Chapter 3 | Cora

Chapter 3

Cora

C ora marched up to the door to her father’s study, a look of grim determination on her face. Though there were certainly details of his duty as lord of Ossory that he didn’t share with her, he’d always been open with her regarding the responsibilities he shouldered for their people. She’d played in his study as a child; listened to his negotiations with neighboring lords as she rocked her dolls in her lap. She might not be a son, but her father had never treated her as though she were incapable of understanding what it took to lead a community like theirs.

From the moment they’d returned from the village after the English attack, he’d avoided her. She’d tried to corner him for days. She’d waited interminable hours as he heard petitions and questions only to have her own ignored. The food she’d brought him had been graciously accepted, but her presence had been promptly rejected. No matter what she did, he refused to discuss what had happened or how he planned to move forward.

For him to be purposefully dismissive like this was unlike him, and she didn’t like it. Not only were there rumors of war with the English, but their people had been attacked! She’d seen it—been right in the thick of the aftermath. How could he expect her to simply forget it and move on? How could he wave her away like she was some... some simpering lady with a fan in her hand and air in her head?

She lifted her hand to knock on the door and demand—vehemently request—answers. As her hand descended, she heard voices. Though muffled, it was easy to pick out her father’s voice, along with that of his steward, Daniel. Rather than crouching at the keyhole to be caught like a nosy child, Cora made her way to the servant’s entrance nearby. Many of the rooms had small side doors used by their maids and other staff, and as a child, she’d familiarized herself with them all. The door opened without a sound, leading her into a small alcove just out of sight of her father’s desk.

This close, it would be much easier to hear the conversation. Even better, the alcove was covered by a tapestry. She could see into the room, but the shadows hid her from sight. So long as she was quiet, she’d be able to listen and watch without detection.

The first thing she noticed was her father’s face. Though Fergus Kilkenny was by nature a serious man, he’d always had an easy smile for her. He kept his emotions well hidden from the world, and she’d always liked that she got to see pieces of him that weren’t visible to others. Now, her father’s face was drawn and tired in a way she’d never seen before. He stared at a letter in front of him, forehead creased with worry. Daniel paced in front of his desk, running trembling hands through his thinning hair.

“What will we do, My Lord? Without aid—”

The fist her father unexpectedly slammed against the hard surface of his desk effectively silenced his steward. Cora barely covered her mouth in time to stifle a startled gasp.

“I am well aware of what will happen without aid, Daniel. You think I haven’t considered it? I’ve thought of little else since I sent the bloody letter. I’d hoped he’d be swayed by the coin, but apparently not.” He sighed, his face drawn as though in pain. “The hard truth is that without the support of the other lords or Fane and his wild-men, the English will overrun Ossory like rats in a grain house.”

“Is there no one else, My Lord? No one else who might answer?”

Her father’s shoulders slumped, the anger from his outburst fading into hopelessness. “No one who would make any difference. This rebellion will die before its birth. Each of the lords has resolved to see to their own lands, and none are willing to spare their own lean forces to protect another. Some have even sent missives to Edwin himself, hoping to negotiate some sort of peace to avoid his wrath. I’d hoped that perhaps with someone as notorious as Cillian Fane at our backs, they might reconsider. All together, we might stand a chance. But alone?”

Her father paused, and Cora clenched her fists as the tension squeezed at her heart like a vise.

“It’ll be a massacre.”

The men fell silent. Cora fought the urge to burst from her hiding place and demand that they not give up. That they keep fighting. It’d be worth her father’s anger at her intrusion if they’d listen to her. She’d almost worked up the courage when Daniel spoke again.

“Surely there are other ways to encourage an alliance. After all, Fane and his army of wildlings are only free until the lords tire of paying his price. Those luchthonn... they’ve roamed these lands for years as little better than hired thugs and mercenaries. They’re talented warriors, but the rumors... well, he must know it’s only a matter of time before the lords turn him and his kind away. Perhaps another letter to subtly remind him of that while we pursue other alliances? A more stable alliance... one based on marriage? That might turn a few heads.”

Cora bit the inside of her cheek to hold back her protest. Marriage? No—they wouldn’t.

He couldn’t .

Her father sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’d thought of that. Cora came of age last summer, and at least three of the lords have sons of marrying age. I haven’t given it much thought till now—Cora’s feelings on marriage are as keen as a cat’s to water. And since Brigid died, well, I admit that it’s been helpful to have her near. She’s good with the common folk in town, like Brigid was.”

Anger warred with fear in her heart, and the sensation left her too hot and too cold all at once. It was as though fire and ice had collided in her chest, leaving her breathless and raw. It wasn’t uncommon for daughters to be married off for an alliance’s sake, but her father had never even hinted that he might consider such a thing. He’d taught her to fight. To shoot. To hunt. When other girls were busy with their sewing, she was off practicing sword forms with her father’s captain.

Her father had given her tools and skills no other lord would think to give a lowly daughter. He’d complain, sometimes, that her mother would be ashamed to see how wild she’d become, but he always followed it with a soft smile and a teasing tweak of her nose.

Now he’d marry her off like some sort of broodmare to some simpering, spoiled lordling who needed someone to wipe his arse after using the privy?

“My Lord... Fergus... it may well be the only way. The fever last winter—we lost many good men. And with no allies to call on and a rejection from Fane? A smart match might save us if Edwin makes good on his threats of conquest.”

Cora’s thoughts whirled. Her anger disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with the acidic burn of guilt. Could a marriage really save her people? And if it truly would, could she be selfish enough to refuse? She thought of the young man in the village that morning. He’d been so ready to run off to fight in a battle that would likely claim his life. He wanted to protect his mother. His family. His home.

What if this was the only way she could protect her home?

The room had gone quiet. Cora risked moving the tapestry just enough to see a bit better. Her father was slumped over his desk, head buried in his hands. Daniel knelt next to him, a hand on his arm. They were both thankfully still too distracted to notice her, so she used the opportunity to slip back out the door. There was no need to hear more.

She wandered the castle aimlessly, unaware of where she went or anyone around her. When anyone spoke to her, she mumbled some request for their pardon and kept walking. Her father’s words ran through her thoughts over and over until they jumbled all together.

Marriage.

War.

Criminals.

Massacre.

Over and over until she thought she might scream.

When she finally came out of her stupor, Cora found herself curled up in the corner of Epona’s stall. The rough scratch of hay under her legs was uncomfortable, and her limbs felt heavy, a testament to how long she’d been there.

Across the stable, one of the stablehands bent over a stall with a shovel. Every few seconds, he scooped a pile of waste from the stable floor, tossed it into a nearby wheelbarrow, and bent to do it again. Once he’d cleaned out the stall, he grabbed a pitchfork with fresh hay and tossed it in for whatever horse would occupy it next. When he’d finished, he straightened, wiped an arm across his brow, and looked her way.

“Ah, finally back with us, Lady?”

Cora stood slowly, grasping the stall walls for support in case her legs gave out. They trembled like she’d just climbed a mountain but didn’t collapse. “How long have I been here?” she asked.

The boy, Bran, set his pitchfork aside and leaned against Epona’s stall. His auburn hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, and Cora wondered what her own must look like. She tried to discreetly pat it down, but Bran just smiled as though he knew what she was doing.

“Twenty, maybe thirty minutes. You wandered in all dazed and quiet. Didn’t answer when I called to you. Just walked right into the stall and sat down in the hay. Thank your stars I’d already cleaned that one out! But you weren’t bleeding or in pain that I could see, so I just...” he trailed off, rubbed the back of his neck, and shrugged.

“You just what?”

Bran’s cheeks went pink, and he said, “I just figured you needed somewhere safe and quiet for a spell, so I left you alone and kept watch. Made sure no one would bother you. No one was running around like you’d gone missing, so I didn’t think it’d do any harm.”

“Bran, I... thank you.”

His face went as red as his hair as he waved her thanks away. “Weren’t no trouble, Lady. Are you all right, then?”

Cora let go, testing the steadiness of her legs. “Yes, I’m fine. I was just... thinking about something. As you said, I just needed some quiet for a moment.”

“Must have been something serious to put you in such a state.”

Cora nodded but kept silent. Bran was a kind lad, but she couldn’t tell him what she’d heard. If he thought she was considering something dangerous, he might feel compelled to tell someone else. She couldn’t risk it with the way stories spread like wildfire amongst the staff.

Wait... stories .

“Bran!”

She startled them both with her shout. Bran nearly fell into his wheelbarrow, and she scrambled for the wall to keep her footing.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Cor—Lady! I’m right here! No need to shout like that!”

“Sorry, Sorry! I just—what can you tell me about Cillian Fane?”

Bran frowned. “What would a lady like yourself need to know about a scoundrel like him?”

Cora’s thoughts raced for an excuse. “I heard some of the kitchen girls talking. Gossiping, really. They were telling stories about him that sounded, well, quite frightening. And then they said he might be close by, and I—well, I was afraid.” She tried to school her features into a convincingly worried expression to sell her story.

Bran stepped forward and reached a hand out in comfort before thinking better of it and pulling it back. “Ah, Lady. Don’t be troubling yourself with kitchen gossip. Fane and his wildlings are nothing for you to fret about.”

She took a step closer to him and looked up at him through lowered lids. “Please, Bran. I think if I could just hear the truth—anything you could tell me—I’d feel so much better. I know it was just gossip, but I was so worried.”

A small part of her felt guilty for manipulating Bran this way. She’d known he was sweet on her for months—everyone knew everything around the castle. But she’d never done anything to encourage him before now.

Bran’s expression turned soft. He boldly laid a hand on her arm and squeezed. “Of course, Lady. I’d hate for you to worry needlessly. What would you like to know? I’ll tell you what I’ve heard from the guards and village folk.”

He answered all of her questions.

Every one.

As he spoke, she listened.

And as she listened, she began to form a plan.