Self Sacrifice. Anya Summers
Mardoon. Its lord, Richard, has been dead for some seven months now.”
“Seven months? Forgive me, but you are just now hearing of it? Did the man have no sons to take over his legacy?”
“No. Three daughters. One of them is the daughter of a woman who was friends with my wife’s mother. The mother died in childbirth, and the girl was raised by her stepmother, who married Lord Richard soon after his wife died. It is the eldest daughter you will marry. Her name is Sidony or Sibylla, or something that begins with an S.”
“If I may ask, sire, how old is she?”
“She has seen more than twenty winters,” the king replied. “Some of my father’s advisors tell me that the mother was a beauty, so I can only guess that the daughter will be also.”
“A boon, to be sure.”
“Yes, having a pretty bedmate is always a good thing,” the king said with a laugh. “The keep is well off, and the people are happy, or least they were when Richard was alive. I expect it to stay that way, and for the area to stay loyal to me. I have enough problems without worrying about a keep.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Well, before you answer so quickly you should know I may be sending you into trouble. One of your first duties will be to report to me on why it took me so long to receive this.” He pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to Keran. “I received this yesterday from a member of a traveling troupe. Written in Richard’s own hand. It seems he feared his wife would do his eldest daughter harm, and he sent this as a precaution to alert me to his death. I want to know why the wife did not write me to inform me of her lord’s passing. If there is treachery there, I want it dealt with. Immediately. You have full authority on my account.”
Keran bowed again, his head low. “You have my gratitude, Majesty, and my loyalty. No matter what.”
“She’s probably a cousin to your horse.” Keran frowned at his friend, Patrick Dunkirk. “Your children will be little stallions.”
“All the better to run over you,” Keran replied. “And I will thank you to remember that I am Lord Keran now, of Mardoon.”
“Yes, Lord Keran of the frozen north, sent away from the pretty ladies of court to wed and bed someone you have never laid eyes on. What if she truly is a horse, maybe not in looks, but in manners? After all, she has never been to court. Why would that be, unless her father was ashamed of her?”
“Perhaps she is just so beautiful that she would have started a riot,” Keran said with a smirk. But, his smirk did not reach his heart, or his head. He’d been thinking much the same thing for the past three weeks, and the thoughts had grown more worrisome the closer they had come to Mardoon. They would be there within the day. It had taken him a while to settle his affairs at court, and then to hand pick a battalion of men to take with him so he would have loyal friends to fight for him if the occasion presented itself.
He prayed it would not come to that, but he was not exactly sure what he was getting into, either personally or in the ways of the castle that now belonged to him.
First, the king’s offer had sent him into fits of pleasure. He would have his own keep, with his own wife, his own lands and children. Then Patrick had started asking questions, questions that Keran should have thought about himself before he had agreed to wed someone he had never even set eyes on just for the sake of owning lands.
Still, he was twenty-seven years old, and it was high time he settled down and had children. He had always thought he would find his future bride at court, that some father would offer his wayward daughter to him in hopes that Keran would take his disgraced daughter to wife and farm some obscure part of his land.
Was that not what was happening now, in essence? Except it had been the king to offer him the lands, and it was not a disgraced daughter, but the oldest daughter of a lord. He was not so worried about her looks. Well, maybe a little. What concerned him was Patrick’s comment about her manners. What if she had none? What if he could not stand to be in the room with her for more than five minutes? Then what was he supposed to do?
And then there was the little matter of the note. Why was Richard so worried about what his wife would do to his eldest daughter? And if he were so worried, why did he not send her to court before his death to protect her? It all came down to that, did it not? Why she was kept from court?
Still, he needed sons now that he had lands to pass on, which meant, no matter what, he would have to learn to spend time with his new bride. He just hoped she had a brain.
“Perhaps, if she is not to your liking, there will be ladies about who can warm your bed. Some of these country lasses are born for that purpose, warm and willing.” Patrick waggled his tongue and his eyebrows.
Keran laughed. “You are terrible. What sort of husband would I be, to marry, and then take a mistress right afterwards?”
“A normal one,” Patrick replied. “Just do not forget your options.”
They topped a hill and Keran held up his hand for the group to stop. His new home sat in the valley below.
“Not exactly a royal castle,” Patrick said. “But a castle just the same. The boy you sent ahead yesterday should have already told them of your imminent arrival.”
“Yes, there should be food ready and fires lit. It will be nice to sleep in a warm bed tonight.”
“Take your new bride to it, unless she is a prude and must wait until the wedding. If that is the case, find yourself a willing servant. A bedding will make you that much easier to live with.”
“Are you saying—”
“I am saying you have been a bear the last few weeks. I think a good tumble will improve your outlook on life.”
“Suck in your gut.” Elizabeth of Mardoon slapped her daughter on the shoulder, then pulled on the laces around the girl’s waist.
Leora took a deep breath and held it, letting out a loud oomph when her mother fastened the laces. “I cannot breathe.”
“You don’t need to breathe, you twit. You need to impress your future husband.” Elizabeth stepped back and frowned. “I suppose it will have to do, but you must remember to forgo the sweets this month, or you will not be able to fit into the wedding dress that is being made.”
“You could always let it out,” Leticia said. “Or let me wear it. Since we are pulling the wool over his eyes, what does it matter which one of us weds him?”
Elizabeth wheeled on her daughter. “Leora is the oldest, and therefore will wed first.”
“Is she? I thought Syndra was the oldest.” Leticia turned her gaze to her stepsister, who stood nearby with her eyes lowered. “Of course she would need a bath. And some new clothes.”
“And you would do well to keep your mouth shut, as would Syndra,” Elizabeth admonished. “She is not a member of this family, is she?”
Leticia opened her mouth as if to object, then closed it quickly and shook her head. “No, Mama.”
Syndra kept her defiant gaze on the ground. When her stepmother called her name, she gave her what she hoped was a contrite look.
“Answer me.”
“I am sorry; I did not hear the question.”
“Pay attention, you stupid girl. I said, you know what is at stake, do you not?”
“How could I forget?” Indeed, how could anyone forget? Her stepmother had told the entire household that Syndra’s friend, Alma, would die if anyone let on that Syndra, and not Leora, was really the firstborn daughter of Mardoon.
“You will make yourself useful by cleaning and by keeping quiet.” She turned