Page 1 of Ella’s Desire

1

April 1338

Brampton, England

Lady Ella Barrington, the third daughter of the Earl of Werrick, knew there was trouble the moment she found her older sisters waiting with her father in her solar. A parchment was pinched between Marin’s fingers. It had been months since she’d seen either of her elder sisters, and from the sternness of Marin and Anice’s faces, this wouldn’t be a pleasant reunion.

“What is it?” Ella asked, her words slow and wary.

Her father’s forehead crinkled above his worried gray-blue eyes. “I’ve received a missive from the king. He is questioning my loyalty despite the many decades I’ve faithfully served the crown.”

Ella’s mouth gaped. Never had there been a man more loyal to the crown than her father. It was why they lived on the dangerous border between England and Scotland. It was why Ella and her sisters had been trained to fight as warriors. It was why her mother was dead.

Heat flared in Ella’s cheeks. “How dare the king question your allegiance?”

“It’s our fault.” Anice put a hand to her stomach, which was now flat after the recent birth of her new son. Not that one would be able to tell from her face, still lovely and glowing with good health. But then, Anice had always been the most beautiful of all of them.

If they were having this conversation prior to Ella being introduced to the babe, the news must be grave indeed.

Anice continued, a pained expression on her delicate features. “With Marin and I both having married Scotsmen, our dowry lands are now in their possession. Lands that were meant for Englishmen.”

“The war against Scotland is not going well.” Marin set the parchment onto the surface of the desk. A lock of her pale blonde hair fell forward, but she brushed it back absently. “Most of England’s strongholds in Scotland have been taken back by the Scottish. He is…” she paused, considering her words carefully. “…not pleased.”

“But the circumstances of your unions were extraordinary,” Ella countered. “What will happen to Papa, then?” She looked to her father’s weary face. “Will you be arrested?”

He lowered his head.

“It’s possible,” Marin replied.

Ella’s heart dropped into her stomach. If Marin had to be the one to share this news—if it was more than Papa could bring himself to say—the situation must be truly dreadful.

Marin put a supportive hand on their father’s shoulder. “There’s an alternative that will keep him from such a fate.”

If Ella had been wary before, she was absolutely on edge now. “What is it?” She looked about for her younger sisters. “Why aren’t Cat and Leila here?”

Anice hesitated and nodded toward Marin, who finished with the news both were struggling to unveil. “Father’s eldest unwed daughter must marry the Earl of Calville.”

Ella stiffened. No wonder they had not wanted to speak, when they brought such unwanted news. As Marin and Anice were both married, the eldest unwed daughter was Ella.

“Nay.” She shook her head. “There must be other options to prove your loyalty, Papa. A witness to tout your glory on the battlefield in England’s favor. Mayhap Geordie when he returns from his campaign with the king. Or even Drake could…” The words died on her tongue, slain by the flat expressions reflecting the futility of her suggestions.

None of Werrick Castle’s soldiers would be able to sufficiently vouch for their lord. Even she knew that.

But marriage? Her heart threatened to race from her chest. This was not how her marriage was supposed to be.

“I could join a convent,” she offered weakly. Desperation might save her yet.

“Oh, pish.” Marin spoke tenderly, moving around the desk to approach Ella. The blue silk of her kirtle rippled around her ankles from the sunlight coming in through the precious glass window. “You’d be miserable in a convent. The rules are far too strict.”

“I don’t love the Earl of Calville. I don’t even know him.” Cracks splintered through a lifetime of her carefully spun dreams of marriage and love, threatening to shatter. But Ella held tight to the vision, as she always had.

She’d read enough tales, and had heard enough stories from troubadours, to know how a marriage built on love began. An honorable and wonderfully handsome man would notice her at a banquet, or something of the like. He would think her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and then spend months wooing her, writing sonnets and bringing flowers in the hopes of securing her affections. Mayhap, he’d even give her a kiss.

Once he had proven his worth as a warrior to her father, and as a chivalric suitor to her, he would seek her hand in marriage. They would wed in an elaborate marriage with cloth of silver and gold sparkling throughout the church. Then they would have half a dozen children and live with their hearts glowing bright with their eternal love.

It was a dream she’d clung to. One that had helped her survive the childhood attack on their castle, the dark days following her mother’s death, the sieges and every other terrible event in her life.

An arranged marriage was not love.