band of men. There were no more than twenty knights altogether, but each wore full armor with weapons and shields adorning their sides. The sight and sound of them was impressive, even intimidating, and Alyce felt a slight shiver run through her frame.

The clamor of the pounding hooves against the hard ground, the rattling armor of the riders, and the squeaking leather of the saddles settled into a quiet din as the knights halted their mounts in front of Cynwulf. A somber silence settled over the baily, punctuated only by the occasional scraping from restless horses pawing the dirt and the whispers of wary villagers.

There was nothing to be concerned about, she reminded herself. The king often sent patrols to the border castles to see with their own eyes the current situation and gather any news to report back. This was surely no different.

Yet, an uneasiness had settled over her that she could not reason away.

The king's banner and another banner of crimson snapped in the wind over the heads of the knights, but she could not recall any other of the king's army looking like this group. All the knights were clad in black from head to foot. Every bit of their armor was black, and except for the lead knight, their shields were black. Even their horses were eerily black. The only sight more ominous than the knights themselves was that of the silver blades of their swords shimmering in the morning light in heavy contrast to these warriors clad in armor dark as midnight.

It was not unusual for English knights to don full armor with their swords at the ready while riding near the Welsh border, especially considering the recent skirmishes with the armies of the Welsh prince, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, and his marauding brother, Daffydd. She took a calming breath, reminding herself that there was no need for concern, but her heart would not stop racing and her intuition had gooseflesh rippling over her skin.

Though small in number, this band of men felt more threatening than the entirety of Cynwulf's army. Her gaze moved from one shield to the next until reaching the final shield of the man leading the group as she worked to keep her face expressionless. The last thing her brother needed was for her to appear unsettled by these men. She would perform her duty as lady and chatelaine of Hawkspur and would remain collected and poised while greeting guests of the castle, especially guests sent by their king.

She stared at the deep, garnet-red shield of the lead knight for a long moment, especially the bird painted on the expansive surface riveting. It was a hawk preparing for flight, its broad, black wings arching on either side of its body whilst its talons clung tightly to a gleaming sword. Her gaze moved over the puffed white chest of the hawk to a startling pair of black eyes of piercing intensity. As a crest, it was quite striking in its beauty; as a representation of the man who carried it, it felt very foreboding.

Pulling her gaze away, she decided it was better to look at the man than at his shield and discovered he was staring at her intently when she lifted her eyes to his. His eyes were as black and severe as the hawk's on his shield and his sharp features mimicked those of the bird, with rigid angular lines making up his nose and cheeks, jaw, and lips. Jet black hair draped over his shoulders, resembling the white-chested hawk flanked by black wings.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up in warning. Even taking into account the armor encasing the knight, his size was daunting. But it was the candid way he stared at her that made her throat go dry.

And the dark knight would not look away from Alyce. How dare he stare so openly at her as though she were nothing more than a trinket on display? It took all of her will not to fidget with unease, but she could not stop herself from seething at his audacity. She refused to give him the satisfaction of meekly diverting her eyes and instead kept her eyes locked with the knight's. The moment seemed to drag endlessly, turning her unease into embarrassment. Finally, he looked away from her, but not before one corner of his mouth twitched with the barest of smiles.

Or was it a smirk?

The thunder of hooves pounding across the bailey turned Alyce's attention from the intriguing knight. A powerfully built, dun horse approached. On its back sat another giant of a man covered in furs with a full head of dark red hair. Two thick braids framed a rugged face, pale blue eyes, and firmly set lips. He took his place next to the leader of the band of knights, looking out of place in this group of rigid men. He nodded once to the lead knight then looked down at Cynwulf, Aelwin, and Alyce. As big as he was, he wasn't nearly as intimidating as the dark knight at his side. He looked almost jovial in comparison to the others.

"I am Sir Grogan." The gravelly voice of the black-clad lead warrior rumbled like thunder as it broke through the tense silence.

Alyce shifted slightly to watch her brother out of the corner of her vision.

"I am Cynwulf, lord of Hawkspur."

"I thought as such," the knight responded. "I am here on the behest of King Edward. We require lodging and stables for our horses."

The Marcher lords were an independent lot and this knight, so obviously used to his every word being obeyed, would please Cynwulf as much as a thorn stuck under his fingernail.

"Any man of the king's is always welcome at Hawkspur," Cynwulf stated with cool cordialness, though Alyce thought she detected a slight tick in his jawline. He raised his hand in the air in a quick gesture to the stable marshal waiting in readiness outside the stable doors. "See to your horses and join us in the hall. 'Tis unusual for guests to arrive in time to break the morning fast, but you are welcome at our table." Almost as a side he added, "We will discuss your business once you have had a chance to eat."

In unison, the knights dismounted and walked their horses past the stable boys, who hovered near and stared at the men with eager eyes wide in admiration.

Cynwulf turned on his heel and nearly collided with Alyce in his haste to return to the hall. Running to keep up, she moved to his side and said in a low voice, "These men do not look like the typical patrolling armies of the king. Why would he send these knights here?"

"I do not know," Cynwulf said through gritted teeth.

"It does not bode well that the king did not send word of their pending arrival," Alyce continued.

"It does not." Every word was a sharp beat as his strides grew longer with his frustration.

"Mayhap King Edward believes the Welsh prince's army to be headed this way," Alyce suggested, though why the king would not inform Cynwulf first made no sense.

Cynwulf gave a distracted shrug of his shoulders as they climbed the steps to the castle and pushed open the heavy door. The anticipation and tension in the hall hung in the air as thick as the smoke. Word of the king's knights arriving had spread through the castle folk quicker than the ague, and the kitchen maids were bustling with the greatest haste to accommodate the extra mouths with more platters of bread, cheese, and cold meat.

Alyce followed Cynwulf across the great room, her chest filled with a heavy foreboding. She studied her brother and wondered if the unsettling conversation they had in his solar had anything to do with the sudden appearance of the king's men. She nearly stumbled as she stepped up onto the dais while her stomach lurched with dread.

Cynwulf rarely excluded her from the business of Hawkspur, but when he did, it nearly always ended poorly. Best she stiffen her spine now and prepare to fix whatever mess Cynwulf had created.

Lord, but she dreaded the day she could not right what her brother set to wrong…and she prayed this was not that day.