“We’re leaving today?” Willow sat up straighter in bed. “But can’t it wait until after the Autumn Harvest Festival?”
“Nay, Willow. That will last a sennight,” said Maira. “Fia is waiting for us now, and we need to be there for her.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Willow answered with a sigh. She wanted to be with her cousin but also longed to stay here for the festival.
“I willna wait another day,” said Morag. “Come on, Willow, get out of bed so we can leave.”
“Give me some time.” Willow didn’t want to get out from under the covers with the men in the room.
Rowen looked out the window and whistled lowly.
“What is it?” asked Maira.
“It looks like a caravan of knights coming across the drawbridge,” Rowen told them. “Beaufort must have invited a lot of nobles to his festival.”
“Knights?” Willow’s ears perked up.
“I want to see,” said Morag running to the window.
“I suppose I should get up.” Willow pulled the blanket off the bed, wrapping it around her. She padded across the floor in bare feet to see the procession of men entering the courtyard. The herald blew the straight trumpet and started to announce the men one by one.
“The Lord and Lady Pellington of Dover,” he said, blowing the horn in between each name he announced. “Earl Roger Herrington of Devon. Lord and Lady Simon Boshce of Northumbria. Sir Carl de Verre of Suffolk.”
Willow pushed her way between her cousins to see out the window. One after another, the nobles piled into the courtyard. Squires held poles fluttering with the crests of the knights as the horses whickered and clomped across the cobbled stones. It was a grand procession, and even the horses wore decorated bridles and saddles and long coverings depicting each of the knights’ crests. Lord Beaufort and Lady Ernestine sat atop a wooden dais, greeting each knight, baron, and earl with a nod of their heads.
Willow’s heart raced in excitement. The noble entourage held her interest. She had never seen anything as impressive in her life, except for when she visited her cousin, King Richard, at court once a year. Each year the festival became better and better.
“There’s quite a crowd,” said Rook, walking up behind Willow and laying his hands on her shoulders. “Look, there is Sir Bedivere of Gaunt.”
Rowen moaned. “I wonder why Beaufort invited him.”
“Probably because he’s one of the richest knights in all of England,” answered Rook.
“He’s also the greediest,” said Rowen.
“Sir Bedivere is handsome.” Willow stretched her neck, perusing the tall man with dark, trimmed hair and mustache.
“You stay away from him. He’s a womanizer,” warned Rook, his large hands gripping Willow’s shoulders tighter.
“Aye, he’s ruined more than a dozen ladies that I know of, and most likely another dozen servant girls,” agreed Rowen.
“Father, I’m not a child anymore,” said Willow with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. “I don’t need you telling me to stay away from men. Besides, I am already well past marrying age and might want to choose a husband someday.”
“You’ll choose no one. I’ll decide who you marry and when,” Rook warned her. “You are not ready to take a husband yet.”
“Grandfather told me on his deathbed that I can choose my own husband.”
“He said you could agree or disagree, but I will be the one who gives you the choice of which man to marry.”
Willow didn’t want to argue with her father, so she said nothing more.
“Look over there.” Rowen pointed out the window as another man rode into the courtyard. “Isn’t that the page boy you mentored years ago, Rook? You remember, the one that you really admired?”
“Let me see.” Rook released Willow and stepped closer to the window. “Aye, it is, indeed. Sir Conrad,” he called out the window, waving his arm, trying to get the man’s attention. “Sir Conrad, up here.”
“Father, it’s not proper to be shouting and waving your arm out the window! What will people think?” Willow stepped back, embarrassed by her father’s actions.
“Neither was it proper to live in the catacombs, but yet it didn’t bother me at all to do it,” said Rook. “Then again, I’m a man. It doesn’t matter. You just worry about what is proper for a lady.”
“Aye, Father,” she answered, not knowing why the same rules didn’t apply to men and women both.
“Look, Willow, it’s Sir Conrad Lochwood,” her father told her, motioning with his head out to the courtyard.
“Who?” she asked, pretending not to recognize the name of the boy who grew up as her father’s ward.
“It’s Conrad,” he said. “You used to play with him when you were little, before coming to Rothbury to be mentored. I’m sure you remember him.”
Aye, she remembered Conrad all right. But she was far from excited about seeing him again. “Father, Conrad used to pull my braids and hide frogs in my bed,” she told him, wrinkling her nose as she said it. “Why on earth would I want to see Conrad the Cur? I despise him.” She didn’t bother to look out the window.
“Willow, you are being haughty again,” Rook scolded her. “Conrad was just a boy when he did those things. You haven’t seen him since you’ve been living here in Rothbury. He’s a grown man and a knight now.”
“I don’t care.” Willow yawned and stretched one arm out from under the blanket she held around her. “I still don’t like him.”
“Daughter, how many times do I have to tell you to cover your mouth when you yawn?” asked her father.
“I do cover it,” she told him. “But I’m only around family, so what does it matter?” She scratched the back of her head next.
“And stop itching yourself like a flea-ridden scullery maid,” snapped Rook. “Now hurry and get dressed, because we need to take to the road right away.”
The herald called out another name next that interested Willow very much.
“Earl Stanley Alnwick,” he announced.
Upon hearing this, Willow shot over to the window, almost knocking over Maira who was leaning her elbows on the ledge.
“What’s the hurry?” asked Maira, scowling at her. “Be careful.”
“That’s him,” said Willow, feeling the rise of a flush to her cheeks. “He’s the one with the ruby as big as his hand that he’s bringing as a gift to the king. He’s stopping here to show it to the earl. I can’t wait to see it. Mayhap he’ll let me hold it as well.”
“Ye like him because he’s rich, dinna ye?” asked Morag.
“She likes all the men if you haven’t noticed.” Maira left the window and headed across the room.
“Don’t be silly! Earl Alnwick is old, not to mention married. And I do not like all of the men,” said Willow, thinking about Sir Conrad. How she’d like to give him a piece of her mind for putting sugar in the salt cellar and convincing her to put lots of it on her fish on her eighth birthday. After taking one bite and almost gagging, she threw the trencher at Conrad. Because of it, she was punished by her father for a sennight. Of course, she told Rook that it was Conrad who started it, but Rook seemed to favor the boy. Instead, her father told her she was not acting like a lady.
“Willow, we are leaving within the hour,” Rook told her from the door. “We won’t be back for a sennight, so be sure to have your handmaid pack everything you will need for the visit.”
“A sennight?” asked Willow, realizing that by the time they returned, the festival would be over. She will have missed it all. “Why so long?”
“Dinna be daft, Willow.” Morag crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. “Ye ken it takes longer to get to the Highlands where Fia now lives.”
“And Fia will want us to stay and visit with her since we’ve only seen her twice in the past year,” added Maira. “I wouldn’t mind staying longer if we have the chance.”
“I’ll tell Lord Beaufort our stay might be extended,” said Rook.
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“Extended?” Willow glanced back out the window at the noble procession, feeling her heart drop. She had been looking forward to this for so long. Now because Fia had birthed her baby, Willow was going to miss it all.
Willow wanted more than anything to go with them to be with her cousin and to see her new niece. But then again, this festival only came once a year. Willow secretly hoped to find a man that interested her that she could possibly marry in the future. She didn’t want to tell her cousins this, but since there were so many nobles in one place, it would make her options more viable. “Father, I think I am feeling ill,” said Willow, clutching her stomach and heading back to the bed.
“What?” Rook looked up and frowned. “I’ll call for the healer, anon.”
Her head snapped up. “Nay! I’m sure it’s nothing that requires a healer.”
“Really?” He furrowed his brow. “Then what is it?”
“It’s . . . it’s . . .” What could she possibly say to get her father to leave her behind? It wasn’t likely he was going to agree to it, so she had to sound convincing. There was only one thing she could tell him that would work. “It’s my menses,” she whispered, watching her father’s reaction. He stood up and cleared his throat and looked the other way. “I can’t possibly ride a horse up to the Highlands now. I think I’d better stay behind.” She let out a sigh to add some drama to the situation. “I am so going to miss seeing Fia and the baby. Do give her my regards.”
“If you can’t ride, then we’ll take a wagon,” said Rook. “I wouldn’t want you to miss out on seeing the baby.”
Willow felt so frustrated that she wanted to scream. She looked over to her cousins with pleading eyes. Morag would never help her but perhaps Maira would. “Traveling over the bumpy ground is going to upset the way I feel.” She nodded slightly to Maira, hoping she’d understand that she was looking for a backup.
Maira shook her head and made a face. “Aye, Uncle Rook, that’s right,” she said, not at all sounding convincing. “Willow will feel terrible and ruin the trip for all of us if she comes along. Plus, she will only slow us down. I think she should stay here.”
“Willow, I don’t like the idea of leaving you behind.” Rook frowned, his dark eyebrows angling downward.
“Especially with the festival going on,” added Rowen, throwing his brother a look that Willow was sure meant that they thought she was faking it.
“Please, Father?” she asked, giving him the little pout that she had used through the years that always made her father give in to her wishes.
“Willow, don’t do that,” said Rook, looking like he was about to surrender.
“I won’t be any trouble staying here in Rothbury if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I don’t know that this is a good idea.”
“I’ll be no trouble to Lord Beaufort at all. I would really like to stay in Rothbury for the festival, Father.”
Rook ran a hand through his long, dark hair, looking in the opposite direction.
“Please?” she asked in the sweetest voice she could muster up.
Her father released an exasperated sigh and threw his hands in the air. “Fine, stay here, then.”
“Oh, thank you, Father.” Willow ran over and hugged her father, nearly dropping the blanket in the process.
“But,” he added, raising a finger in the air. Willow slowly released him.
“But?” she asked, looking up with wide eyes.
“I’m going to hire Sir Conrad to watch over you while I’m gone.”
Willow’s mouth dropped open. “Sir Conrad? Nay! I don’t want him anywhere near me.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m asking him and not one of the other nobles that will be attending the festival. If you are staying behind with all these men arriving, Sir Conrad will watch you like a hawk, young lady.”
“But Father –”
“Don’t give me the pout again, Willow because it won’t work. I know you too well, and you can’t fool me. You want to stay here because of the noblemen that are arriving. If I force you to come with us, you’ll only make our trip a living hell. So, stay here where you’ll be happy.”
“But I won’t be happy with Conrad looking over my shoulder and watching my every move.” A shudder ran through her body at the thought of it. She pictured his greasy, unkempt hair, his scrawny, lanky body, and the bumpy skin. From what she remembered, he was a homely boy.
“It’s either that or you get dressed and come with us. What’s your decision?” Rook crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her answer.
Willow felt doomed. This was going to ruin all her plans. But she had no choice other than to accept the offer. Perhaps, she could manage to lose Conrad who would be shadowing her during the festival. Then she would still be able to enjoy the festivities after all. “Fine. Conrad the Cur it is, then.”
“Willow,” he said in a warning voice. “Do not call him names. You will respect him and listen to every word he says. Do you understand?”
“What? Nay, Father.” She shook her head, trying to make the awful thought leave her mind.
“He’s a knight now, and any squabbles you’ve had in the past with him will be buried and left in the past.”
She didn’t answer but instead looked at the ground.
“Willow? Do you understand me?”
“I do, Father,” she finally said in defeat, knowing this is the only way she’d be able to stay and attend the festival.
“And I will make sure to tell Sir Conrad that if you behave improperly around the men, that he is to take you immediately to Whitby Abbey and leave you there until I return to collect you.”
“I told ye that ye’d end up in an abbey.” Morag had a smile on her face that only made Willow more irritated.
“Can we go now?” asked Maira impatiently, checking her weapons that she always wore.
“Aye,” said Rook with a nod of his head. “Now come here and give me a goodbye hug, Daughter.”
Willow’s eyes darted from one person to the other in the room. “Father, please stop. You are embarrassing me.”
“I don’t hug you around others . . . only around family,” said Rook with a smile that told her that two could play her game.
“Thank you for letting me stay,” said Willow, hugging her father, dreading the thought that for the next week she’d be followed around by Sir Conrad – a man she truly despised.
Chapter 3
“Pardon me, Sir Rook, but you’d like me to do what?” asked Sir Conrad Lochwood, taking a tankard of ale from a serving wench in the great hall. He’d arrived here not a half-hour ago with his squire and sister, and was surprised to see the man who had mentored him and been his guardian. He was also surprised to know Rook wanted him to watch over his unruly, stuffy daughter. Memories of the girl were still embedded in his mind, and they were all unpleasant.
“I’m more than willing to pay you whatever you’ll require to see this through,” said Rook.
“I’m here for the festival,” explained Conrad. He took a swig of ale, cooling his parched throat. His eyes scanned the room, settling on his younger sister who waited by the entrance of the great hall with his squire, Toby. He had enough worries just trying to watch over her now that his mother had died. “I don’t think I’ll be able to take you up on your offer, but thank you just the same.”
“Conrad,” said Rook, throwing his arm over Conrad’s shoulder, almost making him spill his ale. “Tell me; how are you doing? When you were knighted three years ago, you left, and I haven’t heard from you since.”
“I’ve been busy caring for my ailing mother after my father passed away last year.”
“So sorry to hear about your father. And how is your mother faring?” asked Rook.
“She’s dead. Died two days ago.”
“Oh, I had no idea.” Rook removed his arm from around Conrad’s shoulder. “You had a younger sister, too, if I’m not mistaken. What was her name? Hattie?”
“Hazel,” he said. “She is four and ten years of age, and is now in my care.”
“Ah, I suppose she’s waiting for you back at your manor house.”
“Nay. She was too distraught at the death of our mother. I had no choice but to bring her with me. She’s right there.” He nodded to Hazel, who looked up with frightened eyes.
“You brought her with you?” asked Rook in confusion.
“She’s very shaken and scared and trusts no one. I couldn’t leave her alone,” replied Conrad. “To be honest, I brought her here hoping that the earl would let her be his ward now, the way he is for your daughter and nieces. However, he told me he has no time or patience to be guardian to one more young woman.”
“That’s a shame,” said Rook, putting his hand to his chin in thought. “But I think I know how I can help you.”
“How so?” asked Conrad.
“Ever since Willow moved here to be fostered by the earl at the late queen’s command, my wife has really missed having a daughter around the castle. I’m sure I could find room to take in Hazel for a few years and mentor her for you. My wife would care for her as if she were the girl’s own mother.”
“That would be wonderful,” said Conrad, knowing his sister would be in good hands. The thought relieved him. Hazel needed special care that Conrad couldn’t give her. He had the utmost respect for Sir Rook. “That will give me time to get things in order back at the manor house. I had hoped to find a suitable wife and then bring Hazel to live with us, but I just haven’t had the time. I thank you very much.”
“Of course,” said Rook. He paused for a moment and then looked up from his ale. “But it’ll have to wait for a sennight since I am on my way to the Highlands with my nieces to see my brother, Reed’s new grandchild.”
“That’s fine,” said Conrad. “I don’t mind waiting.” He took another drink of ale from his tankard.
“You can wait right here at Castle Rothbury since the festivities will be going on for that long anyway.”
Seductive Secrets (Secrets of the Heart Series Book 2) Page 2