Eighteen Years Later

Langumont Keep

“Lady Allegra, a man has arrived below-stairs and wishes to speak with you.”

Maris looked up from the embroidery on which she had been trying to concentrate and eagerly dropped it to the table in front of her. “I’ll attend to the visitor, Mama. I’ve enough of needles and thread for the day.”

She rose, glancing automatically out the narrow window for a sign of approaching riders. There was naught on the horizon but snow-covered hills and sparse trees.

Her mother, Allegra, Lady of Langumont, gave her a vague smile and made no move to stir. “And if you continue to seize every opportunity to put your sewing aside, how will you finish your father’s surcoat by Christ’s Mass?”

“I’ll finish it in time, Mama,” Maris told her. And she would, too, for it was almost as if her father couldn’t return home in time for the celebrations unless she did. Yet, Maris glanced at the half-finished surcoat and wished she hadn’t chosen to embark on such a complicated project.

“Very well,” Allegra told her. “Greet our visitor in my stead and do what you can for him.”

It was the difference between she and her mother, Maris reflected as she hurried down the curving stone staircase. She moved with such alacrity that the tapestries billowed against the walls and wisps of her hair fluttered against her cheeks. Her mother had always preferred to wait for what would come, whilst Maris rode eagerly to meet trouble—or anything else of interest.

In the absence of Lord Merle, her father, Maris managed the fief, with the help of Langumont’s steward. Allegra was content to stitch on the many tapestries that decorated the walls, or to manage the sewing ladies. Mayhap, if roused, she would make selections of fabrics, or choose meats for the evening meals, but she did not bestir herself with managing the estate.