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December, 1490
The Earl of Romsey?
Katherine peered at the missive from London and pondered the name etched there. Stephen Parnell, Earl of Romsey and brother to the Duke of Whitleigh. These were unfamiliar titles. She could not recall having met either the earl or his brother and she could not start to imagine why Henry Tudor had selected a man who appeared to have no connection to the north of England to act as his barrier against the marauding Scots. What would this southern lord know of border skirmishes, the clans, the local terrain? How would he fare against the wily, tenacious foe who raided their lands almost daily?
And had it been absolutely necessary to bestow upon him not only the guardianship of Elborne Castle, but the title that went with it? Her brother was barely cold in his grave, and this stranger from the south was the new Marquis of Otterburn.
And, what of the marchioness? The king’s letter did not say, but Katherine assumed the earl would be married and his wife would accompany him north. She would expect to run the castle. It would be her responsibility to do so, and her right. But where did this leave Katherine?
I shall have to leave here.
But where might she go? With no kin to appeal to for shelter there was but one alternative. A convent. The closest one was St Clare’s, not far from Hexham. Katherine had no quarrel with the Almighty or those who served Him but was possessed of no burning desire to join their ranks. And St Clare’s was a dour place, not one that Katherine much relished calling home for the rest of her life.
Elborne was her home. She had been born here, had lived within these walls her entire life. She knew every stone of the place and every inch of the surrounding lands. She could name every single one of the villagers within ten miles of where she now sat in the lord’s solar, knew who was wed to whom, their offspring, their ailments, their quarrels, and their foibles. When someone was ill, they sent for Lady Katherine. When a child came into the world or anyone left it, she was informed.
She would miss it, all of it.
Still, she had better resign herself to her fate since the new marquis was expected to arrive at Elborne within the week. He would be here by Christmas, provided the roads were not too bad. They could never be certain at this time of year.
Meanwhile, there was much to prepare in readiness for his arrival. Whatever her own future, Katherine was not about to hand over her domain in anything less than perfect order.
“My lady, the marquis is expected before nightfall tomorrow.” Harry Fairclough bowed as he imparted his news. “We have received word that he is to leave Hexham at first light and means to come straight here.”
“He will have to make good time, then. The road from Hexham is atrocious since the heavy snow last week. Does he bring a large party with him?”
“Not according to the reports I have received, my lady. Just the marquis and half a dozen of the king’s knights as escort.”
“No carriages? What of his household?”
The captain of the guard shrugged. “Perhaps they are to follow, my lady.”
“Hmm. Yes, that must be it. I trust all is in readiness in the garrison.”
“Aye. We shall not be found wanting, my lady.”
Katherine smiled. She had no doubt of it. Her brother had chosen well when he gave Harry Fairclough command of their men-at-arms. “Thank you, Captain.”
The man bowed and hurried off to return to his duties in the guardroom, leaving Katherine to her own concerns. She cast a critical eye over the hall but found nothing to take issue with. The rushes were fresh, the fires banked. She had personally removed each of the tapestries which adorned the walls and seen to their cleaning and rehanging.
On the upper floor, the new marquis should find himself equally well-served. His chamber had been swept, the furniture polished and the floors scrubbed. Fresh linens had been laid out, and the fire had been kept lit for the last fortnight to ensure the place was warm. The solar next door had been subjected to the same diligent regime. If a speck of dust remained anywhere, Katherine would be amazed.
The upper floors satisfactorily dealt with, Katherine turned her attention to the kitchens and laundry. She had already inspected the larders and storerooms and made sure their winter supplies were adequate, but she did a final tour. You could never be too careful.
The Christmas feast fell just two days after the new lord’s expected arrival, and she meant to impress him. The household would return from mass in the tiny village church to a hall decked with holly and mistletoe. A group of travelling mummers had been installed in the barn ready to entertain the household during the feasting, and four plump swans had been rounded up in readiness for the lord’s table. They would be served with roast lamb, ox tongue, parsnips, carrots, and turnips which would be richly flavoured with spices. Katherine especially favoured nutmeg and caraway. The cook had been preparing jellies, pies, custards, and fritters for the last two weeks, and the table would be piled high with desserts. Gingerbread, of course, since her brother had loved it and she saw no reason to suppose the new marquis would not. But there would also be dried fruits, sugared almonds and other nuts, all to be washed down with good English ale.
Ah, yes. The new marchioness would have her work cut out to match Lady Katherine Bramwell’s housekeeping.
He was tall, and dark-haired, like herself. He wore his hair long, she could see it below his helmet, almost to his shoulders. It was impossible to discern the colour of his eyes under the visor of his helmet, but she suspected the new marquis to be a man of middling years. He must be, to have so distinguished himself in the service of their king.
Katherine watched the knights’ approach from her vantage point on the west tower. Just seven men on horseback, their leader at the front. They cantered along the lane from the village, followed by a group of local folk all eager to catch a glimpse of their new lord.
Harry Fairclough was stationed by the drawbridge, ready to welcome his new commander, and Katherine knew she must make haste to join him. As mistress of this keep, for now at least, it was her responsibility to greet guests and offer the hospitality of their house.
Although…this man was not a guest. He was the master of Elborne. No matter. Katherine picked up her skirts and hurried down the stairs to the bailey. She reached it just as the marquis crossed the drawbridge and pulled his mighty stallion to a halt in the cobbled courtyard.
He stood up in his stirrups to cast an eye about him, as though assessing his new domain. Harry rushed to present himself, along with several grooms who would take care of the new arrivals’ horses.
“Welcome, my lord. We are pleased that you reached us safely. The roads can be so treacherous…” Harry bowed. “I am Captain Harry Fairclough, my lord. I—”
