Gentle Warrior by Julie Garwood Page B

by sheer willpower of its own on the far wall. "Sara, have someone remove the banner," she ordered in a whisper. "I do not need to look upon it to remember what was done here. I'll not forget."
    The servant impulsively grabbed Elizabeth 's hand and squeezed it. "I'll see to it, my lady.
    None of us will be forgetting."
    "Thank you, Sara," Elizabeth replied. She gave the banner one last look and then turned to leave the room.
    The servant used the hem of her sleeve to wipe the gathering tears from her eyes as she watched her new mistress. Oh, if only she had the power to lift some of the weight and heartache burdening one so young! " 'Tis so unfair," she grumbled to herself.
    "Pardon me, Sara?" Elizabeth turned from the doorway and smiled. "I did not hear you."
    "I was just asking myself if you and the Baron will be leaving soon," Sara improvised. She knew it wasn't her place to ask such a question, but she had no wish to talk of the killings again.
    Elizabeth was surprised by the question. She had not even considered the possibility of leaving Montwright. It was her home. Yet leaving, and soon, was more than likely. Geoffrey had many holdings superior to Montwright lands and he had his own domain. "In truth, I do not know," Elizabeth told the servant. "Where is my husband, Sara? Have you seen him about? I must discuss this issue with him."
    "I have not seen him this morn," Sara replied. "Perhaps he is in the courtyard, or in the soldiers' keep below. I could send Hammond to check," she added, for while Elizabeth could freely roam about the estate, it was strictly forbidden for a woman to enter the soldiers'
    quarters located one flight below the great hall.
    "I will find him," Elizabeth said.
    It was easier said than done. Elizabeth strolled around the courtyard but did not interrupt any of the men to ask of her husband's whereabouts. She stopped and watched several knights struggle with a large vat of sand, wondering what their plan was. The redheaded squire, called Gerald, was glad to give her an explanation. "Vats of sand will be placed at intervals along the ledge circling the top of the wall, my lady."

    "For what purpose?" Elizabeth asked, frowning.
    "See the one that is in place already, over there?" Gerald asked, pointing to the west. His voice fairly screamed the question into Elizabeth 's ear.
    "Aye, I see it," Elizabeth answered.
    "And see how it perches on those stones?"
    Elizabeth nodded, inwardly smiling at the squire's loud enthusiasm.
    "The fire to heat the sand will be contained within the circle of stones."
    "But for what purpose?" Elizabeth asked.
    "To heat the sand," Gerald restated, "until the sand is so hot it is almost liquid sun."
    "And when it is almost liquid sun?" Elizabeth asked.
    "Then it is propelled by the metal discs over the wall and will do much damage to anyone trying to gain entrance… if there be another attack."
    From the look on the squire's face, he was a bit disappointed that she wasn't showing much enthusiasm. "I had not heard of such a thing, such a weapon," she said. "It is truly effective?"
    "Aye, my lady. The sand can burn the body something fierce. Why, if it lands right, it can blind-"
    "Enough," Elizabeth hastened to interrupt, for he was painting a gruesome picture for her and she had the feeling he was just beginning to warm to his topic. "You have convinced me,"
    she added.
    The squire nodded and grinned. Elizabeth thanked him for his time and explanation, and thought that he reminded her of her pet hawk the way he puffed up with her praise.
    She continued to look for her husband but did not find him in any of the small huts clustered in semicircles around the courtyard. She was pleased to see that all the huts were being reinforced with fresh-smelling straw and wattle, long thin wooden rods that gave additional support. The huts were the real foundation of the castle, and though they were built on a small scale by others' standards, they housed trained craftsmen who were