Briana. Ruth Langan
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Even in the fields, the sisters and novices never broke their vow of silence.
As her horse moved in a slow, loping gait between the furrows, she lifted a hand and waved, and the men and women straightened and returned her salute.
She was halfway across the field when she heard the thunder of hooves. For a moment she didn’t know what to make of it. Then, seeing the lad in front of her turn and mutter an oath as he unsheathed his sword, she followed his gaze.
An army of English soldiers, perhaps fifty or more, was heading directly toward them from a nearby forest.
With a feeling of dread Briana looked around. They were caught in the open. Trapped. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to seek shelter from the trained warriors bearing down on them.
The leader of her escorts, a fierce, muscular lad of perhaps ten and six, shouted orders. “The village. At once. It is our only hope.”
As they urged their horses into a run, Briana glanced over her shoulder. The peasants, caught offguard, were being cut down by the invading soldiers’ swords. In the blink of an eye, five, then ten, then more, were seen falling to the ground, screaming in anguish.
The air was filled with the sound of voices shouting, swearing. Women weeping. The sharp clang of metal on metal as those few peasants who were armed strove to defend themselves. Horses whinnied in pain as they died, crushing their riders. That only made the soldiers more determined to retaliate against those peasants who dared to fight back.
The once tidy rows of grain were now slashed and torn, the earth red with blood as the mounted soldiers overtook the fleeing peasants and, in a frenzy of killing, left not a single one standing.
When they had finished with the peasants, the soldiers turned their attention on the five horsemen, fleeing across the fields. Within minutes they fanned out, determined to cut off any chance of escape.
Seeing that there was no hope of making it to the safety of the village, the leader of Briana’s escorts signalled for the others to form a circle around her. “Come lads. We must defend the lady Briana with our lives.”
“Give me a sword,” she shouted.
But her voice was drowned out by the thunder of hooves and the shouts and jeers of the approaching army. As soon as Briana and her escorts slid from their saddles, their terrified horses took off at a run. The lads formed a ring around her, swords at the ready, determined to defend her to their last breath, as the soldiers bore down on them.
“Halsey.” A soldier’s shout had the leader of the army turning in the saddle. “Look at this. These lads are spoiling for a fight.”
“Then, let’s give them what they want.” The one called Halsey threw back his head and roared. It was obvious that he was enjoying the killing. “I’ll do the honors myself. The rest of you can see that the sniveling cowards don’t escape.”
His soldiers held back, allowing him to lead the charge. He singled out the leader of the band of defenders, plunging his sword through the lad’s heart with a single swipe.
His voice rang with disdain as the lad fell to the ground, writhing in pain. “Embrace death, Irishman. And may your sons and their sons join you in it.”
At his words the other soldiers began to laugh. When the remaining lads formed a tighter circle around Briana, several of the soldiers slid to the ground and drew their swords.
“Jamie,” Halsey called to a comrade. “Throw me your weapon. Mine’s buried too deeply in the Irishman.”
The soldier tossed his sword, and Halsey easily caught it before engaging a second lad in battle.
Briana watched with sinking heart as the lad fought bravely. But each time he managed to dodge a thrust from Halsey’s sword, the soldiers behind him would strike him about the head and chest with their weapons, leaving him dazed and bloody. Soon, seeing that the lad was too weary to defend himself, Halsey gave a final death thrust with his sword, sending the lad to the ground, where he gasped his last.
“That leaves only three,” Halsey said with an evil grin. “Who would care to test his skill next?”
The last of Briana’s defenders stood back to back, keeping her between them. With drawn swords, they fought with courage and skill, though they knew they had no chance to win. Even if they were to best the one called Halsey, his soldiers outnumbered them by fifty or more. His death would make their own that much more painful. Still, they had sworn to see the lady Briana safely to her home. No matter what the odds, they would fight to the death to keep their word to the lord of the manor.
“Do you think two Irishmen can outfight one English soldier?” Halsey’s voice rang with contempt. “Not even a dozen could best me.”
As if to prove his boast, he cut down the first lad with a single thrust, then turned his attention to the second. Though the lad was clumsy, he was tall and strapping, with muscular forearms. His first blow with the blade caught Halsey by surprise, and the soldier had to leap aside quickly to avoid being wounded.
Annoyed that his soldiers’ taunts had gone suddenly silent, he slashed out, catching the lad’s arm, laying it open. With blood streaming down his arm, the lad fought back, but was quickly slashed a second time, and then a third, until his tunic and breeches were stained with his own blood.
“Come, Irishman. Is this the best you can do?” Halsey leapt forward, causing the lad to back up too quickly.
He tripped and landed on his back. Like a feral dog, Halsey stood over him, the tip of his sword at the lad’s throat.
“You’d best pray that the God you worship is merciful, Irishman. For you’re about to meet Him.” With a laugh he plunged his sword through the lad’s throat. Then, for good measure, he pulled the blade free and thrust it again, directly through the lad’s heart.
His men sent up a cheer as he turned toward Briana, who stood alone.
If her years in the convent had taught her anything, it was that death was not to be feared, but rather to be embraced. She took a deep breath and lifted her head, prepared for what was to come.
“So, lad.” Halsey glanced around at his men, clearly enjoying his role as fearless enforcer. “I see you’re too young to be entrusted with a sword. Is this why the others were protecting you?”
Briana blinked. It took her several moments to realize that this man and the others mistook her for a lad. No wonder. In the coarse robes of a peasant, with her hair shorn, she would never be mistaken for a noblewoman.
“It’s too bad.” Halsey took a step closer, his sword raised for the kill. “I would have enjoyed a bit of a challenge before retiring for the night with my men. Ah well. I suppose it was too much to hope for.”
As he stepped over the body of his last victim, Briana took that moment of distraction to bend toward the lad lying at her feet. In one swift motion she pulled the sword from his chest.
She cursed the fact that it had been too many years since she’d handled a weapon. She was surprised at how heavy it felt. It took both hands just to hold it aloft.
Halsey looked up, his eyes narrowing. Then, seeing how she struggled with the heavy weapon, his lips split into a grin.
“That’s my sword you’re holding, lad. I’d wager it doesn’t like being held by Irish hands. Be careful the hilt doesn’t burn your flesh.”
The others roared with laughter.
“Maybe you’re the one who should be careful.” Briana slowly lowered one hand, flexing her fingers. Though she hadn’t held a sword these last three years, she had held her share of plowshares and scythes. Her work with the flocks and in the fields may have whittled her weight, making her lean, but it had also made her strong. She tightened her grip on the hilt of the sword and tested its strength.
Halsey’s smile grew. “You Irish always have so much to say until you taste an English sword. Then your babbling