“I’msixyears older, and Thomas isn’t a lady.” Ellie wrinkled her nose at her reflection in the looking glass and discarded the blue in the growing pile of unbecoming colors. The light pastels that were so favored right now did nothing for her dark hair and eyes.
Matty—whom pastels suited perfectly—narrowed her big blue eyes. There was nothing that annoyed Mathilda de Burgh more than having the freedom that her twin brother enjoyed pointed out. Her adorable chin set in a stubborn line, making her look like a mulish kitten. “That is a ridiculous reason, and you know it.”
Ellie shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “That’s the way of it.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” Matty took her hand and gave her a pleading look. With her silky blond hair, porcelain skin, red Cupid’s-bow mouth, and big blue eyes, it was hard to resist. But Ellie had had plenty of experience doing just that. To a one, all nine—eight—of her siblings were ridiculously gorgeous creatures with fair hair and light eyes. She and Walter had been the only ones with their father’s dark Norman coloring.
A hot wave of sadness washed over her. Now there was only her.
“That’s why tonight will be so much fun,” Matty prodded, not giving up. “It’s the only night we are allowed to swim with men. This is your last chance. Next year you’ll be off in England with your new husband.” She heaved a dreamy sigh.
Ellie’s stomach took a little tumbling dive as it always did at the mention of her impending nuptials, but she pushed through the sudden queasiness. “Maiden’s Plunge isn’t for women of our position.”
She bit her lip, sounding staid even to her own ears. As the pagan celebration of Yule had given way to Christmas, so, too, had the ancient Norse “Virgin’s Plunge” (renamed the Maiden’s Plunge so as to not further offend the church), where the pagans had sacrificed young maidens to Aegir the god of the sea, given way to the celebration of Candlemas—the day marking the end of the Christmas season. The church cast a disapproving glare on the pagan celebrations but did not try to forbid them. Perhaps because they knew any attempt would fail.
Every February 2nd at midnight, the local girls would jump into the ice-cold seas, and then race back to the shore to warm themselves by the enormous fires (instead of the saunas the Norse had used). The girl who stayed in the cold waters the longest was crowned the Ice Princess. Ellie had won the crown the last three times she entered. Walter used to joke that she must be part selkie, since cold water didn’t seem to bother her.
“You didn’t used to think so.” Matty shook her head, staring at Ellie as if she were a stranger. “I don’t understand, you used toloveswimming and the Maiden’s Plunge.”
“That was before …” Ellie stopped and swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. “I was just a girl. Now I have responsibilities.”
Matty was quiet for a moment as Ellie turned back to the fabrics on the bed that would become the gowns for her new life in England at the court of King Edward, as wife to his former son-in-law, Ralph de Monthermer.
“That’s not fair,” Matty said quietly. “You aren’t the only one who misses them. I miss them, too. But neither mother nor Walter would have wanted you to mourn them forever.”
The fever that had swept through the halls of Dunluce Castle two years ago had claimed not only her nineteen-year-old brother but also her mother, Margaret, Countess of Ulster. For Ellie—at the time, twenty-two—the fever had also claimed something else: the spirited young girl thirsting for adventure. As the eldest unmarried daughter, Ellie had taken on most of her mother’s duties as countess, including watching over her younger brothers and sisters.
What kind of example would she be to go frolicking half-naked in the sea?
This was the first time they’d been back to Dunluce Castle since her mother and brother—heir to the earldom—had died. They were supposed to meet her betrothed at Carrickfergus, the main stronghold of the Earl of Ulster, but King Edward had ordered them here instead. Though Ellie wasn’t in her father’s confidences, she guessed it had something to do with the never-ending hunt for Robert Bruce.
Her sister’s luminous eyes misted with tears and Ellie instinctively folded her in her arms. “I know you miss them, too,” Ellie sighed. “And you’re right. They wouldn’t want us to mourn them forever.”
Matty pushed back, a wide smile spread across her face, all vestiges of her tears gone. “Then does that mean you’ll come?”
Ellie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.Minx. She was as unrelenting as her godfather, King Edward.
“At least say you’ll think about it,” Matty interjected before Ellie could object.
Ellie had no intention of thinking about it at all, but Matty wasn’t the only one who knew how to get what she wanted. With five master manipulators still in her charge who didn’t like being told “no,” she’d had to adapt to survive. “Very well, I’ll think about it.”
Matty’s eyes widened. “You will?” She clapped her hands together excitedly. “It will be so much fun—”
“I’llthinkabout it,” Ellie stressed. ”Ifyou will help me pick out which of these should be made into gowns.”
She couldn’t seem to muster any enthusiasm for the task. Matty had an eye for color, which Ellie certainly did not. But there was more to it than that, and she knew it. Something was wrong with her. What else could explain the sickly feeling that washed over her every time she thought of her marriage? A marriage that by all objective measures she should be grateful for.
Despite a less than promising start, her betrothed was one of Edward’s most valued magnates, as well as his former son-in-law. Ralph had fallen in love with Edward’s daughter, Joan of Acre. They’d married clandestinely, and when the marriage was discovered, Edward had thrown Ralph—then only a simple knight—into the tower, relenting from executing him only after the intercession of the Bishop of Durham.
Eventually Ralph and his virulent father-in-law had reconciled, and he’d even taken the titles of Earl of Gloucester and Hereford while Joan was alive. Now, with Bruce on the run, Edward wanted to make sure he held her father’s support, so he’d proposed an alliance with his former son-in-law to show his gratitude.
Ralph was handsome and kind, cutting an impressive figure with his tall, broad-shouldered physique, and considered a great knight. He was a man who should be easy to admire.
Then why did her stomach turn, her heart flutter wildly, and her skin dampen in a cold sweat whenever she was in the same room with him?
And why, as the days to the wedding drew near, did she feel this strange restlessness growing inside her? Restlessness that made her want to do something crazy, like run through the sand in bare feet or pull off her veil and hairpins and feel the wind blowing through her hair.
Or plunge into the icy sea.
