Mary Reed McCall - The Crimson Lady

It was the first time in two bitter months of

Braedan de Cantor, eldest son in a family known as

The steady rhythm of their horses hooves might have lulled

Fiona held herself stiffly as she moved toward the center

Fiona wanted to curl into a corner and sleep for

It was an unusually hot sun for springtime, Fiona thought

Your sister? Braedan swung his gaze to Fiona, but she

Will led them the remaining distance to the outlaws settlement

It was a fine day for a robbery, Fiona thought.

It had been a profitable fortnight since theyd joined Wills

Fiona tightened the poultice-soaked bandage around Nates thigh,

Fiona eyed the handful of coins and the single silver

Fiona ran blindly, her throat choking with panic. Tears slid,

Braedans knees buckled in the aftermath of their climax, but

Fiona lay alone in the silence of their tree shelter

I am not staying behind when you go to London,

Braedan stood in the alley behind the Bell and Cock

Fiona stepped away from the door on legs gone numb,

Fiona stood rigidly as she watched Dravens men dragging Braedan

The afternoon was fast waning, Fiona realized, shivering as she

Fiona dragged the trunk over to the only window shed

It was to be the day of reckoning for them

Braedan crossed the grounds to the main keep of his

Chepston Hall, London
December 1281

I t was the first time in two bitter months of damp, drizzle, and rain that Fiona could remember feeling warm. Or full with food and drink. Or clean from the unheard-of luxury of a bath. Soft garments caressed her skin, and her hair hung unbound in waves to her hips, already dry after having been washed and brushed out until it shone.

But despite all that, she knew deep in her bones that something was wrong here. Very wrong

She was supposed to begin work this day as a scullery maid, Mama had told her. It was good, honest, labor, a position that would take her away from the hunger and cold of the streetsfrom the difficult life Mama herself endured as a common woman of the stewes , available to any man who paid for the night with her. It would lead her to something better. A fresh beginning, Mama said. The answer to their prayers

Fiona suppressed a shiver, clenching her fingers into the folds of the unfamiliar, silky fabric that clung to her body and slid across her thighs. It was light as gossamer, this gown shed been given. A magical creation, worth a fortune, surelymore than Mama could make in a thousand nights of her demeaning work. So fine and delicate.

Not the dress of a scullery maid.

Come, girl, the older woman next to her said gruffly, taking her by the elbow and leading her the remaining length of the hall, toward the carved, wooden door that loomed ahead.

Theyd reached the top floor of this imposing keep, the main building of a rich, walled-in estate that stood a goodly way upriver across from the stewes . A man had slipped some silver coinsadvance salary hed saidinto Mamas palm. Then, as shed stood with Fiona, teary-eyed, outside the alehouse, he had hurried Fiona into a carriage and brought her the distance. But rather than leading her through the kitchen, as shed expected, shed been taken into the main hall, then off to a little room where the heated tub was waiting; shed been bathed in scented water, dried, pampered, and fed all she could eat before being dressed in this crimson gown, chosen for her by the master himself, shed been told.

It was a mistake, she was sure. A terrible, awful mistake. Shed tried to voice her protest. Hungry as she was, shed tried to deny the food theyd put before her, fearful that shed be made to pay for it all, once they discovered their error in treating her so well. But her worries had been ignored. And so she resolved to try again to make this stern, silent woman who was leading her along this darkened corridor listen to her, before the panic and disbelief that had risen higher in her throat with every step suffocated her altogether.

Please, mistress, tis wrong, me bein here, she whispered, more frightened than shed ever been in all of her fifteen years. Me mam told meIm to be washin pots and scrubbin vegetables. I dont belong above stairs

Hush, child, the older woman said, not unkindly. I know well enough why youre hereand you will, too, before long, I daresay. Theyd reached the massive, carved door. The woman drew up next to it, her lips pursed and her back as straight and unyielding as the wooden slab before her. Another shiver raced up Fionas back, though this time not from cold or the sweep of silken fabric against her skin. She swallowed and twisted her fingers tighter into her gown, her gaze straining to read the meaning behind the womans resolute expression.

What is behind that door? Fiona forced herself to utter, though the question seemed wispy and almost soundless, lodged as it was in the tightness of her throat.

Youre to meet with the master. The woman reached out and scratched the wood, and a muffled voice gave an answer of admittance. Reaching down to the drawstring hanging from the tiny hole, she lifted it and pushed the door so that it slowly creaked open, revealing the entrance to an enormous chamber.

Fiona hesitated. Every instinct in her screamed to turn away, to flee and never look back. Through the portal, she saw a fire burning in a grate that encompassed half of one wall; the flames writhed and twisted, reaching up, ever up, and Fiona knew suddenly that whatever was inside that chamber was as menacing as the fire-shadows playing upon the massive bed that filled the far corner. She could just glimpse a man standing there, tall and well built, dressed in a dark, hooded cape that hid his face from her view. Everything within the chamber looked lush and rich, and warmth billowed into the corridor, carrying with it the scent of roses.

Sweet, red roses

Taking in a gasping breath, Fiona lurched backward, wanting to run away, back to Mama and their bitter life on the streets. To make her quell the fear that was even now shredding her heart with every tumultuous beat. But the woman gripped Fionas elbow tighter, leaving no hope of escape.

On wi you now, missy, she said, nodding to the opening as she nudged Fiona across the threshold. Theres no turn in back. The masters bought and paid for youand he doesnt like to be kept wait in.

Hampshire, England
April 1292

B raedan de Cantor, eldest son in a family known as noble justices to the king, stood in the middle of Thistle Lane and shook his head, sending forth a spray of icy droplets. Then he cursed aloud. Were he a betting man, hed wager all his sodden garments that he would never be warm again. The blasted rain had soaked into his cloak, clear through to his tunic and breeches, making him feel like hed slogged through the Thames before making the journey to this citys walls with the wind pushing at his back.

So now in addition to the countless other pains wracking his body, he was damned cold. Colder than he could remember ever having been, even when hed lived without shelter for weeks, traversing the Continent on his way to Saint-Jean-dAcre to join the fight against the Saracens. It didnt help that hed had to keep to the woods during every day of his travels this past week; he hadnt even dared to make a warming fire when night fell. Nay, it would have proclaimed him an easy mark to the bands of outlaws that roamed the forests near every major thoroughfare leading out of London.