Eventually I guess I do sleep. When I wake it’s early dawn. Hazily I realise what woke me – a loud squawking noise. I search for the sound and find a huge black crow sitting eerily on the window sill, looking at Jarrod and me, curled up on opposite sides of the bed. I swear the bird is wearing a satisfied smirk on its face, its black beady eyes, almost human-like, appear intelligent in a way a crow’s eyes never should.
I decide my sleepless night has affected my sanity. A bird, from any century, is just that – a bird. ‘What are you looking at?’ I snap at it. It squawks loudly and flies away.
Jarrod rolls over, waking groggily. ‘What? Who are you talking to?’
‘A crow.’
‘What?’
I get out of bed and start dressing, slipping the stockings on first. The fire died sometime during the night and it’s freezing up here now. ‘Forget it. We’re so high up, the birds think this is their home.’
I finish dressing without once looking back to see what Jarrod is doing, or even where he’s looking. My restless night has put me in a foul mood, and I can still feel yesterday’s eerie vibes shoot through me. Jarrod and I are here for a specific reason, the sooner we accomplish our business, the better. Not that I mind being here really, having this opportunity to experience the past, something that absolutely fascinates me.
Breakfast is apparently served in the Great Hall. Even though I’m starving I’m sceptical about eating any of the food. Last night it just looked so … unhygienic. Being vegetarian I don’t eat meat anyway, so my choices are narrow at best.
As we start down the spiral staircase, all thought of food disappears. Someone is screaming, a young female voice filled with such fear it echoes through the stone corridors like the screams of a tortured ghost. It has us running through the passageways right into the Great Hall.
It’s Morgana, the smallest and youngest of the maids who prepared the room last night. Jarrod and I glance quickly at each other, wondering if we’re to blame for the maid’s beating, for not letting her deal with our baths last night. We recall how worried she was at the thought that Lord Richard might find out.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask immediately. ‘What has this child done?’
I’m ready to take the blame, explain that it was my choice not to allow the maid to attend our baths last night. My sympathy pours out to her. She’s doubled over with pain, Lord Richard himself striking her with the back of his fist. Morgana is so small, each of Richard’s knocks has her physically reeling back against the wall. Morgana’s face is red on both sides and already beginning to swell. There are others, Isabel, Emmeline, her niece, Malcolm, her eldest son, who’s wearing a certain smug look in his dark green eyes, Thomas, Richard’s closest and most loyal knight; but they’re just looking on with casual interest. Servant bashing is apparently something that happens regularly. Malcolm catches my eye and one eyebrow lifts. Evidently he’s amused at my distress. Emmeline, the cousin, is oblivious. Her gaze switches to Jarrod, and stays there, longingly. She reminds me of Tasha Daniels. I can’t believe my luck.
Lord Richard finally notices my concern. ‘Stupid girl,’ he mutters angrily, his hand still raised ready to strike the next blow. ‘Look at my tunic.’ He points to a slowly spreading liquid stain on his front that goes from his chest to a little below his waist, soiling what could only be the family crest – two white doves hovering over a purple rose inside a crimson diamond. ‘She spilled ale all over me.’ He looks back at her angrily, and Morgana cowers into a small ball. ‘I’ll teach her to be so careless.’ With that he strikes her, once again, sending her flying backwards.
‘My Lord!’ I can’t help but interfere. My heart hardens at the unjustness of the penalty. ‘I require the services of this maid. Do not damage her to the point that she will be useless to my needs.’
His head swings towards me, and for a second I think perhaps I’ve overstepped my mark. But his face finally softens, and he withdraws his hand. ‘Quite right, Lady Katherine. I dare say the wench has learnt her lesson now anyway.’ With this he dismisses Morgana, who sends me a grateful look as she quickly escapes the room.
After this incident I find I have no stomach at all for food. We move around the table and Jarrod bumps his leg on the corner. I grab his elbow making sure he clears it this time. On top of being normally clumsy, he’s probably missing his glasses. I make a mental note to watch for inadvertent obstacles in his way.
Jarrod nudges me, mumbling a subtle thanks. We sit and he offers me a slab of dark bread. Reluctantly I accept, aware that I need the physical strength food offers.