Free Awaken My Fire by Jennifer Horsman

stupor. Four barrels of wine had miraculously appeared on the edge of the army camp—Roshelle's idea, of course—and all the captain would find of their night's adventure would be two mysteriously spent horses.
    The windswept up the sound of Potiers' laughter as they raced along. Within minutes, they reached the crossroad, where they split in two different directions. Only two more villages left. And the night was still young.
    "Like all of your sex—you are a beast!"
    The disparaging words sounded loud in the quiet night as Roshelle sat atop the roan-colored stallion waiting at the crossroad for the rendezvous with Potiers. Knights only rode stallions, which had provided her with a fine choice of mares all her life. She had never before ridden a stallion. The foolish English guards had been so drunk, she and Potiers had decided to steal these right from the heart of the camp, thereby saving themselves the walk to Reales, where their horses were kept hidden. No wonder all knights had spurs! After she'd ridden fast for at least four long hours through the countryside, shouting warnings to every chateau, cottage and village, and after she'd battled the spirited stallion for control the entire way, the feisty beast still had some fight left in him.
    She had only sore bones, tired arms and a keen, new appreciation for knightly spurs that she had never found necessary to use. Seeming to agree, the horse tossed his fine head back, and danced round a circle. Roshelle used her last strength to pull him up again. "Easy, easy, my pet," she whispered as she stroked his sleek neck. "Just a few more minutes, and I'll turn you toward home, hmm?"
    This had been the last stop they dared—the army should be just behind. Less than six hours of darkness left to get home again, and through the secret door before the camp began waking.
    Potiers, where are you?
    As if the question produced the reality, the sound of pounding horse's hooves came from the north. She pulled the stallion up hard and held perfectly still as the dark shape came ever closer into view.
    "Potiers!" She led the horse out to the road.
    "Milady! Sorry it took so long, but the village Sanmone fell to hysterics. Like before. Ye know how badly they got it when Edward came through—wasn't a woman there who didn't take to running. I sent a boy to warn the people at the chateau, and then I had to help the men folk gather the animals. Seems they built some kind of special corral to hide them in—"
    "Likewise at Chinon," she said as she reined the horse around. Animals were essential to the peasants' survival. Manure made the difference between a poor crop and a bountiful one, which made it more valuable than gold.
    Besides, when foodstuffs were at the lowest point during early spring, a single cow's or goat's milk often kept a family from starvation. "This time we have saved them. The Duke of Suffolk will have no revenge from the poor people of Brittany."
    Potiers nodded as they turned their horses east toward Reales, though the simple statement struck at the heart of the matter. Somehow Roshelle Marie felt the responsibility for the people's welfare belonged on her shoulders and she must sacrifice her happiness for them. As Papillion had always warned, she would find her peace and transcend her despair through charity.
    Papillion’s fate ...
    Shortly after Roshelle's first wedding, Rodez generously pledged two hundred livres to Cardinal Cecile de Grair for his ambitious plans to build the largest cathedral in France. Within a week the cardinal announced that Papillion was wanted to stand trial for the sorcery, witchcraft and Satanic domination so diabolically displayed at Lady Roshelle Marie's first wedding.
    For many months it was a jest that entertained the entire Orleans court, keeping them all in stitches as Papillion played cat and mouse with the cardinal and his bumbling bands of soldiers, duping them time and time again. No one believed the cardinal would do anything