Stephen heard a muffled sound; he could not tell if the yowl was dog or human.
William pulled his horse up beside Stephen’s. “What was that?” he asked, cocking his head.
When the high-pitched cry came again, they bolted from their horses. William kicked open the door to the house, and Stephen rushed in. The room was empty. Hearing the clomp of boots overhead, Stephen crept up the stairs with William hard on his heels.
As soon as his head was above the floorboards, he signaled to William that there were three men. The men had their backs to him. Their attention was on the prey they had cornered, a boy and girl of eleven or twelve who looked so remarkably alike they had to be twins. The boy stood in front of his sister, holding a sword a foot too long for him.
“Halt!” William’s voice filled the room.
The men, rough-looking foot soldiers, spun around with their short blades ready in their hands.
“Did you not hear your king’s command?” William shouted.
The men showed no inclination to slink away or beg forgiveness.
“Since the king’s punishment for rape is death,” Stephen said, “you should be grateful Lord FitzAlan and I have come in time to save your miserable lives.”
He used his brother’s name deliberately. Upon hearing it, the three men exchanged nervous glances.
“Still, it seems to me the mere intent to commit the offense is deserving of some punishment,” Stephen said. “We should at least give them a serious beating, should we not?”
From the sidelong glance William gave him, his brother did not think the beating strictly necessary, but he said, “Let us be quick about it, then.”
Stephen called out to the twins to stand back as the first man charged him. Stepping to the side, he knocked the knife from the man’s hand, grabbed him by the collar, and threw him against the window. He heard the satisfying crunch of the wooden shutter breaking as the man fell through it.
He turned around in time to see William send the other two men sailing down the stairs.
“Damn, you always outdo me,” he said. “Could you not have left the third one to me?”
Before the words were out of his mouth, two streaks of blond hair shot past him. He caught the two children and held them, one under each arm. As they kicked and bit at him, he shouted at them in French that he would not harm them.
He looked up to find William watching him, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Damn you, take one before I drop them!”
William took the boy, held him firmly by the shoulders, and leaned down until the two were eye to eye. “We do not mean you harm, son,” he said. “Where are your parents?”
From what Stephen saw in the boy’s eyes before he dropped his gaze, he could guess the answer.
“Is there someone else looking after you?” William asked.
“I look after my sister.”
“And I look after him,” the girl spoke for the first time, her voice equally defiant.
William straightened and sighed.
They had been speaking to the children in Norman French, the language the English nobility shared with Normandy, but they switched to English now so the children would not understand them.
“Have you taken a good look at this girl?” Stephen said. “She is far too pretty to be safe here with only a boy to protect her.”
“The boy is almost as pretty as his sister,” William said, shaking his head. “Come, Stephen, do not give me that look. Do you think those men did not intend to have him after the girl?”
His brother had lived with armies years longer than he had, so Stephen did not doubt him. Still, he was profoundly shocked.
“What do you suggest we do with them?” William asked.
“We could take the boy to a church or monastery.”