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“But Maira,” said Morag, sounding very worried.
“Come on, Morag,” Branton told her, taking the basket and bucket both. “Once Lady Maira makes up here mind, there is no stopping her.”
They left down the corridor. Maira reached up and knocked upon the door where she heard the child crying. The boy wailed loudly and the nursemaid tried to calm him. Since they couldn’t hear her knocking, Maira pushed open the door and stepped inside the room. The nursemaid looked up in surprise, jumping up from the bed, leaving the little boy laying there, crying.
“My lady,” said the woman, wringing her hands in front of her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you knock.”
“That’s all right,” Maira told her. “I heard the boy crying and thought he might be hungry, so I brought him some food.” She stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her.
“Oh, nay,” said the nursemaid, holding out her hands and shaking her head. “The High Sheriff has punished the boy. You can’t give him food.”
“I don’t feel it’s right that a two-year-old boy is punished and deprived food, do you?”
“It is not for me to judge. Please, my lady, you really should go.”
“The reason the boy was eating the rushes in the first place is probably because he was hungry, don’t you think?”
“I – I – I’m not sure.” The woman looked down to the floor when she answered. “The High Sheriff often punishes his son by depriving him of food.”
“Well, now that I am here, that is going to change.” Maira walked over and sat down on the bed with the food wrapped in the cloth on her lap and the goblet of cider in her hand. “Ricker, Honey, I brought you some food. Are you hungry?”
The little boy stopped crying and sat up wiping his eyes. In the firelight, Maira noticed his beautiful hazel eyes with little specks of green. He had dark hair and a cute little button nose. His gaze fixated on the goblet.
“This is spiced cider,” she said, holding out the goblet for him to have a taste. “You must sip it slowly since it is hot.”
The boy reached out both hands for the cup. Maira held on to it while the boy took a sip. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. Then his eyes dropped to the bundle on her lap. Maira reached out and placed the goblet on a bedside table and proceeded to unwrap the food.
“Do you like chicken?” she asked the young boy.
His eyes lit up and he nodded. She held out the chicken leg and he took it in his little hand and bit into the thick juicy meat. Devouring it hungrily, he looked over for the bread next.
“Here you go,” said Maira, handing him the chunk of bread and wiping her hands off on the cloth.
“Lady Maira, you are very kind,” said the nursemaid.
“What is your name?” asked Maira.
“I am Teresa,” said the woman.
“Why does the High Sheriff treat his son so poorly? He is a noble, and should be spoiled instead of punished. Especially since he is the High Sheriff’s heir. Is Ricker his only child?”
“He is,” said the woman. “And the High Sheriff didn’t use to treat the boy this way while Lady Catherine was alive.”
“What happened?” asked Maira curiously.
“Lady Catherine died a few months ago. She had been ill and called for the Bishop of Durham to be at her side. Lady Catherine’s father used to invite him to the castle every year on St. Catherine’s Day to celebrate. They became friends over the years. The High Sheriff, who was only called Sir Gregory back then, became a friend of Lord Emery’s as well as the bishop.”
“St. Catherine’s Day,” repeated Maira, being familiar with the day where women under the age of twenty-five prayed to St. Catherine to find them a husband. “Did their celebrating the feast day have anything to do with the fact Lord Emery’s daughter was named Catherine?”
“I think so, my lady. Lady Catherine’s late mother was from France where the feast day originated. She didn’t want her daughter to be a woman who never married, so they prayed every year to find a good husband for her. It is said that is why they named her Catherine, after the saint.”
“And the best husband for her that they could come up with is Sir Gregory?” she asked.
“It isn’t my place to say.”
“I’m sorry, go on with your story.” Maira might have spoken her thoughts aloud and didn’t want Teresa to feel uncomfortable by it.
“All I was going to say was that after the bishop’s last visit the High Sheriff started acting odd and being mean to his son.”
