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CHAPTERONE
October 1489
Elborne Castle,
Northumberland, England
“Bring him inside.”
Lady Katherine Bramwell bit back tears of grief and mounting panic. Her brother, her only relative in this world, lay bloodied and lifeless before her, carried home to Elborne facedown across his own saddle. John Bramwell’s arms hung beside his empty stirrup, swaying slightly as the stallion bearing him stamped and pawed at the cobbles. The animal wanted his warm stable and cared nothing for the tragedy unfolding here at Elborne keep.
Katherine drew her cloak about her in a vain attempt to ward off the biting cold of a Northumbrian autumn. Tendrils of dark hair fluttered in the bitter wind. The rest of her waist-length locks were restrained within a hood. Katherine always preferred things to be restrained. Organised. Predictable.
Not like this. Her brother was not supposed to perish in a senseless skirmish on an average Tuesday morning in October.
She wiped her palms down the skirts of her decent gown of finest wool, practical and warm if not in the height of current fashion. The unseasonably early snow which had been falling since last night and now blanketed the bailey at Elborne would not penetrate her stout leather boots. Her cloak was of expensive ermine, as befit a noblewoman of her station, sister to a marquis.
A dead marquis.
Katherine gulped back a sob. What was to become of her now? And of Elborne?
“Please, carry him up to his chamber. He should…he should not remain out here, in the cold.”
“Aye, my lady.” Harry Fairclough, the captain of the Elborne guard, slithered from his own mount and began directing the rest of their men. “You, and you. Help me to bear His Lordship upstairs. Careful, now.”
Two of the men-at-arms, assisted by their captain, hauled their dead lord from his horse. One took his feet, the other wrapped his arms as best he might under the dead man’s shoulders and around his chest, still encased within the heavy breastplate. With much panting and grunting, they succeeded in carrying him up the steps leading into the keep.
Katherine followed. Already her mind was racing as the ramifications of this day’s tragedy sank in.
What will happen now? Will the Scots attack, knowing full well the lord of Elborne is dead? I must send word to the king, seek reinforcements? How long will it be before Henry sends more men? Or another marquis to replace my brother?
The captain and the two guards paused in the hall and deposited their burden upon the rush-strewn floor to get their breath back.
“No. Not there. I said take him to his chamber.” Her tone was snappier than usual, but Katherine made no apology. What were the fools thinking of, dumping their lord in the middle of his own hall?
Assisted by the lad who acted as squire to the marquis, and with much more huffing and no small degree of swearing, they wrestled the body up the narrow spiral staircase to the lord’s apartments and finally managed to lay him on his huge bed. Katherine gazed at the scene before her.
“How…how did this happen?” she asked, not that it was on any real consequence now. The end was the same.
“We was after the Fenwicks,” Harry Fairclough informed her. “A reiving group, after sheep. Sir John gave chase. There only looked to be a half dozen or so, but they were getting away with most of Artie Plummer’s flock, some of ’em in lamb, too. We nearly caught up, just over by the Barrow Burn bridge. Sudden, like, they all turned, an’ there were a lot more of ’em. Must have been hiding, they seemed to come out o’ nowhere, they did. It were an ambush, my lady, an’ His Lordship were out in front so he was the first they set upon. He was off his horse before we could even get to him.” The man paused, hung his head. “It were so quick, my lady. There were nothing we could do.”
Katherine took a tentative step towards her brother. “The Fenwicks, you say?”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Did they…did they get away? In the end?” The question was irrelevant, but she asked it anyway.
“No, they didn’t. Well, not all of them. We saw ’em off an’ we were able to bring His Lordship home. And the sheep.”
“Thank you,” Katherine muttered. “Thank you for bringing him back.”
The men mumbled their farewells and filed out. Only the squire remained. Even in death, it was his task to remove his lord’s armour and see it safely polished and stored until needed again.
The next time her brother wore his breastplate and helmet would be to his funeral.
Katherine let out a ragged sigh. She closed her eyes, drew in several deep, fortifying breaths, and straightened her shoulders. She had loved her brother and would miss him deeply. But, she had work to do. With or without its marquis, Elborne needed to be run. The kitchens needed to be organised, the linens washed and sorted, the floors cleaned, fires tended, butter churned, and ale mashed. Their larders must be filled. These were her tasks. As well as her usual duties, she now had a funeral to arrange and a keep to secure.
But first, she must pen a note to His Majesty to inform him that his northernmost borders required reinforcement.
