Copyright © 2018 Ida Curtis
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.
Published 2018
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-63152-371-7 pbk
ISBN: 978-1-63152-372-4 ebk
Library of Congress Control Number:2017956049
Book Design by Stacey Aaronson
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At the beginning of the ninth century, the Frankish Empire included territory that is now France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, and half of Italy. King Charles, or Charlemagne, as he became known, ruled this vast empire.
When Charlemagne died in 814, the long reign of his son Louis began. Unlike his father, who enjoyed having grandchildren and encouraged his daughters to bear children out of wedlock, Louis was committed to the Christian view of marriage and became known as Louis the Pious.
PROLOGUE
Narbonne, 817
WHEN ISABEL PLUCKED THE BRIGHT RED flower from the rich soil, she felt an immediate reaction. The ground shook as though Mother Earth were protesting the theft. But that wasn’t what made the peaceful meadow quake and thunder with sound; it was galloping horses heavy with the trappings of war.
“Run, Isabel, run!” Emma’s voice was shrill with panic as she raced through the brush that bordered the meadow.
Isabel, wide-eyed with admiration at the sight of the giant horses, stood her ground. Her father’s farm horses were tame compared with the magnificent beasts racing toward her. She paid no attention to a young soldier who was shouting to attract the attention of the others. Only when Isabel lifted her eyes from the horses did the sight of four soldiers bearing down on her give her pause.
As the riders slowed their horses and circled around her, it dawned on Isabel why Emma had urged her to flee. Both girls had heard cautionary tales of how soldiers mistreated peasant women. But Isabel wasn’t a peasant, and she glared at them as they continued to circle her.
“Yo, what have we here?”
“A young, fresh one by the look of her.”
“But old enough, I wager.”
They leered at the silent Isabel and encouraged each other with lewd remarks. “Look how she is ripening.” “A tasty treat.” “Time for a little refreshment.”
Suspecting it would be unwise to show the fear that was knotting her stomach, Isabel watched for a break in their circle. She knew if she could reach the trees where Emma had disappeared, she’d have a chance to escape into the forest where the horses couldn’t follow.
Even as she was planning her escape, one of the men jumped down from his horse and grabbed her arm in an iron grip. Under his helmet, ugly scars marred his cheek, but he smiled at Isabel as though he thought she should appreciate his attentions.
Trying to shake her arm loose, Isabel became furious at his daring. “Release me, you oaf! My father is lord of the manor. He will have you whipped to death for touching me.”
The large man paused to study Isabel, but he didn’t release her arm. When she attempted to pull free of his hold, he laughed.
“A lady of the manor? Dressed like a peasant and roaming about in the meadow? What do you say, men?”
Another soldier, who appeared much younger than the first, dismounted to have a better look. “Looks too wild to be a lady. I say she be putting on airs.” His hand whipped out and ripped Isabel’s dress so that it fell off one shoulder. He stared at the small breast he had uncovered. “Looks ready to pluck,” he said, making a sucking sound with his mouth.
Isabel’s courage fled, and she was suddenly sorry she had insisted on dressing like her friend Emma. With a trembling hand, she managed to pull her dress up enough to cover her breast. Straightening her shoulders, trying to hide her fear, she looked to the first soldier who still grasped her arm. He was older, and she hoped he might be more apt to listen to reason.
“My father is Lord Theodoric.” By now her voice had lost its haughty edge. “You will be sorry if you do not cease your abominable behavior.”
“Listen to her,” the young one scoffed. “Don’t she talk fancy?”
At her words, the scar-faced soldier released her arm and pulled back. “She sounds educated to me. Maybe she is the lord’s daughter.”
When the older one retreated, Isabel saw her chance. Dodging past him, she started running for the woods. There was a loud protest close behind her, and she feared the younger one was running after her. She hoped he would be too burdened by heavy armor to catch her, but then she realized another rider had come to his aid. The man on horseback cut her off, and when she had to slow down, the one on foot caught her by the hair.
Isabel’s hair was thick, and it felt like he was pulling out a large chunk of it. Effectively imprisoned, she tried to blink away the tears of pain and frustration that leaked from her eyes.
“That’s better,” the soldier panted as he pulled her around to face him. “I’ll share her with you, Roul.”
Realizing her only chance to break free was for him to let go of her hair, Isabel went limp and waited for the soldier to loosen his grip. Believing she had given up, he said, “Now, that’s better.”
As Isabel had hoped, the soldier released her hair to tear at her dress. Isabel grabbed his hand as it ripped her sleeve, biting into the fleshy part at the base of his thumb until her teeth hurt. The soldier screamed and
