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“Thank you,” said Maira, dismounting, and handing the boy a coin for his trouble. “Now get in out of the rain before you catch your death of cold.”
“Aye, my lady,” said the boy hurrying to the stable. Branton helped Morag dismount and led their horses to the stable as well.
“I’ll bring your trunks inside as soon as I finish with the horses,” Branton called back over his shoulder. He didn’t let the rain bother him and continued with his duties no matter what the conditions. Branton had been sent to look after the girls and that is exactly what he did. Maira felt bad now, telling him earlier that he would never be a squire. He was five and ten years of age but had the skills required of a squire and also the demeanor and loyalty involved. Plus, he was good with a blade. Perhaps he would be some knight’s squire someday after all.
“Hurry, Maira, let’s get in outta the rain.” Morag held her hood over her head and ran for the keep. Maira followed. When she got to the keep, she saw a seasoned man standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He was tall with a round belly. Around him were several guards and behind him stood a nursemaid holding the hand of a toddler.
“Lady Maira, I presume?” the man said to Morag as she approached him. He had dark hair, graying around the temples. A full beard and mustache covered his face. His skin looked weathered and Maira noticed small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead. One cheek had a mole on it that was dark brown and hairy. She flinched inwardly but stayed quiet.
This scoundrel wasn’t much of a knight. Instead of venturing into the rain to see to his guests’ needs and the needs of a lady, he stood dry inside the keep only worrying about himself. Branton was acting more like a knight than this man was right now.
“Och, I’m no’ Lady Maira, I’m Lady Morag,” said Morag, lowering the hood of her cape to look at the man who Maira realized was the lord of the castle.
“Too bad. You’re a comely one,” he said with a grunt. “Why are you here?”
“I came with my cousin at the request of the Earl of Rothbury,” Morag explained. “I hope ye dinna mind.”
“Where’s my betrothed?” he asked, looking out into the pouring rain.
Maira walked up slowly, hood down and with water dripping from her long, strawberry-blond hair. She figured the worse she looked the better the chance the man wouldn’t want her for a bride after all. That is exactly what she hoped for. If he despised her, he’d send her back to Rothbury and she wouldn’t have to stay a fortnight like her father told her. The quicker she got out of here the better.
“I’m Lady Maira,” she said, stepping inside the door to the keep.
The man perused her from head to foot, no expression at all upon his face.
“You’re making a puddle on my floor,” he complained.
“It’s raining, my lord, if you haven’t noticed.”
“You’ll call me High Sheriff like everyone else around here.”
“Excuse me, High Sheriff, but I’m cold and wet and would like to retire to my chamber now.”
“You’re early. Your room isn’t prepared yet. Go wait by the fire until I give you word.”
“Aye, my lord High Sheriff,” she said, using both titles just to spite him. As she walked past him, he called out to stop her.
“Wait! What’s that?” he asked.
“What’s what?” Maira turned a full circle, looking at the ground, not sure what he meant.
“On your back,” he said in a low growl.
“Oh, this.” She unsheathed her sword and held it in front of her.
Instantly, the guards standing by the man drew their swords.
“It’s my sword,” she told him.
“A wench with a sword?” Sir Gregory spat on the ground at her feet. “I won’t allow my betrothed to walk around sporting a weapon. Take the blade,” he commanded one of his men with a quick jerk of his head.
“My sword stays with me,” she told him in a firm and steady voice. “It was a gift from my father, one of the Legendary Bastards of the Crown. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to tell him you took it away from me, would you?” Maira raised her other hand to stop her blade from being taken away.
The High Sheriff seemed to consider her words. “I don’t want to see you wearing that again. Do you understand?”
“Oh, so then you won’t want me wearing these either?” She moved aside her cloak to show him the display of daggers attached to her waist belt.
“Egads,” growled the man. “You are nothing like a lady. Why wasn’t I told this ahead of time?”
