Margo Maguire - His Lady Fair

Tilda was the one who’d started calling her Ria, a pet name, really. But when Tilda died, it had become something less. It was no longer a name, but merely a sound people barked when they wanted something.

Happily, that was about to change. No longer would she be the no-name girl of Alderton. She was Maria Elizabeth Burton, a legitimately born person of consequence.

And if she were legitimate, it meant she had a father.

Ria stopped in her tracks when that thought dawned on her. The man in Aunt Olivia’s solar had referred to her mother as Sarah Burton, Duchess of Sterlyng. That would make Ria’s father a duke—the Duke of Sterlyng.

Ria scrubbed the soiled linens in the washtub, wrung them out and hung every piece on the line that was strung across the bailey. She frowned and wondered what all this meant, reminding herself she could very well have been mistaken about what she’d heard. Why had she never heard of the Duke of Sterlyng before? Why hadn’t her aunt and uncle known of Sarah’s marriage to this duke?

Or had they known, and chosen to keep Ria from her inheritance…and possibly, from her father?

She picked up the empty basket and walked around to the kitchen, where she set it in a corner. When she noticed that there was too little firewood stacked by the hearth, she picked up the heavy canvas cloth and went outside to retrieve more before Cook had yet another reason to cuff her.

Soon, Ria thought…soon she would be known as the daughter of a duke. She shook her head, dislodging more unkempt tendrils from her braid. ’Twas all beyond any of her wildest imaginings.

She stacked the wood outside the kitchen. Though it was still early afternoon, Ria began to worry. She had hoped to be summoned sooner rather than later, but the gentleman in Aunt Olivia’s solar had not yet called for her. Was it possible she had entirely misunderstood what had been said?

Nay, she assured herself, ’twas not conceivable. Ria was Sarah’s daughter—no one had ever denied that. Her mother had been despised by the Morleys when she’d gone with King Henry. They’d been firm supporters of King Richard, and Sarah’s defection had caused a terrible rift in the family.

But now Ria knew her mother had wed a duke. She’d been a duchess with an estate of her own. A place called Rockbury. There was no mistake about the name. Ria had heard it clearly.

Feeling more optimistic again, she decided to go to her little nook beneath the back stairs and pack her belongings. Not that she owned very much, but all that she had was precious to her, though her most valuable possession—her locket—was never far from her person.

Tamping down her growing excitement at the prospect of leaving Morley, Ria thought of her journey ahead. How far was Rockbury? she wondered. In Staffordshire, she’d heard the man say, but she did not even know where that was. Would she have to travel for days, or merely hours to get there? And what would they think of her once she arrived?

Would her father be there, or was he long dead, just like her mother?

The idea of a father was compelling. Ria could hardly imagine how it would be to have someone who cared, someone who would champion her and protect her from all who would harm her.

Ria looked down at her clothes. Better to turn up at Rockbury wearing her own modest, rough kirtle, she decided, than Cecilia’s cast-off gown with its low-riding neckline and too-long hem. It only emphasized her short stature and too-full figure.

She entered her tiny chamber and lit a tallow candle, since there was no window to provide light. The dark, cramped room contained only a narrow pallet on which she slept, and a stand that she’d fashioned out of stones from the fields. A threadbare kirtle and a dingy linen underkirtle lay neatly folded on the end of the bed.

After peeling off the shawl that covered her bodice, and slipping down the shoulders of the gown, Ria poured water from a cracked clay pitcher and began to wash off the grime from the morning’s work. She was only partly finished when she heard the commotion.

Ria tried to ignore most of the disturbances around the keep unless she was directly involved, but it suddenly occurred to her that Olivia’s visitor might be leaving.

Without her!

She hastily pulled the gown back on and tied the shawl around her shoulders as she quit her room, running through the dark passageway that led from her nook to a side entrance of the keep. If she could only make it to the stable before the man left…

She managed to shove the heavy door open, and quickly flew outside, tripping over a crate holding several chickens. Painful scrapes on the heel of her hand and on her knee did not deter her. She just scrambled up and continued on, hurrying to intercept the visitor before he left.

“Ria!”

The female voice came from above. Ria paused long enough to see that it was her aunt, leaning from the window of her solar.

“Stop this instant, you clumsy girl!”

Ria ignored Olivia and circled the keep, then ran down the path to the stable. Her cousin, Geoffrey Morley, and young Thomas Newson, son of a neighboring baron, stood at the entrance. Though they were a few years younger than Ria, they were much larger and a good deal stronger. The two youths eyed her indolently.

“Where is he?” Ria cried in frustration. How could the visitor have left so quickly?

“Who?” Geoffrey asked with feigned ignorance.

“You know—the gentleman who came to see your mother!” Ria replied, in a panic. “Has he left?”

“Now why would you care about that?” Thomas said. The two young men crowded around Ria, forcing her to back up into the stable. She glanced quickly around the yard. There was no one nearby—no one to call for help, not that any of the Morley servants would have come to her aid.

“’Tis none of your concern, Thomas Newson,” she said, holding her ground, poking one finger into the fellow’s chest. Ria had never liked Thomas, not since he was a young lad, sneaking around and pulling mean pranks on her. In the intervening years, Ria had been ever on her guard when he was near.

She suppressed a shudder. “Where is the gentleman?” she demanded in spite of their intimidation. “You must know!” She would not cower before them, even though they clearly had the upper hand, in terms of brute strength. Between them, though, Ria didn’t believe they had half her brains.

“Well, let’s just see….” Thomas grabbed her arm and pulling her deep into the stable. “Perhaps he is here, eh?”

They shoved her into the first stall, but found one of Morley’s old horses standing there. A second stall was open, empty.

“This where that fancy mount was, Geoff?” Thomas asked, grinning.

Ria yanked her arm away and turned to leave, but Geoffrey blocked her way. Thomas grabbed her shawl and pulled her into the empty stall. Geoff knocked her down.

“Get away from me, you oafs!” she cried, kicking at their legs when they tried to approach. Pain stabbed through her elbow where it hit the ground.

“Hold her down!” Thomas said.

A terrible, dark fear gripped her, but she refused to be paralyzed by it. The outcome of this incident depended upon her ability to keep her wits about her. With one arm immobilized, she tried to roll, but couldn’t do it while she fought off two pairs of strong, male hands.

Thomas got hold of her feet while Geoffrey held her shoulders. He knocked her head on the ground, stunning her for a moment. When she came to her senses, she doubled her resistance.

She fell a pull and heard something tear. She swallowed the bitter bile that rose in her throat and braced herself. There had to be something she could do, she thought as instinct made her lash out with one foot.