by Laura Martin
‘Emily, stop that at once,’ Mr Pitt shouted.
The little girl fell still and looked up pitifully at Rosa.
‘Get back to your lessons.’
Her bottom lip began to tremble, but she stood her ground.
‘Why don’t you tell me what is the matter?’ Rosa asked softly.
‘You’re stealing my sister.’
Ten seconds of silence followed the statement as Rosa and Thomas glanced at the orphanage governor before looking at each other.
‘She’s my sister,’ Michael piped up.
Before the two young children could launch themselves at each other again Rosa held up a warning hand.
‘Elizabeth is your sister?’ she asked the little girl.
A nod. Followed by a few tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘Mr Pitt?’ Thomas asked, his voice strained.
‘Ah, well. The thing is, you see...’
‘Is this Elizabeth’s sister?’ As the governor opened his mouth again Thomas fixed him with a hard stare.
‘Yes,’ he mumbled eventually.
‘Older sister,’ Emily clarified.
Rosa looked down at the bundle in her arms and felt the tears building in her eyes. They had been so close, so close to completing their family, so close to finding the perfect little addition, but she knew she couldn’t take away this poor little girl’s only living relative. Sisters needed each other.
‘Emily,’ Thomas said, crouching down so he was on the little girl’s level. ‘Is it just you and your sister now?’
Emily nodded. ‘Mama made me promise to look after her.’
Rosa felt a lump in her throat as Emily looked earnestly at her little sister.
‘How old are you?’
‘Four and a half.’
‘I’m five,’ Michael piped up.
‘But girls grow up quicker than boys,’ Emily said with a sage wisdom beyond her years.
‘Do not.’
‘Do so.’
‘How do you like it here, Emily?’ Thomas interrupted.
She shrugged. ‘It’s horrible.’
‘I can’t see—’ Mr Pitt began to speak, but Thomas held up an imperious hand.
‘But I’ve gotta learn to live with it because older children never get adopted. That’s what he said.’ She pointed to Mr Pitt.
‘Well, it—it is the truth,’ Mr Pitt stammered, ‘The babies often catch a childless couple’s eye, but older children...’ He let the rest of the sentence hang in the air.
‘But I promised Mama I’d look after Elizabeth.’
‘Then you can come and be my sister, too,’ Michael said simply.
Everyone froze.
Rosa saw Thomas recover first and glance quickly at her.
‘Emily, we were hoping to take Elizabeth home with us, to look after her as part of our family,’ Thomas said, speaking slowly but seriously, as if he were conversing with an adult. ‘If you would like, you could come and stay for a little while, too—see how you and your sister like it at our house.’
‘And if we don’t we can just come back?’
‘If you don’t you can just come back.’
‘We’d be together?’
‘Always. We’re not trying to take your sister away from you.’
The serious little four-year-old bit her lip and considered the offer, then held out her hand for Thomas to shake.
Thomas stood up, slipped an arm around Rosa’s waist, and quickly kissed her on the cheek.
‘So now I have two sisters?’ Michael asked.
Rosa opened her mouth to reply, but her son continued.
‘Maybe we could choose a brother next?’
Thomas flung his head back and laughed, and Rosa couldn’t help but join in with him.
‘What are they laughing about?’ Emily whispered to Michael.
‘I don’t know. Sometimes they’re strange,’ Michael replied, shaking his head.
‘This really isn’t what we agreed,’ Mr Pitt said, stepping forward.
‘You never told us Elizabeth has a sister.’
‘An oversight...’
‘Mr Biggins, here, will sort out the paperwork,’ Thomas said, dismissing the orphanage governor with a look. ‘And I’m sure a further donation to the orphanage will help smooth the way.’
* * *
That night in bed Thomas pulled Rosa close to his body and began planting kisses along the nape of her neck.
‘What have we done?’ Rosa asked. ‘Are we mad?’
‘Most probably. You, at least.’
‘We never even talked about adopting two children.’
Thomas gently turned her over so she was looking into his eyes.
‘But we have enough love for two,’ he said softly. ‘Surely that’s what matters.’
Rosa smiled. Whenever she was doubting herself, whenever she felt unsure of what to do or what to think, Thomas would look at her in that loving way and make everything seem simple.
‘Michael seemed to like them.’
‘He likes being a big brother.’
‘And your mother is spoiling them already.’
‘There’s no harm in that. Those little girls won’t have had much chance to be spoiled up until now.’
‘It’ll be harder to travel with three.’
Thomas shrugged. ‘We managed it with Michael. We can manage it with two more.’
When Michael had turned two Thomas had declared it was high time they saw a bit more of the world and the three of them had set off on an eight month adventure to India. They’d vowed to do the same every couple of years, to choose a destination and travel. It had never been explicitly said, but Rosa knew Thomas still had some of his wanderlust from all the time he spent travelling before he’d met her.
‘I can’t help thinking of all the other children left behind in that horrible place,’ Rosa said quietly.
‘Three children I can cope with, but I’m not sure I have it in me to adopt over a hundred.’
‘There must be some other way we can help,’ Rosa said, looking up at her husband hopefully.
‘I’ll talk to Biggins, see whether we can find a way to support the orphanage.’
‘It’s such a grey and miserable place. I don’t like to think of the children growing up there.’
‘Then we shall not rest until those children are happy and smiling and laughing.’
‘Don’t tease me. I know you feel the same way.’
Thomas grinned at her. ‘I’d have them all here in an instant if I could, but maybe it’s better to make the orphanage a better place for those there now, as well as those who will arrive in years to come.’
‘I love you,’ Rosa said. ‘I can’t believe we left the house today with one child and returned with three.’
‘We can do this,’ Thomas said, running his fingers across her forehead and tucking her hair behind one ear. ‘You, me, Michael and those two beautiful girls. It sounds like everything we’ve ever wished for.’
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story you won’t want to
miss these other great reads
from Laura Martin:
THE PIRATE HUNTER
SECRETS BEHIND LOCKED DOORS
UNDER A DESERT MOON
AN EARL IN WANT OF A WIFE
GOVERNESS TO THE SHEIKH
HEIRESS ON THE RUN
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE WARRIOR’S DAMSEL IN DISTRESS by Meriel Fuller.
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The Warrior's Damsel in Distress
by Meriel Fuller
Chapter One
The Welsh Marches—January 1322
‘The day grows chill, my lady.’ Eva eyed the tall, slim woman at her side. ‘Shall we take the children inside now?’
With the sun sinking rapidly, she had climbed with Katherine up the gentle hill from the castle, watching her friend’s three young children laugh and scamper up to the edge of the forest, their woollen cloaks bright, vivid, against the dull winter colours. The ground was iron-hard on this north-facing slope. Untouched by the sun all day, frost clung to the long grass, white-fringed, lacy.
Breath emerging in visible puffs of air, the two women had paused at the point where the rough open grassland met the shadow of the overhanging trees, turning back to look down at the castle below. Their elevated position emphasised the castle’s dramatic location above the town: perched on a stony outcrop above the river, the jagged curtain wall was built directly on to the limestone cliffs. The low rays of the sun bathed the numerous turrets in a haze of orange and pink, transforming the river cutting through the densely wooded valley into a solid silver ribbon, a flat trail of light.
Katherine’s pale skin glowed with the exertion of the climb. She smiled. ‘Let’s stay out a bit longer, could we? It’s so beautiful up here.’ She tugged her fur-lined hood up over her silken veil and gold circlet, tucking gloved hands into the voluminous folds of her woollen cloak. She frowned at Eva’s thin threadbare gown. ‘Are you warm enough?’ Worry edged her voice.
Eva laughed, her blue eyes glowing, sapphires of light. ‘You must stop this, Katherine, remember? Stop showing concern for me. You must treat me as a servant, a nursemaid to your children, otherwise people will notice, start asking questions. And those people might talk and he will find out where I am.’ Her voice wavered and she chewed down on her bottom lip, hating the wave of vulnerability surging through her. ‘You must behave as if you care nothing for me.’
Behind them the fractious breeze stirred bare trees and a group of large black crows huddled forlornly on a swaying branch, wings folded inwards, brooding outlines silhouetted against the brilliant sky. And through the scrubby outline of trees, the slender curve of a moon appeared, milky white, almost invisible, transparent.
‘But I do care about you. You are my friend.’ Katherine’s voice trailed away miserably. ‘I find it so difficult, having to treat you like that, seeing you dressed like this...’ She glanced disparagingly at Eva’s garments: the coarse strip of linen that served both as a wimple and veil, covering her glossy chestnut hair and winding around her neck, the simple cut of her gown and under-dress, patched in numerous places, the apron tied around her slim waist. No cloak, no gloves. The only reminders of Eva’s past life were the good leather boots and fine woollen stockings hidden beneath her hemline.
‘I have no other choice. You know that,’ Eva whispered. The children raced around them in a circle, darting in and out of the women’s skirts, playing tag, shrieking with laughter as they snatched at each other’s clothes, then raced off again.
‘You will always be the Lady of Striguil to me, Eva. What that man did to you...’
Eva shook her head, hunching her shoulders forward. Her eyes filled with unexpected tears. ‘Please, don’t speak of it. I’m here now, thanks to you, and that’s all that matters.’ Shivering in the icy air, she wrapped her arms across her bosom, aware that the children had stopped running and were pointing at something on the distant ridge. A flash of light on the horizon, reflected by the sun. She took a deep, unsteady breath. Katherine’s words had kindled a rush of familiar panic, a surging terror that gripped at her heart, her throat. How long would it be? How long would it be before she could acknowledge what had happened to her without being reduced to a useless, quivering wreck? It had been a whole year now, yet the slightest reminder turned her to a stuttering idiot. She had to be braver, more stalwart, if she were ever to put those awful days behind her.
‘Horsemen,’ Katherine announced, following the children’s pointing fingers. ‘Heading this way.’ She dropped her gaze, uninterested, retying the loose strings of her youngest daughter’s cloak.
Eva narrowed her eyes, bracing her feet wide on the icy hillside: a stance of mock courage. Her skirts swept around her, the biting wind pinning the fabric to her slim legs. Fear trickled through her belly, a chill runnel, as if her mind already knew what she was about to see. She focused on the black figures, advancing swiftly. Not horsemen. Knights. The dying sun bounced off their shields, their chainmail, forcing her to squint. Friend or foe, it was difficult to tell. But whoever they were, why were they here, in this remote corner of the Marches? Her terror grew, lodged in her throat, and her breath stalled.
‘There’s no other reason they would take that path,’ she stuttered out. ‘There’s nowhere else to go, but here. We need to go back. Now.’ Her voice emerged jerkily, low and urgent. ‘Come on, Katherine.’
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ Katherine rounded her brown eyes in astonishment. ‘Surely they’re only travellers, looking for somewhere to stay the night? They’ll find lodgings in the town.’
‘Maybe.’ Eva’s lips tightened warily. ‘Maybe not. King Edward has not stopped punishing the Marcher Lords who rebel against him. He is determined to quash them.’ Seizing the hands of the two youngest children, she began to stride purposefully down the hill, her generous hem whisking at the ice-covered grass to leave a long dark trail. If she and Katherine walked quickly they would be back within the castle walls before the knights arrived. The horsemen still had to make their way through the forests to the north of the castle and then pass through the soldiers on the town gate. Eva prayed this would delay them long enough for the castle guards to throw the bolts across the gates and keep them out.
Katherine ran to catch up with her, her cloak billowing out like a wing. ‘But they wouldn’t bother with me, surely?’ Doubt shadowed her features. ‘A widow, living alone with my three children? And my trusty nursemaid, of course.’ She squeezed Eva’s forearm. ‘The King has long since forgotten about me; he’s too busy fighting his battles.’
‘But you are his niece and therefore his responsibility. And you are the widow of a rebel lord. You hold the fortunes of three men: your father, your brother and your husband, God rest their souls. You are rich, Katherine, and therefore useful. Remember, I thought the same before Lord Steffen plucked me from my castle. I thought that I was safe.’
But Katherine failed to hear her. She seemed distracted, looking back up the slope. ‘Where’s Peter?’ Katherine’s olde
st child had an annoying habit of scampering off and hiding at the most inconvenient times. ‘Where is he?’ Her voice rose, the note shrill and wavering.
‘Here, take these two.’ Eva handed Katherine her daughters, darting a concerned glance towards the figures on the far hillside, galloping at full pelt down from the ridge. Had they spotted them up here, colourful cloaks pinned against the drab-coloured grass? ‘Go now, run, and bolt the gates behind you. Don’t let those people in, whatever you do. I’ll find Peter.’
* * *
Dropping his reins on to the glossy neck of his destrier, Bruin, Count of Valkenborg, twisted his tall, lean body in the saddle and reached for the satchel strapped to his horse’s rump, extracting a leather water bottle. Sidling to a standstill, the huge animal pawed the ground impatiently, jerking its head upwards in irritation, iron bit rattling against enormous teeth. Bruin pulled off his helmet, giving it to a soldier riding alongside him, and pushed back his tight-fitting chainmail hood. Vigorous blond-red curls sprang outwards. He pushed one gauntleted hand through them, the icy air sifting against his sweating scalp. The leather glove rasped against his chin. There had been no chance to shave the short hairs from his face in these last few days of continual riding and now his beard glowed red, like the Viking beards of his ancestors. Dragging off his gauntlets, he slipped frozen hands through the chainmail openings across his palms to open his flagon.
‘Hell’s teeth!’ he murmured as he failed to undo the stopper. Clenching his fingers into his fist a couple of times, he encouraged the blood to run through his numb veins. ‘God, but it’s cold!’ Balancing the flagon on the saddle in front of him, he blew into his cupped hands, a hot gust of air, rubbing them together briskly.
Moving his horse alongside his companion, Gilbert, Earl of Banastre, laughed. ‘You, of all people, should be used to this kind of weather!’ With his face obscured by his helmet, his voice was muffled, an odd, hollow sound.
‘What, because I was born across the North Sea? It’s warmer over there, I swear. And definitely flatter.’ Bruin’s grey eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, finally removing the stopper with his teeth. Tipping his head back, he gulped the water down with relish, wiping stray drops from his mouth with his chainmail sleeve, the silvery links glinting in the low sun. ‘Is Melyn much further?’ Tucking the bottle away, he rolled his shoulders forward, trying to relieve the strained muscles across his back. ‘We’ve been riding for a long time.’ He yawned.