2

Amelia’s heart sunk when the guards announced that a man at the door had brought John’s body home. Not John, just his body. She would be forced to endure the burial of yet another brother. Charles, the eldest, had fallen ill two seasons back and had died painfully in a matter of a week, as did his young son leaving his wife widowed and childless. Now with John dead as well, their father had no heir, and he was too old to sire another child.

She had fought back the tears when they carried John into the hall. She had loved her dear brothers both, and now they were both gone. So many had died these past two years. The pestilence had spread like fire in the wind across the land from one village to the next. Livestock suffered, as did the other animals. Dead cats and mice were found in the stables. The farmers were too ill to tend the fields; the peasants were fearful, and with good cause, more than half their village had died men, women, and children. The plague spared no one regardless of age, wealth, or creed.

Amelia had seen the devastation in her mother’s face as they had laid John down. She and Charles’ widow Margret consoled her grieving mother. Amelia did not go to the body of her brother as her parents had. She could smell the death from where she sat, and it was churning her stomach. She would not be able to finish the meagre meal she had started.

Using her napkin to cover her mouth and nose in the hopes of a reprieve from the smell, Amelia studied the man that had returned her brother’s body to Ludden. He was very tall, and even beneath the thick layers of his clothes, armour, and heavy fir lined cloak, she could tell he was a broad-shouldered man of strength as her brothers had once been. The man was a knight. Not one who served the English king but a knight nonetheless. A man of honour and valour.

His hair was long and black as night tied back off his handsome face with a strip of leather. His face was shadowed, having not groomed while on the road. Though he was in disarray from head to toe, his eyes were what held Amelia’s interest. He had eyes, unlike any she had seen before. A bright ice blue that radiated intensity with every glance.

He spoke not one word to Amelia, but his interest did not go unnoticed. The look they shared was momentary but unmistakable. He knew just who she was. Amelia watched intently as a servant showed the knight out.

Her mother ordered the other servants to have John’s body washed and prepared for burial. The body was removed, and Amelia returned her attention to her meal. She had lost her appetite. “I think I shall retire to my chambers,” Amelia said, pushing her platter away.

Amelia exited the hall making her way to her rooms on the higher levels. She walked slower these days, pausing to look out over the village below. Her home had once been so beautiful. So bright and colourful with fields and trees filled with fragrant flowers. People were happy and friendly. Ludden had been a paradise. Her father was a fair and just man. Her parents had been happily married for what had been originally a marriage of conveyance.

Charles and Margret had been forced into a marriage of convenience as well, and though they were not in love, they were growing fond of one another. “Love will come,” their mother always said. Amelia assumed that it was easier to learn to care for a good man than it was to care for a tyrant. Amelia’s grandfather had been a tyrant. An abusive drunkard that beat on everyone he came across, so she had been told. Amelia had been too young to have ever met the man himself, but she had been thankful for it.

From the walkway above, Amelia watched the peasants below stager about their business. The sick barely managed, and the healthy did their best to prevent becoming ill. She watched as one man with a mask over his face shoved a begging child to the ground at the feet of his sickly mother, who had not the strength to defend him.

Amelia could not stand it. Her home had become a hell on earth. Turning around, Amelia headed for the bowels of the manor, where she found the cook preparing to toss out the uneaten meals. “I will take that, Gertrude,” Amelia said, taking the uneaten food and placing it in a basket. She then carried it up and out into the street. Amelia was no fool though she had covered her face with her handkerchief.

Amelia found the begging child cowering beside his mother. She reached into the basket and held out some meat and bread. It was not much, but the timid child accepted and handed some of each to his mother. The sickly woman tried to smile as her trembling hands clasped around Amelia’s gratefully. “Oh, bless you, My Lady. Bless your heart.”

Amelia watched as the hungry began to circle, begging for food. What little she had, she was happy to share. Amelia broke pieces in half, trying to make the food go as far as she could. She could do so little when her people needed so much. When she ran out, Amelia could do no more. She paused, feeling eyes on her. She looked up at the tower above. In the window, she saw Sir Dabell looking down, watching her acts of generosity. He was there only a minute, and then he was gone.

Amelia went back inside only to find herself confronted by her mother. “You should not be out there consorting with them. You will fall ill,” her mother complained. Like the rest of them, Amelia’s mother was dressed in black. They were all in mourning. Her greying hair was pinned up, and her eyes were bloodshot from crying. “I do not wish to bury a daughter.”

“We cannot abandon our people. They need us more now than ever,” Amelia stressed. “Our home is falling apart. We cannot afford to stand idly by.”

“Such concerns or none of yours,” her mother scolded. “I will not have you risking your health further. You are our last hope. We must find you a suitable husband. Someone that can afford to lend aid. Your brothers are gone. You must secure your father an heir.”

The idea of marriage did not appeal to Amelia. She had hoped to have been spared that trial and have been allowed to choose her own husband, but with the death of her brothers, Amelia had been thrust violently into the forefront of politics. She did not bother to argue the matter. She knew there was nothing more she could do. Her mother was right, and Amelia knew it. As a woman, all she could do was marry well and bring to Ludden a man that had both wealth and the means to restore her home to its former glory.

“Promise me you will be more cautious,” Amelia simply nodded and pushed past her mother. Lady Edith grabbed Amelia by the arm and forcefully turned her daughter to look at her. “Promise me!”

“Fine,” she said, pulling away. “I promise.”

Leaving her mother behind, Amelia headed for her chambers. She would practice her cursive and her music before preparing for the burial this evening.