"That bitch has gone too far!" Queen Catherine fumed. She slammed her bedchamber door closed and crossed to the massive looking glass that hung on the far wall. Examining her face, she saw few lines and her hair was still dark as a raven's wing. "How dare she tell me I'm old!" She stared at her reflection without seeing it as she replayed the previous ten minutes in her mind.
She'd been seated at the head of the dining table with her two daughters and stepdaughter flanking her. Catherine had just told the girls that she'd accepted the marriage proposal of Prince Henry. Her own lovely daughters had, of course, been thrilled. Their fortune had been dwindling since the death of their stepfather, King Liam, eighteen months earlier and Prince Henry was rich beyond comprehension.
Evelyn, on the other hand, wasn't as happy. At 19, she was already past prime marrying age and was still living in her stepmother's home instead of her own. She'd had the nerve to look Catherine straight in the eye, as she said, "Aren't you a little old for the young Prince. Surely you won't be able to bear him an heir." True, the wench's words had her speechless for a short time. The girl had never learned to hold her tongue. It was her father's fault. He'd spoiled Evelyn before his death but Catherine had been trying to remedy that. The girl's hands were no longer soft and smooth but coarse and callused from hours of scrubbing floors, washing linens, and tending the kitchen garden. Catherine smiled into the mirror as she thought of beautiful Evelyn sleeping in the stables alone but for the horses and the rats for the next week. She'd have no protection from the stable hands, but that couldn't be helped. "She's too old to snare a good husband anyway, so her virtue is no longer of any import. Let those randy young men take their fill of her. Mayhap that'll teach her to keep a civil tongue in her head."
It wasn't often that she had such an excellent opportunity to prick her stepmother's infamous vanity and she relished the way her face had turned red as she struggled for a retort. Her joy was short lived, however. The Queen regained her tongue and used it's sharp edge to cut her deeply. Her two younger stepsisters joined in as well and she was soon banished to the stable for the next week as punishment for her incorrigibleness. And it wasn't that she'd never been made to sleep out here in the stable before. But never had it been for more than a single night at once. She'd been able to keep herself hidden from the men that tended the horses, but doubted that she could for a whole week. One or more of them were sure to find her. Fear tied her stomach in knots as she huddled behind some hay bales in the corner. The night air was chill and Evelyn pulled her thin shawl closer around her. She couldn't stay here. The men had all returned hours before and though she strained to hear any noise, there was none. Evelyn gathered her courage to do what she knew she must.
"What do you mean she's gone? Have you searched for her?" Catherine's ire had the servant shaking in his muddy boots.
"Everywhere, my Queen." He ducked and barely escaped being hit buy the solid gold candlestick Catherine threw at him.
"Where do you think she's gone to, Mother?"
"It doesn't matter where she is, Gweny. She'll be punished for her disobedience and I won't be so kind to her this time." She turned to the still quaking servant. "Fetch me, Derek."
"Whatever do you want with that brute?" Glenna, her eldest daughter, asked.
"That brute knows the forest well. If the wench is hiding there, he'll find her. And when he does, he'll make sure she never draws another breath."
"Who do you think she is?"
"Don't know, Marta. Pretty thing."
"Dressed fancy, too. Anna, heat some water so I can wash the dirt from her face and get a good look at her."
"Yes, Mama." Anna hurried to the kitchen as her parents continued to stare at the young woman lying unconscious on her bed. They'd found her in the barn not a half hour before. They couldn't wake her so Jack, her father, carried her to the house and put her in Anna's bed. Even covered in dirt and with hay in her dark hair, Anna could see that she was pretty and looked to be about her own age. Her clothes were torn and filthy but they were obviously expensive. Anna looked down at her own plain dress, "Whoever she is, she's not a farmer's daughter."
"Anna, is the water ready?"
"Yes, Mama." She carried the kettle of hot water into her bedroom along with a bowl and a washcloth. "She hasn't waked?"
"No," her mother sighed as she began wiping the girl's face clean. "If she doesn't wake soon we'll have to send for Doctor Fetcher."
"The boys will be home soon, Marta. I'll send Alex for the doc. He can eat his supper when he returns."
