Prologue

England, 1205

A ll of them were going to die.

Robert of Penrith stared at the other captives. The soldiers had chained four of them together while they journeyed south. A heavy covering atop the wagon shielded them from their surroundings, and the thick door was bolted shut from the other side.

A numbing silence permeated the space, for they were in shock. No one knew if their families had survived the attack, but most of the castle hadn't. Robert would never forget the heavy smoke or the searing heat as the king's soldiers had set it on fire. The stone exterior walls might survive, but the interior had gone up in flames.

The screaming still reverberated in his mind. Men had died, swords piercing their flesh. Women had cried out in agony before being struck down alongside them. His father's wife, Clarine, had warned him to hide, to stay alive. His stomach twisted with shame, for he'd obeyed. He wasn't a fighter, and now he cursed himself for being a coward. Self-loathing flooded through him, but he'd fled, not knowing what had happened to her. Or any of them now. But Clarine had been right—he owed it to his people to survive and one day claim his vengeance.

Now that the king had attacked and stripped his father, Earl of Penrith of his lands, no doubt Degal was dead. The icy realisation made his throat close up, and Robert closed his eyes.

You don't have the right to feel grief or be afraid. You must be strong and take care of your people.

He breathed in steadily, willing himself to remain calm. There was no time to think of his family's fate. Fear wouldn't help him escape. He needed to study their prison and find a way out.

He'd always been good at taking things apart and putting them back together again. There was no reason he couldn't find a way out of this wagon, as long as he could gain the help of his fellow prisoners. He didn't recognise the young woman or her little brother because he'd spent most of his days isolated in the castle keep. But he knew Piers well enough.

‘This was your fault,' his half-brother snapped. ‘You're the reason they took us.' He strained against his chains, and Robert didn't doubt that Piers would strangle him if he could. His bastard brother had always worn his anger like an invisible shield, and he was the first to lift his fists, even if he usually lost the fight.

Not that Robert was any better at sparring. As a child, he'd been sickly, and Clarine had forced him to remain indoors. He'd spent his hours surrounded by books, devouring knowledge the way others had trained in swordplay. Now he wished he'd listened to Degal and learned to use a sword or dagger.

‘They're not going to kill us,' Robert lied. ‘If they were, we'd already be dead.' But in truth, he knew not what would happen or why they'd been captured.

Unless they were the only survivors.

He shook the thought away. Logically, there was no reason to kill the servants or villagers. The king had claimed their castle, and he would need dozens of serfs to tend the land. But why had they taken the young maiden and her brother? Robert hadn't seen them in the castle before, so he didn't know what leverage they would be.

The young woman's dark hair hung against her face and shoulders in waves, as if she'd worn it in braids and it had fallen loose. He couldn't tell much about her, except that she was shivering with her arms crossed. Her clothing was simple, a shapeless undyed woollen kirtle, which meant she was one of the serfs.

Her brother's face grew waxen, as if he expected to die at any moment. He was right to be afraid.

‘They're going to torture us,' Piers continued, stretching his chains out as far as he could. ‘And then they'll use us to force our father to do whatever the king wants.'

It surprised Robert that his brother believed their father was still alive. After the brutal attack on Penrith, Robert couldn't imagine that Degal was a prisoner. But then again, Piers had a point. It was one thing to defy the king—but quite another to be defiant while someone else was being tortured. The thought wrenched Robert's gut, pricking the fear once more.

‘Stop it,' the young woman pleaded. ‘You're scaring Brian.'

But it was her own voice that held fear. Robert saw the way she was hunched over, as if guarding herself. There was a raw pain beneath her tone, and he wondered if she'd been hurt during the attack. He wanted to ask if she was all right, but something made him stop. She reminded him of a wounded animal, one that would lash out at someone trying to help her.

‘Maybe Brian should be scared,' Piers shot back. ‘And you should too, Morwenna.'

‘Enough,' Robert said quietly. ‘Arguing won't get us out of here.'

After that, his brother held his tongue, and the heavy silence only heightened their terror. Somehow, they had to escape this wagon and find sanctuary. It was their only chance of survival.

Robert forced himself to remain calm. They had been travelling for nearly an hour, which meant they were not far from Colford Abbey where his uncle Oswald was the abbot. Outside it was freezing, and he thought he heard the light pattering of snowfall.

His mind began to construct a plan, although the details had not yet taken form. It was too dark to see, but he tried to envision how the wagon doors were constructed. No doubt they were bolted shut from the outside. Could he reach the hinges? The covering rested atop a skeletal frame of wooden bars. If he stretched his arm through the bars, he might be able to loosen that hinge if he could find a way of hammering the pin.

‘We need to get the wagon doors off before they stop for the night,' Robert said to the others. ‘Then we can hide in the forest and seek sanctuary at the abbey.' Their best chance of escaping was to do it while the wagon was moving.

‘And do you plan to use magic for this?' Piers taunted. ‘You can't unlock the doors.'

‘I'm going to try to take off the hinges. Or at least one of them.' Though he tried to sound confident, he didn't know how he could manage without tools. ‘I can loosen the door on the right side.' Truthfully, he had no idea if it would work.

‘What about the guards?' Brian's voice cracked as he spoke. ‘We don't have weapons.'

‘Yes, we do.' Morwenna lifted her chains. Her voice held ice and she said, ‘If anyone dares to attack us, I'll strangle him.' The bitterness in her voice spoke of someone who possessed a great deal of hatred.

The young woman didn't look nearly strong enough to battle a soldier, but she did seem strong-willed. She might manage a distraction if nothing else.

‘I hope it doesn't come to that,' Robert said. ‘But if we don't get out, we're at their mercy.' He didn't voice his fear that they would be killed or tortured as Piers had suggested.

He switched places with Brian and began to examine the hinges. There were only two on that side, and he thought he might be able to remove the pin if he could find something narrow to wedge beneath it.

Again, he tried to picture the hinge in his mind, imagining how he would reach the pin. He looked around and spied a piece of broken wood on the edge of the wagon. Robert grabbed it and twisted the shard. It splintered against his palm, drawing blood, but he managed to break it free. Then he stretched his hand around the outside and jammed the wood below the hinge. The frigid air gusted around his hand, and snowflakes dampened his skin.

‘This isn't going to work,' Piers muttered.

Robert ignored him and used his manacles to hammer at the pin. No, it wasn't likely to work, but it was the only plan he had. He angled the wood and tried again, knocking the hinge over and over. It still wouldn't budge. His hands were freezing, but he centred his focus and soon, he felt the pin begin to slip. Miraculously, it loosened until he was able to pull it free. He was about to try loosening the second one, when the wagon stopped, and the doors opened.

Two soldiers approached, one with a knife drawn. Robert shrank back, keeping the hinge-pin hidden.

‘Stop making noise,' the soldier with the knife demanded. He climbed inside and said to the other, ‘I'll keep them quiet.'

In the dark, Robert couldn't see the man's face, but his tension heightened. The door closed behind the soldier, but he didn't hear the bolt. For a moment, they all remained silent. Then the horses started, and the wagon began moving once again.

‘You're a pretty one, aren't you?' the soldier said to Morwenna. She gave no answer but kept her head down. The man yanked her back by the hair, and she cried out in pain.

Robert gripped the wood in his hand tightly. The soldier was close, but he didn't know if he could do anything to protect her. It was a grave risk, for the man had a blade.

His mind warned him not to get involved. If he tried to interfere, he might infuriate the soldier and cause the young woman to suffer even more. Yet, neither could he stand aside and do nothing.

Robert took a step closer, trying to decide the best way to help. His brain went through each possibility, turning over one idea and then the next. But then he saw the chains clenched in Morwenna's hands. She was prepared for the worst, and he couldn't say whether she would succeed.

He was about to move towards her when a hand stopped him. Piers pointed towards the door, which had loosened even more with the jarring of the wagon. It was nearly open, and now was their chance to get out.

But all of them were chained together. There was no way to escape the wagon unless they all worked together. If one stumbled, it would slow the rest.

‘Give us a kiss, then,' the soldier said, reaching for her. ‘You wouldn't want me to cut that pretty face, now, would you?'

‘Don't touch me,' she whispered.

The soldier backhanded her, and she cried out in pain.

In that moment, Robert despised himself. If he were any sort of man, he would attack the guard and save her. But he'd never had to fight anyone before, and he had no idea what to do.

His fist closed over the splinter of wood. Maybe he could use it as a weapon. He heard the slight jangling noise of the chains Morwenna held. And he suddenly wondered if she was playing a role, luring her attacker closer.

‘I'll touch you as much as I want,' the soldier snarled.

The moment he came near, Morwenna wrapped her chains around his throat. But she wasn't strong enough to strangle him, and he wrenched her hands away.

‘Stupid bitch,' he gritted out. ‘I'll kill you for that.'

Robert could no longer stand by and do nothing—but this was going to end badly. This soldier was trained to kill, whereas Robert had only watched other warriors. His mind spun through the different methods, although he still hadn't decided what to do. Silently, he moved closer.

‘No,' Morwenna pleaded when the soldier reached for her gown and tore it open. She fought to hide herself, and in that moment, a cold calmness seized Robert. There was no longer any sense of thought—only action.

In an instant, he raised the shard of wood and stabbed it in the soldier's throat. He felt the warm spurt of blood, and the soldier spun in shock.

Piers reached for the man's knife and stabbed him again, this time in the heart. The soldier staggered to his knees, and Robert was grateful for his half-brother's quick thinking. The soldier was dead, his life's blood spilling over the wood.

For a moment, Robert blinked, stunned at what had happened. Then he remembered the girl and turned back to her. ‘Are you all right?'

Morwenna held the torn edges of her gown together and nodded. ‘W-we have to get out of here.'

Though he was still numb about the soldier's death, he had to focus on what lay ahead. Their survival depended on this escape. The door still hung ajar from where the soldier had opened it. Outside, it was too dark to see anything, but they gathered on the edge. They barely had enough time to get out.

‘We have to jump together,' Robert warned in a low voice, ‘and then we run to the forest.'

‘What if we're caught?' Brian asked. His voice cracked on the whisper, as he joined them on the edge.

Piers cleaned the blade on the fallen soldier's tunic before he sheathed it. ‘We can't be caught. Or we die.'

Morwenna clutched the torn bodice of her gown, and Robert sobered at the sight. Her expression was pale when she came to stand beside them. He pulled off his cloak, handing it to her.

‘Thank you,' she whispered.

She covered herself with it, and then Robert ordered, ‘On three, we jump. One, two, three...'

With that, they jumped down from the moving wagon and fell into the snow and mud. They ran towards the woods, lungs burning as they hurried to escape their captors.

As they disappeared into the night, Robert made a vow of his own. No longer would he be unable to fight or become any man's victim. He might be only eight and ten, but tonight, everything had changed. He would train, night and day, until he turned his back on the coward he'd been.

And, one day, he would claim his vengeance and take back his father's lands.