A few days' ride south of Brecken Moors Hall is a farm...

"Good Morn."

"Good Morn, Father." Gwyndolyn smiled over her shoulder as she continued to knead the day's bread. "You are awake earlier than usual. Does your knee pain you?" She paused, taking a longer look at her father, concern etched in her features.

Since his accident three moons prior, he seemed to have more bad days than good ones. The lack of sleep showed itself in the constant presence of the dark circles carved beneath his eyes. Fatigue slowed his steps and hunched his shoulders, but she noticed with a smile, it could not diminish the youthful twinkle in his clear blue eyes.

"Nay."

"When I am finished here, Little Jacques and I are going to start on filling our food stores again."

"At least they left the fields to us. That way we can harvest enough to get us through the winter, though I know not what we shall plant come the spring."

"I believe it is closer to the truth to say they left the fields because they were too lazy to bother. And probably they thought we could replenish our stores so there would be more for them when they come through on their way back."

"Do not say such a thing. You know that it is our duty as loyal subjects to provide quarters for his majesty's soldiers when they present themselves."

"Right." she answered with a frown, setting the shaped dough to rise and covering it with a cloth. Turning around, she was struck with the memory of those soldiers kicking away her father's crutch and—taking a deep breath she swept away the images like so many cobwebs and gave her father a big smile. "Shall we get started?"

---

As she tied the last bundle of wheat, she felt her hands cramp and sighed. She sent Father back to the house hours ago... and her little brother was not much help. At ten, Robin suffered from an excess of enthusiasm but he was also easily distracted. He wandered off somewhere before the sun reached midday.

As she dragged herself back to the barn with Little Jacques and the little cart in tow, she felt like maybe she had stones tied to her, dragging her down and making every step an effort. Little Jacques was happy to see the inside of his stall, but as she unloaded the last bundle from the wagon she sighed. At this rate, snow would fall before she managed to put away enough to carry them through the winter.

Gwyndolyn shut the barn and leaned against the door with a sigh, looking up at the stars. They were her comfort when her mother died, when Father had his accident, and when her brothers were taken away. She knew that all she had to do was get through the daylight, and she would be able to look up and see the stars and that they would be the same as ever they were.

Gathering up the last of her energy, she shuffled toward the house. Her plans for making the morrow's bread tonight were dismissed as she slipped into the house. Too tired to bother undressing she started for the little room she shared with her brother. Except the little imp was sprawled over the entire bed. With a sigh of resignation, she shut the door behind her. Slowly lowering herself to the floor before the hearth, she curled into a ball with her arm for a pillow. She was asleep almost at once.

---

Gwyndolyn was awake well before dawn. Her aches and pains from the day before had settled themselves into her muscles and she could not sleep another moment.

Maybe if she started moving around, the aches would work themselves out.

By the time the first rays of the sun began to color the sky with shades of grey, the day's bread was cooling, the eggs were gathered, the cow was milked, the butter was churned, and she was contemplating heading out to the field again.

With her brothers gone, and her father lame now, most of their crops would die in the fields. She and Little Jacques would do their best, but she knew they would only be able to plow under a small portion of the fields before snow fell. Next year was going to be a lean year. With a sigh, she pointed her tired feet toward the barn. If she did not get their grain stores built back up, they would not survive the winter, let alone another year, lean or otherwise.

---

As tired as she was when she finished in the fields and fixed a bit of supper, which she was too tired to eat much of, she hurried through the clean-up so she could sneak away to the barn for a few hours. It was the only place that she could be alone. Father never ventured out after dark and her little brother avoided the barn and all the work that needed to be done inside of it.

She made her way to the last stall, empty since the soldiers had taken their only horse. Hanging the lamp on a nearby nail, she went to the corner and shifted through the hay to uncover a bit of burlap tied with twine. Settling onto the pile she created under the lamp, she untied the twine and sighed. Her stitching left much to be desired, but her brother was in need of a new shirt.

They did not possess the monies necessary to purchase a new one, even if they could make the long trip to the village. But come Michaelmas, there would be a new shirt. And one or two little bloodstains near the seams might not be so bad. When presenting Gwyndolyn with a "new" patched-together dress, her mother always said that there was love in every stitch.

Gwyndolyn smiled fondly at the memories of watching her mother. Unlike her mother who was more graceful sneezing that Gwyndolyn was on a good day, she would be lucky if she did not bleed to death before she finished this patched-together shirt. Patched-together from the salvageable bits in three of her elder brothers' ruined shirts.

Unfortunately, at the rate she was going, there was not a chance she would be able to make a shirt for Father as well. She would make a tart or two from the little bit of dried apple she had managed to hide from the soldiers. There was not enough to make a whole pie, but Father was never very fussy.

She smiled as she remembered the falcon she carved with her eldest brother's help when she was ten. It resembled...well, definitely not a falcon, but Father went on and on about how fine it was...

"Oh Father," she whispered on a sigh, "I love you so. Someday my brother's will return and then the farm will prosper again. And when it does, I will buy enough dried apples to make you TEN pies all for your very own." She chuckled.

A sound from outside startled her. Rolling the shirt, she hastily tied the bundle and tucked it back into its hiding place. She barely made it out of the stall before the doors opened and a stranger stepped through...and two more. She did not like the way they were looking at her and eased herself slowly to where the pitchfork rested against the wall just inside the stall.

"My father is in the house. Shall I fetch him for you?"

---

Erec shifted in his saddle. They were two days from Brecken Moors Hall. Half a day beyond that to the border and a day beyond the border before they would encounter any opposition.

"We need to replenish our supplies, milord. In his haste to see us away, his majesty sent us poorly provisioned."

"Aye. Soon."

"There is a farm yonder." Drew tipped his head and Erec saw the outlines of a few buildings small on the distant horizon.

"If memory serves, that is a village ahead of us." Erec corrected as he recalled his recent study of the maps. "It is small, but we can procure enough to see us through to Brecken Moors Hall. The Baron will provide rest and provisions before we cross into Far North's holdings."

"Aye. He will more than like supplement our number as well. Brecken and Far North have nursed their contempt of one another for years." Drew stated with humor, drawing a laugh from Erec and Thomas, the only two riders close enough to hear.

The sun was high in the sky by the time they came upon the burned-out ruins of the village. It was disturbing to come upon a scene like this so far from the border. Especially since he had heard no reports of raiding. Not even at the border. As Captain of the King's Army, it was his responsibility to know these things...

As he rode slowly through the village, he was relieved by the absence of corpses. He hoped the men and women of the village survived, that it was a storm that started the fire and that the villagers fled. They were dead, or prisoners if this was a raid. But if it was a storm... He had to hope...

"Thomas, I am going to lead the rest of the men back to that farm we saw this morning. Take John and scout around. See what you can learn of the fate of the village, but be careful." Erec urged his friend. "Do not take more than a day or two. We shall await you there."

"I remember the general area. We shall find you." With a nod Thomas turned his mount.

---

Erec held little expectation that a single farm, no matter the size, would have enough to provision his entire army, but there would be water, and perhaps a stream or wood near enough that he could feed his men. Aside from that, the farm was an easy mark for Thomas and John to find again, even in the dark.

It was after dark when they reached the farm. After ordering the men to camp in the clearing beyond the barn, he and Drew headed for the house to speak with the master about provisions. The farm was larger than some and in much better repair than most he passed on his recent campaigns. Erec bumped his fist on the slatted door.

His summons was answered by an old man. Upon closer inspection it was not such an old man, rather he was looking at a weary and recently injured man.

"You are the People's Champion, Sir Erec! Er, I mean, Lord Erec." The man dipped his head and shoulders in as much of a bow as a man with a crutch could manage before he stood and offered further explanation with a worshipful smile. "I saw you at the reading of Hugh the Great's last words. Come. Come." The man stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. "Let me get you some stew."

"Thank you." Erec nodded and followed. "I was hoping you could spare some supplies. The king dispatched us quickly so we were not properly provisioned."

"I shall share with you all that I can, but there is not much to give, I fear. Soldiers came through here not a fortnight past. My daughter and I are working to replenish our stores, but with only the two of us, it is very slow work."

"I appreciate your generosity in light of your difficulties."

"It is my duty to provide for the king's men," he answered on a sigh, and added in a low mumble that Erec barely heard. "...as the last group of soldiers reminded me." His hand fell heavy on his leg as he leaned on his simple crutch.

"You have my gratitude, just the same." Erec smiled and offered a purse of coin. "This should help."

"God bless you, milord!" The farmer took the purse, his gratitude plain on his face. "I would be honored if you and your man there would sleep inside. Just there, by the hearth is the warmest place in the house."

"My thanks as well," Drew answered. "Might I find a place in the barn for our horses?"

"Nay. Our barn is much too small for war horses. We have only the one cow and a small ass. But my daughter will tend to your animals for you. Let me fetch her."

The farmer turned from them and limped to an adjoining room. Erec tried not to listen, though the confines of the small room made the task a difficult one.

"Where is your sister?"

"I think she went to the barn."

"Why would she go there? It is after dark and all the chores have been done."

At the sound of the farmer's shuffling footsteps moving toward the door, Erec turned his back to the door and feigned an interest in the flames as he leaned against the mantle.

"Lord Erec?"

"Yes?" Erec answered casually as he turned with a raised eyebrow.

"My daughter, it seems, is already in the barn, so I am quite certain that she is tending to the animals."

"I—"

"Milord?" Drew leaned to whisper, "The king's men..."

"No fears." Erec whispered a little too loudly, "They will not bother an old woman, I think."

"Oh, but my daughter is not an old woman!" the farmer smiled proudly, straightening his weary frame. "She is the very image of her mother at that age—a bonnie lass if a father may so say."

Erec moved swiftly, toppling a stool as he bolted from the room. He heard Drew speaking to the farmer, but his steps pressed him forward with increasing urgency.

The barn was not five meters before him. The doors were closed but a light shone from within. He heard the noises of the men making camp somewhere beyond the barn, but his steps did not turn.

"Erec!" Drew whispered urgently, grabbing Erec's arm and stopping him at last. "Surely you do not believe that a knight—any knight—would—"

"I know not what to believe. These men are not my own."

"But they are knights of good reputation. Their honor and their knighthood depend upon—"

A scream rent the air, sending a chill down Erec's spins. It was not the scream of abject terror, or pain, sounds that a battle-hardened knight such as Erec knew all too well. Drew reached the door half a step before Erec and stopped suddenly as the door failed to open. Some days Erec hated being right.

"Open!" Erec pounded. "Open in the name of the king!"

Another scream split the air. This one of pain and agony...and male? Erec and Drew exchanged a look as a crash sounded within.

Desperate to get inside, Erec stepped back and charged the door, leaping at it with a mighty kick. The loud crack of dry wood preceded the wobbling of the doors, but they did not open.

Erec and Drew exchanged another look and they both stepped back, assaulting the door together. With a mighty crack and a shower of splinters, the old doors gave way.