Page 1 of May Queen: May Day

Chapter 1

14th Century England

Woken by a noise from a sound sleep, Sir Ricard Wellington reached for his dagger under his pillow and hurled it at the door. His squire ducked just as the dagger embedded itself into the wood right above his head.

“Sir Ricard, stop! It’s me, Nash,” protested the young man, blocking his head with his hands.

“Bid the devil, Squire. How many times have I told you not to bother me while I’m sleeping?” Ricard groaned and rolled over in bed, burying his face in the pillow.

“My lord? I think you might want to get up,” the squire continued to talk, making Ricard’s head hurt even worse.

“What time is it?” mumbled Ricard, talking into the pillow.

“It’s just past the bewitching hour of midnight, my lord.”

Ricard had been having one of his dreams again. Every time he had this dream, it made him edgy and his heart raced. Now, hearing Nash say the word bewitching, Ricard’s eyes popped wide open and he bolted upwards into a sitting position.

“What did you say?” he asked, thinking of the nightmare of the witch with the auburn hair dancing around the Beltane fire.

“I said you might want to get up.”

“Not that part. Afterwards.” Ricard yawned and ran a hand through his tangled hair.

“I don’t know.” Nash shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t think I said anything, did I?”

With a deep sigh, Ricard fell back on the bed. “Leave me alone,” he mumbled, throwing his arm over his face and closing his eyes. “What does a man have to do to get a good night’s rest around here?”

“I just thought you’d want to greet your betrothed in the courtyard.”

“Betrothed?” Ricard’s arm fell away and he stared up at the ceiling. “Ah, that’s right. I am betrothed,” he said, letting out an exasperated breath. “I almost forgot about that.”

“The girl is here, my lord.”

“Here? Now? In the middle of the night?” Ricard sat up again, trying to make sense of this whole ridiculous situation. He also wanted to clear his mind of the horrible recurring nightmare. “Nash, you must be mistaken.” He ran a weary hand over his face. “Lady Gretta isn’t arriving here for another fortnight yet. Now go back to sleep and leave me alone.”

“Nay, my lord. It’s not Lady Gretta of which I speak. It’s Lady Flora.”

“Flora . . . Flora,” Ricard repeated, as if saying the name aloud would jolt his memory, but it didn’t do a thing to make him remember. “Nay, I don’t know anyone by that name, now let me sleep.”

“I’m told she is the cousin of your betrothed,” Nash informed him. “She, instead of Gretta, is here to marry you.”

“What on earth are you babbling about, Squire? I don’t know a Lady Flora and neither am I marrying her. I am betrothed to Baron Oswald Braxton’s daughter, Lady Gretta. We have an alliance and an agreement. Now leave me be.”

“Nay, you don’t have an agreement. Not anymore.” Nash shook his head. “It seems the baron has changed his mind. He’s betrothed you to his niece, Lady Flora, instead.”

“He can’t do that!” protested Ricard. “I’ll send a missive to him in the morning and we’ll clear up this situation then. Now go back to bed.” Ricard flopped back down on the bed trying to sleep. When Nash cleared his throat, Ricard answered without bothering to open his eyes. “What is it now, Nash? I swear I’ll have you cleaning out the garderobes in the morning if you bother me once more.”

“I don’t think you understand, my lord.”

“I understand that you are trying my patience and keeping me from my much needed rest.”

“You won’t have to send that missive to the baron after all.”

“Why not?”

“Because he is here with his niece and waiting in the courtyard for you to greet him at this very moment.”

“What?” Ricard sprang out of bed and yanked on a pair of breeches. “Why didn’t you say this to begin with, you fool?”