Weight of A Man - Partial Manuscript

Theresa Butler
[Address omitted]
[Phone omitted]
tab1085@aol.com

Weight of a Man
a novel by Theresa Butler

about 23,000 words
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Prologue

20 January, Year of Our Lord 1338
To the noble and most esteemed Guy de Beaumont, Comt de
Dieppe: I write to call upon your good graces at my time of
need. As you well know, Father has been gone for two years and I
have taken control of his lands and other holdings. This
includes the keep of my father's youngest child, your niece,
Edana.
My wife is at wits end attempting to run a household while
Edana continues subjugating her position. Edana is petulant,
controlling and uncivilized. Lady Marie, your sister, failed in
Edana's education. It seems my father did the same. It ruined
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Edana for any respectable man or any respectable position in
this household. No man will marry her; she will have no man.
The current climate of war in Scotland requires my
continued presence in diplomatic undertakings. I cannot
possibly seek to control her. I ask that you receive her as your
ward and do with her as you see fit. Marry her off, teach her a
few lessons, break her. I wash my hands of this if you choose to
undertake the task. Please respond promptly.
May the Holy Spirit keep you, Sir Thomas Murray

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Chapter 1

High atop a cliff along the northern coast of France sat
Castle Dieppe like a mighty king holding court from upon his
throne. Unyielding and imperious, it surveyed all the land and
people in its care, a silent warning to those who visited the
thriving port not to tarry too long with ill will lest the
sleeping giant be roused from its slumber; waking a force could
be ruinous to all those who were foolish enough to attempt such
a feat. For the most part, the unspoken truce remained, but
jagged scars cleaved into the walls and repaired with off
colored stone surrounding the keep told of all the times when
such truces had been broken. When lord battled lord, when mere
words and silent warnings meant nothing to calm discontent
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enemies, and when only the clash of steel ringing high in the
morning air could make the world right again. Even then, the
castle remained--forever resolute upon its advantageous perch.
It all might have been grotesquely beautiful, Edana
supposed, if it did not also embody everything she despised.
When she, with poor eyesight, glimpsed the crenellations carved
into a darkening sky for the first time, she knew without any
doubt she could never love it or the people within it. Castle
Dieppe may have withstood the test of time and battle, a beacon
of protection for the surrounding land and an important bastion
of strength for the kingdom, but such a strength carried with it
a horrifically sinister side. Not only would the fortifications
keep the unwanted out with little worry, but so too could it
imprison, holding against their will those who wished to choose
anything other than the predetermined path of a noble life. Her
life. The one in which she had no reasonable means of escape
from, save jumping overboard the ship ferrying her to the
future.
Pregnant gray clouds hung on the distant horizon, pushing
closer to the castle and promising to soak the stone giant
carved into an otherwise tranquil pasture of emerald green. A
damp chill crept into the thick cloak and shook her body until
she pulled the garment tighter to her chest. She hunched her
thin shoulders and sunk as far down into the collar of soft fox
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fur as it would allow. The scent of a sweet spring rain on the
wind whistled around her and whipped the auburn streamers of
hair back from her face. All too soon, it vanished. Left in
its wake was the stench of grimy sailors, rotting fish, and the
musty saltiness of the sea churning around them. She gagged and
took a step forward, attempting to catch the sweet breeze again.
The ship beneath her rose high and dropped over a choppy
wave, sending her stumbling forward. She grabbed for something
to steady herself but found only air until two huge paws laid
upon her shoulder and arm to right her. Edana looked up at the
hulk of a man standing over her, shading her from what was left
of the midday sun overhead. Sir Domnall mac Cormaic puffed out
his barrel chest and stared down at her with dark, serious eyes.
He grumbled low in his chest, a sound of warning that Edana had,
against her nature, learned to heed without question from an
early age. "Thank you, Domnall."
He rumbled again and nodded his head to the tight space
between barrels and the edge of the ship she had momentarily
vacated for more pleasurable air. "Stay where you are put," he
ordered.
"When have I ever done such a thing?" She hoped to lighten
his constant churlish mood, but knew it to be pointless. Even
on his best day, he still reminded Edana of a surly bear woken
far too early from its winter sleep.
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"You will stay where I put you," he repeated, "at least
until I have delivered you safely into your uncle's care. Then
whatever you do is your burden to bear."
Edana bit her tongue and irritably slipped back into her
place while Domnall stepped forward to block her into the tiny
area. He had maintained that confining her there was to protect
her; he did not trust the sailors. Nor did he trust the reports
that pirates abound or the fact that the English could appear
out of a thick fog at any time and overtake the ship. However,
the voyage had been absolutely--unnervingly--dull. Now that
they were within sight of land, she did not see the reason
behind such overprotection. No one would be foolish enough to
attack them this close to port without inciting all out war.
Just once she would have preferred to breathe, even if it was
offensive air.
"You will have to let me go eventually."
He cast her a long look. "Not if I can help it, milady."
"Thomas gave you strict instructions to leave me and return
home as soon as you were able."
Domnall pursed his thin lips and turned his assessing black
gaze back on the horizon. "So he did."
Edana sighed. She hated hearing the sound of resignation
in the man's voice more than she did in her own; a younger
Domnall would never roll over like a dog submissive to his
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master. But she saw exhaustion in his wizened eyes and heard it
more in his voice. He was tired of fighting a losing battle.
This knowledge of the strong man made her heart heavy.
"Perhaps," he finally spoke with some thoughtfulness, "I
will find myself unable to leave at once."
She bit her lower lip to quell the smile from blooming on
her face. "I should like it if you stay forever."
"My home is Scotland, milady," he replied.
Edana swallowed around a hard lump in her throat and turned
her gaze away from him. Icy fury shivered up her back and
filled her heavy heart with hatred. Her fingers curled around
the edges of her cloak, gripping the cloth as though it was
about to be forcefully wrenched from her body. It did nothing
to calm her.
"My apologies," Domnall said quickly. "I did not mean..."
She blew a small stream of air from her lips and lifted her
shoulders in an unconcerned gesticulation, hoping it had fooled
him into believing she had accepted her fate.
He cleared his throat. "I owe your brother my allegiance,
just as I gave it to your father. And he commands that I shall
return. So I shall. At some time."
"Thomas knows he cannot hold the Firth without you
commanding the garrison." It was not conjecture, but fact.
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"Your men are the majority of Loirston Castle's defense. That
is the only reason he has commanded you to return."
The right corner of Domnall's lips quirked up, but that was
as close to a smile or derisive smirk as she would ever receive.
"Your brother is as able a man as I have ever met. I am sure he
could accomplish great things were he pressed."
Edana snorted. "Perhaps able to drink and whore, but not
much else. Father would be ashamed at the man he became while
fighting with Moray and Mar."
Domnall's back straightened uncomfortably beneath his heavy
furs. "I have indulged you enough with this talk. I will not
speak poorly about my liege, even to his sister."
"Even when it is true?"
Domnall cast her another look of warning, lips clamped
tightly into a thin line to keep from rebuking her further.
Edana realized she may have deserved it for how she had spoken
about her brother, but was not convinced he did not deserve it.
Thomas' ineptitude on the battlefield was a well known fact
throughout the Highlands, disguised only by his personal charm
and bravado. Without knowing anything else about him, Edana at
least believed that was enough to disavow anyone of their oaths
of fealty.
When she knew she would get no further with her argument,
Edana set her jaw and turned to scan the swiftly increasing
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shoreline. A small colorful procession had started from the
castle and moved slowly down the sandy path worn into the side
of the hill. Two men bearing the green and silver standard of
Dieppe rode two black beasts at the head of the column.
Following them was a colorful retinue and two riderless horses
in the rear.
"The count came for you, at least," Domnall remarked.
Edana sighed. She had no doubt her uncle cared for her
more than her brother; any one person could care for her more
than her brother ever had. Even Domnall in his accursed
indifference had more of a care in her life than Thomas. It was
no surprise that her uncle had likely interrupted a busy day to
meet them at the docks. But, she mused, there was also the
possibility he had done so only to make certain she arrived at
the castle and did not wander off into the French wilderness.
She had certainly considered it on more than one occasion.
"I hate this," she sulked.
Her companion merely stared forward. He would never say he
agreed with her. Duty, honor, and allegiance dictated he did
not.
A loud, clear voice in Scotch accented French called toward
the men on the docks to prepare for the ship to anchor. Edana
watched with some interest as those on land and on the ship
conducted the intricate dance of their trade, hoping above all
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hopes it would relieve her mind of the worries currently
floating through it. She envied them and their usefulness; the
work would have been preferable to standing idly on deck wedged
into a tiny space and guarded like a prisoner. Though, she
supposed, prisoner was as close to describing what she would be
upon setting foot on French soil. She had certainly boarded the
ship as one back in Scotland.
The ship came to a bobbing stop at the dock as a chilling
mist began to fall from the heavens. Edana curled her nose and
closed her eyes in an attempt to gather herself, letting the
fine rain prick and sting her face. She would remain well
mannered. She would be pleasant. She would prove everyone else
wrong and that she was capable of more.
"Milady?" said the rumbly voice at her elbow.
Edana blinked at Domnall. "Hmm?"
He pointed at the opened egress and wooden plank spanning
the small distance between ship and dock. Edana stepped out of
her position and past the sentry who had been her constant
companion. The sailors paused in their work, watching with
knowing eyes as she passed them, each making a quick prostration
before returning to their tasks.
She stopped before stepping over the edge, looking down at
the men at the dock and once more at the noble assembly standing
on the sandy shore waiting to take her to her dungeon. The

sourness in her belly that had not ceased since leaving Scotland
increased to insurmountable proportions. Edana grasped the
ledge of the boat for an anchor for the swaying motion she still
sensed in her body.
"Milady?" Concern had filled Domnall's voice. A huge paw
rested on her arm, whether to hold her up or force her forward,
she did not know.
Edana pulled her arm away from him. His nursemaid role was
beginning to wear thin. She would not break as easily as he
must have suspected she might after what had happened. "Shall
we?"
She left Domnall shaking his head and picked her way
carefully down the wooden plank and onto the dock, her legs
unsteady beneath her. Domnall's hard-soled boots clomped down
after her, but he did not pause to regain his sea legs as she
had required. When she looked up for him again, she realized a
leanly muscled man had dismounted his horse. He strode across
the beach with a lightness in his step and a purposeful gait.
Time had not changed the Comt de Dieppe except for the
deepened creases and lines at the corners of his slate gray
eyes; the same look of perplexed concern knit his brow. Age had
whitened his closely cropped hair, but his countenance was
otherwise sturdy and his shoulders broad. She remembered from
her childhood that he had seemed huge, much like Domnall, but

his immensity did not come in brute strength. His was a
palpable energy--a vitality and zest of life that no Scottish or
English man could ever match. It made him seem enormous even
outside the castle hall he commanded.
When he stopped in front of her, she curtseyed lowly and
then stood to full height which was not so grand compared to
him. "My lord."
"You need not stand on ceremony with me, child," he replied
with a smile and turned to Domnall. "My old friend."
"Not so old as you, Beaumont," Domnall grabbed her uncle's
forearm in familiar greeting. "You seem ancient."
The man laughed, clasping a hand on Domnall's shoulder for
a moment before stepping away. "Come! This rain has made us all
soggy. We have warm fires and the best ale in the province."
With little more discussion, they made their way along the
path until they reached the others waiting for their liege.
Edana glanced quickly at all of them--most of them knights and
squires in her uncle's service--but tried not to focus on the
fact that all were assessing her. Frankly. No doubt she had
already been the subject of idle rumor well before she had
arrived, but she could only imagine what they would say now
about the bedraggled, half drowned woman the count had greeted
in such an informal manner.

"I apologize for not bringing a carriage." Her uncle
grabbed the reins of a pretty dappled gray horse, small and
utilitarian. She was a beauty, but nothing more. Nothing like
the magnificent and sleek palfreys and chargers the other riders
sat comfortably astride. "The wheels have a propensity to bury
into the wet sand," he said, drawing her back from the
inspection of the horse.
Edana afforded him a pleasant smile. "I am an able rider,
Uncle."
He looked to Domnall for confirmation of her abilities.
Without waiting for him to turn back, she slipped her foot into
the stirrup and lifted herself, cumbersome sodden gown and all,
over the saddle. She settled carefully into place before
looking back at the two men.
"Aye, Beaumont," Domnall said with begrudging amusement in
his tone. "She is a horsewoman."
"Like her mother." Her uncle smiled fondly at the memory
of his sister, but Edana noticed the dark cloud pass over
Domnall's face. He took the reins of the horse offered to him
and turned away from her so she did not see it.
After her uncle had lifted onto his horse and turned back
around to them, he gave her face an open perusal. "It's like
Marie looking back at me."

She pursed her lips. Her mother had looked like her uncle:
lean, fair and golden. Edana was lean and tall, but nothing of
the other two. Her proud jaw and ruddy skin came from her
father's people. What could he possibly see that was similar?
He turned his horse and spoke to his men, urging them
forward and back toward the path up the side of the hill. Edana
squeezed her thighs and the docile animal beneath her lurched
forward, slowly ambling its way across the sandy beach with no
urgency. Squeezing harder did nothing to spur the animal on
toward the path. Domnall returned to Edana's side as soon as he
realized they were not keeping with the party like a shepherd
dog biting at her heels.
"She will not move," Edana murmured under her breath. The
others looked back in laughing interest.
Domnall, in all solemnity, leaned over and lightly slapped
the horse on the rump. The horse came to life and began a
manageable trot toward the pathway. When Domnall returned to
her side, she looked up at him in silent gratitude. "I will
locate a more suitable animal for you before I depart," he said.
She mouthed a second thank you.
"Are you well?" called her uncle.
Edana felt the heat of embarrassment on her face. She
bowed her head and focused forward. "Nothing to concern yourself
with, Uncle."

He chuckled and said something so quickly in his native
tongue she did not quite understand it. However, the exact
words to leave his mouth did not matter. The chorus of laughter
from the others was enough of a translation to set her jaw in
frustrated humiliation.


Chapter 2

A short while later, Beaumont found himself sitting with
his back to a blazing fire in the giant stone hearth of his
private office, attending to the correspondence he had
momentarily neglected to retrieve his niece at the docks. No
business could wait; it seemed as though everyone needed
something from him. His vassals needed approval for use of this
or that land and the king's advisors required an updated rolls
of all the knights in Dieppe's company. One of his outlying
lookouts had noticed an increase of activity along the border
with Amiens. The kitchen needed more crockery for the
festivities planned in a week's time, and the stablemaster

needed new livery due to an unfortunate incident of his own
making at the tannery.
It felt like everyone needed a piece of him, but he had
only a few pieces to give. He was not, however, in the frame of
mind to give anything to them. His body ached from the cold and
the mind which had once been so sharp had dulled like a blade
left unattended in its sheath. There was nothing in the world
that he wanted to do more than spend time with his guests, but
even managing a short discussion with them seemed impossible.
He did not relish adding the worry of his difficult niece
to his already extensive list of worries, even though it was his
duty to his sister that he watch over Edana when Murray refused
to do so. She would not, however, be allowed to squander away
her hours instigating trouble; she had a purpose to serve, just
as everyone else in the castle did, whether she knew it--or
accepted it.
The wooden door to the quiet room scraped against the
flagstone flooring, breaking his thoughts. He lifted his eyes
to see who had interrupted his solitude, ready to berate the
person, but stopped himself when he saw the yellow-haired youth
step into the dimness of the chamber. The lithe boy managed a
straight-backed show of reverence and then righted himself,
shoulders back, chin proud. "You asked for me, my lord?"

Beaumont sighed and sat up in his seat, grabbing his quill
and dipping it into the inkhorn beside him. He signed the
bottom of the letter he had finished composing and blew on the
wet ink before folding and sealing it with wax and the imprint
of his crest. The youth reached for the missive when it was
offered across the table.
Beaumont did not release his grasp until the boy looked up
at him. "Take this to your master."
"Yes, m'lord."
"Do not delay in getting this to Conrad. "
The youth nodded. Beaumont sat back in his seat and waved
the boy on, but stopped him as he reached the door. "Jackin,
wait!"
Jackin spun on his booted feet to face him.
"Be sure to stay clear of Amiens. We have reports of
English scouts around Maximilian's lands."
"I will," Jackin said. "My master will be waiting for me."
With a curt nod of his head, the quiet boy disappeared out
the door, letting the heavy iron and wood groan shut just before
it opened again with a creak on the rusty hinges. Beaumont
pinched the part of his nose between his eyes, wishing the work
would cease for a little while, or that people would at least
let him alone to complete it. He did not acknowledge the new

addition to the room and instead reached for the half-finished
letter to the king.
"My lord."
Beaumont paused in the slow arch of transcribing a sum onto
the clean parchment before him and set the quill in his hand to
the side. Shrewd brown eyes stared back until he was
acknowledged. "Yes, Henr?"
"Are those the garrison rolls to be sent to the king?"
"They are," Beaumont replied. "I am nearly finished."
"I would be pleased to do it for you," Henr said.
Beaumont waved Henr's comment away but grabbed the stack
of parchment to his right elbow, holding it out to the small
man. "These should be your work. Please answer them. Give them
what they need."
"Certainly," Henr replied, but did not retreat from his
spot.
Beaumont raised a brow in question. "Did you require
anything else?"
"Your niece, my lord," he began slowly, forming the words
carefully and thoughtfully on his tongue.
"She arrived while you were afield." He picked up the
quill again. "I did not think it pertinent to retrieve you from
your duties to attend her. Philippa was easy enough to call
from your brother to see to her."

Henr vacillated.
Beaumont did not pause in his work and stuck four fingers
out, laying them on the desk as he counted aloud the number of
retainers from the south that would conscript into service.
"Un, deux, trois, quatre..."
Beaumont scratched the sum onto the thick paper. He
glanced up again, noting that the pointy-faced man had begun
wringing his hands. "What is it, Henr? Spit it out."
"Well, my lord," Henr began, "she is not as we had
originally planned. She has many more years than--"
Holding up a hand, Beaumont stopped his words. "I
underestimated."
"On the rolls?"
"No, her age," Beaumont replied.
"Conrad expects a girl."
Beaumont tossed his quill aside and stood from his seat.
That was the last worry on his long list he wished not to think
upon, but Henr was right. He was always right; Beaumont had
made him a steward for that reason.
The lord of Arras had been promised a headstrong but
malleable girl, not a fully grown woman, firmly entrenched in
her ways. Any plans for a successful and lawful union of their
families and their military might now seemed impossible despite
their long history with each other. Beaumont could not imagine

the fallout should he fail to make this alliance for his king.
He prayed the plea in the letter now in Jackin's hands would not
fall on deaf ears.
"I sent Jackin back with a missive," Beaumont replied.
"Conrad will come because of the tournament regardless of any
wedding. Hopefully he will still agree to the terms of the
betrothal."
Henr pursed his lips. "But, my lord, your niece... she
will not agree to it."
Beaumont cringed and reached up on the carved stone arcing
the hearth, pressing his hand against the warmth and leaning
into the heat of the flames. "She has no choice in the matter."
"With all respect, but I have only just met her in passing
through the halls," Henr said. "She did not seem... amenable."
"I am aware." Beaumont closed his eyes for a moment before
stepping back from the fire. "But she will do it because she
trusts me."
"Are you so certain?"
The count nodded his head and slipped back into his vacated
seat. "It may have been long ago that I last saw her, but we
have always had an affinity, my niece and I. She is very much
like Lady Marie. You would not know that."

Henr found nothing more to say to him and let out a low
sigh. "Very well, my lord. I trust your judgment on the matter
as you clearly know her better than anyone else."
Beaumont chose to ignore the mild disdain in Henr's voice.
The steward deserved a reprimand for his show of impertinence,
but Beaumont withheld his annoyance. Henr's misgivings were
well founded; he did not know Edana as well as he said he had.
She had been a very young child the last he had seen of her in
Scotland where he had helped her organize a coup on the page
boys with hundreds of tiny snowballs. Perhaps he had even
encouraged the behavior; Marie, for her part, had complained
about continually indulging Edana.
Both men looked toward the door when a light knocking on
the entrance filled the hollow space. "Come," Beaumont called.
The guard at the door opened it wide and stepped back in a
courteous bow as he admitted the subject of the conversation
into the room. She thanked the guard as he retreated outside
into the corridor.
"Come! Sit!" Beaumont pointed to the bench on the other
side of the table that she took with no hesitation or care to
acknowledge the other man in the room. She looked less like the
drowned rat he'd retrieved from the docs, and had both washed
the grime from her fair skin and found dry clothing. In this
state, she seemed almost docile, as though the wild had been

taken out of her. However, he had a feeling it was only masked
by the fetching gown and tight braids woven around her head.
"Henr was just leaving."
The steward bowed out of the room with little more to say,
leaving them alone in silence but for the occasional pop of the
fire. Beaumont poured wine from the decanter on his table into
two goblets, handing one to her. She eyed it speculatively, but
took a small sip anyway. "Thank you."
He smiled and rested back into his seat, considering her.
She was no great beauty; she looked more Murray than Beaumont,
but she had her mother's finely boned features and thin Norman
nose. The hardy Scots in her blood, however, shone through
everywhere else. "Did you find everything to your liking in your
rooms?"
"Yes," she replied. "It is more comfortable than the
chamber at Loirston. The English--when they laid siege the last
time--damaged the chamber I had lived in before. My new
quarters were very small and cramped. My maid and I could
barely fit into it, and the masons were busy fixing other
locations. But I am sure Thomas intended for them to take as
long as possible."
He chuckled at her and leaned his elbows on the table in
front of him. "What is it about your brother that you hate so
much?"

Edana huffed. "It isn't one thing. It is everything. He
has done nothing to earn his place and yet he feels he deserves
complete allegiance."
"I've heard reports to the contrary."
She would not even consider the facts, and instead shook
her head. "You do not know him like I do, Uncle."
"Perhaps your opinion of him is colored by his attempts to
curtail your frivolousness?"
Dead silence filled the room as she set her proud, square
jaw. He held her hard stare, waiting for her to respond. When
he thought he had stumped her, she opened her mouth. "He left me
with a dying father and the English pushing closer to the
castle. Loirston was under siege for months before he deigned
to return, and we had already beaten Edward back."
Edana, by this time, had vacated her seat and paced the
length of the long banquet table, her hands pressed so tightly
together in front of her that the knuckles had turned white.
Back and forth, he watched. "They had cut us off from any
resource and half of our people were starved to death..."
Back.
"Or very near it by the time he arrived. He sees himself
as a conquering hero, but he is the furthest from it."
Forth.

"He cares nothing for his people and more for the accolades
he can receive fighting with two lords somewhere else in
Scotland."
She stopped suddenly and gave him a pointed look. "Now you
cannot sit there and tell me I should maintain an unquestioning
devotion to the man who only abhors me because he did not like
my mother."
Beaumont waited for the impassioned tirade to subside
before he even dared responding to her. He had imagined Thomas'
letter requesting his assistance in taking Edana to be greatly
exaggerated, but not in this amount of fallacy. Even then, he
did not know what to believe and had to rely on what he could
ascertain from her interactions with others so far in Dieppe.
Edana had a streak of pride as wide as France, and that did not
bode well for her place at this castle, especially in Conrad's
hands.
"Though it may be true," he said, "I need you to forget
about the past. You are in France now and under my protection,
and if Thomas is as lazy as you say, he will not be coming for
you any time soon. I suggest you begin now in making this your
home."
Edana ground her teeth and cast her eyes down. "Of course,
Uncle."

He straightened his back, tired muscles and joints
protesting the movement. "We are preparing for a tournament in a
week's time. You will have the opportunity to meet all of the
vassals and retainers in Dieppe's control. It is my hope that
they will all come to look at you favorably as I hope you will
help Henr with the duties of running the household while you
are here. This castle has been lacking a feminine touch for too
long."
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Is that all I am
to be relegated to?"
"What else do you expect to do?" he asked. "Help plan
strategy with the king? March a garrison to Hainault to face
Edward?"
Edana shook her head. "No, of course not. But I do not
want to be stuck in a chamber all day sewing. All Thomas
allowed me after he returned was sewing."
"Truthfully?"
"Yes! You may inquire about it if you wish," she replied.
"Domnall will tell you."
He ignored her. "Regardless, in the morning, you will need
to begin working with the kitchen concerning the tournament and
also with Henr in preparing for the guests we will be
expecting. It is important that this goes off without an issue

we are relying on this opportunity to curry favor with our
nearest foreign neighbors before the English get to them."
"I will do anything so long as its purpose is to ruin
England," she replied.
"Well, at least we're able to agree on something."
Beaumont once again reached for his quill and looked at the
incomplete letter laying on his table. He wanted no piece of
it. In some way he understood Edana's unyielding hatred of
everything having to do with her place in the world; he found no
relaxation or happiness in writing a rolls that would eventually
end in sending men to war. But there were times when the
difficult decisions had to be made, and he was the only one with
the title and right to do it, save the king himself.
Edana sighed. "Will you walk with me for a bit so I do not
get lost?"
He needed no other temptation to make him drop the quill
onto the table. The difficult tasks could wait for the morning;
the royal messenger would not leave until first light anyway.
He planned to enjoy what little time he could with his niece in
hopes of learning more about her before Conrad came to take her
away.


Chapter 3

Any sort of goodwill Edana believed she was capable of
exhibiting while in her uncle's possession lasted less than one
full day, leaving the lord of the castle as mediator in fixing
her misery. Edana felt certain he would side with her in the
matter and stood to the side waiting for his pronouncement, a
proud chin held high by the heavy weight of coiled braids at the
base of her skull.
Her uncle, for his part, sat in the high-backed wooden
chair situated behind his long table in the middle of his
personal office, pale eyes flicking back and forth between her
and the sniveling maid after they had barged into his chamber
and created the scene. He adjusted in his seat and sat up

straighter, placing his elbows on the armrests and steepled his
fingers in front of his lips. Edana blinked at him, watching
the rhythmic twitch of a muscle in his jaw.
"What are you telling me, Edana?" The count spoke with an
even tone, betraying nothing of what had been going through his
head. When he did not continue speaking, she shifted
uncomfortably on her feet. The hard stones beneath them froze
her toes and the dried rushes and herbs strewn across them
pricked at her bare skin. She wished she had thought to put
something on them before rushing from her chamber to take the
matter up with him. But this issue could not wait, even for a
more appropriate time when she was completely dressed and not
wearing anything more than a thin linen smock and cloak.
Edana spoke. "I cannot have Philippa as my maid."
"And why not?"
"She refuses to follow my instructions," Edana replied.
"Her voice is grating. And she has done nothing but turn her
nose up against me since you introduced me to her yesterday."
He sighed. "Mistress Philippa?"
"She would not wear a veil to mass, my lord," the old maid
replied and held out the white linen as though to show the man
what she meant. "She must wear a veil."
Beaumont drew in a slow breath and looked to the maid in
question who clutched the linen to her chest as though to

protect her from the wrath of her lord. Edana pressed her mouth
together to keep the satisfied smirk from her lips.
"Philippa, you may return to your work," he said without
warning and a wave of his hand toward the door.
Edana gasped at his pronouncement, but the maid scurried to
the door as quickly as her feet could carry her rounded
physique. "Why did you send her away? She is the problem!"
Chair legs scraped across the stones and echoed off of the
walls in the hollow space. He rested his fists on the table
covered in parchment maps and documents. She recognized the
glare in his eyes as one of completely rage. "You mean to tell
me that you have not only come to me over an argument regarding
your personal dress--"
He paused and drew in a breath.
"But you have also done so at the expense of interrupting
me while I am at council?"
Edana blinked at his words and, for the first time since
she had entered the dim chamber, took a moment to look around
her. Men lined the room in varying stages of amusement and
disgust at having been swept aside into the dark reaches of the
room in deference to her immediate plight. These were not
pretty courtiers come to their lord's court with petty matters
of economy and justice; these were large, intimidating men
appearing both careworn and exhausted in mail shirts, plate

armor and swords secured on their hips. Veils worn in daily
dress were of little concern to these men, no matter the battle
raging between maid and lady. Their battles were fought
elsewhere over more important causes.
"Uncle," she began, trying to think of a way to save
herself from complete embarrassment. She had so much to say to
him, but the expression on her uncle's face told her all she
needed to know. Her words and any argument she brought to him
would fall on deaf ears.
Beaumont stood to his full imposing height and straightened
the tunic on his shoulders in an effort to compose himself.
Edana prayed it would be for that purpose rather than in
preparation to further berate her for interrupting him. She had
never seen a man so livid. "And you've done so practically
naked."
Edana glanced around the room again as she listened to the
uncomfortable clank and grind of metal against metal spread
throughout the deafening silence within the room. Feeling a
chill skitter up her spine and no little amount of shyness, she
pulled her cloak tighter around her body, but did not move as if
rooted in her spot. This meant the world to her, whether or not
it did the same to these men. She felt certain that her uncle
could take a few short moments to do what she needed. Their
problems could wait.

"Henr will handle reassigning your maid," he said in
dismissal. "If he deems it necessary. That is his duty."
She bristled at the notion. "He will not listen to me, my
lord."
Beaumont's back stiffened at her words. She could
practically see his hair bristle. He swallowed and flattened
his lips into a thin, dour line. "Do you see these men, Edana?"
To emphasize his point, he swept his wide arms around the room.
Edana refused to look at them again and stood staring
straight at him.
"They are here to tell me that our defenses to the west
have come under attack," he said. "They are here to say that
good men have died protecting the borders--protecting you. Good
men, who, for all purposes, were already indispensible to us as
we anticipate war."
He stalked her from around his table. For the first time
since arriving in Dieppe, she felt miniscule. And fearful. He
was no longer an uncle or even a nobleman, but rather a warrior
and commander facing down one of his occupation's worst tasks.
Somehow he had completely transformed into a formidable, fairly
terrifying man who did not suffer the whims of women well and
had seen too much death in his life to care of small-mindedness.
Strong hands grasped her shoulders and poked through the
material covering them with bruising strength. He spun her to

face the men until she could look nowhere else but at them and
their current state. She noticed for the first time splatters
of dark grime covering their tunics, obscuring most of the color
and design of their dress. It was difficult to tell whether it
was mud or something far worse in the low light of the room.
The prevailing scent of sweat, mud, and horse in the room,
however, only barely covered the strange metallic aroma of
blood. Her stomach turned over as it recognized the scent; she
would never forget it.
"I do not care whether Henr listens to you or not, or
whether your maid listens to you or not, or whether you wear a
veil on your head or a helm to mass," he said. "These men do not
care, either."
A slight, unpleasant shiver skittered up her spine; the
grimness in their expressions was not new to her. She
remembered the time when Domnall stood in the middle of her
chamber that day in the middle of her sixteenth year, relaying
to her the news from the battle raging outside the stronghold
walls. He had always had such a dour look, then made even more
unsettling with the blood and mud matting a graying beard and
the furs of his cloak, much like these men staring back at her
with no little amount of displeasure on their faces. Realizing
what these men must be thinking of her made her feel very small
indeed.

Edana backed out of her uncle's grasp, turning to look at
him. "M-my apologies. I will leave."
Beaumont did not stop her. On her way from the room, she
heard him apologizing to the men, but only for a second until
the guard standing outside the door shut them away to their
council. She looked at the impassive man as he slipped back
into place beside the door, debating upon what she would do.
Her only options were to find Henr or go back to her chamber to
find her maid. Neither course bode well for her. The little
Frenchman who was her uncle's steward was the last person who
would help her, especially as he would consider it an affront
that she wished to have his brother's wife removed from such
lofty service. Philippa would simple look at her with that
damnable French arrogance and continue on, uncheck, because the
count had done nothing to reprimand her.
Still, Edana moved through the halls for her chambers
trying to think of some way to fix her problems, but with no
solutions presenting themselves. She did not know her enemy or
the people well enough to do battle with them. Only time would
afford her the ability to overcome them. At least she hoped.
Philippa had already returned to the chamber and began the
unnecessary task of sorting through the few articles of clothing
brought from Scotland that she had not yet assessed; Edana had
been, quite unceremoniously, informed by Henr the previous

evening that a seamstress would be making her new garments
appropriate for a count's niece. The silver-haired woman lifted
a man's tunic and clucked her tongue against her teeth as she
muttered something under her breath. She tossed the fabric onto
a pile forming on top of a long cushioned bench near the large
casement window on the south-facing wall. One look told Edana
all she needed to know about those garments as opposed to the
two fine dresses laid delicately across a chair beside her.
The maid withdrew a pair of leggings from the depths of the
trunk and held them up for the same inspection. Edana saw
nothing wrong with them. There were no tears or thin fabric.
They were perfect for riding.
"Mon dieu," Philippa clucked. "It simply is not done here."
The leggings flew across the room and landed in the heap by
the open window, one leg hanging over the ledge. Edana grumbled
to herself and stepped into the room, rescuing her clothing from
the discard pile. "I will keep these."
"They are not proper for Dieppe's court," she said. "I am
under orders to see that you are suitable for court. It is my
post."
"I won't be wearing these when my uncle holds court. They
are used for riding."
Philippa's eyes widened with disbelief.

"I will retain these garments for my use." Edana waved her
hand toward the open door. "If you wish to complain about it,
please see the count. I am certain he will welcome the
interruption."
The old maid shook her head and turned back to her work.
Making sure the leggings and tunic were well out of the
persistent woman's reach, Edana placed them in the small chest
in the corner of the room that held a weapon or two. There was
no telling what Philippa would think of those contents when she
came to it.
Before Edana could say anything more, a young chambermaid
popped into the room carrying with her a wooden bucket and
setting it beside the fireplace on the far wall. She glanced in
Edana's direction with a small bow and bent down to begin work
cleaning soot and ash from the flagstones.
"What's your name, girl?"
The girl startled at being addressed. She flew to her feet
and pushed messy dark curls behind her ears. "Apologies, my
lady. Matilda, my lady... that was the name given to me."
"Oh?" Edana asked, surprised at the odd accent to the
girl's French. "After the late countess?"
Matilda's cheeks tinged pink and she ducked her head,
finding her grubby dress much more interesting than holding a
conversation. "It is a possibility, my lady."

"You are not from here."
"I am from Dieppe," she said.
"But your language--"
"She spent some time in Flanders early in her life,"
Philippa interjected.
Edana turned at the unwelcome intrusion. "I did not ask
you."
"You should not be speaking to Matilda," Philippa said.
"It's not your place. You speak to me and I speak to her."
"I shall make it Matilda's place," Edana replied. "She may
speak to me when she wishes and I will speak to her when I wish.
Do you know how to help a lady dress, Matilda?"
Matilda darted dark eyes back and forth between the two
women, the reticence to answer written on her face in a tight
and wavering smile. She seemed to fight a short battle within
herself before she let out a small puff of air that could have
been a sigh of aggravation. "I am learning, my lady. Philippa
is my tutor."
"That is quite enough," Philippa said. "I will help you
dress. Matilda's hands are covered in soot and ash and have no
place touching a lady's fine garments."
It seemed preposterous to think that a little dirt would
matter much to anyone but Philippa. Edana thought of the men
back in her uncle's solar covered in dark, dried blood and the

muck from the wet earth in which they had fought and ridden
through. They would not look at the lacings on her back for
soot. From her knowledge of the ways of men, she knew they
would look everywhere else but at a lady's clothing.
But Philippa had a fondness for how a proper lady's
toilette worked. It had a method replete with customs and
caveats Edana did not understand and had never been made to
suffer, even under Thomas' thumb. Philippa would never consent
to allowing someone else to do her work.
"Very well." Edana sighed, conceding defeat. For just a
short while she would allow Philippa to continue on in her
position. At least until she could find a time catch her uncle
in a more amenable state. "Tomorrow, Matilda will help me
prepare for the day. Please make the necessary arrangements,
Mistress Philippa, as you have said that is your place to do
so."
Philippa's rage sparked around her as she curled her
fingers into fists and marched into a small antechamber that had
become a wardrobe. Edana looked back at the young maid standing
by the fireplace. "My thanks, Matilda."
Matilda bobbed her head and bent down to continue her work.
Edana closed her eyes and said a quiet prayer that what was left
of the day would be better, though she did not expect much help

from whomever listened to the silent entreaties of the helpless.
They had not been listening to her for quite some time.


Chapter 4

Summary (chapter unwritten): In this chapter, we meet Conrad as
he prepares to leave Arras for Dieppe, discussing plans with his
head squire Jackin. For his part, he is well aware of
Beaumont's plans to marry him to Edana for support in the fight
with England, but also needs Beaumont's protection from
Maxmilian, who is in control of much of the lands between Dieppe
and Arras, and who has blatantly sided with the English. While
Conrad knows the benefit of this alliance, he is not overly fond
of the fact that he will have a wife for iteven though it also
suits him to begin the process of producing an heir. He is
known for his cruelty and ruthlessness in all areas of his life;
he sees Edana as a means to an end and is prepared to break her.

Chapter 5

A few afternoons later, Edana stood in the middle of her
chamber, adjusting a belt around her hips as the younger of her
two maids flitted around her like a persistent little bee. The
girl stepped back from Edana and surveyed her work with the tip
of her pink tongue stuck between her lips in concentration.
Matilda pursed her lips as she returned to Edana's side and the
lacings there. "Does it fit well, my lady?"
"Aye, it does," Edana replied. "Thank you, Matilda. Please
finish what you were doing with Philippa before I interrupted
you."
Matilda bowed away to her tutor, leaving the room in
silence until the muffled sound of heavy footfalls ricocheting

off the stone floors and walls traveled closer to the chamber's
entrance. Edana did not turn until a male cleared their throat.
She turned to find the count standing in the doorway taking up
most of the space with his body. Behind his shoulder stood
Domnall, peering into the room with his black eyes and assessing
the scandalized maids standing within the room clutching gowns
and undergarments to their chests with wide-eyed shock. The
count's gray eyes assessed Edana's riding attire and then at
each of the maids. Edana looked down at herself and carefully
smoothed hands over the linen tunic covering her torso.
"My lord," said Philippa hastily, curtseying in her overly
pedantic way.
Edana bent simply, but did not stay in a bow for long. "My
lord, are you ready to leave on the ride you promised me?"
"Unfortunately, I must be detained here," Beaumont replied.
"You are more than welcome to go riding, if you wish. My men
will accompany you so you do not lose the way back."
"You mean if I try to run away?"
Philippa stifled a gasp with a hand over her mouth. Edana
rolled her eyes.
"I can care for myself, Uncle." She reached into the trunk
where the rest of her riding gear had been. Philippa did not
try to conceal her distaste, even in the count's presence, as
Edana shoved a short dagger into her boots. When she stood,

Edana flipped the cowl resting on her shoulders up over her head
to hide the plainly coiled braid.
Edana straightened herself up to her uncle's amused
inspection of her person. A smirk had surfaced on his lips.
"No, certainly, I will tell my men to have a care for
themselves... but tell me, niece, do you make a habit of
dressing in men's clothing?"
"Only when I go riding," she replied.
Domnall made a low grunting sound in his throat, but said
nothing. Beaumont shook his head. "I trust you understand what
courtiers will say when you are seen walking about in men's
clothing, and what I will have to endure hearing about it."
"I care not what they think about my personal adornment. I
thought I had already made it clear with the veil Philippa
insisted I wear," Edana replied and pushed toward the door that
her uncle still blocked. "It is impossible to ride with any
speed or skill in a proper gown."
He shook his head with disapproval but let her pass without
saying anything more. She left them behind with little more
than a glance over her shoulder, causing a great stir as she
made her way through the great hall to an exterior outlet. Even
though she heard her uncle calling to a few of his men to follow
her, there was some confusion as to who or what they were
guarding. A boy could care for himself, after all; a woman

could not. Not caring to wait for her uncle's men to comprehend
they were to attend a sheep in wolves' clothing, Edana continued
out to the stables.
The grooms met her with the most pitiful excuse for a horse
she had ever seen; the mare was only slightly more improved than
the sluggard that had transported her to the same stables seven
days past. That horse had been a sleek animal, though slightly
swayback and past its prime; the one now before her had not even
had opportunity to reach it, though it did not dance around like
an anxious filly should have. It was a small horse as horses
went, one of those wholly boring Spanish jennets she had been
loath to receive as gifts from suitors in Scotland. This one
was meant for a drippy lady who never rode astride and instead
preferred to sit to the side and allow a man to lead her
ploddingly through crowds excited to see a spectacle. For its
small stature, though, the animal was pleasing to the eye with
her dappled coat and brilliant brown eyes.
"She is a beautiful animal, but is there not one larger
and faster than her?" Edana looked between the two grooms with
the jennet, spying a magnificent brown beast bobbing its head
and clopping down the path behind them. The giant froze and
began to rear up on powerful muscles, but the older squire stood
with a firm hand on the reins, whispering to it soft platitudes

until it settled into an agitated obedience. "Perhaps I can take
him?"
She pushed past the grooms, stopping the older squire with
a hand on his shoulder. The giant horse looked down at her,
almost appraisingly.
"It is my lord's best charger, my lady," said the squire.
"Where are you taking him?" Edana questioned.
"He's to be exercised, my lady."
Edana nodded, running her hands along the rippled shoulder
muscles of the animal. "This is perfect! I'll exercise him.
Saddle him for me?"
"Forgive me, my lady, but the other is better suited for
you."
She turned to find her uncle's steward standing with three
unimpressed looking men who had presumably been sent to
accompany her. It did not appear that Henr intended to go
riding as he was still in his courtly garb, but he had come out
to the stables nonetheless, most likely to make sure that
everything was still under his control. If there was one thing
she had learned since arriving to Dieppe, it was the Henr did
not much like sharing the power he had or allowing others to
ruin those plans he had made, whatever they were.
"I will take this horse," Edana said. The large horse
nickered impatiently and shifted his immense weight between his

hooves as though standing in one spot was maddening to him. Not
that she could blame him. Being cooped up in a stall all the
time was not an enjoyable pursuit, but it was heaven to run free
when finally let out.
"I am sure my lord the count would request that you ride
the other, for your safety, my lady," Henr said.
Edana let out a sarcastic laugh. "I will be fine, Henr."
She was surprised when Henri turned on his feet and left
her to do as she wished, recalling the guards at his shoulders
to follow him. Though thinking it strange that Henri had not
left at least one guard with her, Edana saw her opportunity and
turned the grooms and squire. "Quickly. Saddle him for me."
Each of the boys shared dubious expressions of concern, but
went to their tasks without complaint. Edana sighed in
contentment, glad that someone was finally listening to her
wishes, and waited for the boys to finish.
#
The sound of beating hooves stole the attention of Conrad's
caravan, each of his men listening carefully to ascertain from
which direction the sound came. All battle-hardened warriors,
their muscles tensed and their hands went to the hilts of their
swords, preparing to pull the weapons from their scabbards in
preparation for battle. Conrad signaled his horse to a stop and
the others followed. After listening, he knew it would only be

one rider, but one rider might signal hundredseven thousandsin
the distance.
Over the crest came a rider atop a great brown charger that
Conrad recognized instantly as Beaumont's prized stallion. The
count had used the same animal at many tournaments to the
annoyance of his competitors with lesser horses. The animal was
fast and strong, expertly trained to charge down a list or
battlefield with such a powerful strength that no one stood a
chance against the beast. No one but Beaumont himself would be
riding it. No one but such a finely skilled, able warrior and
horseman like Beaumont could have any hope of controlling the
beast.
Yet it was not Beaumont in the saddle. As the horse turned
suddenly and streaked across the wide expanse of field, he
noticed the thief was diminutive and compact, no more than eight
stone. It was likely a boy who had bitten off more than he
could chew. He clung to the animal, desperately trying to
direct the horse to his will.
Conrad thought it odd that so small a boy had stolen such a
grand horse, as Beaumont's stables were always well guarded.
This did not say, however, that nothing had happened within the
bailey that allowed the boy time to steal the horse. Was
Beaumont under attack? Seeing his plans shriveling before his
eyes, Conrad gripped the hilt of his sword more securely,

watching the horse and rider for only a moment longer. His
mount danced beneath him, sensing the tension in the air and in
his rider, ready to take flight after the runaway.
"Continue on to the castle," Conrad instructed. "I will
bring the horse back."
"What of the thief, Conrad?" asked Maximilian with humor in
his voice.
"I care not of the thief." Conrad dug his heels into his
horse. They shot across the field in the direction the other
horse and rider had disappeared. His horse moved swiftly, but
it would take some skilled riding to match the speed of
Beaumont's charger. The only thing giving him the ability to
gain anything on the faster horse was the erratic nature of the
thief's path. As Conrad neared, he debated the best course to
bring them to a halt. Though the simplest thing to do would be
to run a sharp sword through the boy, the already flighty
charger would spook more and Conrad did not know if he had the
horsemanship to keep up with a riderless horse.
The rider turned to him, eyes hidden by the shadow of his
hood, as Conrad finally drew level. He reached out for the boy,
thinking he might be able to wrestle the boy off and then jump
over to the charger to control him. Being in as many battles as
he had with his own horse, he knew his mount would settle
quickly after he had left the saddle. And frankly, he did not

care if the thief fell and broke his neck. He deserved it for
stealing.
The breathless rider uttered something in a language he did
not understand, but a curse was a curse and easily identifiable.
The boy turned back to the front and inched out of his grasp,
showing some modicum of horsemanship. Conrad let loose his own
curse, moving his horse closer to the other, finally finding
purchase on the thief's hood. He leaped from his saddle onto
the back of the other horse, displacing the thief's surprisingly
sturdy seat.
However, the boy did not do as he had expected.
Any wise rider would fall from the horse and roll to
protection when they hit the ground to protect themselves from a
deadly trampling or weighty beast rearing and falling on their
body. This thief did not, making him either very reckless or
very stupid. The boy held onto the reins, jerking the charger's
head, causing the horse to rear up suddenly. Conrad had not
secured his own seat and could not prevent toppling off the
horse himself. He grasped for the trappings, but no luck found
him as he fell off the horse and on top of the other rider with
a hard, breath stealing thud.
It was at that moment he realized two things. One, the
thief had striking emerald-colored eyes. The second was that
this thief was not a boy. Indeed, pressed against him was the

wonderful, soft, voluptuous frame of a woman. He noticed all
this the split second before he felt a knee in his groin
accompanied by a cry of anger.
And blinding pain.
But this wasn't some ordinary woman. She knew how to
fight. Well. When her forehead connected with the bridge of
his nose with a sickening crack he felt more than heard, he had
no other choice but to roll away from her and let his vision
return. To add insult to his injuries, the woman leapt onto
him, pinning him to the ground, holding a short dagger to his
throat.
"Who are you?" she ordered in flawless French despite her
odd accent.
"Your worst nightmare," he replied. Grabbing her wrist, he
turned it easily. She let out a demonic screech and dropped the
dagger by his head. He flipped their position again, holding
her to the ground with a knee on her belly. She flailed, trying
to best him again. By this time, his anger was no match for her
femininity disconcerting him. He had regained his honed
fighting skills and wits, and she would not get anywhere while
he had a hold on her.
She reached up for him as she struggled, scratching at his
face. Her nails grazed his cheek, but he pulled her hand away,
leaning over her and holding her hands to the ground.

"Who are you!" he demanded.
She spit at him and he slapped her across the face with a
force he had not intended. The creature hissed and spat again,
this time with blood splattering his tunic. He released her
hands and pressed his own against her throat.
"Keep fighting. All I have to do is squeeze," he warned.
She went lax at that, but he did not remove his hand. "Let
me go."
"No. You have stolen the Count of Dieppe's best charger,
and you must be brought before him," he said.
"Like hell I stole the charger," she said. "The groom gave
him to me to ride."
"Ah, finally some headway," he said.
She cursed again in her strange language and reached for
him. Fully expecting her to scratch him again, he shied away
from her. But she didn't scratch. Instead, she wrapped her
arms around his neck. She pulled him down to her lips with a
force he had not thought possible for a mere woman and kissed
him ardently. What staggered him the most was that he
reciprocated her actions. He knew better than to let his guard
down. It was sparring lesson number one. He had had it drilled
into him from boyhood, and it was the first lesson his squires
had to master to move on in their training lest they end up with
an ugly scar over their left eye like his.

He couldn't help himself as he kissed her back, tasting the
honey of her lips, intermingled with the metallic tang of blood.
Her hands crept down his shoulders, then down his back, digging
into the sinew through his clothing.
But then the viper struck, biting his lip hard.
"Bastard," she hissed, pulling his dagger from the belt on
his back. She sliced at his arm, flaying the material of his
tunic but leaving only a minor scratch on his skin. The
distraction of her kiss, still so sweet on his lips, gave her
the chance to push him away. She rolled to the side as she
grabbed her knife and up into a crouching position, holding the
daggers in front of her. The hood on her head finally fell
away, revealing a long braid of dark red hair.
Carefully, she stood and backed away from him, turning at
the sound of another horse and rider coming for them. Conrad
stood gingerly as Jackin eased his horse to a stop, with the
stolen charger's reins in his hand. The woman dropped the
daggers and sprinted away, back in the direction of the castle.
"My lord? Are you well?" Jackin asked as he came closer.
"Aye," he said, touching his bleeding lip. Physically, at
least. Mentally, he wanted to find that bitch and teach her a
thing or two.
Then he would ravish her.
"Shall I go after her, my lord?"

"No," Conrad said, squinting his eyes in the distance as
the woman continued her sprint toward Dieppe. "I will seek her
out when we arrive at the castle."
"Aye, my lord," Jackin said. The mirth in his voice was
obvious.
Conrad looked at his squire. "If you tell anyone, I will
cut your throat."
Jackin summoned the ability to keep a straight face and
nodded his head. "Never, my lord. Shall we go back?"
Conrad spit the blood out of his mouth and walked over to
the fallen daggers. He picked them up and put them into his
belt. "Yes, come along before they all come looking for me."


Chapter 6

Edana collapsed against the stone edifice of Castle Dieppe
as soon as she passed through the outer walls and into the field
surrounding the keep. Her legs ached and her lungs burned with
every gasp of breath. The throbbing in her head from the fall
off the horse was only eclipsed by the horrid sting still on her
cheek from that horrible man's hand. She bent over herself,
grabbing her side as excruciating pain ripped through her, her
breath hitching for just a moment until she gulped for her next
breath of glorious air.
She had been much too careless. Admittedly, the horse she
had commandeered from the squire earlier was too large and too
difficult to control. But then she had allowed that whoreson of

a man to best her. If she could call him a man. Edana thought
she had the upper hand once they were on the ground, but she had
been wrong. So terribly wrong. It had only become clear when
one his large, strong hands pressed against her neck, cutting
off her breath. In a moment of startling clarity, she realized
in just how much danger she had placed herself, and how easily
that man could have not only strangled her to death, but snapped
her neck like a brittle twig. With only one hand.
Worse yet, he seemed to be very close to her uncle to have
taken the time to save his horse from a possible thief. She had
not had to endure him as she had others in her seven nights in
Dieppe thus far; he could not be a vassal. How could he know
her uncle so well? And why did her uncle keep company with a
Flemish man who looked as he did? Battle wound or not, the long
jagged scar over a strangely amber-colored eye made him
extremely formidable. She might even say frightening, since the
other eye remained a clear sky blue. What evil spirit had
inhabited his body to cause such a malady?
The calls from guards down to the people in the bailey made
her look up in time to see the large company of men enter
through the portcullis, the hooves of the horses clopping on the
stone ground. It created a deafening cacophony made only worse
by shouts from the other knights who had already arrived.

Ahead of them was the odd-eyed man sitting atop his inky-
black mount, looking strong and fearsome. Beside him sat a man
with curly hair, clearly much larger than the first, his
imperious nature evident in his abuse of the servants dispatched
to help welcome them to the castle.
Added to the mix was Henr's persistent French groveling,
welcoming both men to Dieppe, as well as the knights and
retainers of their parties dressed in similar but not identical
livery. From what she could make of Henr's words, the scarred
man--her foe--went by the name of Conrad and his party hailed
from Arras. He jumped from his horse and handed the reins off
to a groom there ready to take the animal away.
"My lord Arras," said Henr, bowing lowly to the man,
"welcome back to Chateau Dieppe. It has been far too long since
your last visit."
"Indeed, it has," Conrad said. "Is Beaumont in council?"
"No, only preparing for your visit and the tournament,"
Henr replied.
The big man that accompanied him stood an entire head
taller than Conrad and appeared disgusted that no one honored
him the way they had Conrad. He cleared his throat, garnering
attention from Henr.
"Yes, my lord, Maximilian," Henr bowed. This was the
first time she had seen Henr look unsure of himself as he wrung

his hands in front of the man who could probably crush him with
one blow of his steel gauntlet. So much for French arrogance,
Edana mused.
Maximilian raised his chin proudly.
Henr cleared his throat. "We are pleased to have you as
well, my lord. Now, my lord Conrad, please come with me. Your
usual chambers have been prepared for you."
"Splendid," Conrad replied, but paused suddenly. "I almost
forgot. . . Jackin!"
The young man with yellow hair who had come to this Conrad-
fellow's aid earlier rode forward, holding the reins of her
uncle's charger.
Henr looked perplexed, but ever the skilled orator, hid it
in his speech. "My lord, how did you come by him?"
"I happened across a rider on him who was not his owner,"
Conrad said. "Unfortunately, the rider got away."
"Indeed." Henr sounded almost gleeful in his tone of
voice. Edana glared. "Many thanks for returning the count's
charger but you say the rider got away?"
Maximilian found humor in this and laughed with his men.
"Conrad, what use are you on the field of battle if you cannot
manage to hold and dispatch one boy thief! A sad day for all of
France. Perhaps you should return home now and save yourself
the expense of a tournament."

Conrad turned on the taller man in a flash and had a dagger
up to the man's throat. Her dagger with the green stone fixed
into the pommel. The polished metal of the blade glinted in the
midday sun as the point drew from Maximilian a small dot of red
blood. "I hope you will not forget who you are speaking to."
Maximilian held up his hands in a mocking gesture and
playfully stepped back from him in a deep, prostrated bow.
"Indeed, Conrad, my lord. Wherever were my manners?"
Edana blinked and before she knew it, the large man fell
unconscious to the ground and Conrad's men were pulling their
leader back from doing more serious damage. Conrad slipped his
dagger back in his belt, clenching and unclenching the hand he
had used to injure the giant. She wished she did not feel some
amount of awe at the man's aptitude for fighting, but it was
there and she could not take her eyes off of him.
"Yes. The rider managed to slip out of our grasp, but I
will see to it that he is brought to justice." Conrad fixed the
gloves on his hands as though it were nothing to him. "But let
us not worry over that. I must find Beaumont."
Edana inched further around the corner as this odd Conrad
fellow disappeared into the throng of people and toward the main
keep. She turned back to the group of men who had come in,
finding the large one with curly hair now struggling to right
himself in the muck and mud. Meanwhile, an older knight with

graying hair directed Conrad's traveling companions as though
they had visited many times before this. The younger man, who
had brought her uncle's charger in, helped direct the Arras
party as well.
She wanted to stay and listen into as many of the
conversations as possible, but soon the words were garbled with
the different dialects of more parties of knights arriving,
ready for the tournament in two day's time. Her French was
neither so fluent nor so easy to understand with so many
regional dialects so she conceded defeat. Edana sighed and
backed away from her spot in the shadows, turning around to come
face-to-chest with a tall man. As her eyes focused on the chest
and the green dragon emblazoned on his blue tunic, she took an
immediate step back.
"Joseph!"
The jade green eyes of the man crinkled at the corner as
his smirk filled with derisive mirth. "My lady," he said, bowing
much in the same way Maximilian had to Conrad; she wished she
could punch as hard as him.
"I see nothing humorous about you being at my uncle's
castle."
"He was the one who invited all knights in the region to
attend the tournament. I am merely amused that I found you in

the exact same position I found you the last time we met," he
replied. "Spying."
Edana set her jaw, refusing him the joy of seeing her rise
to his bait. "Why have you come to France?"
"I go where my king bids," he said.
"To accomplish?"
He shrugged. " 'Tis my errand alone."
All she wished to do was take the ghastly smirk off his
face; it was all she had ever wanted since she first had the
misfortune of meeting the man. But she could not accomplish
that at the moment. Not with all these witnesses. Instead, she
bowed slightly and turned to leave, but his hands circled around
her arm like a vice, spinning her back to him.
"I have not finished," he said.
"How dare you lay hands on me." She reached for his hand
and attempted to peal the fingers away, but he was too strong
and his grip too unyielding as his fingers bit through her tunic
and bruised her skin. "I will cry out if you do not unhand me."
His hold loosened and she stepped back, wishing she had
retained the presence of mind to keep her dagger with her
instead of throwing it to the ground just a little while ago.
"Say what you will," she said. "Then rot in hell."

His smirk turned into a sneer as he crossed his arms
imperiously over his chest. "I daresay, your new husband will
find you very disagreeable."
Edana opened her mouth to reply, but snapped it shut when
the words he had said worked their way through her mind. "What?"
"You did not know this tournament was in honor of your
marriage?" he asked, clearly pleased with himself that he knew
something that would cause her upset.
How could her uncle do thisand without telling her? Had
he intended to keep it silent until she was forced to the chapel
to say her vows to obey a man she already knew she would
despise?
"And to a Fleming, too! A shame you would not wed from
good English stock when you had the opportunity."
"While you think the English are superior, I would say you
are summarily wrong, especially if you and your cohorts who
raped and looted across Scotland are any indication! I would
never shame my family or my people by doing such a thing!" she
seethed.
"You should do as your brother and uncle bid, then, and
marry the Fleming," he said.
Her mind raced with a million thoughts as repressed anger
over her situation rose from the very depths of her soul, making
her want to hit someone or something. But Joseph was right.

She wanted to marry a Fleming just about as much as she wanted
to marry an Englishman, but nothing eclipsed the general disdain
she felt for the institution of marriage to keep a woman like
her in her place.
"You vile man!" she exclaimed, pushing him away again and
running in the direction of the keep despite the aching in her
body. However, she did not know what ached moreher body or the
heart now heavy with the news that had just been relayed to her.
Was there no one she could trust?
She came to a halt in the middle of the main hall, looking
around her at the madness of servants preparing for the feast
that night. The feast that would herald her coming nuptials if
she could not stop them before they had an opportunity to begin.
Emotion overwhelmed her as tears stung at the back of her eyes.
She bit her lip to hold back an indelicate sob.
No one attempted to stop her as she rushed through the
castle, looking for her uncle. She found him in his solar after
pushing through the huge guards that stood outside the door. He
sat behind his table, poring over parchments, dipping a quill
into the pot of ink beside him with a measured calm she found
infuriating. He spoke lowly to Henr and handed the signed
parchments to the steward, bidding him leave the room.
"Is it true?" she demanded.

"Ah, Edana," he said, standing up from his seat and walking
over to her. He grabbed her chin with a rough hand, turning her
face to the side. "Are you injured?"
Edana moved her head and glared at him. "Do not ignore me,
old man! Is it true?"
"If I knew the question, perhaps I would better enlighten
you," he said in an even voice, but she could sense his anger at
being addressed as an old man.
"Am I to be married?" she asked.
"Where did you hear such a thing?"
"Is it true?" she asked again.
Beaumont sighed and stepped away from her, pinching the
bridge of his nose. "I had hoped to be the one to tell you, but
I see that will not be an option. Edana, this is Conrad, lord
of Arras."
For the first time upon entering, she noticed movement in a
dark corner of the room as her uncle walked over to the benches
in front of the roaring fire. She knew well enough who the vile
man was without having to look. He was the same man who had
threatened to kill her not an hour before. The portly surgeon
had bent over the man to assess the leaches attached to his face
as they drew the blood from his blackening eyes. She clenched
her fists, glad that at least her head-butt had been well
placed, if poorly planned, as it had only infuriated him

further. The surgeon carefully removed the leaches, one by one,
handing Conrad a piece of cloth to clean his face.
"Thank you, Geoffrey," Beaumont said. "You may go."
The surgeon bowed and collected his things, disappearing
silently out the door. The heavy wood shut with a final thud
that portended her fate. She had never felt as hopeless as she
did at that moment, watching her uncle sit near the dark-haired
man, whose livid, penetrating stare made her shift in her spot
from discomfort. A shiver ran up her spine and wrapped around
it as she held the man's blue and amber gaze.
"Conrad, this is Edana, my niece," her uncle said.
The man stood from his seat and walked in her direction,
staring her down with his unsettling stare. Challenge knitted
his thick dark brows as one raised with apparent and mocking
interest. In his hands, he methodically folded the cloth
Geoffrey had given to him and tossed it, unseeing, to his side.
Edana did not watch the path it traveled; she refused to back
down from his posturing, especially as he took one gliding
step... and several more... toward her, the metal of belts,
scabbard and mail crunching and clanking with his circuit around
her. Assessing her. Daring her to jump at his provocation.
She clenched her fists until her nails bit into the skin
covering her palms in tacit refusal to rise to his bait.

Beaumont cleared his throat. "As I said in the missive
Jackin delivered to you, I have not seen her since she was a
small child, and I lost track of years."
Conrad waved his hand dismissively. "An honest oversight."
"You will still treat with Dieppe, even with the
oversight?" Beaumont asked. Edana hated the hopefulness in her
uncle's voice. She also hated the spark of amusement in
Conrad's mismatched eyes.
Conrad glanced at her uncle, and then back to her with a
small but meaningful shrug. "I shall still require an heir."
Edana guffawed at his pronouncement. Even here, in the
perceived safety of her uncle's lands, they still saw her as
nothing more than a brood mare--a vessel to carry on the
tradition of their family and a bargaining commodity in a fight
between two kings she could find no care for in her good graces.
"Uncle" she started, finally finding her voice. She spun
around to look at her uncle. "What is the meaning of this? You
cannot possibly mean"
"Edana," he said, his voice low. "I had planned to speak
with you at length about your betrothal, but I did not have the
chance. Other matters required my time."
She shook her head in disbelief. Tears burned her eyes and
the taste in her mouth turned bitter. Blood pounded in her
ears, causing a great pain to form at her temples. But she

refused to let her uncle or the other man see her tears. She
would not give them the satisfaction. Edana glanced back to the
man who had, for all intents and purposes, become her master
without her say. She had quite a lot to say to him--to both of
them--but the words stuck in her constricted, emotion-filled
throat. Instead, a wrenching sob surfaced on her lips and
ripped through the silence of the room. She did not stay to see
their abhorrence of her weakness and left through the door in
which she had come, already formulating a plan for escape.


Chapter 7

The silence in the chamber suffocated Conrad as soon as he
had entered the empty space. He knew he should have declined
Beaumont's insistence that he stay in the castle away from his
men; at least being around the others would have occupied his
mind long enough that the thoughts of maiming those around him
did not rise until he lashed out again. It had been very poor
of him to react to Maximilian the way he had earlier; no doubt
the scene would be regaled at length at the feast that evening.
But Conrad did not care. After his encounter with the hellion
on horseback, he had had little humor for the antics of a man
who could do with keeping his nose out of the business of
others.

The chatter of his knights, squires and pages, and the
overseeing of their duties while at the castle, would have
proved to be a welcome diversion from thinking about any of
that. But it was not to be done here. He would very soon be
bound to the Count of Dieppe through sworn oath and law, and
with that came privileges and requirements of rank he did not
otherwise aspire to achieve. However, seeing as he would find
himself with a wife very shortly, the bailey was no place for a
noble lady during a tournament. In fact, it would generally be
frowned upon, even though he was not yet convinced the young
woman who had stared him down in her uncle's office deserved the
designation of nobility. Her unseemly actions and speech to
Beaumont certainly did not engender herself to seem worthy of
special note.
Just thinking of her absolute disregard made him gnash is
teeth in anger. Accidentally catching the scabbed lip Edana had
bestowed upon him, Conrad cursed under his breath. What he had
said to Jackin out in the field still stood; she would certainly
answer for her crimes--he would make it his first priority to
bring the bitch to heel. He refused to be distracted by an
insignificant wretch when the protection of his people and his
land deserved his complete attention.
Throwing his belt on the circular wooden table placed in
the center his room, the daggers he had attached to the worn

black leather clanged loudly in the otherwise quiet room. He
turned to the table to look at the two offending weapons lying
still beside each other. The round, gleaming stone the color of
ink set in the pommel of his glinted in the faint beam of light
streaming in through the far window. Uprooted motes of dust
glimmered in the beam and drew his eyes further across the
tabletop to the other, more feminine dagger.
Stepping closer, Conrad grabbed the more delicate of the
two, running his fingers along the curvature of the guard toward
the jeweled hilt, remarking upon the craftsmanship that had gone
into creating such a fine blade. Perfectly shaped for the
delicate fingers and palm of a feminine owner, but not so small
that he could not wield it easily in the heat of the moment. A
seasoned knight or foot soldier would not have carried such a
weapon with him out for anything more than a ceremonious or
solemn occasion befitting of a fine costume. But a girl--and a
regrettably silly one at that--would see no issue in taking
something of such great value out of the safety of the castle.
Few men, no matter how chivalrous, would have thought twice
about killing her for it or for the stallion she had been
riding. She was lucky it had been he who had chased her down
and not someone like Maximilian.
For its general pleasantness to the eyes, however, the
blade was no less lethal; he had barely pressed the point to

Maximilian's flesh and it had drawn a stream of crimson like
molten iron through ice. In his skirmish over the horse with
Edana, it had flayed the fabric of his own tunic with ease and
nicked the skin beneath, leaving yet another smarting memory of
his feral betrothed and his own foolishness in dropping his
guard for the slightest of moments. Ceremonial or not, he would
have a care that he did not end up on the wrong side of the
dagger again.
He brushed a thumb errantly over the large emerald set into
the hilt, remarking on the clarity and richness of the green,
just like the eyes that had defiantly held his gaze in
Beaumont's office. No woman--no man, even--had ever been able
to retain the presence of mind to stare him down. Disgusted,
scared or perplexed by the mismatched eyes birth had given him,
they never dared to hold his stare for long. The girl had been
disgusted, aye, but for an entirely different reason; she had
held his eyes. He could still feel the anger swelling inside of
him at her disrespect, but there remained a part of him full of
intrigue surrounding the person he had agreed to wed for the
protection of his people.
With that disturbing thought, he dropped the offending
weapon with a clatter and turned away from the table. The girl
was simply that--a girl--and he would see to it that she quickly
learned the ways of his own court. He refused to allow her any

freedom until her feral behavior heeled to his will. Thinking
about the color of her eyes would only cloud his judgment.
His thoughts, fortunately, ceased the moment he heard soft
foot falls on the rush-strewn flagstones. Entering through the
only entrance to the chamber, her gaze downcast, was the tiny
chambermaid he had sent from Arras to learn from a grander
household. She carried with her a pail of firewood and the
other accoutrement of fire-starting. Her large brown eyes
darted to his briefly before she quickly bent in a delicate
curtsey. She murmured a quiet "my lord" as she went to her task
in the stone hearth. He watched her work, quickly, efficiently,
and with no thought to disobeying the orders she had likely
received from someone much higher ranking within the castle.
But he expected such behavior from the girl he had sent to
Dieppe so that she might refine her skills as a maid.
When she had successfully completed her task, she rolled
back onto her heels and stood up to survey her work. She
turned, pushing an errant curl behind her right ear with the
back of her hand. "Will you require anything else, my lord?"
"No, Matilda," he replied. "Jackin will be in soon to tend
me."
The girl blanched and wrung her hand at his words. It took
him a moment to realize she had reacted to the blatant use of
her name when he should not have. They were not meant to know

each other well enough--and he was not to care enough--to use a
given name so freely with a servant, much less one as low
ranking as she.
"Apologies," Conrad replied. "I did not think--"
"The castle walls have ears, my lord. You taught me that,"
she remarked with a humorlessness he found both vexing and
admirable.
For a fleeting moment he wished the girl did not listen to
him so completely or take everything he said to be the truth,
but Matilda was correct in this one assumption, especially in
Beaumont's castle. There would be no telling who would overhear
them and make leaps, either correct or incorrect, toward
conclusions they had no business making.
He cleared his throat and walked to the circular table to
procure a goblet of garnet colored wine from the clay pitcher
sitting upon it. Choosing a padded chair in front of the warm
hearth, he sat carefully and then turned to look at the maid who
had not yet scurried away. "How have you found your work here?"
"I enjoy it." She stepped closer and dropped her voice
conspiratorially. "Except for Philippa. She is unbearable."
He considered the young girl--barely five-and-ten--in the
orange firelight, thinking that she looked very much like her
mother with the same messy curls and large, rounded doe eyes
that had lured many drunken men to the elder's bed like some

evil enchantress. Each day that passed increased the girl's
beauty, which only served to give him more apprehension
regarding issues he had no humor for. "I sent you here to learn
from Mistress Philippa because you said you wished to take on
the position of lady's maid. No one said it would be an easy
task."
"Easy, no, I knew it would not be and that I would be
exhausted every night when I fall asleep on my pallet," she
muttered. "But I had expected more willingness from my tutor to
help me learn beyond the lowly tasks. I expected a teacher
like..."
She paused and rubbed her hands on her filthy apron.
"Like?"
"Like you, my lord," she replied. "Like you do with the
pages and squires in your service."
Conrad lifted his eyes over the rim of his goblet,
amusement playing at his lips as he sipped the spiced drink. "I
am certain my pages and squires would disagree with your
assessment. The stories of my cruelty are well-known."
She huffed. "It is only because they do not know better.
They all know when they leave your service that what you have
done to them--the way you have treated them--is for the better."
"I am certain Mistress Philippa is trying to do that with
you," he replied. "In her own way, of course. It will only help

you in the time to come. I can already see that you will need
to adapt quickly to keep up with your new lady when we return to
Arras."
A shadow of familiar annoyance crossed her features, her
bottom lip jutting out in an almost imperceptible pout. She had
not gotten the answer she wanted from him, but she was too
dignified to say anything against him. He appreciated her
discretion, uncertain if he would maintain his momentary good
humor if she began to complain. "I know"
"And since we are traversing the subject," he began, "what
do you make of her?"
"My thoughts on Philippa should be apparent to you by now."
"No. Lady Edana."
A blotchy flush rose high on her cheeks and she turned
away. "I cannot. She would not like it."
"Making alliances already?" Conrad chuckled.
Matilda shook her head and shrugged, casting her eyes to
the ground. "It's only that... she is the only one who has cared
about me since I came to Dieppe at Christmas time, and she has
been here only a handful of days and nights. Other than my
lord, the count, she is the only other person who speaks to me
like I am more than a lowly servant. Like I am a person."
Conrad set his goblet on the low table beside his seat,
leaning over himself and resting his arms on his thighs. This

was a thoroughly perplexing report. Of course most of the
inhabitants of the castle would not know Matilda or show her any
special accommodation, and even if they had known, they would
not have been bound to go beyond themselves to give it to her in
the position she inhabited. Nevertheless, for the short time he
had known Edana, it seemed far more likely to him that his
betrothed would treat those around her poorly. Considering how
she had reacted to the news of her betrothal was evidence enough
of that.
Matilda's information completely refuted the assumption.
She had never been one particularly prone to exaggeration or
thinking more of a person than what was due to their own
personal merit. The maid would not have said what she had if it
was not the truth or if it did not truly matter to her. That
was, unless, Matilda had taken a liking to the anarchic vitality
from which Edana drew her strength.
Another deeper voice, but youthful yet, interrupted their
conversation with no warning. "My lord?"
Even though he knew the voice well enough, the look of
horror on Matilda's face was enough to discern who stood in the
doorway. The girl turned as white as a ghost and then bright
red, the color of a robin's breast. Conrad turned to find
Jackin standing just inside the open door. He glanced at the
girl and nodded his head to the pail by the hearth. "You may

return to Philippa. Please see to it that you continue to learn
what you can from her."
Matilda grabbed the pail in her hands and disappeared out
the door past the golden-haired boy with little scurrying feet
and the silence of a dormouse. A soft, giddy giggle from her
was the last he heard before she was out of audible range.
Jackin's gaze lingered longer than was necessary on the empty
doorway before Conrad cleared his throat to gain the squire's
distracted attention.
"You will be leaving my service in a year, Jackin," Conrad
replied. "Do not tempt me to kill you before then."
Jackin, in all his youthful arrogance, turned with a barely
constrained smile on his lips. "I would never dare to act on it,
my lord. I would never give you reason to part my head from my
body, but it does not mean I cannot look if she is there."
"Perhaps I will blind you instead? Which option do you
believe your father would prefer?"
Jackin bowed in a straight-backed manner, conceding the
small defeat.
Conrad stood from his chair and returned to the table for
more wine. "What is it?"
"The men have settled in, my lord. Tobias asked that I
deliver the message," he said and took a breath before
continuing. "Maximilian took to another portion of the bailey

with a knight bearing the standards of the men who instigated
the skirmish on Dieppe's border as I was passing through to
Arras."
"Have we learned from where they came?" Conrad asked.
"Lincolnshire. They arrived at Calais three months ago,"
Jackin said. "Their lord--Joseph, they call him--is said to be
as ruthless as you and adored by the English crown for his
campaigns in Scotland."
Conrad grunted and turned away from Jackin, the mention of
Scotland heavy on his mind. The news did not sit well with him
in addition to everything that had transpired already this
morning. It appeared now more than ever that this would neither
be a simple nor painless time in his life. "Keep your guard. I
do not trust Joseph and Maximilian's liaison."
Jackin bowed. "Aye, my lord. I would not, either, seeing
as the fight was on the border between Dieppe and Amiens. Do
you think Maximilian has formally aligned with the English?"
He nodded and let out a low breath. "Oh, I have no doubt in
my mind that the pompous buzzard has declared his allegiance to
the English cause. What I did not know was who struck the
bargain with him since Edward is still on the other side of
Ghent looking for supporters."

"Why does Beaumont allow them so close when they could do
so much damage?" the squire asked. "Doesn't it leave Dieppe ripe
for the taking?"
Conrad downed the last drop of his second goblet of wine,
but did not fill a third. "They are here to see that the
marriage is official as it will change their tactics with both
Dieppe and Arras. We will watch them in the meanwhile. They
will suspect it, of course, but we have them right where we want
them, should something happen in the time they are here.
Maximilian is not much loved with the other companies of men who
have come for the tournament."
Satisfied with the answer, Jackin nodded again, his gaze
catching the dagger sitting on the wooden table where Conrad had
left it in irritation after his inspection. He seemed to
remember something and smiled. "I meant to say--I found out who
the horse thief was. The steward was muttering about it to the
grooms in the stables."
"You are too late with your information. I have already
been introduced to her," Conrad added and grabbed the blade,
flipping it around in his hand with a rotating his wrist. "You
did not see her before you left Dieppe with Beaumont's missive?"
Jackin shook his head. "I heard that her ship had arrived
and Beaumont summoned me to his chamber to receive the letter
for you, but that was all. Is it true that she is not--"

"She is not as we had expected, Jackin." Conrad cut him
off from saying anything further with a pointed glance. "But we
shall wed her nonetheless."
"Indeed, my lord," he replied with a small smile. "Is she
at least pleasant to look upon?"
Conrad shrugged, not willing to answer his squire's
questions. As it was, Jackin's words had made him start to
envision the girl--nay, woman--again. And those thoughts,
coupled with the confusing report from Matilda, only made his
injured head worse.
Seeing that his usefulness was at an end, Jackin coughed
into his hand and straightened his back in an official manner.
"Very well. Shall I send Tobias to attend you before the feast
this evening?"
"No," Conrad said, pinching the bridge of nose in an
attempt to quell the aching tension banding across his forehead,
but forgot the increasing soreness surfacing on his skin from
Edana's well-placed head butt. He sucked in a sharp breath at
the pain, thinking that despite his reticence to be left alone
to his own thoughts inside his castle chamber, he would also
need the silence to recuperate before the night's festivities.
"I wish to be left alone until the feast this evening. You may
help me prepare."

Jackin bowed and left the room, shutting the wooden door
with a thud. Conrad stood and watched the closed door, daring
anyone else to enter and interrupt his peace. There were few
people who would survive doing so, but it was expected of Tobias
and Jackin to attend him. However, as the pain in his head from
the blows his betrothed had dealt him grew in their throbbing,
he feared he would even find it difficult to suffer them if he
did not have some time to reflect on the days ahead and enjoy
the silence of no Maximilian being present. With a sigh, he sat
at the fire and closed his eyes, meditating on just what would
need to be done.


Chapter 8

"That horrible, treacherous man... Men!" Edana yelled at
the stone walls of her room, throwing back the top of the trunk
set at the foot of the bed. She tossed the finely sewn tunics
aside and rummaged to the bottom to locate the fur-lined
traveling cloak Philippa had placed there earlier in the week in
the mistaken belief it would not be needed for some time. With
a heave, she pulled the heavy garment free of its home and
wrapped it around her body, glancing quickly out the large
southerly window. The bright sun had given way to the orange
and purple hues of dusk on wispy grey clouds passing in the sky.
She should have enough cover and the right amount of time to get

far enough away. Surely she could find a boat somewhere along
the coast.
Anywhere.
She would work as a scullery maid if she must, just to
escape this new imprisonment. How could her uncle have done
this? She had always thought him her champion. He had never
given any indication he would do something so wretched as
betroth her to some loathsome man for the sake of an alliance
without her knowledge. Certainly, he had been very stern since
her arrival at Dieppe, but she would had never suspected him of
a treachery this great. The knowledge that he was like any
other made her ill and furious, but mostly furious.
She understood a woman's role--her role--despite her
unenthusiastic view of approaching the institution of her own
free will. She did. But she could not stand the knowledge that
her choice in the matter had been sufficiently removed. It was
not new to her to feel voiceless in front of her brother, but
none of them--certainly not her uncle or Conrad--had considered
for one moment what she might think of such a surprise. They
had another thing coming if they thought they could do this to
her, after all she had endured.
Edana lost her balance as she spun toward the door and fell
against the wall. Her physical exertion from earlier had slowed
her significantly, but the wracking sobs did nothing to aid her

movement. She straightened, cursing herself for her weaknesses,
and brushed away her tears. Time would not wait for her to make
an exit; there would only be a small window of opportunity for a
quick escape made doubly difficult if she could not avert the
notice of the growing number of people in the bailey gathering
for the tournament.
And her wedding.
Her wedding! The thought made her shudder as she moved on
light feet through the halls, taking the ones she knew to be the
least populated. The one advantage of being a noble lady living
an idle life meant copious lengths of time and the opportunity
for extensive exploration into a castle's fortifications,
including secret passages and entrances. Only seven days in one
was sufficient time to discover them all, and discover them all
she had.
Thanking that small providence, Edana stepped out into the
bustling inner courtyard without notice and immediately behind
wooden barrels stacked nearby to hazard a glance at the scene
around her. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her face in
the hope it would be sufficient disguise and carefully inched
out from behind the barrels and took a deep, steadying breath.
Her decision would be considered a terribly foolish, rash one,
but it was her only option, even as reckless as she knew it to
be.

With light steps, she fell into the ranks behind a group of
men in similar traveling gear, praying no one noticed that she
stood a head, if not more, shorter than they did. Perhaps they
would think she was some page or squire. As though aided by
divine intervention, the knights traveled out of the portcullis
and to their encampment in the outer field.
Momentarily staggered at the number of men who now called
the expansive field and inner courtyard home, Edana told herself
to keep moving. Even though so many people unsettled her,
avoiding attention was also easier. In a short distance, she
would be out of the castle proper, if not out of danger. She
thought idly that it should not be so easy for the lady of the
castle to escape, but she banished the thought as quickly as it
came to her. The luck she had found would vanish if she
continued down that path.
A giant black beast bound out of the tree line to her left,
taking all attention from the others surrounding her. She
froze. Surely luck had not run out so soon! She let out a
breath when she realized, in the fading light, that it was only
one of her uncle's big, shaggy hounds. It had a loping gait and
yellowed snarling teeth, but it had affectionately nuzzled her
hand when she'd met him in the stables that morning. The beast
had followed her out on her ride, and thinking it would be

decent enough protection from any ill that might befall her, she
allowed the dog to stay.
In all the madness that followed, Edana had forgotten the
giant out in the trees. Apparently the smells of the forest, or
the creatures which made it home, had been more important than
protecting his master's niece in the open field. But she was
glad to have him now in an instance of complete chance. She
could use the added protection and the hound's ability to hunt,
if she could coax it into service.
The dog needed no provocation to jump up and place paws the
size of small boulders on her shoulders. Its long tongue lolled
out to the side as it panted, clearly unconcerned with her
panic. It licked her face and lowered back onto all fours
before leaning against her legs for support.
"Come with me," Edana said, turning to look back at the
castle. A group of gnarled looking men sat around a blazing
fire either eating or tending to their swords, a rhythmic
metallic zing accompanying the swift movements of their arms as
they dragged blade against whetstone. Two paused when the dog
beside her yipped, suspicious of a strange cloaked figure and a
giant creature standing in the middle of an open field.
Edana turned back on her path with her heart hammering
painfully against her breast and took a few steps forward, but
the affectionate creature did not follow. She stopped and

looked back. It sat into the thick emerald grass with its
lolling tongue before carefully lowering fully to the ground.
There it panted heavily with some form of canine smile pulling
back its dark lips. "Come!"
The dog refused. And thus, a scene was made as Edana
marched back to the hound and attempted to pull the hulking
animal to its feet to no avail. Men from the encampment called
out to her in a dialect she did not understand. When a knight
stood up from his seat and a hand went to the hilt of his sword,
terror shot through her body and squeezed her chest. Breathing
shallowly, she glanced back and forth between castle and the
perceived safety of the forest. She had made too much of a
scene with too many witnesses.
A moment more and the dog finally stood, but walked back
into the outer encampment and up the bridge to the portcullis.
There it paused again and turned to look back for his would-be
mistress.
"Damnable dog! All you want is your supper!" She cursed
lowly, glancing toward the tree line and then to the encampment.
Edana knew the longer she waited, the more quickly the people
inside would find she was missing. As it was, Philippa and
Matilda had most likely come to prepare her for the evening's
festivities only to find the chamber a mess and their mistress
absent. There would be a search. She would be found. The

thought made the bile rise in her throat. She needed to go, but
her feet were rooted to the ground.
For the first time since her fight with Conrad in the
field, her temper had fled with the freedom of being outside the
stifling castle walls. A cool head prevailed and with it no
little amount of fear. She instantly hated the practicality of
her better nature intruding; it would only prove them all
correct in their assumptions should she attempt this foolhardy
escape.
Her own belly rumbled with hunger, underscoring the fact
that she was ill-prepared for the adventure of running away from
responsibility. Her brain told her it would be foolish to run
like this with no planning and nowhere to go, with no one to
help her but an unruly dog and the compassion of strangers.
Edana had lived enough of life to know that strangers normally
did not make a habit of helping, especially of those people who
did not belong. Her strange speech and appearance would be a
detriment, not a boon.
The hound on the bridge stood again, yawned and turned to
go through the gate and into the inner courtyard. Edana slumped
her shoulders and sighed heavily, shaking her head. Did she do
it? Did she run and never look back, and pray for help once she
was gone? Or did she go back inside and devise another plan of
escapea more clever and less reckless one?

Her will, unfortunately, was no competition for her head,
heart and stomach banding together in rebellion. Feeling
discouraged, Edana trudged up the path and back into the castle
proper. Going the way she had come, she passed the dog one last
time, now sitting outside the entrance to the kitchens, ripping
bloody meat from a bone.
"Traitor," Edana said, breezing by the animal and into the
main hall where people were already gathering for the feast that
night. She lowered the hood of her cloak and glanced around,
taking in a deep breath and with it the smell of hot food. Her
stomach groaned. People turned to look at her, but their eyes
did not rest on her for long. Surely she was a sight covered in
dirt and mud, hair disheveled, and a tinge of purple on her neck
and cheek where Conrad's hands had touched her. Edana could
only imagine what the rest of her body looked like after such a
skirmish.
She continued through the castle corridors and to her
chambers, to find two liveried men leaving the room in a rush,
her uncle stepping out behind them. Concern knit his brow as he
spoke lowly to Henr, but as she drew nearer, the steward
noticed her and motioned to his lord to look down the hall.
Beaumont's lips pressed into a tight line and Edana knew from
the look within his icy eyes, she had finally driven her rather
jovial uncle to the point of raging anger. From what little she

really knew of the man, she knew it was not an emotion he chose
to allow into his life very often.
Edana stopped before Beaumont and inclined her head in
deference before pushing past him into her chambers. Philippa
jumped from her seat and Matilda came from the bedchamber. "Oh,
my lady! We were so worried for you! Now we only have a little
time to prepare you for the feast!"
"Why must I wear a costume if I am already purchased?
Surely I need not impress anyone," Edana said. Beaumont said
something to Henr about Conrad and then the steward disappeared
to do his lord's bidding.
"Out!" The stern, booming command in her uncle's French-
accented English made all three women jump, but Edana was sure
she was the one who shuddered in a moment of panic.
Philippa and Matilda both muttered their excuses and
curtseyed before disappearing out the door. Edana snorted to
herself at their lack of spine, being ordered about here and
there. She knew they were servants, but she had hoped at least
Matilda would be a comfort to her and ask to remain.
"I am glad that whatever madness possessed you today has
fled long enough for you to see reason and return," he said,
suddenly calm, but the hardness of anger was unmistakable in his
tight-jawed words.

She turned from the doorway and reached up to remove her
cloak. As she folded it over her arm, the door slammed shut
with such a force it shook the window panes.
"What could possibly possess you to take leave of your
senses like that, girl?"
Edana glanced at her fuming uncle. "You really must ask
why?"
His face turned red and she stepped around him to go into
her bedchamber to dispose of the cloak back in its trunk. "While
I know why you are unhappy, I had considered you altogether more
intelligent than to attempt an escape from the castle into an
unfamiliar country with no money and nothing to protect you.
And with war imminent, no less!"
"It is far better than remaining here to do some man's
bidding!"
"Edana, please," he said, raising a hand to her. The
action spoke of the fact that people typically listened when he
did it.
"I thought I would at least find someone here who cared for
me."
He sighed and shook his head, walking to a bench and
slumping into it. Resting his arms on his thighs as he hunched
over, Edana waited for him to speak. "Edana, I do care for you.
You are my sister's daughter."

"I have been here but a week and you have already married
me off to some knight lord whatever he is because you want to
be rid of me. You intend to send me away and leave me, just
like every other person has done since I was old enough to
remember."
"I wish no such thing," he said. "Had I the ability to keep
you with me for the rest of my days, I would, but I cannot."
"And why not?" She threw her arms up in disgust, but
realizing her action, quickly lowered them and folded them in
front of her chest. "You have wealth enough. Space enough. Why
must you send me away?"
"It's for an alliance."
"Why are men unable to form alliances without marriage? Is
there no loyalty your word? Must things be traded?"
Beaumont scoffed. "Edana, you do not understand me."
"What do I not understand?" she asked. "You have sold me so
you may have an alliance with Conrad, to call on him when the
English come. He needs a wife to lord over and to use as a
brood mare. What more is there to understand?"
"If you chose to close your mouth from time to time, Edana,
you may just hear something other than small pieces that form a
one-sided story in your head."

She felt the sting of his reprimand as effectively as she
would have had he slapped her across the cheek. Edana pursed
her lips.
"You know, I always admired your mother for her ability to
talk even the most skilled of orators under a table. The
passion she had wore off on you, but you have no talent for her
subterfuge."
Edana rolled her eyes and sat down at her looking glass to
begin the difficult process of combing through her tangled hair.
She undid the braid, and piece by piece, began tugging through
the snarls. "Fine, I shall remain silent. What should I hear?"
"If you wish plainness, I shall give it to you," he said.
"Your half brother hated your mother, Edana, you know this.
Beside this, your father adored you more than he ever did
Thomas."
Edana opened her mouth to protest, but she knew the truth
of it. Even as a small child, she was aware of the ferocity and
frequency of the fighting between her father and half brother.
Her father had, on more than one occasion, called her brother
ungrateful and an excuse for a man while she received the gift
of his praise.
Her uncle continued. "Your clansmen were killed in the
wars, as you well know, so your brother could not send you to
them. There was no place left for you in Scotland. Instead, he

sent you to live here in France with me, and I would have had it
no other way. I promised your father long before his death I
would look after you if he should pass and your brother took
control of his lands, because he knew your brother could not be
entrusted to your care. To my dismay, he was right, and I
received a missive from your brother begging me to take you away
from him so he never had to see you again."
Edana bit back her tears. Her brother would rather she had
been drowned as an infant, but to hear it so plainly bandied
about did not make it any easier for her to stomach.
"So I brought you here, even though I know I have no hope
of protecting you," he said. At her raised brow, he sighed.
"Oh, aye, Dieppe's defenses are strong, aye. The castle will
hold a long and difficult siege but I cannot, as its lord, have
any hope of commanding it. Edana, I am no fool. I know I will
meet my maker soon."
She stopped her preening and looked at her uncle, meeting
his eyes. Indeed, deep within his gaze, she saw the resignation
of a man facing an illness with no chance of recovery. Though
he had said nothing about it until then, it was evident that he
understood his time to be limited. The pain ripped through her
anew knowing that her mighty uncle understood that a beast he
had little control over was slowly killing him.

"It is my duty to protect you," he said. "Above all other
tasks I have set before me, my only wish is to make certain you
will continue to live a happy life. This alliance with Conrad
helps you. It protects you in the event I cannot. You can say
many things about Conrad's character, but he is not disloyal.
He is the best man I have met in this life, despite his less
than alluring... appearance in mind and body. If you are wed
to him, he will protect you. And when the English come or some
other force comes, you will have a strong and adept man to do
your bidding."
"Always men! Does no one even care for the women in the
past who have commanded their own lives?" Edana exclaimed.
"Aye, there are many," he said. "And I am well aware you
are one of them, Edana. However, you know well enough the world
is run by men and you will need one to aid you in the future
whether you wish to admit to it or not."
"What is in the marriage contract for him?" Edana asked
archly.
Beaumont scratched his short, prickly beard. "He needs a
legitimate heir. His holdings are vast in both Flanders and the
Empire and intends to keep them intact. There are also those
who are libertines and threaten his people and their lands I
have pledged Dieppe's support in ousting the bothersome
vassals."

Edana rested her elbows on the table and her head in her
hands. How could she possibly refute this reasoning? Just
looking at her uncle, she knew he told her the truth. He had
never lied to her before this, though he had omitted some
terribly important information. His character was without
reproach, and though she did not like the fact she would have to
marry, she did understand him. No suitor had ever posed such a
convincing argument for her hand. Truly, she had no one in this
world to protect her but her uncle and maybe a mangy dog that
preferred knowing where its supper came from; she had to concede
that she would be utterly alone when her uncle passed.
"I deeply regret not having the chance to speak with you
about this before they arrived," he said.
"When am I to marry him?"
"On the morrow."
Edana felt the blood drain from her face. She looked at
her filthy hands and tried to rub them clean with the fabric of
her tunic, but it was not to be done. Gathering her thoughts,
she lifted her head so that he could see the purple marks on her
skin. "I am curious, however, uncle. He hurt me. How will he
protect me, if he does this to me?"
"You hurt him, as well, if I recall." Beaumont touched the
purple mark on her cheek with a rough thumb. She hissed in pain
and drew back from him.

"He struck first," she protested. "I paid him no mind and
rode my horse. He is the one who stopped me."
"You rode on my horse!" His exasperation was back. "What
did you imagine would happen? Especially, when, as he says, you
barely had control over the beast? I knew I should have sent
the guards out with you after they returned saying you had sent
them away."
"My seat was firm!"
He seemed unimpressed by this proclamation. "I can barely
control the horse, and I am easily twice your size and weight,
if not more. We are all fortunate Gaspar did not throw and
trample you."
"It still gives Conrad no leave to do what he did. After
knocking us both off, he knew I was a woman."
"That," Beaumont said, "can only be attributed to the fact
that Conrad has little care whether you are man or woman. He
treats all the same. You fought with him and in return he
fought back. You will find no quarter with him."
She huffed and rolled her eyes, turning back to her work.
They sat in silence for some time, until Beaumont cleared his
throat.
"You will wed Conrad on the morrow."
"Is that an order or a request?" she asked.
"I believe it would suffice as both."

Edana glanced at herself in the looking glass, once more
taking in the injuries Conrad had dealt her, and knew she had no
choice. Her uncle brooked no argument and she had nowhere to
run but a convent--and she had long since given up hope in God
helping her. She had to help herself.
The irony that her only means of salvation was an
institution in which she had so long fought against did not
escape her notice. And it hurt no less to realize it. So, for
now, she would do what her uncle commanded. After all, there
was plenty of time between the night and the morning. So much
could change in those hours. Perhaps a small miracle would not
go amiss?


Chapter 9

If there were one thing Beaumont hated more than the menial
work that confined him to his office with parchment and quill,
it would have been sitting in the middle of the great hall,
overheated because of the roaring fire at his back and overtired
after an arduous day of keeping peace. Presiding over a feast
was the last possible undertaking he wished to complete, no
matter how much it would set the precedent for the future of the
tourney. The song and dance of such things were better left to
more carefree lords and ladies. Lords who might enjoy
themselves with revelry, hot food and strong wine. Lords who
did not have that additional worry of at least a hundred
different retinues making merry who could, at any moment, incite

all out war with the merest provocation. Lords who did not have
a wild niece in whom the entire fate of the northeastern kingdom
and coastal territories rested.
Neither Conrad nor Edana had yet arrived, leaving the
unfortunate and likely confrontation between the both of them
open to the speculations of half the godforsaken world who would
be watching them from below. They would both come, he knew,
Conrad simply to size up his bride and Edana to prove that
meekness was not impossible for her. And then they would sit on
either side of him, not beside each other as he had originally
planned--a decision Beaumont made after his talk with Edana.
Knowing how ferociously she opposed this marriage, it was left
to him to minimize the damage that the confrontation between the
betrothed might yield. Dieppe could not afford the appearance
of weakness at this juncture. Not with England's most beloved
general very openly appearing at their gates early in the
morning under the pretense of entering the tourney. Nothing but
a strong, unyielding front would protect Dieppe's people from
harm. The two people responsible for maintaining that front,
however, were the most likely to ruin it.
Fortunately, the ale and mead had held out in the face of
the unprecedented number who had come for the games, even though
their real purposes went unspoken. No one dared mention the
dark clouds of war looming low on the horizon, promising the end

of simpler lives filled with tourneys and marriage feasts, but
they were all present to jockey for their positions in the
coming days. To spy. To treat. To pledge their allegiances
where they were more likely to prosper either through coin or
survival. The knowledge that he would have no footing in the
changing tide if Edana did not go through with her duty in the
morning frightened him, and Beaumont could not remember a time
he had ever been frightened.
He heaved a great sigh and rested each of his long arms on
the wooden arms on his seat, absently flipping the jeweled rings
over and over around his fingers. Their duty started with this
feast, and if his speech had not convinced at least Edana to
attend, he did not know how he could combat the rising unease
settling into every nook in the castle. He would give her more
time; Domnall would convince her to join everyone at the feast.
He had to have hope. He had to trust her to do the right thing.
If only it weren't so damned difficult.
As he was about to send Henr to see that Conrad intended
to grace the hall with his presence, the man appeared at the
entrance, wearing his finery but uncomfortable with the sudden
attention on him as he passed through a parting mob of revelers.
Conrad curled his lip and set his jaw, focusing his peculiar
mismatched eyes on the dais until he took the empty seat beside
Beaumont's.

"Has your ward run away again?" Annoyance filled the
younger man's voice. He pulled a heavy goblet from the table
and held it out for an awaiting servant to fill it with wine.
Beaumont shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "She made a
grievous lapse in judgment, Conrad, but she returned. It shows
me she does, at least, have some sense."
"Not sense enough, I think." Conrad picked at the roasted
goose sitting nearest him, testing a piece of the fowl before
glancing back at him. "All that I have heard of or seen of her
today has shown me she is nothing but a foolish child."
"What did you expect when you thought her to be younger?
You expected a child," Beaumont replied. "Someone 'just
marriageable'. Is that not how I described her when I first
offered the alliance?"
Conrad frowned into his goblet, reminding Beaumont too much
of the dour boy who had been sent to Dieppe for his squiring two
decades hence. "I expected a girl who would do my bidding, stay
in my castle and bear my sons. Not one that absconds with
prized chargers and then attempts to run away in an unknown
land."
Beaumont shook his head and turned to look out on the
gathering. Maximilian, the giant oaf, had grabbed a passing
servant by the collar of his tunic and pulled the unsuspecting
boy down to say something to him. Then he sent him on his way

with a knock to his chin provided by one of his mallet hands.
The knight in green and red--the Englishman--sat with him and
had adopted a mild disgust in the twist of his lips, but he did
not move to stop the first's caterwauling. Maximilian's antics
were well known in their small corner of the world, but it was
the calmness of the second man which concerned Beaumont. Joseph
of England, favorite of King Edward, was not a man to be trifled
with in any means. His demeanor and relative acceptance of
Maximilian's poor behavior was most troubling.
"What do you make of that?" Beaumont nodded in the
direction of the two conspirators.
"I have Jackin on it," Conrad replied, "and do not distract
me from the subject at hand, Beaumont."
The elder rolled his eyes. "You were always a single-minded
child."
A muscle in Conrad's jaw ticked at the mention of his
childhood. He lifted a hand and rubbed the long, jagged scar
that etched the left side of his face from brow to cheek over
the odd colored eye. "You should remember I am no longer your
squire."
Beaumont still knew how to put the boy in his place, even
this late in age, and the satisfaction at seeing the younger's
hackles rise was beyond description. It made him feel vital and
not so terribly old with achy, creaking limbs. The only thing

more satisfying would have been besting him out in the tilt yard
or by sword, but Beaumont knew his limitations. Conrad had
surpassed the master many long years ago. What was more, he did
not wish an argument, so he inclined his head in silent
surrender.
Conrad regrouped and sat forward in his seat. "It will be
too difficult to control her with what we face. Maximilian and
Joseph have clearly aligned. We can injure Maximilian, but all
our might must be focused on bringing him down. If my mind is
to be on my wife, how can I ever do what's needed?"
"I tend to find that most men's concentration is on their
new brides soon after marriage, anyway," Beaumont said lightly,
his lips quirking at the younger man. "Even the most hideous."
Conrad balked at his words. "She may not be hideous in
body, but her temperament..."
The old count laughed even though he wanted to take a
moment to congratulate himself at Conrad's admission. "I believe
controlling is fairly impossible, as it is, Conrad. She's not
to be controlled. She has lived life too long and seen too much
to ever lose her nature or allow someone else to change her."
Conrad pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I have broken
greater."
"You will not break her," Beaumont said decisively. "You
will only make her more resilient."

"She has a breaking point. All creatures do."
Beaumont smirked and sipped his own wine. "Do you?"
A hush settled over the crowd before Conrad could answer
him, though the musicians did not stop playing in the opposite
corner of the large hall. Each man turned toward the source of
the silent commotion; the woman in question moved slowly through
the crowd, flanked by her lady and the handmaid Conrad had sent
from Arras. Edana wore her hair in auburn waves cascading over
slight shoulders and down her back in visible, unspoken protest
to the expectations placed upon her. A group of courtiers'
wives, all in fashionably covered heads, sneered at the way she
had crowned her unadorned hair in the simple silver circlet
resting on her brow.
Her eyes found Beaumont's and then slid to the man beside
him, holding Conrad's gaze. The proud Murray chin lifted
daringly and yet with a regal air. She had not an ounce of
submissiveness in her blood; in that simple look of open
defiance, Beaumont could not help but recognize the mannerisms
his late sister had given to Edana. He had seen such spirit in
Marie, too; it had drawn the chieftain of Clan Murray to her
like a moth to a flame after Murray himself had refused to ever
marry again. However, Edana did not have her mother's light
hand and easy way at convincing people to support her causes.

She came to an argument like a battering ram, not at all unlike
her father or the other men of her clan.
Actually, now that he really thought about it, it may have
been more like the large bear of a man with grizzled beard
trailing behind the trio of women, a hand at his weapon and dark
eyes surveying the assembly for any evildoers. Domnall took his
protective duties seriously and had no subtlety. It was of no
surprise to Beaumont why Edana's brother had sent such a man
with her on the journey from Scotland--it seemed as though none
but Domnall could make her see reason.
Edana stopped before the dais, shifting her gaze from
Conrad to him before dipping into a deep curtsey, perhaps a
little too deep and in some ways mocking, but he did not
reprimand her. As she righted herself, he noticed the slight
purple hue on one fine-boned cheek from the altercation she had
had while out riding. Beaumont trusted his once-squire with his
life and did not think anything of the mark Conrad had left upon
her cheek, but it was punishment enough to endure the stares and
questions in this public forum. Most well bred ladies did not
come to feasts covered in battle wounds.
Conrad shifted in his seat and sat straighter as she came
around the dais and moved to the empty seat a servant held out
for her. When she settled, she turned her gaze from the
whispering assembly to Beaumont. "I am here, uncle."

"I am well aware," Beaumont said.
She sniffed and grabbed for her now full wine goblet,
downing all of it in one long gulp. The courtiers' wives were
horrified at her display as she set the cup back on the table.
Beaumont dared a glance at Conrad, noticing that he seemed
vaguely impressed, but his attention also came laced with
irritation. Edana turned and rolled her eyes at him, but
decided to ignore him rather than engage him. From what
Beaumont could ascertain, that was as good as Conrad would
receive for the time being.
"I do not appreciate that you sent Domnall to escort me,"
Edana said, but did not manage a glance at him, instead slowly
picking through the mass of people milling about the floor below
the head table. "I told you I would come."
Beaumont chuckled. "You have done nothing to prove to me
that I can trust you alone."
Her gaze finally halted on something in the distance,
something that made her visibly shudder. Finding the reaction
odd, he turned and searched for what had made her uncomfortable.
Across the room, in their dark corner, sat Maximilian and
Joseph, the first openly leering while the second sat with a
cold, calculating stare at the woman. Joseph raised his drink
in acknowledgement of her attention, taking some sort of

perverse pleasure even, and finished what remained in his cup.
He said something to Maximilian and stood slowly from his seat.
Beaumont watched him as he made a circuitous path through
the crowd as though he meant to come to the dais, but instead
veered to the left and vacated the hall without stopping.
Joseph did not look back and Edana released a gush of air from
her lungs. It was perplexing, to say the least. If Edana knew
him, then Domnall must have known him. And Domnall had said
nothing to him all day about their unexpected entrants.
"Do you know Joseph?" he asked quietly.
Edana startled at the intrusion to her thoughts. "What,
uncle?"
"Joseph," he said. "You were watching him."
He could feel Conrad's own interest in the conversation
now, but did not turn to include him in it.
"Oh," she said. "I know of him, of course. He and Edward's
army burned halfway through Scotland before anyone answered
him."
"Did he make it to Loirston Castle?"
She blanched and reached for her goblet again so she did
not have to answer. Her evasiveness did not cure his sudden
worry, but he knew not to press a subject with her. At least
not in front of so many prying eyes. What he saw in her eyes,
however, was fear. A fear so great that it was the one subject

in which she refused to have a vociferous opinion. This worried
him more than anything else could have. The vibrant fighting
woman, as much as he disapproved of it, was highly preferable to
the scared, shaking child now sitting beside him. He refused to
allow someone--anyone--to turn her into that. And those that
already had, well, he would see to it that their crimes were
laid bare and punished accordingly. The difficulty would be
learning what he needed to pass appropriate judgment as it
seemed Edana clearly would not be speaking to him about it.
"Forgive me," she said and pushed back in her seat. "I am
not feeling well and the day has caught up with me. May I
please return to my chamber and prepare for my entrance to
servitude alone?"
Conrad coughed in anger, but Beaumont inclined his head.
"You may."
The girl breezed away as quickly as she had come, her
ladies and Domnall trailing behind her. Left in her wake was a
trail of unanswerable questions and even more agony over the
unknowns facing him. Conrad opened his mouth to say something,
but Beaumont merely lifted a hand to stop him. "She will come
around."
"You have the right to make her," Conrad said darkly.
Beaumont shook his head. "I may have the right, but I do
not have the will for it."

"You are going soft in your dotage, old man."
"I have always been soft when it concerns Edana," he said
and stood from his seat. He took hold of his cup and leaned
over to speak lowly once again. "I can make her marry you,
Conrad, but I refuse to help you or allow you to break her
spirit."
With that, the blond man walked around the dais and out
into the crowd of revelers to speak to those he must. Weary
himself, Beaumont sought to complete his duties as host of this
feast and retire early. The morning would bring with it a new
set of challenges, like marrying his confounding niece to one of
his most trusted friends. When that was done--then he would
turn his attention to the wars and any possible alliances.

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Theresa Butler

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