Chapter Two

The storm had worsened.

But the time Lady Isabel was ready to raise the portcullis and purge her army from Axminster, the storm was so bad that it was buffeting men about with wind and rain. The Tatworth army had taken a stand when they saw that they would now be fighting on two fronts and had dug in, which had made it difficult to move them away from the gatehouse. It was like tides of men, each pushing against another until there was very little movement at all.

But it was a enough movement for Douglas and his men to get into the bailey.

It wasn’t only Grayson and the de Winter war machine that protected the gatehouse—there was also a line of Axminster men to reinforce them. They were on the interior of the gatehouse while the de Winter men were on the exterior. Douglas had to push through them in order to get to the keep, and they weren’t entirely welcoming about it. He had to explain to them that he’d been sent by Hereford to protect the keep, and only after too much discussion and a lot of frustration did the Axminster men finally let him through.

At that point, the sky was dark gray with clouds and the wind and the rain made it difficult to move. Everything was blowing them in different directions and, given they were on the top of the hill, no one wanted to roll down a slope.

Axminster Castle was referred to as a spur castle, meaning it sat atop a natural hill, or a spur of a hill, and used the steep sides as protection. There were a series of earthworks at the bottom of the hill for defensive measures that had been heavily used, and the gatehouse was at the top of a switchback road that was, at this point, slick with mud, and part of it had collapsed in a landslide.

Once inside the bailey, it was as if two castles were linked together—there was a large bailey just beyond the gatehouse followed by an even larger bailey flanked by curtain walls that that ran the length of the top of the flat hill, with outbuildings and an enormous great hall. The keep was anchored at the end of the long central bailey. Enclosed in its own small bailey, the tall, square building was five stories in height. It was enormous, covering the entire south side of the hill fortress.

It was that enormous keep that had Douglas’ attention.

With the keep in sight as the storm howled around them, Douglas, Westley, and another knight, plus about seventy de Lohr men, rushed toward it. The third knight was none other than Jonathan de Wolfe, a vassal of the Earl of Norfolk. He also happened to be the brother of the Earl of Wolverhampton. Most importantly, he was also the brother of William de Wolfe, Baron Killham, who was largely considered the greatest knight in the north of England. The scourge of the Scots, they called William. Jonathan wasn’t an earl, or even a prestigious warlord, but he had something else.

Raw, brute strength.

Jonathan had the dark de Wolfe good looks, and hazel eyes that were gold in some light, but he was taller and wider than either of his brothers. Beastly was how some people described him. Wolfie, as he was called, was a follower, not a leader, a man with more brawn than brains, which was particularly needed at this moment. Like a rare few of his knightly contemporaries, he was a Blackchurch trained, something even his younger brother couldn’t claim. The Blackchurch Guild was the premier training facility for knights in England, if not the known world.

That made him an extraordinary tool in a situation like this. As the group of de Lohr soldiers approached the keep, Douglas put de Wolfe on the stone stairs that led to the entry.

“Wolfie!” he shouted above the storm, pointing to the keep entry. “You will not move from that spot, not for anyone. Do you understand me?”

Jonathan nodded firmly, leaping onto the slippery stone steps and miraculously not losing his footing. He was heading up the stairs when the shutters of a small lancet window that was positioned about eight feet above the mid-flight of stairs suddenly opened. Had Jonathan not seen it, and had he not been quite fast on his feet, he would have been covered by a pot of boiling water. The women inside were screaming at him, throwing boiling water from the window to try to get him off the steps, but he stood out of range and tried to explain who he was.

They didn’t believe him.

Now, Jonathan was trapped on the landing in front of the entry door, which was bolted, with no way to go down the stairs unless he wanted to expose himself to more scalding water or worse. Since he was out of the line of fire from inside the keep, he simply stood guard in front of the door, watching the distant gatehouse, watching a surge of allied men coming in beneath the raised portcullis. Douglas, standing below the stairs, was watching the same thing from a different vantage point.

And that was when he heard it.

Thump!

Above the wind and rain, he’d heard it. He turned to see Jonathan with his hand on his helmed head and a large iron pot at his feet. Shielding his eyes from the rain, Douglas could see a window high above the entry landing, and there was movement. He could see an arm. Someone had evidently dropped the pot on Jonathan’s head from a great distance. Poor Jonathan was trying to shake off the stars he was undoubtedly seeing.

That brought Douglas up the steps.

“Ladies!” he boomed above the bad weather. “I know you can hear me, so listen well. I am Douglas de Lohr. My father is Christopher de Lohr, the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. We were asked to come on Lady Isabel’s summons to help defend Axminster against Tatworth and the man you are trying to kill, the one at your door, is Jonathan de Wolfe, who is the brother of the Earl of Wolverhampton. Stop trying to smash the man. He is here to defend you!”

No one could shout like a de Lohr. His voice echoed off the stone and he knew very well that they were hearing him inside. On the landing above him, Jonathan was trying to pull off his helm, but the iron pot had evidently dented it. It took him three tries and a long, hard pull to finally pop it off his head.

There was blood running down the side of his face.

That set Douglas off.

He took the steps to the landing where Jonathan was standing, unmolested by hot water or flying pots, and began to pound on the door.

“Open this door at once!” he shouted. “You have injured this knight. Open this door or I will bring a battering ram and smash it down!”

He pounded and kicked, demanding entrance, and finally heard a bolt move. He stopped pounding, but he was still furious. Grasping Jonathan by the arm, he pulled the man over to the door about the time it lurched open.

Several frightened faces were on the other side.

“Here,” he said to them, shoving Jonathan in their direction. “Tend his head and allow him to lie down for a time. God knows what damage you have done.”

There were several young women who stood aside as Jonathan stumbled over the threshold. One woman in particular, an older woman with carefully coiffed red hair, seemed to take charge of him.

“We did not know he was an ally, Sir Douglas,” she said, grasping Jonathan by the arm and forcing him to bend over so she could see the damage. “A scalp wound. They bleed terribly. He will be well tended.”

She turned him over to the women surrounding her and they led him off, hovering around him, while the red-haired woman and two or three other young ladies remained. The woman with the red hair faced Douglas.

“I am Lady Isabel de Kerrington,” she said in a voice laced with confidence and authority. “It is on my request that your father sent men. I am deeply grateful. I hope you will tell him that.”

Douglas stood on the doorstep as the rain pounded on him. “You might have shown your gratitude better than by trying to kill a knight sent to assist you,” he said.

“We could not be sure it was not Tatworth.”

“You know the Tatworth standard, do you not? Wolfie was not wearing it.”

“It could have been his ally.”

Douglas lifted an eyebrow. “He is wearing Norfolk of Arundel,” he said, growing annoyed. “You are a woman well versed in the politics of England, enough to know the standards of every important warlord that matters. Moreover, Arundel is your ally and he was clearly wearing the standard. I will not argue this with you, Lady Isabel. And I will tell my father that you are grateful for his assistance. But please try to be more careful with the men who are helping you hold on to your castle.”

Isabel knew he was right for the most part, but it was also true that because of the storm, she and the other ladies really couldn’t see Norfolk’s distinctive colors because they were darker and the tunics were wet. But she didn’t argue. There was no point. With a slight nod in his direction, she excused herself to see to the care of the knight they’d tried to brain. Two of her charges went with her while the third one remained behind.

Douglas watched the woman disappear into the darkness of the keep, trying to decide if he was offended by her attitude or if he simply didn’t care. He was weary from three days of fighting, and that was beginning to affect his temperament. He wasn’t quick to temper by nature, but he might make an exception in the countess’ case. With a weary sigh, he was preparing to turn away from the door when he heard a soft voice.

“Please do not be angry with us, my lord,” she said. “Lady Isabel has not slept since the attack started and she is only doing what she feels is best. She would defend this keep single-handedly, I think.”

Douglas turned to the source of the voice. A woman came out of the shadows, wearing something white. Until his eyes adjusted to the dim light, all he saw was a flowing, pale garment. Like a wraith would wear. Or an angel. It turned out to be a simple linen garment, but on her, it seemed like gossamer. The woman’s movements were graceful, her stature short but her figure pleasing. But when he got to her face, the real pleasure took hold. She had a sweetly oval face, with a little nose and little chin and enormous green eyes.

He was taken aback by what he saw.

“I am not angry,” he managed to say. “I do not think any of us have slept much since we arrived. If I was sharp or loud with Lady Isabel, then I apologize.”

She smiled with rosebud lips that parted into a delightful expression. “I have heard Lady Isabel speak twice as sharply and thrice as loudly,” she said. “You were not nearly as frightening as she can be, my lord.”

He couldn’t help it. He grinned because she was. A woman like that—tiny, sweet, pixie-ish—there was no way he couldn’t smile in return. She was like a fragile little doll, porcelain and pristine, and Douglas had a hard time believing she was real.

He’d never seen such perfection.

“I see,” he said. “Then mayhap I should come in here and sit amongst the women and let her take charge of the army outside.”

“She would do a tremendous job of it.”

He snorted. “I suspect she would,” he said. His smile faded as his gaze lingered on her, like moth to flame. “What is your name, my lady?”

Those bright green eyes glimmered with mirth. “Lady Isabel would box my ears if I told you my name without our being properly introduced,” she said. “But I suppose there is no harm, considering the fact that there is no one around to introduce us. I am Lady Misery Isabella Rosalie d’Avignon.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Forgive me, but… Lady Misery?”

“Aye.”

“Misery is your name?”

She chuckled. “I have a twin brother named Payne,” she said. “Payne and Misery. My mother spent three days laboring to give birth to us and refused to name us anything other than what she was feeling at the time of our birth.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “And your father allowed this?”

“He died about a month before we were born. We were named out of grief.”

Douglas could see the overall picture, including a woman in mourning. It made some sense as to why her daughter bore such a horrific name. “A pity,” he said. “I would have thought your name to be something glorious like Eleanor or Elizabeth or Katherine.”

She was smiling as she shook her head. “I am afraid not,” she said. “But if it makes you feel any better, I am known as Mira. The first letter of each of my names—M-I-R-A. My grandmother refused to call me Misery, too.”

“Ah,” he said with approval. “Mira. That is much more suitable.”

“And your name, my lord?”

“Did you not hear me shout it before I tried to kick your door in?”

She laughed softly. “I confess, I did not,” she said. “I was one of the ones boiling water to drop on unsuspecting knights.”

He frowned, but he was jesting. “Then you are to blame.”

“I confess, I am.”

He quickly returned to a smirk. “To answer your question, I am Douglas de Lohr,” he said. “My father is the Earl of Hereford and Worcester.”

“Christopher de Lohr?”

“You know him?”

Mira shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “But I wrote the missive requesting his assistance. Since the death of Lady Isabel’s brother, the situation at Axminster has been… difficult. Tatworth has been persistent.”

“So it would seem.”

“Your presence is most welcome.”

His smile turned into one of those devastating gestures that had caused many a maiden to swoon, but for Mira, he meant it. He wasn’t trying to get something out of her or force her to his will, as he’d been known to do on occasion. Douglas liked women and they liked him in return. But for pretty little thing like Mira…

It was genuine.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said. “Your gratitude is appreciated. Would you do something for me?”

“Of course, my lord. How may I be of service?”

He pointed to the ceiling. “Can you check on my knight?” he asked. “That was a nasty blow. I would like for you to keep a close eye on him and report to me when I return. Will you do that?”

She nodded eagerly. “I will, my lord.”

“Thank you.”

With that, he dipped his head, silently excusing himself, and then turned for the entry door, which was still open. He paused a minute before heading out into the rain, pulling his helm down a little to help keep the water out of his eyes, but he couldn’t help himself from glancing over his shoulder to see if Mira was still standing there. Maybe he just wanted another glimpse of her before he headed out into the elements. To his pleasure, not only was she still in the entry, but she was right behind him as he headed out the door. When he looked at her curiously, wondering why she was following him, she indicated the soaked oaken panel.

“I must bolt the door after you leave,” she explained. “But I will see to your knight immediately.”

He simply nodded his head and continued on, out into the driving rain and down to the series of baileys where the Hereford and Norfolk armies had very quickly subdued Tatworth and St. Martin. With the added men from inside Axminster, it had only been a matter of time before Tatworth and his ally were finally forced to lay down their arms. By the time Douglas hit the gatehouse, he had reports from multiple men telling him multiple things.

Unfortunately for Douglas, his mind was still back in the keep.

Mira.

He would remember that.