There Your Heart Will Be Also
by Felicia Rogers
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 FELICIA ROGERS
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
THERE YOUR HEART WILL BE ALSO
Copyright © 2011 FELICIA ROGERS
ISBN 978-1-936852-62-8
Cover Art Designed by Elaina Lee
Edited by Audrey Jamison
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
Matthew 6:21 or Luke 12:34
Prologue
Wilt Hotham stood behind the chair, fingers drumming upon the wood. "Do you have news to report?"
"I'm afraid so, my lord," answered the messenger, eyes shifting.
"What is this news?"
"Remember, I am but the messenger."
"Of course, I understand. Now get on with it. Give me the news of my brother. Was he successful?"
The messenger trembled as he answered, "Nay."
"Nay?" Wilt widened his eyes. Anger caused sweat to bead upon his brow. Hands clenched by his sides, he waited for more.
"Nay, sir. Unsuccessful, I'm afraid. The mistress of Greenbriar wasn't to his… liking."
Wilt flung his arms into the air, stomping his feet. His hands flipped the table, sending decanters full of whiskey against the wall. Amber-colored ink trailed downward, pooling silently on the white rug. Wilt's eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he saw the servant shy away.
Good. At least someone recognized his power.
After the tirade passed, Wilt jerked his waistcoat down, placed thumbs against his ribcage and asked the servant to continue with the news.
Straightening from a cowering position, the servant began again with a trembling voice. "Your brother returned home and, well, he…"
"Aye? What happened? Let me guess. Spent the whole week in the bedroom weeping like a child! Our family is in ruins. Our wealth completely disappeared because of his 'habits.' Our one chance to rectify the situation and he finds the bride unsatisfactory." Taking a deep breath to calm his wildly beating heart, Wilt stared at the servant. "You will travel to see my brother. You will tell him he must go back and marry the mistress, claim the land for his own, and sell it. I don't care whether the woman is to his liking or not! I will not lose everything because my brother is unwilling to experience the least amount of discomfort!"
The servant shuffled his feet.
"Do stop your fidgeting, and do as I say!"
"But, my lord—"
"What is it now?"
"I am afraid—"
"Aye? What is it? Come out with it then?"
"I'm afraid your brother is dead."
Chapter One
England 1551
Cedric knelt awaiting the announcement of the English king. Some would say this was an unusual position for a Scot, but others would take the opportunity to remind the uninformed that the man wasn't truly a Scot. In his experience, educating those people on his heritage and explaining the situation did little good. It was best to stay focused on the here and now, like the shininess of the floor, not the sounds of a crowd snickering at his back. These wayward thoughts ended when the sound of the young King Edward's voice boomed.
"Cedric MacNeil of Scotland, it is an honor to have you in my court."
Cedric's head raised a fraction. His eyes shifted, looking around and noticing how the King's minions were nodding their heads in agreement.
"You came to this court and offered your sword as a service to the English crown. In the beginning, it was our opinion perhaps you should be denied this privilege. But, after much thought and consideration the opportunity was extended to you. Not because of you, of course, but because of your mother, Elinor. Father was fond of her. She was a member of his court and held a prominent position in our English society."
Heads around the room nodded once again, as the King gleefully added, "I can also say, agreeing to send you to compete in the tourney on behalf of my crown has brought me much reward."
Here, the King paused and beckoned a man forward. He whispered unintelligible words, causing the servant to nod. The King continued his speech. "In order to reward you, as you have rewarded this court with your service, I wish to offer you not only the gold you've earned, but also a worthy piece of land."
At the word "land," Cedric's head popped up. The faces around the room were wide with peculiar smiles.
The King motioned his secretary forward. In a businesslike fashion, the man spoke. The information concerned the location and the dimensions of the land. At the end, the king's assistant added one more detail. "In order to secure the property as your own, there is one stipulation."
Cedric stared at the shiny floor, which reflected back to him his expressions of honest interest. With renewed focus, Cedric listened to the attendant's continuing speech. "In order to acquire this piece of property permanently, you must marry the previous land owner's daughter."
At the pronouncement, the whole court burst out in riotous laughter. In a flourish, the King dismissed everyone in the room, leaving in a flurry of robes himself. On bended knee, Cedric was left alone in the vast room wondering about his future. What could have been so amusing to the crowd?
****
A month after his experiences in the King's court, 1Cedric stood atop a rock-covered hill with the wind sweeping behind him, staring with longing at the castle nestled in the valley below. This was to be home? It was not the Scottish highlands with purple fields of heather, which he envisioned at night. But it was close enough.
So close, in fact, nearby Scottish clans had been known to kidnap local village wenches, as well as plunder the sheep from the surrounding hillsides. This was no doubt one of the reasons the King had graced a Scot with a chance at claiming this particular parcel.
Cedric surveyed all before him. The desire of his heart was coming to pass. Soon this would be home. Land to call his own. Land to grow crops. Land to raise sheep. Land to raise a family.
After the King's pronouncement, Cedric discovered he'd not been the first choice for Lord of Greenbriar. In truth, he'd not been the second or third choice either. From rumors passed in the King's court, Cedric learned many individuals of noble quality and birth had been chosen as potential lords of this fair land.
Many had traveled far and wide to claim their prize, but none had succeeded. It was said some had taken one look at the main hall falling in on itself, and spoken with the mistress of the keep, who would become his wife, and high-tailed it back to the city without elaborating on an excuse for their return. Others returned posthaste, refusing the land offered. Some came with legitimate reasons. They claimed the repairs needed required funds beyond their means. Others returned with peculiar reasons such as mythical maladies that denied them the ability to maintain this specific parcel and its inhabitants. Rumors abounded as to the "real" reason these nobles had departed the grounds. But no facts seemed to be had.
Cedric assumed some of the English Lords who had come north to the border castle were no doubt terrified of the local Scots living nearby. As he investigated the rumors further, Cedric heard such tidbits of information like, "the castle was in complete disarray," with mention of everything from sagging walls to crumbing village homes. He'd also heard spirits frequented the castle even in the daylight hours, and anyone who stayed longer than a fortnight was struck with a disease of the bowels. One of the most interesting rumors overheard was about the mistress of the keep. She was said to be an ugly, witchy character who wielded a tongue of fire.
In his opinion, the nearby Scots would be easy enough to control once they learned of the new Lord's lineage. As soon as Cedric took control, the rowdy neighboring Scots would step back. At least that was his theory. The castle walls and sagging village huts could easily be repaired with hard work and time. The ghosts were not a concern, since they didn't exist. And he would prepare his own food or keep a close eye on what was to be consumed to keep his bowels in check. Which left only one concern—the mistress. A nagging wife was worse than constant dripping, or so he'd heard.
Although Cedric worried about his future spouse, nothing would deter his goal. After his mother's passing, Father only lived a short time. His father's death had caused the MacNeil clan to erupt. They refused to have a half-breed and an Englishman rule. Rather than fight to hold only a tenuous grasp on his land, and perhaps destroy his own family from within, Cedric voluntarily handed control to his uncle and headed to court to serve the English King. This was his chance at redemption. There was no way he would give up an opportunity to have land; and no ugly, witchy woman would stand in the way.
Scanning the road, Cedric thought he saw what he was looking for. Indeed, he had. Warmth filled his heart as Cedric approached the castle. Stopping in the nearby woods, he noticed the drawbridge was down. This allowed villagers to come and go freely.
With just his sporran, claymore, and the sparse clothing in his sack, he felt exposed. The few gold pieces sewn into his kilt were the only other items carried. All else had been left behind. He preferred to live off the land. What else did one need?
Cedric had not purchased a horse for the journey because there was no reason to hasten his arrival, nor did he wish to feed the beast. Besides, Cedric needed the extra time foot travel provided to consider a strategy for conquering this foe.
Without knowing her name or what she looked like, how was Cedric to find the woman he sought? The King's court said the mistress was young but old. Beautiful, yet wrinkled and witchy. No two descriptions ever matched.
On the long walk from court to Greenbriar land, Cedric rolled many options about in his mind. Of course he'd considered the direct approach. Introduce himself as a suitor and attempt to gain the lady of Greenbriar's favor in a forthright manner.
The idea of taking the castle by force had also crossed Cedric's mind. The act of doing this would make him no better off than if he'd stayed on MacNeil land.
No, he needed a plan. Something sneaky and well thought out. The idea of asking the villagers where to find the mistress was another option. Perhaps he would see this lady of Greenbriar without revealing himself and then decide whether pursuing her favor was worth the effort.
As Cedric waited, there was a sound of movement behind him. Within seconds Cedric held the intruder against the tree, a dagger to his throat.
"Calm yeself me Lord, it is I."
Cedric released the servant and backed away. They grasped hands in greeting and Cedric said, "Thank ye, Barney, for coming."
Barney nodded. "I left Duncan and the others in town just like ye said and I'm here to do yer bidding."
"Good. Now let's discuss what I need ye to do."
As much as he tried to convince himself this would be an easy task, he knew otherwise. Others had attempted to conquer this rival and failed. Failure was not an option.
****
Sarra woke early and took time to languidly stretch in bed. Looking around the unadorned room, she felt happy and content. The huge four-poster bed filled most of the room. Up against the wall sat a prized possession, a writing desk which once belonged to her mother. Its wood shone bright as the sunshine peeped through the wooden shutter. Sadness threatened to engulf her. Mother's passing when Sarra was a wee child had been a major factor in who she'd become. She should be grateful. Indeed, there was a lot to be thankful for.
To lift her spirits, a review of blessings was in order. The ground had been tilled and planted. Her wardrobe was filled with dresses to wear, if there was ever an occasion to adorn herself in such finery. Everyone in the keep was in relatively good health. Sarra was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt this was the most comfortable mattress in all of England. Oh, there were other things to be thankful for. But those few topped the list.
With spirits lifted, Sarra threw back the coverlet, hesitating a moment before placing her feet on the cold, stone floor. The maid had yet to stoke the fire and the room had grown cold during the night. Although spring was ending and summer was well on its way, the nights in the keep continued to remain cool.
After shrugging into a wrinkled shift and dressing gown, she stoked the fire. She used the water left over from the night before to wash the sleep from her tired eyes. Bristling when the cold water touched her flushed skin, she dressed hurriedly, eager to start another day as Lord – no, Lady of the castle.
Bounding down the stairs in a childlike manner, Sarra surveyed the castle in her charge. At least it remained so for now. A smile spread wide across her face at all she saw. The rushes along the floor were fresh and clean. The smell of fresh baked bread emanating from the kitchen caused her mouth to salivate. This was home.
Sarra took a moment to reflect. Father had passed two years ago, leaving no sons to replace him. Gladly she had accepted the challenge of running the keep. In the beginning, the respect of those in her care had not come easily.
Proof of Sarra's abilities was required in every area. The knights respected her only after seeing her ability with a blade, which admittedly was limited. Cook gave respect only after he understood Sarra was leaving him in charge of the kitchen. The parson ignored her because of the issue of gender. As a woman, she held no sway in religious matters. Since she took no time to change his mind in this area and readily accepted his authority, he showed respect to her in public. From him, this was enough.
Each individual in the castle required a different or unique approach to convince him or her Sarra was capable of taking care of most situations, either on her own or with the help of others. In the end, each person just wanted to know their place was secure, and she wouldn't attempt to usurp what little authority they had.
Of course, Sarra's unassuming ways had helped immensely. She'd never been one to put on airs or to succumb to behaving better than the others. Wearing the same clothes as the villagers most days, she refrained from adorning herself as royalty. Each day she woke early, commanded the household as need be, and let those with more knowledge put it to use. She worked alongside everyone in the keep. Everyone was on an equal level. They were family.
Taking over the castle, while not easy, had given her a purpose. It had been something Sarra desperately needed. Her father's sudden death had dealt a crushing blow to her well-organized life. But as she settled into a new routine, the precariousness of her position came to light. She was in truth not the "heir" to the castle. Since her father had no sons, the king could pick a new lord for the castle at any time. And with her father dead, Sarra would be expected to marry this Lord with no say in the matter.
After the passing, Sarra had to inform the king that Father was no longer around to show fealty to him. But she had procrastinated. After several months passed and visitors and passersby arrived looking to visit with the always indisposed lord, Sarra knew time had grown short. Rather than allow the secret to be discovered and thought to be a hidden plot of a nefarious nature, she had sent a letter with a trusted servant to the King. Sarra had an idea what response the King would inflict. Her estimation had been correct.
Now that the King knew of her father's demise, Sarra would never be left alone as the new lord over the castle. But she had a plan. This plan had been carried out successfully for almost a year, and currently it kept all potential lords away from the castle and the lady within. But how much longer could it work?
Sighing to herself, Sarra continued on to the garden. With Charism's help she'd been learning more about herbs, but not enough to use them alone without killing someone. In truth, she knew just enough to make a few annoying people very, very sick. Even without the healing knowledge of Charism, a servant and trusted friend, the garden brought solace when none was to be had. Weed pulling made the time she spent in the garden practical as well as comforting. Sarra discovered she was quite adept at finding weeds.
But today, before Sarra could reach the sweet solitude of the garden, she was waylaid by one of the castle's knights.
"Mistress, I have news."
The knight, Gavin, shifted from side-to-side as he stood before her. The young man was short with brown, beady eyes level with Sarra's own. Currently his helm was pressed underneath his arm as he addressed her with a frown on his brow.
Sarra waited.
The knight didn't speak further but continued to shift from side to side in obvious agitation. She was fast becoming exasperated with the lad, but remained silent and pretended patience while waiting for Gavin to continue with his urgent news. When he failed to speak, Sarra began to wonder if there was an unknown knightly code where the lady had to respond before a knight could continue with speech. Very well, she would comply.
"Aye?"
At her voice, Gavin opened his mouth. "My Lady, Sir Henry requests your presence on the battlements."
"Indeed." Sarra was perplexed by the request. Of course, at various times during her twenty years of life, she'd stolen away and walked the battlements secretly. As the Lord of Greenbriar's daughter, she was always removed from the area for fear of danger and told never to return. A woman did not belong in such places. But never in memory had she been "requested" to come to the area.
Again Gavin resumed his fidgeting motion, making Sarra wonder if the lad had gotten into some itching potion belonging to Charism. "Aye, my lady. Sir Henry requires—that is requests—your presence. It seems to be of some urgency."
"Oh, very well." Gathering up her skirts, Sarra headed to the stairs leading to the small walkway around the castle walls.
As Sarra approached the top step, she spotted Sir Henry staring fixedly toward one of the distant hills beyond the wall. Sarra hesitated to look in the direction Sir Henry's eyes indicated for fear of losing her footing on the stairs and plunging to an untimely death.
With great delicacy, she approached the captain. Sir Henry was still concentrating on something outside the walls. Knuckles had turned white from his grip, and sweat rolled down his sun-weathered face. He had taken off his helmet, revealing a mass of black hair dappled with gray.
"Sir Henry, you requested my presence." Sarra's insides did a flip flop as she continued to focus on the knight in charge and tried not to look down from the dizzying heights.
Slowly, but not loosening his grip a fraction, Sir Henry faced her. "My lady, are you expecting more, umm, company?"
"Company? Sir Henry, whatever are you talking about?"
Removing one hand from the wall, he gestured with it toward the opposing hill.
Sarra turned and spotted the object of Sir Henry's fascination. A sudden intake of breath slammed her lungs and was followed by a small step backward; if not for Sir Henry's quick reactions she would have plummeted to the ground in a broken heap. As Sir Henry steadied her once more, Sarra studied the figure lingering on the hill beyond.
From this distance, the trees behind the fellow gave him the appearance of great height. He stood with his feet slightly apart, staring directly at the castle walls. His shoulder-length brown hair lifted slightly off his shoulders as the wind blew over him, mimicking a caress. His clothing did little to hide the shape of his muscular body. A sword hilt could be seen peeping from over his left shoulder. A certain air of authority seemed to exude from his person. Sarra imagined his jaw muscles clenching as he thought of his next move.
A sense of sarcasm invaded her thoughts. No doubt he was planning his siege at this very moment.
"My lady, do you think he has come to raid the castle? Looking for sheep perhaps? Or maybe come for a few wenches?" When Sir Henry spoke, his tone was one of jesting instead of the sincerity she expected.
Leave it to Sir Henry to try to lighten the mood after scaring her so with his tenseness. Sarra restrained herself from giving him a playful slap on the arm. One false move and she wouldn't be the only one on the ground.
After a moment, Sarra decided to respond to the serious part of his question. "Nay, I think not. You see, he has no army about. It is just him. I believe we have another suitor from King Edward come to stake his claim as Lord. In truth, he probably comes not only for the castle but for the hand of the lady in charge as well."
"Should I inform Charism there is another pest about who might need, hmm, squashing?" Sir Henry asked in a gleeful tone.
"Aye, I suppose so." Exhaling, Sarra continued, "I had hoped for a reprieve from the suitors, but I guess it is not to be. The last one was extremely trying. Sir Henry, please inform Charism to be prepared to take action. This one looks to have more spirit than the others."
She considered the newcomer while descending the battlements. What kind of man was confident enough to travel completely alone in this part of the country? Where were his knights and attendants? What kind of man would travel without a horse or a trunk full of fine and dandy clothing? Where was he hiding his pointed shoes?
Gnawing at her lip, Sarra began to worry. No, this one didn't seem like the other suitors who had come to the keep. Something about him was different. Indeed, this did not portend well for her future.
Chapter Two
After descending the battlement steps, Sarra hurried to her room quickly grabbing and donning her hooded cloak. Pulling back the shutters, she looked for Charism. Sarra spotted Charism's aged form ambling forward toward the gate with Sir Henry following close behind. They both knew the routine by now.
How many times would she have to do this? In frustration Sarra slammed the wooden panels back against the window casing. By now the hulk of a man must be close to the castle walls. Sarra hurried down the stairs of the keep, once more dodging animals and humans alike. She skidded to a standstill as the newest suitor arrived.
Sarra watched from behind Charism with a bowed head, peeking cautiously out from under her woolen hood. A frown wrinkled her brow. Up close, the man was nothing like she'd expected. In height, he was barely above her own five-foot–six inch frame. What Sarra had originally thought was brown shoulder length hair was actually more of a blond, held together by a dingy string, and lying halfway down a hunched back. How could she have been so wrong?
With mouth stretched open, a row of missing teeth was shown. What does the stranger have to smile about? Sarra wondered. He is in a completely foreign location among unknown people. Surely the rumors about the estate and its reputation had been heard. Didn't he know the place was haunted? Didn't he know the place was in disarray and falling apart? It was in this moment Sarra realized since there had been no advance warning of this newest conqueror's coming, she and those who helped her had no time to set things around the village awry. Therefore what the visitor saw was indeed a pleasant surprise.
People were scattered about the grounds doing work. The garden was well-tended. Children frolicked happily. Everything was in perfect order. Sarra could see the cogs turning in his mind.
But as she watched the man his expression shifted to a frown, then deepening into a scowl, which caused her own happy nature to resurface.
The stranger was so focused on the castle and its orderly surroundings, he'd almost bowled over Charism who was standing directly in his path. Sarra covered her mouth to stifle the giggle that threatened to escape.
"Excuse me, miss. I didna' see ye there."
Charism waved a bony hand at the newcomer. "Never ye mind, Sonny. What can we do for ye?"
With a beefy paw, the man pulled a letter out of the leather pouch hanging on his side. Pointing with the parchment, he spoke with an authoritative tone. "I'm Barney. I have a missive from the King. I would 'ave speech with the mistress of the castle, if ye please."
"Aye?" asked Charism, one eyebrow arched upward.
A stuttering, "Aye?" was said. Pausing, he took a deep breath and added, "My lady, if ye will just point me to the mistress."
"Ye are looking at the lady of the castle," replied Charism.
Sarra watched the myriad of emotions play across the heavily-jowled face. Shock seemed to be the current emotion displayed. If the situation had not been so dire, she might have laughed out loud. But as it stood, she kept her laughter in check and continued to follow the drama as it unfolded.
"Ye, my lady?" Barney's face registered a stunned look. Sarra found herself wondering just what he'd expected of the mistress. Charism continued to stare at him with birdlike eyes, playing her part to perfection.
"Well, Sonny, I might not be what ye expect, but I am lady of this keep, and ye will refrain from insulting me."
"I meant no disrespect, me lady. I am just a wee bit confused. Ye see, I was led to believe the lord, well, I mean the lady of the keep was younger."
Sarra loved this part. It was always the same. They all knew Charism was too old to be the lord's daughter. At least, they thought they knew. But they were all scared to say she was too old. They would cover their confusion with some kind of nonsensical rambling. Sarra enjoyed Charism's different explanations, never once saying it was just because she was old.
"Well, ye see deary, I am younger than I look. It was the pox, ye know. And then there was the famine. It did terrible things to me bones and left me bent over and humped and such. And, well, the sun, ye know is bad for a body. Causes lines on the face...."
Sarra watched the newest suitor as he listened to Charism ramble on and on about the ailments which had caused her to appear seventy instead of the score of years which was expected. The visitor must have realized certain issues mentioned had nothing to do with her aged form. Perhaps he even considered she was just old or maybe the previous lord had had children at a young age. Whatever the case, the stranger didn't seem ready to leave just yet.
Sarra noticed the man had quit listening. Charism must have noticed it as well because she changed the subject. "Ye have to be a mite hungry after all ye travels."
"Well, nay. Not at the moment."
"Rubbish. Maid? Maid? Where are ye deary?"
Sarra stepped out from behind Charism. "Here I am, my lady." Sarra made a deep curtsy, keeping veiled eyes glued on the guest at all times.
"Maid, go inside and have Cook arrange an assortment of delicacies for our new visitor. And remember, only the finest for this one."
Sarra stood from the curtsey and nodded. "Of course, my lady."
"All right, young man grab my arm, and let's head to the great hall. It might take us some time to get there, though. These bones don't move like they used to after the famine ye know."
"Aye, of course, the famine. But mistress, I insist I am not hungry."
"Of course, ye are hungry. Ye are practically wastin' away to nuthin'. Besides, Cook sets the finest table in all the land and trust me ye will want to enjoy the fruits of his labors."
Sarra had left the two of them and rushed inside. She could still hear the arguing going on outside the hall walls. Perhaps the gentleman had heard tell of the disease of the bowels which was rampant in these parts. He seemed desperate to get out of eating. But Charism, true to form, was overwhelming him in her subtle way and keeping him right on track toward the keep doors.
With her slow gait, Sarra knew it would take Charism several minutes to reach the great hall. She would have to act quickly. They might not have had time to "tear down" the outside walls and create some decent hovels, but Sarra did have time to "spruce" up the inside of the keep.
As Sarra ran toward the kitchen she passed by the maids giving them instructions. "The usual, ladies, and be quick about it!" Knowing exactly her meaning, they went to the slop buckets in the corner, and liberally scattered the contents around the fresh rushes in the room. When Sarra reached the kitchen, Cook was given his directions for what the current guest might require. After dealing with Cook, she located James, the stable boy, and told him he was needed at the keep. Then there was only one other individual to commandeer and all would be ready. This suitor seemed to be headstrong and might need a little extra to be sent on his way. As Sarra worked the plan over in her mind, she couldn't help but smile.
****
"My lady, I think I would rather have some fresh food from the garden."
"Rubbish! Ye will do no such thing. A man of your girth needs his sustenance. Besides I wouldn't touch food from the garden. Give ye the pox, it will." Charism hid her grin at the man's doubtful expression. He wasn't suitable for the young lady. Until Sarra told her otherwise, the old lady would continue to help her keep the hounds at bay.
"Indeed?"
"Aye, indeed! Are ye doubting my word, boy? That food there has the blight and the pox as well, I tell ye. Ye will come to the high table and sup with me. And that is the end of it!"
When they arrived at the great doors, Charism placed her hands upon them and pushed with all her might. But they wouldn't budge. She grunted and groaned with the effort. Finally she glanced back at the visitor. "Well, are ye going to just stand there and let a little woman strain herself with all this effort? Get the door, will ye?"
Barney pushed open the doors with little effort and stepped back. He bowed and extended his arm to Charism, respectfully allowing the "mistress" to go in first. The visitor followed closely behind but as he stepped over the threshold, Charism watched him reel back.
The rushes were fairly clean but upon further inspection they appeared to be liberally scattered with something resembling slop, causing a noxious odor. Charism looked around with satisfaction. The girl was up to her old tricks again. This one would never find a man she was satisfied with. Besides this one wasn't suitable for the young lady. Until Sarra told her otherwise, the old lady would continue to help her keep the hounds at bay.
The man jerked at the sound of the kitchen door slapping shut and the cook entering. Cook's long, stringy hair looked to have been slathered in pig fat. Mud caked his clothing and his nose dripped, as he came forward to drop the tray laden with food items on the huge rectangular table. Looking up at Charism, he gave a toothless grin and sneered. Before he left, a hand was swabbed across his nose, collecting a wad of the runny substance which was slung in the direction of the food placed on the table. Charism hid her mouth behind her hand and coughed, the sound mingling with her distinctive giggle.
As she studied the bread on the table, she saw spots. At first thought, the white spots were flour, until they were noticed moving. The bread appeared to be in the process of wiggling right off the table. She bit her lip as the visitor's eyes went wide.
Next the smell of the meat assailed her nostrils. Cook had taken special care with his "delicacy", making certain it was rotten.
Charism's face surely showed delight as she ambled forward, pretending not to notice the disgusting habits of the keep's hash slinger or the disgusting nature of the food. "It seems Cook has prepared the pig intestines today. What luck! My betrothed will be able to share in this fine meal."
Barney helped her into a chair and pushed her up to the table. She noticed his trembling hands as the fare was studied more closely.
As she watched, he opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Sarra's next plan.
Clank, rattle, stomp, clank, rattle, stomp.
"Ooooh." A low moan filled the air.
"Wh...wh...what was that noise?"
Charism twisted in her chair and covered a hand with her own gnarled one. "What noise, my child?"
Clank, rattle, stomp, clank, rattle, stomp.
"Ooooohhh." The moans became louder, closer.
"That noise."
"Well deary, I don't know what ye are referring to. My hearing taint like it oughta be, but I am certain I don't hear a thing."
Crash.
"Ooohhhh!"
The last sounds floated down the stairwell as the visitor's hand twisted out from under Charism's. Barney stood up and gradually backed away. "Perhaps ye could direct me to the garderobe?"
"Aye, just meander across the hall, past the stairs and ye will find the door. Hurry back soon, my love. Pig intestines aren't as good when they chill." A slow, sadistic grin spread across her wrinkled face.
"Aye, sure. I promise to return quickly." Barney backed up; turning around in mid-flight and fairly flew to the garderobe. The door was flung wide as the stranger stepped inside.
Charism held up her bony fingers and ticked off the time. Before reaching her middle finger, the door flung open with enough force to rip it off its hinges. The suitor's legs and arms pumped furiously as he ran out through the keep doors.
"Why, I didn't even get to eat!" exclaimed Charism, a smile wreathing her face.
Chapter Three
Barney moved his legs as fast as he could until he was past the castle gates and into the surrounding wood. A shallow creek loomed in the distance. Running until his lungs felt as if they would explode, he reached the water's edge and stopped. He fell beside the cool stream, taking deep gulping breaths and trying to regain his composure. He splashed water on his face and allowed it to trickle down over his neck and into the deep V of his tunic.
After a moment, Barney lifted his head from the icy cold stream. The sound of a deep, resonant voice took him off guard, almost sending him headlong into the rushing liquid.
"Well? How did ye fare?"
Gaining his composure, Barney shook out his hair and leaned back on his haunches. His water-coated eyes struggled to focus on the man in front of him. Cedric MacNeil was not a Scot to be trifled with. At over six feet tall, with fierce blue eyes and a daunting demeanor, he was rarely challenged. A sword hilt peeked above his shoulder, drawing Barney's attention.
To avoid his master's wrath, Barney said, "Laird Cedric, the mistress, she met me at the gate, ye see. And those rumors ye mentioned from England, well, they were correct. At least on the physical side of things. The woman is so old and bent over, she favors a witch to be sure."
"Aye. What happened after she met ye?"
Barney scratched his head. "She did just like ye said. She offered me something to eat. I suggested the garden but the lady told me some story about the pox. She led me toward the keep doors, and I 'ave to tell ye, I was gettin' mighty frustrated with her pace. She was going at the pace of a turtle on a winter morning, she was. I thought about hoisting her over me shoulder and to the door, but I was in no hurry to enter the hall. I was kinda pleased with the outside workings, but I had a feeling the inside would leave a very bad taste in me mouth—and perhaps in me bowels too. When I saw the food, I knew I was right. And it explained why ye mistress looks a hundred, when she is supposed to be twenty!" Barney paused, and then added, "But like I was sayin', if I was pleased for ye with the outside, the inside changed them feelins real quick. There was wormy bread, which I don't mind eaten when I'm in a pinch, ye understand. There was some kind of rotten meat. And I can't begin to describe the smell of the rushes on the floor. Why I think they must've thrown buckets of animal excrement about."
Cedric was losing patience with his hired hand. Barney must have noticed because he rushed ahead with the rest of his explanation.
"I remembered what ye said about not eatin' the food, and I asked to use the privy. While I was there, I needed to go. Couldn't help it. Being scared does that to a fellow. After I breathed real slow a few times, not the best place for it, of course, but I had to catch me breath. Anyway I pulled aside me kilt to relieve myself. But I have this habit of looking in the hole before I, well ye know. One never knows where a spider might make its home. And ye'll never guess what I seen there."
Cedric raised an eyebrow.
"Well don't you want to know?"
"Aye, I do."
"Well it sure wasn't no spider! It was a head!"
"A what?" asked Cedric, squinting his eyes.
"It was a head. Didn't have a body. Was just floatin' around in the first level garderobe. I never seen anything like it." Cedric went still and stared up at the crystal clear sky as something dawned on him. Since when was a garderobe on the first floor?
Cedric paced, tapping a finger to his lips. He asked, "Did the lady give you her name?"
An intense look of concentration knitted Barney's brows together. "I don't think so."
Cedric pondered the information. "You did well, Barney."
Barney reached out his hand as a coin flipped through the air and landed in his palm. "Do ye need me for anything else?"
"Not yet. Ye may go back and wait with Duncan and the others until I send for ye."
"Aye, Laird Cedric."
****
"Way too much excitement for one day."
Sarra clapped her hands in delight. "Charism, you were wonderful!"
Charism made a low bow, sweeping an arm out in front of her like a maid at a royal ball. "Aye, great fun it was. I dinna think I've ever seen a man run quite so fast before."
"Nay, neither have I."
Cook entered the room shaking his head. The filth-laden clothes had been removed. Clean and spotless was his new attire. No longer were his teeth black, but now shone a pearly white. Before heading back to the kitchen, Cook removed the pig intestines and the weevil-infested bread from the table.
After Cook's departure, Charism asked, "Where is James?"
"I don't think the lad has come down yet. With his added moaning, I was beginning to wonder if this time he'd injured himself with the banging instruments."
"The spookin' did a real number on the man. Face as pale as a sheet, it was. But the garderobe is what did it to 'im. Never did see a child run like that."
"Matthew did an excellent job. We weren't sure if he could get in the library and have his head in the hole in time or not. One never knows if my 'suitor' will need the garderobe. Of course with Cook's … hmm … usual brand of talents it is almost a foregone conclusion they will need the facilities for something." As Sarra spoke she was fighting a grin.
Charism's tone became serious. "As fun as it was to run off yet another suitor, ye do know eventually ye will have to accept one of the men who are put to ye. Besides all women need a husband. The Good Book says so."
"I disagree. I'm doing just fine on my own. If Father were alive…"
"If yer father was alive, he would've had ye married and living in another keep by now. Ye'd probably have yer own little house full of babes as well. But yer father ain't alive. And King Edward has been more than generous with ye. Why, if he knew what ye was up to, scaring off all the suitors bein' sent to ye, I bet ye'd be on the backside of a paddle. One of these days, ye is goin' have to accept the fact a woman has to have a man around to run a keep."
Sarra cringed. Charism had been like a mother for as long as she could remember. Although hating to disappoint a friend, there was no way she was marrying some dandy sent by the King. If a man couldn't win her on his own, he didn't deserve her.
Chapter Four
From his position outside the keep wall, Cedric noticed a caravan of merchants. Staying close to one of the wagons, he slid inside the gates unnoticed. Between what he'd discovered before leaving England and the information Barney had supplied, Cedric thought he knew what was going on.
It was obvious to anyone who was looking. The lord of the keep had perished unexpectedly. The mistress had taken control of the people and the land. As far as Cedric could tell, she'd done so quite adequately. A woman of such strength and character wouldn't want just any man to come in and tell her what to do.
Therefore the Lady of Greenbriar had enacted a plan. It appeared every suitor who visited the keep was run off. The King would've done better to simply ask the lass if there was a gent she preferred, rather than forcing one of his patrons upon her. But since the King had not asked, the mistress of the keep had taken it upon herself to keep the jackals away. The plan had been successful. Until now.
Slipping through the wooden gate with the large crowd, Cedric blended. The decision to trade the kilt for a pair of well-worn breeks appeared sound. His claymore was hidden in a rolled coverlet and held to his side. As Cedric glanced around the keep, the sight gave him pause. Barney was correct. The place was in good working order. The report of hovels and crudely built huts had been nothing more than rumors.
The grounds were well kept. The soil in the garden was tilled and planted. Seeds were just starting to sprout and there were little furrows of green. The lord's house sat in the center of the stone walls, sturdy and imposing. Cedric was drawn to the building. It reminded him of happier days in his childhood home. Sighing deeply with regret, he continued to walk forward with the crowd.
The merchants picked a place in between the village homes, opened the wooden flaps on their wagons, and set up their wares. The villagers came out in droves to see what might be available. Cedric watched as several small girls asked their mothers to purchase ribbons for their hair. The mothers pulled coins out of their pockets, purchased the ribbons, and handed them to their daughters, who bounded off. Little boys gawked at wooden swords dangling from the top of the traveling wagons. Men who had sons were proud to purchase such an item.
As Cedric watched the people behind the keep walls, he heard the sound of clashing metal. The excitement of swordplay tugged at him, and his feet angled toward the noise of their own volition. When the lists were reached, the scene shocked him. A woman covered in chain mail from head to toe stood in a fighting stance, giving directions to a group of assembled children.
"You must hold the sword in front of you just so," the armed woman said. Cedric watched as she proceeded to enact a pose for the students to emulate. Shifting in the heavy chain mail, the lass pivoted, and lost her footing.
She toppled forward.
A vision of the future assailed Cedric's mind. The young lady lay upon the ground, a sword protruding from her breast. The light from her eyes diminishing as she vanished from this world and passed into the next. Unable to move, he watched, afraid to take a breath. The wind laid and the birds no longer chirped. It was if the world was afraid to act. Time stood still.
****
"Just so," Sarra said, ignoring the sweat currently running in rivulets down her neck and gathering in a pool in the valley of her breasts.
Without warning, her foot slipped. The ground loomed closer. The flash of her blade was in the way of her final destination. Then suddenly she was no longer headed downward. Her ribs felt ready to pop from a crushing embrace. The helmet was flung aside, making a clanging noise as it hit something hard, yet soft. Her dark waves, now released from their prison, were stroked as someone murmured words she could not understand.
Sarra reviewed what she knew. First, everything seemed to be attached. And all parts were working properly. There were no warm spots indicating blood. But her ankle did feel quite odd. Mostly what she noticed was an odd scent filling her nostrils. Her nose was buried against a muscular body and a musky smell was weaving around her head, leaving her a bit faint.
With small hands placed firmly on the rescuer's chest, Sarra pushed. "You're crushing me," she said, a little breathless.
"Pardon lass, are ye all right?" the man asked, while placing her on the ground.
Sarra brushed hair back off her face and stared at him. Blue eyes sparkled and twinkled from a bronzed face. Shoulder length brown hair was lying loose and fluttering with the breeze. Sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, showing well-muscled and tanned forearms. Breeks were stretched taut across firm legs as they rested in a squatting position. A coverlet lay nearby, a sword tip exposed. Gulping deeply, Sarra tried to hide her fear.
"Aye, I will be fine," she said, while giving herself a push to get off the ground. But as Sarra went to stand, a twisted ankle gave way and caused another collapse.
She winced. The handsome stranger bent down and Sarra found herself staring at the top of his head. Without waiting for permission, his arms were placed under her knees. Lifted off the ground, her slight weight rested against the muscular chest.
"Fine, humph. I doubt it. Direct me to yer quarters, and I shall see ye attended to."
Sarra couldn't think clearly. What was she going to do? What if this man was a spy of the King sent to scout out the keep? Was it safe to reveal her true status as mistress of Greenbriar? What if he worked for any one of the men jilted by Charism in her role as the mistress? Why, she didn't even know his name! Gnawing a full lip with worry, she continued to fret silently.
"Well, woman, where do ye belong?"
An excellent question, where did she belong? Sarra was having trouble thinking in this current position. Finally, she made a decision.
"Would you please refrain from calling me woman? And how on earth do you expect me to have a coherent thought while I am crushed up against your manly, musky-smelling frame!"
His arms shifted, almost dropping her.
She bit her lip. Manly and musky! Had she said that out loud? Why had she been so forthright or transparent about her thoughts to a man she didn't even know? The fall must have addled her brain as well as twisted her ankle.
If Sarra was lucky the stranger would save her some embarrassment and not comment on what she said.
"What name shall I call ye by then, my lady?" asked the stranger, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
She said hesitatingly, "Sarra. Call me Sarra."
"Sarra..." he said, rolling his r's heavily in a Scottish burr.
Sarra felt her name reverberate through his immense chest. Who would have thought just hearing a name could cause such a flush to the body, such rousing of one's spirit? Sarra swallowed.
Who was this man with the winsome smile and the gentle hands?
Chapter Five
Cedric cradled the lass. The helmet which was previously crushed to her head was lying against the wall. Taking a good look at the woman named Sarra, he noticed a rosy hue covering her cheeks. She was no doubt embarrassed by her outburst. He, however, was quite pleased.
If he could have shared his thoughts about her, he would have said she smelled like a field full of the finest Scottish heather and was as beautiful as the moon on a starlit night. He would have said, quite honestly, that the black curly locks of hair gracing her head smelled of lilacs, and her smile could stop an army.
In truth, the lass' black hair was matted and sweaty. It clung to her neck and Cedric resisted smoothing it away. She stared at him with green eyes, more beautiful than any emerald he'd ever seen. The corner of her lips shifted upward in the barest hint of a smile. Cedric wondered what it would be like to place his lips upon hers.
Her sweet voice drifted to him, "Sir, may I ask your name?"
"Aye."
When he didn't answer Sarra waited, a frown marking her brow. "Well, what is it?"
"What's what?"
"Your name," Sarra repeated, her fingers tapping out an irritated rhythm upon his chest.
The lass' frustration caused Cedric to smile. A petite hand rested over his heart. Could she feel the flutter of its wildly erratic beating?
As a flurry of emotions displayed across her face, Cedric realized he'd yet to answer the question. He'd meant to answer. But found he'd forgotten the question asked yet again. The beauty of the lass was a distraction he'd not anticipated.
When Cedric took too long to speak, Sarra said, "Oh, never mind. May I sit up please?"
"Aye."
Cedric placed Sarra down again. He helped her sit up straight in front of him. She looked odd sitting upon the ground, hands folded demurely in her lap, while covered in chain mail and dirt.
Again she asked, "Sir, what is your name?"
"Want to know, do ye?" Cedric held back his smile. The game was proving to be quite enjoyable.
"Aye," Sarra answered, rolling her eyes. "If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't continue to ask you."
"Verra well. My name is Cedric MacNeil." Good. He felt much better. He'd remembered who he was. Sarra extended her hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Cedric MacNeil. I'm, I'm—"
"Sarrrrra, aye. Ye said that."
"Aye. Sarra. Now if you wouldn't mind helping me off the ground."
"I'd be glad to help ye. But I think you need to stay off yer foot."
"You do?"
"Aye. I don't see any bruisin', but ye did take a tumble."
"I'll just go home and rest a bit. I'm sure it will be better on the morrow."
"Can I help ye home?"
"Nay. But thank you just the same."
Sarra gave him a genuine smile as Cedric stood and helped her to her feet. A grin split his face as he watched Sarra hobble toward the village. He studied the sway of her hips as she moved. They had a habit of swooshing back and forth in a most alluring manner. Aye, this maid Sarra was a fair woman to look upon.
All things considered Cedric wouldn't mind being this lass' husband. But this wasn't why he was here. He wasn't here to find just any wench and settle down. No. This land belonged to him. And the only way to stake his claim was to find and marry the mistress. Nothing could be allowed to distract him from the goal. Not even an emerald-eyed beauty.
****
Cedric walked at a leisurely pace through the village, searching for a place to spend the night. It would take time to convince the Lady of Greenbriar he was the best man for Laird of her keep. And he needed a place to stay while doing so.
Cedric entered a hut with an open door. Maybe it was an inn with a pub attached? Taking a seat in a dark corner, he watched and waited.
Two elderly men sat at a table, mugs of ale in their hand. Ignoring everyone in the room, they spoke loudly to one another.
"Used to be back in my day, things were different."
"How so?"
"Well, Angus, I tell ye. I think some of us ol' men should have strayed a bit farther from the village to find a woman."
"I don't think I am gettin' ye?"
"If we'd strayed a little farther we might have had more of a variety. As it is, well, Angus, what I mean is, these gels we have around here is just plum ugly, that's what I mean. Our sons ain't goin' have nary a choice when it comes to weddin'. They'll be gettin' an ugly lass and that's that."
"Well, I think I should take offense at yer statement, with me having a gel and all. What about me Gertrude?"
"What about yer daughter, Gertrude? She 'appens to be one of the ugliest ones!" The old man shouted and guffawed, while striking his thigh.
"Aye, ye be right. Me wife makes me say those things. I mean she makes me say Gertrude is pretty. She's all about making the wee lass feel good about herself."
"It's like I says, things is different. Our sons will just have to close their eyes and think of merry ol' England."
Cedric head shook at the conversation. A serving girl brought a tankard of ale to the table. He gave her a nod of thanks and pressed a coin onto the table. She reached for it and stuffed it down the front of her gown.
Maybe the old men at the other table had some eyesight issues or maybe they just hadn't noticed the specimen right under their noses. He could see nothing amiss with this lass.
Cedric took a deep gulp of the tepid brew, still eyeing the girl in front of him. She gave him a big grin and ale spewed from his mouth clear across the rough wood hewn table. The lass had but one tooth in her whole mouth!
The old men in the room hee-hawed. The nameless one glanced at Angus. "Now ye see what I'm talking about? Ugly!"
The waitress slammed their refills down in front of them and stalked off to other waiting customers.
The nameless patron directed his gaze toward the newcomer. "Ye must be new here."
"Aye."
"Are ye passing through with the merchants or are ye coming to stay for a wee bit?"
"Ol' man, ye know it ain't none of ye business," replied Angus.
"Angus, if the lad don't want to answer me, I reckon he can tell me so. I be accepting of it. Shush and give him time to answer."
"I'm hoping to stay a while."
"Aye, that's good. We be needing some more men around here. Most of the single men left when the master died. Ran out to be somebody, ye know? Have ye found ye a place to stay?"
"Nay. I was hoping to find an inn."
"An inn? This ain't a town, lad. We ain't got no inn. There is a lady hereabouts has an extra room for the lending though. If yer interested."
"Aye. I am."
"Just let me finish up here, and I'll show ye where to go."
Cedric lifted the tankard of ale in salute. Not bad for his first day, if he said so himself.
Chapter Six
Sarra took a circuitous route back to the keep, the whole time peering over her shoulder, expecting the newcomer to follow. Who was that man? She'd never seen him before. Perhaps he was traveling with the merchants, merely passing through. Whatever the case, her day of training was over. Her twisted ankle throbbed intensely causing her to hobble worse with every step.
When Sarra arrived at the keep free from pursuit, breathing became a little easier. She walked through the doors and spotted a servant. The first thing she did was ask for a tub filled with hot water to be sent directly to her chambers. While said task was under way, she sought out Charism. Her intentions were to tell her friend about the experiences in the lists but Charism spoke first.
"Ye look different. Are ye all right?"
"Aye, Charism. I'll be fine. What I need is a long, hot bath and an even longer nap." Sarra offered a look she hoped was reassuring.
Charism's beady eyes narrowed, but Sarra walked away as if she hadn't noticed. So she had told the old lady a partial truth. Sarra didn't necessarily look different, but she did feel different.
Hoping the bath would be prepared, Sarra headed to her chambers. She needed time to herself, time for prayer. And bath time always sufficed. It was the one time no one bothered her. Besides, the hot water should relieve the pain in her throbbing ankle. At least Sarra hoped it would.