1073 Northumbria…
Genvieve de Chauret was surprised to see two of her mother’s private guards, riding toward her and her father’s escort from London. As they approached, a deep sense of foreboding swept up from the soles of her feet, slicing through her heart, as the first arrow hit its target between the eyes of the guard to her right.
Her father’s escort had spread out to provide a wider circle of protection around her. Too late they realized their mistake as the knight on her left met with the same fate—an arrow piercing his brain. Father’s men raced toward her, but her mother’s faithful guard had already reached her side.
Dupres plucked her from her horse, slammed her onto his lap, as they rode away at a demonic pace amidst a hail of arrows.
Once they were well away from her father’s men, Genvieve asked, “Dupres, what is the meaning of this?”
“Your mother feared your father’s escort were delivering you into the hands of the enemy.”
An icy ball of fear nearly stopped her breath, but she conquered it to say, “Augustin is my cousin. I have nothing to fear from him. I have missed spending time with his daughter, when Angelique was in London. I look forward to a lengthy visit.”
“Your cousin has betrayed his people by marrying a Saxon,” the other knight spat out.
“But—”
“We are almost there,” Dupres said. “It will all be clear to you in a moment.”
They veered off the road into a heavily wooded area, riding deeper into the forest. The two knights reined in their mounts, and Dupres turned to her. “You are so like your father. Show her the proof.”
The other knight slipped a small leather pouch off his belt and handed it to her. When she continued to stare at it, he urged, “Open it.”
She recognized the pouch. It had belonged to her grandfather de Chauret. It held a family heirloom that had been gifted to her mother on the day she married Aimory de Chauret. With trembling hands, she did as he bade her. The gold cross slipped into her hands.
Her eyes lifted to meet the two men who had spent the last seven years protecting her mother while her father was serving England’s new King William. She turned the cross over and read the engraving on the back—her grandfather’s creed: Aut Vincam, Aut Periam. I will either conquer or perish!
“I must go to her, but what of my cousin? Will you send word to Augustin explaining why my plans have changed?”
Dupres whistled, and a group of men emerged from the forest. “Aye, we’ll send a message.”
The tone of his voice warned her something was wrong, but she was distracted by the men surrounding them. His fist shot out, and her head snapped back. The forest around her started to fade, but she fought to hang on to consciousness. She closed her eyes and let herself go limp in her captor’s arms.
Her grandfather’s cross grew warm in her hand, and she drew strength from his memory and his creed. She was a de Chauret, she would fight! In her heart, she knew there would be one chance to act. Genvieve silently vowed to escape—or die trying!
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