by Jody Hedlund
For a while, the twin sisters had each ruled their small kingdoms peacefully. But then, Leandra had died in childbirth, leaving a newborn daughter as heir. Margery had decided Mercia belonged more to her than to Leandra’s husband and babe. After all, Margery was the firstborn, and the laws of primogeniture stated the succession should go to the eldest and their heirs.
Margery had fought but failed to reclaim the kingdom. Since that time, her heirs had never ceased believing Mercia and Warwick should be united and that their family deserved to rule both realms. King Ethelwulf had been the one finally to succeed.
What if Mitchell was right? What if the fighting over the decades to reunite the kingdoms had contained ulterior motives? To locate the treasure? Did King Ethelwulf even now seek to find the keys? What would he do if he learned I was in possession of what he sought?
My key felt suddenly heavy and cold. “If I have one of the keys, then does King Ethelwulf have the other two?”
“It is possible,” Mitchell replied, returning the signet ring to me and taking the key and examining it. “Although I have heard that when King Alfred the Peacemaker split the country between his two daughters, he gave one a larger portion of land and the other the keys in order to ensure that the keys were kept together as has always been done.”
“If the keys have always remained together, then why would that change? Perhaps this is not an authentic key after all.”
“It is authentic. How could it be otherwise?” Mitchell fingered the key reverently. “My guess is that someone decided to divide the keys to ensure their safety. Perhaps the two other lost princesses each have a key.”
We were both silent for several heartbeats. The eerie quiet of the night settled around us, and the shock of the revelations threaded through the chilly darkness, making me shiver.
Aunt Susanna had finally closed her eyes. Her breathing was slow but steady, and I didn’t wish to disturb her again with any further discussion.
“I shall stay by her side,” I whispered to Mitchell. “You must go meet the physician.”
He turned the key over in his hand and opened his mouth as if to speak.
I halted him with a touch to his arm. “I realize there is much more to be said on this matter. But the rest can wait for another day, can it not?”
“Certainly.” He handed the key back to me, but not without his fingers clinging to it just a moment too long.
Before he could move away from the bedstead, Aunt Susanna surprised me by grabbing our hands with a measure of strength I hadn’t realized she’d retained. Her eyes were wide open again.
“Mitchell,” she whispered hoarsely. “Promise you will protect Adelaide with your life.”
“Of course, Mother,” he started.
“Vow it,” she gasped.
He lifted her hand and kissed it three times as was customary. “I vow it.”
“And promise you’ll forgive Christopher?”
Mitchell stiffened. “He is a traitor.”
“But he is still your brother.”
“Father disowned him. He is dead to me—dead to us all.”
I wanted to remind Mitchell that Uncle Whelan had no choice but to disown Christopher. As a loyal advisor to the king, Uncle had done so to prove his allegiance to the king as well as to protect our family from punishment. But saying so wouldn’t do any good. Christopher’s betrayal had angered Mitchell perhaps more than anyone else. After all, Mitchell had been the one to ride after Christopher and had begged to go with him, only to have Christopher shout at him to go home.
Aunt Susanna shifted her attention to me. “God saved your life, Adelaide. Now it is time for you to give it back in service to Him as the ruler you were born to be. Promise you will do so.”
Her words weighed upon my heart. I wasn’t sure I could accept everything she’d told me about my origins, much less make a vow to her.
Her fingers gripped mine with an almost bruising quality. “You must vow it.”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to disappoint this dear woman. She obviously had the hope I would do something—perhaps rise up and become a ruler. She’d likely harbored such a hope all the years she’d taken care of me.
Even if I was one of the lost princesses, how would I rise up? I was only a young woman, alone except for Mitchell. What difference could the two of us possibly make?
Aunt Susanna lifted my hand to her lips and placed a kiss there. “Please,” she whispered faintly, “Your Majesty.”
Her address pierced my chest as surely as the blade of a dagger. The term Majesty was only used when speaking with a king or queen. No longer did she see me as her niece, or even a princess. She was acknowledging me as her ruler, her queen.
I wanted to shake my head, turn back time, and return to the way things had always been. But as I peered into her eyes, overflowing with love, I couldn’t deny her. I loved and respected her too much. Maybe I couldn’t promise to assert myself and be a ruler. Yet I could vow to serve God, couldn’t I?
It was my turn to kiss her hand three times.
The moment I finished, her lashes fell. Her fingers in mine grew limp. And she released a long breath as though her job was finished.
I lowered her arm to the bed and waited for her to inhale, for the rise and fall of her chest. But with each passing second of stillness, panic crept into my veins.
I squeezed her hand, but it was lifeless. I shook her by the arm, but she refused to draw a breath.
“Mitchell!” I cried out. “We must do something to save her!” Even as the words echoed sharply in the silent room, my mind comprehended what my heart would not.
She was dead.
Chapter
3
Christopher
I reined in my steed on the crest that overlooked Kentworth Castle. My breath stuck in my chest at the sight of the majestic fortress made of local red sandstone. Its outer bailey wall was thick and crowned with numerous buttresses and towers at strategic locations. The great keep beyond the inner bailey rose tall and stately with enormous corner turrets.
Home.
The sight never failed to move me.
For early June, the land was vibrant against the cloudless blue sky overhead. I inhaled the sweet scent of the bright pink field roses that grew in abandon in the lush meadows. The cadence of locusts rubbing their wings and the hum of bees brought back memories of my childhood, of running the hills barefoot with my kin, swinging our blunt wooden swords, pretending to slay dragons and defending our land from evil.
How young and naïve we’d been. How little we’d known about the real world and the real evils. And how ignorant we’d been about regret and what a powerful force it could be.
I swallowed the bitterness at the back of my throat. After a fortnight of secretive travel across Norland, as well as through the Highlands and Iron Hills, I was ready for a hot meal and warm bath. Yet now that Kentworth was in sight, my reins slackened. I couldn’t make myself urge my steed forward.
As the oldest living son, the castle and land should have belonged to me when Father died. I should have inherited all that belonged to him, including the title of earl. But by leaving Mercia to serve under King Draybane of Norland, I’d made myself an enemy of Ethelwulf.
Most of the time, I convinced myself the sacrifice had been worth it. But now, with the beauty of my boyhood home spread out before me with all its memories, I couldn’t keep the regrets at bay . . . especially knowing Mother was dead and that I’d missed saying good-bye, just as I’d missing saying good-bye to Father.
The ache in my chest expanded and pulsed down my arms to my fingers.
I wasn’t sure why I’d come. By the time Tall John’s missive regarding Mother’s death had reached my post in Norland, her funeral had passed. Nevertheless, I’d petitioned King Draybane for leave so I could return home.
Why? To check on the Langley holdings? To assure myself all was well with my brother and Adelaide?
If I was honest, I knew the real
reason I’d come was to sever the bond with my past. It was time to officially sign over to Mitchell the earldom and relinquish the grasp of my old life. Perhaps in my deepest of hearts I’d harbored hope I could someday return and live at home again and assume my father’s role in ruling his lands. But I needed to admit that would never happen. Not as long as Ethelwulf was on Mercia’s throne.
A distant falcon in the sky drew my attention. It soared effortlessly, its long, smoky wings framing a bare chest. With its dark hood and cape, I recognized it as a peregrine and guessed either Mitchell or Adelaide was hunting. Or perhaps both.
I veered my steed in the direction of the falcon but then hesitated. How would they feel upon seeing me? Would they loathe me for my absence during Mother’s suffering? Or would they open their arms in welcome?
As the peregrine swooped and began plunging downward at a steep angle, I urged my mount down the hill. Although the huntsman wasn’t visible, I’d hunted with my siblings oft enough to know they were likely awaiting the falcon’s return by Finham Brook.
The bird dove out of my vision but then flapped upward a short while later with a small hare in its talons.
“Adelaide,” I said aloud, unable to contain my proud grin. Only my little cousin had worked hard to train her falcon to catch more than small fowl. Mitchell hadn’t had the patience for the extra work.
My excitement mounted as I drew near the brook, but I pulled up short in surprise when I arrived and no one was there. I slid from my horse and bent to examine hoofprints in the mud along the marshy bank. Two horses. The tracks were fresh and told of a hasty departure away from the brook into the woodland.
On foot, I led my steed, following the easy trail. Had the hunters rushed off after a new prey? I trailed the two horses a hundred paces into the woodland before the prints disappeared. I frowned and studied the thick hardwoods and leafy shrubs for any sign of the hunters. But I could see nothing—no faint prints, snapped twigs, crushed leaves, or broken blades of grass.
How could two horses simply vanish?
I released my horse’s reins and crouched. Pushing aside a thin layer of windfall, I once more caught a glimpse of the tracks. In that instant, I realized I’d lowered my guard. My mare whinnied a soft warning. But before I could rise, a blade bit into the tender unprotected skin at my throat.
I froze. And I calculated as much information as I could. The arm encircling my chain mail hood was slender of build. The leather falcon glove was not overly large. And the boot that was just in my vision was small too.
I could easily overcome this foe. But what of the other man? Where was he?
The cracking of branches to the rear of my captor gave me my answer. The weight of his footsteps told me the man was much larger but was still several paces away. I had to act now if I had any attempt at getting away.
I clasped the hand holding the blade against my throat and jerked hard, intending to flip the man over my shoulder to land in front of me. Before I could complete the move, he swiftly pressed a second dagger into my back thigh below my chain mail hauberk. The cutting edge pierced through my hose, forcing me to stand motionless once again.
I held my breath, my mind scrambling for a new plan. My opponent might be small but was apparently well trained. With the dagger firmly in place again at my throat and at my thigh, I couldn’t move without drawing blood, and my captor knew it.
“Who are you and what is your business?” came a commanding but distinctly feminine voice.
Chagrin burned in my chest. Had a woman bested me?
“Why are you on Langley land?”
The demanding tone sounded vaguely familiar. “Adelaide?” I asked. “Is that you?”
The knife faltered, and I realized at once it was my cousin. I took advantage of the brief lag in her attentiveness, jabbed the weapon from her hand at my throat, and swung around in a swift kick, knocking her feet from the ground so that she landed on her back. I rapidly stepped on her wrist and dislodged the other dagger.
My behavior was inappropriate toward a girl—that I knew. But this was Adelaide. I’d always treated her and Mitchell the same. And since she’d been the one to initiate the attack, surely a little wrestling in return would do no harm.
Before I could say anything or shove the dagger out of her reach, she kicked her legs around and slammed them into the back of my knees directly into the reflexive weak spot so that I buckled. My hold on her wrist fell away. In that small second, she retrieved her dagger and thrust it at my throat before my knees could hit the forest floor.
This time she yanked off my chain mail hood, grabbed the short plait of my hair at the back of my neck, and used it to twist my head, giving me no choice but to look at her. I found myself peering up into a face shadowed by a deep hood. Even so, I immediately recognized her eyes, which were the color of moorland sky at eventide. The blue was prettier than I remembered.
“How are you, cousin?” I gave her what I hoped was my most charming grin.
Her eyes narrowed, and the knife remained at my throat. She examined me, taking in the fortnights’ worth of dark stubble covering my chin and jaw, the grit lining the grooves of my face, and the strands of my dark hair that had come loose since I’d last tied it back.
“It is I, Christopher,” I clarified lest she try to harm me further. She would put up a good fight, as she had already, but I could disarm her and bring her into submission eventually.
Slowly, she released her hold at my neck and dropped the blade. I rubbed at the nick and came away with blood on my glove.
Behind Adelaide stood Tall John, my father’s faithful steward. The falcon was perched on his arm, and a full sack lay slung across his back, likely the kill the bird had brought them. The old steward was still as thin as a sapling, with overlong arms and legs. From beneath his coif, strands of his hair had begun to turn brown-gray, the color of a winter woodland. But his eyes were unchanged, kind and alert. And at the sight of me, they filled with recognition.
“I see you are already planning a feast for my arrival,” I said, turning back to Adelaide. “I hope you have at least one grouse in the lot. My mouth is watering in anticipation of a roasted leg.”
Adelaide didn’t respond to my mirth. Instead, she relieved Tall John of the sack. Then, with quick, nimble steps, she started away from me.
Tall John crossed to me, bowed, and extended a hand to help me to my feet. “It is good to see you, my lord.”
“It is good to see you too.” I squeezed his hand at his welcome. I probably deserved a rebuff from him too. But thankfully, he was extending grace. “My gratitude for sending me word regarding Mother’s passing.”
He bowed his head. “You have just arrived, my lord?”
“Yes, just.” My gaze trailed Adelaide. “Is Mitchell hunting with you?”
“He’s away to Delsworth for a fortnight.”
“And he left Adelaide home alone?”
“She’s old enough to fend for herself, as you can attest.”
I tried to assess her more carefully, but her long cloak prevented me from seeing anything but her outline. When I’d left, she’d been but a wisp of a girl. She couldn’t be grown up already, could she?
I jogged after her, easily catching up. “Adelaide.”
She lengthened her stride. The horses were ahead, tied to a maple. If I didn’t stop her now before she reached her horse, I would lose this opportunity to speak with her privately. I grabbed her arm and spun her around, giving her no choice but to face me. In the same motion, I threw back her hood so I could see her clearly.
Standing before me was not the girl I’d once known and played with. Instead, a stunningly beautiful woman met my gaze with her chin lifted and eyes blazing. I took a step back, though why I was surprised, I knew not. I should have expected maturity in her appearance.
She scowled at me, but nothing, not even a frown, could mar her loveliness. In fact, if anything, the liveliness of her anger lit her expression and exposed the high
cheekbones that curved into a dainty chin. Her nose was narrower and more elegant than I’d remembered and her lips most definitely fuller.
“Do I meet your approval?” she asked, her tone cool and edged with steel.
I finished appraising her, noting the color of her hair remained unchanged. She’d pulled it back into a braid, but loose wisps framed her face—golden, like a fine, pale palomino, but thicker and luxurious in a way it had never been as a young girl.
“I hardly recognize you.”
“That is what happens when you abandon your family for so long.”
Her sharp words pierced me. So she was angry at me, not just for missing my mother’s funeral but much more.
I wished I could apologize for leaving Langley. But I’d gone over that agonizing day a hundred times. Each time I’d concluded I’d had no choice but to follow my conscience. Father might have been able to make a deal with the devil and pledge his loyalty to Ethelwulf, but I never would. I’d rather die than sell my soul.
Even so, I regretted arguing with Father. I’d flung heated declarations at him that had been borne of my immaturity. I’d said many things I wish I could retract. But it was too late. He was gone, and the words would forever remain imbedded in my memory.
And apparently in Adelaide’s.
“I am sorry about Mother,” I offered, somehow needing to bridge this gap with her. “I came as soon as I received the news. I only wish I had known she was ill so I could have come sooner.”
“Would you truly have come sooner, Christopher?” Again her tone cut me to the quick.
“Then you think so little of me to imagine I would not try to help Mother in her time of need.”
She met my gaze frankly. The turmoil in the depths of her wide-open blue eyes reached inside and wrenched my heart in a tight grip. “Why are you here, my lord?”
