The Raider by Monica McCarty Read Free Book Online Page A

her first glimpse of the invaders and everything she’d been about to say—everything she
thought
she knew about warriors, knights, and soldiers—fizzled out like a torch dunked in water.
    She would have made the sign of the cross if she thought it would protect her. But nothing could protect her from these men.
    Brigands
.
Pirates
.
Barbarians
. She’d thought the names for the Scot warriors an exaggeration. But they weren’t. The raiders looked nothing like the gleaming mail-clad English knights with their colorful surcoats and banners. They wore darkened helms and crude black leather warcoats, some riveted with bits of steel. A few wore mail coifs, but those, too, were blackened. But most terrifying of all were the weapons that seemed strapped to every inch of their massive chests. She’d never seen so many poleaxes, swords, hammers, and spears in her life.
    If the knights were figures of faerie tales, the Scots were creatures of nightmares. They looked rough, violent, and utterly deadly. No wonder the Scot raiders had been compared to the Vikings. The terror her ancestors must have felt watching the longboats approach their shores must be the same her countrymen felt now seeing the wild Scots ride across the border.
    She could see only a handful of them, but it was enough. All thoughts of getting out of the way or hiding fell to the wayside.
    “We have to get to the castle,” she said to Meg and the terrified servants. Behind the castle walls they would be protected. Norham Castle was one of the most impenetrable strongholds in the Borders, nearly as impenetrable as Berwick Castle. “We’ll be safe there,” she assured the wide-eyed little girl. “With Roger and the rest of the men.”
    Unfortunately, Roger wasn’t in the castle.
    No sooner had Rosalin grabbed Meg’s hand and plunged into the crowd, the two attendants following, than she heard the fierce pounding of hooves ahead of her.
    Oh God, no, please don’t let it be
…
    But her prayer wasn’t answered. In the blur of knights and men-at-arms riding past them, she caught sight of her nephew near the rear of the party. They must have been already approaching to meet her and Meg when they realized what was happening.
    How many of Cliff’s men had accompanied them? She hadn’t counted earlier. Twenty? Maybe a few more?
    Against how many of the enemy? She didn’t know; she just prayed it would be enough.
    The crash of steel on steel was deafening—and much closer than she’d anticipated. A few women in the crowd let out terrified shrieks. One of the serving women started to cry behind her. The smoke was thickening, turning the skies to night.
    Rosalin glanced down the street and not forty feet away, her brother’s men were exchanging blows of their swords with the attackers. She heaved a sigh of relief, seeing that the Scots were outnumbered by about two to one. And thankfully, Roger, at the rear, was nowhere near the fighting.
    But her relief didn’t last long. Within an instant, two of her brother’s household knights fell beneath the enemies’ swords. She cried out in horror. Some of her brother’s fiercest champions had just been cut down like butter.
    She forced her gaze away. Though she desperately wanted to watch and make sure Roger was all right, she had to get Meg to safety.
    Rosalin tried to forge through the crowd that had slowed as people turned to watch—as she had—the unfolding battle happening just a short distance away. A few voices rang out around her, offering encouraging words, if a bit colorfully, to the English soldiers. She forced herself not to look as she concentrated on getting Meg to safety.
    Meg, however, was still watching. They’d just reached the place where the road funneled into the village and headed up the hill to the castle when she let out a cry and tried to pull away.
    Rosalin turned around. “What is it, Meg? What’s wrong?”
    The little girl pointed toward the village. “The brigand has