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Chapter 1
England, 1386
“Willow Douglas ye’re stealin’ from a dead woman!” Morag exclaimed as Willow snatched up her late mentor’s ring and bracelet and slammed shut the wooden box.
“I am not,” Willow sniffed, replacing the box on the dusty shelf of the cottage. “Imanie would have wanted me to have these things. She said so at one time, but just never had the chance to give them to me before she died. I need them since the earl’s annual autumn festival starts tomorrow and I want to look my best. Now that Fia is back in Scotland, there will be more men who will want to dance with me. The better I look, the more enticing I will be to the visiting barons and earls.”
“What ye mean to say is that ye want all the men to yerself,” spat Morag. Her long, wavy, golden hair reached all the way to her elbows. Morag and her sister, Fia were raised in Scotland, but the rest of the cousins grew up in England. The girls were the daughters of the triplets of the late King Edward III. Their fathers were known as the Legendary Bastards of the Crown.
“The earl already told me that he has invited at least a dozen single, titled men who have requested to meet me,” boasted Willow. “He also said some of them are bringing gifts. Perhaps the gifts are for me. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“No gift is enough to convince me to dance with men I don’t know,” grumbled Maira from the doorway.
“Me, either,” added Morag.
“Good,” said Willow flipping her long, flowing hair over her shoulder. She, by right, should wear it tied back, in a braid, or under a wimple. But Willow liked to leave it loose. “If you two refuse to dance, there will be more men for me to choose from. I heard that Baron Chester of Ashington, as well as the rich Sir George of Canterbury, will be coming to Rothbury. So will the very handsome Sir Bedivere of Gaunt. And to top things off, Earl Stanley Alnwick is passing through on his way to see the king, with a ruby for King Richard that is supposedly the size of his hand!” Her eyes opened wider. “Can you imagine how that stone would look hanging from a chain around my neck?”
“Willow, that’s a gift for the king, not for you. You live in a dream world,” Maira scolded.
Willow met her cousin in challenge. “Better a dream world where I’m adorned with expensive jewels and fine silks and surrounded by handsome men, then the empty, sad lives you two live. Now, hold the lantern higher, Morag. I don’t want to stumble in the dark. I have to look my best tomorrow, and I can’t fall and become bruised.”
They were in a small cottage in the late Queen Philippa’s secret garden that had at one time been Imanie’s home. Imanie was the old woman who mentored the girls in secret these past few years. Willow and her cousins, Fia and Maira, had been chosen by the queen to join a secret group of strong women called the Followers of the Secret Heart. Morag was naught but a tagalong. But before Imanie passed away, she made Morag a member as well.
“Morag’s right,” said her cousin, Maira. She held her sword in one hand and a lantern in the other. “You shouldn’t be taking things that aren’t yours. I can’t believe you convinced us to be a part of this deceitful act.”
“Fia always said that Willow could convince the king himself to listen to her and act on her suggestions if she so wanted.” Morag made a face.
“It’s my talent,” said Willow proudly. “Imanie said I was good at persuasion and there is nothing wrong with using my skills to bring about certain outcomes.”
“Well, I dinna remember Imanie tellin’ ye that ye could have her jewelry,” Morag complained.
“Imanie has been dead for over a year now,” Willow reminded her. “If I don’t put her things to good use, they’ll only be stolen by bandits sooner or later. I’m actually surprised no one has ransacked the house or garden by now.”
“That’s because no one kens about this secret garden but us,” Morag told her.
“That’s not true,” answered Willow, taking the second lantern from Morag and heading to the door. “Branton knows.”
“Willow’s right,” agreed Maira, still keeping her watch at the door. “Plus, don’t forget some of the castle guards know about it now, and so does Laird Alastair MacPherson.”
“Alastair isna goin’ to steal anythin’. He’s Fia’s husband now.” Morag had seemed lost without her sister for the last year, ever since she married and moved to the Highlands. Willow almost felt sorry for her since she was Scottish, being raised in England. She was also the youngest of the girls. But even with Fia gone, Morag continued to be a pest. Possibly even more so now.
“You are so immature, Morag.” Willow stopped for a moment to put on the ring and bracelet and then pushed past the others out the door.
“I’m no’ immature,” spat Morag, following her out into the garden. It was night, and a full moon shone down, illuminating the grave of Imanie. The large wooden cross they’d constructed in her honor marked the spot. A dark shadow from the head marker covered the ground behind the grave while the moon bathed the cross in an eerie glow.
Alastair had buried the old woman after she dropped dead from a bad heart last year. The girls all missed their mentor tremendously. Without her, they were the last of the members of the Followers of the Secret Heart. Or at least, they didn’t know of any more members since Imanie kept that a secret.
“I’m the same age as ye, Willow. I’m seven and ten years of age now,” Morag reminded her.
“I’m closer to eight and ten than you are, and I still say you are immature.” Willow felt as if sometimes Morag was only there to irritate her and to cause trouble.
“Stop it,” said Maira, scanning the grounds, always watching for intruders. She gripped the sword her father had given her, ready to use it if need be. Her father, Rowen, was a strong warrior and, at one time, a pirate. Maira was a small girl with blond hair, but her courage and her rebellious attitude made her seem larger than life. “We need to hurry up and get back to the castle before Lord Beaufort realizes we’re gone.”
“Too late,” came a voice from the gate of the secret garden. Branton, the earl’s page who was hoping to become a squire, rode into the garden atop a horse. “The earl sent me to fetch you.”
“He kens we left?” asked Morag.
“You told him,” Willow accused the boy.
