Page 1 of A Knight for Gwenllian

Prologue

Little Callum is the cutest baby you could ever see. Everyone is in love with him, even old Murdo, which is saying something.

Gwenllian placed the letter on the table and sighed.

A month ago, her dearest friend, Bethan, had written to say that she had given birth to a son less than six months after her wedding to Laird Campbell. Now she was writing to say that everything was going as well as could be, and Gwenllian was delighted for her. Nevertheless, she could not deny feeling rather jealous because she knew that such a future was not possible for her.

Old Myfanwy had told her a few years ago that she was destined to live her life surrounded by bones. At first, the prediction had conjured up horrid images of skeletons and graveyards. Was the woman warning her that she was going to die soon? No. Once the shock of the announcement had passed, everyone had concluded that it meant nothing as sinister as that. The castle where she lived was called Castell Esgyrn, or “Bones Castle” in English. Myfanwy was only saying that she would spend the rest of her life here. That did not sound so terrible, except that it meant one thing: she would never get married.

Her brother Rhys, her only male sibling, would be master of the place at their father’s death, not her. The only reason she would have, as a grown woman, to remain there, was to never marry, as any husband of hers would take her to his own domain.

Could she make her peace with that idea? She had better do so because the old woman’s predictions were to be taken very seriously. As far as everyone knew, they always came true. Her sister Siân had ended up marrying a man fitting the description Myfanwy had given her. Her sister Jane had once escaped capture thanks to one of the woman’s odd visions.

No, Gwenllian did not dare hope that she would not, after all, remain unmarried and as her brother’s charge. Fighting fate would only bring her pain.

Her gaze fell back to the letter in her hand, and an idea entered her mind. She would accept what was in store for her, but she would find compensation. Bethan had found love during a ride to Scotland the previous year. Could Gwenllian do the same? Find her own fierce Scot? Have her own thrilling adventure? She and her secret lover would never marry, unlike Bethan and Cameron, but she would at least have experienced something every woman deserved to know—pleasure. Being unmarried wasn’t the same as being inexperienced. A woman who would never have a husband did not need to remain a virgin.

At her feet, the fire popped, jerking her out of her musings, acting like a whip lash. If the prediction came true and she really ended up alone at Castell Esgyrn, then she would at least ensure that she lived a little before she was too old to appeal to anyone.

A slow smile crept onto Gwenllian’s lips.

Tomorrow, she would leave for Scotland.

Chapter One

England, Spring 1318

At the age of twelve, to protect himself from his older brother’s ire, Sir Alexander Rathbone had told a lie.

After the death of their father, Hugh, who was ten years older than him and therefore already a man, had taken on the role of parent to his four orphaned siblings—and, unfortunately, he took that role very seriously. He would not like being told that Alexander had missed the midday meal because he was busy training with Christopher Harrison, a neighbor a few years older than him, who had agreed to teach him swordplay every time the family visited Audley Castle.

Though he had not bestirred himself once to show his brothers how to handle a blade, Hugh would take exception to the idea that someone else was doing what he should have been doing himself, and he would make both boys pay.

Intent on not being punished and on protecting Christopher from retaliation, Alexander told his brother that he’d been locked in the weapon room in the barbican by accident when one of the guards had gone to find his replacement for the afternoon.

“And what were you doing in that room, I might ask?”

Damnation. He could not admit that he had gone to put back the sword he’d used to spar with Christopher that morning. Keeping their training sessions a secret was the whole reason for the lie.

“I wanted to see Father’s sword,” he improvised.

“You fool; do you really think I would keep such a precious heirloom with the guards’ weapons? The sword is in my own room.”

“Of course. I should have guessed.”

With a contemptuous snort, Hugh walked away, and Alexander allowed himself to relax. The story had worked.

He should have guessed that he would be punished for his daring in some way. A week later, unlikely as it was, the exact thing he’d described happened to him. It was so improbable that it seemed like a jest on fate’s part.

You think you can invent stories and not be held accountable? Let’s see how you really fare locked in a small, dark room for hours on end, it seemed to say.

Not well, was the answer.

The incident happened in the evening. As he was sneaking into the weapon room to return the sword he was never supposed to have borrowed, he was locked in by the guard going on watch duty for the night. The man, who’d had no reason to suspect anyone was in there, closed the door without looking inside.

Calling out for help was not an option. Alexander had his dignity, but more importantly, he could not risk his brother finding out what had happened. Hugh had swallowed the unlikely lie once; he would not do it twice. Besides, this was not exactly a prison; the door would be opened again in the morning when the guards came to get their weapons. All he had to do was wait.

In a cold, unlit room, with rats for sole company. That night was undoubtedly the worst of his life.