The child in his arms cooed, distracting him from his thoughts. Casting her a glance, he was somewhat surprised to see that her eyes were open. In fact, she was gazing up at him and he found himself peering closely at the cross-eyed babe.
A beautiful infant, he thought, although he was no expert on children. But staring into the flawless little face, he realized he was at least willing to learn the finer elements of raising a child. Aye, he would guard her because above all else, he was a knight and he would complete his sworn duty or die in the attempt.
The babe cooed again and his gaze sought her once more, thinking she sounded much like a small animal.A kitten.When his eyes met with the wee little face, perfect and porcelain and curious, he would swear until the day he died that she was smiling at him.
CHAPTER ONE
My Lord Glendower:
As former Captain of the Household Troops for our glorious Richard II, I am obliged by my oath of loyalty to our former king to divulge information that, utilized correctly, should support your claim for Wales’ independence and perhaps magistrate King Henry’s submission at the very least.
I would relay this factual happening: On or about the first of December, 1384, Henry, being separated from his wife Mary de Bohun, fathered an illegitimate child. The child, a girl, was whisked into obscurity for safe keeping. It has taken me eighteen years to trace the whereabouts of the babe, now entering womanhood, and my reliable sources tell me that she is residing in Berkshire, masquerading as the Earl of Berkshire’s eldest daughter.
Beyond that, I know nothing. It has taken nearly all of my wealth to ascertain this evidence alone. But should this information be employed in a useful capacity against Henry’s growing opposition, I am positive the king can be managed. My sources tell me that he is diligently kept abreast of the girl’s well-being all of these years gone by.
I supply this information not for the glory of Wales. My reasons are my own. Use well the knowledge given, I implore you.
Written this fifteenth day of November
Leachwood Manor, Shrewsbury
Sir Charles de Worth
*
Year of our Lord 1402
Lambourn Castle
Berkshire, England
In spite ofthe chill cloaking the air, bugs danced upon the surface of the water like a thousand happy fairies, frolicking in the damp mist. In the reeds, frogs burped and water lilies hovered silently as small fish nipped hungrily at their edges. All would have been peaceful and serene in this delightful, icy little world had it not been for The Horde invading the shores of the blissful sanctuary.
The Horde was not comprised of a host of vicious cutthroats as indicative of such a title, but rather of three delicate, well-born young ladies. William de Lohr, part of the powerful de Lohr family and Earl of Berkshire, had saddled the women with the term because he was positive they were England’s secret military weapon. Not because they were born and bred for warring; their fragile white hands were barely beyond mastering a needle and thread much less a dagger. Lord de Lohr knew that he could have destroyed any foe simply by lodging the three young noblewomen into the heart of the enemy’s cause. Within an hour, their incessant female prattle would have driven God himself daft.
And this day was no different. As it was rapidly approaching the nooning meal, not one of the three realized the time. They had been too busy talking.
“I cannot believe you would venture into the lake, Emma. It’s far too cold.”
Lady Emma, skirts hiked up to her knees, smiled. “’Tis refreshing, Riss. Come in, ’else I shall be forced to throw you in myself.”
Arissa de Lohr wrinkled her pert nose distastefully. “I had a bath this morn and I shall not contaminate myself with that muck-polluted water.”
The blond companion seated on the cool grass beside her nodded in agreement. “Your legs are already turning green, Emma.”
“Her legsaregreen,” Arissa giggled.
Emma put her hands on her hips irritably. “They match your teeth.”
Arissa stuck her tongue out at her friend before bursting into a fit of snickers, revealing teeth that were anything but green. Straight, white, and beautifully complimented by a bow-shaped smile. But it was not merely the smile that was beautiful; the entire package that comprised the Lady Arissa Ellyn de Lohr was more magnificent than mortal man could comprehend. Barely eighteen years of age, she was a rare and precious enchantress.
Hair as black as a raven’s wing, satin and sheer with a hint of curl, tumbled to her buttocks. A sweet oval face displayed sensuous lips that men would gladly die for and eyes of the palest green hovered beneath delicately arched brows. With her thick lashes and pink cheeks, she was a beauty to behold.
“Is your surcoat finished for the celebration tomorrow night?” Arissa’s dry companion inquired.
The raven-haired beauty turned her attention the fair young maiden she had known since childhood. “Mother is finishing the surcoat herself. She insists that she’s the only seamstress qualified to work on it. Sweet St. Jude, ’twill be a miracle if she allows me to wear it at all given the care she’s given the garment.”
Emma sloshed onto shore with muddy feet. “Penelope made her own surcoat,” she said with a twinkle to her eye, demonstrating as she spoke. “The neckline is cut to her navel and sure to drive Daniel to his knees.”
