The servant shuffled his feet.
“Do stop your fidgeting, and do as I say!”
“But, my lord—”
“What is it now?”
“I am afraid—”
“Aye? What is it? Come out with it then?”
“I’m afraid your brother is dead.”
Chapter One
England 1551
Cedric knelt awaiting the announcement of the English king. Some would say this was an unusual position for a Scot, but others would take the opportunity to remind the uninformed that the man wasn’t truly a Scot. In his experience, educating those people on his heritage and explaining the situation did little good. It was best to stay focused on the here and now, like the shininess of the floor, not the sounds of a crowd snickering at his back. These wayward thoughts ended when the sound of the young King Edward’s voice boomed.
“Cedric MacNeil of Scotland, it is an honor to have you in my court.”
Cedric’s head raised a fraction. His eyes shifted, looking around and noticing how the King’s minions were nodding their heads in agreement.
“You came to this court and offered your sword as a service to the English crown. In the beginning, it was our opinion perhaps you should be denied this privilege. But, after much thought and consideration the opportunity was extended to you. Not because of you, of course, but because of your mother, Elinor. Father was fond of her. She was a member of his court and held a prominent position in our English society.”
Heads around the room nodded once again, as the King gleefully added, “I can also say, agreeing to send you to compete in the tourney on behalf of my crown has brought me much reward.”
Here, the King paused and beckoned a man forward. He whispered unintelligible words, causing the servant to nod. The King continued his speech. “In order to reward you, as you have rewarded this court with your service, I wish to offer you not only the gold you’ve earned, but also a worthy piece of land.”
At the word “land,” Cedric’s head popped up. The faces around the room were wide with peculiar smiles.
The King motioned his secretary forward. In a businesslike fashion, the man spoke. The information concerned the location and the dimensions of the land. At the end, the king’s assistant added one more detail. “In order to secure the property as your own, there is one stipulation.”
Cedric stared at the shiny floor, which reflected back to him his expressions of honest interest. With renewed focus, Cedric listened to the attendant’s continuing speech. “In order to acquire this piece of property permanently, you must marry the previous land owner’s daughter.”
At the pronouncement, the whole court burst out in riotous laughter. In a flourish, the King dismissed everyone in the room, leaving in a flurry of robes himself. On bended knee, Cedric was left alone in the vast room wondering about his future. What could have been so amusing to the crowd?
****
A month after his experiences in the King’s court, Cedric stood atop a rock-covered hill with the wind sweeping behind him, staring with longing at the castle nestled in the valley below. This was to be home? It was not the Scottish highlands with purple fields of heather, which he envisioned at night. But it was close enough.
So close, in fact, nearby Scottish clans had been known to kidnap local village wenches, as well as plunder the sheep from the surrounding hillsides. This was no doubt one of the reasons the King had graced a Scot with a chance at claiming this particular parcel.
Cedric surveyed all before him. The desire of his heart was coming to pass. Soon this would be home. Land to call his own. Land to grow crops. Land to raise sheep. Land to raise a family.
After the King’s pronouncement, Cedric discovered he’d not been the first choice for Lord of Greenbriar. In truth, he’d not been the second or third choice either. From rumors passed in the King’s court, Cedric learned many individuals of noble quality and birth had been chosen as potential lords of this fair land.
Many had traveled far and wide to claim their prize, but none had succeeded. It was said some had taken one look at the main hall falling in on itself, and spoken with the mistress of the keep, who would become his wife, and high-tailed it back to the city without elaborating on an excuse for their return. Others returned posthaste, refusing the land offered. Some came with legitimate reasons. They claimed the repairs needed required funds beyond their means. Others returned with peculiar reasons such as mythical maladies that denied them the ability to maintain this specific parcel and its inhabitants. Rumors abounded as to the “real” reason these nobles had departed the grounds. But no facts seemed to be had.
Cedric assumed some of the English Lords who had come north to the border castle were no doubt terrified of the local Scots living nearby. As he investigated the rumors further, Cedric heard such tidbits of information like, “the castle was in complete disarray,” with mention of everything from sagging walls to crumbing village homes. He’d also heard spirits frequented the castle even in the daylight hours, and anyone who stayed longer than a fortnight was struck with a disease of the bowels. One of the most interesting rumors overheard was about the mistress of the keep. She was said to be an ugly, witchy character who wielded a tongue of fire.
In his opinion, the nearby Scots would be easy enough to control once they learned of the new Lord’s lineage. As soon as Cedric took control, the rowdy neighboring Scots would step back. At least that was his theory. The castle walls and sagging village huts could easily be repaired with hard work and time. The ghosts were not a concern, since they didn’t exist. And he would prepare his own food or keep a close eye on what was to be consumed to keep his bowels in check. Which left only one concern—the mistress. A nagging wife was worse than constant dripping, or so he’d heard.
Although Cedric worried about his future spouse, nothing would deter his goal. After his mother’s passing, Father only lived a short time. His father’s death had caused the MacNeil clan to erupt. They refused to have a half-breed and an Englishman rule. Rather than fight to hold only a tenuous grasp on his land, and perhaps destroy his own family from within, Cedric voluntarily handed control to his uncle and headed to court to serve the English King. This was his chance at redemption. There was no way he would give up an opportunity to have land; and no ugly, witchy woman would stand in the way.
Scanning the road, Cedric thought he saw what he was looking for. Indeed, he had. Warmth filled his heart as Cedric approached the castle. Stopping in the nearby woods, he noticed the drawbridge was down. This allowed villagers to come and go freely.
With just his sporran, claymore, and the sparse clothing in his sack, he felt exposed. The few gold pieces sewn into his kilt were the only other items carried. All else had been left behind. He preferred to live off the land. What else did one need?
Cedric had not purchased a horse for the journey because there was no reason to hasten his arrival, nor did he wish to feed the beast. Besides, Cedric needed the extra time foot travel provided to consider a strategy for conquering this foe.
Without knowing her name or what she looked like, how was Cedric to find the woman he sought? The King’s court said the mistress was young but old. Beautiful, yet wrinkled and witchy. No two descriptions ever matched.
On the long walk from court to Greenbriar land, Cedric rolled many options about in his mind. Of course he’d considered the direct approach. Introduce himself as a suitor and attempt to gain the lady of Greenbriar’s favor in a forthright manner.
The idea of taking the castle by force had also crossed Cedric’s mind. The act of doing this would make him no better off than if he’d stayed on MacNeil land.
No, he needed a plan. Something sneaky and well thought out. The idea of asking the villagers where to find the mistress was another option. Perhaps he would see this lady of Greenbriar without revealing himself and then decide whether pursuing her favor was worth the effort.
As Cedric waited, there was a sound of movement
behind him. Within seconds Cedric held the intruder against the tree, a dagger to his throat.
“Calm yeself me Lord, it is I.”
Cedric released the servant and backed away. They grasped hands in greeting and Cedric said, “Thank ye, Barney, for coming.”
Barney nodded. “I left Duncan and the others in town just like ye said and I’m here to do yer bidding.”
“Good. Now let’s discuss what I need ye to do.”
As much as he tried to convince himself this would be an easy task, he knew otherwise. Others had attempted to conquer this rival and failed. Failure was not an option.
****
Sarra woke early and took time to languidly stretch in bed. Looking around the unadorned room, she felt happy and content. The huge four-poster bed filled most of the room. Up against the wall sat a prized possession, a writing desk which once belonged to her mother. Its wood shone bright as the sunshine peeped through the wooden shutter. Sadness threatened to engulf her. Mother’s passing when Sarra was a wee child had been a major factor in who she’d become. She should be grateful. Indeed, there was a lot to be thankful for.
To lift her spirits, a review of blessings was in order. The ground had been tilled and planted. Her wardrobe was filled with dresses to wear, if there was ever an occasion to adorn herself in such finery. Everyone in the keep was in relatively good health. Sarra was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt this was the most comfortable mattress in all of England. Oh, there were other things to be thankful for. But those few topped the list.
With spirits lifted, Sarra threw back the coverlet, hesitating a moment before placing her feet on the cold, stone floor. The maid had yet to stoke the fire and the room had grown cold during the night. Although spring was ending and summer was well on its way, the nights in the keep continued to remain cool.
After shrugging into a wrinkled shift and dressing gown, she stoked the fire. She used the water left over from the night before to wash the sleep from her tired eyes. Bristling when the cold water touched her flushed skin, she dressed hurriedly, eager to start another day as Lord – no, Lady of the castle.
Bounding down the stairs in a childlike manner, Sarra surveyed the castle in her charge. At least it remained so for now. A smile spread wide across her face at all she saw. The rushes along the floor were fresh and clean. The smell of fresh baked bread emanating from the kitchen caused her mouth to salivate. This was home.
Sarra took a moment to reflect. Father had passed two years ago, leaving no sons to replace him. Gladly she had accepted the challenge of running the keep. In the beginning, the respect of those in her care had not come easily.
Proof of Sarra’s abilities was required in every area. The knights respected her only after seeing her ability with a blade, which admittedly was limited. Cook gave respect only after he understood Sarra was leaving him in charge of the kitchen. The parson ignored her because of the issue of gender. As a woman, she held no sway in religious matters. Since she took no time to change his mind in this area and readily accepted his authority, he showed respect to her in public. From him, this was enough.
Each individual in the castle required a different or unique approach to convince him or her Sarra was capable of taking care of most situations, either on her own or with the help of others. In the end, each person just wanted to know their place was secure, and she wouldn’t attempt to usurp what little authority they had.
Of course, Sarra’s unassuming ways had helped immensely. She’d never been one to put on airs or to succumb to behaving better than the others. Wearing the same clothes as the villagers most days, she refrained from adorning herself as royalty. Each day she woke early, commanded the household as need be, and let those with more knowledge put it to use. She worked alongside everyone in the keep. Everyone was on an equal level. They were family.
Taking over the castle, while not easy, had given her a purpose. It had been something Sarra desperately needed. Her father’s sudden death had dealt a crushing blow to her well-organized life. But as she settled into a new routine, the precariousness of her position came to light. She was in truth not the “heir” to the castle. Since her father had no sons, the king could pick a new lord for the castle at any time. And with her father dead, Sarra would be expected to marry this Lord with no say in the matter.
After the passing, Sarra had to inform the king that Father was no longer around to show fealty to him. But she had procrastinated. After several months passed and visitors and passersby arrived looking to visit with the always indisposed lord, Sarra knew time had grown short. Rather than allow the secret to be discovered and thought to be a hidden plot of a nefarious nature, she had sent a letter with a trusted servant to the King. Sarra had an idea what response the King would inflict. Her estimation had been correct.
Now that the King knew of her father’s demise, Sarra would never be left alone as the new lord over the castle. But she had a plan. This plan had been carried out successfully for almost a year, and currently it kept all potential lords away from the castle and the lady within. But how much longer could it work?
Sighing to herself, Sarra continued on to the garden. With Charism’s help she’d been learning more about herbs, but not enough to use them alone without killing someone. In truth, she knew just enough to make a few annoying people very, very sick. Even without the healing knowledge of Charism, a servant and trusted friend, the garden brought solace when none was to be had. Weed pulling made the time she spent in the garden practical as well as comforting. Sarra discovered she was quite adept at finding weeds.
But today, before Sarra could reach the sweet solitude of the garden, she was waylaid by one of the castle’s knights.
“Mistress, I have news.”
The knight, Gavin, shifted from side-to-side as he stood before her. The young man was short with brown, beady eyes level with Sarra’s own. Currently his helm was pressed underneath his arm as he addressed her with a frown on his brow.
Sarra waited.
The knight didn’t speak further but continued to shift from side to side in obvious agitation. She was fast becoming exasperated with the lad, but remained silent and pretended patience while waiting for Gavin to continue with his urgent news. When he failed to speak, Sarra began to wonder if there was an unknown knightly code where the lady had to respond before a knight could continue with speech. Very well, she would comply.
“Aye?”
At her voice, Gavin opened his mouth. “My Lady, Sir Henry requests your presence on the battlements.”
“Indeed.” Sarra was perplexed by the request. Of course, at various times during her twenty years of life, she’d stolen away and walked the battlements secretly. As the Lord of Greenbriar’s daughter, she was always removed from the area for fear of danger and told never to return. A woman did not belong in such places. But never in memory had she been “requested” to come to the area.
Again Gavin resumed his fidgeting motion, making Sarra wonder if the lad had gotten into some itching potion belonging to Charism. “Aye, my lady. Sir Henry requires—that is requests—your presence. It seems to be of some urgency.”
“Oh, very well.” Gathering up her skirts, Sarra headed to the stairs leading to the small walkway around the castle walls.
As Sarra approached the top step, she spotted Sir Henry staring fixedly toward one of the distant hills beyond the wall. Sarra hesitated to look in the direction Sir Henry’s eyes indicated for fear of losing her footing on the stairs and plunging to an untimely death.
With great delicacy, she approached the captain. Sir Henry was still concentrating on something outside the walls. Knuckles had turned white from his grip, and sweat rolled down his sun-weathered face. He had taken off his helmet, revealing a mass of black hair dappled with gray.
“Sir Henry, you requested my presence.” Sarra’s insides did a flip flop as she continued to focus on the knight in charge and tried not to look down from the dizzying heights.
Slowly
, but not loosening his grip a fraction, Sir Henry faced her. “My lady, are you expecting more, umm, company?”
“Company? Sir Henry, whatever are you talking about?”
Removing one hand from the wall, he gestured with it toward the opposing hill.
Sarra turned and spotted the object of Sir Henry’s fascination. A sudden intake of breath slammed her lungs and was followed by a small step backward; if not for Sir Henry’s quick reactions she would have plummeted to the ground in a broken heap. As Sir Henry steadied her once more, Sarra studied the figure lingering on the hill beyond.
From this distance, the trees behind the fellow gave him the appearance of great height. He stood with his feet slightly apart, staring directly at the castle walls. His shoulder-length brown hair lifted slightly off his shoulders as the wind blew over him, mimicking a caress. His clothing did little to hide the shape of his muscular body. A sword hilt could be seen peeping from over his left shoulder. A certain air of authority seemed to exude from his person. Sarra imagined his jaw muscles clenching as he thought of his next move.
A sense of sarcasm invaded her thoughts. No doubt he was planning his siege at this very moment.
“My lady, do you think he has come to raid the castle? Looking for sheep perhaps? Or maybe come for a few wenches?” When Sir Henry spoke, his tone was one of jesting instead of the sincerity she expected.
Leave it to Sir Henry to try to lighten the mood after scaring her so with his tenseness. Sarra restrained herself from giving him a playful slap on the arm. One false move and she wouldn’t be the only one on the ground.
Love Octagon Page 17
