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And Ral wanted land of his own.

“The men have done a good day’s work,” he said, surveying his defeated foe and his battle-weary soldiers. “There’s a meadow not far from here. ’Twill be a good place for us to make camp.”

Bone-tired, he rode beside Odo through a thick grove of alder toward the place where he had seen the two young girls.

They were nowhere in sight and for a moment he felt relieved.

Then a noise drew his attention and he paused.

Off to his right, he heard the trickle of running water mingled with boisterous men’s voices, speaking Norman French.

“Hold!” he shouted to the line of armored troops mounted or marching behind him. “Odo, you and Geoffrey, Hugh, and Lambert come with me.” Stephen’s men—it had to be. They were not his concern, yet he would know what they were about.

They rode silently through the trees, listening to the men’s coarse laughter, then Ral heard a woman’s high-pitched scream.

He spurred the big black and the animal leapt forward.

In minutes, he reached the clearing where the sound had come from and saw to his horror what some sixth sense had been warning him about all day.

Swinging down from his horse, he drew his broadsword from the scabbard at his waist.

“You men—hold up there!”

Their laughter died at the hard note in his voice. A group of Stephen’s men, bloodstained and weary from battle, swiveled their heads to face him.

“Malvern may say naught against rapine and murder, but I will not abide it. If you wish to live, you will leave the women and back away.”

A thickset knight stepped forward. “The wenches are ours by right of war! What right have you to gainsay us?”

“This right.” Ral hefted his sword, the broad blade glinting in the fading sun’s rays. His kite-shaped shield hung over one shoulder, the fierce black dragon glaring at them with warning.

“’Tis him,” one of the five men whispered. “Have a care, Bernart, ’tis the Dark Knight you confront. Surely you have heard of him.” He swallowed so hard Ral saw the knot in his throat move up and down.

“There are five of them and five of us—I say we take them!”

“Let him have the wenches,” cried another. “Why be greedy—we have already had our fill.”

The other men laughed at that, though a thread of nervousness tinged the sound. Drawing back from the women they surrounded, they straightened their tunics and retied the drawstrings holding up their chausses.

Ral looked at the two girls lying on the ground.

Both of them were naked. The black-haired maid sprawled in the grass, staring sightlessly up at the heavens.

Her thighs were bloody, her heavy dark hair a tangled mass around her pale shoulders.

Beside her a few feet away, the auburn-haired girl lifted her head, struggling in and out of consciousness.

She was battered and bruised, one eye puffed nearly closed, her lip cut and swollen.

Blood trickled from a corner of her mouth.

His fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword. “I warn you again, back off from the women!”

A thickset knight with dirty brown hair was the first to move away. “Consider the skinny one a gift from Lord Stephen,” he sneered. “Her maidenhead remains intact. You may do with her as you wish.”

“The lush little wench was the plum,” said another. “We took her—one after another. God’s truth, the wench loved it more than the lustiest scullery maid!”

Ral’s quick movement caught him unawares.

With a gauntleted hand, he gripped the man’s throat, cutting off his air supply and lifting him clear off the ground.

Kicking and squirming, the man lashed out, gasping for breath, but Ral’s hold only grew tighter.

When the knight wheezed one last time and went limp, Ral grumbled a low-muttered curse and tossed him aside like a piece of rotten offal.

“Take him and be gone!” Ral commanded.

Muttering among themselves, dragging the unconscious man away, his comrades gathered their horses and arms and began to slip quietly into the forest.

“Fetch another blanket,” Ral said to Odo as he pulled his own from the back of his saddle and the last of Malvern’s men disappeared.

Kneeling beside the black-haired maid, he gently wrapped it around her then lifted her into Odo’s outstretched arms. When he knelt to cover the auburn-haired girl, she struggled and began to fight him, swinging her fists with more force than he had expected.

“Leave her!” she cried, a balled hand connecting with his jaw. “You must not hurt her!”

He captured her wrists and gently subdued her.

“Rest easy, ma petite. You and your sister are safe.” She fought a moment more, her small body straining, then went limp in his arms. Ral lifted her and carried her toward the horses.

“’Tis good we arrived when we did,” Odo said. “The maids would both have been dead.”

Ral nodded.

“’Tis a shame.” Odo shifted his light burden. “The black-haired wench is uncommonly pretty, and the young one is a tiger.”

“She fought bravely, I think.”

“What shall we do with them?”

Ral hesitated only a moment. “We know not where they live. Should their kinsmen be among the Saxon rebels, they would not be safe even within the walls of their home.” He handed his bundle to Geoffrey, the youngest of his knights, a blond boy of seventeen years who had served as squire to Odo.

“Take them to the Convent of the Holy Cross. The sisters can discover where they belong and send word to their family to claim them.”

“Aye, ’tis a wise choice, considering what may yet lie ahead.”

Ral merely nodded. He couldn’t rid himself of the image of the beautiful black-haired maid torn asunder by Stephen’s ruthless men. Or the battered face of the younger girl who had fought so hard to protect her.

Ral clamped his jaw. He should have seen them to safety. They were so young, so innocent. So trusting. He knew the dangers they might face. He had just been so used to command he hadn’t believed they would dare disobey him.

Damn, but he felt guilty.

It was a burden that weighed heavy on his heart as they rode past in the arms of his men.