Prologue
Year of Our Lord 1315
Egremont House, English Borderlands
Shafts of sunlightfiltered through the high window in the armory to form dappled patterns on the plastered walls. Adam was slowly and meticulously polishing swords; holding each one up to the light and examining the surface for nicks or marks. He had only a sennight left in the service of Rory Baine, but was determined to be diligent until the very end. Everything was quiet, save the soft sound of rubbing and the occasional rasp of metal. The room was foursquare and sparsely furnished, with just one small window for light, but Adam had always enjoyed the sense of peace and purpose down here.
Overseeing the armory had been one of the first jobs granted to him when he joined the household. It was a weighty responsibility for a wee lad with narrow shoulders that still sagged with grief, but Adam, the only son of a tenant farmer, was well used to doing the work of a man. Now, ten summers later, he had grown half a head taller than the mighty Rory Baine, with shoulders that were broad and well-muscled, thanks to the strict regime of training at Egremont House. His skin was tanned from long hours outside and his eyes shone with hope for a future that was nearly within his grasp.
He hummed tunefully as he admired the intricate engravings on the hilt of a particularly fine broadsword. This belonged toRory’s son, Callum; a bright and kind boy some years his junior, whom he had trained as a swordsman and in so doing, grown to love almost like a brother.
Adam recalled the day that Rory had presented the sword to Callum. It was the same day that the strapping youth had first bested Adam in a sword fight. Beaming with pride, Adam had clapped Callum on the shoulder and proclaimed that his work was done; he had taught him all he knew. Rory promptly strode away from the training ground, causing Adam to fret that he had somehow displeased his ofttimes irritable mentor. But when Rory returned, a smile flickered at the edge of his thin lips. He held a long package out toward his son.
“’Tis time for you to have this,” he’d said.
Callum had slowly pulled the sword from its sheath and held it high, admiring the gleam of fine-crafted metal in the noontime sun.
Just as Adam was doing now.
He pursed his lips. He would miss Callum most of all when he left Egremont House. But the lad was already away in Lindum, training to be a knight. For all of Adam’s expert swordsmanship, that honor would never be accorded to him.
“And nor do ye want it,” he told himself severely.
Nay, he would never be a knight.
He would be a farmer, like his father before him.
He balanced the weight of the sword in his hand, imagining in its place a hefty hoe or pitchfork, and he laughed aloud, the sound ricocheting around the bare walls. Happiness bubbled in his belly, making him as lightheaded as a man well into his cups.
“A farmer,” he said, liking the solidity of the word. He took a breath. “A husband.”
The words fitted together, like hand and gauntlet.
He put down the sword and placed his palms on the smooth wooden work table. “Clara will be my bride.”
The dream he had longed for was now close enough to believe in. In mere days, Adam would wed his childhood sweetheart and become the happiest man in all the land. They would live with Clara’s parents, in the farmstead that had been in the Gowen family for generations. His days would pass in hard, honest toil. God willing, they would be blessed with children. It would be a simple life, but one filled with laughter and love.
He replaced Callum’s sword, his hand lingering only a moment over the hilt. He had never coveted the status or coin of the family that had taken him in. In truth, he pitied young Callum Baine for the pressures exerted on him by an ambitious father.
Adam wiped his hands on a leather cloth and put everything away tidily, before closing the door of the armory and climbing the narrow steps to the courtyard. Heat enveloped him and he blinked until his eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight. A few chickens scratched amongst the cobbles, but no one was about, save the lookout guards on the gate.
Before this summer, Egremont House had been a regular hive of activity. Lady Elizabeth, Callum’s mother, enjoyed nothing more than a steady stream of house guests who would hunt over the moors or picnic on the hills. The evenings would see laughter and music fill the feasting hall, and even Rory would crack a smile and tap his foot in time to the lute. But now, Lady Elizabeth’s health was failing: the shutters to her bedchamber were closed against the summer sun and her husband’s brow seemed creased in a perpetual frown.
Adam paused at the stop of the armory steps, his hands on his narrow hips and his dark hair mussed by the breeze. The silence was almost visceral and after a moment he realized what was so strange.
There was no birdsong.
He cocked his head to the side and listened closely, but the usual melody of woodland birds calling from the trees surrounding Egremont House had ceased.
A gust of wind blew grit into his face and in the same moment a cloud passed over the sun, casting the courtyard into shadow. As Adam rubbed at his eyes, someone shouted and the guards pulled open the main gates. Two riders trotted through the archway, both looming overly large: their horses moving as if in slow motion. He opened his mouth but struggled to catch a breath of the warm August air. One of the men spoke, his voice shrill with urgency, but before Adam could make sense of the words, his companion shot out an arm to silence him.
It was Rory Baine. His dark eyes were fixed on Adam as he rode toward him, his scarlet cloak billowing over his horse’s hindquarters.
Adam ordered himself to straighten up. He reached behind him for the granite wall of the armory and tried to take comfort in the sun-warmed stones, but there was something about the expression on Rory’s face that reminded him of that terrible day when he was but a wee boy.
A wee boy waiting in the barn for the physician to come out of the house and tell him that all was well.
Instead, it was his father’s old friend, Rory Baine, who appeared in the barn doorway and told Adam, not unkindly, that he was now an orphan.
