“Let’s pick up the pace,” Maira called out to the others, seeing the threatening black clouds overhead as soon as they exited the forest. “It’s going to storm and I don’t fancy arriving at Castle Durham dripping wet.”

Morag rode to her side. “Maira, I thought ye didna care how ye looked when ye met the High Sheriff.”

“I don’t,” answered Maira, glancing over her shoulder. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I get the feeling we are being followed. I am glad we made it through the woods without being attacked by bandits. However, I will feel safer once we are inside the safety of the castle walls.”

“I never thought I’d see ye run from danger, Maira.”

“I’m not running from danger,” she snapped. “After all, I’m riding right into the lion’s den, or did you forget? If I can’t figure out a way to make the High Sheriff change his mind about marrying me, even with my right to choose my husband, I think this is going to be a nasty situation that I would rather avoid.”

“I felt a drop of rain.” Morag raised her hood over her head, not liking to be cold or wet. Maira, on the other hand, liked the outdoors and welcomed nature and any kind of weather.

“I see the castle up ahead,” Maira told her. “If we pick up the pace we can make it inside before the storm.”

“I bet I could beat ye there,” said Morag, being her mischievous self.

“Nay, you could never outride me,” answered Maira. “Not while riding sidesaddle.”

“I’ll race ye,” said Morag, taking off before she even waited for Maira’s reply. Maira glanced over her shoulder once more, swearing she heard thundering hoofbeats in the distance. Then, as Branton rode by, she urged her horse into a full run.

“Out of the way, Branton. I’ve got a challenge to win and no one is going to stop me once I make up my mind to accomplish something.”

“Jacob, wait for us,” called out Will, driving the cart with the weapons much too fast over the rocky road through the forest.

Jacob kept getting glimpses of Maira and her traveling party, but every time he had to slow down and wait for Will and his men, he lost her again. He finally managed to get close enough behind them to see Maira, Morag, Branton, and the rest of the party just up ahead. If he moved quickly, he could hopefully manage to catch up with them and somehow get Lady Maira separated from the group. Then he would be able to get his dagger returned.

Lightning flashed across the sky followed by a loud crash of thunder that scared the horse pulling the wagon.

“Whoa, girl, whoa,” shouted Will, trying to hold back the horse as it reared up on two legs. “Jacob, help!” called out the squire, losing control.

Jacob brought his horse to an abrupt stop as the sky opened up and the rain pelted down all around them. He looked back to see that the wagon lost a wheel and the horse was pulling Will and the damaged cart through the forest aimlessly. Will was unable to stop the skittish horse.

“Dammit, not now.” Jacob glanced back the other way to see Maira and the others pick up their pace. They rode at full speed toward the castle. There was nothing he could do about it now. He turned and headed his horse back toward Will. Reaching out, he grabbed the reins, stopping the skittish mare. The rest of his men rode up from behind to help.

“We’re nearing camp,” said Roger. “After the rain lets up, we can get the others to come back with tools and spokes to help change the broken wheel.”

“Nay, we’ll do it now,” said Jacob. “We can’t risk that someone will see our wagon on the road and find our camp. Men, take the weapons back to camp on horseback and fetch some tools and supplies. The wagon is in a ditch and it will take several of us to pull it out. Will and I will calm the horse and find whatever pieces we left in our path. I don’t want a trail leading right to our hidden camp.”

“What about the girl?” asked Will, nodding toward Durham Castle in the distance. “Are you just going to let her keep your dagger?”

“For now,” he said, peering down the road, knowing he would have to enter the castle to retrieve his blade now. “I am going to collect everything that belongs to me as well as everything I want.”

“Want?” Will raised an eyebrow. “Please don’t tell me you want Lady Maira, my lord. That would make for a very uncomfortable situation.”

“Then prepare to be uncomfortable, Squire.” Jacob clenched his jaw glancing in the direction of Durham Castle. “I have decided I want Lady Maira, and I won’t let the High Sheriff marry her. Nay, I will have her if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

Riding into the courtyard of Durham Castle, Maira felt like she was riding to her doom. Rain fell fast and heavy, making her shiver as she entered through the front gates. The wall walks were lined with guards. Servants bustled about, hurrying to get out of the torrential downpour. A stableboy led several horses to the barn while the kennelgroom rounded up the hounds. The storm came upon them fast and caught everyone unprepared.

Durham Castle sat high upon a hill overlooking a valley that led into the forest. Even in the rain it was a majestic sight to see. The huge stone structure seemed to have a chapel connected as she could see the ornate windows that even had colored glass. That was a very expensive addition that usually was reserved for men with much wealth, the clergy, or the king himself.

The many turrets and the fortress of thick walls surrounded her, making her feel trapped from the moment she rode under the large iron gate. The High Sheriff must be a very wealthy man, indeed. Inside the courtyard were many out buildings and off to the side was a very large stable to house the horses. She was interested to see more but, right now, all she wanted to do was to get in out of the rain. It had been a long and tiresome journey and she was hungry and cold.

“Might I take your horse, my lady?” A young boy dressed in a thin wet tunic with bare feet ran up and held out his hands for the reins. She figured he couldn’t be a page dressed like this, and must be the son of a servant. What she didn’t understand was why the High Sheriff didn’t even give the boy a pair of shoes to wear. The man must be an ogre to treat his servants this way.

“Thank you,” said Maira, dismounting, and handing the boy a coin for his trouble. “Now get in out of the rain before you catch your death of cold.”

“Aye, my lady,” said the boy hurrying to the stable. Branton helped Morag dismount and led their horses to the stable as well.

“I’ll bring your trunks inside as soon as I finish with the horses,” Branton called back over his shoulder. He didn’t let the rain bother him and continued with his duties no matter what the conditions. Branton had been sent to look after the girls and that is exactly what he did. Maira felt bad now, telling him earlier that he would never be a squire. He was five and ten years of age but had the skills required of a squire and also the demeanor and loyalty involved. Plus, he was good with a blade. Perhaps he would be some knight’s squire someday after all.

“Hurry, Maira, let’s get in outta the rain.” Morag held her hood over her head and ran for the keep. Maira followed. When she got to the keep, she saw a seasoned man standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He was tall with a round belly. Around him were several guards and behind him stood a nursemaid holding the hand of a toddler.

“Lady Maira, I presume?” the man said to Morag as she approached him. He had dark hair, graying around the temples. A full beard and mustache covered his face. His skin looked weathered and Maira noticed small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead. One cheek had a mole on it that was dark brown and hairy. She flinched inwardly but stayed quiet.

This scoundrel wasn’t much of a knight. Instead of venturing into the rain to see to his guests’ needs and the needs of a lady, he stood dry inside the keep only worrying about himself. Branton was acting more like a knight than this man was right now.

“Och, I’m no’ Lady Maira, I’m Lady Morag,” said Morag, lowering the hood of her cape to look at the man who Maira realized was the lord of the castle.

“Too bad. You’re a comely one,” he said with a grunt. “Why are you here?”

“I came with my cousin at the request of the Earl of Rothbury,” Morag explained. “I hope ye dinna mind.”

“Where’s my betrothed?” he asked, looking out into the pouring rain.

Maira walked up slowly, hood down and with water dripping from her long, strawberry-blond hair. She figured the worse she looked the better the chance the man wouldn’t want her for a bride after all. That is exactly what she hoped for. If he despised her, he’d send her back to Rothbury and she wouldn’t have to stay a fortnight like her father told her. The quicker she got out of here the better.

“I’m Lady Maira,” she said, stepping inside the door to the keep.

The man perused her from head to foot, no expression at all upon his face.

“You’re making a puddle on my floor,” he complained.

“It’s raining, my lord, if you haven’t noticed.”

“You’ll call me High Sheriff like everyone else around here.”

“Excuse me, High Sheriff, but I’m cold and wet and would like to retire to my chamber now.”

“You’re early. Your room isn’t prepared yet. Go wait by the fire until I give you word.”

“Aye, my lord High Sheriff,” she said, using both titles just to spite him. As she walked past him, he called out to stop her.

“Wait! What’s that?” he asked.

“What’s what?” Maira turned a full circle, looking at the ground, not sure what he meant.

“On your back,” he said in a low growl.

“Oh, this.” She unsheathed her sword and held it in front of her.

Instantly, the guards standing by the man drew their swords.

“It’s my sword,” she told him.

“A wench with a sword?” Sir Gregory spat on the ground at her feet. “I won’t allow my betrothed to walk around sporting a weapon. Take the blade,” he commanded one of his men with a quick jerk of his head.

“My sword stays with me,” she told him in a firm and steady voice. “It was a gift from my father, one of the Legendary Bastards of the Crown. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to tell him you took it away from me, would you?” Maira raised her other hand to stop her blade from being taken away.

The High Sheriff seemed to consider her words. “I don’t want to see you wearing that again. Do you understand?”

“Oh, so then you won’t want me wearing these either?” She moved aside her cloak to show him the display of daggers attached to her waist belt.

“Egads,” growled the man. “You are nothing like a lady. Why wasn’t I told this ahead of time?”

“If I’m not a lady to your liking, then perhaps you’d like to find another to wed. I’ll collect my things and be on my way immediately.”

“Nay. The earl and your father have made an alliance with me and you’ll not be going anywhere,” said the man. His eyes fell to her waist and his face froze. “Where did you get that jeweled dagger?” He took two steps toward her and reached out for it, but she covered the hilt of it with her hand and stepped back.

“It’s mine,” she answered. “I got it . . . from a friend.”

“That’s a lie,” he grunted. “That dagger used to be my wife’s.”

“I don’t know who you mean and I assure you the blade is mine.”

“Lady Catherine was my wife. She died six months ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear of her passing, High Sheriff. But once again, this couldn’t be her dagger, because it’s mine.”

“It was stolen from her years ago. I never thought I’d see it again.”

“I could use a cup of warm, mulled spiced cider and so could my cousin,” said Maira, trying to take attention away from her dagger. “We would like to warm up at the fire.” Maira took Morag by the arm and led her to the great hall.

“Maira, ye walked away before we were dismissed,” whispered Morag as they entered the great hall and headed over to the fire.

“I don’t care.” Maira reached over her shoulder and sheathed her sword as she walked. “I told you, I don’t want to marry the man so I am not going to listen to a word he says.”

“Nay, put that down,” came the High Sheriff’s bellow.

Maira turned around to see the woman and the toddler standing by the High Sheriff. The little boy had something in his hand and was bringing it to his mouth.

“You’ll not put the rushes in your mouth again.” The High Sheriff reached out and slapped the boy’s hand and then spanked him. The little boy wailed loudly, which only earned him another spanking from the lord of the castle.

“Wait here, Morag,” said Maira, hurrying across the great hall and stopping right in front of them. “Do not hurt that boy again,” she told Sir Gregory.

The look of surprise on his face told her he was appalled by her action. “You will not tell me how to treat my son,” snapped the High Sheriff.

“Your son?” Maira asked, surprised to hear this. A man like him didn’t deserve children, and especially not a little boy as cute as this one. “No one told me I was to be a stepmother. I would like to get to know the boy.” While Maira didn’t plan on marrying the man, if she pretended like she was going to, she might be able to protect the child.

“It’s all right,” she told the boy, getting down on her knees and holding him to her chest. She rubbed his back as he cried into her wet clothes.

“Get up,” commanded Sir Gregory. “You are making a spectacle of yourself. Nursemaid, take the boy above stairs and put him to bed without any dinner.”

“Aye, High Sheriff,” said the woman, holding out her arms for the boy. Maira didn’t want to let the child go. Something inside her made her want to protect him although she had no ties to him at all. But then she saw the fear in the nursemaid’s eyes. While Maira didn’t want the boy to be punished, neither did she want the servant to suffer for her interference. She released the boy and got to her feet. With a slight nod of her head she told the woman to take him.

“You’ll not interfere with the discipline of my son again.” Sir Gregory took her by the arm tightly and headed toward the fire in the great hall.

“I don’t feel as if the boy deserved a slap and a spanking just for putting the rushes in his mouth.”

“I don’t care what you think. I will not let a stranger interfere with how I raise my son.”

“Stranger?” she asked, feeling her blood boil. “If we’re to be married, then that would make the boy my stepson.”

“Perhaps so, but that doesn’t change a thing. I’ll not have a boy who cannot obey my orders.”

“I can’t sit by and watch a defenseless child be hurt by the hand of a full grown man.”

His eyes bore fire and she knew she’d angered him even more. “Page, escort Ladies Maira and Morag to their chamber,” called out the man.

“I thought it wasn’t yet prepared,” she answered snidely.

“I will not be questioned again. Now, you’ll go to your chamber and no food will be sent tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps, you’ll see things differently and learn your place as my betrothed.”

Tomorrow, Maira thought, she would be long gone from here if she could help it.

Once inside their chamber, Maira closed the door and then rushed over and looked out the open window. It continued to rain. This wasn’t going to make her escape easy.

“Maira, that man is horrible,” said Morag. “What are we goin’ to do?”

“We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“How are we goin’ to do that?”

“I don’t know.” She paced back and forth. The guards from Rothbury who escorted them there were already gone. Nightfall was upon them and the storm continued to grow worse. Rain blew in gusts through the window so Maira closed the shutter and turned around. Morag sat on the edge of the bed hugging her arms around her. Her cloak and hair were dripping wet and her teeth chattered.

“You’re cold and wet,” said Maira, ignoring the fact that she was too. She hurried over to the hearth and lit a fire. “Take off that wet cloak and come warm yourself,” she instructed.

“Maira, I’m so tired and hungry,” said Morag. “I want to go back to Rothbury. Nay, I want to go home to Scotland and be with Fia and the bairn, and with my family.”

“I know, Morag. I don’t like it here either.”

Morag wasn’t as strong as Maira and started to cry. “The High Sheriff is angry with ye, but yet he is punishin’ me as well. What are we goin’ to do?”

Maira’s brash actions had caused trouble for Morag. It was something she never meant to happen. One night of being cold and wet and hungry wasn’t something that would break Maira. But Morag needed to be cared for and Maira knew now that she shouldn’t have come on so strong with the High Sheriff so quickly.

“I’m sorry about this, Morag. And you are right that you shouldn’t be punished for something I did. You stay here. Branton will arrive with our trunks soon. When he does, change into warm clothes and get into bed. I’ll be back.”

“Maira, dinna leave me,” said Morag, wiping a tear from her eye.

“I’m going to sneak down to the kitchen to find us some food. I promise I won’t be long.”

“Hurry back. And be careful.”

“I will.” Maira opened the door to find Branton and the young servant boy with the bare feet hauling their trunks to the room.

“Lady Maira, where do you want these?” asked Branton.

“Just put them against the wall inside the room.”

“I will. But where are you going?”

“The High Sheriff has already sent us to our chamber with nothing to eat. I am going to sneak down to the kitchen to find some food.”

“But if the High Sheriff sees you, he’ll be furious,” said Branton.

“Then I’ll make sure I don’t get caught.”

“How will ye do that?” asked Morag, coming to the door.

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure where to find the kitchen.”

“My mother is a cook at the castle,” said the young boy. “I can show ya.”

“What is your name?” asked Maira.

“I’m Tommy.”

“Thank you, Tommy. I would like that. Branton, will you stay here with Morag until I return?”

“I will,” said Branton, hauling the trunks into the room. “Will you bring me some food, too? And some wine or ale?”

“Fine,” she said, taking to the corridor with Tommy. “How old are you, Tommy?” she asked the boy as they walked.

“I’m nine,” he said. “I’m only the son of a servant but hope to someday be a page.”

“Where are your shoes?”

“I outgrew my shoes. My mother said my feet are too big for my body.”

“Well, why don’t you get some bigger shoes?”

“We don’t have any money. But now that you gave me this, I am going to save it so someday I can pay a cobbler to make me a pair of shoes.” The boy held up the penny she gave him, smiling and showing the missing spaces where he had lost a few teeth.

She spoke in a soft voice as they headed down the corridor. “Why doesn’t the High Sheriff give you shoes? He should take care of his servants.”

“Before Lord Emery died, we used to have everything we needed. But Lord Gregory is mean and doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Maira, her heart going out to the boy. “But now that I’m here, I will make sure you have a pair of shoes to wear as well as anything else you need.”

“Are you going to be the new Lady of Durham since Lady Catherine died?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” she said, not wanting to reveal to the boy that she had no intention of sticking around that long. “Tell me, where is the kitchen? This castle is so huge that I’m afraid I’m already lost.”

“The kitchen is next to the great hall,” he told her. “But we can’t go that way or the High Sheriff will see you.”

“But I need food for my friends.”

“There’s another way we can go, and no one will see you at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“This way,” said the boy, leading her down a darkened corridor that looked as if it were a dead end.

“This doesn’t lead anywhere,” she told him, thinking he was playing a game with her.

“It does, if you know about the secret passageway.”

“Secret passage?” She looked around but, in the dark, couldn’t see an opening anywhere.

“Under here,” he told her, pulling aside a hanging tapestry and pushing against the wall. She heard a creaking noise and then felt a gush of stale air hit her in the face. There was a soft light coming from up ahead. “There’s the kitchen,” he told her, leading the way.

In the dark, Maira ran her hand against the wall to guide her way. They came upon a maze of openings, and as her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she could see cracks of light every so often.

“What’s down these corridors?” she asked, hearing her voice echo in the tunnel.

“They lead all over the castle,” the boy told her.

“Does the High Sheriff know about these passageways?” she asked curiously, already devising a plan of escape.

“Nay, my lady. The servants know about them, but no one has told him, just in case we need a place to hide. Lord Emery never used them and it has only been since the High Sheriff took over the castle that we started using them again.”

“Interesting,” she said, making a mental note of where to find the entrance to the secret passageway.

The boy pushed aside another tapestry and they entered into the very busy kitchen. None of the servants even paid them any attention as they went about their work. Servants hurried to and fro, baking bread in the large, brick ovens, and turning roasted meat on spits over the open fires. There was a scullery at the far side of the room where the servants washed the dirty dishes in water that they hauled from the well outside.

“My mother is over here. I want you to meet her,” said Tommy, taking her hand and pulling her across the room. The servants all looked tired and gaunt and very dirty. She wondered when they’d last washed their clothes or had a bath.

“Mother, this is Lady Maira,” said Tommy, stopping in front of a butcherblock table. A tall, thin woman wearing a wimple and a gown covered in flour turned her weary eyes to meet her.

“My lady!” She dropped the dough she was kneading and curtsied. Some of the other servants heard her and stopped what they were doing and bowed and curtsied as well.

“No need for that,” she told them with a wave of her hand. “Please, go on and get back to your chores.” The last thing she needed was the High Sheriff seeing his servants bowing to her right now.

“Tommy, why did you bring her in here when we’re working?” scolded his mother. “If the High Sheriff knows, he will be furious.”

“I asked him to,” Maira told the woman. “I was hoping to obtain some food for myself as well as my cousin and my page.”

“But . . . shouldn’t you be sitting at the dais next to the High Sheriff?” asked the woman.

“She’s being punished,” said Tommy. “Lord Gregory sent her to her chamber without supper, just like he did to Ricker.”

“Ricker?” she asked.

“His two-year-old son,” said the woman. “Since Lady Catherine died, the boy has been so frightened of Lord Gregory that he stopped talking all together. We’re all worried about him.”

“That’s terrible,” said Maira, feeling as if the High Sheriff were a tyrant who needed a good thrashing.

“Servants, what is holding up the meal?” bellowed the High Sheriff from the great hall.

“Quickly, take some food and then you must go,” said the woman. She took a basket and filled it with bread and cheese. Then she used a towel to pull a chicken off a spit, wrapping it and putting it into the basket as well. “Tommy, get that bucket of hot cider and a ladle for my lady. And bring a goblet as well.”

“Aye, Mother,” said the boy, hurrying to do as told.

“Thank you,” said Maira, taking the basket from the woman. “What is your name, if I might ask?”

“I am Cleo,” she told her, taking the goblet and adding it to the basket. “Tommy, carry the bucket of cider to the room for Lady Maira. Then hurry back and tend to your chores before Sir Gregory notices you are gone.”

“Nay, I don’t want him to be punished. I’ll take it. Thank you,” said Maira, taking the bucket from the boy.

“Hurry,” said Cleo, looking over her shoulder. “The High Sheriff is heading this way.”

Maira took the basket of food and the cider, ducking behind the tapestry and making her way slowly through the darkened tunnel. Not able to see where she was going, she made a wrong turn and ended up getting lost. Seeing a stream of light coming from a hole in the wall, she walked over and looked through it.

“It’s someone’s bedchamber,” she said to herself, realizing this was a peephole. Oftentimes, castles had secret passageways and peepholes for the lord of the castle to spy on his guests. That made her wonder if there was a peephole in her room as well.

“Maira? Are ye in there?” came Morag’s voice echoing through the tunnel from somewhere up ahead. “Maira, where are ye?”

Maira followed Morag’s voice, finding her way out of the darkened maze of tunnels.

“I’m here,” she called out, seeing a light up ahead. Branton held back the tapestry while Morag, holding a lit candle, poked her head into the tunnel. “How did you know where to find me?”

“You should know Morag by now,” said Branton. “She is too much of a busybody to stay put like you told her. As soon as you left with the boy, she insisted we follow.”

“I am no’ a busybody, I was just concerned for the safety of my cousin,” Morag answered with a sniff.

“It doesn’t matter.” Maira, for once, was glad that Morag was being curious. “I’m glad you followed or I might have been lost in these dark tunnels for the rest of the night.”

“Where do they lead?” Morag stretched her neck to look inside.

“I’m not sure, but they do lead to the kitchen, that much I know. I’ve got food and hot cider. Let’s go back to the room and have something to eat by the fire.”

“I’ll carry that,” said Branton, taking the bucket of cider from her. They made their way back upstairs and were heading to their chamber when, through a closed door, Maira heard a child crying.

“Wait,” she said, stopping the others. “I think that sounds like the High Sheriff’s young son, Ricker. I want to make sure he is all right.”

“Dinna get involved,” warned Morag. “The High Sheriff willna like it and might punish us again.”

“Aye,” added Branton. “He’s not a very friendly man. I agree with Morag. Let’s go back to the room and eat this food. I’m starved.”

“You two go back to the room, but first give me some of the food.” She reached into the basket and, using a cloth, pulled a chicken leg off the carcass and wrapped it up. Then she tore off a hunk of bread and picked up the goblet, scooping some hot cider out of the bucket.

“What are ye doin’?” asked Morag.

“I’m taking the poor boy something to eat. He is probably crying because he is hungry. Now go on, I’ll meet you back at our chamber.”

“But Maira,” said Morag, sounding very worried.

“Come on, Morag,” Branton told her, taking the basket and bucket both. “Once Lady Maira makes up here mind, there is no stopping her.”

They left down the corridor. Maira reached up and knocked upon the door where she heard the child crying. The boy wailed loudly and the nursemaid tried to calm him. Since they couldn’t hear her knocking, Maira pushed open the door and stepped inside the room. The nursemaid looked up in surprise, jumping up from the bed, leaving the little boy laying there, crying.

“My lady,” said the woman, wringing her hands in front of her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you knock.”

“That’s all right,” Maira told her. “I heard the boy crying and thought he might be hungry, so I brought him some food.” She stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her.

“Oh, nay,” said the nursemaid, holding out her hands and shaking her head. “The High Sheriff has punished the boy. You can’t give him food.”

“I don’t feel it’s right that a two-year-old boy is punished and deprived food, do you?”

“It is not for me to judge. Please, my lady, you really should go.”

“The reason the boy was eating the rushes in the first place is probably because he was hungry, don’t you think?”

“I – I – I’m not sure.” The woman looked down to the floor when she answered. “The High Sheriff often punishes his son by depriving him of food.”

“Well, now that I am here, that is going to change.” Maira walked over and sat down on the bed with the food wrapped in the cloth on her lap and the goblet of cider in her hand. “Ricker, Honey, I brought you some food. Are you hungry?”

The little boy stopped crying and sat up wiping his eyes. In the firelight, Maira noticed his beautiful hazel eyes with little specks of green. He had dark hair and a cute little button nose. His gaze fixated on the goblet.

“This is spiced cider,” she said, holding out the goblet for him to have a taste. “You must sip it slowly since it is hot.”

The boy reached out both hands for the cup. Maira held on to it while the boy took a sip. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. Then his eyes dropped to the bundle on her lap. Maira reached out and placed the goblet on a bedside table and proceeded to unwrap the food.

“Do you like chicken?” she asked the young boy.

His eyes lit up and he nodded. She held out the chicken leg and he took it in his little hand and bit into the thick juicy meat. Devouring it hungrily, he looked over for the bread next.

“Here you go,” said Maira, handing him the chunk of bread and wiping her hands off on the cloth.

“Lady Maira, you are very kind,” said the nursemaid.

“What is your name?” asked Maira.

“I am Teresa,” said the woman.

“Why does the High Sheriff treat his son so poorly? He is a noble, and should be spoiled instead of punished. Especially since he is the High Sheriff’s heir. Is Ricker his only child?”

“He is,” said the woman. “And the High Sheriff didn’t use to treat the boy this way while Lady Catherine was alive.”

“What happened?” asked Maira curiously.

“Lady Catherine died a few months ago. She had been ill and called for the Bishop of Durham to be at her side. Lady Catherine’s father used to invite him to the castle every year on St. Catherine’s Day to celebrate. They became friends over the years. The High Sheriff, who was only called Sir Gregory back then, became a friend of Lord Emery’s as well as the bishop.”

“St. Catherine’s Day,” repeated Maira, being familiar with the day where women under the age of twenty-five prayed to St. Catherine to find them a husband. “Did their celebrating the feast day have anything to do with the fact Lord Emery’s daughter was named Catherine?”

“I think so, my lady. Lady Catherine’s late mother was from France where the feast day originated. She didn’t want her daughter to be a woman who never married, so they prayed every year to find a good husband for her. It is said that is why they named her Catherine, after the saint.”

“And the best husband for her that they could come up with is Sir Gregory?” she asked.

“It isn’t my place to say.”

“I’m sorry, go on with your story.” Maira might have spoken her thoughts aloud and didn’t want Teresa to feel uncomfortable by it.

“All I was going to say was that after the bishop’s last visit the High Sheriff started acting odd and being mean to his son.”

“I wonder why,” said Maira.

“No one knows. But little Ricker was so traumatized after the death of his mother that he hasn’t spoken a word since. He is also frightened of his own father. I feel bad for the boy, but I have to abide by the lord’s orders, my lady. You understand.”

“Oh, I understand all too well,” said Maira, getting to her feet. “The High Sheriff of Durham is a tyrant, a bully and an ogre. Everyone in the castle seems to be afraid of him, but he isn’t going to scare me.”

“My lady, please don’t tell Lord Gregory you were here giving food to the boy,” said Teresa, her eyes wide with fear. “He will punish all of us for this action.”

“My lips are sealed,” Maira promised. “I will be leaving in the morning and when I return to Rothbury, I’ll send word to my father and let him know about the conditions here. Hopefully, he will be able to do something to help all of you.”

“Leaving? But you are the High Sheriff’s betrothed, are you not?”

“Not anymore. My father and my guardian might have made the alliance for me, but I have been granted permission by my late grandfather, King Edward III, to choose which man I will marry. And I promise you, it will not be the High Sheriff of Durham.