Free Captured by the Warrior by MERIEL FULLER

what other men might do,’ he warned her.
    ‘Come, let us go back, and sleep. And remember, don’t try anything stupid again. I’ll be watching you.’
    He led the way back through the scrambling, moonlit undergrowth, safe in the knowledge that she would follow him, that the older man in the group of captives meant something to her. He knew that she withheld information from him, and that was why she had to stay; but the vaguest niggle in his conscience told him that wasn’t the only reason he was reluctant to let her go.

Chapter Five
    I n the hazy heat of an early autumn afternoon, the imposing structure of Ludlow Castle seemed to drift on a raft of white mist: a magical, ethereal place. Yet there was nothing insubstantial about the towering, fortress-like walls, the square-cut crenellations. The fortified stronghold of Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, rose impressively from a rounded green hill, overlooking the River Teme. The sheer, soaring walls, built from purplish stone, glowed with pink hues in the sunlight. The Duke’s flag flapped listlessly in the occasional breeze, the black needlework of the falcon and the fetterlock stark against the white canvas background. No one could doubt the power of the Duke of York, even without this impressive fortification; tales of his notoriety were tittle-tattled with glee within the court of Henry, although not within the King’s or his feisty wife’s hearing.
    Tramping steadily after her father, Alice tried to damp down the fear that clambered in her throat. Eversince they had been roused by a soldier’s sword-point at dawn, and forced to march northwards without a bite to eat, the opportunities to escape had been few and far between. Indeed, if she admitted it, they had been nonexistent. The soldiers had kept them in close formation, stopping only once for a glug of water from a leather bottle passed around the prisoners, before driving them on to Ludlow. Despite being late in the year, the day had been unseasonably warm, and now, as she forced her feet to step the last few yards towards the castle gatehouse, beads of sweat begain to trickle down her face from the constricting band of her hat.
    Her mind descended into a fug of listlessness; a combination of the perspiration and dirt coating her skin, the cloying heat, made her sway, lose her balance momentarily. Upright, she told herself grimly, remain upright. She had only herself to blame for the mess she was in. At this very moment Alice longed for the quiet serenity of the women’s solar at the royal court: the peaceful stitching, the gentle, lilting conversations, the wonderful smell of the beeswax candles. How laughable that she craved something that she so often kicked against! Licking her parched dry lips, she fought to control the nausea rising in her gullet, fearing what lay before her. Despite her waywardness, she realised with horror how sheltered her life had been, cloistered in the pretty, protected ways of the royal court; now a shrouding vulnerability swept over her, leaving her raw, exposed.
    Following the line on horseback, Bastien watched Alice sway, and deliberately turned his head away. He curled his ungloved hands around the reins, feeling the leather bite into his palms, annoyed that, throughoutthe journey, she had continually pulled his gaze. He told himself it stemmed from a polite, formal deference he would extend to any woman, rather than from any genuine concern. In truth, it was a long time since he had experienced any dealings with women, apart from the occasional dalliance with a camp whore, and around Alice, his manners felt rusty, unused. Still, he had fought too many battles, and seen too many good men die, to be concerned about the finer details of how to treat women properly. He simply didn’t care any more. All he knew was that he had warned her enough times to keep quiet; now it was up to her. He wasn’t about to leap to her defence again. Yet as he tracked her stumbling, listing