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and to the rightful king. Oppose me, and you will explain your reasons to William. Oppose me not and you will learn I am a fair man, and will protect and provide for you well.”
    He waited. A breathless silence descended. No one moved.
    He set Ysane on her feet. Bracing her sagging figure upright against him with one arm about her waist, he pulled his boot dagger to slice through the bonds securing her hands and feet. He gently massaged her strained shoulders and bruised, chafed wrists. The pain of returning circulation brought forth from her a low moan.
    “Easy, my lady.” His words reached only her. “’Twill ache for but a moment.”
    He returned his look to those who watched his actions. Reflected in their eyes he discerned apprehension, relief and uncertainty…all at once. He understood, but he could show no weakness, no hesitation in his intent. They must choose, and now, this very moment. His eyes narrowed as if he still peered through the visor of his helm. He hardened his voice to brisk command.
    “Answer me! What say you? Will you have me as lord, or must I impose upon you all a journey to King William? Before you decide, know this—you will find him not so forgiving as I.”
    A lone man, a nondescript elder of average height and build stepped forward. A shock of thick white hair hung below his shoulders. His pale, lined face was furrowed with the same anxiety as the rest. “I am Ethelmar, my lord, dish-thegn of Wulfsinraed.”
    He swallowed visibly and glanced around at his companions, who bobbed their heads. He took a breath, faced Fallard, straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. His voice was firm and carried clearly. “My lord, we accept.”
     
    ***
     
    Ysane felt her dream man shift his hold, and a sudden slackness came to his grasp, though his support faltered not.
    He relaxes. Ethelmar’s words must hearten him. I must remember to commend my dish-thegn.
    She leaned more fully into the dark knight’s embrace, enthralled by his power and strength. He lifted her once again into his arms. She sighed.
    He is Norman, my enemy, and the conqueror of my home, as his king conquered my people, yet in his arms I feel safe, as I have not felt in too long. He will rule here. I know him not, nor aught of him. If there is softness or indulgence in him, it shows not. All know that Normans are barbarians and love most to hurt and humiliate those they enslave. Yet, this one offers tolerance, and his judgments seem honorable. How can this be?
    ’Twas a strangely difficult thing to do—her strength seemed to have deserted her—but she raised a trembling hand toward his face. He glanced down. She laid her palm upon his cheek and stared into eyes as darkly blue as the midnight sky, and imagined she found in their depths an unexpected tenderness.
    She smiled.
    What a wonderfully pleasant dream this is. I hope never to wake.
    The last thought that slipped through her mind ere the fever fully claimed her was regret this could be only fantasy, for strange as may be, she sensed she and her people would have been secure in this illusory enemy’s care.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    Fallard’s knights were busy with the tasks he had set them. A chosen few, scattered strategically about the courtyard and the wall, remained alert against renewed violence. Pride in his men swelled. Handpicked, they were the best a captain could hope for, no matter the task.
    At the lady’s sweet smile and gentle hand upon his cheek, he felt a unusual hitch in the region of his heart. He ignored it. He had no time for sentiment, even his own. Still, he descended the steps with great care, for he now bore a burden beyond price and the stone was grown slick from the misty rain.
    He called for a healer. Through the skill of Trifine and his own timely intervention, the lady had escaped execution, but in her fragile state, she was not out of danger. He had seen fever ravage the bodies of stout warriors until there was no strength left to fight a