Court of England, 1317

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“Help me.”

Lady Rosamond de Warenne daughter of John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, swallowed down the fear that had risen in her throat. Her sister, Loretta, stood in her chamber in her nightrail, pulling the fabric taut to show the round swell of her belly. Her blond locks were wild and matted, as though she’d spent the last several hours tearing at them in a mad frenzy. And her eyes, were blue pools of desperation.

There was only one reason her sister’s middle would have that rather large lump on it. “You’re with child,” Rosamond said. On any other occasion, perhaps the obvious conclusion to be drawn of a child soon to be had would be one in which a celebration was called for. But, given that Loretta was not wed, and a lady of the court, a lady’s maid to the queen, and daughter of a powerful man, this was, in fact, only cause for fear.

Loretta nodded, eyes wide with tears. “Aye,” she sobbed.

Rosamond swallowed around the dry lump in her throat and managed to croak, “By who?”

Loretta shoved her fist against her teeth, biting. “Henry.”

Rosamond gasped. The Earl of Lancaster. She regarded her twin sister’s face, so much like her own, and the fear that welled in her darling sister’s gaze was enough to make her heart clench in pain. This was all Rosamond’s fault. Loretta’s condition could, perhaps should, be Rosamond’s. A child out of wedlock—with a married man.

“Oh God,” Rosamond whispered. Aye, her fault, for Henry had certainly flirted with her, but where Rosamond had shunned his advances, Loretta had eagerly accepted them. If only she’d… Well, it was too late for if onlys, she just needed to help her sister now. “Father…” Rosamond trailed off, not even wanting her sister to contemplate what their father would do, as she’d likely done so already. “We must get you away from court. A nunnery, where you can safely have the babe, and then, if you wish, you can come back.”

Loretta shook her head. “You know as well as I do that I’ll never be allowed back. Everyone will find out what has happened. I am shamed. I will be shunned. I shall be disowned and destitute.”

Rosamond took her sister’s hands, hoping to impart comfort on her. She locked eyes on her sister’s and nodded. “What if we divert attention from you? If it comes out that Lancaster has been ill using one of the de Warenne twins, I will take the blame for the affair.”

“I could not let you do that.” Loretta pressed Rosamond’s hands to her abdomen. “Besides, this babe is in my belly, not yours. A fact we cannot hide.”

“A trivial fact, never mind that,” Rosamond said, knowing full well it was not a trivial fact at all. But she needed her sister to focus and to have hope, else she’d never get through this. “You can and you will.”

There was no way Rosamond was going to let her sister take the fall for her actions, as immoral and flawed as they were. Loretta was the weaker of the two of them. And any punishment their father would enact would only break her. Since they were old enough to toddle around and speak, Rosamond had cared for Loretta. Giving her their bread first, helping her dress, letting her have the toys she chose. If either of them misbehaved, Rosamond took the blame for it, and if anyone teased or taunted Loretta, Rosamond let them have it. When it came to the back of their father’s hand, Rosamond, too, took the brunt of the punishments. Just like she would now. “We just have to figure out how to get you away from court before anyone notices.”

Loretta’s eyes lit up. “We’ll tell him I’m ill, that I’ve gone to seek—”

“Father is no fool. If he thinks you’re ill, he will immediately think that you’ve ruined yourself, or at least will attempt to find out, because that is what all ill ladies do.”

Loretta started to shake, and moved toward the bed to sit. Curling up into a ball, she laid down on her side. “What am I going to do?”

“I have heard that the queen will be making a pilgrimage in the next few weeks to pray for the peasants suffering starvation. We will both go, and while at the abbey, you will have a calling to God and beg to remain. Queen Isabella is ever pious and will allow it.”

“Are you certain?”

Rosamond was not in the least. In fact, quite the opposite. The queen was ever fickle, but she couldn’t let her sister know of her doubts. “I am convinced of it.”

St. Agnes Caves

Off the Coast of Wales

A couple months later…

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Rosamond woke to the sound of voices and footsteps. A scratchy cloth covered her head, blinding her to her surroundings. Her panic was immediate and intense. Heart skipped a beat, belly knotted, throat closed.

What the devil was happening?

For many years she’d believed her father was sinking slowly into madness, and now she knew his journey was complete.

She lay on a cold, earthen floor. Tight ropes cut into her wrists and ankles. Sweat beaded on her brow, her spine, and every part of her, truly. This was fear-sweat.

Fear of the unknown.

Fear of her father.

Fear from the rumors she was certain had gotten her into this current predicament.

Predicament. How understated that word seemed now. Quandary. Pickle. Mess.

None of those terms adequately described her current state.

Night terror. Torment. Living hell. Those descriptors were much more accurate.

Perhaps a sennight had passed since her father barged into her chamber at the king’s court, startling her from where she’d been quietly reading.

John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, had stared down at her with fury in his dark brown eyes. Assessing cruel eyes. Orbs that had judged her since her earliest memories. A deep, soulless cavern that had blamed her for the death of her mother. But not because he loved her mother, only because he was now stuck with two babes and no wife to care for them. Not that he’d done much to see them raised, besides. Nay, he’d quickly married, but to a cruel woman who wanted nothing to do with the two daughters she’d inherited without a choice.

When Rosamond and Loretta had been called to court to serve their queen as lady’s maids, they were more than eager to get out from beneath the cruel thumb of their stepmother.

Voices mingled with the footsteps, tugging her back to the darkness that held her. The dank mustiness of the room seeped through the scratchy, wool sack covering. Waves crashed loudly against what sounded like a shore or cliff’s side. Where were they? Where had her father taken her? The far reaches of the world?

They’d been on a ship for the last five or six days and nights. She’d lost count. Meager servings of bread and ale had been all she’d received. Her father’s prisoner. And she was weak. Tired. Confused. Sick with fear.

When she’d decided to protect her sister, this madness had been the last thing she’d thought to encounter.

A booted foot nudged her. “Wake up,” Surrey demanded.

Rosamond struggled to sit up, but it was hard being tied and blind, so she gave up. “I am awake, father.”

The hood was wrenched from her head, and with it several strands of her hair. She winced at the pain and stared up warily into the same dark brown eyes that had gazed on her with so much abhorrence these past twenty years.

Blinking away the sudden light, she let her eyes focus. ’Twas not so bright after all. Light cut through the large mouth of a cave to its center, leaving the outskirts in shadows. She was indeed lying upon an earthen floor—that of a cave. It was rocky, covered in dust and dampness that seeped into her skirts.

Along the wall, her father’s men had laid a few crates.

“What…?” she started to ask, but trailed off. Why was she in a cave? Oh dear God, what did her father have planned for her?

“I am due in Kinsale and cannot have you travel with me. You will stay here.”

Ireland. He was going to Ireland. And leaving her here? “In a cave?” Edging her hands behind her hips, she managed to push herself up to a seated position.

“Aye.” He gestured to the crates. “We’ve left you some supplies. You will survive on your own.”

Rosamond shook her head. He had to be jesting. “But, father, I—”

Surrey cut her off with a roar. He raised his hand back as though he would strike her. Rather than flinch as she might have the day before, she sat up straighter, the realization of what was happening, the subsequent anger she felt fueled her indignation.

Scoffing, her father said, “You’ve disgraced yourself. Dishonored your family. You are no daughter of mine.”

“You cannot in good conscience leave me here, father.” Rosamond dropped to her knees in the dank, cold cave, staring up at him and finding it hard to appear meek, but working her best to do so else he deem her petulant on top of the many other accusations he’d flung her way.

Her sire sneered down at her. Was this his own plan, or was her stepmother a part of it, too? For certes, the woman was just as wrathful as her father, but with an added measure of viciousness. How many times had she locked Loretta and Rosamond in the pantry for a day and night when they’d misbehaved?

“I will surely die here.” Panic rising, Rosamond tried to make eye contact with some of her father’s men. They could not all be as mad as he. Surely, one of them would take the lord aside and talk some sense into him.

But none looked her way. Instead, one by one, they climbed down the ladder they’d placed there, leaving her alone with the Earl of Surrey, her own irrational father.

“There is food and drink in the crates,” he continued, ignoring her pleas. “Blankets. If you do not survive then it is because God has chosen not to forgive you for your sins.”

Her sins. Offenses that were not her own.

Rosamond was innocent of the charges her father accused her of. Charges he’d let quickly spread like wildfire throughout all of court, to bolster his punishment. The fall she’d taken for her sister’s misconduct. Charges she’d willingly accepted in order to save her sister’s life.

“How can you be so cruel? Was not the retaliation you took against Lancaster enough? I am innocent in all of this!” Her voice broke on a sob, and she sat back on her heels, trembling hands coming to wipe the tears cascading down her chilled cheeks. Rumors had erupted in court, just as she’d planned if, and when, questions arose regarding Loretta’s expended absence. They spread like wildfire, declaring that Rosamond had given her innocence to the Earl of Lancaster, that he’d taken her to bed time and again right under her father’s nose. That she’d become with child and planned to birth the babe at a nearby abbey. In retribution, her father had stolen Lancaster’s wife. And he now saw fit to punish Rosamond, too. She’d never imagined he’d go this far.

Rosamond clamped her mouth closed. The truth, she would never confess. To her grave she’d take the secret she shared with her sister, because if her father was willing to banish her here, what would he do to Loretta when he found out the truth? And what would he do with the babe?

Well, what could he do? Their plan to have Loretta remain at the abbey while the queen was on progress had worked swimmingly. Safely tucked into the Lord’s house, Loretta’s reputation was safe from those at court, and her sins absolved. Her secrets forever held by Rosamond and God’s servants.

“Cruel? Cruel? You should be so lucky,” her father was shouting. “Adultery is a sin, and a woman’s wicked intent at the heart of every lustful encounter. King Edward could and should have your head for it.” Surrey let out a disgusted sound and turned his back on her. “Lucky, I say, that I’ve decided to mete out your penance. You’ll remain here. Alone. Banished from society. Disowned.”

She winced at the harsh words he lobbed her way. The backward way he thought of women. That a woman should be blamed for a man’s lusty and unjust behavior. The notion was heartbreaking and outrageous. When an affair was initiated, it took two to see it done. Unfortunately, ’twas all too real in every day life, no matter the class or blood line. And her king… that he should have wanted to see her dead…

Edward II, King of England, was just as cruel as his father, Longshanks—or so he was named by the Scots for his overlong arms and legs. Secretly, Rosamond had always thought the name quite fitting. Apparently, her father had learned much from his monarchs. His cruelty knew no bounds, but this—this was extreme. Oh, how she wished she’d known her mother. She and Loretta were nothing like their father and Rosamond could only assume they must have gotten some of their sweetness from the woman who birthed them.

The twins’ mother had been Scottish, the daughter of a great chief of the MacArthur clan, although she’d died following the labor of her twin daughters, and Surrey never spoke of her.

This is madness. Resolved to her current fate, Rosamond said meekly, “How long until you return, my lord?”

“Long enough for my heart to heal this blow you have dealt me. Long enough for court to be cleansed of your sin. Long enough for them to forget you’re a harlot.”

Harlot.

A label that would be an unjustified life sentence. Never would a man want to wed her. Perhaps now for more reasons than a simple affair and child out of wedlock. What man with his wits about him would want to take John de Warenne on? Forever she’d be left to languish under the cruel thumb of her father. And still she was innocent of all those labels he so heartlessly tossed at her.

Rosamond ducked her head, unable to look at him. Disappointment ran deep, and with it frustration that she would even believe he could think differently. She would die here. For her father had left her only a few crates of supplies. She didn’t even know what they contained. Whatever it was would rot before he decided to return—if he returned. His trip to Ireland could take months.

When he left, perhaps she’d throw herself from the cliff, allow the sea to take her away. To drift on the water until she reached the edge of the horizon. Perhaps even be consumed by a sea king.

Though her father said he would come back, what would make him keep his word? Not his men. They’d all turned their back on her just now. Half of them were already rowing out to the anchored ship.

The other half she could hear murmuring at the base of the cave’s cliff, waiting in the skiff moored to the edge of the high wall, for their lord to traverse the ladder so they could row back to the main galley. Without her.

Were they all so afraid of her father that no one would help her? Rosamond’s throat tightened as she knew the answer to that question. Of course they were. Her father levied high taxes, evictions, lashings, and all sorts of other punishments to keep his people in line. More than once he’d had a village raided, the people terrorized, in order to establish supreme dominance.

None of them would be willing to put their families, or their lives, on the line for her. That was a measure they saved only for the much-feared John de Warenne.

With a menacing glower, her father pulled a short, sharp knife from his boot. Her eyes widened on the weapon. Had he decided to end her life now instead of prolonging her misery?

Stalking closer, he circled to her back, wrenched up her arms until fresh tears stung her eyes and cut through the bindings at her wrists. He moved next to her feet, working in short saws and grunts until she was free.

Rosamond rubbed her aching joints and raw skin, all the while wondering how a father could treat his daughter so ill. And then wondering why she wondered at all, for when had he ever treated her with kindness?

“I am your daughter.” Despair filled her voice. Was there any hope in reminding him of his duty as a father to protect her? “Deny me if you wish, but I will always be yours.”

Lord Surrey grunted, then called down for his men to hold the ladder steady. When he looked back at her, his eyes were still hardened with ire and animosity. “Pray for your soul, Rosamond, for no one else will. To walk an eternity in Purgatory is likely your lot.”

And then he was stepping over the ledge, hands holding tight to the sides of the ladder, as he shifted his steps down the rungs.

Panic welled, and she leaped to her feet, rushing toward the edge. “Wait!”

But he didn’t wait. He continued downward, not even bothering to look up. His men at the bottom held the ladder steady as he’d requested. She put a foot to the top rung, either she could climb down or shove hard hoping to topple her father. But the men at the bottom shook their heads briskly, warning in the set of their mouths. If she were to do either, they would kill her. And for some reason, she listened.

Backing into the cave, so the ladder was no longer in view, she stared out the gaping mouth into the wide ocean and sky beyond. The creamy sails of her father’s ship flapped. The flag, the Surrey crest, waved gently back at her. A mocking sway of the white fabric covered with blue and gold checks.

Was this truly happening? Or a night terror she would soon wake from?

Knees buckling from shock, she sank to the floor, her skirts tangling with her legs. All of her limbs felt suddenly so heavy. Her eyelids, too. They slipped closed as she fell backwards onto the floor, pain ricocheting from the back of her skull as her head hit hard on a bit of rock.

Why couldn’t she just sink into oblivion? She sought the darkness of a faint. The sweet relief of unconsciousness. But her mind whirled, refusing to shut off, denying her relief.

She was not going to wait for her father’s return. She was not going to wait until her supplies were gone or rotted. Come what may, Rosamond was going to get out of this cave—alive.