Prologue
Normandy—April 1437
Ramsay MacLaren yearned to go home. The difficulty was that he had neither a home nor any prospect of one in the near future. His parents were long departed from this realm. He had no surviving family, beyond his aunt in whose keep he had been a guest for too long and her two younger sons, due to inherit that abode. He knew that her generosity was exceptional, proof positive that they shared no blood. His uncle would have cast him out by now, if that man had not been dead. William MacLaren had not been a villain, like those of Ramsay’s own strain, but he had possessed a determination to defend what was his own as well as a remarkable ambition.
Those traits, too, were signs that they were kin. Ramsay’s own father could have taught a cleric to be ungenerous lest advantage be taken. Truly, there had never been a man who shared Ramsay’s blood who had been content with his lot, no matter how rich it might be. Even his mother had cared solely for her own advantage.
So fervid had been William MacLaren’s ambitions that he had left Scotland as a boy, abandoning his family and homeland to earn his way as a mercenary in France. So great was his success that he had won the hand of a wealthy and beautiful bride decades younger than himself, a sole daughter who inherited a magnificent estate. William had never returned to Scotland, the land he had despised, and rested now in the cemetery in that same impressive keep.
’Twas easy to consider him to be standing guard over his triumph.
Ramsay knew he lingered too long in the comfort of Château de Joie. To be sure, he was no idle guest. He competed in tournaments and shared a healthy measure of his earnings with his aunt, as a tribute to her kindness. He trained with the warriors in the employment of the holding and reviewed the security of the borders. He tutored the two sons of the house, fine boys both in training to become knights themselves.
But still, he was aware that neither his aunt nor this holding were his responsibility. He was useful, perhaps tolerated, but if his aunt wed again, he would be shown the gates without delay. He had no claim and neither did he wish for one upon this place.
He wanted a home of his own.
The gold ring in his purse, bought on impulse for a lady far above him, grew more weighty with every passing day.
“I would make you Captain of the Guard,” his aunt said one evening, when they were sipping mulled wine alone. “But of course, there is already Ferdinand and he has a family. I could not cast him out of his post for a nephew, however dear to me that nephew might be.”
“And Uncle appointed him.”
Eudaline smiled at the memory of her beloved, a sight that always made Ramsay wonder whether some woman at some time would bear a similar expression when thinking of him. He knew which one he would prefer to do as much, though that was madness. “He did, and he was always the best judge of character. Why, he knew that you were not of your father’s ilk, even before you met!”
“And I am forever grateful for his patronage,” Ramsay said, prompting his aunt’s smile.
“Such a man,” she said and sipped her wine. He heard a catch in her voice. “Blood of my own heart.”
Ramsay waited in silence for his aunt to compose herself. She was a woman some ten years older than himself, with blond hair and green eyes, still as slender as a maiden and so tiny that he towered over her. He smiled in recollection of how she had held William captive to her will, though Ramsay’s uncle had easily been twice her size, full of bluster, opinionated and a knight besides. She had been ripe with child when Ramsay had first met her, forty years younger than her husband, delicate but utterly confident that she held the power in their relationship.
He had not quite been ten summers of age, still in training with William’s ally, the Baron of Rainfirth, and by then fast friends with the baron’s son, Talbot. He and Talbot had been dispatched together to bring the Baron’s good wishes to William’s new bride and both had been astounded by her youth and beauty.
It seemed a veritable age ago. William and Eudaline’s two sons, Thierry and Godfroy, now fifteen and thirteen, had inherited both their father’s stature and his adoration of the lady in question. Even Talbot, ever skeptical of the merit of marriage, regarded Eudaline with admiration during his visits to Château de Joie.
That knight had arrived this very day, along with Otto, their former mentor, though both had retired early.
“Now,” Eudaline said briskly, her manner changing as she blinked back her tears. “What do you intend to do? Is there another tournament requiring your expertise?”
Ramsay smiled. “Strictly speaking, none of them require my expertise.”
“Ah, but they do. Much of the appeal in attending such an event is to watch the competitors, and you, dear Ramsay, always ensure that there is a measure of suspense. It is thrilling to watch you at joust.”
“I do not necessarily ensure as much, Aunt.”
Eudaline laughed lightly. “You contrive it oftentimes to improve the match.” She wagged a finger at him. “And I suspect to increase the wagers made against you. It is no accident that you always return heavily burdened with your winnings.”
Ramsay smiled. “The baron trained me well.”
“He said he had never seen a better student, while your uncle insisted he had never encountered a man more naturally gifted for warfare. So, you must tell me what you intend to do with your fortune.”
“I do not know.”
His aunt dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “Of course, youknow. You have had an objective all along. That goal is what has given you the hunger for success. If you do not wish to confide it with me, simply say as much, but do not pretend, Ramsay MacLaren, that you are a man who drifts from day to day without purpose.” She fixed a stern look upon him over the rim of her cup, then drained it. “I know better.”
Ramsay smiled. “I fear it would sound foolish if uttered aloud.”
“And thus your dream would vanish, dismissed as folly before you had truly attempted to gain it.” His aunt nodded wisely. “Let me tell you, Ramsay, only those dreams that can withstand the bright light of day have any chance of fulfillment.” She granted him an expectant look.
