Brezden Keep, England - The Year of Our Lord 1142

"He is out there." Catheryn, Lady of Brezden, whispered into the empty darkness of the night.

Between her walls and the forest nothing moved. Only the cold spring rain fell on the ground surrounding her keep. She felt his nearness in the chill of the night air. The rustle of the trees vibrated with his strong, steady heartbeat. The blustering wind carried the scent of a man bent on destruction. A destruction that she had unwittingly called forth. A simple spell, meant only to give her a glimpse of the man who would be her life's love, had worked well.

Far too well.

She shivered. Not from the cold or the rain, but from the knowledge that soon her nightmare would come to life. And not in the manner she had envisioned in her waking hours.

"Milady, you should be abed."

"He has come, Agnes." Catheryn despised the alarm she heard in her simple declaration. A fear she would never show to anyone else. She knew she could never successfully hide the emotion from Agnes. Since the murder of Catheryn's mother, Agnes had been more than just a servant. The woman had easily slipped from being a nursemaid to being the strength that kept Catheryn from falling into an abyss of despair.

"Who is here?"

"My true love." She turned the sachet over in her hands one more time, she then handed it to Agnes. "The dark knight of my dreams has arrived."

"Fie. That isn't possible. It was just supposed to be a dream, nothing but a dream of love."

"You think I don't know that?" She peered deeper into the darkness of the night. His heartbeat drummed in her blood.

"Regardless of what was supposed to happen, I cannot deny what I know without doubt will happen."

She resisted the urge to give into the hysterical laughter threatening to bubble forth. Catheryn turned away from the window and lit the tallow candles ensconced on the wall.

"This is impossible. Mistress Margaret said..."

"I don't care what the woman said." Catheryn pulled a gown from the clothing chest and tossed it atop her bed. "All I know is that the good mistress's spells must be stronger than we thought."

Agnes grabbed the gown before Catheryn could slip it on. "What are you doing?"

"Preparing to meet my destiny."

"You are not going to go meet him at the gates?" The maid's voice rose with each word.

"What else can I do?" Catheryn retrieved the dress with a gentle tug and slipped it over her head. "Shall I let Brezden's people be attacked without giving them notice? Shall I stay here in my chamber quivering like a coward?"

"Pike is the master here. Let him deal with the invaders."

This time Catheryn did let the laughter spill forth. "Pike? What do you think the baron will do? He will consult his minion, de Brye." A shiver coursed down her spine. "Then the two of them will save their hides first, using whatever means they can."

"But what about—"

"No!" Before Agnes could say anything reasonable that would sway Catheryn from her purpose, she strengthened her resolve. "I must do this. Don't you see? No one else is aware of his presence. It is my responsibility to warn our people to seek safety."

Catheryn opened the door to her chamber, resisting the urge to soothe the worry lines from her nursemaid's brow. She walked down the dark corridor and fought the need to return to Agnes and provide reassurance. How could she ease the concerns of another when she didn't know herself what this night would bring?

~*~

Castle Brezden looked almost invisible in the curtain of rain falling from the sky. A bolt of lightning streaked, giving a glimpse of stone walls in its glare.

From his vantage point beneath the shelter of trees, Count Gerard of Reveur noted few men pacing the front wall. How many more would be concealed in the towers?

Gerard knew the keep's defenses were sadly lacking. For over a year he had waited. And planned. Gathering every piece of information he could about Brezden and its holder.

In a time when brother fought brother and nothing was as it seemed, paid spies came easily. They had supplied him with details he'd not have been able to garner on his own.

Fate smiled on him, proving his long wait advantageous. William, the Earl of York, needed help to secure his land from traitors. By ignoring the earl's call for arms, Baron Pike had added Brezden to the list of those disloyal to Earl William and King Stephen.

Ready and more than willing to assist the earl, Gerard volunteered to capture Brezden. As long as the keep fell into his hands, no one would care if his own schemes found fulfillment.

The sound of wheels clattering over a stone road gave him cause to smile. He reached out and patted the thick, wet neck of his destrier. The twitching ears and bulging muscles of the black war-horse informed him that the beast had also heard the wagon's approach.

A wagon driven by his men.

"Nay, not yet. Can you not be patient just a little longer?" Gerard rolled his eyes when the animal bobbed his great head up and down in what seemed to be an answer to his question.

As the wagon drew closer he heard shouts, and the gates groaned slowly open. A frown replaced his smile. The guards had allowed the hay wagon entrance without so much as a second glance. At the very least he had expected the men to be stopped and questioned. An event that would not stop him. Gerard had taught two of his men how to pick a lock-a skill that came in handy more times than naught. If the wagon had not gained entry, the two would open the postern gate.

His spies hadn't been totally accurate. While it seemed true that the keep was lightly guarded, they hadn't mentioned it being garrisoned by fools.

A drop of cold rain found its way through his mailed coif to trickle down the back of his neck. Who was he to call the men sitting warm and dry behind those walls fools? Any sane person would think the man preparing for battle in the middle of a storm was the real fool.

But they'd be wrong in their assumption.

He'd played the simpleton once. And his misjudgment had cost him a beloved wife and a newborn son.

Gerard glared up at the steady downpour of rain and wondered if the bad weather was an omen of things to come. The storm had been with them constantly for the last three days. And for each of those long days he'd relived his wife's horrible death.

He crossed himself, cursing his apprehension. He cursed life and God. He cursed the man who had caused his idyllic world to turn into a nightmare. Gerard closed his eyes against the sickening memory of Edyth's twisted and broken body and swallowed his pain. "I swear to you, beloved, I will satisfy our revenge this night."

Gerard joined his captain Walter at a break in the forest. "The fires will start slowly tonight, this rain has surely soaked the thatched roofs," he muttered to the older man.

Blue eyes, encased by a weather-beaten face lifted briefly to look up at the dark sky. "Aye. But we expected little else."

Gerard snorted at his captain's disgruntled tone. He knew Walter disliked this northern climate more than he did. After nodding toward the keep, he told his man, "The wagon gained entrance. I think a little too easily." He glanced back at the walls and weighed his options. There was but only one choice. "If anyone within had decided to stop the wagon after its entry, we would have seen more guards attend the walls." By now his men already inside would be anxiously waiting for their signal to open the gates.

He took one last look up at the keep before making the final decision. "Go. Take your group of men and proceed as planned. As soon as I hear your commotion, I will lead my group to the wall."

While Walter and his men approached the keep under the cover of night, Gerard's trained gaze kept track of their forms in the blackness. Lightning cracked through the sky like a whip. In its eerie light he thought he could see someone watching him as closely.

The stare fell upon him with a certainty he could hardly understand. It was as if someone inside eagerly awaited his arrival and the salvation they thought it would bring.

How would they feel once they realized his only offering would be death?

He shook the strange thoughts from his mind and the dripping rain from his nasal plate. Peering back at Brezden, he reassured himself that his flight of fancy was no more and shouted for his men to advance. "Avancer! Reveur!"

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