CHAPTER ONE

 

England, 1298

 

Sir Garrick de Bremont heard the riders coming before he saw them. The clink of armor and the muffled sound of horses’ hooves on hard-packed earth heralded the unwelcome arrival. His own horse tossed his head at their approach. He didn’t bother drawing his sword for he knew both who the riders were and what they wanted. That didn’t mean he liked it.

Dusk was falling on Garrick’s third night on the road. Days were still short and the air often bitter this time of year. March was a foul time to travel as the condition of the roads was unpredictable, but he had no choice. Duty called. He nearly smiled at the sense of purpose he now had. That purpose had eased the loneliness that filled him the moment the gates of Staverton Keep, his family’s home, closed behind him. But the time had come to forge his own path away from the intimidating reputation of his grandfather, father, and brother.

He stood, hands on hips, awaiting his guests, doing his best to shove aside the doubt that had been his constant companion since he’d agreed to this mission. Doubt that he could fulfill his oath. Doubt as to why he’d insisted on taking his brother’s place on this quest to Scotland.

Before he could dwell on his worries any further, two riders entered his camp. The large, armed knights appeared ready for battle with mail and helms in place, and swords strapped to their sides, but Garrick wasn’t concerned at their fierce appearance.

“Tell me you brought something for our supper,” he called out as they drew to a halt.

The two men shared a glance before removing their helms.

“Damn that second sight of yours, Garrick. It steals the joy from our lives.” Braden shook his head, his long dark hair and beard something admired by all the ladies they encountered. “We had hoped to give you a scare.”

“Greetings, cousin,” Chanse said with a grin. He had lighter hair, was a bit shorter than his brother but stockier and far more charming.

That the two were related was undeniable, and both bore similarities to their father, Garrick’s Uncle William. Family resemblance ran strong in the de Bremont’s as Garrick was tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair and blue eyes like his sire.

Garrick shoved aside his pang of regret at Braden’s words. He was well aware his second sight gave him an unfair advantage. Yet he had no way to halt the gift. It was like seeing or smelling for him. It simply was. Many times, he wondered where he’d be without it. In truth, he was afraid to find out, part of him fearing he’d be found lacking as though fighting a battle with no weapon.

“You didn’t think we’d allow you to take all the glory of fulfilling a mission for the king, did you?” Braden asked.

Chanse eyed him for a moment. “How long have you known?”

“That you were coming?” Garrick folded his arms across his chest. Though these men were his cousins, he was never certain how much to share with them. He well knew the less he spoke of his second sight, the better. His father had taught him that from the time he was old enough to walk. Yet he also knew Chanse’s question was asked with good intent. “Last night as I made camp.”

“Damn,” Braden said and tossed his brother a coin.

Garrick frowned in disbelief. “You wagered on it?”

Chanse scoffed. “You should know by now we’d wager on most anything.”

Garrick could only laugh. Though he’d wanted to complete this mission on his own to prove to himself that he was truly a man worthy of the title of knight, he knew his journey would be much more enjoyable with them at his side.

The brothers saw to their horses while Garrick built up the small fire he’d laid. He was traveling light, hoping to make good time. That meant he didn’t have much food to spare. He carried only enough for another day or two. He’d planned to find a town soon, where he might restock his supplies.

His destination was Berwick, a market city on the northern border of England. He was eager to reach it and begin his quest.

“We rose early this morn with the hope of catching up with you,” Chanse said as he carried a large leather bag to where Garrick knelt, adding wood to the fire.

“You must’ve left home shortly after I did.”

“We were a half day behind you, according to your brother. You haven’t yet had your supper?” Chanse asked.

“Nay. Dried venison and cheese was all I had planned.” He couldn’t help but watch with hope as Chanse withdrew the contents of the bag.

“We can do better than that.” His cousin set several bundles on the ground then handed Garrick a small pot. “Make yourself useful and fetch some water.”

Garrick didn’t consider protesting. He’d traveled with Chanse before and was familiar with his cooking skills. The idea of a hot meal had him quickening his step to the small creek nearby. By the time he returned with the water, Chanse had assembled a metal stand with an adjustable pothook over the fire.

“Where did you come across that?” Garrick asked, shaking his head in amazement as Chanse hooked the pot onto the stand, suspending it over the fire before adjusting the hook to lower the pot closer to the flames.

Chanse grinned. “A man who’d been on a crusade had it at a tournament. I had our blacksmith make one that I could carry with me. Much easier than trying to find the right size sticks only to worry if they’ll catch fire.”

“Clever.” Garrick glanced over at Braden who rubbed down their steeds with dried grass. “Still tends his babes, does he?”

“He loves animals of any sort, but horses are his favorite. He treats them far better than he treats me.” Chanse continued his preparations, cutting dried meat and adding it to the pot. Then he opened another bundle, revealing dried, chopped onions, turnips, and carrots. He tossed those in the steaming water as well. The next pack he opened contained what looked like dried weeds.

“What is that?” Garrick asked.

“Rosemary.” Chanse lifted a branch and sniffed it, then handed it to Garrick.

Garrick smelled only to ease back at the strong scent. He couldn’t help but rub his nose as the odor lingered in his nostrils. “Smells a bit like pine. Hard to believe something like that will flavor the soup.”

“Used sparingly it does indeed. Herbs are good for more than healing.”

“Don’t tell our grandmother.” They shared a laugh as their grandmother, Lady Alyna, was a gifted healer. She preferred to use herbs in remedies to heal rather than to season food.

Soon enough, an appetizing aroma scented the air, causing Garrick’s stomach to growl as he gathered more firewood so they’d have plenty for the night. Darkness fell quickly as clouds rolled in, hiding the moon and stars.

Braden retrieved another bag, pulling out wooden bowls and some bread.

The men settled around the fire, their chores done for the moment, with nothing to occupy their time other than waiting until Chanse declared the soup ready.

“What made you two decide to join me?” Garrick asked. He’d seen them at a family gathering nearly three months past. They hadn’t mentioned anything about going to Scotland then.

“We’ve been a bit restless, and Mother suggested we needed more of a purpose for the coming months than driving her mad,” Braden said with smile.

Garrick well knew his Aunt Cristiana didn’t have an idle bone in her body and would want her sons to serve a purpose. Braden was a year younger than Garrick and Chanse two years.

“Father wanted us to visit his other holding in the south. But when we heard where you were going, we thought that sounded much more interesting,” Chanse added as he stirred the simmering soup. “We decided you might need us.”

Garrick frowned. “Did my father put you up to this?”

“Nay.”

Though they denied it, Garrick couldn’t help but question how they’d known when he was leaving. If his father had so little faith in his ability to succeed that he’d sent his cousins to watch over him, Garrick wondered if he should’ve taken this mission. It would be a difficult one, of that he had no doubt. He and his older brother, Rylan, had discussed the delicate situation at length. Rylan had no second sight, but had hoped that Garrick’s ability would aid him in this quest.

Rylan had not accompanied King Edward on his march to Scotland two years past. After hearing of the devastation the king’s army had caused, Rylan was pleased he’d missed it. In his anger at Scotland’s agreement with France, Edward had ordered seven thousand lives to be taken—men, women, and children alike—to teach Scotland a lesson. The king had told his men he wanted the mills to flow with the blood of the people of Berwick. He’d insisted that a strong show of force would prevent further deaths.

While Rylan had fought with the king in France and found much to admire about the man and his courage, his brutality in Scotland was difficult to understand. Garrick had to agree. No wonder unrest was spreading. Getting to the bottom of who was causing turmoil and perhaps even stopping it was Garrick’s daunting mission.

Chanse declared supper was ready and ladled generous portions of the savory soup into bowls. As the three men ate, they discussed the massacre and what it might mean for those who had survived.

Braden shared Rylan’s view—that the king had gone too far. “If such deeds had been committed against my family, I would seek revenge.”

“Indeed,” Chanse agreed. “His actions created a deep, burning hatred that may cause many to seek retribution.”

“The leaders of Scotland are surely against riling the king again,” Garrick argued, “though many desire Scottish rule rather than English.”

“Either path will leave some unhappy. Another revolt will no doubt come soon unless Scotland can unite in its goal.” Braden set aside his empty bowl. “We will need to tread carefully.”

Garrick nodded. “Rylan cautioned against asking too many questions. When we arrive, we will focus solely on forming a trading agreement. As English wool is prized for its fineness, that should be fairly simple. Once we’ve gained the trust of some of the townspeople, we will see what we can discover.”

“Father said he would be pleased to have an additional market for his wool as well,” Chanse offered. “Between both our families, we should have more than enough wool to peak someone’s interest.”

“We’ll mention we’re dissatisfied with the prices offered in London, which is true. Transporting the wool north to Berwick instead will not cost much more, assuming the price is right.” Garrick had gone through the details in his mind many times. He needed to treat this trade agreement as if it were his sole purpose.

“Were you given any names as to whom they suspect?” Chanse asked.

“Though Sir William Douglas was removed as governor of the city and remains imprisoned, his family still lives in Berwick. They are among the suspects.”

“Who now serves as governor?”

“Sir Gilbert de Umfraville, and he is under suspicion as well. He has strong ties to England but often sides with Scotland, depending on which side offers more benefit.”

“Have you seen anything to hint as to what we’re up against?” Braden asked, brows raised to emphasize his meaning.

Garrick shook his head. “Nothing clear yet.” He’d had several visions of a strange city, of different people, but nothing on which he could act.

As his cousins’ voices continued, a mist clouded his sight, muffling the sounds around him. The sensation was familiar, as though he was swimming underwater. Everything slowed. An image filled his mind, the location unclear. He saw the back of a woman, her long dark hair unbound. She turned to him, smiling as she looked up at him, her warm brown eyes alight with joy. Her slim figure curved in all the places that pleased a man.

His chest tightened as he drank in her beauty. Her large eyes were framed with dark brows that arched slightly in the center. Her lashes were long, her cheeks pink with good health. He reached out and she placed her hand in his, holding tight. Desire, strong and swift, poured through him, filling him with need. Her eyes heated as she drew nearer, her gaze catching on his mouth. He leaned closer, anticipation washing through him, for he knew her passion would match his. As his lips met the softness of hers, the vision vanished abruptly.

“Garrick?” Braden’s voice jerked him back to the present.

He rubbed a hand across his face. This was one vision he had no intention of sharing. “My apologies. I must be more tired than I realized.” The desire pulsing through his body was impossible to ignore. Who was that woman?

“I was asking if you wanted more soup.”

“Nay, I’m full.” He patted his belly. “I’ll rinse the dishes since Chanse prepared our meal.”

He quickly gathered the bowls and spoons and carried them to the stream, anxious to have a moment to gather his thoughts. The problem with visions was that he rarely had a sense of time with them. It might be years before he met her, or it could be on the morrow.

He hoped for the latter as he was most anxious to meet the mysterious woman who stirred him so.

 

~*~

 

Lady Sophia Douglas dressed for the day with the grim determination of a knight preparing for battle. She slipped the brown homespun kirtle over her linen chemise, smoothing the coarse fabric into place, so different from the velvet and satin gowns she used to wear. Next came the simple leather girdle that sat low on her hips and a small but sturdy knife to tuck in its scabbard. Her jeweled girdle had been one of the first of her belongings she’d sold. She looped a small leather purse onto the girdle she now wore as well. Unfortunately, few coins weighted it.

Her shoes had seen better days but should last into the summer if she took care. With quick fingers, she plaited her hair, not bothering to check her appearance in the small sliver of mirror that sat on a nearby table. She didn’t need to see the shadows under her eyes to remind her how tired she was. After tossing and turning most of the night, she’d overslept this morn. By the look of the empty pallets surrounding hers, her younger sister and her brother’s wife had already risen.

This day, she hoped to persuade Edgar, one of the most powerful merchants in the city, to help free her brother. But in order to do so, she needed to find a way to aid Edgar. Everyone wanted something, and he was no exception.

In the past two years, as tempers had slowly cooled and emotions had eased, she’d become adept at connecting those with goods or services to trade. That had enabled her to collect a few coins to keep food on the table and a roof over her family’s heads.

It hadn’t been easy. A few merchants refused to work with her because they blamed her brother for the siege that had devastated Berwick. Others were grateful for assistance. Edgar’s wealth and influence had grown considerably in the past year, and so she’d determined he was the most suited to aid her.

She lifted her chin, mentally preparing herself to face the day, then moved aside the cloth that served as a door to their sleeping chamber and stepped into the living area of the small cottage in which they now lived. Two pallets marked the spots for her younger brother and their maidservant, but neither was in sight.

The room was empty save for Eleanor, her brother’s second wife, who scowled at Sophia. “How can you bear it?” Her gaze took in Sophia’s attire with narrowed eyes.

“What?” Sophia was slowly losing patience with Eleanor. While she had suffered much since the English king had forever changed their lives, she made no effort to improve what little they had.

“To wear those rags each day.” The bitter twist to her mouth warned Sophia of the tirade to come.

“If I were to venture into the city wearing a fine kirtle, I would be even less welcome than I am now. Besides, I no longer have any. I sold them so we might eat.”

Eleanor’s lashes fluttered as she looked down at her own clothing, touching the gold embroidery that lined the neck. “I have two kirtles left. That is all. How can you possibly suggest that I—”

“I am not suggesting anything.” Sophia reined in her temper. The woman had had everything taken away after the siege—her husband, her home, and her son who’d seen only four summers. Her mind seemed to slowly be unraveling. The smallest comment could set her off, and Sophia needed her to keep her wits about her. “I’m sorry you find my attire lacking, but it is actually quite comfortable.” She bobbed a quick curtsy, hoping to make light of the topic.

Eleanor merely turned away.

“Spring will soon be upon us.” Sophia tried a more neutral subject. “We should decide what to plant in the garden.”

Eleanor spun to face her, and Sophia knew immediately she’d made a mistake. The snarl on Eleanor’s lips matched her tone. “I suppose you think I should plant and tend the garden.”

“I merely thought you’d like to assist us in doing so.”

Her scoff was answer enough. Sophia bit her tongue, wanting to shake the woman. She hadn’t been the most pleasant of people prior to the siege, but since then, she’d been impossible. The last day of the battle, when the castle had been breached, Sophia had gathered what belongings they could carry, decided who could be trusted, and secured their escape. Eleanor had moved about as though in a daze. In the fortnight that followed, Sophia had managed to find them a temporary place to stay, enough food to see them through, and sold some of her things so they could rent this cottage. She hated to think of all she’d done since then as it was both exhausting and daunting. All while Eleanor had sat first in numbed silence, and now, in derision.

Sophia couldn’t afford to waste time with either.

She’d taken action rather than allow the fog of despair to envelope her. They’d all lost more than they could bear. They’d all needed time to grieve. But survival came first. While some thought her insensitive to the devastation around her, she’d had no choice. Her family needed her, as did the servants, the tradesmen, the merchants—many of those who had previously depended on her brother now looked to her for assistance and direction.

Her brother, William, had served as governor of the city for several years as had their father before him. Their father had taken great pride in watching the city grow and prosper. He’d always told them that when the city prospered, so did Scotland as well as their family. Sophia had been taught from a young age to serve the people however she could. She had an excellent memory, was a skilled negotiator, and could charm honey from a bee when necessary.

But none of those skills had saved those massacred or their city. In the past two years, she’d learned not to take anything for granted, including each day.

“Have you seen Alec?” Sophia couldn’t remain here a moment longer without screaming at Eleanor. That would be a waste of time and energy, and she had none to spare.

Her brother popped his head in the door. “I’m waiting out here for you.” His wary glance at Eleanor explained why.

Her heart eased at the sight of him. “I’ll be right there.” She turned to Eleanor. “We’ll return soon.”

Her brother’s wife said nothing, only continued to smooth the gold trim of her kirtle as she sat in her chair at the table.

Sophia retrieved her cloak from the peg near the door, grabbed a basket, and left without a backward glance.

Alec lengthened his stride to match hers. At fourteen years of age, he’d had to grow up quickly but had become accustomed to the change in their circumstances more easily than the rest of her family. Sophia cast him a smile, ruffling his dark, wavy hair. Ilisa was the only fair-haired member of the family. Sophia, William, and Alec shared dark hair and brown eyes.

He ducked out of reach but grinned at her before sobering. “Why does she do that?”

“What?”

He waved a hand toward their cottage. “Choose not to help.”

She sighed. “I’m not certain Eleanor has a choice.”

“She demeans all we do yet refuses to do anything herself. Her gowns are far too elaborate to wear but she won’t allow us to sell them. She does nothing all day while we—”

“Alec. Enough. She has been through much, and she is not as strong as we are.” At least that’s what Sophia told herself.

He smiled. “Or mayhap ’tis that she’s not as stubborn.”

Sophia couldn’t help but smile. Alec’s ability to cheer her helped far more than he knew. “True. We Douglas’s are a contrary lot.”

The dawn church bells announcing the beginning of a new day had already rung. Their maidservant, Coira, had no doubt risen early to fetch water from the well along with other sleepy servants. When she returned to the cottage, the maid would set pottage to simmer over the fire. If supplies permitted it, she’d bake bread on a hot stone in their cottage for luncheon.

Blacksmiths and butchers would be up and about already, starting their day’s work on the other side of town. The rest of Berwick would soon follow suit, but for now, the streets were quiet.

Sophia glanced up at the keep on the rise a short distance away. Though it had been her home all her life, someone else occupied it now. A pang of longing for all they’d lost filled her as she studied the stone tower, which had once been her chamber. How often had she stared out its window at the city below, blissfully unaware of what was to come? More times than she could count.

“Ilisa said to tell you she wouldn’t return home until after supper,” Alec said, pulling her thoughts back to the present.

“Do the nuns have need of her so late?” Their sister had seen eighteen years and made herself useful at the nunnery since the siege. Even they had sustained damage in the attack. Repairs were still being made to some of their buildings as was true for other homes and businesses in the city.

“She is helping the sisters prepare the gardens for the spring planting.”

“She’s been spending a lot of time there.” Sophia worried about her. Younger than Sophia by two years, Ilisa had withdrawn into herself since the siege. She’d forgotten how to enjoy life. Sophia wished she knew some way to lighten her sister’s heart.

She shook her head. How sad that their lives were now defined by ‘before’ or ‘after’ the tragic event when so many had been killed and much of the city destroyed by the English king and his brutal soldiers.

When she closed her eyes to fall asleep each night, she imagined what it might be like to have a new beginning, to live in a town where no one had heard of the Douglas family. She imagined walking through the streets where friendly villagers called out greetings. Where no one snarled at her or blamed her family for the attack.

Such a thing seemed so far out of reach as to be impossible. For now, she’d settle for a day or two free of worry. In truth, she couldn’t imagine that either. Her sister wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten how to enjoy life.

Pushing aside her dismal thoughts, she focused on the tasks before her. “Allow us to buy some bread before we carry on with the rest of our day.”

Alec sniffed the air. “We’re nearly at the baker’s.”

Sophia could smell it now too. The aroma of freshly baked bread scented the street, causing her stomach to growl. Unfortunately, between now and the harvest, bread would be expensive. A movement from the shop next to the baker’s caught her eye, and she braced herself.

“Why are you still here?” The cooper’s widow stood in her doorway, glaring at Sophia and Alec. “You’ve done enough harm.”

Though her heart grew heavy at the woman’s words, Sophia gave her a polite smile but continued walking. “Good morn to you, Agatha.”

Alec stared straight ahead, his face flushing as they passed the shopkeeper.

Sophia put her arm around her brother’s shoulders. “Pay her no mind,” she whispered. “She lost her husband in the siege.”

“I fail to see how that is our fault,” Alec muttered. “Why do so many blame us?”

Sophia asked herself the same thing. In truth, she didn’t know. Rumors abounded that someone had let King Edward into the city that fateful day. Some suspected her or her family of doing so. That made no sense. Her brother’s loyalty had always been with Scotland. No advantage could come to him from siding with the English king.

That wasn’t the only rumor that traveled to her ears. She’d been blamed for all sorts of ill happenings. The only way she knew to battle those tales was to help others rebuild their lives when she could. All her life, she’d aided her brother, William, in her own way. Their mother and father had long since passed and once William had become governor of Berwick, when she’d been thirteen summers, they’d moved into the keep.

Already a bustling city on the English-Scottish border located near the mouth of the River Tweed, she’d understood her brother’s vision of expanding Berwick into a market hub for many countries.

Never had she expected it to be used by the king of England to drive home a brutal lesson to all of Scotland.

King Edward’s barbaric murder of thousands of men, women, and children who’d lived peacefully in this city had left such devastation that it would take decades to recover. Two years had put only a small dent in the rebuilding needed. Many residents had left and English merchants moved in, deciding the city was ripe with opportunity and safer after their king’s actions.

Sophia’s knowledge of the tradesmen, merchants, and growers was helpful to many. And if she could help the people here regain some of what they’d lost, she’d gladly do so.

Sophia and Alec purchased bread, the baker giving them an extra loaf for help in gaining him another source for barley flour.

“Let us stop by Alice’s home to see how she fares,” Sophia said.

Alec smiled. “Her three little boys are certainly boisterous.”

“With no father to guide them, she has her hands full. Mayhap you could offer to take them down to the river one day to fish with you.”

“I’ll ask her if that would be agreeable. Are you going to give her that extra bread?” He stared at the loaf she hadn’t yet tucked into the basket she carried.

“Indeed, I am.”

“What else will you do for her?”

Sophia smiled down at her little brother. “I’m going to suggest that her oldest might run a few errands for Dugald.”

“If you think Alice and her boys need help, why don’t you give them some of our coins?”

“We have none to spare. Besides, providing them a way to earn their own money allows them to keep their pride and help themselves.”

Pride was a luxury when times were bad, but with pride often came hope. What better way to keep her own hope alive than to help others keep theirs?

If this day went well, Edgar would negotiate with her. With luck, he was in need of something she could find for him and in turn, he would use his influence to help sway those who might free her brother and bring him home.