~THREE MEDIEVAL ROMANCES:

BRAGGOT PARK, DANBURGH CASTLE & RHIANNON~

By Catherine E. Chapman

 

 

Published by Catherine E. Chapman at Smashwords

 

Copyright 2014 Catherine E. Chapman

 

 

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

 

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Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/FrinaArt

 

 

Also by the author

 

All the Trimmings

Brizecombe Hall

Clifton

Collected Romances

Elizabeth Clansham

High Sea

Kitty

Miss Millie’s Groom

Opening Night

The Beacon Singer

The Family Tree

The Hangar Dance

The Laird’s Right-Hand Lady

The Office Party

The Ramblers

Three Romances

 

 

DANBURGH CASTLE

 

“How am I to know that your daughter didn’t conspire with her husband to overthrow me?” the Norman lord asked the old man.

“I beg your pardon, sir, she is not my daughter. I am her grandfather. Her father died some time ago. But she is like a child to me and, if you just look at her, sir, you can see she is an honest woman.” The old man held out his hand, gesturing to the girl, who was held by two of Lord Robert’s men, at the back of the castle courtyard.

“Bring the woman here,” Lord Robert ordered.

The guards walked her forward. She came willingly, her head bowed. Her long, chestnut hair, worn loose ordinarily, had been arranged into two long, thick plaits by her mother that morning.

“Raise your head, woman,” Lord Robert told her when she stood before him.

Emma lifted her head and looked into Lord Robert’s eyes.

But his gaze rested on her stomach. “She is with child,” he said.

“Yes my lord,” the old man confirmed.

“Is it the traitor, Alaric’s child?”

“Of course, Lord Robert. No granddaughter of mine would bear a child out of wedlock.”

“And you suppose that I will let this woman live to bring the son of a traitor into the world?”

“I have heard you are a just man, Lord Robert,” said the grandfather. “I don’t believe you would put an innocent child –and its innocent mother– to death out of spite. The traitor Alaric is dead. I give you my word, Lord Robert, that if you spare his widow and child, they will remain under my roof, and be to the King subjects as loyal as myself and my good daughter, this girl’s mother.”

Lord Robert was silent.

“If you will permit me sir,” the old man continued, “I would ask you to consider how you would feel if your own wife were to be condemned to death, carrying, as she is, your child–”

“You over-step the mark,” the Norman lord cautioned angrily. “The circumstances of my own lady bear no resemblance to those of this common woman.”

“But they are both soon to have children,” the old man stated, unable to stop himself.

Emma glanced anxiously at her grandfather, fearful that his plain speaking would be her undoing. For her part, she hardly cared whether she lived or died, so wretched had her life become since the death of Alaric. But for the sake of the unborn child inside her, she wanted to be pardoned. She could hardly bring herself to look at Lord Robert, but look she must to know her fate.

Emma raised her eyes to Lord Robert’s face. He was looking her up and down. Emma surveyed the powerful man, in whose hands her future lay, in a confusion of fear and self-consciousness.

Lord Robert lifted his gaze and looked piercingly into Emma’s eyes. “Very well, old man,” he said quietly, “she shall live.”

Emma fell to the ground, faint.

 

* * *

 

Emma’s courtship had been brief and no sooner, it seemed, had she married Alaric than he’d been killed in the uprising against Lord Robert. Alaric had never told her he was a rebel but, if Emma was honest, she’d suspected it from the start. Nobody wanted the Normans here. Men like her grandfather, weakened by a life of toil and strife against the various invaders to their lands, accepted Norman rule out of fear and a desire for a peaceful existence. But Alaric, like many of his young friends, had wanted to regain power over his homeland. Emma couldn’t blame him. Secretly, she was proud of what he had tried to do – he died a hero, fighting to win back the land from Lord Robert.

In public, of course, Emma went along with her grandfather’s story of her ignorance and naivety. She referred to her dead husband as a traitor and a fool, and she described herself and her son Oswald as victims of Alaric’s folly.

It was only after Alaric’s death in the rebellion that Emma had discovered she was carrying his child. It had been a traumatic pregnancy, her fate uncertain throughout. She gave birth to Oswald a month after Lord Robert pardoned her at the castle, the birth brought on prematurely by the stress of her trial, her mother believed. Nobody thought Oswald would survive. Emma herself came close to death. But they both lived. Emma felt her life had been spared to care for her son. Oswald, like his father, was a fighter.

Shortly after Oswald’s arrival, news was rife in the village that Lord Robert’s wife had died in childbirth at the castle. The baby had been saved. Emma’s mother remarked how strange the event was in the light of Grandfather’s words to Lord Robert. Emma felt a sense of pity for the Norman lord that she couldn’t quite explain. His hair was dark and very short, she remembered. Alaric’s had been long, fair and flowing.

Still grieving the loss of Alaric, forced to live back with her mother, grandfather and younger siblings, in the cramped cottage of the family farmstead, Emma’s own future looked bleak. Having the responsibility of baby Oswald, she saw little prospect of a new suitor. Nor could she be of any help to her family – she only added to her grandfather’s burden.

When Emma had married Alaric, her mother had told her that the joy of their union lessened the blow of the family’s recent loss of Emma’s father. After Alaric’s death the family had been left in a state of financial peril. Emma was the eldest of eight children, the youngest still a baby. Only her stoical grandfather remained optimistic about the future. Emma suspected his hope was misplaced and felt responsible for everything.

 

* * *

 

One morning in autumn, when Emma was beginning to feel strong again and baby Oswald was considered well enough to be taken outdoors, Emma decided to go foraging for nuts and berries in the woods that belonged to Lord Robert’s estate. Her mother was nervous about Emma going alone, but Emma insisted, pointing out that it was something she would have done without hesitation before Alaric’s death, and claiming she wanted to contribute to the household in some small way.

Emma left the cottage, carrying the infant Oswald in a sling on her back. She felt instantly happier to be out in the open air with the child.

When they reached the heart of the woods Emma quickly located bushes beside the path through it that were heavy with blackberries. She stepped into the brambles and began to collect the berries in a basket.

After a few minutes, bending over to pick the fruit that was out of her immediate reach, Emma heard horses approaching. She turned to see who rode towards her. One of the faces she spied was unpleasantly familiar. Had she been able to move more quickly, she would have tried to conceal herself but, stranded as she was in the clump of brambles, she returned to her task, hoping to go unnoticed.

Upon first encountering Emma, Lord Robert’s party merely bade the young peasant girl good day and walked their horses on along the woodland path.

Emma thought she’d not been recognised and felt relief.

Moments later, however, Emma heard the horses come to a standstill up ahead. One rider returned.

Emma glanced up to see whose horse approached. As soon as she saw the rider she looked away in dread, feeling her stomach rising.

Lord Robert’s horse came to a halt on the path alongside where Emma stood. The rider asked her if she belonged to his village and what was her husband’s trade.

Emma nervously explained that she was the widow of Alaric the traitor. There was no point in trying to conceal her identity from the Norman lord; his power was so absolute. Emma hung her head in fear of Lord Robert’s reaction to her introduction. Lord Robert said nothing but Emma sensed his gaze upon her. Feeling uneasy about Lord Robert’s prolonged silence, Emma raised her eyes to look up at the well-built man on horseback. She registered that he’d been surveying her figure, well-defined in the bodice of a dress that had been made for her long before her maternity. Emma was aware that the dress was now too small. She blushed, feeling ashamed of her appearance, but then she immediately felt annoyed – it was because of his oppression that she and her people found themselves in reduced circumstances.

Emma drew herself up and looked Lord Robert straight in the face.

Lord Robert raised his eyes to meet Emma’s and smiled at her.

Emma scowled.

“I remember you,” said Lord Robert. “The child on your back, is this the same child you were carrying when last we met?”

“Yes my lord,” Emma said, avoiding his gaze once more.

“Tell me, is it a boy or girl?”

Emma hesitated, aware that a lie might protect Oswald but a lie discovered could be fatal. “A boy, my lord,” she said.

“I too have a boy-child of similar age,” Lord Robert told her.

Emma recalled Lord Robert’s widowed state and felt involuntary guilt that her treatment of him had been hostile. But he was a Norman – she would give him no words of comfort.

Lord Robert had taken out a purse. He stooped from his horse and offered Emma a coin of value – enough money to feed her entire family for a month.

“I cannot accept such a gift, my lord,” Emma said, looking at the coin rather than the bearer.

“It is for your child,” Lord Robert replied, holding the coin in front of her face.

Emma knew that to refuse the token was rude and disrespectful but a sudden remembrance of Alaric prompted her to stand her ground. “I will not take your money, Lord Robert,” she maintained.

For a moment Lord Robert seemed at a loss.

Emma glanced at him and was pleased to see his face flushed with annoyance and embarrassment at her rebuff.

Lord Robert put the coin back in his purse. He then lunged from his horse and caressed Emma’s cheek with his hand.

Emma gasped in shock and drew back from Lord Robert but her skirts were caught fast in the brambles – she couldn’t move. Emma felt Lord Robert’s hand, warm and tender against her cool skin.

“I will keep my money then, woman,” Lord Robert said softly, “and hope the opportunity arises for me to do you some service in future.”

Emma raised her arm, intending to push Lord Robert’s unwanted hand from her cheek. But her own hand only came to rest upon his and, rather than fending it off, she found she had to fight the instinct to kiss the hated hand, held close, as it was, to her lips.

Emma closed her eyes, so intense was the sensation of Lord Robert’s touch.

The hand was abruptly withdrawn. “Until we meet again,” Lord Robert said, urging his horse away.

Emma opened her eyes to see the Norman lord retreating. She felt strangely desolate to be left standing alone amid the brambles. “I remember you,” she whispered to herself as the noble vision disappeared.

 

* * *

 

Barely a week later a man came to the farm cottage and spoke with Emma’s grandfather. Lord Robert had requested that Emma come to the castle to be nurse to his own boy-child.

Without consulting his granddaughter, the old man agreed, negotiating that Emma would receive, in addition to the board and lodging offered to her in the castle, a sum for her services that was sufficient to keep the rest of the family.

“When yer grandad told me, I couldn’t believe they’d said yes to it,” Emma’s mother informed her excitedly.

Emma was fully aware that she had no choice but to accept a fate that would ensure, not only her own security, but that of her whole family. “And little Oswald, he can come with me?” she said.

“Ah,” her mother replied sadly, “that won’t be possible, lass.”

Emma began to weep.

“But, rest assured, my love, I will bring young Oswald up like one of my own.”

 

* * *

 

Within days Emma’s new life was upon her. “I will send money each month,” she told her mother, as they stood outside the cottage on a grey but mild autumnal afternoon.

“And news of how you get along.”

“Yes.”

Lord Robert’s man was waiting with his horse and cart. He was eager to get on as the sun was already beginning to set and the black-blue skies over the coast signalled rain was on its way.

“Goodbye Mother,” Emma said, kissing the older woman on the cheek and trying to resist her firm embrace, for fear she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to leave. “Give my love to Grandfather and kiss little Oswald for me,” she added tremulously, as she turned her head away from her mother to hide her tears.

Emma climbed up beside the man on the cart, on the back of which her few belongings had been loaded. The horse pulled away. Emma looked back and saw her younger sister emerging from the door of the cottage with baby Oswald in her arms. Upon sight of her child, Emma wept unashamedly.

The man paid her no attention and continued towards the coast, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. If they kept up a decent pace, they should get there just before dark.

As the cart journeyed on, along the track that led from the village, through the woodlands of Lord Robert’s estate, towards the east coast and the exposed, cliff-top grounds of the castle itself, Emma thought miserably about the misfortunes of the last year. She also relived the events of the fateful day when, in the forest, she and Lord Robert had met. It was dark in the woods now; there was no sunlight. The leaves had fallen from the trees – it felt like winter was coming.

Everybody had said how lucky she was to be going to work for Lord Robert and live in the castle. Everybody said how charitable the lord was to have overlooked Alaric’s crime and asked her to be his nurse. Emma had told no one about the nature of the exchange between her and Lord Robert in the woods. Partly, she didn’t want to spoil her family’s happiness over the income her work would bring. Moreover, she was embarrassed by what had happened and remained confused about the Norman lord’s intentions. And then there was the feeling she could barely admit even to herself: desire for a man who was not only her new master but also her sworn enemy.

Emma’s dreamlike concerns became scarily real when she saw Danburgh Castle, her destination, looming large up ahead. As soon as the cart emerged from the forest and they caught a first glimpse of the fort in the dwindling light, the rain started to pour. The man pulled the hood of his tunic over his head. Emma had nothing to protect her from the rain. She felt the large, cold drops running in rivulets down her neck.

The castle was an imposing stone keep, located on the edge of a rocky promontory, looking out to sea. Emma was too young to have seen the wooden castle that had been quickly erected when the Normans had first arrived and taken control of the land, but she had heard of it from her grandfather.

The power of the Norman lord had been strengthened by the gradual replacement of the timbers with masonry. Now built completely from stone, the castle and surrounding wall looked impenetrable. But what Emma feared, as the horse and cart rumbled along the track that wound up the hill towards the castle’s drawbridge, and she became increasingly soaked by the heavy rain, was that, once inside its walls, she might never leave its confines again.

 

* * *

 

On arrival at Danburgh, Emma was greeted by a woman-servant in the courtyard. The woman was alarmed to find Emma drenched, fearing that she would catch a cold and pass it on to the baby. But instead of taking her to the kitchens, she escorted Emma directly to the nursery, saying she could dry herself there. It was as though the servant didn’t want others to see Emma.

Making her way to the nursery, climbing the spiral staircase with the servant-woman, Emma caught a glimpse of a huge, bearded man standing in the middle of the great hall of the castle. His massive figure, framed in the doorway leading off the staircase, was an impressive sight, but so striking was the young woman standing beside him –with her long, straight, black hair and her fine, vivid blue gown– that Emma stopped still on the spiralling stairs, transfixed. The serving-woman whispered to Emma not to tarry and took hold of her hand, pulling her on, up the next flight of steps.

The nursery was on the floor above the great hall. Emma was to sleep in a small bed that stood on the opposite side of the room to the crib in which her charge now lay sleeping. The woman left Emma, to fetch her some means of drying herself. Emma dared not go over to look in the cot. She stood uncomfortably in the centre of the room, cold and damp from her journey. She could hear loud voices from the hall below; she imagined it was the large man who laughed. Emma suddenly felt scared of this new world she had entered into; she was tempted to try to run away.

“His lordship has asked that you become responsible for his son’s nurture immediately,” the woman-servant explained on her return. “He is happy that you should feed him when next he wakes.”

Emma walked over to the crib and looked down at the boy. He was a little younger than Oswald and had angelic ringlets of fair hair.

“He has his mother’s colouring, God rest her soul,” the woman observed.

Emma felt a strange sensation: her resentment at being hired to care for this child at the expense of her bond with her own baby was challenged by an instinct to protect so small a child who had lost his mother.

“What became of his previous nurse?” Emma asked.

The woman-servant was hesitant to answer her question.

Emma looked her in the eye and the woman drew closer. “The fine lady you saw in the great hall,” she began in hushed tones, “is Fiona, daughter of the bordering Scottish thane.”

“The large, bearded man?”

The woman nodded. “Nothing has been announced but it is believed that she and Lord Robert are contracted to be married. When her ladyship died, a woman from the village came to nurse the child, but when the lady Fiona began to visit the castle, she took exception to the woman and discharged her.”

“Why?” Emma asked.

“The lady Fiona said the woman was slovenly but we think she’s minded to install her own servants here.”

Emma now understood why her arrival at the castle had been so clandestine. “Does the lady Fiona take an interest in the child?” she asked the woman.

“Not in any wholesome way,” she replied. “I think she would rather it didn’t exist. It bars the way for any sons she and Lord Robert might have, of course,” she added in a whisper. “I must go, Nurse,” the woman concluded. “I’ve already said too much.”

 

* * *

 

When left alone with the sleeping child in the nursery, Emma sat on her bed, looking out of the narrow window, to the open sea, absently patting her long wet hair with the cloths the woman had brought her. So close was this side of the castle to the edge of the cliff that she had no sense of land beneath her – she couldn’t see it. Why must the window be so narrow when there was no land below? Presumably to defend against attack from the sea itself, Emma thought. Through the narrow window Emma could see the peach-pink sun setting on the horizon of a blue-grey sea. Now the storm had passed, the air had cleared and the seas were calm. It would soon be completely dark. Emma had no means of illuminating the room once night fell. Perhaps she was expected to sleep whenever the child slept.

Everybody considered her to have had good fortune in being called to the castle, but surely this room was to be little more than a prison cell. Here she would attend to a baby whose father didn’t wish to see it. If Lord Robert had moved on so swiftly to his second wife, Emma, surely, as the carer of his first wife’s child, must be shunned. She couldn’t imagine what empty, numberless days and nights lay ahead of her, shut up in this small coastal cell.

Looking over to the crib of the sleeping child, a dark thought occurred to Emma. She had feared that Lord Robert would exact revenge on Alaric by taking Oswald’s life. By virtue of her position, she now held the life of the Norman lord’s child in her hands. How strange that Lord Robert hadn’t considered that she might abuse her position to rid the world of his son and heir.

Emma’s contemplation was broken by the child’s waking cries. She went quickly over to the crib and lifted the baby from it. She held him against her and soothed him. His crying soon ceased. Emma found that tears were rolling down her cheeks. Holding the child close, rocking him and stroking his back, Emma imagined the boy was her own little Oswald. She kissed his soft cheek.

Taking a seat on the chair beside his cot, and placing the child on her lap, Emma loosened the cords that held the bodice of her dress together, undid the fastenings, pulled the fabric of her dress away from her chest, and then pulled back her smock. The baby sought Emma instinctively. She cradled him lovingly as he began to feed. Emma heaved a sigh of relief and felt a surge of maternal warmth. She couldn’t help but smile upon the child’s crown of blonde hair and begin to stroke it, as he fed contentedly.

Emma could hear voices again in the hall below – a woman’s voice laughing indulgently this time. She imagined it was the lady Fiona. How strange, Emma thought, as she gently rocked the little boy, that Fiona could deny herself an instinct as basic as a woman’s love for a child.

Emma sensed a presence in the room. She jumped when, looking up, she saw Lord Robert standing in the doorway, watching her. He held a burning candle in his hand.

“Welcome to Danburgh, Nurse,” he began. “May I call you Emma?”

Emma couldn’t reply. She’d been startled and now felt self-conscious that the lord so blatantly watched the child at her breast.

“I wanted to ensure that everything is in order for you here – and to bring you some light.” He placed the candle on a table beside the crib, as near as he could rest it to where Emma sat. “You’re already acquainted with your charge. He seems to be getting the sustenance he needs,” Lord Robert observed.

“My lord, I’ve not been told the child’s name,” Emma said.

“It is Harry,” Lord Robert replied. “He is my son and heir, Emma, so be sure to feed him well.”

“I will treat him as I would my own son,” Emma assured him, feeling a pang at the remembrance of Oswald.

“You know, Emma, that I have taken care to make provision for your family?” Lord Robert continued.

“I am aware of it, sir,” Emma replied. “I thank you.”

“My actions were not, perhaps, without an element of self-interest,” Lord Robert confessed as he walked from the table towards her.

“I don’t understand you sir,” Emma said, feeling flustered at his approaching step.

“Let us just say I am glad to have you here, Emma,” Lord Robert said as he knelt down beside her.

“Thank you my lord,” Emma uttered, keeping her sights fixed upon Harry’s golden locks, for fear of looking into his father’s eyes.

“Regrettably, I must withdraw,” Lord Robert said.

Emma said nothing in response. She could hear the strains of the musicians beginning to play in the great hall below but Lord Robert didn’t seem eager to return to his carousing.

“They play songs of love, Emma,” he said.

Emma nodded but avoided his gaze.

“Goodnight, little one,” Lord Robert said, bending over to place a kiss upon his child’s head. Emma winced to find him so close to her own bare skin. Lord Robert raised his head as Emma tried to compose herself.

“Goodnight Nurse Emma,” the Norman lord added, beginning to rise from the floor but, as he did, placing a kiss upon Emma’s cheek.

He left the chamber almost before she’d had chance to register what he’d done.

 

* * *

 

For two weeks Emma spent most of her time confined to the nursery with the child. She saw nothing of her lord nor of the lady Fiona but she was aware, from the news that the serving-woman brought her daily, that the lady and her attendants had been staying at the castle all that time.

On a couple of occasions the serving-woman invited Emma to bring Harry down to the kitchen, to sit beside the fire. This only happened when Lord Robert and Fiona were abroad, riding or hunting, and the woman could be certain that the lady wouldn’t return and discover the nurse. Emma enjoyed the opportunity to see more of the castle and to talk with the serving-woman, but she resented the fact that her freedom was only occasioned by Lord Robert’s adventures with the noblewoman.

When the Lord and his fiancée were at home, the serving-woman brought Emma food and tended to her needs but, aside from her visits, Emma felt that she and little Harry were forgotten completely.

Emma calculated she had not seen Lord Robert for over a fortnight and began to fear she would go mad if she didn’t escape the confines of her room. It was evening. The serving-woman hadn’t appeared. Harry was asleep in his cot and would remain so for some time. Emma had heard no sound of movement about the castle for a quarter of an hour or so. Perhaps Lord Robert had ventured out, taking his attendants with him?

Stealthily, Emma opened the door of the nursery and slipped through it onto the small landing outside. She thought she was on the third floor of the castle but was unsure how many more floors were above her. It was completely dark. Emma knew there was a torch that usually burnt in a wall-mounted holder on the landing but tonight it had not been lit.

She had no sense that anyone was present. If her theory was correct and she’d been left alone in the castle, the doors would surely have been secured against intruders – it would be impossible for her to escape to the courtyard. Her only means of experiencing freedom was to climb up to the battlements.

Emma set off in the darkness, slowly mounting the spiral staircase from the landing and then climbing its seemingly endless steps. She reached another floor level but the staircase continued up beyond this.

When she finally reached the top of the stairs, Emma, looking up, could see, through an open doorway, the black sky, lit with bright, shining stars. She gasped as she emerged onto the castle ramparts and breathed in the fresh, salty air. She stood bolt upright, sensing the fresh wind blowing against her body and through her hair.

Emma walked towards the parapet that ran along the seaward wall of the castle. She felt cold but she felt alive, after the stifling heat of the nursery, constantly warmed by the great fire that burnt in the banqueting hall below. She put her hands on the stone wall and leant forward, looking out to sea. It was a turbulent night. The moon was full and shone brightly in the sky. Broken clouds raced across it, giving Emma the impression that the heavens were on the move.

Lit by the moonlight, Emma could see the white foam of the waves crashing against the rocks below and, further out, she saw the incoming waves undulating as they coursed towards the shore. There was drama and motion all about.

Emma jumped – something stirred behind her. She feared she would fall forward over the parapet but hands clasped her sides and pulled her back. “Who’s there?” Emma asked nervously, unable to identify her assailant in the dark.

“Your own lord,” a man’s voice replied.

“I thought myself alone,” Emma said.

“We’re almost alone,” Lord Robert responded. “Fiona has ventured home this evening. My army has set forth to escort her on her journey across the border. Only a few of my men remain below, guarding the keep.”

“Why are you on the battlements?” Emma enquired.

“I might ask the same of you,” Lord Robert replied, amused by Emma’s forwardness.

“I needed to breathe, my lord,” Emma said, “I wanted some air.”

“You can certainly take the air up here,” Lord Robert said, adding, “Strange, is it not, that I feel most free upon the battlements of a castle?”

Emma didn’t reply but shivered.

“But you shouldn’t remain here without a cloak, Emma. You will catch your death. Here, let me warm you,” and he went to enfold Emma in his own great cloak.

“No my lord,” she resisted instinctively. “It’s wrong.”

“How wrong, Emma, if it will warm you and comfort me?”

Emma folded her arms against his embrace.

“I have lost my wife, Emma,” Lord Robert whispered, “and you have lost a husband–”

“You are betrothed to another lady,” Emma was quick to respond.

Lord Robert held onto his unyielding nurse inside the cloak. “Negotiations are, as yet, at a very early stage.” He lowered his voice. “And, between you and me, Nurse Emma, I think we can safely say that the lady to whom I am now contracted is as cold as stone.”

“She is beautiful,” Emma pointed out, keeping her face turned from his, lest he should attempt to kiss her again.

“That is indeed true but what care I for beauty if a woman’s nature is cruel?”

Emma could feel Lord Robert’s breath warming her cheek as he spoke. His arms were wrapped about her own, still stubbornly folded, beneath the cloak.

“My marriage to Fiona has been proposed by her father to strengthen our control of these lands. From my point of view, the match is politically desirable. True, she is a beautiful woman, but she doesn’t care for me – she holds me in contempt. If the marriage is granted, it won’t be a loving one; I know that already–”

“Then you ought not to marry her, sir–” Emma commented instinctively. She stopped herself – outspokenness was a trait she’d inherited from her grandfather. It led to trouble.

“A man in my position has responsibilities, Emma. It is my duty to the King to stabilise these lands; it is my duty to your people, Emma, to try to keep the peace.”

Beneath the cloak, Lord Robert’s left hand had strayed down to rest upon Emma’s side. His right hand had cleaved its way underneath her folded arms and was currently held close to her breast.

“I am just a man, Emma…” Lord Robert said meaningfully.

“Robert!” a voice called from below.

Emma was released from the firm hold. Her body once again felt the chill of the winds, as the heavy cloak was drawn back from her.

“Robert!” the voice came again, louder and clearer.

Lord Robert arrayed his cloak and turned away from Emma.

Emma stood, her head spinning, her legs weak, facing the sea and looking up at the stars.

The lady Fiona emerged onto the ramparts. “What are you doing up here?” was the suspicious greeting she offered her suitor.

“I came to fly the falcon,” Lord Robert replied innocently.

Emma remained silent, standing with her back to the lady. She looked steadily out to sea as her body rocked gently in the wind. The sea had become strangely calm now. She hoped to go undetected.

“And who is this?” the lady Fiona asked accusingly.

“This is the wet nurse,” Lord Robert answered plainly. “I don’t believe you’ve met Emma.” He placed his hand on Emma’s arm, turning her round to face Fiona.

Emma looked blankly upon her future mistress as she tried to control her breathing and stand still. The lady was indeed beautiful. In the moonlight Emma drank in the flawless fair skin and jet black hair for which she was famed. Her gown tonight was a rich red, ornamented with elaborate patterns embroidered in gold thread and embellished with polished precious stones about the neckline. She wore a tall, pointed headdress – a gift from Lord Robert, no doubt. The long veil that flowed from it billowed in the wind.

“Why is she here? Why is she not in the nursery attending to the child?” Fiona snapped violently.

“I brought her here,” Lord Robert replied. “She has been confined to the nursery these past two weeks and was growing faint with lack of fresh air. I brought her here to watch the falcon fly.”

“Then where is the falcon?” Fiona asked triumphantly.

Lord Robert turned seaward and called into the night. He picked up a glove from below the parapet and put it on. A wolfhound, which had been slumbering on sacks in the corner of the ramparts, whimpered, stirred itself and came to its master’s side.

In a moment, a peregrine falcon, with piercing eyes, came circling above the ramparts and settled on his master’s outstretched, gloved hand.

Emma’s eyes opened wide at the spectacle.

“Stay absolutely still,” Lord Robert instructed her, “he is the most sensitive of birds of prey. The least movement will frighten him off.”

“Girl, you shall accompany me back to the nursery at once,” Fiona ordered. “You have had quite enough air for one evening,” she concluded sarcastically.

 

* * *

 

The lady Fiona closed the door of the nursery behind them. Emma had walked straight over to the crib where Harry lay, sound asleep.

“I wish to make you aware, Nurse, that your services will no longer be required here.”

“I don’t understand, my lady. I didn’t neglect little Harry – he was sleeping when I ventured up onto the ramparts–”

“Your negligence is beside the point,” Fiona stated. “Harry is growing. He no longer needs a wet nurse.”

“But, my lady, this is so sudden,” Emma protested, thinking of Lord Robert.

“Things change,” Fiona said, turning her back on Emma. “Get used to it,” she added flippantly as she opened the door. “I bid you goodnight, Nurse,” she called coldly, without looking at Emma. She shut the door behind her.

The lady Fiona repaired to the quarters she had already claimed as her own. As she stood in the long window, looking out over the land, combing her long, black hair, the door to her chamber was opened by another. She turned to see Lord Robert standing in the doorway. “What do you want?” she asked him.

“I came to see that you are well,” he replied.

“Huh,” Fiona responded, “you care so little for me, Robert, you didn’t even think to ask why my journey was aborted–”

“I assumed you’d changed your mind–”

“Do you really think I would rather be here than in Scotland?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “And when I come looking for you on the ramparts, I catch you with your common English whore–”

“Emma is a simple, good woman. She is a caring nurse to my child – to our child.”

“Harry is no child of mine–”

“I cannot think, Fiona, that this marriage will work if you won’t look upon my son as your son.”

“I said I would provide you with a nurse. You went against my wishes–”

“I felt obliged to help the poor woman. She is a widow–”

“Her husband wanted you dead! Her husband was a traitor. She too is a traitor. Why do you think I returned tonight? The men feared we were being tracked by rebels. We had to turn back to avoid an ambush. Had I continued on my journey, I might have been killed.”

“I’m sorry–”

“That’s rich – all the while you were back here entertaining your whore!”

“I sent a retinue–”

“But you didn’t accompany me yourself!”

Lord Robert failed to find words to console her. “Please don’t implicate Emma in this quarrel,” he maintained, “she’s just a nurse–”

“Was a nurse – I’ve discharged her–”

“Why?” Lord Robert asked.

“I suspect her. Someone must have informed the rebels that I was to venture forth tonight.”

“Nonsense. Emma is an honest nurse. Her grandfather is a faithful subject. He vouched for her ignorance of her husband’s part in the uprising–”

“You’d like to believe her innocent – you are naive.”

“Besides, Emma couldn’t possibly have informed on you. She hasn’t left the castle since her arrival here – she’s barely left that room.”

“You may trust her. I do not. Anyway, Harry is grown – he has no need of a wet nurse.”

“That’s untrue, Fiona.”

“It will be true before too long.”

Lord Robert walked over to where his fiancée stood. “But we may, perhaps, have need of a nurse in future; there may be other children...”

She averted her gaze from him. “Not until we’re legally married,” Fiona insisted. “And even then, Robert, I will only bear your children out of a sense of duty – duty to my father, not you.”

“Do you detest me so much, Fiona?” Lord Robert asked desperately.

The lady Fiona turned from him and strode across the room. “I bid you goodnight, Lord Robert,” she said with finality.

“Until tomorrow then,” he replied, defeated.

“Remember, Robert,” Fiona concluded, “my father arranged this marriage; not me.”

Lord Robert began to close the door on her.

“Here’s the deal, Robert,” Fiona called after him. “You get to keep your wet nurse so long as I can be certain her presence here doesn’t compromise my safety.”

“I don’t understand you,” Robert said, lingering in the doorway.

“If stay she must, she shall be kept under lock and key.”

 

* * *

 

Emma lay in her bed of linen sheets and woven blankets, on the floor of the nursery. She couldn’t sleep in the small bed provided for her, unused as she was to such comfort. She’d taken to sleeping on the floorboards, which she found better suited to her and also warmer than lying beneath the window. The fire in the great hall below would have died out by now but the floor of the nursery was still warm from its earlier blaze. Emma pulled up the covers about her shoulders and began to fall asleep.

When she awoke –it was difficult to judge whether moments or hours had passed– parts of Emma’s body felt exposed and cold but others felt hot, pressed against warmer flesh. Lord Robert straddled her on his knees. He had come to her room with a candle to light his way. By its light, Lord Robert had pulled back the blankets and sheets of Emma’s makeshift bed to reveal her unclothed body beneath. Desiring more light, he had opened the shutters of the narrow window to allow the moonlight to creep into the cell.

As Emma’s consciousness dawned, Lord Robert stroked her breasts. Emma’s eyes opened.

“You left the door unlocked,” Lord Robert whispered to her, as his hands progressed down her torso.

“In case the child is ill or there is a fire – someone may need to get in.”

“You leave yourself vulnerable,” he cautioned, slipping his fingers between her thighs.

“The child’s safety is more important–” Emma flinched at the sensation of Lord Robert’s touch where she could least withstand it. “I am unlikely to be preyed upon–”

“Perhaps you underestimate your desirability, Emma,” he said, withdrawing his hand in order to remove the robe he wore. Beneath it he wore nothing.

Emma gazed up at Lord Robert’s naked form, illuminated by the candle and by the light of the full moon that shed its beams through the narrow window. “My lord, I am to leave this place,” she said quietly as Lord Robert bore down on her.

“Who told you that?” he asked.

“The lady Fiona,” Emma replied, shifting herself to resist his advance.

“Is the lady Fiona lord of this manor?” Robert asked Emma, following the question with a decisive lunge, intended to secure her.

“No sir,” Emma replied, torn, now she was fully conscious, between what her head was telling her and what her heart desired. Feeling his skin against her own, Emma couldn’t resist but yield herself up to Lord Robert. “You are,” she said with a gasp.

“Then, be assured, Emma,” Lord Robert whispered, “you are going nowhere.”

Lord Robert ventured to smother his nurse in kisses as he sought their union but Emma recollected herself. She pushed Lord Robert’s shoulders away and looked him in the eye. “This is wrong, my lord,” she said, struggling still to divorce her logic from every urge she felt inside. “We cannot do this.”

“Emma, you are mine and I will have you,” the Norman lord replied. “You cannot renege.” But his resolve had already been broken by Emma’s resistance. “I will have you,” he reasserted, knowing in truth that his quest was fruitless if their passion wasn’t shared.

“You could take my body if you chose,” Emma said softly, “but, my lord, it wouldn’t come with my soul.”

With Emma’s words, Lord Robert withdrew and sat back on his haunches, defeated. “And what would secure your soul, Emma?” he asked soberly.

“Your love, Lord Robert,” she replied, “your true and exclusive love.”

 

* * *

 

The door to the nursery opened. The figure of Fiona, with a tartan shawl wrapped about her shoulders, was lit from without. “Get up,” she told Emma.

Emma rose from the floor, pulling up a sheet with her to preserve her modesty, being still in a state of disarray after her visit from Lord Robert in the night.

“Typical,” muttered Fiona, looking around the room, “he gives her a bed; she sleeps on the floor like a dog.”

Emma registered the comment but felt too chilled and self-conscious to react to it.

“I’ve been discussing your fate with my future husband,” Fiona began when Emma stood upright before her. “To speak plainly, I do not trust you, but he thinks otherwise. I have reached the conclusion that you must make a choice: if you remain here, your movements will be monitored when you are outside the confines of this room; otherwise you will be locked in this room, so that I know where you are. If you find these terms unacceptable, you are free to leave immediately. What do you say?”

Emma was speechless.

“Perhaps you need time to think,” Fiona suggested. “Get dressed, Nurse and make up your mind – and be sure to plait your hair – I will not have women in my husband’s household looking wanton. When you have dressed, you will come to me and give me your decision.”

Fiona was about to leave but she felt an irresistible urge. Emma still stood before her, frozen. “Drop the sheet, Nurse. Let me look at you.”

Emma thought she must have misheard the lady.

“You are my husband’s servant. I wish to see that you are in good health. Let me look upon you naked, I say.” Fiona smiled to witness the discomfort that her order brought to the nurse. She waited, certain the woman couldn’t refuse her demand.

Emma lowered her head, closed her eyes and let the sheet fall to the floor.

Fiona immediately registered Emma’s full figure. “A comely little slut you are indeed, Nurse,” she observed, surveying Emma’s form more fully by scanning her eyes down Emma’s torso and resting them unashamedly below it. “If you choose to stay, I think I will permit the soldiers who guard your room to take their pleasure with you. They are mostly common men and exercise little discernment in their choice of women. It would be a shame to let all that fresh meat go to waste,” Fiona joked, eyeing Emma’s wide hips.

Emma had opened her eyes and raised her gaze, alarmed at Fiona’s suggestions.

Fiona looked Emma in the eye. “Built as you are, I daresay you could service an entire garrison,” she concluded with a wicked laugh. The lady Fiona shut the door on Emma and locked it from outside.

 

* * *

 

Emma sat for a long time on the bed in her cell, swathed in the sheet and a blanket, looking out of the narrow window to the open sea. As she sat she plaited her long, brown hair. She considered the choice she had to make.

If she were to stay at Danburgh she would live the life of a prisoner, denied the basic freedoms that every innocent person should expect. But if she remained, the welfare of her family and child would be secure. Could she be that selfless?

Emma’s contemplation was interrupted by Harry’s cry. She went over to his cot, lifted him out and sat back down to feed him. Emma rocked the child as he fed and stroked his golden locks of hair.

If she left she would be reunited with her own son. But she would be letting down her grandfather and mother. And she would lose the attentions of Lord Robert.

Emma jumped as she heard the nursery door being unlocked from outside. The door opened. The woman-servant entered. “The lady Fiona requires you instantly,” she said, without looking at Emma.

Emma could tell the good woman was embarrassed, not only by Emma’s state of undress but also by the incarceration that had been imposed upon her. She too felt uneasy at being treated like a criminal. She needed more time. “I cannot come now – I must feed the baby. Please tell the lady she will have my answer when his lordship’s child has been fed.”

“Very well,” the servant said and retreated.

Harry pulled away from Emma, satisfied. She lifted him up and kissed his head. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t heard the door being relocked.

Quickly, Emma laid the boy back down in his cot, threw on her clothes and went to the door. She listened. She heard no one outside.

Emma crept out of the door and checked that the coast was clear. As silently as possible, she tiptoed down the spiral staircase and descended to the courtyard, which she found to be covered in a white dusting of snow. Having been confined to the nursery, Emma had had no inkling that the weather had turned so severe. She wished she’d brought a blanket with her, to wrap about her shoulders, but if she were to turn back to fetch one now, it would, perhaps, be at the cost of her liberty.

A couple of soldiers stood talking by the gatehouse. Emma considered speaking to them but decided it was best just to pass through the open gates as though her departure was permitted.

The soldiers didn’t question her. Emma walked across the courtyard, through the gate, across the drawbridge and out of the castle confines. As soon as she was clear of the soldiers she quickened her pace and as soon as she was certain they couldn’t see her, she ran, through the cold snow that seeped through her shoes, to freedom.

 

* * *

 

Wondering whether the nurse had reported to the lady Fiona, the serving woman returned to the nursery to check. She found the door ajar and pushed it open.

The serving woman was alarmed by what she beheld: Fiona stood over the child’s cot and held down a cushion.

The serving woman darted forward. “What are you doing?” she demanded, her deference overwhelmed by her concern for the child.

The lady Fiona glared at her, with no suggestion of remorse; merely annoyance that she’d been discovered.

“Stop that. Stop it at once,” the serving woman insisted but Fiona continued, staring at the woman as if possessed. “Guards, guards!” the woman called.

With all her strength, the old woman pulled Fiona away from the cot, flinging her to one side. As soon as the cushion was pulled away, the baby cried out. A soldier appeared in the doorway. “Where is Lord Robert?” the serving woman demanded. “I must take the child to Lord Robert this instant.” She lifted the crying baby from his cot and bustled out of the nursery with him in her arms.

 

* * *

 

After an hour of walking, weary and perishing in the freezing weather, Emma’s pace was slow. She’d reached the forest where Lord Robert had encountered her only a few weeks before – an eternity seemed to have passed since then. Here, further from the coast, the snow was thicker and the temperatures even lower. She could no longer feel her feet.

Emma recalled the wolves she’d heard howling in the night from the confines of her castle cell. What would become of her if she collapsed out in the open when those wild beasts were at large and hungry?

Once in the forest, however, Emma found that the canopy of leafless trees did, at least, provide some protection against the biting wind. She needed to keep going. Her feet would recover in the warmth of her mother’s hearth – she needed to get home. She wrapped her arms about her chest – she just needed to keep her heart beating.

Continuing to trudge on towards the village, through the blanket of snow that rendered the woods eerily silent, Emma didn’t know whether she’d made the right decision. When the chance of freedom had come, it had seemed impossible to overlook it and, despite her trust that Lord Robert would protect her, she couldn’t ignore Fiona’s threats of abuse.

All the same, the discomfort she’d begun to experience as soon as she’d left the warmth of the castle nursery seemed to be a taste of what was in store for Emma. She felt trepidation at the prospect of the reception she’d be given back at the farmstead, returning with no money, nor any satisfactory explanation as to why she’d been dismissed. She would be disgraced. But she longed to see little Oswald – to take her own baby in her arms once more.

Emma’s silent contemplation was broken; she heard a horse galloping towards her from behind. She diverted from the footpath into the surrounding trees and summoned her strength to run through the snow to avoid detection.

The hooded rider had already seen her. He followed her footprints off the beaten track and, within moments, intercepted her path. The rider dismounted and approached Emma.

“I am but a poor woman. I have no money,” Emma declared, frightened by the hooded man, who carried something hidden beneath his tunic – a weapon, Emma feared.

“That I know,” said the man, removing his hood.

“Robert!” Emma cried.

Lord Robert pulled Emma close to him and kissed her cheek. “I knew those footprints to be yours.”

Emma heard a cry from beneath Lord Robert’s tunic. Lifting it, she discovered baby Harry concealed beneath, swaddled in bands to his father.

“What does this mean, my lord?” Emma asked as the child gazed up at her.

“I preferred ‘Robert,’” he replied with a smile. “I bring Harry to stay with you, Emma. It’s not safe for him to remain at the castle until Fiona and her people have been removed.”

Lord Robert related the events of the morning.

“I’m sorry I left Harry alone,” Emma confessed.

“It’s no matter,” Lord Robert replied. “You are both safe from harm’s way now,” he continued, stroking Emma’s hair and kissing her head.

“But you, my lord–” she stopped herself, “you’re not safe in these woods; the rebels are everywhere.”

“I wear a disguise,” he maintained. “It is you who are unsafe Emma, with no cloak to keep you warm.”

“We are not safe here,” Emma insisted. “We must find somewhere to shelter.”

 

* * *

 

Emma and Lord Robert trekked out of the forest and onto a heath familiar to Emma. Here sheep grazed and Emma knew of a covered building used as a sheepfold in wintertime. The shelter was too exposed to be inhabited by rebels and Emma believed Lord Robert could be safely stowed there.

Once at the empty shelter, they dismounted and Lord Robert led his horse inside with them to rest.

Emma, tired from her journey, lay down in a haystack. Lord Robert set Harry down and covered the slumbering child with his tunic. He then lay beside Emma.

Lord Robert’s face was close to Emma’s. She stroked his cold cheek with her forefinger as they stared intently into one another’s eyes.

“I need you,” said Robert. “I cannot do without you.”

Emma placed her finger on Lord Robert’s lips and shushed him.

Lord Robert placed his own cold fingers on Emma’s lips. She kissed them.

“Emma, you cannot leave me,” Lord Robert announced feverishly, stirring himself. “You refused me once. Would you refuse me again?”

His look was so vulnerable that Emma found her only response was to pull him to her, allowing, at last, his lips to meet her own.

Lord Robert closed his eyes. Aware of their isolation, Emma allowed herself to express her pleasure in cries and moans and she found that, with this expression, Lord Robert’s ardent passion only intensified. Inside their rough shelter, amid bleak, wintry surroundings, Emma denied her lord, and her own desires, no more.

 

* * *

 

As darkness fell, Lord Robert, Emma and baby Harry set off on horseback for Emma’s home. Upon reaching the farm cottage, Emma saw the glow of lights within and felt a surge of impatience to see her son. She and Lord Robert had agreed to part before entering the house but, as they stood saying goodbye, they were apprehended by Emma’s mother. “Emma, my Emma, is that really you?” the older woman called out, distrusting her eyes in the darkness. She perceived the child in Emma’s arms and the tall, dark man standing beside her daughter. She was about to enquire who he was but his stature and his noble demeanour stopped her in her tracks.

“I will go,” Robert said to Emma. “But once my home is made safe I will return for Harry – and for you.” He turned and bowed to the older woman and then couldn’t resist but kiss Emma once more. “Farewell,” he said before mounting his horse and cantering away.

“Whatever can this mean, Emma?” the older woman asked, bemused.

 

* * *

 

Barely a month later, Emma walked slowly along the woodland path. Once again, the track was covered in snow but today Emma felt warm, her feet well shod and her heart beating fast in anticipation of her future. She looked up at the skeletal tree canopy arching way above her head. The snow-laden branches shimmered jewel-like in the winter sun. Emma felt as though she was walking down the aisle of nature’s cathedral.

Emma was not alone. In her arms she carried a small child and inside her –she now knew for certain– she carried another.

“Where are we going, Mammy?” the child asked.

Emma beamed at him. It had been a blessing and –she believed– a sign that speech had been gifted to the boy only upon her return to the farmstead. “To our new home, Oswald,” she said.

“Is it far?” he asked.

“Not so far,” she assured him, kissing his brow.

Emma’s pride dictated that she walked from the village to Danburgh Castle, to take residence with Lord Robert.

Since Emma had last set foot in the castle, much had changed. The lady Fiona had been banished.

Upon hearing of the matter, and fearing that Lord Robert’s power over the land would be weakened by the severance of his alliance with the Scottish thane, the King had suggested that Lord Robert marry a Norman noblewoman. Lord Robert, however, proposed a less obvious match. He shocked the King by declaring his preference for an English commoner.

When Emma arrived at Danburgh Castle she was greeted by the woman-servant, so familiar to her from earlier times. The woman was surprised by the manner of the new lady’s transport. “You came on foot?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Emma replied.

“But, my lady, it is not safe–”

“I hope, good woman, that my union with Lord Robert will unite our people and I intend to show that I have trust in this belief by living without fear.”

Leaving Oswald in the care of the woman, Emma made her way to the great hall of the castle to be greeted by her lord. She found him, sitting in a throne-like chair on a dais at the head of the long banqueting table. His elbow rested on the arm of the chair and his chin rested in his hand. He sat in his tunic and hose, with his legs apart. He watched Emma intently as she walked the length of the table to stand before him.

Emma observed, as she approached Lord Robert, proof of his pleasure in seeing her, expressed in his smiling, dark eyes and outlined distinctly in his hose.

“Where are my boys?” Lord Robert called to her.

“The good woman has taken Oswald to meet his younger brother, Harry,” she replied.

Lord Robert nodded approval. “Now, will you take your place, Lady Emma, as my future wife and the mother of my sons?” he asked, gesturing with his hand to the empty seat beside him.

“No, my lord,” Emma replied calmly, shaking her head.

Lord Robert looked at her quizzically.

“There’s somewhere I would far rather be seated,” Emma explained, mounting the platform, hitching up her skirts and diving eagerly upon him.

 

* * * * *

 

 

RHIANNON

 

“If you find yourself in danger, I will come for you,” Alwyn assured Rhiannon. “One day you’ll be my wife. Promise you will keep yourself for me. Promise you’ll be chaste until we’re together again.”

“I will,” Rhiannon said, with a tear in her eye.

Alwyn bent his head and kissed her cheek. “And I will keep myself for you,” he told her.

Night had fallen upon that same day by the time Simon, son of John the merchant, reached the gates of the walled town. The guard greeted his familiar face warmly but the young man, he noticed, was on edge this evening. “Trouble with your Welsh suppliers?” he asked.

“No,” Simon insisted, “just some fears I had that there might be rebels on the road.”

“You can never be too careful,” said the guard, “these country folk are capable of anything.”

“Yes,” Simon agreed.

The guard checked beneath the cover of the cart in a cursory manner and told the boy to carry on, bidding him goodnight.

Simon’s heart was still pounding as he drove his horse under the arch of the gatehouse and into the streets of the town. It didn’t settle until he’d unloaded the goods into the cellar of his father’s house, taken the cart to the back of the building, stabled the horse and returned to the house, locking its front door to the world outside.

 

* * *

 

John the merchant stood in the main room of the house surveying his son’s acquisition dubiously. “She has a pretty face, that I’ll grant you, but she barely speaks a word of English,” he said as his son appeared from the street.

“She does speak,” Simon assured him, “and she learns fast. She has a shy nature, that’s all.”

“Are you certain she understands the risks we’re running to keep her here?” the older man asked. “Does she appreciate that she is at risk?”

“Yes,” Simon insisted. “Believe me, Father, it is by her own will that she’s here. Rhiannon wants more than anything to be a lady. With time, her English will improve and she’ll be able to pass as a woman of the town. I’m confident that the necessary term of her concealment will be a matter of months.”

Merchant John stared at his son. The boy must be besotted with the dark-haired girl to hazard harbouring a Welsh woman in the English stronghold. But she was here now – to try to remove her from the house would be to run as great a risk as Simon had taken in smuggling her into the town tonight. “I hope you’re right, my son,” John said.

Merchant John looked again at the girl. He wasn’t sure whether she’d understood the conversation she’d just heard. Her expression was confused and anxious. But intermingled with his doubt was some other feeling towards her.

All this time Rhiannon had been standing in the centre of the floor with her head bowed. Suddenly she raised it and looked Merchant John in the eye. “I remember you, Sir, from when I was a child,” she told him in her awkward English. “You would come to visit my father–”

“I dare say you were one of those rapscallions running around the farmyard,” the merchant joked but immediately he felt he’d blundered; she was certainly not a child any more.

Rhiannon smiled understatedly at her master’s comment. “My mother sends you her regards,” she added. “She hopes you are in good health.”

Merchant John glanced involuntarily at the girl. He had to look away, fearing she would sense what he’d been thinking and wary of her opinion. “I thank her. Next time you visit the farmstead, Simon, be sure to inform the good woman I’m as well as an old man can be,” he said.

“Nonsense, Father,” Simon replied dismissively.

“I don’t suppose either of you have eaten,” John began.

“No,” Simon confirmed. “Rhiannon will prepare something,” he suggested, adding, “that’s her role.”

“No,” his father replied, “you must both be tired; I’ll see to it.”

 

* * *

 

It was with trepidation that Rhiannon had crossed the threshold of the merchant’s house. Her parents had been thrilled when the merchant’s son, Simon, had agreed to their daring scheme to send their daughter –the eldest of no less than six daughters– to keep house for his father. “If you are to go into service –and go into service you must–” Rhiannon’s mother had told her, “what better than to be in the service of the English and reside in the house of a gentleman?”

Rhiannon had smiled but had been fully aware that it wasn’t so straightforward. Her father had been selling produce to John for years; they had a good relationship with the English merchant, though it was always his son who came to the farm to collect goods now. But the English king distrusted the Welsh and the Welsh weren’t allowed inside the walls of the garrison town where the merchant lived.

Rhiannon had known very well when the boy Simon had agreed to smuggle her into his father’s house that her position would be that of a criminal – that the merchant and his son also risked imprisonment or worse if the true identity of their house-girl were to be discovered. Rhiannon understood that she must now conceal herself from the world until such a time as she could pass for an Englishwoman. Only then would she be safe to venture out into society.

“And I dare say you’ll be treated like a lady, now the merchant’s wife is gone,” her mother had concluded, once the arrangement had been agreed upon. “And if the boy Simon doesn’t take a fancy to you, perhaps the merchant himself would like to take a younger wife–”

“Mother!” Rhiannon had scolded but the older woman had only laughed at her daughter’s indignation and defended her position saying, “Remember, Rhiannon, I have six of you to find husbands for – I can’t be too fussy.”

Merchant John’s wife had died in the last outbreak of the Black Death, two years earlier. Back then Rhiannon had been little more than a girl but her memories of the plague were vivid. It was a time when the physical barrier of the town walls had served a dual purpose – to deter Welsh rebel invaders but also to keep out infection. However, once the disease had infiltrated the stronghold, the walls had turned traitor on the town’s inhabitants, confining them to greater risk of death within their boundary. Then Rhiannon’s mother had been glad to be lodged in the relative safety of the hills.

But now the plague was gone she craved prospects for her daughter that she herself had been denied. Such was the older woman’s ambition that she was willing to sacrifice not only Rhiannon’s chance of becoming the wife of Alwyn, the farm labouring boy who had professed his love for her, but also, it seemed, her daughter’s life itself.

Rhiannon’s mother knew her daughter could be put to death for the crime of entering the fortified port if she was caught by the English forces. Likewise, she was aware that, residing in the merchant’s house, Rhiannon would live under constant threat of invasion by enemies of the English king. But the woman believed that, if her daughter could pass as an Englishwoman and marry an Englishman of means, her life would be transformed. And she was such a pretty girl, with her long, dark hair and her bright eyes – what man could resist her?

In the end Rhiannon had concluded she’d no choice but to submit to her mother’s wishes. It had been with reluctance that she’d said farewell to Alwyn, her sweetheart, and agreed to go away with Simon, under cover of night.

Lying in concealment beneath the goods loaded onto Simon’s cart, Rhiannon had wept for fear of what lay ahead. She trusted the boy but the way he looked at her was different from the way Alwyn looked at her. Alwyn had never laid a finger on her; he said they should both remain pure until they were married. Simon was shy but Rhiannon had noticed him watching her when he thought she didn’t see.

And now to be alone with him and his father, and nobody knowing that they harboured her in their house; Rhiannon could hardly believe that her mother had been so ready to trust the merchant and his son.

 

* * *

 

“These will be your sleeping quarters,” Merchant John told Rhiannon, showing her to a small room in the loft of the timber-framed building, late in the evening of her arrival in the walled town. He stood in the doorway of the room, as Rhiannon walked towards its small window. “It will be prudent to keep the shutters closed,” he cautioned.

“Yes,” Rhiannon agreed, resisting the temptation to open them to discover the view. She was surprised to be accommodated in such comfort – she had expected nothing more than an alcove beside the kitchen fire. “You are very kind, Sir,” she told her employer in her stilted English.

Merchant John couldn’t help but smile at Rhiannon’s laboured efforts to communicate. “You’ll have heard, no doubt, that I have no wife,” he continued. “I hope that you will look upon this house as your home whilst you’re here.”

Rhiannon understood his words but was uncertain of their meaning. Nonetheless, she was so delighted with the room that she smiled at her new master, eager to please him.

“I will leave you to rest, then,” he said, lingering in the doorway. “If you have need of anything in the night, my chamber is just next door.”

Rhiannon prepared for bed and lay down. There was no way of securing the door of her small room against intruders. She would simply have to trust her new master’s integrity. When it came to it, Rhiannon was so tired that, despite her misgivings, she fell asleep at once.

 

* * *

 

Within a fortnight Rhiannon had settled into her new home. Keeping house for Merchant John and Simon was easy and her efforts received praise from her employer and met with the appreciation of his son.

Rhiannon’s fears regarding the merchant’s feelings for her had subsided and Simon too she now trusted. He was a handsome young man: tall, slender and with a head of curled, brown hair, a fresh face and an affable smile. What Rhiannon liked best about Simon was that, despite his father’s position in the town and his prospects for a life of distinction and wealth, he was really a rather shy and unassuming boy. Rhiannon knew that her mother had seen Simon as a potential suitor but, now she spent her days alongside him, Rhiannon began to wonder whether the affection she felt towards him wasn’t more like the kind she would have had for a brother.

After six weeks serving in the merchant’s house, a day came when Rhiannon was left alone. Merchant John was out of town on business for some nights and Simon had ventured beyond the walls and into the hills to collect supplies.

Unbeknown to Rhiannon, as she spent the day in quiet isolation, going about her domestic duties, outside the town enemies to the English king were plotting a campaign to test his authority by bombarding the castle and town walls from the sea.

The terror began unexpectedly once night had fallen. Rhiannon, lying in her loft, alone in the house, was recalled from the brink of sleep by the sound of men shouting and running in the streets below. She gathered that there was unrest and went into the merchant’s chamber, where there was a window onto the street, to see what was happening outside.

Rhiannon watched men running in the dark, carrying torches, hurrying to mount a defence to the hail of arrows and missiles being fired over the town walls from the harbour. She’d never experienced this sort of trouble before and to be alone in the building in such circumstances terrified her. The merchant’s house was set back only yards from the stretch of the town walls that ran alongside the harbour, and so was very much in the line of fire from attacks made from the sea.

Rhiannon’s heart was pounding with fear. She considered running out into the night and attempting to flee the conflict but, if she did so, she risked discovery. Simon had told her that, in the event of a siege, townsfolk were advised to remain indoors unless they were able to assist in a counter-attack. Furthermore, Rhiannon found she was too scared to move. She remained, crouching below the window ledge of Merchant John’s chamber, peering out of the gap in the shutters at the balls of fire flying through the night.

After what seemed like an eternity, Rhiannon heard the door to the house being opened and footsteps running up the stairs. “Rhiannon, are you here?” Simon cried urgently.

Before she could reply he’d found her, huddled against the window ledge, and pulled her to her feet.

“It’s not safe here,” he said. “If the roof catches alight, the house will burn down in an instant. We’d best take shelter in the cellar below.”

Simon, his arm around Rhiannon’s shoulder, guided her down to the ground floor of the house, through the main room, to the kitchen and then down the steps that led into the cellar.

Inside, the young people stood still, breathing heavily to regain their composure. Simon opened the shutters a little to a window onto the street above and they gained enough light to see about them from the fires in the night sky.

“Have you had to do this before?” Rhiannon asked Simon.

“Yes,” he replied, “but never without my father being here.”

“Did you not think it safer to stay away?” she continued.

“Of course but I couldn’t leave you.” He looked away from her self-consciously.

“You are very kind to me, Simon,” Rhiannon said, blushing at his devotion. “Do you think the siege will last long?”

“It depends – upon how much ammunition the rebels have – upon how ready the King’s men are to fight back. I can’t say.”

They stood beside one another, at the window, looking up to the street.

“Are we safe now?” Rhiannon asked.

Simon couldn’t give her a reply in words. He put his arm around her shoulder once again to comfort her. “We should try to rest. We’re as safe as we can be.”

“Have you ever thought you might die?” Rhiannon asked involuntarily, immediately embarrassed at how silly the words sounded as she spoke them.

Their faces were close as Simon turned to her. The merchant’s son looked at her sadly, saying, “I should hate to die without knowing love.” He hesitated before asking, “Are you still a maid, Rhiannon?”

“Of course, Sir,” Rhiannon replied, remembering her position and offended that he should doubt her virtue. “And until I am married I shall die a maid.”

Simon smiled gently at her. “Come,” he instructed, “Let’s away from the window – it does us no good to watch the battle.”

An hour later Rhiannon could still hear the sounds of the fires in the night and the men at war on the streets. But, huddled as she was in a corner of the cellar on some sacks with Simon, her head resting upon his shoulder and his arm about her, she felt as secure as she possibly could. Occasionally Simon stroked her arm and kissed her hair and Rhiannon couldn’t deny that his affection stirred warm feelings in her. But this was as far as his conquest went.

A cannon was fired from the castle battlements. The noise and commotion from without ceased. “I think it’s over,” Simon said, “but it’s probably best that we sleep down here tonight.”

“Thank you, Simon, for keeping me safe. You are like a brother to me,” Rhiannon ventured.

Simon gave her a wry smile. “You are welcome, Sister,” he replied.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Rhiannon was awoken from her slumber by a loud, insistent knock at the house door on the street above. She was alone. She sat bolt upright in the makeshift bed and heard Simon go to the door of the house and open it.

“We have reason to believe you are harbouring an enemy of the King,” a stern voice shouted.

Rhiannon froze. She heard no response from Simon.

“We have a warrant to search these premises.”

Rhiannon felt sick and faint. If she stayed put she was sure to be discovered. Hurriedly but silently, she rose from the floor and tiptoed across to the hatch that gave access to the cellar from the street above. She waited until she heard the soldiers entering the house.

Quickly she undid the bolt to the hatch and pushed it up a little: she could see no sign of anyone lying in wait. She must move fast. She opened the hatch and scrambled to the street.

Nobody had noticed her. Rhiannon ducked down the side street and made haste, keeping her head bowed low.

On reaching a back alley, she turned into it and ran along its length. As she came to the end of the alley, a soldier stepped out and grabbed her, saying, “I arrest you in the name of the King.”

 

* * *

 

Rhiannon stood in the courtyard of the castle, a guard either side of her. She’d never before entered a castle and had never been surrounded by the English. Under other circumstances, this experience would have been thrilling but, accused of treason as she was, her only sensation was terror.

A nobleman appeared and called to the soldiers. “Bring the woman into the hall.”

Rhiannon was led up some steps and into a huge banqueting hall, with wooden floors and a large, wooden table stretching along its length. The nobleman stood at the head of the table, with half a dozen soldiers milling around him.

“Bring her to me,” he told the guards who held Rhiannon.

They urged her forward.

As she walked the length of the great hall, Rhiannon registered the richly-coloured hangings and drapes about her. Their deep reds, vivid blues and opulent golds left Rhiannon’s head reeling as she was pulled on.

“So this is the Welsh wench with aspirations to be a lady,” the knight mocked as Rhiannon approached.

Rhiannon stood in front of the nobleman. She looked at the floor.

“Turn around,” he said.

Rhiannon stood stock still.

“Turn and bend over,” he instructed.

Rhiannon didn’t move.

“Do as I say.”

Rhiannon tensed her body and stood firm. Although she did not look at him, she sensed the knight’s fury at her resistance.

“I merely propose to grant you what you ask; I am just the lord to make you a lady,” he said sarcastically, stepping forward, turning Rhiannon and pushing her, so that her fall was only broken by her hands grasping the edge of the banqueting table.

The doors of the great hall flung open. Firm footsteps entered the great room and then stopped. “Sir Arnold,” a strong, deep voice called, “I sincerely hope my eyes deceive me.”

Rhiannon’s abuser was silent. She sensed him trembling behind her. The authoritative voice recommenced. “If you are in the act of insulting this woman you do yourself and our nation a disservice.”

The voice grew louder. Rhiannon heard steady footsteps approaching. Looking to her right she saw a strong pair of legs halt alongside her. She sensed a tall, well-built figure there.

“Array your tunic, Sir Arnold,” the voice instructed, “and know that you are demoted and shall be confined for your despicable conduct.”

Sir Arnold remained silent.

“Stand up young woman,” ordered the lord.

Feeling dizzy and weak, Rhiannon stood upright. She looked ahead, down the length of the table, nervous to behold the man who’d saved her.

“Turn around,” said he.

Rhiannon made a quarter-turn to face him but kept her eyes downcast.

“No, turn to face Sir Arnold,” he corrected.

She did so.

“Sir Arnold, you owe this young woman an apology,” said the authoritative man.

“I’m sorry,” Sir Arnold said tiresomely to Rhiannon, without looking at her.

“Not good enough,” said the lord. “Young woman, look your assailant in the eye. Sir Arnold, look at the lady you thought to abuse when you apologise and sound as if you mean it.” His tone was becoming increasingly short-tempered.

“I am sorry, dear lady, for humiliating you and threatening to compromise your virtue,” Arnold said grudgingly.

“It falls short of what’s necessary, of course, Arnold, but I’m sick to my heart of the sight of you, so go,” the lord ordered dismissively.

Sir Arnold walked away.

“In fact, all of you go,” the lord said to the remaining soldiers and attendants. “I will speak to this injured woman in private.”

 

* * *

 

Rhiannon still hadn’t looked at her lord but when they were left alone he stepped into her vision.

He looked just as his voice and step had given her cause to imagine. A man taller than average, with a strong build, strong features and dark hair.

He stared at her. “I am led to believe that you have been planted in the house of the Merchant John, to aid the Welsh rebels in their attack on the garrison,” he said, looking Rhiannon steadily in the eye. “Is this true?”

“No my lord,” she replied.

“Then explain your presence in the town, please.”

“Like I’ve said before, I entered the town of my own free will because I was curious and because I want to be a lady–”

“Then why were you seen in Merchant John’s house?”

“I forced entry to the house when the merchant was abroad, to take food and shelter there, my lord.”

“You say the merchant had no knowledge of your presence?”

“No, my lord.”

“And you would have me believe that your only desire is to be a lady?”

“Yes, my lord,” Rhiannon said, looking away from his gaze.

“Look at me,” he insisted.

Rhiannon looked him straight in the eye.

“You certainly don’t have the demeanour of a criminal,” he said, looking Rhiannon up and down before fixing his eyes upon hers again.

Rhiannon noticed the pupils of his dark, brown eyes dilating. What she felt now was not sickness but some other strange sensation in the depths of her being.

“As a suspect you must be detained under lock and key. Come with me,” he said, taking her arm.

 

* * *

 

The lord led Rhiannon up to the second floor level of the castle and into a room with a glowing fire and large bed. “You shall lodge in my quarters,” he said as they entered the room. “You’ll be kept under lock and key but you may take rest and I’ll have food brought to you.”

Rhiannon was speechless at the grandeur and comfort of her prison cell. Like the great hall before, the chamber was richly furnished by many fabric hangings and drapes. Rhiannon seemed to have entered another world; such was the contrast between the customary browns and greens of her everyday life and the rainbow decoration of the castle.

“Do you require anything else?” her captor asked.

“No my lord,” Rhiannon replied.

“Very well, I shall leave you to rest–”

“Thank you, my lord,” Rhiannon said, “for your kindness. It’s more than I deserve, foolish as I have been.”

“No matter,” he answered, his composure floundering slightly. “Goodnight fair lady,” he said and withdrew, locking the door behind him.

Alone in the chamber, Rhiannon lit three candles from the fire and set them about the room to illuminate it. She wanted to find evidence of the name of her protector. Below the window of the room there stood a dresser, strewn with parchments, and Rhiannon, sifting through these, found one addressed to Edward.

Lord Edward. She opened a closet and discovered his clothes hanging inside: a tunic as fine as the one he wore – she ran her finger down its piped arm; a fur cloak – she enfolded herself in its warmth.

Last of all, his bed. Rhiannon pulled back the covers and stroked the sheets where Lord Edward must have lain. She undressed, blew out the candles and slipped in between the bedclothes, pulling the covers that must have touched his skin back over herself.

Rhiannon lay, looking into the fire, wondering whether Lord Edward would return. Where would he sleep tonight? Rhiannon ran her hands down, over the thin cloth of her chemise, sensing her body beneath, imagining his hands in place of her own. She closed her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Rhiannon was woken by the sound of the fire being stoked. She looked over the bedclothes and saw Lord Edward tending it.

He turned, sensing her movement. He looked nervous. “They brought food,” he said, “but you were sleeping.” He put down the poker and threw a log into the fire. He walked to the long dresser, lifted a tray from it and brought it over to the bed. Sitting down on the bed, he asked Rhiannon, “Will you eat something?”

Rhiannon noticed that he didn’t look at her directly. She remembered, with embarrassment, her final thoughts before sleep. Here was Lord Edward himself.

Rhiannon sat up, pulling the covers with her. “I’d like some bread,” she said.

Lord Edward moved the tray from his lap onto the bed, broke a piece of bread from the crust on it and lifted it to Rhiannon’s mouth.

Rhiannon took it.

“There is broth too,” he said, “although cold.” He took a spoonful and slipped it into her mouth. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep,” he said. “I came to fetch my possessions before I repair to the soldiers’ quarters–”

“I have taken your bed, my lord,” Rhiannon said guiltily.

“It’s no matter–”

“You shouldn’t sleep amongst your soldiers–”

“One night will do no harm. Besides, it means you have your wish to sleep as a lady,” he added light-heartedly.

‘If I were a lady, I would sleep beside my lord,’ Rhiannon thought but hadn’t the boldness to say.

Lord Edward scooped another spoonful of broth and held it to her mouth.

Rhiannon took the spoon in her mouth and slowly drew her lips back over it, looking into his eyes all the while. She drank the cold broth and then asked him, “Are you Lord Edward?”

“Yes,” he replied. “How’s the soup?”

“Not bad,” she said.

Edward took a spoonful himself. “Cold!” he declared critically.

Rhiannon smiled. “You could sleep here, Lord Edward – there is really no need for you to go to the soldiers’ quarters. I’m so sorry I took the liberty of sleeping in your bed,” she continued hurriedly, “but I was exhausted. I’ll happily sleep on the floor so that you may have your bed.”

Edward didn’t reply. He stood up and took the tray from the bed, placing it on the dresser. Returning, he stood over her. “Tempting as your offer undeniably is, fair maiden,” he said with a playful smile, “tragically for me, I have a code of chivalry to observe.” He then walked over to the door. “But fortunately for you, it means you shall have a good night’s rest. Goodnight Lady Rhiannon,” he wished her warmly as he withdrew.

She’d blown it. She’d probably be hung, not only for treason but also for impertinence, now.

 

* * *

 

When Rhiannon woke next morning, daylight had flooded the room. She sensed a presence and hoped it was Lord Edward but looking about her she saw only an old woman tending to things. “Good morning young lady,” the woman said with a hint of sarcasm. “High time you were up and about; we have work to do.”

Rhiannon’s consciousness increased as the woman flung her clothes onto the bed and pointed at them. “His lordship –in his infinite wisdom– has decreed that you shall assist me in the keeping of house about these parts. Lord knows, I will keep as close an eye on you as any guard.”

Rhiannon had not yet stirred.

“Good heavens, get up girl!” the woman chided. “Get up, get dressed and washed and report to me in the great hall anon. There I shall give you your orders.”

Half an hour later Rhiannon –with some trepidation– entered the great hall. To her relief it was empty, save for the presence of the old woman at the far end. “And about time too,” the woman called upon detecting Rhiannon’s presence. “I’m Meg, by the way,” she continued as Rhiannon approached her. “They call me Old Meg but that’s not my doing – I prefer Meg.”

 

Within the hour Meg had set Rhiannon to work, polishing the great table. As Rhiannon was bending over, putting all her energy into the task, Lord Edward entered the hall. The sight of Rhiannon made him smile.

Rhiannon jumped to hear Lord Edward remark, “I see Old Meg has you hard at work.”

“Yes, my lord,” Rhiannon replied, flustered. She stood upright and wiped her hair from her brow with the back of her hand, sensing beads of sweat upon it.

“Physical exertion becomes you, Rhiannon; your cheeks are positively rosy.”

Rhiannon half-laughed, feeling distinctly unattractive in her state of fatigue. “I am accustomed to it, my lord – it’s my lot in life.”

He’d taken a handkerchief from his tunic and now wiped her brow gently, saying, “You should fasten back your hair while you work; you’d be cooler.”

Rhiannon was aware of the colour rising to her cheeks. She’d not anticipated such attention from Lord Edward. No one else was present in the great hall.

“I have some braid in my pocket,” he continued. “I’ll tie up your hair.”

Standing behind Rhiannon, Edward took her long, dark tresses in his hands and smoothed them into a bunch, around which he wound the braid. As he did so, he looked upon her bare neck and felt the strongest urge to bury his head in its nape. “There,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders, with his thumbs pressing into her flesh, his lips primed for the deed they dare not do.

“I thank you, Lord Edward,” Rhiannon said breathlessly, longing for his hands to explore her frame further.

Lord Edward became aware of a party of nobles entering the hall. “I understand you are to tend my quarters so we may, perhaps, meet there some time,” he whispered to Rhiannon.

“Yes,” Rhiannon replied softly.

“I must away now,” Edward said apologetically, recognising those who had entered the hall and not wishing to be seen by them. His hands, he realised, were still welded to Rhiannon’s shoulders despite his best efforts to remove them. Remembering himself, Lord Edward left Rhiannon without looking her in the face again.

As Lord Edward departed, Rhiannon turned to study his retreating form. Upon reaching the doorway of the hall, Lord Edward turned back to steal a last glimpse of Rhiannon, only to find that she was watching him. They held one another’s gaze for some moments, neither one wanting to break the bond.

 

* * *

 

After three weeks of cleaning and ordering Lord Edward’s quarters, whilst never being blessed with an audience with the lord himself, Rhiannon was informed in passing by Old Meg that he was to be away from the castle for the night. When her duties of the day came to an end Rhiannon, for reasons for which she couldn’t clearly account, surreptitiously took the key to his room from Meg’s cupboard.

Late at night, when the castle was quiet, she crept from her own sleeping quarters, beside Old Meg’s bunk, up through the castle, and into Lord Edward’s room. Locking the door behind her, she glanced around the chamber, lit only by the moonlight shining through the window, to ensure that nobody else was present. It was as she’d anticipated; Old Meg had tidied his lordship’s quarters to a state of perfect order. Once satisfied that she was safe, Rhiannon undressed, climbed into Lord Edward’s bed and fell instantly asleep.

Upon waking at an early hour in the morning, wary that she must quit the room before people began to stir about the castle, Rhiannon was alarmed to find that the bedclothes beside her had been disturbed in the night. She was certain she’d not slept fitfully, so much at peace had she been in Lord Edward’s chamber.

Rising, Rhiannon saw clothes she knew to be Lord Edward’s strewn about the furniture, along with some of his belongings. Rhiannon stood naked, paralysed with anxiety as she realised what must have occurred during the night. How could she ever account for her presence in Lord Edward’s quarters?

She dressed feverishly and stealthily left Lord Edward’s room, tiptoeing her way back to the kitchens and replacing the key in Meg’s cupboard. The rest of the day was spent in dread of encountering him or, worse still, being summoned to speak with him. By seven o’clock in the evening, however, Rhiannon had neither seen nor heard anything of her lord.

She was about to finish her work for the day when Old Meg called her over to the key cupboard, saying, “I have one more task for you to complete before your duties are done, Rhiannon. His lordship has been abroad since the crack of dawn. Too tired to eat in company, he’s asked that a tray be taken to his quarters. Cook knows about it and should have prepared a meal by now. Nip down to the kitchens and fetch it up to Lord Edward – you’ll be saving my feet – there’s a good girl.”

Rhiannon didn’t move.

“Run along, young lady; you’d think your bones were as old as mine,” Meg chided. “Or that I’d asked you to visit an ogre,” she added, noting the pale face of her young assistant. “Strange girl! Lord Edward will be nothing but smiles upon seeing you – everyone knows you’re his favourite. And it will cheer him to set eyes upon you once more before his long journey.”

With confusion surrounding Old Meg’s words only adding to her general sense of foreboding, Rhiannon went to the kitchens and reported to the cook.

Minutes later she knocked on the door to Lord Edward’s room.

“Enter,” the familiar voice called from within.

Slowly Rhiannon opened the door and stood in the doorway, holding a tray.

Lord Edward, who was in the process of packing, looked up at her and smiled.

She entered the room and the door closed behind her. “Your dinner, Lord Edward,” Rhiannon said nervously.

“Thank you. Please place it on the dresser,” he instructed.

Rhiannon did so and then stood awkwardly in the floor space.

Lord Edward looked at her but said nothing.

“I must apologise, my lord,” Rhiannon began involuntarily, “for my presumption of yester-night–” She hesitated, uncertain whether ‘presumption’ had been the best word to use. Lord Edward was staring at her but remained silent. “And in particular,” – she faltered, “for my state of undress in your bed.” Still there came no response from him. “It was very wrong of me to take the key and enter your quarters and I now feel remorseful and embarrassed–” Rhiannon couldn’t complete her statement. She looked down at the floor.

“This is an awkward situation indeed,” Lord Edward said gravely at last, “for which I can perceive but one remedy.”

Lord Edward walked over to the door and bolted it. He returned to the bedside and began to undress.

Rhiannon watched as Lord Edward removed first his tunic and then his shirt, to reveal a strong, broad chest. He took off his shoes and then undid and removed his hose.

Lord Edward stood before Rhiannon. Rhiannon swallowed nervously as she gazed upon him.

“Rhiannon, you look at me as though you had never seen a man before.”

“I haven’t, my lord,” she admitted.

He smiled at her. “Well, since we’re into confessions, here’s mine: I arrived home late last night, stumbled into bed in the darkness, thought it rather strange to find an obstruction in my way but was too tired to investigate. This morning I was called away unexpectedly. I was awoken early –still in darkness– and had no time to sense what was about me. I didn’t know you were in my bed – I saw nothing. You had no grounds for embarrassment.”

Rhiannon looked up, confused.

“And now the embarrassment is all mine,” Lord Edward continued, glancing downwards.

Rhiannon found it hard to avert her eyes from the place where he merely glanced, so powerfully were they drawn to it.

“But if you were to allow me to undress you, Rhiannon, the humiliation would be undone – we would, once more, be equals.”

Rhiannon took some time to register what Lord Edward had suggested. Sooner than she understood his meaning, he stood before her, undoing the laces of the bodice of her dress. She raised her arms as he lifted the skirts of her dress above her head. She couldn’t look at him as he proceeded to remove her chemise.

Moving so close to her that she could feel that part of his anatomy that had caused her so much intrigue against her own skin, Lord Edward lifted Rhiannon’s chin so she had to look him in the eye. “There,” he said softly, “now we are quite equal.”

Lord Edward kissed Rhiannon’s cheek and then her lips before smothering her neck in kisses. Rhiannon thought she might faint, so intense was the sensation of his soft lips upon her skin. Stooping, his lips slid down to her breasts. Rhiannon instinctively ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair. But further downward still went those lips, as Lord Edward fell to his knees, tracing a course to the tops of Rhiannon’s thighs.

“My lord, I cannot bear it,” Rhiannon pleaded.

“You would have me stop?” he asked, without looking up.

“The things you are doing – I can hardly stand…” Rhiannon said, unable to express herself more clearly.

Lord Edward raised his eyes and smiled up at her coyly, realising he had achieved his aim. Getting to his feet, he said, “Then you must lie with me.” Folding back the bedclothes and climbing in, Lord Edward reached to pull Rhiannon to his side.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, when sunlight streamed into Lord Edward’s room, Rhiannon was awoken by a nuzzling sensation at her neck and the order, “Again,” whispered in her ear. Her conviction that she was still dreaming was shattered only when Lord Edward’s features loomed above her, as he undertook to fulfil his desires. Rhiannon yielded herself up to his demands, eager also to enjoy once more their new-found sport.

Later, lying in Lord Edward’s arms, thinking she’d never felt so safe, Rhiannon thought to ask, “Why was your trip abandoned, my lord?”

“I received news on the road that the King has other plans for me.”

“Where were you going?”

“Mercia but that is of little consequence now.”

“What are you to do now?” Rhiannon asked.

“I am bound for France,” Lord Edward replied. “I leave tomorrow.”

Rhiannon panicked. “For how long?” she asked tentatively.

“A time, Rhiannon,” Edward said ominously.

“A long time?” Rhiannon ventured.

“A long time,” he confirmed.

Rhiannon was quiet, clinging to Lord Edward, knowing her hours to be numbered. After a while she asked softly, “What will become of me, my lord?”

He didn’t respond.

“Surely, once you are gone, I will be imprisoned? Nobody else believes me innocent. Maybe Meg,” she mused, “but nobody listens to her.”

“You are quite right,” Lord Edward replied archly.

“Then I am to be imprisoned,” Rhiannon said, and Lord Edward felt a tear spill onto his chest.

He kissed her head, saying, “Upon consideration, dangerous as you undoubtedly are, Rhiannon, I think it might be safest for us all if you came to France with me.”

 

* * *

 

At break of day the following morning, Rhiannon, barely awake, stood on the jetty below the castle, as the men finished loading Lord Edward’s ship. She wore a dress of cornflower blue, embroidered with patterns in white, silk thread. Her hair was fixed in an elegant knot at the base of her neck.

The girl looked out, across the still, hazy water, as it was gradually lit by the rising sun. She wouldn’t feel safe and she wouldn’t feel like her-true-self, until he was with her and they were aboard the ship.

“Rhiannon,” a voice whispered from below.

Rhiannon looked down to see the boy Alwyn, standing in a small fishing boat, moored to the jetty.

“I barely recognised you, Rhiannon,” he said. “Come now and slip away with me while the men are occupied.” Alwyn reached out his hand to her but was alarmed to find that her reaction was not joyful but uncertain.

“I cannot go with you,” Rhiannon whispered to Alwyn.

“But I have saved myself,” he replied desperately. “And I have risked my life to come here to reclaim you.”

“I must travel with this lord,” she told him plainly.

“You are his prisoner?” Alwyn asked.

“Yes,” Rhiannon replied, with no trace of hesitation or guilt, as she believed it to be the truth.

“Then I will follow you, to save you from his grasp,” Alwyn promised.

“No,” Rhiannon said firmly. “You cannot save me. I am bound to him.”

Alwyn had tears in his eyes.

“Go now,” urged Rhiannon, “flee this place and marry another. Go!”

Rhiannon heard footsteps approaching from behind. She turned to see Lord Edward in the distance, dressed in his finery, with a rich, green travelling cloak swathed over his tunic. Rhiannon’s keen sight enabled her to see that he had observed her and now smiled approval of her appearance in the dress he’d chosen for her.

“Intruder! Intruder!” came a shout from one of the men loading the ship. In an instant a group of guards surrounded Rhiannon and prevented Alwyn’s reluctant attempt to push his small boat away from the jetty.

Lord Edward appeared. “Has this man been harassing you, Rhiannon?” he asked.

“No my Lord. This is my good –but misguided– brother, Alwyn, who believed me to be going to France with you against my will. Please overlook his folly and allow him to return home unharmed. His wish was only to safeguard me.”

“You heard the lady, guards,” said Lord Edward. “See that this man is escorted from the castle but do him no harm.”

Rhiannon heard Alwyn whisper her name pleadingly but she couldn’t look at him.

“Are we ready to embark,” Lord Edward asked the ship’s crew.

“Yes, your lordship,” came the response.

“Come; we must away,” Lord Edward said, offering his hand to Rhiannon to help her aboard the boat but looking at her suspiciously.

Standing onboard the ship, once they’d cast away from the harbour and were sailing down the channel towards the open sea, out of earshot of the ship’s crew, Lord Edward asked Rhiannon, “Who was the blonde-haired man who spoke to you back there, Rhiannon? You told me you had no brother.”

“A common boy sent by my father, my lord. My father feared you were taking me against my will.”

“You lie, Rhiannon,” Lord Edward said. “Your words don’t explain his tears.”

Rhiannon hesitated.

“Am I to conclude from your general deceit that you are colluding with the rebels?” Lord Edward asked. “My rash agreement to send word of your departure to your family was a signal to them, perhaps? We can expect an ambush on our journey?”

“No my lord,” Rhiannon protested indignantly. “I am no criminal–”

“Then perhaps you are a witch, as the women of the court warned me,” he suggested madly. “And the young man with the piercing blue eyes and the flowing locks of hair is your familiar–”

“No, Lord Edward!” Rhiannon pleaded.

“And once we are out in the deep we will be shipwrecked – you have lured me to my watery grave.”

Rhiannon wept to hear him talk so outrageously. But she perceived that his words were born of his hurt at her deceit. “The man you saw is a Welsh farming boy but he is no rebel. He was my sweetheart before I came into the walled town.”

“He came to take you from me?” Lord Edward suggested.

“Yes,” Rhiannon confirmed.

“But you didn’t go with him.”

“I couldn’t,” she said.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I am your prisoner.”

“You lied to him too?” Edward mocked. “You didn’t tell him I was your lover. You lie to us all,” he said bitterly.

“No,” cried Rhiannon, “I spoke the truth; I am your prisoner.” She beat his unyielding chest with her fist and then fell against it. “I do feel guilty for abandoning Alwyn – I was promised to him. But I have to break my pledge because I find myself bound to you. It is you who casts a spell on me.”

Lord Edward enfolded Rhiannon in his arms. He kissed the black hair of her head, smiling at his folly.

Rhiannon reached her arms around Lord Edward and cried softly into his chest. Such a confusion of sorrow and joy was in her heart, at the loss of her old life and the discovery of this new, uncertain one, that she didn’t know how she should feel. All that was certain was her desire for him.

“It seems there is nothing for us to do,” Lord Edward said soothingly, “but accept our fate.”

Rhiannon looked up into his face to find him smiling down at her.

“I’m sorry I spoke harshly,” he said, “I’ll never doubt you again.”

They stood for a while, Rhiannon watching the waves roll gently beneath the boat. A large, pure-white seabird, bobbing on the water beside the hull, took sudden flight. As Rhiannon clung to Lord Edward, she began to feel her future was more secure.

“Look out there, Rhiannon,” he said, pointing out to sea. “We are soon to turn, to skirt around the coast, and before nightfall we shall be heading for the southern shores of England, bound for France.”

Rhiannon looked up and smiled at Edward.

He kissed her forehead and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “And there, my beloved,” he concluded, looking at her intently with his dark, smiling eyes, “you shall become my lady-wife.”

 

* * * * *

 

 

BRAGGOT PARK

 

“Do not be alarmed, Eliza, that we have called you here to speak with us.”

“You have distinguished yourself in our service.”

“And for that reason it is you we now ask to undertake a role of great importance.”

Eliza kept her eyes fixed firmly on the floor as she listened to the words of her employers, Sir Harry Braggot and his lady-wife, Jane.

“You will be aware,” Sir Harry continued, “that I have an older brother, Sir Richard, who holds the family seat at Braggot Park. We would ask that you transfer your services to my brother’s household.”

“We are concerned, Eliza, that, following the death of his wife, Maria, his house grows–” Lady Jane hesitated as she searched for the best word to describe it, “–unruly.”

“We would have you enter my brother’s household in order that we may gain a better insight into the goings-on at Braggot Park,” Sir Harry elaborated.

“Please do not misunderstand us, Eliza; we are not asking you to spy on Richard. Our interest stems out of concern for his wellbeing and for the reputation of the family name,” Lady Jane was eager to add.

“Do you have any questions, Eliza?” Sir Harry asked.

“If I might be so bold, Sir, when Lady Jane says unruly–”

“You need not know the precise nature of our concerns, child,” Sir Harry explained. “Suffice to say, you’ll have heard, no doubt, rumour of plots to undermine our good Queen’s authority.” Sir Harry paused.

“Yes Sir,” Eliza said.

“We are aware that our brother’s name has been implicated–”

“There can be no question of wrong-doing on his part, Eliza,” Lady Jane stressed. “But we do fear that some unwholesome influence may have taken advantage of his good nature in his time of weakness.”

“Sir Richard still grieves the loss of his wife,” Sir Harry added.

“So it will help us, Eliza, if, during your stay at Braggot Hall, you are attentive to persons visiting Sir Richard.”

“Take note of names and frequency of calling, etc.,” Sir Harry instructed.

“We know you are a good girl, Eliza. We know you will help us to help Sir Richard in his time of need.”

“Does Sir Richard have no more family, my Lady?” Eliza enquired.

“He has one son – Lorenzo,” Sir Harry informed her. He said no more.

 

* * *

 

Eliza stood at the gates of Braggot Park, her small trunk, containing her few belongings, set beside her on the ground. The Braggots’ man had offered to stay with her until someone came to unlock the gate but Eliza had urged him to set off on his long journey homeward.

It was a cold day. The air was still but bitter. Eliza shuffled her feet and blew on her hands to warm them as she waited. She had pulled at the large bell ten minutes before but no one had appeared. Fearing her call had not been heard, she now rang the bell again.

“Alright, alright. Have you no patience?” a refined voice uttered as footsteps approached. Eliza, expecting a servant, was taken aback when, looking up, she beheld the darkest man she’d ever seen. His hair was jet black and his skin of foreign complexion.

He looked equally surprised to encounter Eliza and stared at her intently as he undid the locks of the gate, after saying only, “Forgive me,” to excuse his initial rudeness.

Eliza felt compelled to introduce herself. “I am Eliza, lady-in-waiting to your master’s sister-in-law, Lady Jane.”

“Not master – father,” the young man corrected, opening the gate to permit Eliza entry to the Park. “Lorenzo Braggot,” he continued formally, extending his hand to Eliza, “master of my own fate.”

As Eliza took the offered hand, Lorenzo bowed to kiss the back of hers. Embarrassed by the gesture, Eliza explained, “I am not a noblewoman, Sir; I’m in your uncle’s service.”

“And I, Eliza, am not constrained by the pretensions of this land. My mother had Latin blood,” Lorenzo replied, with an elusive smile. He went to close the gate.

“My trunk,” Eliza said, still flustered, and she pointed to the chest, too heavy for her to move.

With ease Lorenzo lifted it through the gate, saying, “We’ll leave it here – a man will fetch it later. Follow me to the house,” he continued when he’d locked the gates. “You shan’t see my father today. I shall take you directly to the buttery.”

Following Lorenzo across the forecourt of Braggot Hall, Eliza had time to drink in his athletic legs, his shoulders broad in his doublet.

Turning and registering that Eliza was struggling to keep apace with him, Lorenzo said, “Forgive me. We are unused to the company of young ladies here at Braggot – apart from my cousin Harriet, whom, of course, you know – and she can outrun me in any race. Was your journey very tiring?” he asked, dropping back to walk alongside Eliza.

“Not so very tiring Sir,” she replied, preoccupied with his mention of Harriet, the young lady upon whom, along with her mother, Lady Jane, Eliza had been in attendance. Eliza pondered the nature of the cousins’ relationship, wondering whether there was an expectation that they would marry to strengthen the Braggot dynasty.

Lorenzo had led Eliza to the back of the Hall and now drew open the gates to a stabled yard. “You will find the door open,” he said, gesturing to the entrance to the building. “I will leave you to find your own way in; the kitchen staff expect you.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Eliza said, feeling somewhat disappointed that he did not accompany her into the house.

“And might I say, on behalf of my father, how pleased we are to welcome you to Braggot Park, Eliza.” With that, Lorenzo –confident that they were not being watched– took Eliza’s hand and kissed it once more. Then he was gone.

 

* * *

 

“I can see why my brother chose you among his household to send to me,” Sir Richard said to Eliza as she stood before him in the great hall of the house the following morning. “You are quite the prettiest maid-servant I have had the pleasure of beholding.”

Eliza blushed at her new master’s words and could not possibly formulate a response to his comment.

“And have no doubt, Eliza, that I know why you are here,” Sir Richard continued. “My brother has sent you to spy on me–”

“No, Sir Richard!”

“Oh I’m sure it was couched in some seemingly concerned manner but understand, Eliza, that my brother has one desire concerning Braggot Park and that is to claim the estate from me.” Sir Richard fell silent.

“Sir Harry and Lady Jane expressed concern that your name was being sullied in connection with a treason plot,” Eliza couldn’t help but admit.

“And be assured, Eliza, that Harry’s intention is not so much to save my reputation as ruin it,” Sir Richard informed Eliza soberly. “But you, I can see, are a sweet-natured girl without an ounce of malice in you. I am happy for you to stay with us – for sure, the sight of you about the place will do nothing but lift my spirits.” Sir Richard paused. “And when my brother and his wife call upon you to report back to them, Eliza, you need only speak the truth of what you encounter here at Braggot – we have nothing to hide.”

Eliza heard a stirring behind her and saw her master’s attention wander to the back of the great hall. “You’ve met my son, I think,” Sir Richard said.

“Yes, Sir,” Eliza replied without looking about, aware of Lorenzo’s approaching footsteps. They came to a halt alongside her.

“Lorenzo, would you escort Eliza back to the servants’ quarters? Braggot Hall can be a confusing place for newcomers, Eliza, but with a little guidance, you will soon become accustomed to its many nooks and crannies,” Sir Richard said lightly.

“Of course, Father,” Lorenzo agreed, saying only, “Come,” to Eliza before turning and beginning to walk back out of the hall.

“I wish you a pleasant stay with us, Eliza,” Sir Richard said warmly as he dismissed her.

 

* * *

 

Outside the great hall, Eliza struggled to keep up with Lorenzo as he strode ahead down the corridor that ran along the hall’s length, the lead-paned windows looking out upon an interior courtyard.

After a couple of minutes following Lorenzo in this manner, they had scaled some stairs and reached the upper levels of the house. Eliza realised that Lorenzo had brought her to a part of the building that she had not previously seen.

“This is not the servants’ quarters, Sir,” Eliza said, as she looked about the grand wood-panelled corridor of which they had just reached an end.

“No, this was my mother’s chamber,” Lorenzo said, opening the door to a fine bedroom, with a four-poster bed, draped in rich hangings. “It is as it was left when she died. My father will not hear of it being touched – such is his devotion,” Lorenzo explained, ushering Eliza into the room.

He followed her into the bedchamber and then turned the key in the lock.

Eliza looked nervously from the room back to Lorenzo, registering what he had done.

“Does it unnerve you to be alone with me, Eliza?” Lorenzo said, approaching her.

Eliza could find no words of reply. Lorenzo stood close to her, facing her and challenging her with his dark eyes.

“Eliza, this is a place where you and I may meet and be away from prying eyes. Here, the concern you express for the differences in our positions need not come between us.”

Eliza stood frozen.

Lorenzo stepped forward as if intending to embrace her.

“Your father instructed you to take me to the servants’ quarters, young master,” Eliza said hurriedly, “and I know there is work waiting for me in the scullery. I would ask you to take me directly to the scullery, Lorenzo, Sir, and to stop playing with my emotions in this manner.” Eliza dodged Lorenzo’s advance and made for the door. “I would ask you to unlock the door immediately, master,” she said, aware that her words were spoken shakily.

“You need feel no shame at your emotions, Eliza. My mother was a passionate woman. She would be happy to know we can take comfort in one another’s company, here in her chamber.”

“My only emotion is fear,” Eliza replied candidly, backing away from Lorenzo, so that she ended up pinned against the panelled wall.

Keeping his distance from her, Lorenzo reached out his arm and stroked her cheek as gently as a feather with the fingers of his right hand. “Forgive me, Eliza,” he whispered softly, “I mistook your feelings upon our first encounter. I hope you will not think me a brute–”

“You did mistake me, Sir,” Eliza said breathlessly and almost too eagerly.

Lorenzo looked coolly upon the girl who remained standing with her back to the wall. “I shall do as you ask, Eliza, but know that we can ever meet in this room. You must remember this. And if you find that your heart has a place for me in it, you will come to me here tomorrow evening.”

Lorenzo looked directly into Eliza’s eyes as he spoke his final words. As she turned her head to avoid his gaze, Lorenzo’s stare fell to her bosom. He watched the bare outline of the tops of her breasts as they rose and fell with her pounding heart.

Remembering herself, Eliza complained, “Sir, you continue to offend my sensibilities. I have asked you to take me from this place.”

Without further discussion, Lorenzo unlocked the door and escorted Eliza from the chamber to the kitchens down below, walking at a steady pace alongside her en route. They didn’t speak to one another as they walked on and Eliza felt abandoned to be so close to him but no longer experiencing his touch.

Upon reaching the kitchens, Lorenzo registered the look of distress on Eliza’s face. “As you requested,” he said, gesturing to the small flight of stairs that led downward.

“Thank you Sir,” Eliza replied simply.

Before quitting her, Lorenzo leaned into Eliza and whispered in her ear, “Remember, if you find a place for me in your heart, you will meet me in my mother’s chamber tomorrow night.”

Eliza made no reply and avoided looking into Lorenzo’s dark eyes as he raised his head.

Content that they were alone, Lorenzo kissed Eliza shortly on the cheek, before turning and striding away.

Eliza stood looking after him, not knowing what to think.

 

* * *

 

For the rest of the day and throughout the next Eliza could reflect upon nothing but Lorenzo’s invitation to meet him in his mother’s bedchamber once night fell. As the sun began to set and Eliza’s duties about the house were completed, she retired to the kitchens and took solace in the company of her fellow servants, in order to safeguard herself from giving in to temptation.

By eight o’clock it was dark. The kitchen staff had served Sir Richard’s dinner and were clearing up from the meal.

“Eliza,” the cook began, “I’m told that the young master has retired to his quarters unwell. He has requested some dinner be taken up to him. Would you please take him this dish?”

“Cannot someone else take it?” Eliza asked nervously.

The cook looked at her dubiously but, to Eliza’s relief, a man-servant was quick to relieve Eliza of the task.

The next night, the same scene was replayed in the kitchen. “The young master has returned late from hunting, Eliza,” the cook began. “He has retired to the library and requested some dinner be taken to him there. Will you take his meal?”

“Cannot someone else take it?” Eliza asked falteringly, wary of appearing lazy but eager to avoid an audience with Lorenzo.

This time the cook stood firm. “The young master specifically requested it be you, Eliza,” he replied.

With trepidation, Eliza scaled the flight of stairs from the kitchen and walked towards the door of the library. Standing at the door, struggling to compose herself, Eliza jumped as it opened from within.

Lorenzo stared at Eliza, his dark eyes burning.

“Your dinner, Sir,” Eliza began.

“Come in,” Lorenzo instructed.

As Eliza entered the room, Lorenzo said, “Please put it on the small table.”

Eliza did so and then swiftly made to quit the library.

But Lorenzo barred her path to the exit, asking, “Am I to conclude that you have no place for me in your heart?”

Eliza averted her eyes from his gaze and replied simply, “What you ask of me is wrong, young master–”

“Is it wrong to feel and fulfil desire? Wrong to know passion?”

Eliza failed to find words of response as Lorenzo edged towards her. She dropped her head but Lorenzo lifted up her chin and looked seductively into her eyes. “I have spent the day riding hard to exorcize this passion from my soul,” he said, “but I find my desire has only grown with the exertion.”

In an instant Eliza closed her eyes as Lorenzo’s lips met hers.

His kiss was as intense as his piercing gaze. Eliza felt herself abandoning control of her will.

Lorenzo’s lips traced a course from Eliza’s own, via her neck, to her cleavage. She threw back her head and let out a gasp of excitement as Lorenzo began to explore her breasts, pulling the sleeves of her dress gently from her shoulders and lowering the bodice to expose her flesh.

“You cannot submit to your desires,” Lorenzo said as he drew Eliza over to a chair. Sitting down upon it, he pulled Eliza to stand before him. Gazing up at her contemplatively, he continued, “but you make no effort to resist my advances.”

“I find I cannot, Sir,” Eliza explained breathlessly.

“So if I were to impose my will upon you,” Lorenzo continued, opening his legs and urging Eliza forward to stand between them, “you would make no objection?”

Eliza couldn’t answer. She could no sooner agree to his proposal than she could prevent herself from going along with it.

“Very well,” Lorenzo said, smiling up at Eliza as he drew her closer.

Taking her in his arms, Lorenzo’s hands sought the hem of Eliza’s dress. Once found, his arms disappeared beneath the folds of her skirts, his hands making a steady progress, stroking the backs of her legs until they reached her thighs.

Eliza took Lorenzo’s head of thick curls in her hands and closed her eyes, barely able to conceive of his actions.

But as Lorenzo’s hands approached the uncharted regions of her being, Eliza jumped to hear an insistent knock at the door of the library. She felt Lorenzo’s head escape her arms and his own hands withdraw from her petticoats.

“Lorenzo, open this door at once, I wish to find a volume,” a voice called from without.

“My father,” Lorenzo said urgently, springing from the chair.

 

* * *

 

The following day Eliza drifted through her work routine, unable to apply herself properly to any task. The very intensity of Lorenzo’s passion had left her feeling empty in the depths of her being once his attentions had been so abruptly withdrawn with the untimely arrival of Sir Richard.

Eliza recalled vividly the anxiety she had experienced concealing herself behind a long, plush curtain hanging at the window at the far end of the library, while Sir Richard sought out his book. He had demanded that Lorenzo quit the library and accompany him back to his cosy fireside seat. When they had gone, taking all light with them, Eliza had precariously navigated her way out of the room, with only the moonlight outside the window to guide her.

Since the incident, no words had gone between Eliza and Lorenzo. They hadn’t yet encountered one another alone; only Lorenzo’s eyes had expressed his feelings when he and Eliza had passed each other about the house in company.

Now, once again, Eliza didn’t know how to interpret what had happened. Would Lorenzo, having made his conquest in as much as he must now surely know that his passion was shared, cast Eliza aside?

 

* * *

 

At the close of the following day, Eliza found herself in possession of the key to the Lady’s chamber. Against all reason she had taken it from the servants’ quarters when the opportunity had arisen upon completing her duties.

The kitchen staff were busy preparing a banquet in honour of the arrival of Sir Harry and Lady Jane on a visit to the Hall. Eliza managed to take advantage of the ensuing chaos to slip away as the veil of night fell.

Stealthily she crept through the house, bound for the upper levels. On reaching the corridor, at the end of which was the Lady’s chamber, Eliza looked about her to ensure the coast was clear. Satisfied, she proceeded to the door of the bedroom.

Eliza’s heart beat fast in anticipation of the possibility that she might discover Lorenzo there. She acted against her better judgement but felt compelled to go to him – to show him that she could submit to her desires and to prove to him that he alone was her heart’s desire.

Eliza found the door secure. Quietly, she unlocked it and slowly, silently she pushed it open.

“Eliza!” the young lady Harriet exclaimed.

Eliza stopped in her tracks to behold Harriet, framed in the lead-paned bay window, standing face to face and close up against her cousin.

“Eliza!” Lorenzo echoed as Eliza, close to tears, turned and fled from the room.

Eliza ran along the corridor and downstairs to the next landing. Here she slowed her pace and strove to compose herself.

Within moments she encountered Lady Jane, quitting a guest chamber. “Eliza, my dear,” the noblewoman greeted, “how delightful to see you.”

“Madam,” Eliza replied, curtsying and bowing her head to hide her distress.

“How timely that we have met. I require your assistance in waiting on myself and Harriet during our stay–”

“But–”

“Fear not. I have already obtained Sir Richard’s agreement to my scheme.”

“Very well, Madam,” Eliza replied obediently, her eyes still downcast.

“You will come to my chamber later tonight,” Lady Jane insisted.

 

* * *

 

Next morning Eliza found herself in Harriet’s chamber, busy dressing the young lady.

“I swear, Eliza, you are the most sensitive of ladies in waiting – both in your touch and your disposition,” Harriet observed. “Why on earth did you fly away from my cousin and I last night?”

“I thought I had interrupted a private meeting, Miss,” Eliza replied.

“Nonsense! What could Lorenzo and I possibly have to keep secret?”

Eliza said nothing. Involuntarily, she tugged at a knot in Harriet’s hair as she brushed it.

“Ouch!” Harriet complained.

“Sorry, Miss,” Eliza said.

“Surely, Eliza, you do not suspect my cousin and I of being sweethearts,” Harriet continued.

“It would be none of my business if you were, Miss,” Eliza replied despondently.

“But my cousin – Lorenzo! Why, the very thought of it is outrageous. I’ll not hear of you entertaining such nonsense.”

In the early evening Eliza was called upon to dress Lady Jane for dinner.

“I wonder, Eliza,” the Lady began, “whether you have observed anything of note during your time at Braggot Hall.”

“Nothing, Madam,” Eliza replied, thinking that the only irregular sight she had beheld was that of her young master locked in the Lady’s chamber with Harriet the previous evening.

“But you keep your eyes and ears open?” Lady Jane pursued.

“Yes, Madam.”

“And you will inform Sir Harry or myself if you witness or suspect anything untoward?”

“I shall, Madam,” Eliza assured her.

Lady Jane fell silent as Eliza fixed her precious jewels about her neck.

“And what do you make of the young master, Eliza?” she asked once the necklace was in place, gazing at herself in the mirror and addressing Eliza’s reflection in the glass.

“I know not what to make of him, Madam,” Eliza replied, avoiding the Lady’s direct gaze in the mirror. “Only that he is most civil towards me in passing,” she added cautiously.

“Do you not think he and my Harriet will make a handsome couple, Eliza?” Jane asked, unable to suppress a smile and a twinkle in her eye at the suggestion.

“Yes, Madam, most handsome,” Eliza replied as dispassionately as she possibly could.

 

* * *

 

Eliza slept fitfully that night. She had not, of course, approached the Lady’s chamber again after her discovery of Lorenzo’s liaison with his cousin. And now she tried her best to dodge the young master and avoid his eye if she did find herself in his presence.

Attending Harriet the following morning, Eliza found the young noblewoman in a playful mood. “How peculiar it is, Eliza,” she began as she stood in her petticoat, awaiting the riding habit Eliza was fetching for her, “that you so often encounter me in a state of undress but I have never beheld you in such a state.”

“It is merely the difference in our stations, Miss,” Eliza replied plainly.

“But what a modest little mouse you are, Eliza. I can barely conceive of you unclothed.”

Eliza gave her no response. Being of an age with Harriet, and her servant, she was not at liberty to chide her for her flippant talk and so was obliged to tolerate it.

“Tell me, have you ever known love?” Harriet continued.

“No, Miss.”

“I mean passion, Eliza – have you ever known passion?”

“No.”

“I thought not,” Harriet replied dismissively.

Harriet fell silent and seemed to be consumed by her own thoughts as Eliza, having arranged her dress, fell to brushing her long blonde hair.

“Can you keep a secret, Eliza?” Harriet asked at length.

“Yes, Miss.”

“I have a lover.”

Eliza resisted the urge to tug violently on Harriet’s hair with the brush.

“And he is such a lover,” Harriet elaborated.

Eliza said nothing but found herself brushing with extra tenderness as she thought forlornly of Lorenzo.

 

* * *

 

The following day, as Eliza collected herbs in the kitchen garden, crouching down at the edge of a path beside a bed of thyme, she became aware of a presence looming over her.

Turning to put a handful of thyme into her basket, Eliza saw the unmistakable black shoes and well-defined calves of Lorenzo. Involuntarily, her eyes drank in the length of his legs, until they reached the hem of his doublet. His dark eyes gazed down upon her.

Lorenzo knelt beside Eliza. “You have been avoiding me,” he said.

“No, Sir,” Eliza insisted, “I simply have no reason to converse with you–”

“Eliza, the last time we were alone together, I felt the strongest conviction that you wished to converse with me in the most intimate way possible. Now you won’t even look at me. What have I done?”

“Nothing, Master,” Eliza replied, keeping her head stubbornly turned from Lorenzo. “I just realise it is unrealistic to expect…” Eliza’s words trailed off. She couldn’t express her feelings in a way that seemed at all rational.

“Come, Eliza,” Lorenzo urged, rising and pulling Eliza up with him. He led her into the adjoining secluded walled garden.

“Eliza, what you witnessed in my mother’s chamber was not what it appeared. My affection for Harriet is not of an amorous nature – she is like a sister to me.”

“So why the secrecy – why the intimacy?” Eliza asked.

Lorenzo’s look was hopeless. “Don’t you trust me, Eliza? Do you not believe what I tell you?”

“I believe the observations of my eyes, Sir,” Eliza replied.

“And why cannot you call me by my given name? Call me Lorenzo.”

Eliza didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know what to believe any more.

“Come,” Lorenzo urged, taking Eliza’s arm and leading her through the walled garden and out of it into the woodland beyond. He pulled her on along the path, deeper into the woods, until they were well away from prying eyes and ears.

At last Lorenzo stopped and turned to face Eliza. “What I am about to say, I tell you in the utmost secrecy,” he began soberly. “When you stumbled upon me with my cousin, I was attempting to dissuade her from a most perilous course of action. You have heard that there is suspicion abroad that my father is involved in a treason plot against our Queen?”

Eliza nodded attentively.

“The rumours are unfounded but they have arisen because my cousin Harriet is embroiled with a rogue who intends to overthrow the crown–”

“Embroiled?”

“I speak too vaguely. It pains me to state the facts more plainly. Harriet is in love with this brigand – besotted by him. She won’t hear reason. Before I knew of the affair she had the audacity to meet with him here, in Braggot Park. And because my mother was of Spanish stock, reports of this meeting have been corrupted and my father is now suspected of having sympathies with the Roman Church. It is he who is suspected of collusion – not Harriet.”

“Does your father know of this, Lorenzo?” Eliza asked.

A fleeting smile flashed across his otherwise stern face to hear her speak his name. “No one knows but Harriet and me,” he said.

“Why can’t you tell him?” Eliza asked innocently.

“The knowledge would worry him to death, Eliza–”

“But instead you are worrying.”

“Not when I’m with you, Eliza,” Lorenzo replied, caressing her cheek with his strong hand.

Eliza couldn’t help but kiss his hand and then kiss his cheek as he pulled her to him.

“Am I forgiven?” Lorenzo whispered.

Eliza nodded, brushing her smooth cheek against his as she did.

“And might we now converse as we almost did before, Eliza?” Lorenzo asked, encouraged by Eliza’s tenderness.

“Here?” Eliza cried, shocked at his suggestion. “My dress would be torn to shreds on the woodland floor,” she complained.

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow and smiled, seeming to perceive little problem with this outcome, but he reassured her, saying archly, “There are ways and means of taking our pleasure that would ensure minimal dishevelment to your attire, Eliza. Not without intention did I lead you to this arbour.”

Lorenzo guided Eliza over to a strong tree trunk and gently pressed her against it. As Eliza leant back, Lorenzo began his quest beneath the skirts of her dress.

Within moments, Eliza felt the intense sensation of Lorenzo’s hands caressing her in ways and places in which she had never before been caressed. Too shy to keep her eyes open, Eliza couldn’t see Lorenzo’s features but she knew, from his ardent kisses, that he marvelled at his discoveries as much as she thrilled at his touch.

“My darling Eliza,” Lorenzo whispered, “how I have longed for our union.”

Eliza’s cries of delight assured her lover that she shared his conviction.

“That night you came to my mother’s chamber,” he continued, “and found me with my cousin, I realised you had come to show your full consent to our passion.”

Eliza could withstand no more. “Lorenzo,” she called out, to signal him to cease his attentions.

Eliza was aware of a counter-cry issued from some distance. The accusation, “Faithless boy!” flew through the air. Looking up, Eliza saw Lady Jane approaching on horseback along the woodland path.

In an instant, Lorenzo had withdrawn his hands from beneath Eliza’s skirts, let down her garments and collected himself. Eliza felt deep embarrassment that they had been discovered thus but Lorenzo, she noted, stood proud, staring directly at his aunt as she neared them.

“Eliza, you were not wrong when you told me my nephew was most civil towards you. Such a display of civility I have not witnessed in a long time,” Lady Jane announced sarcastically when she was upon them. She looked down from her mount in disgust at the young lovers.

“So you did not hunt with my uncle after all, Aunt?” Lorenzo replied, disregarding her reprimand.

“No, I thought it –as you yourself complained, Lorenzo– too much exertion for so early in the day. But I now see you had other plans for your sport and entertainment.”

Eliza was amazed to hear Lorenzo laugh dismissively in response to Jane’s scathing words.

“I fear there is a distinct chill in the air this morning, Aunt Jane. Might I suggest that you retire to the Hall before it gets into your old bones?” he suggested daringly.

“You are an impossible and impertinent young scoundrel, Lorenzo Braggot,” she returned, with no hint of warmth or affection. “And you, young hussy,” Jane continued, addressing Eliza, “can be confident that your departure from Braggot Park will be swift and sure, once my brother-in-law hears of your misconduct and abuse of his, my husband’s and my own trust.”

With that, Lady Jane turned her horse about and left them.

Eliza had tears in her eyes. “I am undone, Lorenzo,” she said bitterly as she wept.

“Undone because you are beloved of me, Eliza?” he replied, lifting up her chin and kissing the tears from her cheeks.

“Do you really not care that we are found out?” Eliza asked, astounded by his indifference to his aunt’s disapproval.

“Two things you have forgotten, Eliza,” he replied. “Firstly, that I am the master of my own fate and I care not what society thinks of me. Secondly, that my good father married for love and has known passion (unlike my cold aunt). He will understand the third thing you should remember: that I love you, Eliza.” And taking her in his arms, Lorenzo sought to comfort and reassure his timid mistress.

“I should return to the kitchen garden, Sir; I’ve been gone far longer than I meant,” Eliza said.

 

* * *

 

“No doubt you realise why we have called you here, Eliza,” Lady Jane began sternly. Her husband and Sir Richard were seated either side of her, all three of them facing Eliza like a committee, in the great hall of the house. “We won’t talk of what I encountered yesterday in the woods,” the Lady continued, “but be assured I have relayed details of the event to Sirs Richard and Harry.”

Eliza blushed and bowed her head to hear Jane’s statement of fact.

“In view of your impeccable record of conduct up until this incident –and owing to the leniency of your employers– you will be relieved to hear, Eliza, that you shall not be put out of the house. However, you shall return home with Sir Harry and I when we depart from Braggot tomorrow.” Lady Jane fell silent, allowing Eliza the opportunity to digest what she’d been told.

“Have you anything to say for yourself, Eliza?” Sir Harry asked.

Eliza was about to say no but instinctively she asked, “I wonder if I might speak with Sir Richard alone for a moment.”

Lady Jane raised her eyebrows at this request and muttered something to her brother-in-law about resisting the girl’s feminine wiles. He, however, agreed to a private audience with Eliza. Sir Harry and his wife reluctantly quitted the hall.

“Now Eliza,” Sir Richard commenced more warmly once his family had gone.

Eliza took a deep breath and summoned up the courage to say what she thought it right to tell him – not just to redeem herself but to bring about a resolution to the threat hanging over Braggot Park.

 

* * *

 

Later that day Eliza was once again at work in the kitchen garden when she spied Lorenzo storming towards her from the direction of the house. She barely had time to register that his expression was far from affectionate before he was upon her.

“You told my father!” he announced bitterly. “You told my father!”

Eliza trembled to see him so angry. She couldn’t understand his extreme reaction.

“The one thing I specifically warned you against doing, you did!” he exclaimed.

Uneasily, Eliza got to her feet and stood before Lorenzo. She opened her arms helplessly to him.

“No!” he declared bluntly, folding his arms against her embrace. “There will be no more of that, Eliza – not now – not ever.”

“But I love you, Lorenzo,” Eliza uttered desperately. “I thought you loved me–”

“Whether I love you or not is immaterial. Thanks to your actions, after tomorrow we will never again set eyes upon one another.”

Eliza began to sob to hear him pronounce their fate.

“As he cannot yet bring himself to tell Sir Harry and Lady Jane that their daughter is anything less than angelic, my father’s initial proposed solution to this problem is to send me to the Continent.”

Eliza gasped and tried again, vainly, to take hold of Lorenzo.

“So tomorrow morning, Eliza, you will return home with Sir Harry and my aunt and I will travel to the coast to board a vessel bound for Spain.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir,” Eliza pleaded through her tears, “I thought my action to be for the best–”

“If your intended outcome was to be absent from my life forever, Eliza, you did well.”

With that Lorenzo turned from her and strode off in the direction of the woods.

“Wait, Sir – Master!” Eliza cried desperately after him.

“Don’t follow me,” he called without looking back.

 

* * *

 

As the veil of night fell over Braggot Park, Eliza sat slumped at a table in the servants’ quarters, her eyes bloodshot from the almost constant tears she had cried throughout the day.

She had been shunned by Lady Jane and Harriet, neither of whom any longer required her to wait upon them. The staff at Braggot were respectfully silent upon the matter of Eliza’s disgrace but she imagined they all knew about her discovery and consequent downfall. And everybody assumed her tears were due to that – nobody knew that her heart was breaking from the loss of Lorenzo.

Eliza didn’t know what to do with herself. She felt so wretched that she decided the only thing for it was to try to sleep. But she needed sleep that wouldn’t be disturbed by others so, realising she had nothing to lose even if her transgression were to be found out, she stealthily went across to the nook where the keys to the various rooms of the house were kept and took, once again, the key to Lady Maria’s chamber.

On reaching the bedroom and unlocking its door, Eliza walked into the chamber and over to its bay window. She looked out across the vast expanse of Braggot Park, lit by the moon rising in the clear night sky. She recalled her first encounter with Lorenzo in the chamber – the shock of hearing his passionate words. She doubted she would now ever know love again; she could love no other man but Lorenzo. Sensing tears welling inside her once more, Eliza undressed and climbed into the large four-poster bed, determined to cease all troubling thought.

At first Eliza trembled with cold beneath the bedclothes that had lain for so long devoid of human warmth but, with time, she began to thaw and gradually she fell into a deep slumber.

When Eliza awoke she had no idea what time of night it was – all she knew was that the new day had not yet dawned – the room was pitch black.

Turning over in the bed and looking to the window, Eliza perceived a figure standing in its bay, a shaft of moonlight streaming down upon him. She wondered at first if she beheld a spectre. But as her eyes became better accustomed to the dark, she entertained the notion that the vision was real. “Lorenzo!” Eliza whispered dreamily.

The figure turned and looked momentarily alarmed. “Eliza!” he then said, approaching the bed and reaching out to ascertain whether she too were real.

“I knew of nowhere else to come but here,” Eliza explained as Lorenzo sat down beside her on the bed.

“I’m sorry I spoke so harshly earlier,” he replied. “I was so angry; I didn’t mean to be cruel.”

“But our situation is hopeless,” Eliza said.

“Hopeless but for this one last night we have together,” Lorenzo replied, rising from the bed and beginning to undress.

Eliza watched him remove his shoes, doublet, shirt and then his hose, but the room was so dark that she couldn’t see Lorenzo’s naked form when it was revealed.

“Come,” Lorenzo then said, extending his arm to Eliza, to encourage her out of the bed. “Come and stand with me in the window; it’s the most magical of moonlit nights.”

Eliza allowed Lorenzo to lead her to the window and the two stood gazing at one another by the light of the moon. Lorenzo looked deep into Eliza’s eyes but she couldn’t keep her own eyes from wandering over the extents of his body, marvelling at his masculinity.

Lorenzo smiled to observe her rapt attention to his form. “Do you feel better Eliza?” he asked, in an attempt to break the spell she seemed to be under.

“I am cold,” she replied absently, still transfixed by him.

“And you will be colder,” Lorenzo replied, stepping forward and taking Eliza’s chemise in his hands, gathering it together and lifting it up over her head.

Eliza’s alarm at revealing her own body to Lorenzo was rapidly surpassed by her joy upon seeing his dark eyes appreciatively surveying her form from top to toe.

“You shall be colder,” Lorenzo repeated as he touched her nipples. “But in time you shall be warmer,” he promised, taking her breasts in his warm hands and then sliding his arms about her waist to draw her to him.

Within minutes, Lorenzo urged Eliza back to the huge bed and lay her down upon it. Eliza witnessed his dark form loom above her as he climbed onto the bed.

Instinctively, Eliza opened her arms wide to Lorenzo but she was shocked when, instead of doing as she anticipated, he fell to kissing her stomach and then the soft flesh of her thighs, burrowing his head between them.

Eliza was amazed that Lorenzo so naturally knew how to waken and stir in her the deepest of emotions. At Lorenzo’s protracted attention, Eliza found she could bear no more.

“I cannot hold back either,” Lorenzo confessed as he knelt above Eliza.

Longingly, she opened her arms to him, eager to feel his presence before they were to part forever.

“In case you have ever been in any doubt as to the matter, let me assure you that I do love you, Eliza,” Lorenzo said as he took her in his arms.

Tears of joy and sadness streamed down Eliza’s cheeks as she felt the strength of Lorenzo’s full passion for the first and last time.

 

* * *

 

In the morning Eliza was awoken when the sun had barely risen by the touch of Lorenzo’s cheek against her own. “Come, Eliza. Arise and dress. We need to depart.”

“Go?” Eliza asked in sleepy confusion. “Sir Harry and Lady Jane will not away until later–”

“But you’re not going with them. You’re coming with me,” Lorenzo said decisively.

“But Sir–”

“My father can make no valid objection to it. And I shall tell him that, unless he grants that you travel with me, I shan’t go to the Continent.”

Eliza finally began to appreciate what he was suggesting. “But what if he should object and say he would rather you didn’t go than go with me?” Eliza asked.

Lorenzo contemplated.

“And how am I to set forth on such a journey with no preparations – no belongings?”

Lorenzo smiled at the simplicity of her perception. “You arrived here with little enough, Eliza,” he said affectionately. “I remember the sight of you standing at the great gates, shivering with cold, your little trunk beside you.” Lorenzo stroked Eliza’s cheek and kissed her head as he reminisced. “I resolved then to take you to bed at the first opportunity,” he whispered playfully.

“To go abroad is so extreme, Lorenzo,” Eliza said.

“But it may be our only means of staying together,” he replied. “On reflection, I think you are right; the way to guarantee the success of this scheme is to conduct it in secrecy.”

So, Eliza repaired to the servants’ quarters to pack her travelling chest, which, it was agreed, she would conceal in an alcove near the entrance to the kitchens so that Lorenzo could add it to his own luggage. And the lovers also decided that Eliza would wait just beyond the gates of the Park to be collected by Lorenzo’s carriage when it departed later in the morning.

 

* * *

 

In the servants’ quarters, Eliza swiftly filled her small trunk with her few possessions. After stowing it in the chosen location, she made to quit the house, walking down the long corridor that ran alongside the great hall.

Partway along she detected footsteps nearing her from behind. She didn’t dare look back but quickened her own pace. The steps turned into a run and, despite herself, Eliza turned to witness the athletic form of Harriet fast-approaching. Before Eliza had the opportunity to escape, Harriet had gained on her. “Not so fast,” Harriet declared, catching hold of Eliza.

Eliza struggled but Harriet was so much taller and stronger than her that her resistance was futile. “I hope you did not have a notion to slip away with my cousin, Eliza,” Harriet began, dragging Eliza in the direction of the staircase that led to the upper levels of the Hall. “I shall be needing you now as my spinster-companion. Thanks to your intervention, Eliza, my hopes of happiness have been dashed. My father has forbidden me from ever seeing my lover again and I am to be confined to the house once we reach home later today.”

They had scaled the stairs and now approached Lady Maria’s chamber. Harriet, keeping a tight hold of Eliza, produced a key to the door from her pocket and opened it wide. “So the only place you shall be going today, Eliza, is back home with me to live out our spinster days in quiet, celibate solitude.”

Harriet pushed Eliza into the room. Eliza fell to the floor. “I shall be back for you later,” Harriet vowed as she shut the door on Eliza and turned the key.

 

* * *

 

Once Harriet had gone, Eliza picked herself up off the floor and tried the door but, as she had anticipated, it was locked fast. She looked about the chamber. Lorenzo, she noticed, had carefully restored the bed to a state of order after their night of passion. Eliza suddenly realised that, if she could fashion a rope from the bedclothes, she could escape to freedom via the window. Feverishly, she set about inspecting the linen for its suitability for the purpose. It was only when she’d concluded it was adequate that Eliza thought to check that she could open the windows.

She tried first one, then a second and finally the third window in the casement but, to her despair, they were all stuck. She kept on trying them and then trying again the locked door but all her exertions were in vain. And Eliza realised that Lorenzo would, by now, be due to leave.

Within minutes, Eliza stood agitated and forlorn in the bay window. Tears of frustration and despair ran down her face at the sight of a carriage drawing away from the Hall; her master would be travelling in it and she would never see him again.

Despondently, Eliza fell onto the bed that had been the site of their lovemaking and wept herself to sleep.

When Eliza awoke, Harriet was standing over her in a travelling cloak. “Come, Eliza, we must go,” she directed coldly as she stared down disdainfully at her maid. “It’s time for you and I to begin our life of celibate misery together. Get up,” Harriet commanded.

Eliza sat up and tried to compose herself and smooth her appearance.

“Are you not wondering what has become of my cousin?” Harriet asked menacingly.

Eliza said nothing – she knew Harriet would only be vindictive now.

“I shall inform you. Lorenzo, all too easily, accepted my explanation that you had looked into your soul, repented your whorish ways and decided to be a good little spinster and stay with me, rather than go with him.”

Eliza made no response.

“I dare say Lorenzo will find himself some Latin mistress to amuse him. Men are so fickle, Eliza. Only mine has a true heart and will wait for me for all eternity. Lorenzo, like the run of them, will have forgotten you by tomorrow.”

Eliza stood up when Harriet had finished saying her piece. “I’m ready now, Miss,” she announced as calmly as she possibly could.

“Let us away,” Harriet replied, opening the door to the chamber. “And in case you have any doubt in your mind, Eliza, rest assured, I aim to make your life a living hell from here to kingdom come,” she promised, looking with malice into the eyes of her lady-in-waiting, as they quitted the room.

 

* * *

 

In the late morning, Eliza set off in a carriage with Sir Harry, Lady Jane and Harriet, bound for their home. Eliza’s vision was obscured by tears as they passed through the great gates of Braggot Park.

“Look, Eliza,” Harriet remarked as the carriage stood still for a moment beyond the gates. “Is that not your trunk, there, on the ground in the verge?”

Eliza looked out of the carriage but could barely see, so blurred was her sight from crying.

“Why, Eliza, I do believe it is!” Harriet said excitedly and she swiftly exited the carriage to call to the driver to collect the chest.

Upon returning to her seat, Harriet beamed in unhinged triumph. “There, Mama!” she declared, “Quite as it should be; we have full possession of Eliza once more.”

 

* * *

 

Nine months passed, during which time Eliza sank deeper into a reconciled state of despair in the service of Sir Harry and Lady Jane. The knight and his lady treated her with cool civility but Harriet did, as threatened, inflict every possible deprivation and humiliation upon Eliza in revenge for the loss of her lover.

One morning in mid-winter, when Eliza had tidied Harriet’s chamber after the young lady had left to hunt with her father, Eliza found, upon trying the door to the room, that she had been locked inside it. She knew the cruel deed could only be the work of Harriet.

Eliza sat down on Harriet’s bed and considered her predicament. Harriet’s chamber was on the first floor of the house. Eliza knew the windows opened. She decided very quickly to execute the plan she had not been able to undertake at Braggot Park. She would exit by the window and flee the Braggots’ household forever. Destitution, poverty and worse might lie ahead but Eliza considered the risk of these fates preferable to the living death she now knew.

Eliza double-checked the windows – they opened as she had anticipated. She then quickly set to ripping Harriet’s bedclothes into shreds wide enough to hold her weight when joined together to form a rope.

As Eliza tore apart the linen, the thought occurred to her that Harriet must have had some reason to try to incarcerate her today. The more she considered it, the more Eliza sensed that there had been plans afoot in recent times for a visit. The household servants had been busy and Lady Jane in a particularly bossy mood all week. Harriet’s control of Eliza had been as stringent as ever, but Eliza also suspected a campaign on the part of Lady Jane to keep her out of the picture.

Eliza stopped what she was doing as the possibility occurred to her that it was Sir Richard who was now resident in the house. Sir Richard, the one member of the Braggot family who might still possess any sympathy or regard for her.

Eliza redoubled her efforts and, within minutes, had finished making her escape ladder.

She knew that Harriet’s chamber was above a library that was not often used. Still, she must be careful. Eliza opened the window and let down the rope slowly so as not to tap the window of the library below. When it reached the ground, Eliza tied the end fast to the sturdy leg of the frame of Harriet’s solid wooden bed.

She prepared to climb out of the window. This was the hardest part. For one thing, her skirts caught on the window fixings. But most daunting was the point at which she had to clamber off the ledge and trust the fashioned rope to support her weight. From here, the ground looked a long way down.

Eliza, through an awkward combination of lowering herself on the rope and pushing against the wall of the building, managed to descend to the library level. To her joy and horror, she spied through the window the back of Sir Richard’s head. He sat reading; Eliza knew his disdain for hunting.

Realising that she couldn’t continue in her descent without making contact with the pane of the window, Eliza, in a last show of courage, dropped to the ground.

There was no time to check whether she’d disturbed Sir Richard. Eliza needed to run to escape the house.

She ran through the gardens of the Braggots’ estate and out into the open parkland. Knowing the area well, Eliza took what she believed to be the most direct route to the estate border – and freedom.

Once she was clear of the house, Eliza dropped to a walking pace. She could run no more. Only then did she begin to reflect upon her actions.

Would she have been better to remain at the house and appeal to Sir Richard to take her back to Braggot Park? But her distrust of the family was too great to have risked that. Eliza convinced herself that the course of action she’d taken was the only one that was viable.

In ten minutes’ time the estate boundary came within sight. Eliza’s pace increased as her spirits lifted at the prospect of liberty.

But as she approached the perimeter fence, Eliza became aware of horses’ hooves thundering towards her.

Turning, Eliza realised she had wandered into the path of the hunt. In an instant a red fox shot past her and dived through the same break in the boundary fence that she was heading for. In a moment the hounds followed and then Harriet’s horse emerged from around a bend. Both horse and rider encountering Eliza in the place where they were gearing up to scale the fence, Harriet’s indecision, combined with the horse’s instinctive shying away from the jump, led to a botched attempt, in which the rider was thrown from her horse as Eliza was knocked to the ground.

 

* * *

 

The next thing Eliza knew was the sensation of being cradled in strong arms. A familiar voice spoke soft words to her. “Eliza, my love, open your eyes; talk to me.”

Eliza beheld the dark, handsome features that were so familiar to her. Lorenzo’s look of anguish melted into a warm smile as he realised she had regained consciousness.

“Sir,” Eliza uttered in dazed amazement.

“My darling Eliza,” Lorenzo whispered back, drawing her close to his chest. “How I have longed to hold you.”

“I too,” Eliza replied breathlessly.

“Harriet told me you had rejected me–”

“Never,” Eliza replied feverishly.

“Sshhh,” Lorenzo soothed, “don’t upset yourself. I realise that now – I realised it as soon as I boarded the ship – but it was too late.”

“And now you are returned?”

“Yes. My father was pining away for love of me and I pined for you, Eliza.”

“You are back for good?”

“Yes.”

Lorenzo stroked Eliza’s cheek and kissed her forehead.

“How’s Harriet?” Eliza asked, catching a glimpse of Sir Harry and his servants tending to the young lady.

“That’s no concern of mine, Eliza; I care only for you. As soon as you are well enough we will return with my father to Braggot Park.”

“I will gladly be your father’s servant again, Lorenzo,” Eliza whispered, deliriously happy at the thought of escaping Harriet’s regime and resuming any connection with Lorenzo.

“Not as our servant, Eliza, but as my wife,” Lorenzo said firmly, pulling Eliza even closer to him. “I swear we will never be parted again.”

 

* * * * *

 

If you have enjoyed Three Medieval Romances, visit Catherine E. Chapman’s Smashwords profile for details of her other books:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/CatherineChapman

 

The stories included in Three Medieval Romances are available individually:

 

Braggot Park – short Elizabethan romance:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/404382

 

Danburgh Castle and Rhiannon – short Medieval romances:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/269771

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/155276

 

They are also included in the anthology, Collected Romances - seven short historical romances in one volume: Brizecombe Hall, Kitty, The Hangar Dance, Danburgh Castle, Rhiannon, Braggot Park and High Sea:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/560116

 

Catherine’s other books include:

 

Brizecombe Hall and High Sea – short Victorian romances:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/75187

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/517058

 

Kitty - a short Regency romance:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/338206

 

Miss Millie’s Groom – a romance set in WW1:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/710062

 

The Hangar Dance - a short WWII romance:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/277501

 

Brizecombe Hall, Kitty and The Hangar Dance are also available as a collection of Three Romances:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/356113

 

Elizabeth Clansham - a contemporary romance set in the Scottish Highlands:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/68015

 

The Beacon Singer - a contemporary novel set in the English Lake District:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/111240

 

Clifton - a contemporary novella:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/387978

 

For tasters of Catherine’s contemporary writing, read The Office Party, Opening Night, The Ramblers, All the Trimmings and The Family Tree, short stories available to download free:

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/463518

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/393878

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/180502

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/369854

 

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/438936

 

For news, including promotions, follow Catherine’s blog:

http://www.romanceornotromance.wordpress.com

 

Catherine is also on Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Catherine-E-Chapman/434999469868920

 

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5202084.Catherine_E_Chapman

 

and Twitter: http://twitter.com/CathEChapman