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Chapter 17
As soon as Maira approached the castle, she knew something was wrong. There were too many guards on the wall walk, not to mention that the tension in the courtyard could be felt hanging thick in the air.
“Maira!” Morag hurried across the courtyard toward her, holding the hand of little Ricker. The boy gripped on to the carved wolf that Jacob had given him. Branton appeared from the stable, taking the reins of her horse.
“Morag? I thought you’d be sleeping,” said Maira.
“How could I, Cousin?” Morag looked tired but also very concerned. “The High Sheriff returned an hour ago and has been askin’ for ye.”
“He did?” Panic flowed through her. She scanned the courtyard, looking for him. “He wasn’t supposed to return until the morrow.”
“He brought the Bishop of Durham with him,” said Branton. “He is telling everyone that he’s marrying you at the St. Catherine’s Day festival, right after the hunt.”
“Oh, nay, he can’t,” she told them with a shake of her head.
“He says the king gave him permission and he even has a missive with the crown’s stamp on it to prove it,” Branton informed her.
“Oh, no.” Maira’s heart lodged in her throat. This wasn’t good news at all.
“That’s right,” said Morag. “Our cousin betrayed ye, Maira. Richard said his late father’s order of grantin’ ye the right to choose yer husband no longer holds true.”
“He can’t do this,” she said defiantly, not wanting to believe it.
“Well, he did,” stated Morag.
“Nay, you don’t understand.” Maira felt trapped and doomed and as if she’d put everyone in danger. “Morag, Branton, don’t say anything to the High Sheriff yet, but Jacob and I are married.”
“Married?” exclaimed Morag. “I thought I told ye no’ to do it.”
“That might not have been a good idea,” agreed Branton, making a face.
“I listened to my heart,” she told them. “I thought if we were married, Jacob would forget about his attack on the castle. But it seems as if he is going through with it after all.”
“Shhh, Maira. Dinna say anythin’ in front of the boy.” Morag nodded toward Ricker.
“It’s all right,” said Maira, patting Ricker’s head. “He doesn’t talk.”
“Doggie,” said Ricker, holding up the carved animal.
“Then what do you call that?” asked Branton.
“It’s the only word he says.” Maira picked up Ricker and gave him a hug. She had grown fond of the boy and didn’t want to see him hurt in the attack. Sir Gregory didn’t deserve to be the father of such a cute boy. It seemed such a shame and she felt sorry for Ricker. She would take measures to keep the boy from being punished by his father again. “Morag, I want you and Branton to take Ricker and leave here immediately. I’ll warn the servants to stay in the tunnels during the attack.”
“Take Ricker? Isna that stealin’ a child?” asked Morag.
“Not if I’m protecting his life, it’s not,” answered Maira.
“What about you?” asked Branton. “Where will you be?”
“I’m going to stay here and fight.”
“Fight? I dinna understand. Are ye fightin’ for the High Sheriff?” asked Morag in surprise.
“Nay, Morag. I am going to fight to keep my husband alive, no matter what it takes to do it.”
“Well, I’m no’ leavin’ again without ye. I’ll help fight,” offered Morag bravely.
“Me, too,” added Branton. “Since I fought off the two bandits in the woods, I feel as if I have a lot more confidence now.”
