Fox hurried past the gossiping nobles, hurried through the corridor toward the great double doors of the castle. He had to get out. He had to escape the superior looks, the haughty stares and whispers behind his back. I don’t give a damn what they think, Fox told himself. But he couldn’t stand the way they looked at him.
Just a day before, just hours before, the same people were his friends, his equals. Now they saw him as inferior. Fox clenched his teeth. He reached the doors only to find a downpour of rain slamming into the ground.
Fox halted. He couldn’t go out. He took a step back and turned. Four nobles, two he recognized as Lord Hagen and Lord Lynch, were staring at him, whispering. Fox whirled and stormed out into the sheets of rain. He raced through the downpour, sloshing through large puddles and thick mud clutching at his ankles, dashing through the inner and then the outer courtyard as the rainfall splattered his young body. The wards were mercifully empty. He continued across the lowered drawbridge and turned sharply to his right to run across the field bordering Castle Mercer. The tall wet grass blew in the strong wind, slapping at his thighs. He could not see more than a few feet in front of him because of the torrents of rain, but he raced on. It was lucky he knew the way by heart. It was the only place he could go.
The last few days’ events replayed in his thoughts as he ran. Lord Vaughn had magnanimously given his family two weeks to find somewhere else to stay and vacate the castle. But they had nowhere to go, nowhere to stay. His life was over. He could not be a squire or a knight. He would never be a lord. His future had been destroyed.
The roar of the river greeted him first. It was not the gentle caress it had been when he had visited it last, but a powerful rush of churning, white capped water. Its width had swelled to the very edges of the willow trees dotting its banks, the fast-moving water pushing at the drooping branches that had sunk beneath its surface, making the trees appear alive.
Fox ran to two trees that grew very close to each other and pushed the heavy branches aside, stepping into the makeshift cave their branches had created. It was very dark in the cave today. So very dark and cold.
He sank down on the soft, wet moss, the chill from the ground quickly seeping through his already wet clothing, seeping into his very bones. He felt defeated. Alone.
Darkness settled over the land and over Fox’s heart. And like the intense emotions and confusion raging inside Fox, the storm continued to vent its fury outside the makeshift branch walls of Fox’s secret hideaway.
“Fox?” someone called from outside the cave.
Fox knew the owner of the voice, but for a moment he thought he had imagined it.
“Fox?” She sounded a little more desperate.
Jordan. She shouldn’t be here. She should be with the other nobles. “Leave me alone,” he commanded softly. She didn’t have to endure the pain he was going through. He buried his face between his hands.
“Fox,” she almost sighed, ducking to move beneath the branches, stepping toward him. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”
“I said leave me alone.” His tone was stronger.
She fell to her knees, reaching out to him.
Fox pulled away from her touch, turning away from her. “You shouldn’t be seen with me anymore,” Fox whispered in a ragged and hoarse tone. “I’m a commoner now. A peasant. A nothing...”
“Do you think I care if you are titleless? Or if you have no lands? Would I have come out in this storm if I did? I don’t care about any of that.”
“Your father does,” Fox retorted. “Your friends do.”
Jordan reached out to clasp his hands. “You are my friend.”
Despite the chill surrounding them, her hands were warm and soft.
“Not any longer.” Fox ripped his hands away from her. She had to leave him for her own good. She could not be seen with him. It could bring the King’s wrath on her and her family.
“Why are you doing this? I would never give up our friendship. You mean more to me...”
“Just go!”
Jordan shook her head. “Don’t make me leave.”
Her anguish tore at his young heart. He didn’t want to hurt her. It took all his willpower not to apologize, not to let her be the friend he so desperately needed.
As the silence stretched, Fox thought it was over. She would leave him now. He lifted his gaze to her. Her dress was soaked. Her long brown hair hung over her shoulders, shining with rain. Her pale skin was speckled with raindrops. She looked like some fallen angel.
Her large eyes caught and held his attention. In them, he swore he saw his salvation. He almost lifted his hand, almost reached out to her. But he couldn’t draw her into his desperation. He clenched his hand, refusing to move it. She had to leave him.
But she didn’t. “You think that by hurting me you will make this easier,” Jordan said. “I won’t be forced away.”
“Jordan,” Fox whispered, fighting down his need, fighting the loneliness that engulfed him. He did need her. He would always need her. Fox suddenly leaned into her, embracing her tightly, pulling her close. “I don’t want to lose you. You are all I have in the world now.”
Jordan clung to him, squeezing his wet velvet tunic beneath her fingers. “You won’t lose me, Fox. I’ll always be with you. There will never be anyone else.”
Fox pulled back slightly, his deep blue eyes sweeping her face, taking in every detail. Faithfulness shone from her blue eyes. He lifted a hand to brush his wet fingertips across her cheek.
Fox gave in to the complete and utter desolation he felt. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against her shoulder.
They held each other, the branches of the willow tree surrounding them, sheltering them, closing out the world and stopping time.
***
When the sun rose the next morning, Fox bounded from his room and raced to the inner ward. The night had brought him little solace and much restlessness. But of all the chaos in his life, he still had one privilege. He ignored the turned backs of his former friends, his former peers. Now they treated him no better than the dirt on the ground. But he didn’t care. He didn’t need them. He had the only friend that mattered. A true friend.
His gaze searched the throng of departing lords and ladies in the inner courtyard. Their tall headdresses and rich clothing were something he would not be able to afford anymore. But it didn’t matter. He never liked the fashions anyway.
Then his gaze settled on the red lion emblazoned on a white flag, the Ruvane crest, clearly visible above the crowd. A bright smile blossomed on Fox’s face, but then abruptly vanished as he saw the flag moving out of the castle, already beneath the outer portcullis. Fox raced after it, desperation swelling within his chest. Jordan was leaving! And without saying a word to him. Something horrible had happened. He could feel it in his very bones.
Fox desperately pushed his way through the knights, shouldering his way past one lord who shoved him rudely in the back. But Fox did not take his gaze from the departing flag. It drew farther and farther away, moving down the road toward the town. Fox tried to increase his pace, but the courtyard was too crowded with departing nobles, horses, and servants for him to move quickly. Finally, he burst through the crowd, breaking free of its confines, moving onto the drawbridge…
… only to see the Ruvane flag picking up speed as it moved away from him down the road, flapping in the breeze.
“Jordan!” Fox screamed, but his voice was swallowed up by the wind. “Jordan!”
Chapter One
Ten years later
Jordan entered the small house, throwing her hood off her shoulders. Her cloak was damp from the misty rain that permeated the night air. She removed the cloak quickly and tossed it onto the table in the center of the room.
She stepped past the pan set at one end of the table. It had been put there weeks ago to catch the drips that fell from a hole in the thatched roof. For the past month, she had told Abagail to have it fixed, but she had never gotten around to
it, and Jordan knew it was for good reason. The children were quite a handful. This time, she didn’t comment on it as she moved to one of the two doors situated on the far wall.
An elderly woman with gray hair and wrinkled skin stepped before her. “Lady Jordan,” she said, wringing her hands. Age spots freckled her loose skin, dotting the backs of her hands with spots of light and dark brown.
“How is she, Abagail?” Jordan demanded, her eyes on the door over the woman’s shoulder.
“Maggie can wait for the moment,” Abagail said. “I just checked on her.”
Jordan looked down at Abagail for the first time that night. She had dark rings beneath her blue eyes, and her usually neatly wrapped bun had strands of gray hair poking out wildly from the back of her head. She reached over to a nearby table and handed Jordan a candle, jerking her head at the other door.
Jordan swiveled her gaze to the other door. It was slightly ajar, and in the darkness, Jordan saw four pairs of wide eyes watching her. She cast one longing look at the door over Abagail’s shoulder before moving toward the other door.
Jordan heard little feet scampering through the room as she opened the door, blankets being whisked aside, small voices muttering to be quiet. A ray of light fell across the room from the candle Jordan held in her hand. The weak circle of light illuminated two large straw beds, one on each side of the small room. Forms huddled beneath the blankets. They were moving around far too much to be asleep.
Jordan entered the room and moved up to one of the beds, setting the candle down on a nearby table.
“Is Maggie going to die?” a small voice wondered.
The thought sent agony through Jordan’s heart but she masked her worry and turned to the other bed and the owner of that small voice. “No, Kara. Maggie is just very, very sick.”
A thick set of dark curls emerged from beneath the blanket, then Kara’s big hazel eyes. “I know. That’s what the physician said.”
“Mistress Abagail said we can’t see her,” another older voice complained.
Jordan turned her gaze to the first bed to meet the stare of a dark-haired boy. “And she’s right, John. Maggie is too sick for visitors right now.”
“When will she be better?” John asked, throwing the covers to his lap and sitting up.
Jordan sighed at John’s question. She wished she knew the answer. “I don’t know,” she said quietly.
“But we heard the doctor say she needed herbs from far away.”
Jordan nodded at Ana’s statement, turning to address the blue-eyed eight year old in the opposite bed. “She does. Sir Evan is riding out to get them tonight. He should return by morning.”
“What if he doesn’t?” Jason wondered.
Jordan turned her gaze to the small boy beside John. He was usually so vibrant but he seemed withdrawn now. “All right,” Jordan said, trying to hide just how much Jason’s question unnerved her. “That’s enough questions for tonight.” She moved to one of the beds, pulling the cover up over the two boys. “I’ll be here all night.” She bent to press kisses to John’s and Jason’s cheeks. Then she crossed the room to the other bed. “Don’t worry about Maggie. I’ll stay with her.” Jordan pulled the blanket up to cover Ana and Kara, pausing to press a kiss to baby Emily’s cheek, who was sleeping like a little angel, though the two year old had more of the devil in her. Jordan kissed Kara and Ana.
Kara pushed the blanket aside to show Jordan the straw mattress, and pointed to an empty spot on the mattress. “I’m saving Maggie’s spot for her.”
Jordan smiled down at her. “You do that, Kara,” she said softly. “Keep it warm for her.”
Jordan walked to the door.
“Lady Jordan!” Kara called, stopping Jordan. “The door.”
“I know, Kara,” she whispered. “I’ll leave it open a little.”
Jordan stepped from the room and set the candle down on a table, leaving the door open a crack to let some light spill into the room for the children. They so hated the dark, she knew, especially with what was happening to one of their friends. It made the dark that much darker, the quiet that much quieter. She could feel the anxiety and fear in her heart, too.
She stared at the other door for a moment, afraid of what she would find on the other side. She willed herself to be strong and took a deep breath before walking to the other door. She pushed the door open slowly, trying to be quiet. The old wood creaked despite her best efforts.
The room was dark, the only illumination coming from a candle that was in danger of going out at any moment. The sputtering flame cast sinister shadows on the wooden walls. To Jordan’s overtired mind, they looked like hovering black ghosts waiting to claim the dead. She quickly forced that unpleasant thought away and stepped deeper into the room. In the corner was Abagail’s bed, a comfortable straw mattress. But the figure on it was far too small to be Abagail.
Jordan hurried over to the mattress. Maggie was still and pale in the candlelight, her brown curls laying limply around her head. The edge of the thick wool blanket was folded beneath her small hands, as if she had not moved in a very long time.
Jordan knelt beside the mattress, taking the girl’s tiny hand into her own. Maggie was only four years old. She had her whole life ahead of her. It wasn’t fair. Jordan brushed the hair back from Maggie’s forehead and was shocked at how warm the little girl felt. Heat emanated from the girl’s skin before Jordan even touched her.
Tears rushed into Jordan’s eyes and she silently begged Evan to hurry.
Maggie’s eyes fluttered and then opened to mere slits. “Lady Jordan,” she managed to whisper, although it seemed to take all her strength to do so.
“Yes, Maggie,” Jordan whispered. “It’s me. Don’t talk. Save your strength.”
“I’m so cold,” Maggie said.
Fear shriveled any glimmer of hope in Jordan’s heart, and she climbed into bed with Maggie, pulling the child tightly against her, making sure the blanket was wrapped around every inch of the little girl’s body. She rubbed Maggie’s hot forehead.
“I don’t feel well,” Maggie whispered.
“I know, sweetheart,” Jordan soothed. She rubbed her cheek against Maggie’s hot one. “I know.”
Maggie’s eyes slowly closed again.
Jordan’s eyes again filled with tears. Maggie had been with her the longest. She had been abandoned at the castle as an infant, barely able to walk. She would have died if Jordan hadn’t found her and nursed her back to health. She was the reason Jordan had convinced her father to give her the old run-down Johnson cottage to shelter the children who had no families. She worked a small patch of garden in the castle so they would have food to survive on and mended their clothing so they wouldn’t be cold. They were the abandoned children. The children no one wanted except for her. Maggie had given Jordan’s life a true purpose.
And now she was unable to help the poor girl. She could do nothing for her but hold her and hope Evan made it back in time. He had to get the herbs. The physician had said that only the herbs would save Maggie’s life.
Maggie groaned softly.
“Shh,” Jordan whispered. “It will be all right,” she said as much to Maggie as to herself. “Everything will be fine.”
***
But it would not be all right. Everything would not be fine. For what happened that night in the dark moonlight on a desolate road would change Jordan Ruvane’s life forever.
Chapter Two
The road was dark and empty. A layer of wispy fog floated across the dirt, glowing a ghostly pale yellow as it absorbed what little moonlight reached its shifting surface. A light mist of rain fell from the night sky, its droplets beginning to break up the patch of fog. The rain was not enough to drench Fox, just enough to annoy him and obscure his view of the road. He swiped a few drops of the cool mist from his forehead with his fingertips and looked further down the dirt road, peering out from his hiding place behind the leaves of a bush.
A form shifted at Fox’s ri
ght. “How long are we going to wait in this weather?” a large man with red hair and a beard asked.
“As long as it takes,” Fox replied. Fox glanced at the big man beside him. Fox couldn’t even remember his real name, nor did he recall anyone ever telling him what it was. Everyone just knew him as Pick -- an obvious name for a master pickpocket and lock picker. But the name fit, so Pick he was and Pick he would always be. The odd thing about the big man was that no one outside Fox’s small band would ever believe that a man of such girth, with shoulders as wide as a horse and arms as thick as tree trunks, would have the subtlest touch Fox had ever seen. The man could steal toys from a child and somehow the child wouldn’t even notice.
“Maybe Frenchie heard the baker wrong,” Pick suggested.
“Pick, you know gossip is one thing Frenchie doesn’t get wrong,” the man to Fox’s left said, pushing his damp blond hair from his head. Beau had been known as Beauregard O’Connell, but Fox knew if he called him that to his face, he wouldn’t have much of a face left. Beau was a good-looking man, younger than Fox, with hair down to his shoulders. The man had hawk-like deep brown eyes that seemed to look right through people sometimes. But those keen eyes had saved Fox’s men more than a few times, because Beau had the archery skills to go with them. Good aim and a quick, sure release had provided many an avenue of escape for Fox’s band.
Pick chuckled low in his throat. “Not like his cookin’, eh?”
“I still have that burned rabbit stewing in my gut,” Beau complained. “My tongue wants to climb out of my mouth and hide in my ale mug every time he calls us for supper. The man wouldn’t know how to use a spice if his life depended on it”
“Maybe that’s why he’s with us,” Pick added, laughing. “An outcast cook for a bunch of outcasts.”
“I don’t think he was thrown out of Chandler Manor for his cooking, but he should have been,” Beau remarked.
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