CHAPTER ONE

England, summer of 1499

   Pet smelled the smoke before she saw it. She urged her mare to a gallop, maneuvering through the narrow forest trail until she crested the hill overlooking her village. Reining her horse into an abrupt stop, her heart pounded with dread as she beheld the horrible sight. Flames rose from several burning huts, and she heard the screams of terror and clanks of steel against steel. Villagers everywhere ran for their lives; a few stood to defend their homes. She drew her sword and kicked the horse down the hill to protect her town, even if resulting in her own death.

   A townsman met her first; a bleeding cut crossed his face. "Pet! Praise the saints you are here!"

   "Where is Robert?" She leapt off her horse as the man collapsed to his knees.

   His breaths came in short, shallow gasps. "I know not . . .too many . . .there are too many . . ."

   She helped him to his feet. "Take my horse and flee. I must find Robert."

   "But . . ."

   "Do it!" She pushed him up on the horse and slapped it on the flank. The injured man clung to the mane as the animal lunged forward and headed back to the forest out of danger.

   An arrow whizzed past her head as she raised her sword for battle and made her way into the fighting. A formidable foe, she killed two renegades before they even realized she was there.

   She silently wished she had chosen to go with her father.

   The irony of the situation was cruel. The king had ordered all faithful followers to take up arms against the renegades, and Pets father had complied. He took her two older brothers and most of their men to hunt the outlaws. Now Pets village was suffering for that decision. The renegades had never struck this far south before, so the village was not prepared. Now Pet fought for her life and those of the townsfolk.

   Another arrow barely missed her. She swung her sword around in time to parry an attack from behind. Within two maneuvers, her sword pierced the mans heart. Before he died, the mans eyes expressed astonishment he was about to meet his fate at the hands of a girl.

   The village fought gallantly, but the renegades fought without mercy or compassion. Pet heard the hopelessness in her peoples cries, and strengthened her efforts. She yelled for her people to get inside the manor walls, flee, get away, go to safety. Many did; the strong stayed to fight. A wayward arrow grazed her shoulder, and she winced in pain. Two more fell by her sword.

   The renegades were unrelenting. One on horseback rode too close, and she reached up and pulled him off. On horseback she would be able to spot Robert easier. After mounting, she searched frantically. She brought down two more before she finally saw him.

   He fought three at once. Pet urged the frightened horse toward him, reaching him just as an outlaw was about to plunge a knife in his back. She kicked the man in the face, effectively stopping him. Robert looked up at Pet and smiled widely.

   "Hello, baby sister!"

   She smiled back at her twin; she was a whole minute younger. "Thought you could use the help."

   He nodded, then their exchange was cut short as she let out a scream from an arrow piercing her upper left arm.

   He shouted out her name in alarm. She brought her right hand up and grabbed the shaft of the arrow, snapped it short, and threw the rest on the ground. "I am all right," she winced.

   "No, ride! Get out of here!"

   "I cannot leave you!" She leaned forward and reached out with her uninjured arm. "Get on behind me." As she spoke, a man came up behind Robert with his sword raised. "Robert, behind you!"

   Robert spun around and stopped the thrust barely in time. Two more men approached, heading toward Pet. "God forbid, Pet! You are no good dead. Get out of here!"

   She saw the men at the same time she felt the weakness wash over her from the pain. Robert was right; if she passed out and fell off the horse a sword would surely strike her down. "I will get our men! " She reluctantly reined the horse around and turned toward the manor.

   "The wench!" a man yelled. "Get the wench! " Two men on horses started after her.

   "No!" Robert screamed, and plunged his sword into the man who gave the order. He didn't see another man on horseback come up behind him.

   Pet heard him scream, and reined up only to see Robert get struck down by a silver-haired man on a white horse. Her outcry of horror rang over all the fighting. The silver-haired man turned his gaze on her; a look of controlled hate consumed his smug face. Pet committed his image to her memory.

   The two riders bore down on her. Not knowing if Robert was dead or alive, she hastened her horse away at a full gallop. The men reached her side in minutes and tried to grab her reins, but she maneuvered skillfully out of their grasp. They blocked her entrance to the manor, leaving the forest her only retreat. The horses hooves pounded the soft ground as she pushed the weary animal to its limit. Suddenly her horse lunged forward and dropped to its front knees. Pet went tumbling over the horses head as she realized the bastards had shot the horse out from under her. The arrow had pierced the horses shoulder - the animal would live - but didn't hinder the fact that the two men had dismounted and were heading straight to her. No time to worry about a horse, she quickly grabbed her sword and readied herself for battle. She would not die without a fight.

   Their biggest mistake was only two men were sent to stop her. They quickly realized they were no match for her fighting skills. Her first thrust disarmed one man, and while he scrambled for his weapon she turned on the second. He was ugly and dirty, with black rotting teeth and the stench of a dead animal. She grimaced in abhorrence.

   "You cannot beat me," she stated flatly. "Put down your sword and I will spare your life."

   The man sneered lewdly at her. "Now, you art a right pretty lil' thing. A whit too vicious forasmuch my likin', but others like their woman with a whit o spunk. That body of 'ous looks like 'twas made for beddin' a man."

   Her lips curled into a hateful sneer. "Then, die." In two moves she disarmed him and drove her sword in his heart.

   The other man had recovered his weapon, but was now reluctant to use it. When she turned to face him, he dropped to his knees and threw his sword at her feet.

   "I don' wan' to die! You wouldna' kill an unarmed man, would you?"

   Pet rolled her eyes; she hated it when a man suddenly turned to cowardice to save his life. "Pick up your weapon and fight like a man!"

   "No, just go away." The man lowered his head and refused to look at her. Disgusted, she shook her head, and began to leave.

   The minute she turned, the man grabbed his sword and descended on her. Expecting this, she spun, brought her right leg up and kicked him in the chest. He stumbled backwards as she knocked his sword from his hand with another kick. They stood eye to eye, her with a cold, vacant expression, him with total fright.

   "You-you cannot kill me," he stuttered. "I am unarmed."

   "We have already been through that." She drove her sword into his abdomen; he fell to the ground with a loud cry of anguish. Gazing without compassion at the bleeding man - lying, thieving, murderers deserved to die - she watched as he clutched his belly in despair. "Now bleed to death like the dog you are." She ambled away, satisfied he would never help burn another village.

   The horses had scattered except for the wounded one. It was on its feet and shaking with fear and pain. Pet approached the mare and calmed the injured animal in her low, soft, mesmerizing voice. "'Tis all right, girl, you shall be fine." The horse responded to her gentle touch.

Her only thought now was Robert. Her gaze fell to the village, by now just small wisps of gray smoke on the horizon. She had no choice but to walk back. When she got closer, it was clear the renegades had departed, leaving behind a fear-ridden, smoldering remnant of the once peaceful town. Scattered bodies of the murdering outlaws lie everywhere; human debris Pet would later order tossed in a pile and burned. She learned from a townsman that her fathers men had finally made their way down from the manor, and were chasing the renegades toward the west. Sir Raymond the giant, the estate steward and master at arms, led them.

   Her eyes blinked with irritation from the smoke as she searched for Robert. People cried in dismay around her; she pushed through them in her hunt for her brother. She finally found him, surrounded by four townsfolk trying desperately to tend to his wounds. He drifted in and out of consciousness as the life drained from his battered, bleeding body. A pretty young villein girl sat beside him gently stoking his hair; his head was in her lap. She looked up at Pet with huge tears streaking down her ash-covered face.

   "He saved my life," she sobbed. "He was wounded, and still he saved my life."

   Then they all relayed stories of how a man on a white horse left Robert for dead, and how he had killed several more before finally succumbing to his injuries. The loyal townsfolk surrounded him and didn't allow anyone through. Sir Raymond had arrived just minutes later, driving the renegades away.

   Pet knelt and looked lovingly at the face so mirroring her own; deep brown eyes, straight nose, and fair skin framed by ebony hair. Robert was considered remarkably handsome. He had his pick of women, but so far had refused to take one as his bride. But he was only twenty, and there was plenty of time to marry.

   His eyes flickered open for a few seconds. "Baby . . .sister," he gasped. "You are safe."

   "Aye, thanks to you." She choked back her tears; Robert would not see her cry.

   His eyes slowly closed again, and Pet scanned the area around her. A small hut nearby had escaped the torch. She put one hand under Roberts head, and the other under his knees. Even though he outweighed her by fifty pounds, her powerful legs enabled her to lift him up. The people parted as she carried him to the hut. The pain in her heart dwarfed the pain in her arm.

   Two children huddled in the corner as Pet kicked the door open. She laid him gently on the bed, and turned to the small children. "Lord Robert is injured."

   They came forward and stood beside her, watching Roberts face as she helplessly tore off his doublet to check his wounds. The boy tapped Pet on the arm.

   "I can get some water," he offered.

   Pet allowed herself a small, brave smile for the child's benefit. "That would be good. Take your sister with you." The children left her alone to tend to her brother.

   "Robert, you will be all right, 'tis but a small wound." She kept comforting him as she finished removing the clothing around his wounds. Some were small, survivable, but the wound the man on the white horse inflicted was mortal - he had thrust his sword through Roberts back, piercing the liver. Pets heart fell to her stomach when she realized the inevitable.

   He opened his eyes and saw her expression. "Pet," he whispered, "I am not going to make it."

   She again produced the brave smile. "Hush, what kind of talk is that?" The boy returned carrying a bucket half-full of water. She tore a piece of the bedding cover and dipped it into the water, then wiped Roberts face with the cool liquid.

   "Pet, you know 'tis true." His voice broke as he writhed in pain. "Listen . . . I want you to have Goliath."

   She vigorously shook her head. "Goliath will only let you ride him. Besides, you are going to be fine. You just need . . ."

   "Pet, do not shake your head so," Robert gasped. "It will only make your brains rattle." His eyes closed, and his face contorted in pain.

   She managed to cough a small laugh. Even in death, he teased her.

   "That's my girl. You are going to be in charge, now." He wheezed as blood trickled from his mouth.

   In desperation, Pet threw her arms around her dying brother. "You cannot die, Robert. I cannot live without you." She buried her head in his shoulder.

   "Aye, you can," was the weak reply, ". . . and you shall. The people need you. Take . . ." his voice broke. "Take care of them." His breathing was getting shallower. His eyes opened again. "Do not cry for me, Pet. Death cannot separate us. I shall always be with you." He grabbed her arm with a surprising amount of strength. "As long as you are alive, I will be also." It was practically a command.

   She raised her head from his shoulder, and kissed him gently on the cheek. "I love you, Robert."

   "I love you too, my beautiful Rose. Some day someone will find you, someone who shall love you as much as I do." His hand let go, and he heaved one last breath. His eyes closed forever as his body gave up its life.

   "No!" she screamed. "No, no, no, no, no! " She threw herself across his body and pounded the bed with her fists.

   Outside the hut, the villagers heard her cries. Sir Raymond rode back into town and saw the villeins gathering around one small hut. He reined up and jumped off the huffing animal; a man looked at the giant with tears welling in his eyes.

   "'Tis lord Robert," he uttered.

   Raymond's face went white, and he stumbled backward from the shock. "Pet?"

   The man motioned to the hut, and Raymond nodded. "Let them be alone," he ordered, and sat down on the ground. The rest of the waiting villagers sat also, staring at the hut entrance as if in a trance.

   She stayed with him for over an hour, during which she experienced a gamut of emotions. At first there was denial, then anger, then she bargained with God to take her instead. Finally she began to relive their entire life in her numb, grief-filled mind.

   They had been inseparable from the beginning. They were born small, their health further compounded by the death of their mother from the complicated births. A wet nurse was finally found, and they began to thrive. As toddlers, they preferred each other to all other company. It was Robert who gave her the nickname Pet - from the age of six, she refused to be called Rose; one day Robert called her Pet, and the name stuck. She wanted to be exactly like her twin. If they put her in a dress, she became distraught and tore it off. Her father obliged her because he loved his twins with all his heart; besides, the twins looked so adorable dressed alike as little pages.

   When Pet was eight, an incident involving her older brother Geoffrey resulted in the smaller Robert getting beaten in a feeble attempt to defend her. The incident caused the twins to turn to Raymond for help, and he became their self-appointed guardian. He suggested they learn to fight to defend themselves, and they took up the challenge like a personal vendetta.

   Being somewhat diminutive, they were determined their smallness would not defeat them. Together they worked hard to build muscle; they ate voraciously to gain weight and grow. By the time they reached ten Robert had passed her on weight and height, so she worked harder and ate even more. Sword training began at twelve. At first it was all Pet could do to lift the heavy weapon, but through her stubbornness she prevailed. Her muscles grew with the intense exercise, but she filled out in other ways Robert didn't. She became quite a beauty, but denied that aspect of her being. Her hair was cut short, and she dressed only in men's clothing. Romance didn't interest her; fighting and getting stronger seemed to be her only passions. By the time she was sixteen she had already broken many hearts with her cold indifference.

   The twins became somewhat close to their oldest brothers William and Aaron, but ignored Geoffrey as much as possible. They had decided early in life not to exhibit the terrible tempers they saw on their brothers - especially Geoffrey - and learned to control their anger, along with other emotions. They were considered quiet and chose their words carefully, sometimes going whole days speaking only to each other. The twins trained hard together; they became skilled fighters while their siblings seemed interested only in women and drink. William and Aaron each boasted of having several bastard children, a custom Pet and Robert frowned upon. Only William, the oldest, had taken a wife. She died from the fever after just a year of marriage without giving him a legal heir.

   At fifteen Robert decided to dress entirely in black, and Pet readily agreed. They preferred soft leather pants to the tight hose well- dressed Lords wore. Their entire wardrobe - boots, coats, pants, tunics - were made everything especially for them. With their black hair, short on Robert, shoulder-length on Pet, they bestowed quite an image. They were The Twins; they would always be together.

   Now she was alone.

   She had always denied her womanhood, so it was curious why Robert in his dying breath had acknowledged it. My beautiful Rose, he had said. She gazed down at his face, leaned over and kissed him for the last time. "Goodbye, Robert," she whispered. One tear threatened to run down her cheek, and she quickly brushed away its existence. Robert had asked her not to cry, crying was weak, and she was strong. Controlling her emotions was important to Pet; right now she was experiencing the biggest test of that ability. She clenched her jaw and exited the hut.

   The waiting villagers, what were left of them, stood up as she came through the door. In a tone totally lacking in emotion, Pet lifted her chin to keep it from trembling.

"Robert is dead."

Everyone averted their eyes to the ground, the sky, each other, anywhere but on her; although her voice was hiding her pain, her eyes could not. They all felt her grief. Raymond approached her and looked her over warily; Roberts blood - as well as her own - spattered her body. She refused his comfort and just motioned toward the hut. "Bring him to the manor. He will be buried in the family plot. Gather the townsfolk and find digging tools; we have work to do."

He started to speak, and decided against it. Grief overcame her to the point he doubted she would hear him.

   Pets emptiness consumed her. She was driven forward only by the need to bury her agonizing heartache. She knew the village now looked to her for guidance. The dead outlaws were separated from the townsfolk. They took the bodies of the villagers to the church cemetery and the renegades were tossed into a pit outside the town. The numbers of the dead overwhelmed the priest, Father Samson, but he made himself busy conducting simple blessings on the bodies and consoling the survivors. By the time night drew near everyone was exhausted, but still Pet pushed them on. Since many of the villeins were burned out of their homes, Pet ordered everyone inside the large stone manor house since it had escaped any damage. Gardens and stables surrounded the manor, and a high wall protected it. The great hall was large enough to accommodate the weary people, and anyone with an ounce of energy left set to work in the kitchen preparing food for the hungry throng. While they were eating, Pet and a few men searched the smoldering village for pallets, cots, blankets, or anything suitable to sleep on. Pets endless drive wore out everyone. Finally things started to settle down. Except Pet.

   She sat at her family's table surrounded by at least a hundred people, feeling more alone than she thought humanly possible. It was as if she were violently ripped in half. She and Robert were a unit; together they made a whole. Now Robert was buried in the family plot with old ancestors and Williams wife. As she sat lost in her grief a hand tapped her on the shoulder.

   "Lady Rose?" Only one person got away with calling her that, her old nursemaid Agatha, who had cared for the twins since the day they were born. She was the closest thing to a mother Pet had.

   Pet turned her head wearily and looked into Agatha's tear- filled eyes. Robert had been like a son to Agatha, and Pet knew her grief was almost as deep as her own. "I am all right, Aggie, go to bed."

   Agatha held out her arms. "You art not all right any more an I am." Pet stood up and fell into her arms. They hugged for a long moment, then Pet pulled away. Agatha wiped her tears, noticing Pet had none. "There's a matter at needs your attention, Rose."

   Pet sat back down and stared straight ahead, too numb to think. "And what matter would that be?"

   "The orphans."

   Pet raised her head. "Orphans?"

   "Seventeen of 'em to be exact. We dinna' want 'ta further burden you, henceforth I hast been watchin' after 'em. What do you propose we do with 'em?"

   Pet sighed deeply. Orphans. Another burden to address. The village would have to be rebuilt; long hard work was ahead of everyone. It would be all they could do to look after their own children, let alone watch after seventeen orphans. If only her father was back; he would know what to do.

   She rose slowly; her strength felt drained. "Show me." Agatha led her to a corner of the huge room where two rows of children were sleeping. They ranged in ages from one to ten. A few coughed, no doubt from inhaling the smoke, but otherwise seemed undamaged. Their faces were as dirty as their clothes. Pets first thought was a bath was in order.

   "See that clean clothes are found for them." Pet turned to leave when a small, deep cough caught her attention. Pet squinted to make out the small face of the baby who made it. Her face fell in recognition. "Oh, no, not Mary."

   "'Fraid so," confirmed Agatha. "Mother took an arrow in the back. Poor lil' things by 'erself now."

   Pet closed her eyes. One more death to personally contend with. Mary was the baby of Roberts best friend, Lewis, who had died in an accident soon after Mary's birth. Robert and Pet took Lewis wife, Jenny, into the manor, giving her a job and somewhere to stay. Now Jenny was dead and little Mary was just another orphan. Pet shook her head and walked away.

   She climbed the stairs, stopping once to look down on the scene below. People lay shoulder to shoulder; some cried, some soothed, but all were in a confusion of loss. As she made her way down the hall, Pet stopped in front of Roberts room. She pushed the door open and grim reality struck her as she realized he would never be back. She entered and shut the door behind her, and was instantly overwhelmed by the solitude. His bed still sat unmade from that morning when they had discussed who was going to set the fur traps and who would dig the new well. Robert wanted the well job, and Pet capitulated, even though she hated seeing suffering animals caught in traps. If she had stayed instead of him, maybe she would be in that cold grave and he would be mourning her. She lay down on his bed; she could still smell his scent. Tears started to well again, and she blinked them back.

   "I shall not cry, Robert," she whispered. "I will make you proud of me." She closed her eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep, her clothes still stained with Roberts blood.

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