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permanently rid themselves of the Norman yoke.
    Isabel looked past Sir Rohan to his men. Clad in black surcoats with the same insignia as their leader, over black mail with black shields and black helmets, only the glare of mercenary eyes and the sharp set of jaws clued her to the fact that they were human and not demon. A more brutal lot of knights she could not imagine. Her people cowered in fear for their lives at their feet. She looked back to du Luc. He was the wickedest of them all.
    “Wouldst you rape me then?”
    He shook his head slowly. “Nay, but I will take what charms lie beneath your gown in exchange for the young fool’s life.”
    “And ruin me?”
    “Never ruin, I assure you.”
    “I will be unfit for marriage!”
    “Nay, you will be a well-schooled lover for your husband.”
    Heat rose in her cheeks. How dare he speak so casually of what she held so dear? Her eyes darted to Enid, who crouched at the feet of a tall knight. Her maid’s eyes beseeched her. Russell was her sister’s son. Isabel’s heart thundered against her breast. It was no choice. She would use any means at her disposal to save the lives of each and every person in the room.
    “No man will have me after a Norman’s touch!”
    Rohan shrugged his great shoulders. “’Tis no concern of mine.”
    Isabel struck him. Her hand caught the bulk of his helmet. She winced as shards of pain shot up her arm. Rohan grabbed her hand, yanking her hard against his chest. A low, menacing growl rumbled deep in his chest. “Beware, damsel, I am not above striking a woman for such insolence.” He thrust her from him. He stood glaring down at her where she landed in the rushes. “What is your decision?”
    Isabel scooted back away from him. “I—I give you what you ask for the life of my squire.”
    Rohan pointed his sword at her bosom. “What is it you give?”
    Her body trembled.
    He moved the tip of his sword down her chest to her belly, then lower to her calf. In a slow, unhurried motion, he raised the hem of her undergown, revealing a bare calf. “Tell me, swear your oath here in front of your people and my men. First in my tongue, then yours.”
    Humiliation rode her hard. She opened her mouth several times to say the words, but they would not come. When he moved his sword tip higher, revealing her thigh, Isabel gasped and choked out the words. “I will allow you trespass on my person in exchange for your oath not to harm Russell,” she spit out in French.
    “Now so that your people will understand.”
    Isabel choked out the words in English.
    Rohan pushed the hem of her gown back down to her ankles and withdrew his sword. “Aye, for your man’s attempt on my life, I will spare him his death in exchange for all that lies beneath your gown.”
    In a quick fell move, he grabbed her up to him and crushed his lips upon hers. The pain of his assault shocked her. Just as quickly, he released her. His eyes blazed beneath his helmet. He stepped away from her but warned, “I am a man of my word, damsel. Do not disappoint. When this day comes to an end, make yourself available.”
    The thundering sound of more riders arriving broke the heavy tension in the hall.

Three

    I oan, see to these churls. Wulfson, bring me the boy. The rest of you, follow me!” Rohan called, a high note of victory in his voice. He mounted his horse and disappeared from the hall. Isabel let out a long breath she had not realized she held, glad for the moment the arrogant warrior was gone. Russell came down from his place in the landing above.
    “Boy!” the one called Wulfson called in English, pointing his sword at Russell. “Come with me.”
    Isabel moved between the two. “Nay, he is not to be harmed.”
    Wulfson moved past her and grabbed Russell by the arm. “He has punishment coming.”
    “Nay!” Isabel screamed.
    “Milady, I will go,” Russell said. Her eyes scanned the boy’s face. He faced her proudly. Yet there was fear in his