She turned and screamed when she saw arrow end protrude out of the carriage door.

She whipped around and spotted a man standing by a tree hurriedly reloading his crossbow. Big mistake. She thought. Her hand went to her naturally waist and found her throwing knives and with an intricate flick of her wrist, her throwing knives flew toward her attacker, hitting him square in the eye just as Edwin shot a bow through the man's heart. Wholly alert, she saw the figures of men step out from behind the shadows of the trees. She counted about fifteen,most of whom on horses with various weapons, she noted two in particular with crossbows. How did I not notice them trailing us? She berated herself.

She straightened her shoulders and hardened her expression. Refugees. She noticed one who stood taller than rest, and to his right on top of his high horse sat an ugly man with a pudgy-scarred face. Her men stood behind ready to protect the oblivious king in the carriage with their lives, awaiting her response. She spoke, "What is it that you men want?" Her hand rested on the hilt of her single-handed sword, designed specifically for her use only.

"Well, Princess we refugees, as you so kindly deemed us, want you."

"Me?" She asked baffled.

"Yes we want you and that Father of yours... DEAD. Your blood will be spilt on this very ground today. So Princess, any last words to the people you brutally exiled without anything but the clothes on our back? Perhaps an apology? Or maybe you could beg us for mercy, and we'll have a little fun before we kill ya, Ey lads whatcha' think of that eh?" The man with the scarred face sneered. The men grumbled in agreement.

Isabella said nothing for a moment, too angered by the man's remarks to utter a sound. Instead she placed her left arm behind her back and her men stood to attention knowing that she was likely to signal at any moment. They have no idea who they're talking to. She met the man on the high horse eye's defiantly. She presumed him the leader of the rowdy clan despite the scarred man's outspokenness. "Are you going to let your squire," she inclined her head at the scarred man and smirked as she saw the rage flash in his eyes "do your talking for you? Your stated that you all want to slay my father and I. For what I presume? Getting you scondreling murderers off of our land? You said you wanted me to apologize for that. I'd rather die than apologize to the likes of you lads."

The man's face stayed fixed in the same expression. The only sign of surprise he showed at the woman's gal to talk him in such a manner was expressed by the raising of an eyebrow. The man having always seen women cower at the sight of him was intrigued by the woman standing less than a few hundred yards away from. Pity we must kill her, 'twould be fun to break her.

The scarred man spoke up, "I'll have you know that I am no squire! And good thing you have a death wish because you will die by my hands today. I find it rather cute that the wittle princess wants to play dress up. Look at you in a man's garb." He spat on the ground. Isabella calmly ignored him and continued to stare down the tall man.

The man held his hand up to silence the babbling buffoon. He could not believe the audacity of the chit. I'll have to show her. He mused.

He leaned over and whispered to the scarred man, "Kill them all but her. Leave her for me."

Isabella saw the leader whisper and she knew exactly what he planned in his dark eyes. She signaled behind her back making a fist that signified archery. She held up to fingers which told her with men crossbows to take the enemy archers out first. She glanced back briefly, her look screamed,

She opened her hand to show her palm.

She saw the scarred man's eyes light up and she knew now was time to act. "Now!" She shouted. Isabella watched satisfied as the arrows hit their marks and the archers fell. One less thing to worry about. The men scattered and all started combating. Her men held their own as properly trained knights though the refugee men were no pushovers; they were fueled by their hatred for her.

With a flick of wrist, her last two throwing daggers hit two men squarely in the eye before she quickly charged them with her sword raised. She dealt the lethal blows and would dwell on the fact that she killed someone for the first time later on.

A man rode past on a horse in attempt to run her over and she rolled aside just in time. She quickly got back to her feet and turned just as he spurred the horse to her again. She noticed his loose grip and decided to drop kick the horse, as it passed which caused it to momentarily lose balance. The momentum of the stumbling horse caused the man fall off and the frightened horse ran in the opposite direction as she stabbed right through the bascinet quickly ending the rider's life. "Bad armor." She tisked.

She took a quick moment to survey the area and her men. The odds had tilted a little in their favor for nine of the fifteen men had been killed and only one of her men seemed to be injured but not fatally. Isabella felt a gaze on her and she looked to see the tall man smiling. Her anger knew no bounds at that moment so she met his eyes. Her look said, . She ran over to him blocking out the clanking of metal and cries of wounded men.

The man saw her coming and welcomed the challenge. He jumped off of his horse and readied his crowned guard. En garde. He thought.

.

She rushed toward him fully ready when he caught her off guard by knocking her off of her feet. She fell with a thud but rolled to dodge his sword. His sword meet her shoulder with pressure but did not pierce her armor and she bit her lip to avoid crying out. He's strong but I'm fast. She ignored her aching shoulder and fought on. Feinting right, she shot left and caught him off guard with her skill.

She flipped backward and created space and looked for vulnerability in his armor. "What a man of letter you are sir." She mocked before jabbing right. He blocked the shot before retaliating with his own set of blows. Isabella turned avoiding a lethal blow with a perfectly executed block. She furrowed her eyebrow when he abruptly took a few steps back. "The rest of your men will die and now you will pay for your actions." Isabella declared before changing technique and charging in earnest. He charged as well angered finally and their swords meet in a large clash. Isabella knocked his sword back and before she could deliver the fatal blow she heard a man's voice.

Notes:

Calling a fighter or Knight a "man of letter" was an insult or mock in medieval times.

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