concern?”
“You think it possible that this countess may allow the Ieryn into Westvale?”
“I don’t know. I just think it prudent to check on my old ally.” Then King Richard frowned, and added, “Morgaine is a blood relative of Robert’s chief minister, Tomas Cramden. Maybe they are closer than we think. See what you can find out. I’ll give you a letter of introduction to give to Robert.”
Roland bowed. “I will do as you ask, sire.”
“Poke around a bit. See what is going on there. Try to find out if there is anything to these rumors.”
Roland nodded and turned to leave.
“One last thing, Sir Roland.” Roland stopped and turned. “Robert Greystone has a daughter who is quite lovely. If all is well with King Robert, your trip may not be a complete waste of time.” This time Richard favored him with a bemused smile. “I hear King Robert is most anxious to find a suitable match for her, and you are, after all, the eldest son of the duke of Durham.” The smile turned to a wicked grin.
Roland nodded, turned, and made his way out of the pavilion . Only then did he allow himself a thin smile. So, a lovely princess. Things could be worse.
* * *
Bathen Castle
In her private library, Morgaine perused the message from Lord Cramden that had just arrived by courier. An intriguing plan, and it just might work, she thought. The trick, of course, would be to find an imposter who looked enough like the princess that the deception could be carried off. And I’ll keep this message just in case. Not that I don’t trust my cousin, but…
Then she smiled. So he wants me to apply my special type of training to the young princess, does he? The idea appealed to her. It was one thing to train simple village girls captured in raids or spirited away from their homes, but a highborn princess? Now there was a challenge.
The plan required a suitable subject, one who looked the part. She’d send out her spies in the morning. There were lots of naïve village girls. She’d find someone suitable, tell her story, and teach her how to act like a princess. Then she’d snatch the real princess right out from under Robert’s nose. Once Princess Juliet was secure in Bathen Castle, the training would commence. Something I very much look forward to, thought the red countess.
Chapter Three
The Village of Kern, near Bathen Castle
On Tuesdays Scarlett went to the market to sell medicinal herbs, poultices, and ointments for the convent. It was mostly safe then. She walked with Sister Bernice and Sister Patricia, covering the three miles to the village of Kern in about an hour. Actually, the good sisters insisted on accompanying Scarlett on these treks, whether they had duties or not. The young woman attracted more than her share of attention from the local gentry. It might have been the flaming red hair, the pretty face, or the shapely figure, but more likely it was a combination of all three. So Sisters Bernice and Patricia stood alongside like Praetorian Guard, ever watchful as Scarlett both sold medicines and exercised her knowledge, picking the best plants at the best prices for the convent’s infirmary. Later the trio would venture into the forest and supplement their goods with wild herbs, fungus, and roots.
The convent of Saint Agnes had taken Scarlett in as a young child. She had been found wandering in the forest, but what had become of her parents, no one knew. That had been over thirteen years ago. The sisters had raised her, taught her, and given her a task. She had been fascinated by the healing arts and had learned medicine from Sister Marian. They’d also given her a name, Scarlett, for her lustrous mane of red hair.
So on a bright Tuesday morning the trio made its way to Kern, leading the wagon pulled by the convent’s rather tired-looking, and only, donkey.
“They say it is becoming more dangerous along this road,” said Sister Patricia, casting a watchful eye about as they
“You think it possible that this countess may allow the Ieryn into Westvale?”
“I don’t know. I just think it prudent to check on my old ally.” Then King Richard frowned, and added, “Morgaine is a blood relative of Robert’s chief minister, Tomas Cramden. Maybe they are closer than we think. See what you can find out. I’ll give you a letter of introduction to give to Robert.”
Roland bowed. “I will do as you ask, sire.”
“Poke around a bit. See what is going on there. Try to find out if there is anything to these rumors.”
Roland nodded and turned to leave.
“One last thing, Sir Roland.” Roland stopped and turned. “Robert Greystone has a daughter who is quite lovely. If all is well with King Robert, your trip may not be a complete waste of time.” This time Richard favored him with a bemused smile. “I hear King Robert is most anxious to find a suitable match for her, and you are, after all, the eldest son of the duke of Durham.” The smile turned to a wicked grin.
Roland nodded, turned, and made his way out of the pavilion . Only then did he allow himself a thin smile. So, a lovely princess. Things could be worse.
* * *
Bathen Castle
In her private library, Morgaine perused the message from Lord Cramden that had just arrived by courier. An intriguing plan, and it just might work, she thought. The trick, of course, would be to find an imposter who looked enough like the princess that the deception could be carried off. And I’ll keep this message just in case. Not that I don’t trust my cousin, but…
Then she smiled. So he wants me to apply my special type of training to the young princess, does he? The idea appealed to her. It was one thing to train simple village girls captured in raids or spirited away from their homes, but a highborn princess? Now there was a challenge.
The plan required a suitable subject, one who looked the part. She’d send out her spies in the morning. There were lots of naïve village girls. She’d find someone suitable, tell her story, and teach her how to act like a princess. Then she’d snatch the real princess right out from under Robert’s nose. Once Princess Juliet was secure in Bathen Castle, the training would commence. Something I very much look forward to, thought the red countess.
Chapter Three
The Village of Kern, near Bathen Castle
On Tuesdays Scarlett went to the market to sell medicinal herbs, poultices, and ointments for the convent. It was mostly safe then. She walked with Sister Bernice and Sister Patricia, covering the three miles to the village of Kern in about an hour. Actually, the good sisters insisted on accompanying Scarlett on these treks, whether they had duties or not. The young woman attracted more than her share of attention from the local gentry. It might have been the flaming red hair, the pretty face, or the shapely figure, but more likely it was a combination of all three. So Sisters Bernice and Patricia stood alongside like Praetorian Guard, ever watchful as Scarlett both sold medicines and exercised her knowledge, picking the best plants at the best prices for the convent’s infirmary. Later the trio would venture into the forest and supplement their goods with wild herbs, fungus, and roots.
The convent of Saint Agnes had taken Scarlett in as a young child. She had been found wandering in the forest, but what had become of her parents, no one knew. That had been over thirteen years ago. The sisters had raised her, taught her, and given her a task. She had been fascinated by the healing arts and had learned medicine from Sister Marian. They’d also given her a name, Scarlett, for her lustrous mane of red hair.
So on a bright Tuesday morning the trio made its way to Kern, leading the wagon pulled by the convent’s rather tired-looking, and only, donkey.
“They say it is becoming more dangerous along this road,” said Sister Patricia, casting a watchful eye about as they
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