Sybilla, Lady of Alston, stood up straight and moaned as her back spasmed in response to the movement. Pressing her fists into her lower back, she tried to ease the pain caused by leaning over too much and by carrying too many large rocks to the wooden palisade. They must shore up the defences, said Gareth, the commander of those who yet defended her and the keep. So, she helped as much as she could. Lady or not, another pair of hands lightened the work of all and gave her the hope that the wall could be strengthened to protect the keep from the coming invader.

      Sybilla accepted a cup of water from the servant girl passing by, tightened the leather ties around her braid and began anew. They had little time to finish this task before the invader king’s pawn arrived at their gates. After receiving the message that he travelled there to claim the lands of her father, Sybilla and her late father’s steward Algar decided to protect themselves from the devastation committed on their neighbours and kin when faced with the same situation. She did not believe they could hold out long, but if they presented their strength, she and they hoped to negotiate a peaceful transition—one that allowed her people to live and her to travel to her cousin’s convent and live out her life there in peace and contemplation.

      With her father and her brother dead, with no other Saxon kin able to come to her rescue or to stand against these invaders as they moved inexorably north towards her lands, Sybilla knew she and her people had few choices and little power.

      They worked until nightfall, taking advantage of every moment of summer’s daylight to build the wall as high and strong as they could. Gareth had nodded his approval of their efforts in that stern, serious manner of his, but Sybilla knew it was not enough. Still, they had two days, possibly three, before the invaders arrived and they would take every moment given to them to prepare.

      The birds’ song that heralded the dawn also brought terror to their doors, for the invaders crested the hill across from the keep and formed their lines to attack. Sybilla quickly gathered the children and took them to the back of the keep and carried out whatever Gareth ordered. Though she’d lived there for all her life, never once had they needed to defend it from outsiders. Even when her father and brother went off to fight alongside their king—her brother to Stamford Bridge and then her father to Hastings—their defences here were perfunctory and never needed.

      Now, though, it meant the difference between life and death.

      When things were settled in the keep, she climbed to the top of the wall to see what forces they faced. Gareth ordered her away, but Sybilla thought that meeting the enemy face to face might ease the situation. If Duke William of Normandy’s man thought them no threat, he might not attack before they could negotiate. Holding her hand over her eyes to shade the growing light of the rising sun, she shivered when she saw him.

      Black. Everything he wore was black, except for the slash of red on his shield, angling to the left that she understood spoke of his bastardy. Or his duke’s? She knew not which, but once more her body trembled. His armour was black, not reflecting the rays of the sun above him. His horse, a huge, monstrous destrier, was the colour of midnight, without any markings to lighten his coat. And Sybilla felt as though death stood before her on the field.

      Or the devil incarnate?

      She shook herself from fear’s control and walked to Gareth’s side. His jaw clenched, he issued commands to his men in a low voice so that they would not carry across the open field in the silence. Sybilla noticed the silence then, and counted their numbers, at least the ones she could see.

      Holy Mother in Heaven! They would never survive an attack from a force of this strength. She began to think they’d made a mistake when the giant’s words confirmed it.

      ‘I claim the lands and people of Durward the Traitor and order the gates open.’

      Gareth shook his head and, though tempted to call out orders of her own, she acquiesced to his experience and knowledge in such matters. ‘Twas a mistake.

      ‘Prepare to die!’ the warrior called out and he and his men launched their attack.

      Gareth ordered her from the wall and Sybilla rushed down the steps, intending to get back inside the keep before the invaders reached the walls. The wall shuddered in that moment and Sybilla realised that the first line of attackers were using rams to knock down the wall! Worse, they did not approach the strongest part of the wall near the gate; they used their weapons on the newest section, the weakest part. She needed to get past the very place that they were battering down.

      Rushing along the path, avoiding the soldiers running to take their places and listening to her people crying out in terror, Sybilla tried to focus on all that Gareth had told her. Instead, every time the walls shook, she paused. Then, her worst fear was realised as the ram did its horrible task and the section of the wall in front of her shattered and fell.

      Until Sybilla regained consciousness, she did not know she’d lost it.

      She struggled to get to her feet, but her head ached and dizziness made her nauseous. She reached up to push off the blinding bandage that covered her head and eyes and discovered it was not a bandage blocking her sight at all—she was blind.

      ‘Here now, lady,’ a familiar voice whispered to her. Aldys, her maid’s mother, touched her face, drew the bandages back into place and eased her back down. ‘You were injured, my lady. You must lie still,’ she warned.

      Sybilla tried to touch her face, her eyes, but Aldys brushed her hands aside. Panic filled her and she felt the very breath in her lungs being squeezed out. Then another woman took her hands and held them.

      ‘Lady, they have broken in through the wall and are at the doors of the keep. Gareth said you must stay here,’ Gytha, her maid, whispered. ‘Some of the rock hit you on the head, on your eyes, and there is much bleeding.’ The pressure on her head eased, but returned quickly. ‘We are trying to stop the bleeding.’

      ‘I cannot see,’ she whispered. ‘I cannot see!’ Sybilla could feel her control slipping away and terror of a new kind filling her heart and soul.

      ‘Hush now, lady,’ Aldys soothed. ‘We will see to your injury. All will be well.’

      The pain grew and grew until she felt faint, but the sound of the keep’s doors being destroyed shook her awake. Then the great wooden doors crashed apart and the sound of fighting spilled into the keep.

      ‘Gytha,’ she moaned out. ‘You must get the children to safety now.’

      ‘‘Tis too late, my lady,’ her maid answered.

      Suddenly, she was pulled to her feet and dragged along by some unseen hands. Women screamed and she was jostled as they struggled against the strong grasp of whoever had come into the keep. Then, just as suddenly, she was tossed to the floor. Clutching her head, she tried to sit up, but could not. Then Aldys gathered her in her arms and she heard Gytha on her other side.

      Chaos and terror reigned and Sybilla screamed along with them. She had seen the enemy and knew without doubt that he would slaughter