Free MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves by Heather Graham

lined the walls between the towers, giving the men a fantastic fighting ability from within. Few offenders had ever come too near the castle, for the retainers within the walls were expert with the firing of burning arrows, and they excelled with their caldrons of boiling oil. Strength brought respect in these days, and they were able to live within the castle walls in a realm of peace. They had never been attacked by any countryman seeking greater glory, and the almost inescapable raids here by the Danes had been quickly repulsed. Mostly the Danes came to plunder and take what they could. Sometimes, though, they came seeking their own lands, younger sons with nothing for them in their distant homes. When they found themselves battling Count Manon, they quickly went on to easier pickings.
    There was so much of the coast that was unprotected!
    Ragwald set a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the sun, watching as Count Manon rode his massive stallion, Warrior, across the trail through the fields. He was followed by mounted men all with linden shields, two carrying the blue and red colors of the castle with the battling rams of Beauville upon them, an insignia chosen by this count"s grandfather when he had served Charlemagne.
    The count himself was a striking man, tall, dark, with just a few strands of gray in his head. His eyes were deeply blue against the sun-bronzed shade of his face. He sat on a horse very tall and very well. Seeing his daughter and Ragwald so eagerly awaiting him, he lifted a hand and smiled, then spurred his horse.
    “Father!” Melisande cried delightedly, and ran from the parapet.
    “Melisande!” Ragwald called after her. “By all the saints!” he cried in aggravation, lifting his hands to heaven. “Melisande, you are the heiress to a mighty stronghold, milady. Will you show the world some dignity, please!” He spoke to empty space. He lifted his hands again in surrender, and followed her down the south stairs to the courtyard below.
    The great gates had opened in anticipation of the count"s arrival. Manon rode through, and his daughter came running to him, pitting herself against Warrior, so very anxious to reach her father.
    “Melisande!”
    Count Manon threw his leg over the animal"s haunches and fell with an agile thump to the dirt, encompassing her into his arms. “Ah, sweeting, I have missed you sorely!” he assured her.
    “You came back!” she said, overjoyed.
    He nodded. Ragwald noted that the count studied his daughter with a slight frown. As well he might! In the few short months in which he had been gone, Melisande had changed. She would be thirteen years old in a few days" time.
    She had grown very tall, taller than many men. Her hair, as rich a black as man might imagine, fell down the length of her back in beautiful inky, soft waves.
    Her face was no longer a child"s face, but finely sculpted, a face with exquisite bones and coloring, one to rival any beauty of the ancient Greek or Roman tales. She was quickly acquiring a woman"s shape, as well, Ragwald determined, deciding then and there that the count must soon be reminded that he had avoided making marital arrangements for his daughter.
    For the moment, though, the joy that father and daughter found in one another was so deep that Ragwald kept his distance while the count spoke of presents and the girl demanded to know if he had been well, and then, of course, that he tell her everything about where he had been.
    As the count told his tale, he slipped one arm around his daughter, then one around Ragwald, escorting them to the main tower, the keep. The ground floor, dug into the earth, stored their food and weapons, the upper floor housed their bedchambers, and the middle floor afforded them a great hall with a huge fireplace and massive oak table, a hall where a number of men could meet, or where their small family could gather intimately.
    Everyone was delighted the count had returned, from the meanest of his vassals to