Page 5 of Ena’s Surrender

While the earl had not specifically promised to do so, Renault knew if he pleased the warden, he might one day be offered a coveted position as castle guard. Such a position would afford him the opportunity to live high up in the Kershopefoot Castle and wear the bold red livery that would proclaim him as one of the earl’s men.

He recalled seeing those men when he’d been a lad—a scrap of a beggar on the street, a nobody so insignificant he was virtually invisible. Someone had commented on the soldiers when they passed, saying those men deserved respect for they were men of honor.

That phrase had stuck in Renault’s mind. Men of honor. He’d been an orphan with nothing, whose dreams didn’t exist beyond the next day.

Ever since that moment, he’d known he wanted to be one of the warden’s men. And now, for the first time in his life, he was so damn close.

The clouds cleared away from the moon, leaving its satiny white glow to highlight the terrain in front of Renault and the ten English reivers. It was challenging to travel thus. They could see well enough, aye, but with no shadows to blend into, they were left exposed and at risk of being caught.

Thus far, they had encountered no Scotsmen, which only confirmed Renault’s suspicion—the reivers were most likely on another raid in England. If they were fools enough to return to the same village, this time they would find an army waiting.

The homes in Castleton were more scattered than those in Renault’s village and the heavy smoky scent of burning peat lingered in the air. Several pele towers dotted the landscape; one of them doubtlessly held the stolen cattle.

The pele towers were admittedly a clever way of keeping livestock safe. A round stone building with small windows and only one barred entrance. A second floor with a removable ladder protected people from being slain in an attack. The pele towers could be breached, but not easily, and they were nearly impossible to burn. The fortifications were so ingenious that several villages in England had begun to copy the design. Renault had even gone so far as to suggest it to the Earl of Bothbury, who had taken it under careful consideration.

The men around Renault broke away at the first tower, while he rode on through the quiet village. It was dangerous being on his own, but the hour was late, and most people would be asleep. He’d finished gathering what was needed, preparing to return back to England, when the bleat of a goat caught his attention.

He stopped his horse and strained to listen. It came again, a lone warbling call. This time, he located the sound from behind the whitewashed wall of a stable.

Renault had the information he’d set out to find, or at least how the simple huts were laid out in the village with a ready count and an estimation to the number of people who resided within. Might as well bring a fat goat with him in addition to the information.

He followed the sound and found a heavy wooden door affixed to the stable. A swift push confirmed it was secured from within. Locks were too costly for these people. No doubt someone had latched it from inside.

No matter, even that was easily navigated.

He jumped up and caught his weight on the frame of the door. With one arm, he awkwardly patted the back of the door, found the latch and released it. The door swung open with him still attached.

“Stealing this goat might be the verra thing that gets ye killed.” A woman’s voice broke the silence.

He dropped from the door and spun around, dagger in hand.

“Is that my dagger?” the woman cried indignantly.

He looked up and found the dark-haired woman from the previous night standing in front of him. Ena. Only this time, she wasn’t draped in a shapeless gambeson and her hair wasn’t bound away from her face. Nay, it fell down her back like a cloak of black silk, sweet waves so glossy, it made his fingers long to skim over such lovely tresses.

Her eyes flashed at him, long lashed and passionate. She wore only a simple nightdress, a white shift that caught the moonlight behind her and limned the shape of her body in a sensual shadow. Narrow waist, slender thighs, flared hips, full breasts.

God’s teeth.

“Get yer eyes back in yer skull before I pluck them out.” She put her hands on her hips. “And give me back my bloody dagger.”

She stood before him with her vengeful beauty, a mischievous fairy who had blended the loveliness of a woman with the strength of a warrior for an intoxicating blend of temptation unlike anything Renault had ever before known.

“Tell me your name.” He already knew it. He’d heard the man call out to her. Her husband?

He hoped not.

“When I see ye in hell, I’ll share it with ye.” She held out her hand.

“Are you married?” he pressed.

She scoffed and extended her outstretched hand closer to him.

He eyed the saucy minx. “If I give this dagger to you, you’ll kill me.”

“If ye keep it, I’ll kill ye to get it back.” She shrugged. “Either way, it willna bode well for ye.”

He slipped it into his belt, securing the blade in a sheath, and reached for the lead on the goat. If he’d been hoping for a fat beast to deliver to his people, he was wrong. The scrawny thing would barely feed a child. He doubted it even gave milk anymore.