~Taken~

15th of January 1459, Alnwick Castle....

"There, you see, Cate? One single blow and an animal can be brought to his knees"

The Earl brushed away the leaves that had fallen across the dead stag's face, pointing to the arrow buried in his eye that had shot from his bow just moments ago. Catherine watched in silent wonder, not disgusted by the blood that oozed from the animal's wound, but fascinated. She had never been squeamish of such things, that trait belonged to her brother, one her Father had worked hard to train from him.

Her small hands reached out, fingers brushing the little stumps where she expected antlers to be. They were covered with fuzzy fur and made Catherine smile.

"Where are his antlers, Father?" She asked and the Earl smiled, ruffling her golden plait until she giggled.
"Stags shed their antlers each year, Cate, and grow them again for mating season later"

"Mating season?" She repeated, unfamiliar with this new term that she frowned curiously. Her Father simply chuckled, swinging her up into his arms and carrying her back to where their horses waited with guards dressed in the Percy livery.

It was strange thing to be carried in her Father's arms after a day's hunt, in fact, it was a strange thing to Catherine to be in her Father's arms at all but he took it all within his stride! Ever since her success at court with the Queen, she had suddenly found herself basking in an ocean of her Father's attention.

Never before had he taken her hunting but, that morning, while her brother was at training, he had announced they would shoot in the surrounding woodland! Truly, it had shocked the girl but she had had her servants put on her boots and wrap her cloak around her shoulders with the speed of an arrow fleeing from a bow!

She had ordered padded skirts and a fur lined hood made of heavy blue velvet, a jewelled girdle around her waist that would shine in the winter son.

And the day had far from disappointed.

When the Earl lifted Catherine onto her horse she could see the hoard they had collected, at least three deer, a boar and too many rabbits to count (most of which were her kill), more than a good day's works she thought and saw her Father agreed! She breathed in the damp smell of the forest, relishing the fresh rush of air that flooded her throat.

Arranging her heavy skirts and cloak around her, she nudged her horse into a trot beside her Father's, grinning at her white palfrey while the orange rays of setting sun filtered through the trees.

Around them sticks and branches cracked making Catherine look to the side with a wariness in her eyes. She was sure that she saw a flash of red, heard the clink of metal but the Earl just chuckled again.
"The spared creatures of the forest!" He told her and his men gave a cheer making her smile once more. The clinking of the armour was theirs!

꧁꧂

Her Mother and maids were there to greet the hunting party when they retuned, the countess painted in shades of gold and the veil of her hennnin swaying gently in the wind. It almost encased her in a shroud of sheer silk. Lifting her skirts, she moved to greet her husband, curtsying before signalling the maids to see to her daughter.

Catherine smiled at them, nodding her noble acknowledgement while they lifted her down, carrying her ably across the courtyard to the steps so that not even the hem of her gown would be muddied.

"A good days hunt, husband?" She heard Eleanor ask, answered by the Earl's good-natured chuckle as he embraced her, gesturing to the horses laden with freshly killed animals that would soon fill the kitchen with the scent of cooked meat "Ah, we shall eat well tonight, Henry!"

"That we shall, my dear! Now, where is my son?"

"Here, Father!" Little Henry's excited voice answered as he emerged from the castle, sending his little sister a smile when he rushed down the steps and to his Father. He bowed and his grin widened but behind him, Catherine merely gawped, in fact, she wondered how he smiled at all! The right side of his face was covered in blood 'his blood' she realised with a pang, that seeped from a gash above his eyebrow.

He wore the wound proudly, tilting up his head so his Father would see. There could be no doubt of his pride when the Earl clapped him on the shoulder.
"Your first wound, my boy!" He praised, tone rich with the nobility that ran through his veins "It shall leave a fine scar!"

"Really, Father?" The boy exclaimed, running a finger through the bloodied line though it caused him to flinch in pain. To have his first scar would at last establish him as a warrior, as the knight he would become! There could be no doubt of his bravery now. "Do you really think so?"

"I do" His Father told him, swinging a strong arm around his shoulders while Eleanor approached their daughter, waving away the maids that were removing her damp cloak from her shoulders.

"Prepare a fire in my solar" The servants were quick to scurry away while she took Catherine's hand in her own, leading her inside "A gift has come!" She announced, pulling her willing daughter up the winding steps that twisted and turned up, up, up into the castle tower where the girl's room lay "A gift from the Queen!"

꧁꧂

The servants and countess made noises of pure awe and adoration as Catherine twirled before them in her new gown, made of white silk and cloth of gold, accompanied by a string of pearls to be tied around her neck with a delicate ribbon of crimson. Red roses were embroidered upon the hem and neckline and the sleeves were simply heavenly with a gentle puff that came to a close at tight cuffs, lined with fur as pure as snow.

"It's beautiful!" The girl breathed as she spun and her Mother smiled from her oaken chair, surrounded by attentive ladies in waiting who simpered at the sight of the little Queen's favourite. In such a magnificent gown she looked less an Earl's daughter than a Princess or even a Queen and, while she did not know it, a Queen was what exactly the Countess could now see her daughter becoming!

'The Queen of England beside King Edward of Lancaster'
She mused, and to her it was no fool's dream. A show of such favouritism was all but a promise of wealth and power to come! If Queen Marguarite truly was as fond of the little Percy girl as she appeared to be then why would she not consider a union between she and her son? A crown was nothing less than Catherine deserved, Eleanor believed, and with any divine luck, she would see that belief to its reality.

With one more smile she clapped her hands and her daughter stopped her spinning, swaying slightly until she regained her balance but her smile never faltered. It could be certain that she was dreaming of a glittering crown too!

"We must see you to bed, dearest" She said in her gentle tone and the girl did not protest, waving forth Clemence who attended to the gown's intricate laces while another servant fetched a fresh nightgown.

Catherine stood still while the women worked, allowing for them to gentle her gown and shift over her head, dress her in her nightgown and brush out her hair. She allowed herself to be waited upon hand and foot, she liked it, and after all she knew no different. Once ready to rest, her golden hair braided and the heavy linen covers of her bed pulled back for her to slide into, she curtsied to her Mother who approached with an effortless grace.

"Goodnight, Mother" She murmured as Eleanor cupped her face with her soft hands and bestowed a kiss to her forehead.

"Goodnight, dearest" She returned, before she turned and left, all of the ladies in tow but Clemence who took her little Lady's hand, escorting her to her bed. She offered her a bowl of rosewater to dip her fingers in and Catherine did so gladly, wiping her damp hands on the linen sheet on a nearby chest before she climbed beneath her covers. Clemence pulled them up to her chin, stroking back the stray strands of flaxen hair that framed her lady's face before blowing out the candle at her bedside in one small puff.

"Sleep well, my Lady" She said with a demure curtsy that Catherine nodded at before watching her leave and relishing the click of the door that finally allowed her to snuggle deep beneath the covers; closing her eyes for sleep.

꧁꧂

They had watched her leave the castle that morn.
They had watched her at the hunt, her Father by her side. They had watched her joyous return with grim faces.

All that time the Nevilles had waited like a pack of wolves stalking their pray, waiting patiently for the precious cover that the darkness of night would give to their shadowy forms as they slunk across the castle walls.

Richard, Thomas and John Neville.

They were three of the four sons born to the Earl of Salisbury (the powerful head of the Neville family) their younger brother, George, safe in his place in the church as a Bishop. They had brought their men with them, not dressed in standard Neville livery but leather jerkins, padded with chainmail, as black as the night sky to give them cover.

Now they sat behind a row of thorny bushes, Richard watching the guards patrol on the castle walls with narrowed green eyes. He was the brother for precision, for perfection in every plan he and his kin executed. If success needed to be guaranteed, he was the man they would call upon; their great Earl of Warwick.

Thomas leant languidly against a nearby tree trunk, aimlessly prodding the water skin at his belt. He took care to let his strong frame droop for, at six foot four, he was not a hard man to miss; a fine warrior too!

Then there was John, the youngest of the three yet the best fighter amongst them, even they would admit! Never had he lost in hand to hand combat and his loyalty was not one that could be bent, it was as solid as stone and for his family, he would give his own life.

Still his eyes held droplets of doubt within their pale blue depths. While he was ruthless when he needed to be, as all men needed to be, he was not vicious and the plan that Richard had concocted he had objections too.

But they were objections he did not let pass his lips, he respected his brother too much. Thomas was much the same but less sensible than he. He liked a good fight, a good escapade that highlighted the danger of being caught. That was apparent from the times he and John had spent chasing Percys hither and thither around the countryside!

Now they were to capture one of them.
But the fight was not to be a fair one.

"Are we going to wait until our bones are dust?" Thomas asked after a while and his elder brother hissed, waving a hand.
"Be silent you oaf!" He commanded, resulting in Thomas rolling his eyes.

"Poor little Dickie" He taunted "He does so hate when his little plans are messed with!" Richard turned, glaring at Thomas with all his might, though he was careful not to make a single sound, not fond of the idea of getting caught as his younger brother was.

"What I hate is you being a pain in my backside, Tom" He spat, jabbing Thomas harshly in the ribs at which point the true play began. His brother keeled over, writhing on the ground while he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's killed me!" He exclaimed, making the men laugh "Ah its killed me!" Another slap and he saw fit to sit up, rolling his eyes again. He knew how far to push his elder brother and he was satisfied he had pushed him far enough "What now?" He asked in a more even tone, flicking at a piece of dry bark he found.

"Now we advance, Tom, and if I here one more peep from you then I swear I will dangle you from the nearest tower!" John replied, pointing his dagger at his brother who held up his hands in mock surrender.
"Johnny is right" Richard said, motioning for his men to emerge from the bushes, shushing them with every clank of metal or slide of a sword in its scabbard his keen ears heard.

Huddled together, daggers drawn, they advanced towards the castle, skulking around the walls in silence until they reached the wall on the farthest side of the castle, one that was not protected by the vast number of guards that patrolled up and down. They halted at the bottom, waiting with bated breath while Richard peered upwards, one hand over his eyes like he would when trying to shield them from the glare of the sun.

A small rustle from above made him grin and suddenly a rope dropped down before him, one as sturdy as an oak, he found when he tugged on it. Success. With a small chuckle he turned to his men to see they wore grins to match his own.
"Ten of you bring the horses" He instructed, pointing at the three that stood at attention at the back of the group "You" He pointed to five more "Stay here on guard. Should anything go amiss, you know the signal"

"Yes, my Lord" They answered and took up their swords, holding them proudly, eager to do Warwick's bidding.

"Brothers, with me"
John nodded, striding forward to hold the rope while Richard started to ascend, surprisingly nimble for one of his warrior build and strength. Thomas simply stared.

"Are we going to climb it?"
"Well I wasn't planning on sticking it up my arse, Tom!" Richard's curt voice replied "Now come on before we are caught!"

Glaring down again at his brother and relishing John's amused snicker, he ascended the wall once more, both brother's in tow. In his mind he privately wondered if Thomas would make it all the way up or if he would see fit to see how far he could jump without breaking both legs! For all his skills with a sword and merry nature, his younger brother could be rather stupid!

Climbing over the battlements he took in a breath of cool night air, relishing the icy burn it sent to the back of his throat before he hauled John and Thomas up to join him, eyes searched for their target.

"There!" Thomas whispered, pointing to the stone tower closest to them, just across the plane of grass that separated them from victory. It was tall, as they knew, the small door that they would use to gain entry to the castle a brown curve in the darkness, only just visible to the eye.

Richard, nodding, began to stride across the wall, finding the nearest set of steps and all but jumping down them in one leap to the soft bed of grass below! His two brothers glanced at one another, recognising the sudden change in the him that had now caused his utter silence.

Unbreakable determination.

As quickly as they could, they made to join him, striding across the grass with their eyes and ears alert for the sound of any danger. But none came. When they approached the strong, stone keep, they drew their daggers, sliding the blades into the side of the little door and pulling with all their might until the lock fell off and it swung clean open, almost inviting the men inside.

"Mother Mary be praised" Thomas whispered, crossing himself while his brothers stepped inside, squinting slightly as they were met with the bright light of lit torches that hung in their brackets upon the wall. One illuminated another door to their right, this one finer and caring the Percy coat of arms. Richard was tempted to spit at it but he managed to refrain for once, focusing on the task at hand.

That door was not what needed his attention. While it would lead them to the Percy riches of their dreams, they were not at Alnwick as common thieves! No, the treasure they sought was far more precious than any jewel and would keep longer too. And so, he conducted his gaze to the spiral staircase he knew would lead to their intended prize.

Signalling with one gloved hand, the brothers moved forth, placing one foot carefully in front of the other as the ascended the twisting staircase. They thanked god it was stone, crossed themselves twice because of it! Had it been wood the creaks would all but announce their presence to the world, or to the castle guards at least. That would not be in their favour.

But it seemed they were in the favour of fortune's wheel that night for they reached the top of the tower undetected, lifting the silver latch on the door and silently making their way inside. The chamber they entered was large, the walls covered with tapestries they could tell were bright even in the dark.

They held their attention for only a fraction of a moment, however, when Richard saw the bed that lay before them. Signalling once more, the three Nevilles approached, Thomas and Richard standing on one side, John on the other. There would be no escape from this. Suddenly, Thomas huffed, large hands grasping the golden gown that lay on a coffer.

"Well if this isn't fine for an Earl's daughter?" He whispered and Richard grinned, despite nodding back towards the bed where their mission lay.

Catherine slept soundly beneath her covers, her breathing deep and even as she dreamed her dreams of jewels and glory; of gaining the hand of Prince Edward, of stepping down the isle of Westminster Abbey, the soon to be Princess of Wales. She smiled in her sleep and truly appeared the child she was, so small and delicate, drowning in the heavy sheets that covered her.

"This isn't right" John suddenly whispered, leaning against one of the bed's sturdy posts while he stared at the little girl sleeping within it. She reminded her of his own daughters and to think of men seeking to take them, why, the thought was abhorrent.

"This is power" Was Richard's stinging reply from across the sea of covers, holding out a hand for the rag Thomas fished from his doublet and doused it with a good amount of the foul smelling liquid he held in his water skin on his belt. That would keep the little mite quiet for a while.

"This isn't right" John said again, now shuffling from foot to foot in a childhood habit that only appeared in times of pure distress "She's a child, Richard!"
"She's a jewel for us to take as our own! She is an asset to us, Johnny! Really if you are so squeamish then mayhap you should wait outside! It's not as if we will harm the girl! We are not brutes!"

"But we are kidnappers" Thomas remarked thoughtfully, earning Richard's icy glare.
"You're not helping, Tom"

The eldest shook his head, rag in hand, while he looked at the small, sleeping girl once more. Was this too much for him and his brothers? Was this truly too wild an act to be considered right in the eyes of any? Would this truly bring him the glory he hoped or would it bring his destruction? After all he had seen the favour the Queen showed the Percy girl firsthand! Would he have the bitch of Anjou on his tail again like a snapping wolf, ready for the kill?

He shrugged, oh well, it was too late for second thoughts now.

Swooping forward he clamped the cloth over the girls mouth, holding tight, though not crushingly so. Heaven forbid if he marred her pretty face! His Father would kill him! Catherine awoke with a jerking start, fear immediately pulsing through her veins as she was forced to inhale the foul smell of the rag that covered her nose and mouth.

Her body began to flail in adrenaline rushing. panic, kicking, tossing, turning, punching, hitting; her small frame trying with all its might to fend off this attacker but she soon found pairs of calloused hands held her still and a small sob broke through her attempted cries of alert. This must be some nightmare, she thought with a degree of desperation! Some horror filled dream conjured by the devil himself!

Oh, if only she could think of what wrong she had done then pray for absolution....

Still, her weak body fought on, trying to free her limbs from the iron grip they were held in, teeth trying to bite through the cloth held over her face but all it did was force more of the horrid smell into her lungs, causing her mind to spin. Within moments her resistance began to fail her and her alert vision became terrifyingly warped, the canopy of her bed swimming above her as if the waves that were depicted had suddenly come to life.

She shook her head.

She was the daughter of an Earl, the ruler of the North. She was the favourite of the Queen and a possible Queen herself....she was strong

"No!" She tried to scream through the scrap of wet linen "No!" Again and again she tried to will back her strength, again and again she tried to keep her eyes open, her cries loud but it was no use. As if cursed, all of her defences failed her and she felt herself begin to fall deeper and deeper into a unwanted sleep that began to curl around her mind like the gripping fingers of death around her heart.

"Please!" She sobbed once more and then she truly slipped away, her last memory being the feeling of being pulled from warm covers into rough hands, the cold metal of armour seeping through her nightgown.

'No' She thought desperately.