Title Page
Damsel:
The Betrayal of Lady Roslyn
By Lizbeth Dusseau
A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication
Copyright © 2005, All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the publisher.
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Pink Flamingo Publications
www.pinkflamingo.com
P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083
USA
Cover Image: Copyright © Ludovic Goubet
www.ludovicgoubet.com
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Prologue
Riders from the North
A wide moon danced across the heavens all night long, from the first moonglow in a sunset sky, until morning, when it faded like the fragmented pieces of a tattered cloud. She looked out over the expanse of meadow and woods at dawn, awakened from her sensuous slumber by the deep rumble of something treacherous and earth shattering. She’d been dreaming of lovers, of bold exotic men, with eyes like birds of prey and tender but decisive hands, delicately caressing flushed skin. Men with sinewy chests, bearded faces and pliant lips; men with virile arms that could capture and content a restless female. Alas, Lady Roslyn was a restless female
But with that dream bursting at the seams with passion, she awakened, startled by a prescient fear and ran toward the window facing west. Gazing out toward the approaching clamor, her beauty bloomed while excitement filled her wide expressive eyes. She was a beauty like none other, where auburn tresses shroud white shoulders, and plump lips beg a lover’s kiss. Grabbing her nightdress in her hand, she darted toward the window facing north to get a better view. She moved regally, but with a youthful grace; she was, after all, still young, still an unplucked flower, fragrant and sensuous, the only flower in her father’s garden.
The riders came from the north, on steeds with thundering hoofs, and cries of war screaming on their lips, crashing through an easy dawn with swords drawn and ready to kill. Soon swarming over the lightly guarded embankment, blood flowed in a terrible river of pain. Roslyn heard the crashing sound of the gate, breached by snorting beasts and their raging riders.
She dared not run, although even if she’d tried, her legs would never have carried her. Too weak, too panic-stricken for rational thought or calculated action, she slumped in a corner, clutching her white nightdress and buried her face in her arms. Footsteps on the stone staircase echoed, even as her desperate prayers echoed through the injured walls of her home.
They were in her room. Cringing, she peeked at a pair of muddy knee-high boots. She closed her eyes, shaking like a frightened mouse, while a pair of firm, grasping hands lifted her into the air. She landed over the broad shoulder of some fierce burly fellow—she could smell the sour heat of him, his foul breath. No time to waste, he and his accomplices took the stairs, making a hasty retreat.
Roslyn dared not look as the small brigade swiftly passed through the ransacked castle. Her heart cried out to her parents but the scream caught in her throat.
“Doncha dare take milady!” Tevi’s cry stopped their retreat and Roslyn’s eyes shot open in time to see a rough, bearded warrior backhand the old nurse. She got up swinging in a rage, but was sent to the floor again, this time too wounded to rise again.
“Milady!” The sound of her young maid Celia’s plaintive scream suddenly pierced the air.
“Oh, dear God, please, no, Celia, no!” Roslyn prayed vehemently.
But her lovely maid was too fair a prize not to be snatched from the ruins of the castle. Like her mistress, the doe-eyed girl, with the flaxen hair and rosy cheeks, was stolen away, riding over the shoulder of another stinking brute. Unlike the speechless Roslyn, Celia kicked and flailed and screamed. But to no avail, the barbarian laughed at her misery and took her away, following the tiny band of men into the cloudy morn. Behind them, the battle for the castle waged on.
Roslyn choked as the smoke caught in her throat; her eyes burned. A devilish business this was; a terrible memory this morn would leave clinging to her beleaguered mind, though through her body, through limbs and blood a churning thrill coursed. She bit her lips and clenched her fists and fought back her tears. Just a week before, her old nurse crumpled at her feet, and whispered something nonsensical about the end of the world. Oh, how the woman made her shiver before the saner Roslyn shook her off. Tevi saw things; she had the gift, and she knew then, that her mistress’ simple life would never be the same. Not after this day of mortal terror.
By the end of the day, a vast stretch of ruins was all that remained in that open meadow, where once the castle of Rosyln’s father proudly stood. A lone female, old and decrepit, limped from the ruins, briefly staring back at her past, before she made her way into the wilderness beyond.
