to consider himself hardened to their effects, but this woman’s wraithlike appearance disturbed him more than he would have expected. He was accustomed to being the observer, not the observed, used to opponents dropping their eyes in front of him, but she held his gaze like the Empress herself. Standing on the ramparts, windswept and buffeted by the elements, she looked as though she’d rather throw herself into the moat below than concede defeat. He had the distinct impression that she’d stand there as long as it took for him to look away.
Well, he could allow her that victory at least.
‘So you have a girl holding the castle.’ He rounded on de Ravenell. ‘Yet you never thought to attack? You have two siege engines. Why haven’t you used them?’
‘I saw no point risking men in an assault.’ The Baron looked taken aback. ‘A siege was the safest approach.’
‘Under normal circumstances I’d agree, but you were ordered to secure the castle by the fastest means possible.’
‘She can’t hold out much longer.’
‘That’s still too long for the Empress. Where are your trenches?’
‘My...what?’
‘Tunnels. Have you tried to dig under their walls?’
‘The moat’s too wide!’
‘You’ve had four months. You could have dug a tunnel all the way under the river by now.’
‘How dare you?’ the Baron spluttered angrily. ‘I’ve done everything that could possibly be expected of me. The Empress knows me and my abilities. Who are you? Nothing but an ill-bred, peasant upstart!’
Lothar’s expression didn’t waver. He knew well enough what Matilda’s high-born supporters called him behind his back, though he rarely met one foolish enough to say the same to his face. When the time came, he’d have more than one score to settle with Sir Guian de Ravenell. He was starting to look forward to it.
‘I’m the peasant upstart sent to finish your job,’ he countered smoothly, ‘but you’re right, the Empress knows all about your abilities. That’s why I’m here.’
The Baron puffed his cheeks out and then seemed to deflate suddenly. ‘Well, I don’t see what can be done about it now.’
‘Then let me tell you.’ Lothar gestured towards a range of oaks on a nearby hillside. ‘First, you’re going to order your men to cut down those trees. Second, you’re going to have them build a bridge and battering ram. Third, you’re going to attack.’
‘What? When?’
‘Dawn tomorrow.’
‘But we can’t! Even if we manage to cross the moat, the walls are too steep. We can’t possibly scale them.’
‘Then you’ll need to build ladders as well.’ Lothar gave a cynical half-smile. ‘Don’t worry, Sir Guian, you’ll still get your chance to impress the Empress. You’ll be the one leading the assault.’
He turned on his heel abruptly, calling out orders to his soldiers as de Ravenell gawped after him. In truth, he had absolutely no intention of letting the man lead anything, but the look of horror on his face was a small form of revenge, the very least he could do for Lady Juliana.
Had she noticed? He stole another glance up at the battlements, but she was staring past him, out into the distance as if she were searching for something. Help most likely, though if she were waiting for Stephen then she’d be waiting a long time. He narrowed his eyes as he caught a flicker of movement in the shadows behind her. The glint of an arrow, the distinctive curve of a bow... His lips curled upwards appreciatively. It seemed that Lady Juliana wasn’t quite the easy target he’d taken her for. Her archer must have been there all along, guarding her back the whole time de Ravenell had been urging him to shoot. Not bad for a girl. She might make a worthy opponent after all.
He came to a halt finally, taking up a position opposite the gatehouse. This was the newest part of the castle, twenty feet high, with a heavy oak drawbridge and sloped walls at the base to deter an assault. It would be madness to launch an attack from here, but a battering ram would keep the castle garrison diverted whilst he led an assault from the river, the side that they wouldn’t expect.
If it came to it, though he’d try a different approach first, one his own code of honour demanded. Would she listen to him? For her own sake, and for reasons he didn’t even understand himself, he hoped so.
‘Lady Juliana?’ he called up to the battlements, his deep voice reverberating loudly off the thick, stone walls. ‘Empress Matilda sends greetings.’
Lady Juliana Danville leant over the parapet wall and let loose a volley of unladylike sentiments. If she’d learnt anything during her brief tenure as chatelaine, it was a far more colourful vocabulary than that of a typical Earl’s daughter, even for one who’d grown up with only a father and soldiers for company. She didn’t use the words very often, but looking down at the raven-haired stranger below, she couldn’t think of anything more fitting to say.
‘My lady?’ The archer behind her sounded shocked.
‘Oh... Sorry, Edgar. Nothing.’
She bit her tongue, her whole attention absorbed in the scene of activity below. Since the stranger’s arrival an hour before, the whole atmosphere of the enemy camp seemed to have changed, become seized with a new sense of energy and purpose, so that the air itself now seemed to crackle and hum with tension.
Why? She narrowed her gaze as if his appearance alone might somehow reveal the answer. Who was he?
He was talking to de Ravenell, apparently about the castle, though his face displayed no more emotion than if they were simply discussing the weather. He looked forbidding and yet, she had to admit, ruggedly handsome, too, with strong, chiselled features marred only by a pale scar running like a streak of white lightning down one side of his face. Dressed entirely in black, with his hair cropped shorter than most noblemen’s, he dominated the older man with an air of effortless, imposing authority. Whatever they were talking about, one thing was obvious. The Baron was no longer in charge.
She gave an involuntary shudder. A thin morning mist still hung in the air and it was starting to rain, a lowering drizzle that made her wish she’d stopped to pick up a cloak in her haste to reach the battlements. She’d been asleep in a chair, dozing fitfully after yet another restless night when a guard had brought word of the developments outside. She hadn’t even stopped to tie up her hair or put on a headdress, and now her linen tunic offered scant protection against the elements. She’d acted impulsively, as usual, and the last thing she needed was to fall ill. If anything happened to her, what would happen to Castle Haword and all its inhabitants then?
On the other hand, she doubted she’d have time to get sick. Whoever the new arrival was, he didn’t look like a man who waited for things to happen. He looked like someone who made them. She’d been confident of holding the castle against a coward like de Ravenell, but this stranger was a whole different prospect. Even with a moat and stone wall between them, there was something unnerving about him, a kind of disconcerting restraint in his manner, as if he were holding some part of himself back, some intangible, inscrutable
