Spring, 1054

Dante lifted his face to the sun while a warm spring breeze lifted a strand of his black hair across his silver-gray eyes. He smiled at the noises behind him and continued on his walk through the village market. There wasn’t anything he needed to buy, since the cooks bought and prepared all the food at the house Risande. The home where he’d grown up. He was lord there now, in his brother’s absence. Brand fought in the army of Duke William of Normandy. This past winter, Brand, though not quite ten and nine, helped bring victory to William’s men against the king’s forces in the county of Evreux. So fierce and driven by his desire to win, that it had earned him the nickname Brand the Passionate.

It didn’t hurt that the duke loved Brand and Dante as an older brother would, having them in his care as his pages, and then his squires. He personally trained them in the art of warfare, which had earned the brothers the duke’s affection. Dante hated leaving them over two years ago, when he was almost sixteen. His and Brand’s mother had died giving birth to their sister, Katherine and when their father perished, there was no one left to take care of the one-year-old little girl. It was agreed that since Brand was the oldest and had been with William longer, he should remain at the Château de Falaise and Dante should return home.

He walked past various vendors and stalls now, and stopped to look at herring and shark hanging out to dry. He made his way to a vendor selling spices. He paused hearing the burst of giggles from a group of four girls off to the right. When he slid his pewter gaze their way, they blushed and covered their mouths with their hands and looked away. He went on walking, having no time for girls and foolishness. When he reached an apple cart, he examined the fruit and found two free of holes. After paying, he peeled one while he walked and then reached over his shoulder to hand the peeled apple to his three-year-old sister, who was strapped to his back. 

“Hungry, Katherine?”

“Oui,” she answered in her dulcet voice. 

“Got it?” he asked, waiting for her to get all her chubby, little fingers around the fruit

“Oui,” came her soft reply.

He smiled at her delicate baby voice. At first, he hadn’t wanted to leave his training to take care of her, but now he couldn’t think of his life without her in it. He loved her more than anyone else in the world.

“Look.” He pointed to a brightly colored tent a few feet away. “Seashells!”

“Sheshells!”

“S-s-s-sea,” he corrected with a light laugh.

“Ssssea,” she echoed.

He nodded. “Seashells.”

“Sheshells!”

“Oui, oui, that’s right,” he laughed, flashing a dimple that pulled the thoughts right out of the head of a pretty girl who was standing next to him—if the blank look she gave him when he looked at her was any indication. But he turned away, seeing no one, hearing only Katherine. He would give up the sea and the stars for her if they were his to give.

He untied her from his back and swung her around so she could see all the seashell jewelry and trinkets. He’d buy her anything she wanted. He’d take care of her and protect her until he was old and gray.

 

  Fourteen years later… 

 

The battle was over. Dante was sure he’d bathed enough times to cleanse him of the stain and smell of blood before he returned home to Graycliff and Katherine. Ah, he thought as he rode home, he couldn’t wait to see his sweet babe—who, much to his dismay, was no longer a babe, but a woman of ten and seven—hear her laugher, her voice when she read to him. It was the only thing that shed him of the skin of a killer and brought him back to humanity. Brand would no doubt nag him about marrying her off, but their oldest brother knew well enough that Katherine was as stubborn as he, and would take no husband yet.

Dante wouldn’t push her. Why should he? If she didn’t want to marry someone, he wouldn’t force her. It would happen naturally—though he had to admit, he was getting a little worried of her never marrying anyone. He spoiled her when he was home. He knew it. He didn’t care.

He was a few leagues from Dover, heading toward the forest when he saw men…his men riding out of it, racing toward him. A spring breeze swept through his hair, blowing strands across his cheek. He was reminded of a day much like this one while he strolled with Katherine through the village…

“My lord!” the lead rider called out. It was Bertram, a guard at Graycliff. Dante’s belly sank. It was Katherine. He didn’t ask. He couldn’t. “It’s your sister, my lord. It’s Lady Katherine. She was…” he paused, unable to go on. He closed his eyes and began again. “She left to visit the forest with a small group of the men this morning.  You know how she loved coming here to hear the leaves.”

Dante looked up as if in a dream at the leaves dancing in the breeze.

The sea will become dead when his heart is taken and the leaves dance. He remembered the words of the old man of the forest when he was a boy. His blood ran cold.

“When they didn’t return by this afternoon,” the guard continued sorrowfully, “I sent men here to look for them. They found…the guards she came with are all dead. Lady Katherine is…”

Dante didn’t wait to hear but gave his reins a hard flap and thundered forward, into the forest. He merely had to follow the men from his castle as they rode toward…

He slowed his stallion when he came to a group on foot, gathered around someone. He dismounted and drew closer, his heart thumping in his chest. He’d seen so much death on the battlefield. He’d never grow accustomed to it. It would always turn his stomach. He’d simply mastered the urge to expel whatever was in his belly. But not here. Not home.  It wasn’t her. It wasn’t her. Please, God, not Katherine.

Three of his men tried to push him back when he reached her, but he flung them aside and fell to his knees on the grass and dirt. It was Katherine, his baby, his sister, and child. “Katherine!” he shouted. He had to wake her. He gave her a little shake and then another harder one. “Katherine!” What were these slashes on her face and neck? Why was there blood on her pretty yellow gown? “Katherine, what are you doing?” He felt the tears fill his eyes, blur his vision, but he paid his blindness no heed. “What are you doing? Open your eyes!” 

“My lord,” one of the men around him said. “We believe it was Hereward the Wake’s men who did this.”

“I’ll kill him. He’s a dead man,” Dante sobbed over his sister’s body as the waves ceased within. “He’s dead. He’s dead. I’m dead.”