by Amy Mullen
To lift her spirits, a review of blessings was in order. The ground had been tilled and planted. Her wardrobe was filled with dresses to wear, if there was ever an occasion to adorn herself in such finery. Everyone in the keep was in relatively good health. Sarra was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt this was the most comfortable mattress in all of England. Oh, there were other things to be thankful for. But those few topped the list.
With spirits lifted, Sarra threw back the coverlet, hesitating a moment before placing her feet on the cold, stone floor. The maid had yet to stoke the fire and the room had grown cold during the night. Although spring was ending and summer was well on its way, the nights in the keep continued to remain cool.
After shrugging into a wrinkled shift and dressing gown, she stoked the fire. She used the water left over from the night before to wash the sleep from her tired eyes. Bristling when the cold water touched her flushed skin, she dressed hurriedly, eager to start another day as Lord – no, Lady of the castle.
Bounding down the stairs in a childlike manner, Sarra surveyed the castle in her charge. At least it remained so for now. A smile spread wide across her face at all she saw. The rushes along the floor were fresh and clean. The smell of fresh baked bread emanating from the kitchen caused her mouth to salivate. This was home.
Sarra took a moment to reflect. Father had passed two years ago, leaving no sons to replace him. Gladly she had accepted the challenge of running the keep. In the beginning, the respect of those in her care had not come easily.
Proof of Sarra’s abilities was required in every area. The knights respected her only after seeing her ability with a blade, which admittedly was limited. Cook gave respect only after he understood Sarra was leaving him in charge of the kitchen. The parson ignored her because of the issue of gender. As a woman, she held no sway in religious matters. Since she took no time to change his mind in this area and readily accepted his authority, he showed respect to her in public. From him, this was enough.
Each individual in the castle required a different or unique approach to convince him or her Sarra was capable of taking care of most situations, either on her own or with the help of others. In the end, each person just wanted to know their place was secure, and she wouldn’t attempt to usurp what little authority they had.
Of course, Sarra’s unassuming ways had helped immensely. She’d never been one to put on airs or to succumb to behaving better than the others. Wearing the same clothes as the villagers most days, she refrained from adorning herself as royalty. Each day she woke early, commanded the household as need be, and let those with more knowledge put it to use. She worked alongside everyone in the keep. Everyone was on an equal level. They were family.
Taking over the castle, while not easy, had given her a purpose. It had been something Sarra desperately needed. Her father’s sudden death had dealt a crushing blow to her well-organized life. But as she settled into a new routine, the precariousness of her position came to light. She was in truth not the “heir” to the castle. Since her father had no sons, the king could pick a new lord for the castle at any time. And with her father dead, Sarra would be expected to marry this Lord with no say in the matter.
After the passing, Sarra had to inform the king that Father was no longer around to show fealty to him. But she had procrastinated. After several months passed and visitors and passersby arrived looking to visit with the always indisposed lord, Sarra knew time had grown short. Rather than allow the secret to be discovered and thought to be a hidden plot of a nefarious nature, she had sent a letter with a trusted servant to the King. Sarra had an idea what response the King would inflict. Her estimation had been correct.
Now that the King knew of her father’s demise, Sarra would never be left alone as the new lord over the castle. But she had a plan. This plan had been carried out successfully for almost a year, and currently it kept all potential lords away from the castle and the lady within. But how much longer could it work?
Sighing to herself, Sarra continued on to the garden. With Charism’s help she’d been learning more about herbs, but not enough to use them alone without killing someone. In truth, she knew just enough to make a few annoying people very, very sick. Even without the healing knowledge of Charism, a servant and trusted friend, the garden brought solace when none was to be had. Weed pulling made the time she spent in the garden practical as well as comforting. Sarra discovered she was quite adept at finding weeds.
But today, before Sarra could reach the sweet solitude of the garden, she was waylaid by one of the castle’s knights.
“Mistress, I have news.”
The knight, Gavin, shifted from side-to-side as he stood before her. The young man was short with brown, beady eyes level with Sarra’s own. Currently his helm was pressed underneath his arm as he addressed her with a frown on his brow.
Sarra waited.
The knight didn’t speak further but continued to shift from side to side in obvious agitation. She was fast becoming exasperated with the lad, but remained silent and pretended patience while waiting for Gavin to continue with his urgent news. When he failed to speak, Sarra began to wonder if there was an unknown knightly code where the lady had to respond before a knight could continue with speech. Very well, she would comply.
“Aye?”
At her voice, Gavin opened his mouth. “My Lady, Sir Henry requests your presence on the battlements.”
“Indeed.” Sarra was perplexed by the request. Of course, at various times during her twenty years of life, she’d stolen away and walked the battlements secretly. As the Lord of Greenbriar’s daughter, she was always removed from the area for fear of danger and told never to return. A woman did not belong in such places. But never in memory had she been “requested” to come to the area.
Again Gavin resumed his fidgeting motion, making Sarra wonder if the lad had gotten into some itching potion belonging to Charism. “Aye, my lady. Sir Henry requires—that is requests—your presence. It seems to be of some urgency.”
“Oh, very well.” Gathering up her skirts, Sarra headed to the stairs leading to the small walkway around the castle walls.
As Sarra approached the top step, she spotted Sir Henry staring fixedly toward one of the distant hills beyond the wall. Sarra hesitated to look in the direction Sir Henry’s eyes indicated for fear of losing her footing on the stairs and plunging to an untimely death.
With great delicacy, she approached the captain. Sir Henry was still concentrating on something outside the walls. Knuckles had turned white from his grip, and sweat rolled down his sun-weathered face. He had taken off his helmet, revealing a mass of black hair dappled with gray.
“Sir Henry, you requested my presence.” Sarra’s insides did a flip flop as she continued to focus on the knight in charge and tried not to look down from the dizzying heights.
Slowly, but not loosening his grip a fraction, Sir Henry faced her. “My lady, are you expecting more, umm, company?”
“Company? Sir Henry, whatever are you talking about?”
Removing one hand from the wall, he gestured with it toward the opposing hill.
Sarra turned and spotted the object of Sir Henry’s fascination. A sudden intake of breath slammed her lungs and was followed by a small step backward; if not for Sir Henry’s quick reactions she would have plummeted to the ground in a broken heap. As Sir Henry steadied her once more, Sarra studied the figure lingering on the hill beyond.
From this distance, the trees behind the fellow gave him the appearance of great height. He stood with his feet slightly apart, staring directly at the castle walls. His shoulder-length brown hair lifted slightly off his shoulders as the wind blew over him, mimicking a caress. His clothing did little to hide the shape of his muscular body. A sword hilt could be seen peeping from over his left shoulder. A certain air of authority seemed to exude from his person. Sarra imagined his jaw muscles clenching as he thought of his next move.
A sense of sarcasm invaded her though
ts. No doubt he was planning his siege at this very moment.
“My lady, do you think he has come to raid the castle? Looking for sheep perhaps? Or maybe come for a few wenches?” When Sir Henry spoke, his tone was one of jesting instead of the sincerity she expected.
Leave it to Sir Henry to try to lighten the mood after scaring her so with his tenseness. Sarra restrained herself from giving him a playful slap on the arm. One false move and she wouldn’t be the only one on the ground.
After a moment, Sarra decided to respond to the serious part of his question. “Nay, I think not. You see, he has no army about. It is just him. I believe we have another suitor from King Edward come to stake his claim as Lord. In truth, he probably comes not only for the castle but for the hand of the lady in charge as well.”
“Should I inform Charism there is another pest about who might need, hmm, squashing?” Sir Henry asked in a gleeful tone.
“Aye, I suppose so.” Exhaling, Sarra continued, “I had hoped for a reprieve from the suitors, but I guess it is not to be. The last one was extremely trying. Sir Henry, please inform Charism to be prepared to take action. This one looks to have more spirit than the others.”
She considered the newcomer while descending the battlements. What kind of man was confident enough to travel completely alone in this part of the country? Where were his knights and attendants? What kind of man would travel without a horse or a trunk full of fine and dandy clothing? Where was he hiding his pointed shoes?
Gnawing at her lip, Sarra began to worry. No, this one didn’t seem like the other suitors who had come to the keep. Something about him was different. Indeed, this did not portend well for her future.