"Your parents must be proud of you for being chosen for such an important role in
the clan," Abigail observed as she and Guaire walked away from the smithy.
"No doubt they would have been pleased, but my father died during the war with
the English baron's forces."
"And your mother?"
"She caught a fever the next year and never recovered."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you. Sadly, the fever was not one we had experienced before the battle
with the English. Our healers did not know what to do."
"Often there is nothing you can do," Abigail replied, remembering her own fever
that left her life without sound.
Abigail's further meetings with the men and women of the Sinclair clan continued
to go surprisingly well. That was until they returned up to the motte and reached a small
cottage located behind the kitchens. Guaire introduced Abigail to Una, the housekeeper
and head cook for the residences of the tower.
The widow, who was only a few years older than Abigail and quite beautiful with
her dark red hair and doe-like eyes, gave her new lady a once-over that left no doubt she
found her laird's new wife lacking. "You're his forced English bride, then?"
"Una!" Guaire admonished. "The laird expects the clan to welcome her."
"She's English," Una spit out, her lovely features twisted in ugly disapproval.
A small boy who clung to his mother's skirts, peeked from behind her and scowled
at Abigail. "We hates the English."
Guaire gave Una a look that would have had Abigail taking a few steps back and
served to make the other woman avert her eyes at least.
Ignoring her for the moment, he dropped to one knee and looked right into the
young boy's eyes. "We do no hate our laird's wife. Where she comes from is of no matter.
She is a Sinclair now."
"Tamara was a Sinclair, too, but she had her English baron lover bring his forces to
our land and wage a coward's war, attacking with fire while our clan slept," Una replied
with venom. "Too many of us lost loved ones to an Englishwoman's treachery to forget it."