PROLOGUE
Sometimes destiny needed a little nudge.
Few knew that better than Armes l’Estrange, one of a long line of those well versed in the vagaries of fate. However, she had yet to convince her sister Cafell that their current situation called for such drastic measures. Armes understood Cafell’s reluctance, for she, too, rarely used her special gifts. But in this instance what else could they do? Slanting a questioning glance toward Cafell, who was wringing her hands in distress, Armes decided that very little persuasion would be required.
“Surely, there is something we can do,” Cafell said, her white curls bobbing wildly. “We must act ere Brighid does something rash.”
Armes paused to eye her sister askance. “Brighid is never rash.”
Cafell paused to reconsider. “Well, perhaps that is not the right word. Ill-advised then.”
“Yes,” Armes said, with a firm nod. She walked past her sister, her tone ominous. “I fear for her. She is oblivious to danger, for she does not heed the warnings of her l’Estrange blood.”
“Yes,” Cafell said, her agitation growing. “I have had a chill feeling ever since she received word of her father’s death. Didn’t I tell you that our dear brother’s demise portended great changes?”
“I believe that it was I who told you,” Armes said, giving her sister a stern look.
“Oh, let us not quibble.” Cafell waved one small hand in an airy gesture. “I know only that I have suffered a cold in my bones, a premonition that—”
Armes interrupted her impatiently. “We must act,” she said, her gaze sliding toward the small cupboard tucked under the solar’s round window.
Cafell followed the direction of Armes’s glance, then turned toward her sister with wide blue eyes, her dismay evident. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “We promised Brighid that we would not!”
“Brighid need never know. And ’tis for her own good,” Armes said, frowning at Cafell’s guilty expression. Her sister could be counted upon to worry and dither, without accomplishing anything. Already more than a week had passed since Brighid had learned of her father’s death, and though the two had never been close, the young woman seemed determined to view her inheritance.
“If we don’t do something, Brighid is liable to hire some unsavory companions and hie off to Wales herself,” Armes warned.
“Oh, no!” Cafell wailed.
“Oh, yes! She is so stubborn that she might do it,” Armes said. Stubborn, practical, and single-minded, Brighid was all that her aunts were not. Normally, this sudden impulse to return to the place of her birth would have pleased Armes, but Brighid could hardly undertake such a journey alone, especially considering the troubling political situation that had been brewing in Wales ever since Edward had marched through in 1277. Although nothing untoward had occurred recently, there were always rumors of dissent among the Welsh princes, and Armes had seen ill omens.
“Well, then, we simply must act,” Cafell said, with no little reluctance.
“Very well, then. We are of like mind,” Armes said, and as their gazes met, they both began to smile. It was in their blood, after all, though Brighid would have them deny their heritage.
Once in agreement, the two moved quickly. While Cafell headed out the door, Armes moved to kneel before the cupboard, unlocking it with a small key she wore on a loop of leather around her neck. From inside, she retrieved an old hand-beaten metal bowl. Reverently, she set it on the worn surface of the cupboard just as Cafell returned with a pail of water. While Armes bolted the door, Cafell poured the liquid into the vessel, nearly to the brim.
Both sisters stepped back as she placed the pail on the floor, and then they leaned forward, white curls and graying locks pressed close when they stared into the water. At first, the surface remained still, then slowly it shifted, sunlight mixing with shadow to take the shape of a reflection that was not their own.
Armes drew in a deep breath. “Who is it?”
“’Tis a man!” Cafell said, clapping her hands together gleefully.
“I can see that,” Armes said, squinting at the surface of the liquid. Although her eyes were not as good as they used to be, she wasn’t about to admit that to her sister. “But who?”
“Why, he is Brighid’s savior, of course. Her knight, her lord, her own true love!” Cafell whispered, with a sigh of pleasure.
“Yes, yes,” Armes said impatiently. “But do you recognize him?”
“Oh. Well, let me see.” Cafell bent closer, only to jerk back with a squeal of delight. “I don’t know which one he is, but look at that hair and those eyes and that... fine form,” she said, pointing to the wavering image of a tall, broad-shouldered young man, darkly handsome.
With sudden insight, Armes, too, noticed a familiarity in the features of the likeness that filled the bowl. With a gasp, she glanced toward her sister. Their gazes met, and both spoke at once, their voices rife with awe and excitement.
“’Tis a de Burgh!”
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