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Chapter 1
England, Castle Rothbury, 1385
If birthday celebrations were going to continue to be as harrowing as this one, Fia Douglas swore she was going to hide away where no one could find her until her birthday was over. A long line of knights and lords waited to greet her, but not one of them interested her in the least. Some were old, and others were ugly or fat. Even the handsome ones didn’t catch her fancy. Perhaps it was because they were all English, and she felt more attracted to Scots.
Fia didn’t like the way Lord Walter Beaufort paraded men in front of her whenever he had the chance. She and two of her cousins were granted permission from the late King Edward III to be able to approve or disapprove of a man before their betrothal. Lord Beaufort seemed adamant that she choose one of these men to marry. By right, Fia’s father, Reed, should be the one to suggest a man for her to wed – not Beaufort. But since her father lived in Scotland with her family and she resided in England by the late queen’s wishes, the earl decided to take that task upon himself.
When would this torture end? Being a ward of one of the most prominent men in all of England didn’t seem to have many advantages. For over an hour now, since the meal had finished, she had to stand here and pretend to be interested, when all she wanted to do was run.
“Fia, this is Lord George Peydon of Devon.” Lord Beaufort introduced her to the uptight man, making Fia want to cry out when she saw him. He might be rich and also a noble, but the man had a face like a donkey and the ears to match. He’d been eyeing her the entire evening, following her everywhere she went and acting like nothing more than an ass.
“How nice to meet ye, Lord Peydon.” She curtsied slightly and smiled politely. Instead of holding out her hand for a kiss as was proper, she busied herself straightening the elaborate crown upon her head. It was her grandmother’s crown. That is, the late Queen Philippa, and she didn’t want these men to forget it.
Lord Peydon’s body odor was so strong that it could probably be smelled by the servants all the way over in the scullery.
Her eyes shot back and forth as she frantically searched for her cousins, Maira and Willow, hoping they would save her. They said they had a special present for her. In all her eighteen years, she had never needed more of a reason to leave than she did right now.
“My dear, Lord Peydon is waiting to kiss your hand,” said Walter’s wife, Ernestine, from his side. Walter was a tall man with gray hair, but his wife was very short and probably as wide as she was tall. Still, they were both kind people. Fia didn’t want to disappoint them. She was grateful for all they had done for her during her stay at Castle Rothbury.
Her eyes shot back over to Lord Peydon. His smile from ear to ear about turned her stomach. Spinach stuck out from between his crooked teeth and foam from his ale clung to his mustache. At times like this, she wished she wasn’t so observant. Begrudgingly, she extended her arm and held her breath as the man slobbered his lips against the back of her hand.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted her sister, Morag, crossing the great hall. Pulling her hand away from the cur, she held it high in the air, pretending to wave back. “Morag, yes, I will be right there,” she called out.
Morag looked up in surprise and flashed her a bewildered expression accompanied by the shrugging of her shoulders. Hopefully, Lord and Lady Beaufort hadn’t noticed.
“I do beg yer forgiveness, my lords and ladies, but I must depart,” Fia excused herself. “My sister and cousins have a special present planned for my birthday. I regret that I have already caused them to wait so long.”
“But Lady Fia, there are still so many more lords and knights waiting to meet you,” complained Lord Beaufort as she slipped away.
“Walter, let her go,” mumbled the man’s wife. Fia nodded her thanks and lifted her skirts, hurrying across the great hall to join her sister.
“Morag, get me outta here,” whispered Fia.
“What for?” asked Morag. “Ye have an entire line of noblemen waitin’ to meet ye.”
“I dinna want any of them. I just want to get away from all this.”
“Well, Maira and Willow are waitin’ for ye in the stable. We have a present for ye, Fia.”
“I canna wait. Let’s go.” She grabbed hold of her sister’s hand, and they made their way through the stuffy crowd, not stopping until they were across the courtyard and had entered the stable.
“There you are,” said Maira, looking over as her sword clashed with that of Branton’s. Branton was a fourteen-year-old boy who was still a page, hoping to become a squire soon now that he was of age.
“Put down the sword,” said Fia. “I’m here for my present.”
“Not shy at all about asking for it, are you?” Willow sauntered over gracefully, having been standing far away from the sword practice. As usual, she wore one of her best gowns made of satin and silk for the party. She always dressed this way even when doing naught but sewing in the ladies solar. But this gown, Fia recognized as one of Willow’s favorites. It had brass buttons all the way down the bodice. One of those buttons seemed to be missing today, showing off the girl’s cleavage more than usual. Fia didn’t doubt Willow had torn it off herself, trying to catch the eye of any lord there. Willow liked to be the center of attention, especially in a group of men.
“That’s good for today, Branton, thank you.” Maira lowered her sword, looking flushed in the cheeks. While Willow was all lady and didn’t like to get her hands dirty, Maira was just the opposite of her cousin. Maira loved weapons and wanted to know how to use as many as she possibly could. It wasn’t a ladylike trait at all, and neither did she care. A little dirt or a few scrapes never seemed to bother Maira.
“You are getting very skilled with the sword, Lady Maira.” Branton lowered his sword and smiled.
“So are you,” said Maira. “I’m sure any day now Lord Beaufort will make you a squire.”
“I hope so.” Branton lowered his head. “I’m not sure the earl will ever see me as anything but a page. That is why I’ve been practicing my skills so hard. Soon, he will choose pages to be trained as squires, and I want more than anything to be one.”
“Keep trainin’ with Maira and prove him wrong,” Morag told him. “I heard Lord Beaufort talkin’ about ye. He thinks ye are nothin’ but a skinny, worthless whelp, so ye will need to change his mind.”
“Morag! Haud yer wheesht,” Fia exclaimed, throwing her sister a scolding look. The girl never knew when to keep her mouth closed.
