Disclaimers.

General: The characters and events portrayed in this story are fictional, and belong to me. This is a uber-Xena story, however, so naturally there are elements of the warrior and bard to be found in the two central characters.

Violence: Yes, there are a few scenes containing fairly graphic violence. Medieval England was a pretty bloody time and place to be alive.

Bad Language: Nothing to write home about.

Love/Sex: This story deals with a romance between two consenting women, and contains (tastefully) graphic scenes in which this love is expressed physically. If you are under 18 years of age, or if you don’t happen to agree with such things, then this is not a story you should read. If such things are illegal where you live, I similarly advise you against reading any further. . . and suggest that perhaps a change of scenery might be in order.

Rape/Non-Consensual Sex Disclaimer: This story deals in part with the issue of physical and sexual abuse in the context of the barbaric and inhuman practice of slavery, which was still prevalent during the Middle Ages . . . although it had died off a lot as feudalism replaced slavery with serfdom. This topic is, of course, quite a sensitive and emotional one, and I did not include it without serious consideration. It is, however, an important aspect of one of the characters, so I will advise against anyone reading this story who is likely to be upset by it’s discussion.

Author’s Note: I’d like to thank my beta-reader, TraggicProse for making sure this story was okay, and for giving me the kind of feedback I needed before I posted my work. I really appreciate it.

This is my first attempt at fanfic, and I’d love to know what people think. Questions, comments and suggestions can be sent to me at amberj8@hotmail.com

Hope you enjoy. . . J

Chapter 1.

Jessica Da’Gran cleared the outer wall of the castle, laughing wildly as she urged the grey mare under her to even greater speed. Behind her, frantic shouts echoed from the castle walls, but she didn’t bother looking back. Leaning forward, the young girl whooped joyously and let the bubble of excitement welling deep in her belly grow. Her horse, Andromeda, caught the rebellious mood and galloped harder still away from the stables and the shadow of castle Da’Gran, thrilled at the wild race.

The winter air was bitingly cold despite the midday hour, making every breath the young woman took sharp and painful. Still, Jessica reveled in the chill, knowing today’s work would warm her blood quickly enough. Tendrils of long blonde hair pulled free from their braid and whipped about her face as she galloped down the road, Andromeda’s hooves kicking up mud and snow along their path. Squinting against the tears that were squeezed from her jade-colored eyes by the icy wind, Jessica grinned madly as she made out the line of mounted figures she was swiftly gaining on.

Within moments, the group of riders realized they were being followed and their procession halted. Drawing back on the reins, Jessica slowed Andromeda to a trot before stopping in front of the man at the head of the column, her breath coming in short, hard gasps. The man eyed her speculatively, his features stern and grim. With an effort, Jessica wiped the excited grin off her face and returned her fathers steady appraisal calmly.

Sir Richard Da’Gran - lord knight of the castle that bore his family’s name - was dressed in sturdy, functional plate-armor designed to offer maximum protection while allowing enough mobility to fight. His greying hair was partially hidden by a chain-mail headpiece, but the open face of the coif allowed his thick beard to flow freely over his chest. A beautifully crafted broadsword was sheathed at his side, and a short lance rested in a stirrup cup, its tip aimed proudly at the overcast skies. Though in his late fifties, Sir Richard still cut an imposing figure; strong, intelligent, and bearing his mantle of responsibility with dauntless courage.

Jessica felt the weight of intense grey eyes as they flicked over her. Sir Richard’s weathered features tightened as his mouth drew into a firm line and his thick eyebrows lowered in a scowl.

"Jessica." He nodded a gruff welcome. "I thought your mother was keeping you busy." His voice was deep and rumbling, yet at the same time cultured and carrying a hint of a Scottish accent.

"I guess she got distracted," Jessica said once she’d caught her breath from the wild ride. Her grin somehow escaped and flashed across her face before she subdued it once more. Still, her laughing eyes betrayed her merriment, and together with her flushed features, Jessica’s excitement was obvious over her attempt at somberness.

"Mmhmm." He grunted, turning away and signaling to the others that they were continuing on. "You’ll be wanting to join us I expect. Just be sure to keep your head on your shoulders and your wits about you. I’m not wasting my time protecting your neck if you’ve a mind to be risking it." With a gruff wave, he ordered his daughter to his side.

Now she couldn’t help but grin as she took her place, nodding a greeting to her father’s second in command, Sir Miles Elirist, who returned it with a solemn bow. Her father’s gruff words didn’t bother her — she understood the pride and love that stood behind them.

Jessica had first followed her father into battle when she was twelve years old, and ever since then she rarely missed a chance to join him. Her mother usually tried to keep her busy in the castle, but Jessica always managed to slip away. Sir Richard pretended to be displeased at having to put up with his daughter’s company, but Jess knew his surliness was all an act. This conversation was one they had every time he rode out to deal with the roving bands of thugs and ruffians who plagued his lands. She knew his next words before he spoke them.

"You didn’t hurt her, did you?"

Always the same. Jess shook her head. "Not this time," she grinned.

"Good." He glanced at her and smiled a little, his usually somber eyes twinkling a little in amusement. His expression vanished, however, as he appraised her outfit. "Think maybe next time you can find something more appropriate to wear, girl?" He gestured to the soldiers around them. "This is a battle you know, not a picnic."

"I know that," she said angrily. Her green eyes flared a little, but she flushed as she glanced down. Her short, muscular frame was covered by a simple white shirt and brown trousers more commonly worn by the peasant men. In the fight they would give her no protection at all — especially since she’d torn the sleeves off the shirt, exposing her smooth, tightly muscled arms, covered in a few scars and gooseflesh from the winter chill. "I didn’t have time to get my gear."

This was true. Her mother had been harder than usual to elude, and her armor was still arranged neatly in her room back at the castle. "I got this, though." She patted the slender, elegant rapier sheathed at her side, the scabbard hanging below the flare of her hips from a length of course rope wrapped loosely about her waist. Meeting her fathers steady gaze, she said firmly, "It’s all the protection I’ll need."

Sir Richard grunted. He knew his daughter was a capable fighter. Hell, she’s more than capable, he corrected himself. The darn girl can already outfight almost every soldier in the bloody garrison. And she’s got more than her fair share of battle experience, too. The clothes may not look fancy, but her skill can back her up. Still . . .

Jessica watched her father closely, trying to judge his mood. "I want to fight," she said, a gentle lilt catching in her voice as it slipped into the accented speech she’d adopted from the soldiers, who’d spent many years in Ireland fighting in blood feuds. She only spoke like this when outside the presence of her mother; the older woman would have been shocked to hear her daughter speaking in such uncultured tones. "I can handle myself . . ."

"I know that," he interrupted her gently. "I’m not questioning your ability, girl, but you need to be better prepared next time." He paused, then added, "This fight won’t take much; just a few bandits camped too close to the village for comfort. The men can do most of the work, okay Jess?" His voice was soft with understanding, and he ignored the angry look he was faced with. "If I wanted a baby-sitter, I’d have stayed back at the castle," the young blonde muttered angrily. She glared around her at the other soldiers, none of whom would meet her gaze. She knew that many of the men were uneasy about a woman fighting with them, even after all these years. Her talent and dedication had earned her their respect, though it was often given reluctantly.

She felt her former elation starting to drain away, replaced by a sullen anger she didn’t like. It made her feel she was behaving like a spoilt brat, and she hated that feeling. She was a fighter, and nothing her mother or anyone else could do would ever change that. It was the path she had chosen long ago.

Sir Miles leaned over from his massive and flighty war-horse to squeeze her shoulder with his left hand; his right had been taken from him in a fight during his youth. "We’re not here to baby-sit ye," he growled. "This ain’t no competition. Ye wanna fight . . . fine. We all know ye can." He gestured to the soldiers riding behind them. "Not one among ‘em would dare to question yer courage, Jess. But ye gotta be smart." He patted her arm and drew back. "You’ll be more use if ye stay on the outside ‘a this fight, girl."

Jessica studied the man intently. Sir Miles was a man she respected above all others . . . except her father, of course. He had been her friend and confidant since she’d been a child, and had been responsible for her training in combat and woodcraft. Despite the loss of his right hand, Miles was the best fighter among her fathers men, and his wisdom was extensive.

Her emerald eyed narrowed. "What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"These bandit’s we’re after are hidin’ in the woods," he explained. "No way to move a war-horse through them trees all that fast — that’s why we’re gonna try’n surround ‘em and strike before they kin form a defence. But in the confusion, a few of ‘em’ll surely try to bolt. If ye’re waiting on the outside, ye can chase ‘em down on that quick beast ‘a yours." He pointed to Andromeda. "She’ll move fast through the woods. Ye can stop ‘em from gettin’ away, can’t ye?"

Jessica considered the idea and nodded slowly. "I guess . . ." She knew Andromeda could maneuver through the woods at great speed; the mare was nimble and light, unlike the heavier war-horses the soldiers rode, which were bred for strength and endurance over speed and agility. She frowned and glared at the older man. So . . . they get the fun stuff, and I’m stuck with mopping up the cowards who decide to flee? "You expect me to clean up the stragglers, huh?"

"Gods above, girl . . . you’ll not be happy till we say ye can get in the thick of it, will ya!?"

Jessica shrugged and patted a nervous Andromeda. "All I want is to be allowed to jump in where I feel like it!"

Sir Miles grinned and chuckled. "Aye lass," he agreed. "And nothin’ we kin say’ll stop ye, will it?"

"Nope."

"Fine then," he agreed, his smile vanishing as his tone grew harder. "But remember . . . before ye go in arse first, keep in mind that any a them ruffians get away and harm the common people, it’ll be on yer head, child." He fixed her with his most serious glare. "Ye’ve got yer job to do, same as the rest of us. See that it’s done."

Jessica swallowed and nodded earnestly. "Yes, Miles." Trust the man to say the one thing that’d get me to behave, she scowled.

Miles glanced at Sir Richard, who nodded his thanks for settling his stubborn child. Damn girl just had to have her way, he chuckled silently.

Her mood restored somewhat, Jessica grinned again and faced into the stiff breeze that had picked up. A familiar tingle raced up and down her skin making her shiver a little as her heart beat faster. The thrill of anticipation was high today. It made her blood sing in her veins and made everything in the world seem fresh and new. The daughter of a noble knight, Jessica had lived among steel and sweat all her life. The prospect of battle was nothing new to the young woman . . . yet something about today’s adventure seemed different. More thrilling, somehow.

There was deep portent in the air. She remembered that description from one of the books she’d read. It seemed to fit well the energy she felt crackling about her as they neared the woods. ‘Deep portent in the air’. Like before a thunderstorm. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder and rested a hand reassuringly on the ornate hilt of her sword, reveling in the strange sensation that made her feel like God himself was watching her with more than passing interest.

She had a feeling this was going to be an interesting fight.

Kaleah had watched the group of rough men at their camp for over an hour now, her breath fogging in the winter air. Her muscles were growing stiff and cramped from holding the same position so long, and beyond that, she was just plain getting impatient. Still, it was better to take precautions when approaching strangers. She knew from bitter experience what could happen when she didn’t keep a chain on her patience and just charged in without watching first.

There were about thirty-odd men in the camp — a fair number. They were gathered around three small camp-fires set in a triangle, rubbing their hands together and trying to ward off the bitter chill. Even from where she sat hidden, Kaleah could smell the scent of roasting pheasant, and her stomach growled to remind her how unsuccessful her own hunting efforts had been of late. All the men were armed, though she noticed with a professional eye that their weapons were ill-maintained. Much of the metal was rusted, and their blades were of poor craftsmanship. The armor they wore was all leather, though a few had added squares of chain-mail to the hides . . . no doubt scrounged from battlefields. A few lookouts armed with bows were posted in the trees, so she had to be careful. All in all, Kaleah thought the group looked to be made up of thieves and bandits of a very common stock.

Thieves and bandits who’re still able to feed themselves, she reminded herself. That’s more than you can say for yourself.

Scowling, she rose slowly, letting her aching muscles adjust to movement again. Keeping her hands to her sides and away from the Spanish blade hanging prominently at her side, Kaleah started walking slowly towards the camp.

She hated doing this, but knew she would starve if she didn’t. A stranger in this land, Kaleah had little experience with weather this cold, having lived most of her life in cities or on the coast. The animals had seemingly vanished, and her efforts at lighting fires gleaned only sporadic success. These men - though doubtless outlaws and misfits - were experienced with the land enough to provide for themselves. If Kaleah wanted to survive this harsh, frozen season, she would have to mingle with other people . . . as hateful as it was to her.

A look-out quickly saw her coming and yelled a warning to the other men. Kaleah continued her approach undaunted, holding out her sturdy bow in a way that made it clear she meant no threat. The sentinels perched high in the trees trained their own bows on her, ready to cut her down if she made any hostile move.

The bandits reacted quickly to the warning of the look-out, scurrying to grab their weapons and form a defense. Seeing that only a single person was approaching, not an army, they relaxed slightly but continued to eye her warily.

"Ho!" Kaleah hailed the man who appeared to be the leader of the group — if they could be said to have a leader. "I come in peace!"

The man — a tall, grizzled individual with a scarred and rough looking face - pointed at her bow with his sword. "Put the bow on the ground," he ordered.

Kaleah did so slowly, laying the length of strung wood on the thin, crisp snow, maintaining eye contact all the time.

"Whadaya want?" the man demanded once she’d stepped away.

Kaleah cast her eyes towards the fire. "I’m cold," she said, "and hungry. I just wanted to share the fire with you, if I could. And maybe some of your food." Her voice carried a distinct accent with it . . . part Spanish, part something more exotic but indefinable. She understood that most people found it quite pleasant, though it marked her as a foreigner in this country.

The grizzled man scowled. "We ain’t no charity, woman! We don’t give handouts."

"I can pay you," Kaleah assured him, moving a hand slowly to reach into a pouch hanging at her side. She pulled out a few coins and held them up, glad to see the man’s scowl disappear, replaced by a quickly muffled look of greed. "I won’t stay long . . . I just want something to eat and a moment to warm myself, that’s all."

The man eyed her a long while, his sharp eyes shrewdly taking in the well-kept leather-and-chain-mail armor she wore, and the fine sword at her side. Kaleah held herself upright under his scrutiny, knowing others were often impressed by her appearance. She was tall for a woman, and from experience she understood that her clear blue eyes contrasted with her dark hair and bronze skin in a way that many found attractive for some reason. She had often cursed her appearance, hating the good looks that drew the attention of the worst kind of men . . .

She shook her head mentally. You don’t have to remember that, she told herself. It’s the past. You’re not a slave anymore . . . you’re a free woman!

But Kaleah knew the marks of her years in servitude were not easily erased. Even as she acknowledged this, she felt the man’s eyes pause on her face and knew he was studying one of those same marks even now. The scar that cut diagonally across both her lips was not long, but it was extremely prominent. It marred her otherwise perfect features and served as a constant reminder of the pain that had been a part of her life since as far back as she could remember.

"Alright then," the man allowed, his inspection complete. "But you’ll have to give up that fancy sword first." He eyed the beautiful weapon hungrily.

Kaleah shook her head. "No deal," she said firmly. She’d die before handing over the weapon. "I promise not to use it, but I won’t come unarmed into a strange camp."

Some of the men laughed and nodded their understanding, knowing she was justified in her desire to keep the blade. Their leader also grinned and nodded agreeably, waving her forward. "Fine then," he allowed, seeing she was as much a veteran as she appeared. "Come on."

She tossed him the coins as she passed and headed straight for the nearest fire, breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth permeated the thick numbness that stiffened her fingers and limbs. The cold tended to settle deepest in the joints of her fingers and along the worst of her scars. She was wet and cold from crouching in the snow all that time. Kneeling down to be closer to the blaze, she rubbed her hands together and groaned with pleasure.

The bandit leader and several of his men gathered near her. She ignored their curious looks. When one handed her a hunk of slightly blackened meat, she bit into it hungrily, not caring what it was. The men noticed and chuckled at her obvious hunger.

"Been by yerself a while, I’d be thinking," said the leader, holding out his hand. "I’m called Pete."

Kaleah hesitated, never liking physical contact, even a simple clasping of hands. Still, she knew what was expected and returned his gesture. "My name’s Kaleah," she said softly. "And yes, it’s been a while since I had company."

Pete grinned, showing slightly yellowed teeth. "New to the area, then?"

Kaleah just nodded as she tore at the meat, her stomach rumbling it’s appreciation and willingly overlooking the fact that the food was burnt.

"Ye running from someone?"

This was one of the reasons she avoided all contact with others — with company came the need for conversation and interaction. Kaleah hated company, and she hated talking. Still, these men were sharing their food and their fire; if the least they asked for was a few words in return, she could indulge them.

"Not running," she said around a full mouth. "Just wandering."

"Aye," he grinned, suspecting otherwise. "Well, we’re not ones to judge." His men nodded and poked at the fire, stirring it to greater heat.

Kaleah could feel her body start to uncoil as it warmed. "Neither am I." True enough. Let them go their way, and I’ll go mine.

Pete laughed and slapped her on the arm. Kaleah tensed, but restrained the impulse to retaliate, knowing the gesture to be one of acceptance and camaraderie. Though somewhat limited in experience dealing with people, she knew enough to get by and was learning more all the time.

"Regardless, ye’ll probably want to be avoiding the local lord of these parts," Pete said. "He does a better job than most with people like us."

"Oh?"

"Aye. His men’re damn good, I’ll tell ya that. Well trained ‘n’ smart to boot." He tore a hunk of meat from the carcass over the fire and bit into it, giving her a thoughtful look. "Doubt they’d bother you much," he added. "Don’t see to many women dressed in that get-up."

Kaleah had observed as much in her travels, which had covered much of the region between here and Spain. It seemed there were few females who took up arms in this land. She just nodded. "If his men are so good, why come here?" she asked. "There must be easier pickings elsewhere."

"Aye," he agreed. "Easier, but not near as ripe."

"Ripe?" She knew the word, but not the context.

"These lands are rich. The people — even the peasants — all have a bit of money put aside. So long as we keep hidden and move about often, the soldiers ain’t too much of a problem." He shrugged. "We do okay, even now it’s winter." He paused, thinking, before adding, "There’s rumors of other reasons to be here, too."

Kaleah heard the conspiratorial hint in his words. She didn’t much care about rumors; curiosity had brought her a lot of pain as a slave. Still, she knew she’d be expected to show interest in his secret, whatever it was, so she politely asked, "What rumors?"

Pete grinned. "I heard talk someone’s getting an army ready hereabouts," he whispered to her. "Work for us if it’s true. Dunno who they’d be attacking, but I don’t really care . . . loot’s loot, ya know."

Kaleah nodded and went back to her meal, eating slower now and relishing the food. She knew it might be a while before she ate meat again. She could sense the steady scrutiny of the bandit leader but ignored it. She didn’t care about joining an army, though the information would be useful if she were forced to turn to mercenary work — this winter would be hard, and she had no idea what might happen.

Pete pointed with the bone of meat he held to her side. "You any good with that there fancy sword?" he asked. "Or is it just for show?"

Kaleah froze in her meal. She turned her pale blue eyes on the bandit and was satisfied to see him shrink back a little, startled by their intensity. "I can use my blade," she assured him, her voice calm and steady.

He nodded and swallowed in reflex. Damn, this woman’s got a glare that’d scare the Devil himself! "Just askin’" he said, glad when she turned back to her meal. She must be some kinda mercenary . . . either that or a criminal on the run, he pondered. The look about her and the way she spoke told him the strange woman was foreign, and the scar on her face and the way she moved suggested she had some talent. But there was something about her . . . something he could feel but not define, that told him not to offer her shelter or alliance as he had been about to do. She positively radiated tension and power, like the taut string of a loaded crossbow.

This woman was dangerous . . . plain and simple.

"Well," he coughed to cover his discomfort. "I’d still avoid the soldiers, if I were you."

Kaleah had every intention of doing just that. "Aren’t you afraid they’ll come get you here," she asked. "These fires are smoking enough that anyone could find your camp."

Pete laughed. "They won’t enter the woods," he said confidently. "And they don’t know where we are."

Suddenly, one of the look-outs gave a piercing cry and fell from his lofty roost. Kaleah and the bandits sprung away from the fire, startled. Even before the man had hit the ground Kaleah saw the wooden shaft firmly embedded in his chest. Her hand went instantly to the hilt of her sword, but she looked around before she drew it, unsure of the direction of the threat. Another look-out fell from his post, similarly slain.

The bandits reacted with the same speed they had displayed earlier, only now Pete was shouting orders, realizing his last words to Kaleah weren’t as true as he might have wished. The men had just managed to form a loose ring facing outwards when the forest erupted with sound and movement. Over a dozen mounted figures charged into the clearing from all directions at once, yelling war-cries and lowering lances as they came.

Still, Kaleah didn’t move. She crouched low, hand ready to draw her weapon. She was in the middle of the bandit ring and not that eager to die for these men. Several of the bandits were struck down by the lances, then chaos broke out as the battle was joined.

Crouched seemingly calmly in the center of the fighting, Kaleah looked around for an escape route. A few of the men chose to flee but were cut down by the mounted cavalry. She saw Pete and another grimy outlaw manage to yank one of the soldiers from his horse, but the armored knight proved just as dangerous on the ground as off it, slicing the chest of one man before clashing blades with the bandit leader.

It was then Kaleah noticed she wasn’t the only one holding back from the fight and simply watching. Just outside the clearing, a young woman with golden-blonde hair mounted on a grey horse surveyed the writhing field of combat with intense interest. The woman wore men’s clothes and carried a sword, but even at a distance Kaleah could make out her curvaceous, muscular figure. She looked like a peasant, but her calm appraisal of the bloody battle made it clear she was something more.

Perhaps sensing the scrutiny, the figure suddenly turned her head, and their eyes locked.

Time seemed to stop.

The sound of the fight around her disappeared.

The breath suddenly left Kaleah’s body and her heart skipped several beats as the intensity from the young woman’s gaze struck her an almost physical blow. Kaleah realized she could clearly make out every feature of the woman’s eyes even though they were some way away. She could tell they were a brilliant, clear green color, like wet emeralds . . . but more than that, somehow she could see the tiny flecks of gold that sparkled in their depths. She could see the hint of merriment and joy that caught the suns feeble rays through the forest canopy. For an instant she was gripped by a sense of recognition so powerful it froze her mind and scrambled her thoughts, making the battle fade away and become a distant thing of no consequence.

In that instant, something powerful and ancient inside Kaleah stirred for the first time in a lifetime. She felt a gentle presence engulf her senses . . .

. . . then settle into her soul as though reclaiming long-familiar territory.

The battle intruded on the moment, however. Though her mind and soul were otherwise occupied in this bizarre dance of emotions, Kaleah’s body was still tuned to the fight raging about her. One of the armored soldiers - apparently having lost his mount - saw her unmoving form and figured on an easy target.

Even before his sword was raised, Kaleah erupted into motion. Her seemingly paralyzed arm drew the slender blade from her side, the steel singing in pure delight at finally being released. Sidestepping a professionally executed stroke from the knight, Kaleah twisted gracefully and sent the tip of her weapon arcing towards one of the gaps in the plate armor behind the man’s knee. She felt the steel blade tear into flesh, then quickly pulled back and spun away, her defenses raised.

With a cry of pain, the man spun around, his discipline slipping instantly with the pain of his injury. Kaleah ducked a few wild swings, knowing she didn’t have the strength to lock blades with the knight. When another gap appeared in his defenses, the dark woman pounced with another lightening strike, this time to his right shoulder. Unbalanced, the knight went down easily when she whirled again, lashing out with her leg to trip him.

Her enemy subdued, Kaleah turned back to the mounted woman, her heart beating strangely fast as though eager to make up for the moment it had stopped doing what it was supposed to do.

The young woman was grinning now, emerald eyes dancing playfully. Her smile was infectious and Kaleah found herself returning it unconsciously. The battle was at it’s fever pitch however, and she knew if she was going to make good her escape, now was the time to do it. Effecting a courtly salute to the young woman, Kaleah tore her eyes away and, quickly finding an opening, made a break for the denser parts of the forest.

As she ran, Kaleah wondered idly why she felt like she should be headed in the other direction.

Jessica watched with a grin as the dark-haired stranger raced off into the woods. The young woman was still a moment as she tried to analyze the waves of feeling that had swept over her when she met the stranger’s gaze. It was that portent thing again, she was sure of it. Those piercing blue eyes framed by fine, arching dark brows had sent shivers through Jessica’s body unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Checking briefly to make sure her father and his men were doing okay - which, of course, they were - the blonde woman guided Andromeda around the clearing and began to give chase.

Jessica thought she should feel disappointed — she hadn’t had the opportunity to fight anyone yet. The blue-eyed stranger and that weird but powerful sensation had stopped her just as she’d been about to jump into the fray. But she knew the bandits were all of poor skill, no challenge to her at all. Her prey now was something much more special.

The dark woman’s skill was obvious in her poise and the professional way she had moved. Her father’s men were the finest warriors in the region, yet the stranger had defeated one of them with only a few accurate hits, and none of them lethal. An armored knight was difficult to bring down . . . Jess knew from experience. The almost casual way this woman had done it was amazing.

Eyes brimming with glee and heart racing excitedly, Jessica weaved her horse through the thicker trees as she angled slightly away from her prey . . . she wanted to head the woman off.

This one quarry was worth all the other bandits combined, and Jessica was determined to catch her.

Kaleah ran as long as she thought was prudent, not wanting to tire herself out in case she needed her strength. Still, when she eventually paused in a small clearing, her breath came in short, painful gasps and a stitch burned in her side.

The battlefield was a fair way behind her, though she heard a few cries as the last of the bandits were defeated. She felt no shame in running away - pride was something that had been beaten out of her at a young age, and while it had started to return with her freedom it wasn’t nearly strong enough to make her want to fight to the death for a bunch of low-life’s and ne’er-do-wells she’d just met.

Looking around, Kaleah tried to get her bearings. She’d lost her bow thanks to this encounter, and she swore softly to herself in Spanish. Hunting would be harder now, she knew. Without the bow . . . well, she’d just have to get another one. Having caught her breath, the dark-haired woman started wondering which direction she should head.

A polite cough from her right interrupted her thoughts. Kaleah whirled about, sword raised and ready . . . and was startled to find laughing green eyes gazing back at her.

The girl was barely ten feet away, sitting calmly on a fallen log as though she’d been waiting for Kaleah to arrive. This close, Kaleah could see that the woman was younger than she first thought . . . eighteen or so at most. She had long blonde hair that was tied loosely in a braid, and her features were fresh and beautiful, with a mouth that seemed to smile easily and high, rounded cheek-bones. The torn sleeves of her shirt exposed smoothly muscled arms, and as she rose to her feet Kaleah acknowledged that, although only short of stature, the girl moved with a feline grace expressive of carefully controlled power.

The girl eyed her with an expression of curious amusement, and Kaleah flushed at the frank and open perusal.

"Were you going somewhere?" the blonde asked lightly. Kaleah noticed her voice carried a slight hint of the sing-song accent she’d heard in this country from time to time. She also noticed - somewhat uncomfortably - that the girl’s hand rested with a cool familiarity on the fine rapier sword that dangled from a rope at her side.

"I was just leaving," Kaleah answered shortly, her eyes narrowing suspiciously over the hilt of her own sword. "This fight has nothing to do with me."

"Really?" The blonde seemed a little surprised. "You were with those men, weren’t you?"

"I just stopped to share the fire and a little food," she corrected. "I wasn’t with them."

The blonde shrugged. "I only have your word on that," she said, taking a step forward. "Maybe you’re lying . . . if I let you go and you hurt someone, it’ll be my fault for not stopping you."

Kaleah gave a feral grin. "It’s not like you have any choice, girl," she said, waving the tip of her sword in tight figure-eight’s. "I’m not going to come peacefully, and I doubt you’ll be able to force me, so . . ."

She stopped as the young woman drew the rapier, performed a formal salute, and assumed an en guard position with fluid skill.

One eyebrow arched in disbelief. "You must be joking?"

The girl shook her head and smiled, her eyes dancing playfully. "I’m taking you back to my father," she said firmly. "I can’t let you get away."

"This is not a game, little girl," Kaleah threatened carefully. "I won’t be captured."

The blonde advanced in a practiced motion that made it clear she knew what she was doing. "I’m not playing a game."

"I don’t want to hurt you." Kaleah backed up a step.

"Don’t worry." The girl’s lips quirked into an almost smile. "You won’t."

Kaleah scowled, not liking where this was going. She genuinely didn’t want to hurt this young woman who had affected her so strangely back at the bandit camp. Even now she could feel her stomach tighten as those intense green eyes bore into her own blue ones. But capture was not an option. She’d sworn never to submit to the collar of servitude ever again when she was granted her freedom.

Assuming an en guard stance herself, Kaleah waited grimly for the girl to make the first move.

The attack was sudden and flawlessly executed. Kaleah defended it with barely a thought, however, then instantly pressed in against the young blonde. She feinted high, performed a dazzling spin then thrust the tip of her sword at her enemy’s thigh. She wanted to disable, not kill . . . and she wanted to do it quickly so she could get away. Unfortunately, her adversary was more canny than she thought. Ignoring the feint, the girl easily defeated the attack and stepped back, smiling confidently.

Kaleah frowned, then let fly a few testing jabs just to see how quick the girl really was. Every thrust was foiled with ease, but Kaleah didn’t have time to grow worried before the blonde apparently decided it was time to take the offensive. Kaleah’s blade flashed about her in a defensive cage, watching for any feints and realizing the young woman was feeling her out. . . testing her skill and speed.

Kaleah let the play continue for a few minutes before, without any warning, she launched herself into a blindingly intricate routine that had never failed to bring down an enemy. Her Spanish blade whipped through the air in a flashing silver arc, twisting suddenly in mid-flight along a confusing and unpredictable path. Steel rang against steel as the girl fell back under the furious onslaught, her own blade weaving somewhat desperately to defeat the unexpectedly swift routine. Kaleah fully expected to at least disarm the girl; she was disconcerted when she broke off the intricate attack to find her adversary still armed and barely breathing hard. The slight smile on her face told the former slave the young blonde was actually enjoying this fight . . . before the girl launched herself forward with an answering attack of her own.

Kaleah managed to keep away from the flashing blade — barely. She was tired from her run; her vision was starting to go a little strange. And this scrap of a girl was proving to be a better fighter than she’d anticipated.

As the duel wore on, Kaleah’s concern grew stronger. This girl was good . . . very good. Too good to be just another common soldier, and much too good to be the peasant she appeared to be from her attire. Thinking for the first time that she might actually loose, seeing again the horrors of her life as a slave, Kaleah pressed her assault with savage skill and speed, her discipline starting to slip.

The attack was vicious and would have cut any ordinary soldier off at the knees. As it was, when the blonde girl leapt away trying to break from the furious assault she was breathing heavily. Kaleah saw a look of curious wonder cross the young woman’s face and she followed green eyes to her enemy’s arm. Kaleah’s sword had managed to hit at least something; a deep cut was etched across the young blonde’s thick bicep muscle. The wound didn’t seem to bother her, Kaleah noticed with annoyance. She just smiled and saluted again.

"First blood is yours, it seems," the girl said, flushed but still grinning. Then without further comment, she dove back into the fight.

Now Kaleah was getting more than worried. Her opponent was fast and strong, and possessed a greater endurance than she’d expected. Kaleah was no fool. Although a talented swordswoman herself, she recognized that this slip of a girl was far her superior. Real fear began to flow like ice through her veins.

She was going to loose!

Her hold on her temper - never strong to begin with - finally snapped. With a cry of anguish and hatred, Kaleah lunged at her enemy blindly, desperately, now striking with the intent to kill.

She felt the blow across her thigh as her attack failed and she was struck. Her armor prevented blood from being drawn, but it still hurt. In a rage now she leapt forward again, hoping to overpower by sheer force of will.

Again the blow was defeated, and this time she watched as the hilt of the young woman’s sword slammed with dizzying speed into her temple. The world exploded in blinding pain and Kaleah lost all sense of balance. She fell to the ground, fighting the blackness that rose to swallow her, willing her limbs to continue fighting. Dimly she heard a voice yelling at her to stay down but she ignored it. Stumbling, she rose again and staggered forward, determined to kill, her blue eyes blazing.

The next hit knocked her to her knees . . . the one after it brought the darkness over her like the soothing waves of the ocean.

Jessica knelt beside the dark woman’s still form, her expression thoughtful. She checked for a pulse and found it strong and beginning to even out. Good. She didn’t want this stranger dead — just a little more manageable.

Carefully, she reached out and removed the sword from her fallen opponent’s grasp. Inspecting it with a professional eye, she realized it was of surpassingly fine quality. The blade was forged of rare Spanish steel and polished to a high finish. The hilt was ornate, layered in sparkling gold leaf and crafted to resemble a string of roses. Jessica admired it a moment before laying it gently at her side, wondering how the woman had come by such a rare and valuable weapon.

Wiping the blood from her captive’s face with the back of her hand, Jessica felt a pang of guilt over the bruises that were rising quickly. The damn woman just wouldn’t stay down! Even when she’d clearly lost, she kept trying to fight on. Jessica frowned and wished she hadn’t been forced to resort to such measures to subdue this spitfire.

Now free to allow a more intimate inspection, Jessica let her fingers linger over the scar that slashed across the woman’s lips, cupping the woman’s cheek with her hand while running her thumb over the old wound. From there, her fingers swept across high, sharply defined cheek-bones to trace the elegant, sweeping eye-brows. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered that feeling of familiarity that had washed over her, acknowledging that it only increased her interest in this strange, exotic woman. Physical contact seemed to renew the feeling a little, and Jessica - always a touch sensitive person - allowed her hands to linger longer than she knew was proper.

The woman wore fine armor that had clearly been made especially for her. The single-piece leather-and-mail suit fit over her slender form well, allowing her to move, but protecting her from edged weapons. It also, she acknowledged privately, showed off the woman’s curvaceous figure to maximum effect. Soft doe-skin trousers hugged her shapely legs in a similarly provocative but practical design. The chain-mail was oiled and clean, and the leather was fresh and dyed deep green and brown to blend in with the woodland. Again, this didn’t make sense if the woman was a bandit. The average thug didn’t have coin to spend on tailored armor or fancy, foreign swords. The mystery grew a little deeper.

Looking at the deep bronze skin revealed by the cut of the armor, Jessica saw many scars on the woman’s arms and chest . . . scars she could not identify as having been inflicted by conventional weapons. They looked almost like the wounds that might be sustained from a severe beating. Perhaps the woman was an escaped slave, she thought. That would probably explain her desperation to avoid capture. But still, where did she get the armor and the sword . . . not to mention the skill with which she wielded the blade?

"Who are you?" she muttered to herself as she stroked her fingers again over the slashing scar on the stranger’s face, the gesture already seeming familiar.

Thinking quickly, Jessica considered what to do next. The woman fascinated her and she wanted very much to know her better. She realized a large part of this desire stemmed from the fact that she hoped to relive or explain that extraordinary sensation the dark woman had created before — the sensation that still tingled through her soul. But she knew that her father - while he would never dream of hanging a woman - would likely sentence her to a term of indenture, probably in the garrison with the soldiers, functioning as a cook or servant. She frowned. That wouldn’t do at all. No. Jessica wanted custody of the woman all to herself.

The fact that she was the one to apprehend her would add weight to her plea. Her father loved her, and would probably be easily swayed. Her mother, however, was a different story altogether. A devoutly religious woman who felt only the nobility were of any worth, Lady Rose would be shocked and appalled at the thought of her daughter’s desire to keep company with this barbaric creature.

Jessica frowned. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Hoof-beats sounded suddenly behind her, drawing closer. She turned and saw Sir Miles approaching on his massive war-horse. Andromeda nickered a welcome to her stable-mate.

"What happened?" he asked as he leapt from the saddle, noticing quickly the slashing cut across her arm.

Jessica glanced down at her bloodied arm. "It’s nothing. Look, the bleeding’s already stopped." She waved him away with a negligent gesture, her attention on the fallen woman.

"That’ll need stitches," he observed, insisting on checking the injury.

Jessica submitted to the inspection with ill grace. "We can do that back at Da’Gran," she said. "Can you help me get her on your horse?"

Miles glanced at the dark-haired, blood-stained figure on the forest floor. "My horse!? Why do I have to be the one to carry the blasted woman?"

"Andromeda can’t carry both of us," Jessica pointed out calmly. "It’s okay . . . she’ll be out for a while, I think."

Sir Miles examined the bruises. "Hit ‘er pretty hard, did ye?"

"She wouldn’t stay down," Jess explained regretfully. "I had too."

"Aye." Miles knew she wouldn’t inflict violence without need. "We takin’ ‘er back with us then, huh?"

Jess nodded. "She put up a hell of a fight . . . she’s someone special."

"Oh?"

"Just look at her sword . . . and the armor she’s wearing." Jessica pointed, her hands straying quickly over the woman. "She’s no common bandit, that’s for sure."

"I guess. Perhaps she stole ‘em."

Jess gave him an amused look. "You know better than that, Miles," she said. "That armor’s custom made . . . I wonder who gave it to her . . ."

Miles saw the expression on his young protege’s face and recognized it instantly. He rolled his eyes and groaned.

"What?" Jess looked at him, puzzled.

Miles smiled a little. "Reckon ye’ve found another damn bird with a broken wing, girl," he said softly, ruffling her hair with his good hand.

Jessica blushed. "It’s not like that . . ." She knew what he was talking about. Ever since she was a little girl, Jessica had been bringing home every wretched creature she found that needed care or shelter . . . much to the exasperation of her parents. She looked at the unconscious woman as she stirred, then settled, remembering the feeling she had experienced again. "But she’s mine. I caught her, and I get to decide what to do with her." The look in her eyes and the possessive tone in her voice made it clear she was serious.

Miles could only sigh and shake his head. Damn girl’ll get ‘er way in this, if she’ll get it in anything. "Okay . . . let’s get ‘er up, then."

Together, they lifted the unconscious woman onto Sir Miles’ great stead, who snorted in nervous excitement. The war-horse was still keyed up from the battle and the scent of blood. Miles mounted behind his passenger and wrapped a protective arm around her waist.

"We lost a man," he told Jess as she mounted Andromeda. "A few were injured, but we got ‘em all in the end."

They started back to rejoin the others, moving slowly in consideration for the injured and encumbered. "Captured . . . or dead?"

"They wanted to go down fightin’," Miles said grimly. "Only seven surrendered, and we knocked out three . . . they’ll be taken back and tried later."

Jess nodded. "Well," she said, "This one won’t have to wait. I want her for myself."

As they rode off, Jessica smiled to herself. I was right, she thought happily as they reached the others. It has turned out to be a very interesting day.

Chapter 2.

Built four generations ago by Jessica’s great-great grandfather, Castle Da’Gran stood proudly on a slight rise of land overlooking a patchwork of fields and forests. It’s archetecture, though stern and practical as befitted a bastion of war, was still graceful and pleasing to the eye. Consisting of a massive walled foundation guarding a central, mutlileveled keep, Da’Gran was a sprawling complex of rooms and passages that often proved confusing to strangers. Four turrets framed the castle walls, one at each of the cardinal points, and a towering lookout tower rose from the center of the keep itself, affording a magnificent view of the land for miles around.

Da’Gran had been Jessica’s home all her life, and she loved every stone of the mighty castle.

It was also home to hundreds of servants, knights and men-at-arms, all of whom served Sir Richard and assisted in the rule of the lands that formed his vassal. Besides the central keep, there were dozens of smaller buildings protected by the thick stone walls, including several barracks, a large stables, archery range, jousting pavilion and blacksmith. And although winter had brought most trading to a halt, the warmer months of Spring and Summer would bring dozens of traders from all over England and the rest of the world flocking to barter their goods. The commerce in turn attracted the peasants and common-folk, who journeyed the short distance to where the merchants set up within the castle, all gathering under the safety afforded by the presence of Sir Richard and his men.

Jessica looked forward to the coming season as she walked through the corridor toward her father’s audience hall. She loved having so many interesting strangers around, all bartering and squabling happily. During the months of trading, Jess would often wander among the stalls quietly, listening to and watching the merchants in fascination, ignoring her mother who always told her to keep away from the commoners.

As she neared the audience hall, Jessica’s footsteps slowed nervously. Her father had summoned her early that morning, and she knew he wanted to dicuss the request she’d made for custody of the dark-haired stranger. Jess had lain awake most of the night wondering what she should tell her father to explain her interest, and she took a moment now to calm her mind and organise her thoughts.

The mysterious woman had woken up, Jess knew. The jailer had sent a messenger to inform her at her request, and she’d been told the prisoner was now conscious and starting to make a nuisance of herself. Jess smiled. That seemed right.

Looking around, trying to distract her mind from the coming meeting, Jessica spent a moment just admiring the view through the archery slits of the stone keep.

Jessica had explored Da’Gran since she was a child, her curiosity insatiable. She’d solved every mystery it held . . . even the ones that no-one else — not even her father or Sir Miles — knew about. Mysteries only a young girl with many lonely hours to kill would ever think to look for. She knew that although the castle appeared to be just another bastion of war, it’s design was far more ingenious and subtle than first impressions might suggest.

Through the walls and between the various levels ran dozens of secret passage-ways, hidden and concealed, that accessed almost every room in the castle. Jessica had stumbled upon an entrance to them in her bedroom when she was a child, and had spent days exploring them thoroughly. In a hidden chamber she discovered the original plans to the fortress, and with them had unearthed all Da’Gran’s many secrets. She knew about the underground torture chambers, the hidden escape tunnel that led out into the woods, the access too and from the dungeons. She even knew about the peep-hole that looked into the bathing chamber . . . though she’d never used it, of course.

The secret passageways had given Jessica the ability to watch everything that went on in the castle; had given her access into the lives of servant and soldier alike. Because her mother discouraged her from making friend’s with anyone beneath her station, Jessica was often lonely. By spying on others, by listening to and watching them as they went about their lives, the spirited girl found solace and companionship . . . of a sort, anyway.

Still, the spying games only eased Jessica’s loneliness a little and she often wished for more. Besides her father, Sir Miles was about her only real friend . . . and he was a lot older than she was. She hated her pompous ass of a brother, and her mother disapproved of her consorting with the servants for any length of time, which meant that Jessica had never had any real contact with young women her own age. In fact, she hadn’t had any exposure to much of anything, really. Filled with curiosity and wonder, Jessica’s mind sought constantly to wander off into the wide world . . . preferably dragging her body along for the ride.

That was why the vivacious young blonde spent so much time in the secret rooms she had discovered, head buried in books about lands far away, where everything was different. Lands where Emperors ruled over vast regions, and where heroic men fought overwhelming odds to rescue beautiful maidens from evil warlords. These books, bought from the traders in secret and read alone, were Jessica’s closest and most treasured friends. She kept the books hidden from everyone. The Church disapproved of much of what she read, and if she were ever discovered with the books, Jessica knew she’d be in a lot of trouble. There were strict rules that dictated what texts were appropriate for the faithful, and the books Jess read did not fit in with the doctrines of the Church. As one of the nobility, it was her duty to obey and uphold the moral principals that God had set forth.

Of course, Jessica was unsure exactly why her books were considered so evil. Many of the sermons Father Grahem gave confused the young girl with their seemingly blind condemnations, but she found it easy enough to simply ignore the more intolerant preachings. She loved God, afterall, and believed in the power of His goodness. But she wasn’t prepared to give up something that meant so much to her, and she didn’t think God would mind her reading her books. What harm was there in learning about different places, or different cultures and ways of life? Or even different expressions of love?

Privately, Jessica had admitted this was one reason she wanted custody of the stranger . . . she’d be someone close to her own age to talk too, and it was clear from her exotic features and strange accent that she wasn’t from anywhere in the British Isles. Jessica was sure they could be great friends if the other woman were given into her care. The chance for someone to talk to, someone who had perhaps lived an exciting or adventurous life . . . for that, Jessica was prepared to go to any lengths.

Before she quite realized it, Jessica had reached the huge oak doors that led into the audience room. She nodded to the two guards standing at attention outside the great portal. They smiled and greeted her cheerfully.

"Not in trouble again, are ye, Jess?" asked one.

She laughed and waved her hand dismissively. "No . . . not yet."

They chuckled and rapped loudly on the doors with their spear butts to announce her before swinging open the doors and allowing her to enter.

Jessica walked into the audience room, blinking to get her eyes to adjust to the change in light from outside to in. The room was expansive, with high stone walls and impressive tapestries covering everything. A long table took up the center of the great hall, mounted with candelabra that struggled to illuminate the massive room. The windows were narrow and tall, designed to make it easy to defend and difficult to attack. A few hunting dogs skulked about in the shadows. They wagged their tails when they saw her and looked hopefully at her empty hands, begging for a treat. Jess patted them. "Sorry, nothing here." She let them lick her hands. "Maybe next time."

Looking up, she saw her parents sitting at the far end of the table. Sir Miles stood a few paces from them, hands clasped behind his back. Sir Richard was listening to the words of an elderly, wizened man dressed in comfortable velvet robes dyed fanciful colors who leant on a long, twisted stick. The man, Eric Grace, had been her father’s chief adviser since as far back as Jess could remember, and he also functioned in the capacity of an alchemist and sometime healer. He was smart, she admitted, but something about him had always made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was his eyes . . . they had a habit of staring through a person, rather that at him. At his side was his young apprentice, Senigma Wright. She didn’t mind the young man too much; he was polite to a fault, and could be amusing and rather charming when he put his mind to it.

Also at the table, Jess noted with a scowl, was her younger brother, Steven. The little bastard was sitting next to her mother, as always. He wore rich clothes and an expression of perpetual boredom and disinterest.

Jessica hated her brother. As firstborn son he was her father’s heir, and she had a bad feeling that when he came to power, everything was going to go straight too Hell. The young man had no interest in the lives of those he considered ‘beneath’ him; in that - and in almost every other regard - he took after his mother. He was soft and weak, preferring the comforts of a life at court to the hardships of the battlefield, and though intelligent he had no idea what running a castle was all about. For these reasons and more, Jessica had always despised him, and he returned the sentiment whole-heartedly.

The people at the table glanced up as she approached, and her father gestured for her to take a seat. When she’d done so, she waited nervously for her father to speak.

Her father folded his hands on the table. "Sir Miles has informed me of your desire to retain custody of the young woman you apprehended yesterday," he said, settling his steely eyes on her. "I had planned to sentence her to the soldiers for a year of indentured service, but I’ve rethought the decision in light of your desire . . . after all, you were the one to catch her."

Jessica held her breath. "Does this mean you’re letting me keep her?"

Sir Richard smiled. Her mother and brother frowned. She sounded like she was asking to keep some stray dog she’d picked up. Jessica ignored them and allowed her bright green eyes to flare with hope, knowing her father could never resist her charm.

"This isn’t some stray you found wandering in the garbage, Jessica," he father said sternly, trying to ignore her expression. "It’s a grown woman . . . and from what you tell me, an seasoned fighter." He glanced pointedly at her injury.

Jess scratched at her arm, where the cut she’d sustained was already starting to itch. The wound had taken five stitches, but it would be worth it if she could keep the mystery woman. "I still beat her," she muttered, hoping her father didn’t think less of her for the injury.

He smiled. "That you did . . . but I want to be sure of your intentions before I release such a dangerous individual into your care."

"I think you’re a fool for even considering her idiot idea," her mother put in, unable to stay silent. "The woman’s a menace . . . a bandit, for God’s sake! Jessica has no business associating with such ungodly people."

Her father waved his wife silent with a gesture. "Enough." He paused, gripping the edge of the oak table and leaning closer, his expression frank and genuinely interested. "What exactly is it you want to do with her?" he asked softly.

Jessica had expected such a question, and she ignored her mother’s outburst, having expected it as well. "I want to employ her as my hand-maiden," she told her father, considering her words carefully, unsure if he would understand or approve. She adopted the cultured tones her mother expected, rather than the ‘crude’ accented speech she normally used. "And I want to teach her to fight."

"What!?" Her mother erupted with incredulous rage. "You want to teach her to fight better!? Why? So she can kill more of the soldiers when she decides to rebel?" She glared at her husband. "Tell me you’re not considering this ridiculous idea!?"

Her father was silent, but she could tell by his frown he was concerned. "She has a point," he allowed. "The woman is already a danger . . . she managed to draw your blood, after all." Sir Richard was well aware of his daughter’s skill. "Teaching her further would increase the threat she poses significantly." His eyes narrowed shrewdly, suspecting something more. "What are you thinking?"

Lady Rose threw her arms in the air and fumed. Steven glanced at her with mild disgust, and brushed a speck of dust from his shoulder. Jess continued to ignore them. "She has great spirit, father," she said softly. "I can feel it . . . she’s not just a common bandit. She moves with the grace of a noble woman" She threw a glare at her mother, who fell back a little. "She’s something special."

Her father nodded. "Sir Miles said you thought as much," he said, gesturing to his old friend. "And he has told me he believes this means a lot to you."

Jessica nodded. "It means a great deal to me, father, yes."

"Mmmm." Her father thought a moment, then turned to Sir Miles. "Would you be prepared to instruct this woman, Miles . . . under my daughter’s supervision?"

Sir Miles took a step forward. "Aye, Milord, I would," he answered simply. "Jessica’s me best pupil. Anyone who can break through her defenses must be talented to start with. This woman, if she kin be convinced this is to ‘er benefit, could be a valuable fighter."

Sir Richard eyed his daughter, seeing her expression of barely contained excitement. "Very well," he said at last. "You can offer her the choice, then. She can serve her term of indenture with the soldiers, or with you."

Jessica threw her arms around her father’s neck and hugged him enthusiastically. "Thank you, thank you thank you!" she cried.

He blushed and pushed her away. "There now . . . no reason to go all mushy now girl." His tone was gruff but she could tell from his smile he didn’t mind the affectionate gesture. "Just be sure I don’t regret this later, huh?"

"You won’t," she promised. "You’ll see."

Her mother stormed over. "You’re both crazy," she yelled. "Jessica’s already enough of a misfit without this to encourage her behavior."

"There’s nothing wrong with my behavior, mother," Jessica said, her voice cold and soft. "Just because I don’t sit around dressed in fancy clothes drinking fine wine and expensive food, doesn’t mean I’m doing the wrong thing."

"You’re a young lady!" her mother fumed. "You’re not a soldier . . . you’re a woman, and you should act in a manner reflective of your breeding! It’s unnatural and against God’s desire for you to conduct yourself the way you do!"

Jessica calmed herself with an effort. She wanted to strangle the woman sometimes. Her mother had tried to rear her to the life of the courts, wanting to establish her as the perfect gentle-woman. But ever since she was a small child, Jessica had taken after her father. When Sir Richard realized her natural vocation - after watching her slicing up her dolls with a kitchen knife in a methodical and enthusiastic manner - he entrusted her to the care of Sir Miles. Under the old knight’s training Jessica had bloomed into a beautiful yet deadly flower, her skill surpassing that of all but a few of the veteran soldiers. But despite everything, Lady Rose had never been able to let go completely, trying desperately to wean her away from such unbecoming things as swordplay and warfare.

Her mother had more success with her brother, Steven, however. The young man saw the warrior arts as barbaric and pointless. Sir Richard paid him little attention, except to try to teach the slothful young man how to manage the affairs of state which would be his inheritance. Steven cared not at all for the lessons, but submitted himself to them with great reluctance . . . when he had to.

Now Jessica, content with her victory, simply glared at her mother and shrugged. "I’m getting married, aren’t I?" she demanded. "Isn’t that enough?"

"It might be if you’d set a date for your wedding," Lady Rose retorted angrily. "You’ve been putting it off for four years now . . . at this rate, it’ll never happen."

We can only hope, thought Jessica wryly. "Charles understands," she said, knowing it was true. Her betrothed did indeed understand her quite clearly . . . knew she didn’t love him as anything more than a friend. And she knew he felt the same. Still, they were expected to marry.

"You’re just lucky he’s still interested in you," her mother fumed. Then, grabbing Steven by the arm, Lady Rose glared one last time at her husband and stormed out of the hall, dragging her son behind her.

Jessica rolled her eyes and shared a mischievous grin with her father as the doors slammed shut. "I guess you’re gonna be hearing about this later," she said, letting the accent back now they were alone.

Sir Richard sighed and shrugged. He was accustomed to dealing with his wife and knew she would settle down eventually. "Just don’t let this be something I regret letting you do, Jess."

"I won’t," she promised dutifully, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

He blushed and shooed her away. "Go on now," he growled. "You’ve got an angry woman to go see, girl — one who’s probably getting tired of that dungeon by now."

"Then I’d better go let her out, hadn’t I." She turned and smiled at Sir Miles. "Thank you."

He grinned. "Just let me know when ye want to start ‘er trainin’," he said. "Should be interestin’, I expect." His eyes flashed with amusement.

With a slight bow to her father, Jessica left the audience hall and headed for the dungeons. Her broad grin spoke of her excitement at the prospect of seeing the strange, dark-haired woman again. She just knew they’d be great friends, once they got to know each other.

In the audience hall, Sir Richard sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily. "Are you sure about this?"

Miles grinned and patted his friend on the shoulder. "That girl’s growin’ up fast, Richard," he said gruffly. "Ain’t right to be keepin’ ‘er away from people."

"He’s right, milord," Grace agreed. "Lady Jessica needs a friend . . . someone her own age to talk too. Perhaps having this woman around will help to keep her out of trouble."

Richard smiled at that. "We can but hope, I suppose."

"Yer doing the right thing," Miles assured him. "This is just what Jess is needin’."

Sir Richard sighed again. "I pray you’re right, Miles," he said softly. "I really do."

Kaleah had emerged from the darkness some time ago to find herself thrust back into the hell that had been her life for almost ten years.

The prison cell was dry, ill-lit and musty. She was it’s only occupant, though she could hear the sounds of others being held in cells further down the corridor outside. The bars were solid iron, rusted and unyielding. All in all, the prison was depressing but she’d seen far worse. Still, this nightmare brought back memories of her years of captivity; there was nothing more terrifying to Kaleah than the knowledge that now ran through her mind over and over, beating against her skull with depressing rhythm.

You’re a slave again.

Filled with typical restless energy now fueled further by anger and despair, Kaleah paced back and forth around the cell. She’d been pacing for hours. Her knuckles were split and bleeding from where she’d bashed them against the bars in desperation, but that pain was negligible compared to the throbbing in her head. Her throat was sore from screaming at the smug jailer, who had ignored her threats and pleas indifferently. Furthermore she was freezing cold, her armor having been stripped from her body, replaced with a simple coarse shift that did little to ward off the chill emanating from the stone walls, floor and ceiling. And over and over, the grim words rolled through her head.

You’re a slave again.

That damn little blonde! It was all her fault, Kaleah decided. The bitch just couldn’t let me get away, could she. When I get out of here, I’m gonna find that witch and . . . and . . .

Kaleah sighed. Lot of good such thoughts would do her in here. The girl had beaten her soundly. There was nothing she could do. She wanted to lie down on the thin pallet that served as a bed, but her rage and frustration wouldn’t let her. Anyway, the odds of her seeing that green-eyed demon again were slim at best. She must be someone important to have acquired so great a talent with a blade. It wasn’t too likely she’d ever wander down here . . .

"You planning on pacing like that all day?" asked a soft, now-familiar voice.

Kaleah looked up in shock to find those laughing green eyes watching her again. Damn, this girl moved quietly! She was standing outside under a burning torch, a cheeky grin tugging at her lips.

"You look cold."

Kaleah scowled angrily, judging whether she could reach the girl through the bars and strangle her to death before the jailer got to her. Probably not.

"What do you want?" The reminder from the girl had caused her to start shivering.

The girl shrugged. "I’m here to give you a choice," she said softly. "My father is the lord of this castle. He’s given me permission to make you an offer."

"Let me go," Kaleah demanded. "I haven’t done anything."

"Like I told you, I’ve only your word on that," the girl said, her tone maddeningly calm. "You were in the company of those bandits . . . you fought beside them -"

"I did no such thing!" Kaleah protested angrily. "I defended myself when attacked. You saw me . . . you were watching."

Kaleah was surprised to see the girl blush a little at her words. Had she felt that strange feeling of connection as well? Interesting . . .

Shaking her head, she concentrated on more important things . . . like getting out of here.

"It doesn’t matter," said the girl gently, her flush fading quickly. "I still captured you, and you’re still being held as a criminal. Would you like to hear the choices you’re being given? I can come back later if you’d prefer to stay here and rot for a while longer."

Kaleah had it in mind to tell the green-eyed imp exactly what she could do with her choices, but with a supreme effort managed to control the desire. She’d suddenly noticed the girl was holding a ring of keys in one hand. Licking dry lips, trying to keep calm, Kaleah gestured for her to continue.

"My father was going to simply sentence you to a term of indentured service with the garrison-"

"I’ll not be a slave!" Kaleah growled fiercely.

"There’s a difference between indentured service and slavery," the girl said.

"Not from where I’m standing. I’ve tried that life . . . and I didn’t like it."

The green eyes flicked over her body and Kaleah held still. She knew that many of the scars of her captivity could be seen in the spare shift, and she hated revealing them to this young woman. She felt somehow she’d already revealed too much, though they didn’t even know each other’s names.

"I didn’t like the idea of you being wasted on the soldiers," the girl continued after her assessment.

"That makes two of us."

"Right." The girl smiled even more radiantly. "That’s why I appealed on your behalf."

Kaleah eyed her warily. "You’re letting me go?" she asked hesitantly.

The girl laughed. "No . . . but I have an alternative to my father’s sentence."

Kaleah fell back, glaring. "And what’s that?"

Now the girl stepped closer and held up the keys. "I want you to come with me," she said softly.

"With you? What do you mean?"

Green eyes held her seriously. "You can fight good," said the girl, holding her arm up so Kaleah could see the neatly stitched cut she vaguely remembered inflicting. "I can make you better. You’re a stranger in this land. You clearly have little wealth to your name. My guess is you’re just a wandering mercenary or something . . . perhaps an escaped slave trying to survive."

Kaleah crossed her arms defiantly, annoyed at being read so easily. "So?"

"So . . . I’m offering to teach you things you’ll never have the opportunity to learn elsewhere."

Kaleah held back, cautious. "Like what?"

The girl shrugged. "Can you read?"

"A little." In truth, very little.

"Well I can teach you more." The girl jangled the keys temptingly. "I can make you everything you can be . . . teach you to survive better then you obviously were if you had to live with those bandits."

Kaleah considered the girl’s proposal, her eyes still hungrily resting on the ring of keys. "What’s in it for you?" she demanded.

The girl rested her hand on the cell bars, seemingly confidant she had Kaleah’s attention. "Why does there have to be something in it for me?"

"That’s how things work," she said angrily, trying to stay calm enough not to jump at the girl and break her neck.

"Alright . . . if that’s how you want it, I’ll tell you what I want." The girl held her gaze. "I want you to spend some time with me . . . just talking and stuff." She lowered her face, her messy blonde hair falling forward to hide her expression. "I don’t get a lot of company . . . at least not with women my own age. And certainly not with anyone like you." She glanced up and smiled through her golden locks. "You’re foreign, right?"

Kaleah nodded slightly.

"I love foreign cultures and stuff," the girl said, her enthusiasm obvious. "I read about them in books the traders have sometimes. You could tell me about all the places you’ve been . . . and what they’re like."

Kaleah eyed her warily, not much liking the idea of relating her life story. "And you want to teach me to fight?"

"Sure. You’d be brilliant . . . hell, you are brilliant, but you could be even better."

"And you’ll let me go after how long?"

"A year," the girl said sincerely. "And you can leave better equipped to live, knowing you won’t be captured so easily again. I’ll even give you money, if you want . . . you know, to help you get started."

Well, she’d had worse offers, that was for sure. "Where would I sleep?"

The girl clearly sensed victory. "I have a room next to mine," she said. "It’s nice — a big bed, a fireplace. You’ll be more comfortable there than outside in the snow."

"A room of my own?" She couldn’t believe this. "You’ll trust I won’t run?"

The girl shrugged. "There are guards on the walls . . . they’d shoot you if you could make it out onto the flats around the castle. Besides, where would you go? Surely it’s better to stay here and take what I’m offering than go out and die in the winter forests." She paused, then added thoughtfully, "Better than being the servant for the guards, too; I doubt they’d treat you as well as I would."

Kaleah considered that. What the girl said had some merit, she admitted. She hadn’t been doing well in this unbelievable weather. She had no experience with it, no idea how to survive in cold like this. Of course, the idea of spending most of her time in the company of others was unappealing; particularly the company of this intense young woman who, for some reason, made her feel things that she’d never felt before but which made her extremely uncomfortable.

"I’m not really the companionable type," she said quietly. "I . . . I can’t be around people for too long. . . makes me nervous."

"That’s okay," the girl allowed. "You don’t have to be with me all the time. You can just go into your room, or onto the parapets, or the library. There’s lots of places to go to be alone here." Something in her tone made Kaleah believe she spoke from experience.

"I want my armor back. I don’t have anything else to wear"

"Of course, they’re just being cleaned. And I’ll give you other clothes if you want."

Kaleah turned away. "I won’t be a slave," she said quietly, her voice thick with passion. "I’d rather die."

"I won’t treat you as a slave," the blonde said. "I just want to help you . . . in return for some company. It’s more like a . . . a business transaction, really. We both get something out of it." She held up the keys, her eyes twinkling. "Do we have a deal?"

Kaleah sighed. "I guess I don’t have much choice," she muttered.

"Nope." The girl laughed, selecting one of the keys and twisting it into the lock. With a scrape of metal and the rasp of the hinges, the cell door swung open. The girl held out her hand. "My name is Jessica Da’Gran."

Kaleah hesitated, but stepped forward and accepted the girls introduction. "You can call me Kaleah," she said softly. The young woman’s grip was surprisingly strong, and she ended the handshake as quickly as she could, feeling uncomfortable with the contact.

"Kaleah . . ." The girl - Jessica - rolled the name around her mouth as though sampling it’s flavor. "I’ve never heard that name before . . . it sounds strange."

"Humph." Kaleah just grunted, still determined not to like this young woman. "Which way’s out?"

"This way." Jessica led the way down the right path, taking them past several other mostly empty cells to a solid steel-braced door guarded by a bald, muscular man who bowed to the blonde respectfully before opening it.

Kaleah followed Jessica up a winding flight of steps that brought them out into the light and the blessed fresh air. Free from the dungeon, Kaleah spread her arms wide and took a deep breath, grateful to be out in the open again . . . even if it was cursedly cold in her simple shift. Stretching, she saw Jessica watching her with amusement.

"Come on," offered the lively blonde happily. "I’ll show you around, and then take you somewhere you can clean up." She grinned and Kaleah noticed for the first time that her nose developed a cute little crinkle when she did so. "You could use a wash."

Kaleah gingerly touched the crusted blood on her forehead. "You’re right."

Jessica saw her expression and her smile vanished. "I’m sorry I had to do that," she apologized. "You just wouldn’t stay down."

"Didn’t want to be captured."

Jessica reached out and tentatively touched her on the shoulder. "It won’t be so bad," she promised softly, and Kaleah was aware again of just how intense those green eyes could be. "If you just give this a chance, you’ll see."

Turning, she led the way along an open pathway that gave a view of the castle courtyard, currently filled with various people going about their business. Kaleah followed, looking around carefully, paying attention to the number and location of the guards. She admitted privately that they were well placed and alert . . . not much chance of an escape. Shrugging, she hurried up, noticing that for some reason she could still feel a warm tingling sensation on her arm where Jessica had touched her.

Kaleah spent the next hour or so being led around the castle. She grudgingly admitted that the place was nice — sort of. The granite stone was cold, but not as bad as it was in the woods, and there were tapestries everywhere depicting great battle scenes or intricate, interlocking patterns Jessica told her came from an island to the west she called ‘Ireland.’

The room Jessica told her would be hers during her stay was luxurious beyond anything the former slave had ever known. She’d had to blink several times before she believed her own eyes.

"It’s alright." Jessica had been delighted and amused at her reaction. "You’ll get used to it. And that door there leads right into my room, so if you want anything you can just come and ask, okay?"

Kaleah had nodded, still bewildered at this strange turn of events. Still, she kept up a litany in her mind, I will not be a slave, I will not be a slave, repeating it to keep alive the dislike she was determined to maintain for her unwanted new friend.

Jessica kept up a constant chatter, telling her about this and that. Kaleah got the impression the girl was a little nervous. For her own part, the dark woman was content to be led about, letting her companion’s words flow over her without really paying them much mind. She was still looking for a break in the defenses of the castle. As soon as she found it, Kaleah decided she would leave — regardless of the comforts, this felt too much like servitude for her tastes.

"And this," Jessica said, stopping at a set of carved doors depicting some kind of aquatic animals, "is the bathing chamber. Um . . . I’ll leave you hear so you can get cleaned up, okay?" She opened the doors and they entered the steamy atmosphere beyond.

Kaleah gasped. The room was huge, adorned with amazingly detailed marble sculptures of beautiful men and women bathing. Light streamed from a ceiling crafted from multi-colored stained glass panels that must have cost a fortune. There were ferns hanging from pots all over the place, making the place seem lush and alive. Most of the room was filled with a great pool of clear, deep water, in the center of which was a raised island made from a series of steps and platforms. The pool had been designed to appear very natural, with parts left rough and others polished smooth for comfortable sitting. The steam rising from the water gave testament to it’s warmth, though she was at a loss to explain how. Kaleah had never seen anything so magnificent.

Jessica watched her reaction and smiled happily. "The water gets heated from the fires in the kitchen," she explained. "It cycles through a system of pipes every day, so it’s always clean." She turned to leave, giving the dark woman some privacy. "I’ll go get your armor while you wash up . . . there’re robes over there," she pointed to a small room off to the side. "You can lock the door once I’m gone, but not too many people come into this part of the castle . . . just me. I can’t imagine why not, but hey . . . I’m not complaining either! I’ll be back in about half an hour."

The door closed behind the blonde woman and Kaleah was alone. She spent a moment just looking at the amazing chamber, not quite believing she was here. Then, realizing just how dirty she was, she figured to get down to business.

After carefully locking the door — noting as she did that the latch wasn’t particularly strong - Kaleah stripped out of the course and uncomfortable shift gladly. Tossing it over a nearby rock, the former slave waded out into the deep, luxurious water until it came to her chin. A guttural sigh escaped her lips as she felt her body start to relax. She quietly cleaned the blood and grime from her lithe figure, running her hands over the many scars that marred her skin and feeling the warmth of the water seep into the old wounds that tended to ache in the cold. Her long dark hair fanned out around her and she scrubbed it roughly to work out weeks of accumulated filth. It would be tangled, but she was sure her new friend would lend her a brush.

Thinking of Jessica, Kaleah allowed her mind to ponder the young woman. When Kaleah had mentioned that she’d seen her watching her during the fight, the girl had blushed. She had gone out of her way to snare her into this arrangement . . . she was being friendly and generous. And, Kaleah had to admit, she seemed very genuine in her desire for friendship.

Strange, she considered. She would have thought a beautiful young noble woman like Jessica would have a lot of friends. Why would she need to force someone into being her companion? It was very odd.

Putting the matter aside for later consideration, Kaleah waded over to examine one of the statues more closely. She recognized the work of a skilled artisan, having spent some time learning the art of carving herself from her last master before he released her. The statue was of a beautiful woman with long, flowing hair, full breasts and a curvaceous figure. Kaleah felt herself blush a little, noting that the carver had paid a lot of attention to detail. Running a finger along the glistening marble sculpture, she couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of her surroundings. This place — this room — was about the most magnificent thing she’d ever seen.

Remembering that Jessica would return shortly, Kaleah finished up quickly and retrieved one of the comfortable robes she found in the adjoining room. Wrapping it tightly around her body, she unlocked the door and sat on a convenient wooden bench until the blonde knocked.

"Come in," she called, standing up.

Jessica poked her head around the door, smiling. "Feeling better?"

Kaleah grunted non-commitedly. "Where’s my armor?"

"Here." Jessica held out a large bundle wrapped in white cloth. "I also brought this . . ." She held out Kaleah’s sword, sheathed in its ornate scabbard.

Kaleah eyed the offered weapon skeptically. "You’re letting me keep my sword?"

Jessica just shrugged. "I’m giving you a little credit," she said simply. "I think you’re probably pretty smart . . . smart enough to realize there’s not much point in trying anything like taking me hostage and making a break for it. Right?"

Kaleah realized this was true. The girl wasn’t taking much of a risk. She grunted and took the sword.

Jessica smiled. "I thought so. Besides, how can you learn to fight better if you don’t have your sword. Oh, and I brought this, too . . ." She reached into a pocket and pulled out a fine wooden flute. She studied it a moment, then held it out to Kaleah. The dark woman’s eyes flared hungrily when she saw the instrument. "They found this in your armor . . . I thought you might want it back."

Kaleah snatched the flute and clasped it to her breast possessively. "Thank you."

Jessica did not miss the reaction. "Do you play?"

"Sometimes."

"Maybe you could play something for me," Jessica suggested. "If you feel like it, of course."

Kaleah frowned. She’d never played for anyone other than herself. Her music was private, but, she mused, there was no point antagonizing the young blonde. "Perhaps."

"Great! I’d love that." She gestured to the adjoining room. "Well, get changed and I’ll show you around some more."

Kaleah eyed her for a moment, annoyed at how this woman seemed perpetually cheerful. She wondered what it might take to really make her mad, recalling that even when she’d been wounded in their fight, the young blonde maintained her calm and good humor. Turning, she went into the privacy of the nearby room to change.

As the dark woman walked away from her, Jessica let her eyes roam more thoroughly over her figure, not really trying to stop them from lingering here and there. There was no harm in admiring Kaleah, she thought . . . and there was certainly a lot there to admire. Her smile turned a little more feral and her eyes twinkled with daring. Despite her betrothal, Jessica had always been intrigued by the stories she’d read involving romances between women. More than any other stories they were hard to come by, what with the power of the Church deeming them ‘evil’, but Jessica had several traders who kept their eyes open for her, knowing she could pay them well for their discretion. She felt no guilt in just looking. . . Kaleah was certainly beautiful. She was just appreciating the good Lord’s handiwork, that’s all. Jessica had never had much opportunity to explore her interest in other women. . . but she’d felt a strong connection to her new friend from the moment they locked eyes. It would be nice to have a female friend to talk with, no matter what came of it.

"You know," Jessica continued talking just to fill the quiet, "I couldn’t help but notice the quality of the work on your blade . . . that Spanish steel’s rare nowadays."

"Yeah. So?" Kaleah was struggling into her figure-hugging armor, reluctantly appreciating the fine job someone had done cleaning the outfit.

"Did you steal it?"

"Of course not." Kaleah was a little offended the blonde had so little regard for her morality.

"I didn’t think so," Jessica told her gently. "I looked at the blade; I can imagine, from your height and reach, that your sword was custom made for you . . . just like your armor, huh?"

"Not exactly." Kaleah adjusted the last buckle, and strapped the sword around her waist, setting it to rest just below the flare of her hips. Stepping out of the room, she caught Jessica’s eyes. "I made them myself."

Green eyes widened. "You did!?" Jessica was clearly surprised. "But . . . how could you . . ."

Pleased to have shocked the little blonde woman so, Kaleah grinned fully, showing her even white teeth. "My former master was a Spanish weapon-smith named Constantine De’Livier. He taught me as his apprentice for over a year," she explained briefly. "He helped me to design my armor and weapon, and he taught me to use them. When I was ready, he released me from his service." She watched Jessica closely for a reaction. "My freedom was the greatest gift he ever gave me."

Jessica lowered her eyes. "And you think I’ve taken it away, is that it?"

Kaleah looked around. "This place may be fancy . . . but it’s a prison just as much as the dungeon was." Her posture became aggressive and tense. It felt good to fan the flames of her anger, to justify it in the face of Jessica’s kindness. "You can keep me here, but don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s what I want."

Jessica frowned and looked up through lowered lashes. She could feel her eyes starting to water. "I’m trying to help you." Why couldn’t this woman understand that all this was going to be good for her?

Kaleah strode past her towards the exit. "No-one has ever tried to help me in my whole life. . . except for De’Livier," she said as she passed, her voice husky and bitter. "I doubt you’ll be any different."

Jessica watched her go, trying to steady her breathing. The barbed words hurt — they’d meant to hurt, she knew. Kaleah wouldn’t accept this passively, as she’d hoped. The woman was abrasive and filled with a quick and restless energy. Her emotional armor was strong and doubtless well made to protect her from a harsh life. But Jessica was determined . . . no matter the obstacles, she would persevere. With kindness and caring her tools, she would chip away until she won the dark woman over.

"This will be different," she promised the departed woman quietly. "I’ll make it different."

That night as Kaleah lay in the bed that Jessica had given her, she thought back on her day and wondered. She couldn’t get to sleep; the softness of the down-filled mattress was strange to her, the silky texture of the sheets against her bare skin seemed uncomfortably luxurious. From outside she heard the footsteps of the soldiers as they walked along the battlements. But worse than the newness of her surroundings, everytime Kaleah closed her eyes and tried to drift off, Jessica’s laughing eyes and perpetually smiling face appeared in the darkness — taunting, tempting.

The former slave had maintained her icy demeanor for the rest of the day, determined to make this as hard for her unwanted companion as she could. But Jessica had apparently chosen to ignore her scowling face and petulant attitude, smiling and chattering on about anything that popped into her head as she led Kaleah around. As the day wore on, Kaleah found it harder to maintain her dislike for the vivacious blonde. The young woman gave so freely of herself . . . seemed so filled with life and vigor, and yet at the same time appeared so calm and in control. Kaleah admitted to herself that the captivating blonde had her completely at a loss as to how to behave. Jessica repaid her dour looks with cheerful ones, her words of hatred with ones of friendship. A part of Kaleah wanted desperately to just give in and smile and laugh along with her, but she clamped it down whenever it tried to escape.

Now, laying in the darkness and trying to uncoil her tense body, Kaleah frowned and squirmed uncomfortably. There was an ache deep in her gut that she’d never felt before . . . an emptiness she hadn’t known existed until it had been illuminated by the vibrant emerald eyes of the young blonde. There was something about Jessica that called to Kaleah, made her wish she could just bask in this warmth and life forever, let it wash away the darkness and pain of her former life. But at the same time there was something about her that made Kaleah want to hold on to the hatred and anger all the more fiercly.

Whenever those incredible eyes pierced her own, Kaleah felt a stab of dull pain twist into her soul . . . and she saw for the first time just how empty that soul really was. Every word Jessica spoke sounded strange as it echoed in that dark void, and suddenly, for the first time since she’d been made a slave, Kaleah felt lonely. Felt vulnerable. The isolation that once seemed to protect her now seemed cold and barren.

It was not a feeling she liked, nor wanted to cultivate.

Sighing, Kaleah snuggled deeper into her bed and rearranged her cushions, pushing away her dismal musings. Jessica was clearly determined to be her friend whether she wanted her to be or not . . . but that didn’t mean Kaleah was going to make it easy for her. Remembering her words in the bathing chamber, the dark-haired woman nodded to herself. If she had to stay in this cursed place, she was going to make it clear that it was under sufferance — that no matter how Jessica tried to justify it, this captivity was unwanted.

Besides, she added silently. I’ll be out of here soon enough. Every castle has a chink in the defenses . . . it’s just a matter of finding it and using it. As long as the damn girl doesn’t put me in irons, it’s only a question of time before I can escape.

Closing her eyes, satisfied she had everything under control, Kaleah relaxed and let sleep overtake her . . . stubbornly ignoring the part of her that was still trying to point out just how nice it was not to be sleeping in some freezing cave in the middle of the snow-covered forest.

In her room next door, Jessica’s thoughts were also on her new companion, and the day they had shared.

Jessica thought the blue-eyed woman was fascinating. Absolutely enchanting. She possessed some inaliable quality that drew Jessica in and held her fast. Some kind of aura, like Eric, her father’s adviser, sometimes spoke of when espousing his alchemy hocus-pocus.

Part of it, Jess admitted, was simply her physical presence. The woman was uncommonly tall, slender yet powerfully built. She moved as though she were constantly tense and alert. . . or ready to bolt at a moments notice. Her clear blue eyes never seemed to soften - they were intense and magnetic, a sharp contrast to her long, inky black hair and bronze skin. Her features were hard and somewhat angular, finely sculptured and beautiful in an alluring, exotic fashion that made Jessica’s stomach twist and her hands start to sweat. Even the livid scar across her mouth did nothing to detract from her appearance . . . rather, it enhanced the sensuous lips by drawing the eye towards them.

But there was more to it than just her physicality. There was a force she couldn’t define about Kaleah, something exciting and fresh . . . dangerous, even. Something that made her want to reach out and touch the dark woman, like she’d always wanted to reach out and touch the burning candles as a child.

The woman had been stiff and thorny during their first day together, but Jessica had caught her almost smiling a few times during their rather one-sided conversation. It was almost as though she wanted to enjoy herself but was determined not to. This gave Jessica hope as she snuggled into her bed, smiling a wicked little smile.

She was going to make Kaleah her friend . . . even if it killed one of them.

There was pain. Pain so fierce it almost blinded her, almost brought her crashing to the floor. But she fought against the dizziness, focused on the cool, smooth wooden hilt of the dagger she clutched with desperate strength in her right hand. Slowly, every step an exercise in torment, she made her way across the room to the chamber beyond.

Kaleah jerked awake suddenly, gasping for breath, her blood rising quickly with panic. It took her a second to realize where she was, and when she did the dark woman fell back on the damp mattress with a relieved sigh. Her body was covered in a thin layer of sweat and the chill of the night made her shiver a little and pull the blankets closer about her.

It had been a long time since she’d had a nightmare — a long time since she’d let herself think back on the horrors she’d experienced as a slave. This dream had been different from the others, however; never had the present intruded on her memories of the past. Jessica seemed to light the darkness inside her, illuminating all those terrors again.

Kaleah scowled as she struggled to calm her body down. "Just another reason not to like her," she whispered to herself. "Just another reason to get as far away from this place as I can."

She lay awake through the rest of the night, knowing from experience not to fall asleep when the night-demons were so ready to torture her with ancient hurts.

A soft knocking at the door pulled Kaleah from a light sleep. Sitting up dazedly, the dark woman looked around the neatly-decorated room and scowled. She was tired and cranky, and the prospect of having to face Jessica’s constant cheerfulness wasn’t appealing.

The knock came again a little louder, and the door that lead into the coridor outside opened a crack. A strange young woman poked her face into the room cautiously. "Hello?"

"What do you want?" Kaleah demanded, pulling her sheets tighter about her body.

The woman’s eyes widened a little nervously at her angry tone, but she slid into the room anyway and held out a tray of food. "Lady Jessica asked me to bring you breakfast," she explained shyly.

Kaleah studied the tray, her stomach growling. Wordlessly, she gestured the woman forward and accepted the offering. The woman regarded her with timid curiosity, her hands plucking at the hem of her apron. Kaleah regarded her coldly for a moment, then asked, "Are you Jessica’s slave as well?"

"Slave?" The woman looked at her strangely, perplexed by the question, then laughed a little. "Sir Richard would never allow slavery on his lands. I’m one of the kitchen-maids."

Kaleah’s dark brows contracted thoughtfully. "But you do serve Jessica, right?"

The woman shrugged. "I serve the castle," she said simply. "Sir Richard gives me a room to sleep in and warm meals, and he pays me with silver every few months. It’s a good way to earn a living."

"So . . . you could leave here if you wanted to?"

"Aye." The woman gave a quick look around, then sidled closer and lowered her voice. "I heard from the cook that Jessica’s taken a fancy to you. She’s not usually allowed to play with us commoners — you’re very lucky."

"Lucky?" Kaleah snorted. "How’s that?"

"Well . . . Lady Jessica’s about the nicest person you could hope to meet," the serving-girl gushed. "She’s funny and smart, and she’s always kind to everybody. But like I said, we don’t get to say much to her. She keeps pretty much to herself." Curious eyes regarded Kaleah a little enviously. "She must think you’re something special for her to defy her mother."

Kaleah was silent, absorbing this information, then her eyes hardened. "Thank you for the food," she said shortly, effectively dismissing her guest, who bobbed her head and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Jessica said to tell you she’d be out in the courtyard when you’re finished," the serving-girl said before she closed the door behind her and left Kaleah in peace to eat her meal.

"And this," Jessica said with a flourish, "is the lookout tower." She smiled at her dour companion as they reached the top of the winding stairwell that led up to the great spire. The height of the tower afforded a magnificent view of snow-covered fields and woodland, though it was windy and numbingly cold. "There’s usually a guard up here," Jess added, looking around the empty parapet curiously. "I guess it must be a bit nippy for them."

Jessica studied the dark woman a little nervously. For the last hour or so she’d continued to show Kaleah around the castle and introduce her to the people, talking all the while just to fill the silence. Her questions were answered with sullen glares or occasional grunts, but Jessica maintained her determination to win the intriguing woman over. Studying Kaleah now as they looked out on the majestic vista before them, Jessica saw the first glimmer of interest she’d seen in the dark woman all morning. Sapphire eyes gazed around everywhere, focused mostly on the castle itself.

"It’s beautiful, isn’t it?" she said softly, stepping closer to Kaleah.

The former slave was silent for a long time, her eyes moving slowly over the castle grounds. Then she whispered, "Four walls."

"Excuse me?"

"Four walls," Kaleah said clearly. "That’s all I see."

Jessica found herself suddenly caught in the Kaleah’s intense, cold gaze. She shuffled uncomfortably. "I don’t understand."

Kaleah gestured with one hand at the castle battlements. "This is a cage, Princess," she spat. "You can call yourself my friend, but all you really are is my jailor."

Jessica’s eyes flared with a fire of their own. "Don’t call me ‘princess,’" she ordered. "My father’s not a king. And this castle’s only as much of a cage as you want it to be. Maybe things wouldn’t seem so bad if you just started thinking of this place as your home."

"My home!?" Kaleah laughed mirthlessly. "I don’t have a home, Princess! I’ve never had a home, but I’ve lived in enough cages to know one when I see it." She pointed again to the castle below. "Four walls that mark a boundary you say I can’t cross! Four walls that say I’m not free!" She glared at Jessica with a cold fury, then stalked toward the stairwell. "Does that sound like a home to you, princess?"

Jessica almost let the dark woman go, but the angry words stung her. She was trying to help Kaleah here, but all Kaleah wanted to do was wallow in self pity. Exasperated, Jessica grabbed the dark woman as she brushed past her and spun her around. Furious sapphires pinned her instantly as Kaleah jerked away from her touch, but Jessica stood firm and glared right back.

"I’m not here to hurt you, Kaleah," she said sternly. "Why can’t you see that?"

Kaleah’s body was rigid and trembling, the dark energy building inside her. "I didn’t ask for a friend," she hissed through grit teeth.

"Fine. Maybe you didn’t ask for one, but you’ve got one whether you want it or not." Jessica set her hands on her hips, her jaw set stubbornly. "Now you can either spend the next twelve months mopping about this ‘cage’ feeling sorry for yourself and making my life difficult, or you can stop being such an ass and make the most of an opportunity you’re not likely to get ever again in your whole life!" She paused to catch her breath. "I’ll teach you to fight, Kaleah. I’ll teach you to read and write and hunt and anything else you want to learn! In twelve months, you can leave this castle with enough gold and enough skills to start a new life doing anything you want to do! I can’t force you to go along with anything Kaleah . . . but if you let me, I’ll help you become everything you can be." Jessica stared hard at the former slave till the sapphire eyes broke away. Then she nodded to herself and started walking back down the stairs. "I’ll give you some time to think about it," she called over her shoulder. "The choice is yours."

They each spent the rest of the day alone.

Chapter 3.

The next day did not go well.

After sharing a hearty breakfast of eggs and porridge - which Kaleah stubbornly refused to acknowledge was far better than anything she could have made herself - Jessica carefully suggested a little light sparring.

"I usually train a few hours everyday either with the soldiers or Sir Miles," Jessica told Kaleah after they’d eaten. "You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want too, but Miles and I were planning on a lesson anyway, so if you want to just watch, that’s fine-"

"I’ll fight," Kaleah interrupted.

"You will?" Emerald eyes lit with pleasure, and the dark woman tried hard not to let them affect her. She nodded. Jess beamed a smile at her that made her heart ache. "That’s great! You’ll like Miles, I promise. He’s a great fighter — even better than my father. It’ll be fun."

Kaleah didn’t say anything after that, but her eyes were cold as chips of ice. The strange dreams had returned last night, plauging her with haunting images of the blonde-haired girl with laughing green eyes, robbing her of sleep. The emotions the young noblewoman raised in her were strong and alien; she had no defense against their insistent call, and that only increased her confusion. So now as they sat together in Jessica’s room, the former slave was feeling frustrated and irritable, her temper on a low boil and rapidly heating.

A few hours later two young women stood in the open courtyard with Sir Miles, ready to fight. Jessica’s armor was similar in design to Kaleah’s, molded to fit her feminine curves tightly, while still allowing her a great range of movement. Sir Miles wore only light padding — a fact Kaleah instantly decided made him seem arrogant. Jessica made polite introductions, and the training began.

After only a few minutes watching the man warm up with Jessica, Kaleah had to admit Miles knew what he was doing. The loss of his right hand didn’t hamper his style at all. The old warrior was quick, accurate and powerful. Kaleah moved forward when they were finished to take her own turn at the man, eager to prove she wasn’t in need of training at all.

Grinning ferally, Kaleah assumed the en guard position as De’Livier had taught her. Sir Miles noticed the formal stance and mirrored it.

"Spanish school, are ya?" he muttered, seeing the eager glint in her steely eyes and recognizing it for what it was. "Always thought ‘em a bit pompous meself."

Kaleah growled, rising quickly to the bait. On the sidelines, Jessica watched as the dark-haired woman attacked Sir Miles with lightening speed, her anger obvious. She smiled to herself. If her new friend hoped to overcome the knight with simple aggression, she was going to learn the same lesson she’d learned in the forest.

Miles fell back willingly under the tempest of fury, effortlessly defeating Kaleah’s furious assault. He’d trained hundreds in his lifetime and knew this rage needed purging before a fighter could be made truly great. A level head always defeated a clouded one.

"If’n I didn’t know better, I’d say ye was tryin’ to best me, girl," he rumbled, his old eyes twinkling as he enjoyed Kaleah’s confounded expression when she stopped to catch her breath. He pointed to Jessica with the stump that had been his right hand. "That there green-eyed devil bested ye before. If I were you, I’d be making s