Coldstream, Scotland
1245
“Richard, this is madness.”
Sir Adam Dayne looked back across the river into England, where men were wading through the ford as he and Richard had done moments before.
“It will never work,” Richard agreed.
As they approached the waiting Scotsmen, Adam’s hand itched to grab the hilt of his sword. Their directive was clear—there would be no fighting—but when he looked into the faces of their enemies, Adam was convinced it would be near impossible to avoid bloodshed.
The crisp autumn air reminded him of another day nearly a year ago when he, Richard, and Richard’s father, the second earl of Kenshire, had come to this same spot. They’d crossed the River Tweed to meet with the Scottish lord warden of the Eastern Marches to negotiate the terms of this first “Day of Truce.” The long-time enemies would meet in peace to hold trials for accused border reivers from both sides. The wardens believed it was the first step in finally ending the violence that had plagued the border between England and Scotland.
It had been decided the English would be the ones to cross the river. The Scots had argued that they were always forced to appeal for peace following a cessation of war and that it was therefore their right for the truce to be held in Scotland. Acting as the host, however, meant they would provide sustenance for both sides.
Adam had never thought this day would come to pass, yet here they were. He and Richard stopped at the agreed-upon spot and awaited a signal from Richard’s father and the Scottish warden. At a glance, it was clear their Scottish counterparts were as skeptical as they were about the success of this day. Amidst tents that dotted the open fields before him, men in various dress glared at them. Some were openly prepared for battle, the chainmail of the nobles in stark contrast to the understated tunics of the other soldiers. But one thing was evident of all. These men were not as invested in peace as their leader.
“If you weren’t so large, Adam, I could see what was happening.” Richard peered around his shoulder. “My father looks none too pleased.”
“I don’t see a man present who looks pleased to be here,” Adam responded. “I have a bad feeling.”
Richard looked behind them. “A bad feeling about bringing together two hundred Englishmen and Scotsmen, accused criminals, and only my father, the Maxwell, and a couple of bailiffs to keep the peace? You’re not just a celebrated knight, Sir Adam, but a true visionary.”
One fully armored soldier without a crest to identify him glared at them with an expression that could only mean one thing. He would like nothing more than to use the war hammer hanging at his side to dispense with either Adam or Richard. Or mayhap both. Luckily, he was far enough away not to overhear their conversation.
Adam smiled at his friend under his nasal helm. “I don’t think our counterparts appreciate your humor.”
“If you think I—”
Look!” Adam interrupted his friend to point at the Marcher wardens. Both had raised their hands in the air, eliciting shouts from the men standing on either side of them. This was the signal that all was to go as planned.
Richard’s father lowered his hand and turned to address the men. “As lord warden of the Eastern March, it is my duty to remind all present to act with honor,” he shouted. “Our intention is for this first Day of Truce to be the start of a better relationship between our peoples. I will have your assent that you will not offend by word, deed, or countenance this day.”
Adam and Richard raised their fists into the air and the other Englishmen followed suit.
Sir John Maxwell, Scottish warden of the Eastern March, repeated the phrase to his men, who raised their fists in the air as a sign of acceptance.
“I don’t believe that man understands the meaning of offense by countenance,” said Richard in an undertone.
Adam held back a smile.
Finally, both the English and Scottish bailiffs stepped forward. Now that the official proceedings had begun, men from both sides visibly relaxed.
For the remainder of the morning, Adam and Richard stayed close to Lord Kenshire.
And while tensions remained high, Adam started to wonder if this brokered peace might actually work. He left Richard in search of sustenance. Removing his helm and entering the tent that had been raised by the Scotsmen, he watched as enemies spoke to each other as cordially as could be expected. He even briefly conversed with a clan chief, who admitted he never thought this day would come to pass.
After claiming a hunk of bread, he made his way back into the open field. Shouts and a gathering crowd nearby drew his attention. Although weapons had been banned, no one had heeded that particular mandate, and Adam lowered his hand to the hilt of his sword as he made his approach. He pushed his way through the increasingly angry crowd and stopped short at the sight before him.
Richard lay flat on the ground. An Englishman Adam didn’t know reached out his hand and Richard grabbed it. Nearby, two Scotsmen held back one of their own men—the main source of the shouting—but he continued to spew obscenities.
“Richard—” Adam pushed his way next to him, “—are you unhurt?”
“Aye, thanks to him.” Richard nodded to the man who’d helped him up. He was likely their age, eight and twenty, and his crest was unfamiliar.
“What the devil happened?” Adam immediately recognized the voice: Richard’s father.
The crowd parted for Lord Kenshire and Lord Maxwell. The men had cause to be concerned. Their carefully brokered Day of Truce was on the verge of becoming a battlefield.
“Silence!” Lord Kenshire had been appointed the English warden for a reason. His shout was loud and authoritative enough to momentarily quite the crowd.
“English scum. May the devil take your soul!” said the Scot who was being held.
Adam recognized him as the same man who’d glared at him and Richard that morning.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Lord Maxwell asked, none too gently.
“Your man tried to stab me from behind,” Richard explained. He then pointed to the English knight. “This man, who I know not, saw everything.” He lowered his voice, but Adam was close enough to hear him clearly. “He saved my life.”
Everyone began talking at once. The hope drained out of Adam. This would destroy any gains they’d made this day.
“Is there another man to verify this story?” asked the formidable Scottish lord.
His kinsman, who still restrained the accused, spoke up. “Aye, my lord. He did indeed attempt to stab the Englishman in the back.” The man spat on the ground. It seemed his sense of honor was stronger than his hatred of the English. Adam nodded in agreement. He would have done the same. To his mind, any man who failed to face another when he ended his life deserved to die.
It would seem Lord Maxwell agreed, for he immediately replied, “Take him away. This day will be his last.”
Although the disgraced man was led away by his own kinsman, the crowd was anything but appeased.
“What the hell happened, Richard?” Adam asked.
“While the wardens conferred with each other, the men shifted and blustered, uneasy now that the rules had been broken.
“It was as I said,” Richard replied. “If it weren’t for…what’s your name, my good man?”
Richard’s savior lifted his chin. His jet-black hair and dark eyes lent him a distinctly ominous look.
“Sir Hugh Waryn, at your service.”
Richard waved his hand dismissively. “There’ll be no formalities between us. You just saved my life. I’m forever in your debt.” Richard bowed and then clasped the man’s arm. “My brother, Adam, and I are pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Sir Hugh drew his eyebrows and Adam clarified. “Brother by kinship, not by blood.”
“I see. Well, it seems we—”
“Sir Richard. Sir Adam. Come.” “Lord Kenshire summoned them to his side. Conversation with Sir Hugh would have to wait.
“You’re unhurt, my son?”
“Aye, Father.”
Lord Kenshire turned to Adam. “The attempted murder of my son by a wayward member of Lord Maxwell’s clan threatens to undo everything we’ve set out to accomplish.”
One look around confirmed his words. This unrest could easily shift into battle, but what did his foster father want from him?
“Aye, my lord.”
“Lord Maxwell and I have come to an agreement. A way to ensure peace is kept on this important day.”
The glance the wardens exchanged was Adam’s first indication he would not like what the earl was about to say.
“This Day of Truce is needed to bring justice to those who deserve it. If unsuccessful, the future of the border, on both sides, is in jeopardy.”
The crowd, raucous and on edge moments before, had grown remarkably quiet. It seemed he wasn’t the only one anxious to hear what the wardens had planned.
“I understand, my lord.” And he did. Adam had been raised by Spencer Caiser since he was a lad of one and ten. He knew the man well and could ascertain his moods. This was as serious as he’d ever seen him.
“Lord Maxwell has pledged his eldest daughter’s hand in marriage in good faith to recompense for this unfortunate incident.”
“The glance the wardens exchanged was Adam’s first indication he would not like what the earl was about to say.
“This Day of Truce is needed to bring justice to those who deserve it. If unsuccessful, the future of the border, on both sides, is in jeopardy.”
“The crowd, raucous and on edge moments before, had grown remarkably quiet. It seemed he wasn’t the only one anxious to hear what the wardens had planned.
“I understand, my lord.” And he did. Adam had been raised by Spencer Caiser since he was a lad of one and ten. He knew the man well and could ascertain his moods. This was as serious as he’d ever seen him.
“Lord Maxwell has pledged his eldest daughter’s hand in marriage in good faith to recompense for this unfortunate incident.”
All eyes turned to him. Finally, the earl’s purpose was clear. Others likely wondered why Lord Kenshire’s own son had not been brokered for peace. But that was not possible. Sir Richard was already betrothed.
“Lord Maxwell knows you are as a son to me. He understands you are the most skilled knight in my service. And now I bequeath to you Lordship of Langford Castle and its demesne. I will have your oath of fealty this day.”
He didn’t know what to say. Lordship? Langford Castle? He knew Spencer thought highly of him, he’d spent his life ensuring it was so, but he had never expected this.
Adam looked at Richard, who smiled broadly. One would never guess the man’s life had been threatened a moment ago. Had he known this was coming? Langford should have been part of Richard’s inheritance by right, but he looked neither surprised nor displeased.
Was this done only to appease Lord Maxwell? Because he knew what was coming next.
“As such, he agreed that you will be a more than suitable husband for his daughter, Lady Cora.”
The earl watched him closely. Adam knew nothing of the girl and had certainly never imagined a Scottish wife. But there was only one possible answer.
He nodded his head to Spencer and bowed to Lord Maxwell. “I would be honored, my lord, to take your daughter as my wife.”
Chapter 2
Langford Castle, Southern England
Flanked by her father on one side and the captain of the guard on her other, Cora felt utterly and truly trapped. As they ascended to the top of a rise, she pulled her fur-lined cloak more firmly about her shoulders. While the days were still somewhat warm, the air turned cool well before nightfall. Winter would be upon them soon, and unless she succeeded in her efforts to disrupt this arranged marriage, she’d spend it in England.
She looked down upon her future home. She’d seen this type of structure before. Unlike her own home, Langford’s keep rose above all the other buildings around it. Even from this distance, she could see guards on the wall-walk that surrounded the keep. The bailey hosted an impressive number of buildings, all enclosed by a palisade.
“Well-fortified,” her father said.
Of course that would be his primary concern. The man was every inch a soldier. He seemed to forget that an Englishman she didn’t know waited below them to take her as a wife.
“‘Tis English,” she said flatly.
His answer was a hard look. They’d had this discussion a number of times after his grand announcement three weeks earlier: she did not want to be a pawn in the border wars; he insisted he’d had no choice.
He urged his mount forward, and their small party closed the distance to her future home. At least, her temporary future home.
While they waited for the drawbridge to lower, her father continued his appeal. If Cora had not been so miserable, she might have appreciated his tenacity.
“I didn’t expect it to be so green this far south. Look, Cora.” He pointed to the rolling hills that surrounded them. “We could be in Scotland.”
She rolled her eyes. While she should be grateful her father cared enough to try and soften her to her banishment to England, Cora had a hard time summoning anything but resentment and anger.
The drawbridge lowered, and a shudder ran through her. True, Langford was well-fortified, but it had obviously been sorely neglected in other areas. Weeds grew where flowers should have been planted. And though they’d met more and more people the farther south they’d traveled, it had struck Cora that none of them were on their way here. Admittedly, they’d skirted the nearest village, not wanting to draw attention, but it was not an auspicious sign.
“I’m told Langford’s keep was recently rebuilt,” Cora’s father said as they rode across the bridge and into the courtyard.
She glanced up at the stone structure in the distance, towering high above the other buildings. Surely he could see, as she did, that this holding was in dire need of upkeep. “I’m sure it’s the finest keep in all of England.
Her father clearly did not appreciate her tone, for he urged his mount forward. Cora was glad for it. She had no desire to speak to the man who had forsaken his daughter in favor of peace with their enemy.
Day of Truce.
How could her father want anything other than revenge on the men who stole and murdered her people? But that was her father. Although they never said as much to their lord, most members of Clan Maxwell wanted nothing to do with brokering peace along the border. They cared little for talk of border lines and justice.
As they rode closer to the castle, they passed many people. Englishmen and women. The sight of a woman pulling her son close, away from the galloping horses, made Cora think of her own mother. When would she see her again? She thought of the sealed parchment her mother had given her.
Her mother never learned to write, so she must have had assistance composing it.
Even still, Cora refused to open it. She was sure it was nothing more than praise for doing her “duty.” And her sister? Could she really convince this English lord to break their betrothal? Her father and his men expected to remain at Langford for a few weeks until the wedding. Surely that would be enough time for her to convince Sir Adam they were ill-suited.
They rode through the outer bailey into a second smaller courtyard with more activity. A miller and blacksmith shop, servants going about their business—all stopped what they were doing and stared as their party halted at the foot of the second drawbridge, where a small group awaited them. Cora reluctantly dismounted with the help of a young groom.
She hadn’t expected Sir Adam to greet them, and it came as a relief that he clearly had not.
“Welcome.” A stately older gentleman bowed to her father and then to her. “I am Charles, steward of Langford Castle. My lord regrets his absence this evening. A house in the village caught fire, which spread to neighboring establishments. We’ve received word the fire has finally been contained, but my lord is assessing the damages.”
As the steward spoke, a small, curious crowd gathered. They undoubtedly knew the new lord was to wed a Scottish woman, and Cora imagined they were as anxious as she about the prospect.
“No apologies are necessary,” her father replied.
The steward turned and said something to a nearby servant, who hurried away.
Moments later, the second drawbridge lowered. The wooden planks creaked beneath their feet as they made their way to the rock stairs built into the man-made hill supporting the keep. When she arrived at the top, Cora took a deep breath before entering the foreboding building.
“This way,” the steward pointed to a small set of stairs, which led to the first floor and the keep’s great hall. Just as she’d suspected. It lacked a woman’s touch. Stone walls uncovered…clean but unscented rushes…just enough candles to give light but none to highlight any decoration. Cora pulled her cloak tighter. Tapestries would help keep out the chill.
Servants stacked trestle tables, marking the end of the evening meal. They all stopped working to stare at the newcomers. Cora had known she would be an outsider here, but must every person they meet look upon them as if they’d never seen a Scot before? Had these English no manners to speak of? And they were supposed to be the barbarians.
“A plump woman who appeared to be the same age as the steward hurried toward them. Her posture, erect for a woman with white-streaked hair in servant’s garb, marked her as someone accustomed to giving orders. Cora guessed she was Langford’s housekeeper.
Confirming her assessment, the steward introduced them: “Mistress Clare, may I present Lord Maxwell, his daughter Lady Cora, and members of Clan Maxwell. Clare is Langford’s housekeeper.”
The woman bowed deeply to them without the curious glances they’d received from the other servants. “Would ye prefer to dine in the hall or have a meal brought to yer room?”
Cora spoke up for the first time since their arrival. “I would like to retire, mistress, if you please.” She turned to her father. “Good eve, if you’ll excuse me, sire.”
Without giving him a chance to answer, Cora turned and prepared to follow Clare. She had expected her father to stop her, but the steward’s voice was the one that rang out behind her.
“I believe my lord would like to speak with you before you retire.”
Does he sound worried?
She spun back around. His expression left no doubt that something was amiss. Though there were few windows, and it was darker inside than it had been out, the steward’s face was lit by nearby candles. He looked pale even at a distance.
She spun back around. His expression left no doubt that something was amiss. Though there were few windows, and it was darker inside than it had been out, the steward’s face was lit by nearby candles. He looked pale even at a distance.
Surely Sir Adam would deem sunrise a sufficient time to speak to me after our long journey.”
Or mayhap the man was as rude as she imagined him to be.
Rather than answer her directly, the steward leaned toward her father. They conferred quietly and Cora resisted the urge to protest. If she were at home, in Scotland, such a blatant dismissal would not go unaddressed. But her “propensity to speak her mind,” as her father so indelicately put it, would not be welcome in this instance—just as it had not been welcome these past weeks. She took a deep breath instead.
When a discomfited look surfaced on her father’s face, Cora nearly broke her silence, but she managed to wait—somewhat impatiently—for him to explain.
“Go, my dear,” he said instead. “I will speak with Sir Adam on your behalf. Master Charles, we will take our meal here if you’d be so kind.”
The steward looked as if he wanted to say something, but he merely looked at the housekeeper and shook his head. What could be happening?
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